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nxuvillette · 11 months ago

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“WE’RE SUPPOSED TO BE JUST FRIENDS!”

FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS HCS W/ BLLK MEN

synopsis: it’s just a situationship. those usually don’t lead to much, right?

❥- including : michael kaiser, oliver aiku, sae itoshi

❥- note : first bllk post !! i’m slowly getting back into it, so i hope you all enjoy <3 ! reblogs are appreciated !!

content warnings : nsfw [17+], fem!reader, ageless + blank blogs dni, rough sex (kaiser), some degradation (kaiser), spanking (kaiser), car sex (sae), birthday sex (oliver), mentions of food (sae), use of pet names (baby , princess , good girl), creampie (all), friends with benefits, mentions of hookups, mentions of alcohol (oliver + kaiser), dacryphilia (kaiser), praising.

♡ MICHAEL KAISER

your little friends with benefits with kaiser had begun over six months ago. you and him were both at a party on new years and one thing led to another, and you ended up head first into his mattress with his cock deep inside you. you both promised it would be a one time thing, but one time turned to two, three, and eventually four times.

he was the one who proposed the idea of having a little “thing.” he said you could both call it off at any time and you weren’t exclusive to each other. it didn’t sound like such a bad idea anyway. it was just mindless fun with pleasure mixed within, right?

kaiser was so fucking great in bed. whenever you two would link up, he would make sure you were shaking by the time he was done. he loved seeing the reactions your body had whenever he did something to it. you were so addictive. there were even a few times he would skip practice so he could go and fuck your brains out. if anything, you were the best workout he could ever ask for. your sweaty bodies clinging to each other afterwards was better than any drug he could ever try. he wondered where the hell you had been hiding all of this time.

tonight was a bit different, though.

kaiser had hit you up later on in the evening. it was a bit odd since you recalled him telling you that he had a game earlier in the day. you shrugged it off, but that changed when you stepped into his nice apartment and noticed how his demeanor was different. he seemed pissed off. you could just tell from his facial expressions and how he carried himself around.

when you both reached the bed, kaiser was a lot rougher than he usually was. your face was shoved into the pillow and your ass was sore from the amount of times he had spanked you. his pace was set quite quick as well. his balls smacked your puffy clit with every thrust, and he seemed to be taking whatever was wrong out on you.

“fuck.. yeah, that’s right, take my fuckin’ cock..” he grunted, his fingertips dragging up your spine. “stupid fucks saying i can’t score.. wait till they see what i’m scoring every night..”

you whimpered when kaiser’s palm made contact with your ass cheeks again. a harsh slap filled your ears, making your pussy clench slightly around his cock. “k-kaiser..” your fingers curled on the sheets below you.

he smirked, taking a fistful of your hair to yank you upwards towards him. “yeah..? you like when i fuck you like a good little slut?” he questioned. “you’re so fucking beautiful.. god, i’m gonna make you cum so hard..”

kaiser then took hold of your hips, slamming his cock into your aching hole. he could feel your pussy twitching around him, signaling you were close to your climax. he wanted to make you a fucking mess. he was the only guy that could make you see stars whenever you finally came. that’s how he knew he was good enough for you.

“kaiser, kaiser! i’m gonna cum!” you cried, tears forming at your lash line from how intense the pleasure was.

he clenched his teeth when your cunt spasmed around his dick. you squeezed him so tightly that he hit his orgasm as well. his cum leaked into your walls, filling your womb nicely.

kaiser then flipped you over so you were now laying on your back. sweat trickled down his body and along the blue rose tattoo that covered his neck. “wanna go for round two..? i got a lot more i wanna do to you, baby.” he grinned.

♡ OLIVER AIKU

you started seeing oliver right after your birthday party which was at one of the clubs in your city. your friends surprised you with a fun evening of drinks and dancing. it was what you needed.

your friend caught oliver staring at you the entire night. his dual colored eyes never left your body and the way it swayed on the dance floor to the music that vibrated around the club. he was with two other guys and he didn’t seem to have a single care about what they were talking about. he was solely focused on you and your friends were trying their best to make you talk to him. you denied it a few times because you thought a guy as hot as him was probably looking at someone else, but you were wrong.

after a few drinks, you gained the confidence to walk over to him when he was by himself. he introduced himself and he seemed a little surprised to see that you came over yourself. he almost thought for a moment that he would have to be the one to get up and make a move, but he thought it was hot of you to come to him.

you two both ended up going into one of the back rooms inside of the club. oliver’s cock was bullying your walls and he had your legs over his shoulders. your pussy hugged him perfectly, and he knew damn well he was gonna like you. there was just something so alluring about you that he couldn’t get enough of. you had to be his dream girl because there was no way that you didn’t come to him for a reason.

oliver kissed you sloppily. he tugged on your lower lip with his teeth and smirked when you moaned into the kiss. “fuck.. you like that, angel? look at you.. the pretty birthday girl getting fucked by me..” he grunted while he felt your cunt clench slightly around him.

your arms were snaked around his neck. his back was covered in scratch marks that irritated his skin, but he paid no mind to them. all he could focus on was you. “y-yes! yes! fuck! ‘so good, oliver!” you threw your head back as he kissed at your g-spot.

he toyed with your puffy clit, drawing you closer to your orgasm. hearing his name come from your lips sent him into a focus that he could hardly pull away from. you were so gorgeous. you took him so fucking well. “come on, baby, cum on this dick.. i wanna see it messy.” he cooed, kissing your lips. “be a good girl for me.. yeah?”

you nodded eagerly and your thighs began to tremble when your high finally crashed over you. oliver couldn’t help but groan when your pussy clamped around his cock, milking him of what was left in his balls. his head went backwards when he felt his orgasm hitting him like a truck. he had such a tight grip on your thighs that it surely would leave a mark the next day.

oliver sighed, chuckling at how fucked out you looked compared to an hour ago. “i wanna see you again.. maybe i’ll give you another gift for your birthday.. yeah?” he winked.

♡ SAE ITOSHI

you and sae had been hooking up for several months. the two of you met at a restaurant you were serving at, and he had slipped his number onto the receipt he used to tip you. you were a bit shocked at such an action, but nonetheless was he a hot guy you wanted to know more about.

sae was rich and he was very charming. he would make your cheeks burn whenever he flirted with you, and he got you anything you wanted. there were times you would be randomly surprised with flowers or small chocolates. your roommate thought you had a secret admirer, but you knew full well who was behind that. it was cute and you honestly loved it. sae made you happy and you were very attracted to him.

he suggested hookups because neither of you were sure about serious relationships at that moment. you were fine with that and so was he. sae did so many amazing things to your body. he would drive you crazy. there were even a few instances where you sent him videos and photos of yourself in skimpy lingerie or a nice audio where you’re moaning his name. sae fucking loved it.

sae had been away playing soccer for the past month. he finally returned home and you were so excited to see him. the second he pulled up to your building, you ran out and climbed into his car without a single thought. smelling his familiar cologne and seeing that red hair you loved so much brought back so many memories for you.

eventually, you both went to an empty parking lot and escaped to the backseat of his sleek car. you were sitting on his lap with his cock pumping into you at a quick pace. your tits bounced in his face and his hands squeezed the fat of your ass while you rode his cock. he missed you so fucking much. he hated the idea of jerking off because you weren’t there to make him cum as well. seeing you again was like a breath of fresh air.

“sae..! right there!” your nails dug into the skin of his shoulder blades.

he let go of your nipple with a sudden ‘pop’ sound. he loved hearing your pretty voice call out for him. “yeah..? shit, look at you..” he groaned, watching as your pussy gripped his cock.

you pressed your forehead against his, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. his palm came to cup your cheek, feeling how warm it was. he was so close to getting to his climax. you always made him so weak. there was something in the air whenever you came around, and it was drawing sae in. this was unlike any little “thing” he had before.

his pace rapidly shifted and became very fast. skin slapped against another and your vision went white every time sae reached that button inside of you. “sae! i’m gonna c-cum!” you cried.

sae wrapped his arms around your waist, bouncing you on his cock. “f-fuck.. me too..” he groaned, throwing his head back onto the headrest. he couldn’t help but slam your hips onto his cock to push you deeper into him. you were so cute and perfect.

you inhaled a sharp gasp when that knot in your belly snapped. a creamy white ring circled sae’s cock, making noises come from your dripping cunt. his cock twitched at how much cum came out of him from just that one orgasm. he had to lay back for a moment to catch his breath.

you slumped against his chest, panting. you felt so tired, but you didn’t want to move. “can we stay like this..?” you titled your head to look at him.

he nodded, smiling softly at you. “of course..”

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tpwk-formula1 · 2 months ago

Note

Hi, can I get the following with Max please:

- Gluten free crust

- Red sauce

- Olives

- Peperoni

- Jalapeños

- Chicken

- Roasted peppers

- Ham

- Argula

- Pulled pork

- Beer

- Pepsi

- Root beer

- Dessert

Lee-Lee's Pizzeria Menu

gluten-free enemies to lovers red sauce rough sex olives "Swallow every last bit. NOW!" pepperoni "Be a good girl, and you'll get what you want" jalapenos "Always such a fucking brat" chicken "Awe, you thought I'd let you cum that easy?" roasted peppers "Such a good whore" ham "You're so infuriating. Walking around like you own the place and then come back to my room to get fucked properly" arugula "I love stretching this pussy out" chorizo "God, I love when I fuck the attitude out of you" beer edging pepsi oral kink root beer daddy kink served by Max Verstappen

TW mean max, face fuck, degrading terms, cum swallowing, pussy eating, unprotected set, slight size kink, multiple orgasms, edging, cummin on body

WC 2900+

Y/N POV

"Max they need you in the car now," I shout through the door trying to get Max to get out of his driver's room.

"Leave me alone little Horner," Max says walking past me and brushing shoulders with me quite aggressively. I just roll my eyes at the attitude radiating off of Max.

I just walk in the other direction not wanting to get into it with Max today. I was the daughter of Christian Horner, and Max and I have never gotten along. Even when we were both young teenagers we would still find a way to bicker back and forth. Back when we were younger it would be over stupid things like what type of coffee was better. Now, that we are older and I work for Red Bull Max has taken it upon himself to make sure to make my work life a living hell.

As the race day continues I watch as Checo is excelling on the Baku track while Max is currently fighting to not get overtaken by Lando who started in the back of the grid.

When Lando overtook Max I had to contain my laugh knowing the engineers around me were not enjoying Max's race. I think the race is pretty much a wrap when all of a sudden I watch as Checo and Carlos collide into the way making me cringe as all of Checo's hard work this weekend is down the drain in a matter of seconds.

I brace myself for the shouts that start ringing out in our garage even hearing Ferrari shouting from how loud they had gotten.

When the race finally finished under a VSC I continued watching as Max's starts overtaking Lando and George. I hear Lando start mentioning Max making me smirk a little. I knew he wasn't gonna get into any kind of trouble but it was funny listening in on him getting snitched on.

Once everything starts to calm down from the intense ending of the race I make my way back into the hospitality to pack up my stuff to head back to the hotel and get some rest before my early morning flight tomorrow.

"You're the last person I fucking want to see right now," Max shouts when I walk into one of the conference rooms to gather my laptop and the rest of my belongings I left in here during the race.

"I'm just getting my stuff," I say softly not wanting to get into a screaming match with Max.

"I'm sure you are," Max says rolling his eyes like I had told some lie.

"What are you getting at Max?" I snap at him when I make it to the corner where my bag of stuff is sitting.

"I just think it's ironic you just so happen to always be where I am. It's like you're fucking obsessed with me," Max says while standing up and approaching me, making me start to back up slightly.

When my back hits the wall Max is now standing face to face with me.

"Max, back up," I whisper starting to get a bit scared. Max and I had always gone at it but he had also never once gotten into my face before.

"Come back to my hotel with me. I'm fucking exhausted from fighting off the sexual frustration," Max says making me gasp before laughing slightly.

"you're fucking insane if you think we have sexual tension between us and you need to go to a mental hospital if you thought THAT would work on me," I say before pushing him back and attempting to try and leave.

When Max grabs my wrist I groan knowing he wasn't done with the conversation.

"One night, let me fuck you till the sunrises and then we go back to whatever this is," Max says making me step to him so we are back to being chest to chest.

"No," I simply say trying to turn around again but stop in my tracks when Max shouts again.

"One fucking night," Max shouts. I instantly turn back around pushing at his chest a little making him stumble.

"Max if I go back with you and you don't have me on the edge of cumming within 5 minutes I'm getting up and going back to my room," I tell him sternly.

"I only need 2," Max says cockily making me shake my head before leaving the room.

When I get back to my hotel room I take a quick shower and get partially ready kind of hoping the plans between Max and I weren't just a heated discussion after a bad race.

I'm not even halfway through brushing my teeth when I get a notification on my phone letting me know Max had texted me. When I finished brushing I picked up my phone to see what Max said

"Be here in 10. 342"

I quickly change before stepping out of my room to head for the elevator to head up to Max's room. I feel like I should be having doubts but to be quite frank, I have wanted Max for far longer than I want to admit. He was right there has been sexual tension between us for years but neither one of us trying to admit it.

When I get in front of his hotel room I hesitate before knocking knowing whatever happens tonight will change everything.

"On time, I'm fucking shocked," Max says when he opens the door to let me in.

"Max, what the hell are you on about?" I snap at him not even being able to last 30 seconds without us fighting.

"You're so infuriating. Walking around like you own the place and then come back to my room to get fucked properly" Max says casually making me stop in my tracks and stare at him.

"You're a fucking dick. And don't flatter yourself you have 5 minutes starting now," I say making Max instantly approach me and pull me in for one of the most intense and aggressive makeout sessions I have ever been a part of. I can feel the sparks flying almost instantly. Max picks me up and carries me into the other room where his bed is before he places me on the bed and starts pulling up my shirt making my breath hitch slightly.

When Max has my shirt off he instantly unclips my bra and flings it across the room before pushing me down softly to lie down.

As soon as my back hits the mattress I feel Max's hands making quick work at pulling my pants down leaving me completely bare in less than a minute.

"neuken," Max mumbles making me lift my head slightly. I've known Max long enough to have picked up on some of his Dutch.

"What," I snap worried that something was wrong.

"God the prettiest pussy," Max mumbles before diving right in and pulling my clit into his mouth and instantly sucking it making me arch my back and throw my head back.

"Fuck, Max," I whine when I feel his fingers teasing my entrance.

"How are you already this fucking soaked," Max groans into my pussy sending a new set of vibrations to my clit making me whine again.

"You, Max. It's always been you," I groan when I make eye contact with him. I can see the smirk written all over his face.

Max dives back making me whine. When two of his fingers slip into my tight pussy I instantly scream in pleasure feeling my orgasm approach far faster than I wanted.

"You're fucking close already," Max pulls away slightly to making sure to keep finger fucking me making me moan and nod my head.

"Yes, daddy," I moan without thinking making both Max and I stop almost instantly and stare at each other.

"Daddy?" Max questions with a smirk and before I can even say anything he's fucking me with his fingers far faster than he was previously.

"Max I'm gonna fucking cum," I moan out making Max pull his fingers out leaving me on the edge.

"What the fuck," I shout sitting up slightly so I can look Max in the eyes.

"Awe, you thought I'd let you cum that easy?" Max questions with a smirk making me wanna slap his.

"5 minutes are up. I'm leaving," I say while trying to get up but Max is instantly holding me down not letting me move.

"You said I had 5 minutes to bring you to the edge of cumming, I did," Max says with a smirk taking my words far to literal than I would have hoped.

"Max just make me fucking cum," I say getting frustrated, never being good at handling being edged even though it's one of my favorite things.

"No, not until I get my little nickname again," Max says with a smirk making me scoff and shake my head no.

"Well until then I'm gonna enjoy this pussy," Max says before putting his fingers back into my pussy making me gasp before he starts licking my clit bringing all the pleasure flooding back into my body making me moan.

"Fuck, Max so good," I whine. I knew my orgasm was approaching but instead of announcing it, I tried to hide it.

"Always such a fucking brat," Max says when he pulls his fingers out and moves his mouth from my pussy denying my orgasm again.

"Max," I say seriously.

"No, you know what you need to do, and don't be a fucking brat and try to hide it. I know this body far more than you think," Max says sternly before sending a harsh slap on my pussy making me jump slightly.

Max doesn't waste much time to start playing with my pussy again and it doesn't take me long for my orgasm to slowly start approaching again.

"Fuck," I moan feeling myself crawling to the edging and needing to cum.

"Be a good girl, and you'll get what you want," Max says making me whine.

"Please Daddy, let me cum," I finally break down and beg how Max wanted. This had Max speeding up his actions and throwing me over the edge within moments.

"Fuck, Daddy," I scream when he keeps fucking me even after helping me ride through my orgasm.

"God, you scream too good," Max says finally pulling away after torturing me with overstimulation for a few moments.

When I catch my breath I sit up softly getting out of bed before standing in front of Max pulling him in for another kiss and starting to work on undressing him.

When Max is finally undressed I pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed before getting on my knees for him.

"Such a good whore" Max mumbles when he sees me on my knees getting ready to pull him into my mouth.

When I finally get ready to pull Max into my mouth I realize just how big he was. I hesitate slightly not knowing if I would be able to take him all the way into my mouth but decide there is only one way to find out.

When I pull his tip into my mouth I can taste the salty precum he was already leaking making me suck it up getting addicted on the taste.

When I start bobbing my head I realize Max would still have another inch or so left that I wouldn't be able to take into my mouth so I bring one of my hands to jerk off the rest.

"Fuck, your mouth is finally useful," Max says making me groan around his cock and pinch his thigh with my free hand.

When I pull back from Max's cock I feel the my spit trailing from his cock to my lips making the scene all the more erotic.

I take a few deep breaths before getting back to work on Max's cock needed to make him cum.

I could tell Max was getting close faster than I thought he would which had me bobbing my head faster trying to take all of him into my mouth, before Max is pushing my head down making me gag while he starts cumming down my throat.

I can feel some of his cum leak out of my lips from how hard I was gagging around his cock but Max didn't seem to care too much as it make his hips buck trying to ride his orgasm out.

"Swallow every last bit. NOW!" Max demands when he pulls my head from his dick making me swallow instantly.

"You're a messy slut now," Max says with a smirk making me look over to the mirror that was in the room. When I see my face I have tears running down my cheeks, my freshly washed hair was all over the place, all the while my lips were swollen and pink and covered in my spit and Max's cum. He was right I was messy.

Max roughly wipes my lips rubbing my spit and his cum smearing it on my cheek before he is pulling me in for a heated makeout session again.

"I need to feel that pussy around my cock," Max mumbles against my lips making me whine. I nod my head letting him know I wanted it too.

"Fuck me please daddy," I beg.

This has Max hauling me off my knees before being roughly tossed onto the bed where Max is on me within seconds.

We spent several minutes making out and grinding on each other before Max was fully around again and I was soaked.

I feel Max's cock teasing my entrance making me arch my back in anticipation. When he slowly starts pushing in making me whine at the stretch.

"I love stretching this pussy out," Max groans once he was fully filling me up, giving me only a few moments to adjust before he starts slowly rocking his hips making me whine.

"So big," I gasp out when I feel him hit my cervix for the 3rd time in a row. The pain and burn of being stretched was starting to fade and all I could feel was the pure pleasure coursing through my body now.

"I'm not gonna last Daddy," I moan out warning him of the strong orgasm that was currently impending.

"God, I love when I fuck the attitude out of you. Your wrapped around my cock like a fucking slut being all sweet now. If I would have known this would work I would've fucked you years ago," Max groans through clenched teeth making his thrust even harder but keeping the same brutally fast pace.

"I'm gonna cum daddy," I announce just before exploding into my first squirting orgasm making my pleasure fly all over both Max and I. I can hear Max groan but I'm so lost in the pleasure I don't even feel him pull out and start unleashing his load of cum all over my stomach.

"Fuck," Max shouts which finally brings me back enough making me realize I was now covered in cum, but I was far too blissed out to care.

Max only took a couple of seconds before he got up and threw on a pair of boxers. I knew if I tried to stand right now my legs would give out on me but I didn't want to overstay my welcome so I slowly start pulling myself out of bed feeling Max's cum start sliding down my body making me cringe slightly at the thought of putting my clothes on top of it.

"What are you doing," Max says while holding a rag and watching me attempt to get up.

"I figured you wanted me to leave," I tell him softly while still pulling myself together before standing up. But before my feet can even touch the ground Max is on me.

"Lay down," Max says softly showing me a completely new side of him. He starts with wiping my face down making sure to clean all of the spit and cum off of it before wiping my tummy clean of his cum before throwing the rag somewhere in the room and crawling into bed next to me.

"I might be a dick, but I would not let you stumble back to your hotel room covered in my cum like that," Max tells me softly pulling me into his chest so I can rest my head on him.

"Where do we go from here," I ask softly.

"I think we should start with being nicer to each other and maybe admitting there's always been more," Max replies making me nod my head.

"I know we did it backward but I don't want to rush anything," I tell him softly. He just nodded in agreement before pulling me in a little tighter.

" We don't rush anything but I want to be exclusive," Max says firmly.

"I can do that," I reply making him not his head.

"Fly home with me tomorrow," Max says randomly making me laugh a little.

"What happened to not rushing," I joke but nod my head in agreement knowing I definitely do want to fly with him. Even if it means exposing ourselves to a few of his grid friends.

It didn't take long for sleep to take over my body and right before I was fully asleep I felt Max place a soft kiss on the top of my head mumbling a soft I love you.

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crypticminx · 11 months ago

Text

Telling Felix Catton you’re pregnant <333

Felix Catton (Saltburn) x fem! Reader headcanons xo

AN: hiiii these are some headcanons I made :p im too lazy to proofread Dx if you enjoy lmk if you want part 2! Blink twice and you’ll miss the smut xx

- first of all, your relationship started out as a one night stand situation because for the love of God Felix cannot keep a woman or anyone around for more than a few months—weeks even.

- You, however, were a different situation. He saw other people, you saw other people, but the two of you always kept each other locked in the back of both of your heads. Wether you needed him as a very exciting stress reliever or he needed you to release any ounce of frustration he had, the two of you were just a simple phone call away. And not just drunk booty calls.

- The feeling of his broad shoulders pressed against your frame as he would effortlessly lift you up and pin you to the wall, whispering sweet melodies into your ears as he thrusted with all of his might to make you feel good—no, more than good. He’d never admit it, but for a girl like you, he’d give you everything, even if meant he’d have nothing. “Such a good girl,” he’d purr, feeling you melt under the sound—and for a better word, control of his asserting voice

- The two of you lovebirds were loud, extremely noisy and often torturous for the other students near your dorm, who were either trying to cram for exams or focus on non-sexual activities. You would moan without a care in the world and especially when you felt him release his seed in you for the first time, which you could only assume wasn’t planned nor talked about between the two of you. It felt too sweet, and so pure with how he breathlessly smiled at your sweaty, blushing face after the deed was done. Said smile being enough to make you fall into his little trap and roll back over into another intense round of sex

- With Felix, it was like walking on a dream that never seemed to end. You could be careless, indiscreet and whatever the hell you wanted to be. he provided you with a sense of being free from the real world and wholeheartedly invited you deep into the unrealistic life of Felix Catton.

- That dream, the very one that appeared to be endless, came crashing down. What ruined it? Two little pink lines.

- With an eyebrow piercing that adults despised, a stunning model-like body, and a reputation for tossing girls around like they were paper planes; Felix was fuck buddy material, not father material.

- Sure, he has enough money to knock you up ten times and make sure every child would be provided for, but you were you. Yes, you came from wealth but not the type of catton wealth that would probably leave a child with a ridiculously expensive live-in nanny as if it was nothing. Knowing how your parents felt, there was no way in hell they would be supportive and even just the simple thought of them meeting Felix made you cringe to the point of triggering your morning sickness again.

- You would avoid Felix like the plague you read about in your boring history textbooks and on the rare occurrence you ran into him heading out on his bike or going for a well deserved drink, you would bolt as if you had to run for your life. Facing him was just the beginning of your problems

- So when you finally mustered the courage to tell him and unfortunately for you, it had to be at the university’s sleazy lounge pub, Felix was there in all his glory and sat in his usual spot. Farleigh seemed more interested in drinking than caring about what was being said, a group of girls were scattered around the boys and obnoxiously fake laughed at whatever Felix said, and there was that new guy whose name you couldn’t remember to save your life. Oliver? You thought it was, but that clearly didn’t matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was you and Felix.

- Felix nearly chokes on his drink seeing you walk towards him, your head down and your tail between your legs. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

- You ask him to talk immediately, ignoring how content he looks. How his solemn eyes instantly sparked with life again and his bored expression turned into a relish of happiness. He was thrilled.

- “I’m pregnant.”

- He stares blankly at you, seeing you tear up as if you just admitted something horrible

- A baby? And a baby with you? Nothing about that was horrible. In fact, he often pictured a future with you, even if it seemed insane.

- i he’s not angry. In fact his thick brows soften and somehow in the midst of all the chaos of noise surrounding the two of you, his words are very clear.

- “I’m glad it’s with you.”

#jacob elordi #saltburn #felix catton smut #felix catton #felix catton x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #saltburn 2023

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carmenberzattosgf · 5 months ago

Note

I had a dream last night (I lie I was lazily taking an afternoon nap, but Anywhore it was a dream nonetheless) but I was at some fancy pants hotel in Chicago and our man was there. Maybe dream Carmy is a bit more confident then IRL Carmy but I kept telling him he was too big and it wasn’t gonna fit and he just kept praising me and when he finally got it all in he was like “good girl, see? I told you you could do it princess, I’m so proud of you” and him saying he was proud with such a sweet smile and that softness to his voice excited me so much I woke up.

You can take me to horny / cringe jail or ignore this but your smut is the best smut so I had to take this idea to you i love you dirty olive martini!

CAPRI— … content warning: dword 🚶‍♀️(it’s only two times. I’m sorry the demons won)

Carmy’s such a fucking tease when he wants to be one. He knows he’s big, but the way you talk about his size gives him such an ego boost, to the point he gets smug about it.

Your relationship with Carmy is still very new, so you’ve only taken him a handful of times. Currently, Carmen rests on his knees in front of you on the bed, stroking his hard cock. He’s already made you cum once tonight with his mouth. After a moment of staring at your dripping cunt, Carmy breaks the silence.

“You ready, baby?”

“Carm—I don’t—I don’t think it’ll fit.” He chuckles at your words, unable to hide the smirk on his face.

“You’ve taken it before—took my cock so well last time, princess. You’re a big girl, yeah? You can handle it again. Wanna let me try?”

You nod your head. “Just—just go slow, please.”

“ ‘Course, baby. I’ll take care of you, promise.” He presses into you unhurried, letting the head of his cock sink into you. Your breathing picks up; the stretch makes you fist the bedsheets beneath your hands.

“C-Carm—“ you whimper.

“Shh—I know, baby.” His eyes shift from your core to one of your hands. Your grip is knuckle white around the sheets. “You can take it, princess. Wanna hold daddy’s hand?” He holds back a groan when he feels you pulse around him.

“Please–“ You reach out your hand towards him, and he wastes no time to interlock his fingers with yours.

“There we go. Just keep squeezing my hand, yeah? Already doing so well.”

Carmy kisses all over your face and neck as he thrusts all of the way into you. He still takes it slow, checking in every time he sinks further into you. He murmurs words of praise the entire time.

“Shit—pussy’s stretching around me so perfect. S��good baby. So fucking good.”

“I got you, sweetheart. I’m already half way—taking it so well for me.”

“So pretty. Fuck—so beautiful. You look like a fucking angel wrapped around me like this.”

You gasp, squeezing Carmy’s hand tight when he finally bottoms out. “So—so full Carm. Feels so full—“

“So proud of you, baby. Such a good girl for daddy.” Carmy smiles down at you and your watery eyes. His jaw drops open as he grinds into you carefully, still testing the waters. “Shit, baby,” Carmy groans. His eyes fall to your cunt, watching his cock go in and out slowly. You’ve already soaked him.

He can’t help himself, and lets his free hand drift to between your thighs. With his thumb, he spreads your folds to get a better look at how wide your stretched out for him. “Fucking hell—I’m gonna—shit—gonna buy one of those big mirrors. You’ve gotta see how well you take my cock for yourself. So beautiful for me. Swear this cunt is made for me.”

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #the bear #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fanfiction #carmy smut #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto smut #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto imagine #carmy x reader #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy bear #carmy x you #brain rot

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stararch4ngelqueen · 1 year ago

Note

For the Jason drabbles, what about Jason conforting/taking care of reader while they are sick or even on their period?

We love a supportive man. What he receives he gives back tenfold.

“Show me where, baby.”

His hand roamed along your lower abdomen, imagining the soreness in your tense muscles. The spikes of pain that riddled you bedridden during your most heavy days.

“Here?” He applies pressure, fingers rubbing circles down just under your stomach, along the spot near your hip bone.

“Oww, yes,” you whine, wincing from the pain before being soothed by his massage.

Jason knew what periods were. He knew it’s a natural thing women dealt with. He’s worked with women for years, alongside doing his own research on it during one time you hadn’t left your bed for a while, thinking you were sick at first. It was an.. interesting conversation with Babs over what more he could do to help that the internet didn’t tell him about those relentlessly heavy cycles.

Pain like this took a lot longer to be rid of than a heating pad would allow. Especially the good quality ones with different settings.

Or, if you want something different, something fun that he wouldn’t mind shoving into the microwave for a minute, he’d get you a heatable, plush teddy bear. Or a duck. Or a menstruation crustacean.

He had no idea what the hell that was until you showed him on the site. You received whatever you chose in a box nearly three days later from Prime shipping.

Don’t freak out about blood. Accidents happen. If you got some on the sheets, along his lap when he held you, or on the couch, he could’ve cared less.

He wouldn’t even point it out, if you didn’t know. If you did notice it, he’d immediately shush you in an consolation attack, hiding your shameful expression in the crook of his shoulder.

“Shh, baby,” he’d murmur in your ear. “Easy. Nothin’ I haven’t seen before. S’alright, it’s okay.”

With advice from Babs, he cooks a lot more iron rich meals for you a lot more during this time. Usually, it’s been a team effort. You cook, he cleans up, you wash dishes together. Vice versa.

This week, regardless if you suffer from irregular periods, he does it all. He’ll do it even if he was a walking zombie, he doesn’t care.

Jason will not, no matter what you say, let you lift a finger if he knows you’re in pain. He’s an expert of masking his own, he can tell when you do it.

This even goes if you’re not used to being babied, get used to it. You tend to him for weeks at a time in a single month alone, this is his way of saying thank you for it all.

“Bed.” Jason demands, not even having to turn around from his attention on the stove to hear your shuffling to the kitchen.

“But I’m—“

“I brought you a drink,” he replies. A cup of warm raspberry leaf tea sitting on your bedside.

“No, I mean—“

“I know it hurts, but you can’t take anything until after you eat,” Jason peers over his shoulder, seeing his olive green shirt loosely draped over your body. “Go back to bed, Princess.”

“Can I stay here?” You plea, making his shoulders slump with a sigh. Try as he may, your weakened state makes him more pliable to your every request.

Might as well, since you’re already up. Stubborn girl.

“Go sit on the couch,” he sighs, knowing a few comforters were folded up on the cushions. “Get comfortable, an’ stay there. Dinner’s almost done.”

Jason has pills, plenty of them. From plain Tylenol, ibuprofen, to doctor prescribed muscle relaxers, morphine, etc. All thanks to Alfred.

Broken bones or severe, suture required injuries would be the only times Jason felt complied to take them. He knew addiction, watching it first hand and being involved in it at one point himself. He only took them when he absolutely, positively needed it.

For you, if you needed something stronger, he’d give you half of one pill, or a full, single pill at most. No way would you ever fall victim to such a cruel, toxic routine. He’d keep them locked up, for both your safety and his.

After your said hearty, iron rich meal, you remained on the couch snuggled up together like true lovers.

His guilty pleasure during your period of vulnerability was how much you relied on him for comfort. Positions varied, but his most favorite would be your body laying in his lap as he lounged on his reading recliner.

A gray comforter over your shoulders, some fuzzy socks on your feet. The furnace you called your boyfriend leaving you nice and toasty, his hands settling along your hair and back, preparing to soothe and massage when needed.

He adored when you needed him, he loved catering to you. You were his woman, his little nurse turned patient.

This also sort of gave him an excuse to skip out on patrols, but he never voiced the reasons why he’s gotten calls about it. He just didn’t feel like it, refusing the idea of abandoning you late at night, leaving him tense and unfocused on his routine on if you needed something, and he wasn’t there.

The others, with their detective mindsets could figure it out for themselves as to why Jason didn’t show up on a Saturday night. Or a Sunday, and definitely not a Monday.

He had important priorities, after all.

Just him, you; snuggly comfortable and content, and your herbal scented, menstruation crustacean.

#jason todd x y/n #Jason Todd #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #dc jason todd #gotham knights jason todd #jason todd x female!reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd dc

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peachesofteal · 8 months ago

Text

Ghost/Soap/female reader 18+ mdni - dark content Running from Simon at the bar because he’s the scary man who wants to pick his teeth with your finger bones… only to find an angel waiting in the wings.

Your second martini is stronger than the first.

You’re not sure how it’s even possible, considering the contents of a martini is mostly just alcohol, but it stings a little sharper on your first swallow, and you eye the skewer of olives skeptically.

Oh well.

More bang for your buck, you suppose. Better to get the job done faster, and cheaper, than the alternative.

The bar is bustling, and you watch it all from the corner you’re tucked into. Coeds from across the city pack like tinned fish against one another, yelling and breathing in each other’s faces, loud laughter and boisterous conversations bouncing off the walls. Cigarette smoke cloys, orange-red ends flickering in the low light of the evening, blazing bright before they’re snuffed out and replaced.

Your phone buzzes with a text, ten minutes late, and surprise is few and far between when you read that your activities for tonight have now evaporated, plans cancelled with a simple six-word sentence.

Sorry, I can’t make it now.

Asshole.

The vodka is stiff on your lips. Your tongue seeks the rim of your glass, flicking at a leftover drop of olive and alcohol, vermouth herbaceous in the back of your mouth.

“Seat taken?” A gruff, rough dipped voice calls over your shoulder, gesturing to one of the only bar stools left in the building, and you answer without looking up.

“All yours.”

“Thanks love.” The pet name straightens your spine, and you sneak a glance, eyeing the bulk settling at your side. “Usin’ that?” He points at the ashtray, thick finger alone in the air, and you shake your head.

He meets your eyes head on as you turn to look at him, curiosity burning a hole in your brain, and good sense has your stomach tightening into a pit.

A five-alarm fire rages, gusts of wind and pockets of brush fueling it’s spread, encouraging it to burn far and wide inside you until it consumes everything in its path.

Danger, it shrieks. Run.

The man’s face is scarred. His nose is crooked. His eyes are dark. He’s a hell baptized image of Ares, a gladiator, a solider. A monster of men.

And he stares at you like he knows you.

It’s unnerving enough to set you adrift, free falling through the possibilities.

It’s danger, but so much more. So much worse. He transcends lethality, strength and bloodlust shining in his expression, a dark beacon lighting the way home. Pine and cigarette smoke, drifting in the stale air.

Just finish your drink and tab out. Leave.

“Out by yourself tonight?” You blink at the croon in his voice, serrated tip of a knife dripping with honey, and answer automatically.

“No.” It’s a lie of course, but you were raised with good self-preservation instincts. You’ve been a girl alone in a bar before, on a train, in an Uber. You know how to tilt the table, load the dice. Pretend you’re with someone, or on the phone, or have someone waiting for you. Lie and pretend. Make it believable.

The flick of a lighter draws your attention, and he extends a fresh smoke towards you. An olive branch. A trick.

“Want one?” You twist your face into the most disgusted mask manageable, and he chuckles. “Suit yourself. I’m Simon, by the way.” Lie. You give him something tugged from thin air, something you’re not going to remember in ten minutes time.

The bartender comes by, and you’re both grateful for the reprieve, and a chance to close out. Until-

“An’ another one of those.” He points at the glass, your eyes going round, cold sweat breaking out across the back of your neck.

“Oh. No, that’s-“

“C’mon. One won’t kill ya.” You should tell him it would, it might. Should get loud. More insistent.

All the rebuttal evaporates when his shoulder shoves against yours, effectively pinning you between the bar top and the wall, heavy thigh bleeding heat against your exposed leg. Your too short dress is now a colossal mistake, and you curse your date for bailing, and yourself for believing he’d even show up in the first place.

The man, Simon, makes a show of looking around, head on a swivel, roving over the crowd before turning back you with a glint. He knows. He knows you’re not here with anyone. “So, who’d you get all pretty for tonight then?” Smoke rolls from his lips, and the lump in the back of your throat is so thick, it tries to choke you.

“My- my date.”

“Where are they?”

“Not here.” You grit each word, glaring. It only earns you another smile, eyes crinkling in the corner, a shark sniffing blood in the water.

“Poor thing. An’ your dress is so nice, too. Little short, but… that’s alright. You didn’t know.” He takes a swig of his drink, neat bourbon, room temperature gasoline, and your mouth dries up.

Didn’t know what?

The subtle alarm bells ringing in the back of your head become nuclear sirens.

The martini sweats on the bar top, leaving a wet ring around the base of the glass. Your stomach sours. “Thank you, for the drink, but-“

“Drink it.” You haven’t looked away from it, you think, know it hasn’t been tampered with… yet the idea of doing something this stranger, this man asks, terrifies you.

“I uh…”

“Don’t wanna be rude, do ya pet?” Fuck. You survey the room, looking for anyone who has noticed you, who has observed this interaction, who has realized what’s happening in this little dark corner.

No one pays you a lick of attention. If they do, they spot the hulking mass of a man at your elbow and avert their eyes immediately. A few glance back in disbelief, like they recognize him somehow, or know him, before pointedly looking away.

You’re all but invisible.

Everything flows around you like water. You’re a rock beneath the surface, affecting a swell, an eddyline, and yet, no one knows. No one can see.

You swallow half the drink in one gulp, hope and prayer on the wind.

He’ll leave you alone, once you bore him. Once he realizes he won’t get anything out of you, he’ll move onto someone else. Someone more interesting.

“How is it?” His leg presses harder on yours, a quadricep like cement halting you effectually, securing your immobility against him with a simple movement.

He’ll pick you clean, and then pick his teeth with your bones.

“Fine.”

“Jus’ fine, eh?” His jaw flexes, and a split second of confusing emotion controls you, forcing new words from your mouth in a desperate attempt to appease.

“It’s… good. It’s good.” Ice layers across the top of it, and you take another sip for the show, half smile painted on loosely.

You have to get out of here. You have to go now.

“If you’ll excuse me…” you flex, trying to stand, but he shakes his head.

“Where you off to?” Your neck snaps back, indignant, and then you raise your voice over the din, too loud to be considered casual, fingers gripping the edge of your seat until your knuckles hurt.

“I have to use the bathroom.” Eyes half lidded, he traces you from head to toe before nodding, turning back to his drink almost as if he’s uninterested, grim line of his mouth twisting into a smile and settling around the end of his cigarette.

Once you’re in the hall, you take a left to the emergency exit, not a right, spilling out the back and into star studded night, gasping for air so cold it shocks your lungs.

“Whoa, hey there.” An accent croons, and you turn in a panic, palms out. “Easy, easy bonnie. What’s got ye all upset?” Your entire body flags with relief, a rip cord pulled against your sense and judgement. The man, the Scottish man, seems friendly, seems kind, wide blue eyes alarmed and worried, brows creased gently as he helps keep you upright.

“S-sorry. Sorry, I just… I just had… the weirdest-“ It doesn’t make sense, to try to explain, and nothing sounds right coming off your tongue, so you flail, and he tries to comfort you.

“Shhh, ye’re alright now. Just breathe.” His palm is firm against your side, and you shake your head, trying to put words to the madness brewing at your back inside the bar.

“There was a man, and he-“ The streetlamps flare, burning as bright as the sun, and you blink, grasping for your bearings. “He…”

“He what, bonnie?” His voice is distorted, and the arm at your side now creeps around your back. “What’s wrong?” Your adrenaline surges, leaving your head throbbing, and nausea claws it way up the back of your throat.

“N-nothing, I…” You’re fuzzy. Everything out of balance, and you gasp for air.

The door behind you creaks open and slams closed, jolting you in the grip of the Scotsman.

“It’s alright.” He coos. You’re weak limbed, malleable in his hold, and he turns your face into his neck, rubbing your back, his chest vibrating with every syllable. “Just close your eyes.” He smells good, woodsmoke and juniper, pine and cigarettes, something familiar enough to prickle, far away awareness digging at the soft sinew in the front of your brain.

Pine and cigarettes. Pine… and cigarettes.

It’s the last thing your rational mind pieces together before you’re lost to the darkness.

#ghoap x reader #not edited so mind the mistakes #peach uses PET for the first time everyone #peaches writes #simon riley x reader #sorry had to get this out of the brain

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m1ckeyb3rry · 2 months ago

Text

Series Synopsis: A series of (mostly) unrelated one shots, featuring Oliver Aiku somehow getting involved with the love lives of various Blue Lock characters — whether he wants to or not.

Chapter Synopsis: Oliver Aiku isn’t sure which entity he’s wronged to earn this kind of treatment, but somehow, in the days before the match against Blue Lock, he’s stuck watching over the team’s newest addition: Sae Itoshi, a rude midfielder who’d rather be in Spain (or in hell) than hanging out with him. Things get a little more complicated, though, when a cup of shitty coffee leads to a crush and Aiku is forced to intervene.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Sae x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 7.9k

Content Warnings: crack fic, sae my awkward goat, love at first sight, oliver aiku is such a bitch but he’s funny so it’s kind of okay, reader has to work in customer service 😓, this is really dumb please don’t judge my writing off of it, sae is 100% ooc don’t come at me i KNOWWW, split perspectives (it makes sense in the story), sae slander (from aiku), reader is a fan girl but she keeps it 𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖙, reader’s dad has cameos but he’s just chilling tbh

A/N: the people wanted sae’s version to be posted first so uhhh here we are!! LMAO it kind of got a bit long (as usual) but it’s very silly and goofy!! anyways so this is the first entry in “oliver aiku’s guide to getting girls” i hope you all stick around for the rest 🤩‼️

Oliver Aiku likes to think he’s a fairly nice guy. He visits his grandmother every weekend, he rescues kittens from gutters (okay, it only happened once, but he still did it, so it counts), and he’s good enough at being captain of the Japanese U-20s that none of his teammates really hate him, so all in all, he can’t be doing that bad of a job. Yeah, he’s pretty sure he’s a great person, a stand-up fellow, an upstanding member of society — so why the fuck is Sae Itoshi glaring at him like that?

“What?” he says, because it was fine for the first, say, twenty minutes or so, but now it’s gone from annoying to just plain concerning. “Something going on with you?”

Sae stares at him for a moment longer, and Aiku wonders if he’s trying to communicate via telepathy. That’s a skill he’s never picked up, though, so he can only wait for Sae to speak up, which, thankfully, he eventually does.

“This coffee is shit,” he says. The way he speaks is dull and blank, his lips pinched together and his brows low over his eyes. It’s kind of a shame, in Aiku’s highly professional opinion. He’d be handsome if he smiled more; or, if not handsome, at least approachable enough to not scare away every single girl that dared to even glance at him.

“It’s not my fault,” Aiku says. “Take it up with the barista or something.”

“You’re the one who brought me here, so it is your fault,” Sae says. Aiku crosses his arms, because isn’t Sae younger than him? This feels like a level of disrespect he shouldn’t tolerate, prodigy or not.

“Nuh-uh,” he says. In hindsight, it’s not the most mature response he could’ve come up with, and Sae seems to agree, snorting derisively before using a napkin to dab at a drip of coffee running down the side of his cup.

“What a captain,” he says with a sigh. “No wonder you guys need me to play for you against those Blue Lock idiots.”

Aiku should be offended, he really should be — and he is! He is, and he’s just about to muster up some scathing retort that’ll definitely leave Sae Itoshi trembling, but then Sae’s standing up with purpose, so now he’s just intrigued instead of insulted. He follows after him as Sae holds the coffee in one hand and marches towards the counter, and when he realizes what’s about to happen, he preemptively cringes.

“Don’t yell at service workers!” Aiku says. It would’ve been heroic if he had said it loud enough for Sae to hear him, but unfortunately, it’s more of a whisper than the brave shout he had intended for it to be, so he just looks kind of stupid, as if he regularly talks to himself or something.

“Hey,” Sae says to the boy at the counter. He’s young, probably no more than fifteen or sixteen, and Aiku prays that he’s not the target of Sae’s ire. “Who made this?”

The boy squints at Sae’s cup, reading the receipt, and then he smiles innocently. “That was Y/N. Did you want to talk to her?”

“Yes,” Sae says bluntly. Aiku is about to thank whichever deity was watching over him and that boy alike, but he pauses when the rest of the kid’s statement registers. Her? Her? Is Sae seriously about to yell at a girl for making bad coffee? If she’s hot, he’ll kill Sae, no doubt about it. “And tell her to make it quick. We don’t have all day, and she’s already wasted enough of our time.”

Yeah, he’s definitely going to kill him.

“Y/N,” a voice whispers. You’re untying your apron — your shift is just about over, and you’re ready to clock out, but for some reason your young coworker is peering into the kitchen nervously and gesturing for you to come with him. Normally, you’d tell him to handle things himself, but he’s new, so you decide to be responsible for once and follow after him, muttering curses to yourself as you retie your apron.

“What’s the matter? Did you spill something?” you say. He shakes his head, raising his hand and pointing at the counter, where two customers are waiting. You frown, because you’re pretty sure you already gave them their drinks, so there’s no reason for them to be standing there, unless maybe they want to reorder. “Wait. Did you call me to take their order? No way! My shift is over in thirty seconds!”

“No, no, I didn’t,” your coworker says. “They want to talk to you.”

“Me? Like me, specifically?” you say. He nods.

“Yeah, they asked for you by name and everything,” he says earnestly. “I think they’re mad, though.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, because the last thing you want to do is deal with a couple of prissy customers, especially not when you’re supposed to be heading home already. However, your coworker seems to be on the verge of tears, and some kind of sisterly affection tugs at your heartstrings, so you pat him on the shoulder and take his spot at the counter.

“Hi, this is Y/N. My coworker told me you needed to see me. How can I help you?” you say. Your voice is chipper and your smile is false, but they don’t need to know that. You’ve been working at the coffee shop for long enough that you’re practiced at pretending, and you know for a fact that your coworker is standing shyly at your side, probably astonished by the quality of your performance.

For a moment, neither man speaks, so you get to stare at them and make your own assumptions about who they are and what their backstories might be. It’s kind of like a hobby, a pastime for when things are slow or you’re generally annoyed about your job. You’ve developed it over the years, and luckily, these two are prime candidates for the game.

The one on the left is tall and broad, with dark hair and mysterious eyes. Curiously, one is a bright green, while the other is a softer violet, and there’s a few-days-old stubble growing on his square face, like a shadow running along his jaw. It gives him a rough appearance, like he owns a motorcycle and frequently wears leather jackets, but you want to believe that he’s gentle at heart. Maybe he has a fondness for baby animals or he likes to bake cookies or something along those lines.

The one on the right is shorter than his counterpart, and his hair is red like a sunset, pushed carelessly out of his haughty face. He’s wearing a sweater that matches his eyes, though the teal of the knitted fabric is much more muted, and you’re about to come up with some kind of fantastical explanation for who he might be when you realize that you know him.

He clears his throat, and you scramble to stand up straighter, internally screaming, because what are the odds that you’ve somehow managed to piss off the star player of your favorite soccer club’s youth team? You wonder what your father will think of you now. You wonder what you think of yourself now. What should you do? Should you tell him you recognize him? Ask for an autograph? Or should you play it cool and pretend like you don’t know him? What if he yells at you?

Actually, you wouldn’t mind it as much as normally do. When everyday customers start screaming at you for some perceived wrong that you’ve supposedly committed, you typically tune them out, and then you make fun of them with your coworkers in the back, but if it’s Sae Itoshi…well. you’ll certainly listen to every word he says, and when you return to the kitchen, you’ll write them down somewhere so you can remember the moment forever.

“He didn’t like his drink,” he says, pointing at the dark haired man.

“What?” the man shrieks. The pitch is higher than you would’ve expected from someone of his size, but it appears he realizes that, too, because then he’s coughing. “I mean, what? What are you talking about?”

“You were just complaining, Aiku,” Sae says. “You even made me come up here and get mad at this girl for you.”

The other man, who you guess is named Aiku, is turning a strange shade between magenta and beet-red, and you’re surprised there isn’t steam coming out of his ears. Given that you don’t really care about him that much, you’re instantly irritated again, because why would it matter if he didn’t like his drink? Still, you have to keep up appearances.

“My apologies, sir. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” you say.

“No!” Aiku says. “No, it’s — hey, Sae, you were the one who was all upset, so why are you putting it on me?”

“Hm?” Sae says, obviously uninterested in the conversation already. “I dunno. Maybe it happened like that, or maybe not.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, more than a little bewildered. “Ah, I’m new here, so I’m still learning.”

Aiku, who has returned to a more normal and human color, smiles at you kindly, and he’s about to respond, ostensibly to reassure you, but then your damned coworker pipes up: “No, she’s not.”

“Ah, sorry?” Aiku says.

“She’s not new,” your coworker says again.

“‘New’ is a subjective term,” you say mechanically, wishing that it was acceptable for you to turn around and hit him in public whenever you wanted.

“I don’t think anyone would consider you to be new when you’ve been working here for three years,” your coworker says. You can imagine the innocent, guileless expression on his face right now. You want to do something violent to it.

“Ha, ha,” you say. You think your eye might twitch, too, but if Aiku or Sae notice, then neither of them point it out. “What a knowledgeable fellow we have back here.”

“It’s alright,” Aiku says. “I didn’t mind the drink. Sae’s the one who threw a fit about it.”

“I liked it,” Sae says stubbornly. “It was fine.”

You step in before Aiku can turn magenta again, because that’s probably unhealthy for him, and you don’t want to be held liable for a customer dying on your watch when you’re not even being paid for it.

“Anyways, is that all? I’m actually done with my shift, so if you guys don’t need anything else…” you trail off, though inside you’re screaming something along the lines of Sae Itoshi, please notice me and give me your autograph and oh, if you could fall in love with me, too, that would be amazing!

Of course, you can’t verbalize anything like that, so you just smile and wave until the door slams shut behind them. Then you’re yanking your apron off and balling it up before chucking it at your coworker’s face. It hits him in the nose and slides to the ground; he gives you an offended look before picking it up.

“You’re lucky it was only an apron,” you say. “You owe me big time, you little shit.”

“Huh?” he says.

“I won’t forget this!” you warn him, stomping towards the small locker room, where your precious phone is waiting for you. “You’re a major-league jerk, okay? Don’t ever ask me to cover another shift for you again!”

“Huh?”

“What the hell was that?” Aiku snaps as soon as they’ve left the cafe, because this is totally not what he was expecting when his coach told him that he had to treat Sae nicely and make him feel welcome.

“What was what?” Sae says. He’s sipping on his coffee sedately now, even though he was complaining about it only minutes earlier.

“Since when was I the one who was upset about my coffee?” Aiku says.

“I have a bad memory,” Sae deadpans. “I guess it could’ve been either of us.”

“That was not believable in the slightest,” Aiku feels the need to inform him. Judging by Sae’s expression, it wasn’t meant to be believable, though, and Aiku sighs. “Seriously, what’s your deal? You were just going crazy and glaring at me because you thought the coffee sucked, and now you think it’s good?”

“I should’ve waited for it to cool,” Sae says. “It’s better now. I was being hasty.”

“Uh-huh,” Aiku says. “Sure. Let’s do something else tomorrow. I don’t ever want to go back there. I don’t think I can face that girl again. She was so hot, too, and now she probably thinks I’m some ungrateful asshole…”

“I want to go back,” Sae says immediately, throwing the now-empty cup into the nearest trash can. Aiku furrows his brow at him, trying to puzzle out this latest contradiction and finding himself utterly unable to. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Aiku repeats dubiously. Tomorrow he has practice, and technically so does Sae. However, they both know that Sae doesn’t need anything as ridiculous as practice in order to win against a team of eleven high-school forwards, and he’s fairly confident that his coach will tell him to accompany the bratty Itoshi instead of showing up, since the JFU is pulling out all of the stops if it means getting Sae to stay in Japan for good.

“Tomorrow,” Sae reaffirms.

I’m a nice guy, Aiku tries to remind himself. This is what nice guys do. I’m boosting team morale. Yeah. That’s all. Captain’s duties.

Still, as he chases after Sae, who apparently doesn’t know what the word ‘stroll’ means and prefers to do everything at a brisk pace more akin to a jog, he thinks that this entire ridiculous assignment feels more like a babysitter’s duties than anything.

“Are you serious?” your father says. In the background, the TV is playing a game between Re Al and Barcha, which is rather fitting.

“Deadly,” you say, untying the laces of your sneakers and putting them with the rest of your shoes. “It was actually him.”

“Sae Itoshi,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s back from Spain?”

“Seems like it,” you say, though now that he mentions it, you’re as confused as he is. Why is Sae Itoshi here instead of Madrid? You glance at the TV — Barcha has just scored, and the cameras are sweeping through the crowds, showing the excited fans cheering — and wonder if maybe he was fired or something. You doubt that that’s what happened; after all, he’s a consistent player, and the last time he was in a match, he even managed to outmaneuver that freaky striker who plays for Bastard München, so it would make zero sense for Re Al to let him go. Besides, even if they did, you’re sure there’s dozens of clubs that would be willing to take him, so there must be another reason for his presence in Japan.

“Huh,” your father says. “Well. Good for him.”

“I guess so,” you say. “If I ever see him again, I’ll ask him what he’s doing in town.”

Your father chuckles, taking a sip of his beer and giving you a thumbs up. “Yeah, you do that. Let me know what he says.”

You laugh, too, sitting down at the counter and eating a plate of reheated leftovers, because you know as well as your father that the idea of you ever seeing Sae Itoshi again is more than a little far-fetched. But it’s a nice thought, and anyways the chances are never zero, so for the moment, you allow yourself to imagine.

Aiku is seriously questioning if Sae Itoshi was sent to this earth — or at least to this country — as some kind of punishment for him. He’s not really sure what’s done that would invite such cosmic retribution, but maybe it’s one of those…what did that girl call them? Karmic debts? She had said something about the sins of his past life and all, though he can’t recall the specifics.

Wait. That’s wrong. He just never learnt them in the first place, so how could he remember them in the first place? He had broken up with her before she could explain her theories to him. This prompts a wince from him, which is further fueled by the way his t-shirt sticks to his back with sweat. It’s a distinctively uncomfortable feeling, and he’s contemplating complaining, even though it probably won’t do much.

“Shut up,” Sae says.

“I didn’t say anything!” Aiku protests, more than a little spooked, since he actually had been about to say something before Sae had cut him off.

“I can see you making faces at me,” Sae says. Considering Sae is walking ahead of him and to the side, Aiku’s not quite sure how he could tell anything about what sorts of faces Aiku is making, but unfortunately, he’s uncannily correct as always, so Aiku schools his expression into a smooth, neutral one that won’t beget reprimand from his companion.

“I can’t believe you insisted on going here straight after practice,” he says.

“This is the same time we went yesterday,” Sae says. He’s kind of an insufferable smart-ass, Aiku thinks to himself, though he’d never say as much to Sae’s face. After all, unlike his counterpart, he’s considerate like that, and he always has been.

“So? We didn’t have practice yesterday,” Aiku says. “You couldn’t even let me shower?”

“You take forever in the showers,” Sae says. This is rich, for Sae is notoriously obsessive with his skincare, and of the entire team, he takes far and away the longest to get ready. But, then again, Aiku supposes that idiocy is one of those illnesses which spreads further and further until all of one’s perspectives are tainted with the virus.

“I could’ve been quick,” he says. “It would’ve been better if I could’ve at least rinsed off so I didn’t look so gross. I want to impress that Y/N girl if she’s there again today.”

“You’re not her type,” Sae says dismissively. “So why bother?”

“How do you know? Are the two of you childhood buddies or something?” Aiku says. Sae glances at him, and of course he’s way too holier-than-thou to properly sneer, but the corners of his lips turn downwards to the same effect.

“Not too hard to figure out,” he says.

“Well, hold on just a moment! I got the vibe that she was totally into me yesterday!” Aiku says. He actually did not get any such vibes from the barista; the only thing she seemed into was clocking out, but he’s Oliver Aiku. If he can’t get a girl, he can’t do anything. Besides, it’s not like Sae would be able to tell one way or another — Aiku and his teammate Sendou have a theory that Sae was created in a lab as some kind of experiment to make the world’s best midfielder, because the guy really doesn’t have any knowledge or concern for anything that’s unrelated to soccer.

True to form, Sae blinks unsurely. “Really?”

“Yeah, one hundred percent,” Aiku boasts, although then he’s narrowing his eyes, because such a question is so out of Sae’s character that for a moment, he wonders if there’s been a mistake and he’s actually taken some other team member of his along for this ridiculous errand.

Messy red hair. Teal eyes. Forehead creased with a frown. No, it’s definitely Sae Itoshi, that’s for sure. Just Sae Itoshi in a mood that he’s never seen before. If they were a little closer, he’d ask him what’s the big deal now, but as it is, the question would probably go unappreciated.

“Hm,” Sae says. “Whatever. We’ll see.”

“Sure,” Aiku says slowly, reaching out to hold open the door of the cafe so he can enter behind Sae, since his lovely, amazing, wonderful, kindhearted teammate so generously left it to slam shut in his face.

What a total dick. He makes a mental note to ask the JFU for a raise, because whatever they’re giving him at the moment is definitely not enough.

“They’re back again!” your coworker says. You’re still mad at him for yesterday, so you’ve been giving him the silent treatment the entire shift. It hasn’t gone unnoticed, but his pitiful attempts at reconciliation never include an apology, so you haven’t budged yet.

He waits for you to respond, but you’re pretty sure he’s making stuff up to get you to pay attention to him, and anyways they could be in reference to anyone, so you continue to pour milk into a cup, acting like it’s an all-consuming task which you cannot possibly complete without the utmost of concentration.

“I’m being serious! Y/N, it’s Sae Itoshi and, uh, that other dude!” he says. Your hand wobbles for the briefest moment, but you conclude that he’s most likely lying, so you steady yourself and continue pouring the milk. “Fine, be that way! I’ll serve them myself!”

You can’t even say something snarky in response, because that’ll still be a win on his part, so you huff particularly loudly to no one in particular and leave it at that.

A few minutes later, he’s back, looking so contrite that if you weren’t upset with him, you’d actually be worried. Unfortunately, you very much are upset with him, so you find it on the whole to be rather hilarious and have to suppress a laugh.

He must take your amusement as a signal to talk, because he speaks eagerly and quickly, stumbling over his words and clasping his hands together in front of him.

“Y/N, Y/N, they’re insisting on seeing you, I told them you’re working right now — I’m sorry, I’m not supposed to do that, right? But I did, and now they really want to see you!” he says.

You’re still not entirely convinced, but if this is an act, then it’s a dedicated one, and you don’t think that he possesses that much dedication in all of his body, so maybe he’s actually telling the truth.

“Fine,” you say. “But if you’re lying, I swear I’m telling our manager to fire you.”

“I’m not!” he squeaks, darting back to the counter, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits for you to catch up to him.

When you reach the front, you’re surprised to see that it is in fact Sae Itoshi and…whoever that other guy is. Aiku? Yes, that sounds right. It’s Sae and Aiku, and one looks supremely inconvenienced — this would be Sae, of course — while his friend is running a hand through his sweaty hair, flashing you a grin.

You smile back at him, because that’s what you’re trained to do, and you don’t want your coworker to tattle to your manager that you’re not abiding by the cafe’s standards of customer service. Then you stare at them until one of them starts speaking, because that’s what your entire job is, and no matter how badly you want to start gushing to Sae Itoshi about how big of a fan you are, you have to remain professional.

“Is there anything I can do for you two?” you finally say. This prompts Aiku to nod, nudging Sae in the side, which earns him a dark glare.

“I want the number two, and he’ll take the number five,” Aiku says when Sae does not speak up. You want to tell him that nobody orders like that, but you’re not supposed to and it’s really not that big of a deal either way, so you just ring up the order.

“Sounds good. Would you like to pay with cash or credit?” you say.

“Credit,” Sae says, pulling out a card that probably has a monthly spending limit higher than what you make in a year. “And we’re splitting the bill, just so you know.”

What you want to say is Wow, Sae, you’re somehow even cooler in real-life! Who’s your favorite soccer player? What’s your favorite food? Do you like Spain better, or here? What you actually say is: “No problem. I’ll have those right out for you.”

“Thanks,” Aiku says. He’s kind of charming, in a sense; you can think of several friends you have that would probably swoon at the way his smile stretches across his face, but you don’t really see the appeal. Or, maybe you would normally, but at the moment, he’s standing next to Sae Itoshi, so it’s a little hard to focus on him at all.

“Yeah,” Sae says. “Thank you. Y/N.”

He’s probably just reading off of your name tag in an effort to seem more friendly and relatable and humble and all. It’s a classic PR move that he was probably taught as soon as he joined Re Al. You know about it, though, so it shouldn’t work on you. It won’t work on you. He’s just doing what he’s trained to, the same as you are.

It works on you. You run to the back and hide your face in your hands and squeal, because Sae fucking Itoshi just said your name.

“Holy fucking shit,” Aiku says.

“Are we just listing curse words now?” Sae says dryly. “Bitch, cunt, hell. There’s three more for you.”

“You like the barista!” Aiku accuses. If Sae was drinking something, he would’ve spit it out just then, but he’s not, so he just chokes on his saliva.

“No way,” he says.

“Yes, you do! How else can you explain this?” Aiku says, pitching his voice up in an imitation of Sae’s. “Yeah. Thank you. Y/N. Since when do you say thank you to people?”

“Since always? I have manners,” Sae says.

“I’ve never heard you say it,” Aiku says.

“Maybe that’s more telling about you than me,” Sae suggests. Aiku scowls at him.

“You definitely like her,” he says. “No judgment here, man. She’s pretty.”

“Whatever,” Sae says. “Even if I did like her — mind you, I don’t — she’s clearly into you.”

“Me?” Aiku says. “I was just messing with you earlier, you know. Anyways, yeah, I think she’s hot, but, like, you’ve never liked a girl before, right? So I wouldn’t get in the way of that. This is a big step.”

“You’re not getting in the way of anything. Do what you want,” Sae says.

Aiku’s already pulling out his phone and texting Sendou: big news. Lab experiment just evolved. Feels attraction and jealousy now.

“Uh-huh,” he responds absentmindedly. Sendou texts back with about fifty mind-blown emojis, and he snickers to himself, liking the message.

“Anyways, who told you I’ve never liked anyone before?” Sae says defensively. Aiku just about drops his phone, leaning forwards in interest. Could it be? Are he and Sae actually bonding? Is Sae about to tell him about his first love — who apparently is not this barista?

“I just guessed. Was I wrong?” Aiku says. He’s already trying to come up with who Sae might’ve liked — a childhood neighbor or friend? A women’s soccer player he admired? A girl he saw once in Spain but never again? Oh, that last one is particularly romantic…he’s just about accepted it as fact when Sae glares at him.

“No,” he says. Aiku’s dreams are shattered in an instant, but he can only shake his head while chuckling, both because Sae has inadvertently admitted that he actually does like that Y/N girl, and because he was an idiot for believing that ‘Sae Itoshi’ and ‘romantic’ could ever belong together in one sentence.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“What do I do?” you say. You and your coworker are back on speaking terms, mostly because you have no one else to talk to and are so desperate that you’re willing to temporarily forgive him.

“Make their drinks?” he says. You give him a dirty look as you begin mixing up their orders.

“Not about that. I’m such a huge fan of Sae’s, and this is the second time I’m making a drink for him. It’s kind of like fate, don’t you think? Should I try to talk to him or something?” you say.

“Do you want to?” your coworker says. It’s a slower time of day, so he has nothing to do but sit and watch you — at least, nothing immediate. There’s certainly things he could be doing, but you’re not about to chide him when you’re the reason he’s slacking off.

“Obviously! But what am I supposed to even say? I’ll sound like a creep if I just start acting like a fan-girl!” you say.

“That’s true,” your coworker says. “You kind of sound like one even now…”

“Ugh, if you’re not going to be helpful, then go organize the storeroom or something!”

“What about her makes you like her?” Aiku presses.

“Are we still on this?” Sae says, as if they’ve been talking about it for hours. “I don’t like her.”

“It’s not like you talked to her for a while…was it really just her looks?” Aiku says. “Damn. Didn’t think you were the shallow type.”

“I am not the shallow type!” Sae says.

“That sounds like something that a shallow person would say,” Aiku teases.

“Shut up,” Sae says. Aiku doesn’t have enough fingers or toes to count how many times Sae’s said that particular phrase to him. Maybe if he counted all of the fingers and all of the toes of every single person in the world, he would get kind of close to what that number might be. “I’m not shallow, I don’t like her, and she’s obviously way more interested in talking to you than me, so get off my back.”

Aiku whistles. “Someone’s jealous.”

“I’m telling the JFU that you were the one who sent me back to Spain,” Sae informs him bluntly. Aiku isn’t sure if that’s a joke or a legitimate threat. It’s hard to tell with Sae sometimes.

“Are you serious?” Aiku says.

“Deadly,” Sae says.

Yep, Aiku decides. He’s serious.

“If only that Aiku dude wasn’t there,” you lament, setting the first drink in the pick-up area and calling out Aiku’s name before returning to finish Sae’s drink. “It’d be way easier to talk to Sae without someone there to judge everything I’m saying.”

“Do you think he’d even care?” your coworker says. You shrug.

“No idea. It’s intimidating to talk to guys around their friends, though. You’re a guy yourself, so you wouldn’t get it,” you say.

“Are they even friends?” your coworker says. “Doesn’t seem like they get along that well.”

In unison, the two of you turn so you can look at the duo, who are sitting at a table right within your line of sight. As your coworker said, they don’t look like they’re friends in the slightest. Aiku is sipping on his drink with a smirk, and Sae looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, doing anything else, than be sitting there with his not-friend.

“The point still stands,” you say.

“Guess so,” your coworker says. Just then, Sae Itoshi happens to glance over, making direct eye contact with you. Your eyebrows raise, and your face warms as you realize you’ve been caught. Aiku turns to follow Sae’s line of sight as you weigh your options. Should you pretend like you weren’t doing anything? Should you wave?

You decide to just smile again before returning to the drink you were supposed to be working on. Your coworker, who saw the entire exchange, cannot stop laughing.

“It’s over for you,” he says. “He definitely thinks you’re a creepy fan-girl now. You can kiss that autograph goodbye.”

“You’re lucky I’m too lazy to remake this drink,” you say. “Because otherwise, I’d spill it on you.”

“That’s against company policy,” he says.

“By accident, of course,” you say with a malicious grin.

“That’s against company policy, too!”

“Look, she just smiled at you. I bet she was looking at you the entire time,” Sae says coolly. “You should ask for her number. You already said you think she’s beautiful.”

“I said she’s hot. I’m not all poetic and shit like that,” Aiku says. “And I wouldn’t do that. It’s against the bro code.”

“We’re not ‘bros’, so you can put that out of your head,” Sae says.

“What if I help you get her number?” Aiku says. Sae tries very hard to maintain his nonchalant look, but Aiku can tell that his curiosity has been piqued. “Will you consider me a bro then? At the minimum, will you tell the JFU that I’ve done a great job at showing you around and making you feel welcome?”

Please please please please please I really need a fucking raise Sae I’m broke please please please —

“Sure,” Sae says.

“Sure?” Aiku says. “Yes! Okay, this will be easy.”

Sae scoffs. “Yeah, okay. If that’s what you think.”

“Believe me,” Aiku says. “You’re in the presence of a master.”

Sae doesn’t even dignify that with a response beyond the most disgusted look Aiku has ever seen on anyone, Sae or not. He’d say something, but he’s pretty sure he deserves it at least a little, and anyways a possible raise is way more important to him than being right, so he keeps his mouth shut, simply giving Sae a double-thumbs-up. He’s going to ace this new assignment, and then maybe he’ll actually be paid what he’s worth instead of pennies on the dime.

You’re about to call out Sae’s name when you realize that for some reason, both Aiku and Sae are standing there and waiting for you. You furrow your brow, because it’s both a menacing and a comical sight — the hulking Aiku, who looks like he’s about to go punch a criminal on television before flipping his hair and telling the ladies that there’s enough of him to go around, and the slender Sae Itoshi, who you can’t imagine doing anything but slamming a winning pass to one of his teammates, invariably leading to a soccer ball in his opponent’s net.

“Uh, hello,” you say.

“Hello,” Aiku says.

“Hi,” Sae says.

“I have your drink,” you say to Sae.

“I know,” he says, taking it from your hand. Of course — why else would they be here? They must’ve seen you finishing up the drink and rightly assumed that it was theirs.

“Right,” you say. Neither of them go to leave, and now you wonder if they just don’t understand social cues or something like that. “Did you guys want to order something else? My coworker would be happy to take you at the counter.”

“No,” Sae says.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Well, I hope you enjoy your drinks.”

“We will,” Sae says with the utmost of confidence. Aiku groans and then thumps him on the back. You have a feeling you probably don’t want to know what the significance of the gesture is, but then you realize that this is probably the only chance you’ll get to have a proper conversation with Sae Itoshi, so you shove your concerns aside.

“Wait! If it doesn’t bother you too much, can I ask you a question?” you say. It’s an incredibly awkward way of going about it, but given how awkward this entire interaction has been, you don’t think it’s a huge deal.

“Go ahead,” Aiku says. You weren’t asking him, but you guess the permission covers them both, so you square your shoulders and face Sae Itoshi, who seems entirely confused that you’re looking at him instead of Aiku. You’re not sure why he would be, since between the two of them he’s the celebrity, but maybe there’s some weird dynamic going on that you’re unaware of.

It doesn’t matter to you, though. You only have one thing to ask. You’ll never cross paths with Sae again, will you? So it’s fine. You can act a little embarrassing, and anyways, you barely make above minimum wage, so if your manager gets too upset and fires you for ‘unprofessional conduct’ or something, it won’t be a huge loss. It’ll be worth it, even, considering this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance and your coworker is busy reorganizing the storeroom like you told him to, so he’s not around to spy on you and report back to your stodgy old manager.

Taking a deep breath, you open your mouth and begin to speak.

Aiku hadn’t dared to even dream of the possibility that the barista might already like Sae, too. Why would she? Sae had just been all weird and rude to her in the couple of times that they had spoken, so all in all she’d have to be somewhat of a masochist, or a Re Al fan (which was essentially the same thing, given the losing streak that Re Al had been on for the last month or so), to be into him. But sometimes miracles did happen and baristas were masochists, because the girl was turning to Sae with shimmering eyes and a hopeful expression and it was all going to go so well—

“What are you even doing in Japan in the first place?”

Did he hear her right? Sae is bewildered as well, but Y/N isn’t acting like she’s just asked the most ridiculous question she could’ve possibly asked. What is Sae doing in Japan? Well, he happens to be a citizen of the nation, so there’s one explanation…Aiku wants to facepalm, because now his plans have been ruined and Sae’s confidence has probably been crushed.

“Pardon?” Sae says. Aiku had told him not to act so cranky and old-man-ish when he approaches the girl, but honestly, at this point, there’s no helping him, so he doesn’t even bother with a correction.

“Why are you in Japan?” she says again, all bright and innocent and cheery. It somehow feels like she’s been faking things so far, and that this is the real her, which she’s been holding back up until this point. Aiku isn’t so sure if that’s a good thing; privately, he believes it would’ve been better if she kept holding back just a little bit longer. Long enough for her to reject Sae — who still claims he’s not into her and is just trying to ‘be friendly’, as if friendliness is something he’s well known for — and then move on with her day.

“My passport expired?” Sae says, phrasing it more like a question. “So I had to come back and get it renewed?”

His voice ticks up at the end of every sentence unsurely. It’s almost cute, like he’s a little baby chick. Aiku’s fond of chicks, so he decides he’ll step in. Just this once.

“He’s visiting from Spain to play for the Japanese U-20 team in an upcoming exhibition match,” he explains.

“Oh, wow,” she says. “But I thought you said you would rather give up on soccer or play with German college kids than ever play soccer for Japan?”

Aiku raises an eyebrow. He wasn’t aware of such sentiments, and though he’s not exactly shocked, he can’t help feeling a bit miffed. When he glances over at Sae, there’s not a trace of remorse on his face, and so he wrinkles his nose.

Forget the raise and the baby-chick-esque mannerisms alike. He’s done helping this ungrateful, no-good, lame-as-hell, girl-repelling loser for free. If Sae wants any further assistance, he’ll have to beg for it.

“How did you know I said that?” Sae says. You clap your hand over your mouth when you realize you’ve exposed yourself.

“I, um, I was just guessing!” you say.

“Guessing?” he repeats. You swear, because that’s actually a worse explanation than the original one, and then you hang your head, because if the cat’s out of the bag, then there’s no way you can put it back in.

“It’s a quote from one of your interviews,” you mumble.

“What?” It’s Aiku, who immediately frowns when he realizes he’s butted in. Sae gives him an odd look out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m a big fan of yours,” you say. “The last game you played in, when you stole the ball from that Bastard München striker, was amazing! To tell you the truth, I’ve been trying to figure out why you’re in the area instead of back in Madrid. It’s a little unbelievable, you see.”

“Ah,” Sae says, and for some reason he looks uncomfortable. “Well. Yeah. It was just the issues with my passport and all. I decided to play for the U-20s because I was offered a good deal, but it’s right back to Madrid for me after that.”

“That makes sense,” you say. It’s awkward again, but in a different way. You don’t know what to say. You don’t think he does either. His drink is probably cold now, and you’re surprised that Aiku’s eyes aren’t stuck in the back of his head, given how frequently he’s been rolling them. “Can I have your autograph?”

“No,” Sae says immediately. You’re a little taken aback, and to be honest, he looks kind of horrified himself, but you know better than to nag, so you only nod at him.

“No worries—” you begin before you’re cut off by a grumbling Aiku.

“He’ll give you his number instead. Here,” Aiku says, listing off a series of digits too rapidly for you to remember. “He’ll write it down, for you, right, Sae?”

And then, to your utter disbelief, Sae Itoshi is pulling out a pen and a piece of paper from who knows where, and he’s humming in agreement.

“Right,” he says, and then he’s handing you a note with his phone number written on it in neat print and his signature in flowing cursive. “You can call me later. If you want. Y/N.”

The way he speaks is stilted and low, but you don’t mind it. Tucking the piece of paper into your apron pocket, you beam at him.

“Alright,” you say. “I’ll call you. I still have more things to ask you, so it’s good that you gave me this.”

“Yes,” Sae says. “Yes, you can do that if you’d like.”

Then he and Aiku are leaving the coffee shop, their drinks in hand, and you’re standing there in awe, wondering if that actually just happened or if it was nothing but a particularly vivid flight of fancy.

If it’s the latter, then you almost hope it’s one you don’t ever escape from.

“You’re welcome,” Aiku says as they leave the cafe.

“I didn’t say thank you, you lukewarm oaf,” Sae says. Aiku shrugs. He’s hard to ruffle, after all. It’s the reason why he stepped in and rescued Sae from that little mistake of his. He just couldn’t bear the thought of his dear junior losing the girl of his dreams because of a slip of his tongue, even if aforementioned junior is the insufferable smart-ass type.

Well, the thought of the money he’ll make if Sae speaks of him highly to the JFU doesn’t hurt, either, but that’s less altruistic, so he prefers to stick to the first explanation.

“I bet you feel it, though,” Aiku says.

“Shut up,” Sae says.

It’s a good thing babies are born every minute. Otherwise, given how frequently Sae says that particular phrase, Aiku really might run out of things to count on.

You’ve typed the number on the piece of paper into your phone, and now you’re staring at it blankly, wondering if you should press the green call button. What if it was a prank? What if it wasn’t? Because then you’ll have to actually talk to Sae Itoshi, and you’re not so sure you can do that.

In a fit of inspiration, you slam your index finger against your screen and hold your phone up to your ear. It rings a couple of times, each subsequent one worsening the pit in your stomach, but then it stops ringing entirely, which can only mean one thing: Sae, if this really is his number, has answered.

“Hello?” you say.

“Hello?” he responds. “Y/N?”

“Yes!” you say. “It’s me. Y/N. Like you said.”

“Cool,” he says. “It’s Sae. Which I guess you knew, since you called me.”

“The confirmation was nice,” you say, internally sighing in relief. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. It’s mannerly but also a little sarcastic, albeit not in a mean way. You don’t mind it much. “You said you had to ask me some things?”

The two of you spend the next few minutes in a setting kind of like an interview, in that you drill him with questions and he answers them all patiently. He’s kind about it, humoring you even though he doesn’t have to, and he never threatens to hang up, which you do appreciate.

“Would you mind if I ask a question, too?” he says when you’ve taken a break to drink some water.

“Go ahead! Although I’m not as interesting as you are,” you say.

“I think you’re probably way more interesting,” he admits. “Anyways. Are you free next weekend?”

“Uh, I think I have a shift on Saturday, but to be honest, my coworker owes me, so he can cover it. Why?” you say.

“The exhibition game that I’m playing with the U-20s for. You should come watch,” he says.

“Oh! Sure, where should I get tickets? I’d have gotten them already if I knew you were playing,” you say.

“I’m allowed to invite someone,” he says. “Friends or family. So I’m inviting you.”

“Don’t you have actual friends that you can invite?” you say before gasping. “Sorry! Sorry, that was super insensitive and rude of me. Of course I’m honored to come, I’m just confused about why I’m the one you’re inviting. Me. I’ve literally made coffee for you twice, and that’s about it.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” he says before pausing. “Um, look, Aiku told me to say this, so if it’s uncomfortable, then blame him…but I think you’re, er, beautiful?”

Your mind short-circuits. “Huh?”

“I don’t know! He’s the one who has experience, I’m just taking his advice!” Sae says, his tone souring immediately afterwards. “Trust me, it’s not like I want to. There’s many things I’d rather do than follow Oliver Aiku’s advice, but at the moment, it’s the best I can do.”

“Beautiful,” you repeat. It’s such an elegant adjective. You’ve been called pretty before, and there’s been a fair share of guys who have considered you to be hot, but beautiful…it’s nice. It’s really nice.

“Yeah,” Sae finally says. “Basically.”

“I’ll be there,” you say. There’s something like a scream bubbling in your throat, but you fight it back, knowing that it’s of the utmost importance that you maintain a relaxed demeanor.

“Great,” Sae says. “See you.”

“See you,” you say, and then you hang up before he can say anything further, because you’re already on the verge of combustion and you don’t think you can handle anything more.

Throwing your phone across the room, you give in and scream. There’s thundering footsteps, and then your father is throwing the door to your bedroom open, whipping his head around wildly.

“Is everything alright? Why are you screaming?” he says, heaving for breath, probably because he just sprinted from his spot on the couch to your bedroom in record time.

“Sae Itoshi!” you say.

“Yes?” he says, the rate of his inhales and exhales lowering as he realizes there’s no active threat to your life or property. “What about him?”

“He told me I’m beautiful and invited me to watch his game next weekend,” you say, knowing that this is going to make your father — a fellow Re Al fan — freak out.

You wait, counting down as he processes the news, unable to contain your exuberant grin, knowing exactly what’s coming. Three, two, one—

“What?”

#sae x reader #sae x y/n #sae x you #itoshi sae #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #modern au #oliver aiku’s guide to getting girls #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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hvbris · 2 years ago

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𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 . 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 regency verse . mutual only

“I shall be worthless if I am unable to find a husband,” sighed Olive. The Voice, of course, had something to say about that (as It had something to say about everything). If she alone could hear It, it didn’t make it any easier to suffer through the endless mockery.

¥ÖÚ ÄRÈ WÖR†HLÈ§§ ñÖ MÄ††ÈR WHÄ†, ÖLÌVÈ

Ah. Well. Olive supposed it was actually comforting, in a way.

#I really wanna do things with her regency verse #so have a little open starter!!!#a possessed lady in the regency era -eye emoji-#open starter #as usual open to all my mutuals <3 #Olive (all the good girls go to hell)

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coryosbaby · 10 months ago

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18+, MDNI !! Oliver Quick x reader x Michael Gavey

♡ Bimbo! Reader letting Oliver and Michael take turns on her

♡ Like ughh. It starts out at a party where the both of them are sulking in a corner. Two losers with no friends and slightly obsessive personalities trying to socialize? No way, no way

♡ Until you come along, all pretty and pink, tits out and underwear peeking out of your skirt. And they’re both drooling as they see you, embarrassed to look at each other because of the obvious hard ons they have

♡ And you’re a little airheaded, but you aren’t dumb, per se— you got into Oxford, for christs sake! — so you notice their wavering glances

♡ Introducing yourself to them, asking if you can sit down. The both of them parting like the red fucking sea to let you take a seat between them on some random frat boy’s stained couch. Your bubbly personality enticing the both of them as you tell them your name and about how you had seen them both around

♡ Going on a rant about how you and them are similar — you have companions, but they aren’t close ones, and you came to this party alone. Besides a few frat boys (with ill intentions), no one really wants to be your friend. Call it stuck up rich kid attitude, or whatever

♡ And they nod along, palming their bulges in their jeans like fucking pervs. Nasty, icky boys

♡ You don’t notice until a few minutes in, and looking down at each side of your thighs and into their laps, you let out a sweet little giggle

♡ Teasing the fuck out of them, all while they’re completely flustered as hell and stuttering out apologies. But you just shrug them off, tell them it’s okay

♡“If you want.. I can help? I’m good with my mouth and… other stuff. At least, that’s what my ex boyfriends said! We can go in a room upstairs, ‘m sure the guy who owns this house won’t mind.”

♡(It’s Felix’s house. He does mind, thank you very much, and is sickened by the sight he sees in his bedroom the next morning)

♡ Oliver and Michael are at loss for words at such a simple offer. Awkwardly nodding their heads, they refuse to aknowledge the other’s existence as you grab their hands and lead them upstairs

♡ When you get into one of the rooms, you shut and lock the door. Your lips find Oliver’s first, because he’s the closest. He kisses you rough, desperate. Not a virgin, but not completely experienced either. Probably a drunken fumble with a girl in high school, nothing more

♡ When you kiss Michael, he’s so soft. Like, insanely soft. Lips and touch alike. His hand finds your cheek and he holds your head in his hands when he does it. It’s sweet. Definitely a virgin

♡ You push them both onto the bed, and your fingers nimbly play with the zipper on your pink top. They both watch in wonder as you pull it down, sliding the shirt off your shoulders. No bra .

♡ Both literally gaping, mouths wide open, as they stare at your tits

♡“They’re nice, right? I think they’re my favorite part about me, honestly.”

♡ And then comes your skirt. Short, so they know the color of your underwear already (bubblegum pink)

♡ They both gape as you slide it down, revealing yourself to them so effortlessly. You tilt your head as you ask them to take their clothes off, too

♡ It’s instant. Buttons are undone as quick as lightening, shirts fly to the floor. Underwear is pushed past their ankles. They don’t even care at this point what the other is doing. The only thing in their focus is you

♡ Sliding your panties down, you step out of them and make your way over to the bed. You get on your hands and knees in front of them, pussy exposed and wet, looking back with a smile

♡ “Which one wants to go first?”

♡ Oliver is the braver one, since he has more experience

♡ His cock brushes up against your entrance, clumsily slipping against you. Michael watches, stroking himself with a shaky breath

♡ Oliver sheathes himself in you in one go, whining at your heat, his hands dig into your hips as he begins to thrust into you

♡ He’s not gentle, really. Not even close. He pounds into you, desperate and only thinking of his own aching dick as he splits you open. Mouth agape, sounds tumble out of your glossed lips as he pounds you into mattress

♡“Mmm, give it to me, give it t’me, just like that.”

♡ You’re moaning like a pornstar, feeling every drag and every ridge of him. His fingertips leave crescent moons in your hips, painting your skin with pretty indents of his infatuation

♡ Michael moves to your side and presses a warm kiss to your mouth. His cock sits big and heavy against his stomach, and you try to reach out and touch it but he slaps your hand away

♡ Is he getting a bit cocky? Maybe. He must be doing something right if he’s getting to screw a girl like you

♡ That’s probably why his big hand curls into your hair and he yanks your head back so he can slip his tongue into the warm confines of your mouth. Spit slick lips collide against sticky red ones, making a smear of divine crimson. Oliver, groaning and pent up, is close. So incredibly, undoubtedly close

♡ With a tiny cry, you try to guide him towards his release

♡“It’s good, yeah? My pussy’s so warm ‘n tight for you, Ollie. Cmon, want you to fill me up, want it so bad..”

♡ He can’t say no to that, spilling inside you with a deep stutter of his hips

♡ Michael watches in excitement.

♡ Absolutely fucking insane for that pussy, I’m telling you !!

♡ Practically throws Oliver out of the way to get at you. Watching the way your little hole gushes creamy white cum, he can’t help but push into it

♡ It’s warm, sticky, wet. It’s the best thing he’s ever felt

♡ Whimpers as he presses all the way in. He’s a little bit bigger than Oliver, and your cunt burns from the stretch

♡ But it’s nothing you can’t handle. Your ten inch dildos can vouch for that

♡ Oh, Michael is needy

♡ Needy, needy, needy

♡ The way he fucks— rutting into you like an animal, while also cooing to you as Oliver presses his thumb against your tongue— makes your vision practically white out

♡ Oliver isn’t a completely selfish boy, of course, and his fingers reach down and rub your clit

♡ It surprises you. Usually they pump and dump. You guess he’s just different because he’s a loser

♡ Michael spears his dick against that spongey spot inside you, and you mewl, fucking back onto him with an avaricious intensity

♡ He doesn’t last as long as Oliver, but that’s okay

♡ He’s a virgin, after all. You wouldn’t expect him to

♡ And ughhh when fills you up :(

♡ It’s so precious, the way he whimpers as he releases inside

♡ Oliver just watches, a smirk on his face

♡ The sick fucking freak is already hard again

♡ Ready to go another round

♡ The minute Michael pulls out, Oliver is behind you and you’re being used again

♡ It’s okay, though. You have all night for the two of them to abuse your little cunt <3 they’re pretty boys, after all. And pretty boys deserve to indulge in sweet, creamy pussy

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi

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cdragons · 10 months ago

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Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 2

Previous Part, Next Part

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. But silver linings exist in the sticky toffee pudding Mrs. Gavey made for you.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Sex, Felix is Felix (a ho), Reader finally eating some good fucking food, Michael is Michael, Farleigh is Farleigh, Oliver is Oliver (a creep), alternating POVs between characters, and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic

Author's Note: BRUH??? HOW DID I GET SO MANY NOTES IN PART 1??? Everyone has been so wonderful and supportive. I received so many questions and comments, which have all been great! Thank you for reading this story, and I hope that this part lives up the first one. Also, this is technically a Christmas fic bc it just fits with the story's timeline. I would like to thank Grammarly for catching all my grammatical errors 🥲, @ethereal-athalia for enabling my crazy ideas 🥰, and @valeskafics for providing me Saltburn smut when I catch myself thirsting 😇

Christmas Eve - Saltburn 2006

“Oh! Oh – y-yes, yes, yes! FUCK!”

Fucking the girl underneath so hard to the point where she likely saw stars. Meanwhile, Felix was trying to finish as soon as possible.

“So big! God, you’re so fucking big – FUCK!”

He brought her to his room and in his bed because he thought her hair just barely matched yours, and if he didn’t think too much about it – her voice sounded a bit like yours too.

But he made a mistake.

The girl – whatever her name was – sounded nothing like you. Her hair was nowhere near as pretty and shiny as yours, and her nails were fucking long and sharp that they were digging for his blood. Her makeup too – fucking hell, it was like she trying out for the opera with how much she caked onto herself.

Every time Felix saw you – whether in the library or under a tree – your nails were trimmed short. And from what he remembered, you didn’t plaster yourself in cheap cosmetics.

No, you never needed to. Your style of choice was simpler and more elegant than most girls he knew, including his sister, Venetia. Granted, he loved his sister to bits and pieces, but the girl loved her spray tan in the winter.

But worst of all – she didn’t have your eyes. Her gaze was too mindless and soft, a mix of adoration and unparalleled lust. Your eyes held vivacious rage and

“Felix?” What’s-Her-Face asked. “You okay?”

Fuck, he was getting soft.

Closing his eyes, Felix knew the only way he would get to finish was to think of you. He thought about the last time he saw you. He remembered how hard the wind blew and how cold it was that night. He felt himself harden at the memory of how alive your eyes were right before and after you broke his nose. His back still had the welts from the blows of your notebook. Every time he saw them in the mirror, he would lovingly stroke each bruise because they were the only evidence that you were real.

That you weren’t just a figment of his imagination.

Letting his mind run wild, Felix imagined you here instead of this imposter. He’d imagine you on top – no way a woman like you would let anyone be on top, not even him. Fuck, you’d be the most wild thing ever to exist, he’s sure he’d let you do anything to him.

His heart, his soul – whether you cared for him or wished to crush him under your shoe – everything of his would be yours.

He wondered if you were the type to be into using a riding crop.

Regaining his vigor with his eyes still closed, he imagined you riding him until oblivion. Your breasts would fit perfectly in his hands as you would still be bouncing on his cock. Your head would be thrown back, and his eyes would roll to the back of his head at the feeling of your pussy tightening.

Oh God, he was going to blow.

Quickening his pace, the girl that wasn’t you was full-on howling in unbridled pleasure. When she climaxed, he could finally let go and come. Ropes of his cum spilled into the condom as he shouted out your name.

Falling to his side, he hadn’t bothered to check if Lady Not You remained in the sheets. It didn’t matter if she did; Felix was too exhausted to care. Finally feeling like he could rest, he fell into a dream about the day he felt his life truly begin – the day he met you.

First Week of Oxford University Michaelmas Term of 2006

Felix remembered the first time he saw you – it was after the first week since the term began. He and his mates were fucking around in Radcliffe, and the old bag running the desk was having a cow with them. He was bored out of his mind when all of a sudden – he spotted you on the upper level. You wore dark wash blue straight-leg jeans with rolled-up cuffs and white high-top Converse sneakers. It looked like your shirt must have been at least a decade old, given how the black-dyed cotton was faded to dark gray, and the paint looked cracked and chipped. Your thick locks were gathered in a loose but simple braid. Unlike everyone else, your eyes weren’t focused on him – but on the structure and life around him.

He had to know more.

Slipping a tenner to one of his friends to cause a distraction, he used the diversion to make his way to your spot on the second floor. Having a closer view, you were the most vividly gorgeous creature he had ever laid his eyes upon. He was worried that his movement toward you would alert you of his presence, and you would only scurry off – and away from him. But judging by the slight bobbing of your head, you wouldn’t be able to hear him since you were listening to whatever was playing through your earbuds.

All the better for him to keep observing you.

As he inched closer, his eyes caught the tiny wisps of your hair that weren’t contained by your messy braid, creating a lovely frame of your face while also bringing out the shine in your eyes. You had a simple gold chain around your neck with a circular locket hanging. From the side, Felix could faintly distinguish the words “Bon Jovi” in blue cracked paint and “1989” underneath a skull wearing red aviators.

He didn’t know who the fuck Bon Jovi was, but clearly, he was someone pretty fucking important to you.

But what captured Felix’s interest was how engrossed you were with the scene unfolding underneath you. Your eyes very rarely broke away from the view – only to quickly glance at the hardcover sketchbook you balanced on the white-painted railing. Whenever you glanced down at your sketch, Felix could see how long and thick your eyelashes were. Each time you blinked, it was like his mind broke down the movement of your eyelids frame by frame as if he were editing a Garry Marshall film. He wished he could be your cheek at that moment. If only to feel the gentle flutter of your lashes’ touch. Deep in your concentration, your lips were slightly pursed in a way that brought out their luscious fullness.

He couldn’t help but imagine how they would look around his cock. If he came inside your mouth, he was sure that some of his spunk would leak past your lips before you tried your best to swallow it down.

He was so lost in the fantasy of you and him that he hadn’t realized you had been calling out to him. Breaking out of his reverie, he looked down to see you right before him. And you looked downright pissed at him.

“Hey! HEY!” you exclaimed while waving your hand to his face to catch his attention.

You were American. How adorable.

“If you could stop staring at me like a fucking serial killer, I think your ‘mates’ are trying to get your attention.”

You pointed your finger at his group of friends still on the first floor. It seemed that they successfully drove away the grounds' warden. The old bat was now fixated on putting away all the returned or misplaced books on the shelves.

Must have been Farleigh’s idea.

Anyway, back to you.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Hey, can I get your –” but you were gone by the time he turned back to you.

Instead, he found himself alone on the second floor. He quickly glanced around to see if you had just moved to a different area. But you were gone. Racing the stairwell, hoping to catch up to you, he found that you had already walked too far for him to call you out without seeming completely desperate.

Except that he was.

He watched you walk away – shoulders back, posture straight, and head held high – and thought at how utterly unfair it was to him that you walked away from him so beautifully without giving him your number, or at least your name.

Felix woke up in a dark room; he was confused as to why the maids hadn’t drawn curtains – until he realized that Mum had likely sent them for their holiday after the party was finished.

It's too bad that he wasn’t there to see everyone out like a good son. But he wouldn’t beat himself over about it too much – chances were that his parents were also hungover off their asses too. He didn’t even want to imagine V’s state right now.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Felix dug into his closet to find whatever someone wore the morning after fucking a completely faceless stranger to scratch an itch meant for someone else. In the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a little note on his nightstand. Swiftly plucking it with two fingers, he could barely make out the words written in swirly cursive.

My name’s Cassie. Just thought you should know for next time. Call me: XXXX-XXXXXXX 💋

Felix scoffed before tossing the dingy paper to the floor – destined to be forgotten before the next hour came – before locking himself in the bathroom to take a piss and wash off the smell of booze and cigs off his skin.

By the time he was finished, it was probably close to noon. He would have made his way down to the kitchens to fix something up – but he was immediately met with Farleigh as soon as he stepped out of the doorway. Bastard startled him up so bad that he practically jumped a foot off the ground.

“Fucking – really, Farleigh?” he asked. “Practically gave me a heart attack first thing in the morning.”

“It’s almost one so that ship has sailed.” He quipped back. “Aunt Elspeth and Uncle James were quite distraught when their golden son wasn’t seen by any of the guests when the party ended. It wasn't good when the Carltons’ daughter was gone for almost an hour. But at least she returned to her loving parents’ arms by the time it was to go home.”

Farleigh shot his cousin a curious look.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you? I’m pretty sure her name was Cassandra.”

Felix just shrugged.

“Don’t know about any Cassandras. Fucked a Cassie last night, though.”

Farleigh snorted a laugh as they went to the kitchens to see if any food was prepared.

“Merry Christmas, indeed.”

A few minutes of companionable silence passed before Felix asked his cousin something important.

“Hey, do you think she’s thinking about me?”

“Cassie or Cassandra? Because the answer’s probably yes anyway.”

“No, not them. Y/N, Y/N L/N.”

Farleigh immediately stopped. He genuinely wondered how Felix managed to get into Oxford sometimes. Sure, he was a legacy kid, but the line had to be drawn somewhere.

“You really think,” he slowly began, “that the girl who dragged you out of the library in front of everyone, broke your nose, beat you bruised with only her flimsy-ass notebook – because you ruined her painting – would be thinking about you?”

Judging by the look in his cousin’s eyes, yes. Sighing at the incredulity of it all, Farleigh could only shake his head before finding something to eat and drink away the migraine he could feel was coming.

Watching his cousin walk away from him, Felix knew he thought he was fighting a losing battle. But he wasn’t too worried. Everything would change during the upcoming term. Oxford was its own world – broken away from everything else. All that mattered to anyone in Oxford was this world's history, present, and future. And now – as it was made clear now to Felix – you were also part of that world. He would get to find you again and make sure to bring you to the point where you would look for him the way he would look for you.

Still, a selfish part of Felix hoped that you were even just the slightest bit miserable being away from him as he was being away from you.

Manchester, December 2006

You were having the time of your life.

Michael invited you to his home in Manchester for Christmas to spend the holidays with his family. You refused, at first, the idea of being a burden to your best friend during a time when it should be spent with family. Michael liked to put up a big front, but you knew that he was just as – if not more – excited to spend Christmas with his folks than you were before the “incident.”

But he insisted, and you could not have been more grateful for the invitation. But you wish you were a tad bit more graceful with your reaction when he first brought it up.

Oxford Dining Hall December 2006

You were angrily shoveling pasta into your mouth at the time. Sadly, the appallingly bland marinara sauce paired with the overcooked spaghetti and dry meatballs was the university's most flavorful dish.

“Come home with me.” He told you one evening during dinner time at the dining hall.

Caught off guard, you half-choked on the mountain of overcooked noodles in your mouth. Immediately, you reached for your glass of water to wash it down and to prevent a truly horrifically dull death.

“What?” you croaked out.

“Come with me to my house for Christmas.” He clarified, utterly unfazed by your near death. “Come on, you’ve been complaining to me all week about not being able to fly back for the holidays. And no one should have to spend Christmas eating whatever slop they’ll end up serving.”

“Michael,” you began, “I am not going to impose on your family like that. And you seemed to have forgotten one key detail: I can’t leave until I re-do the painting.”

“So, come over after you finish,” he reasoned, “I know you remember what to do, and that already cuts the time you originally spent on it in half. You won’t need a whole month to do it again, so come over when you finish. Plus, you don’t have your other classes to worry about.”

You knew that he was right – he was right about a lot of things – but the offer still made you uncomfortable. Scholarship student or not, you were no one’s charity case. If there was one thing you hated more than being underestimated, it was being pitied by people who didn’t know you. That wasn’t the case with Michael, but the feeling made you feel small.

You hated feeling small.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I would be imposing on your family. Your mom’s a nurse, right? She’s probably been looking forward to your homecoming for ages now. Informing her that she should be expecting a complete stranger, who would be staying for two weeks, would be a huge burden on her. She shouldn’t have that kind of stress burdening her during the holidays.”

He rolled his eyes at your concern.

“Don’t be a drama queen. I already have one in my life, and I’m genetically attached to her. And you’re hardly a stranger. Mum’s always asking when you would be visiting anyway. She’s worried if you’re eating enough or getting enough sleep. She’s a bit looney like that.”

You shot your friend a glare. He was trying way too hard to keep a cool, nonchalant façade. Michael Gavey was a total sucker for his family but in the sweetest way. During the long study sessions that stretched into the night, Michael’s defenses were lowered, and you could get more information about his life and home.

His mom was a Manchester Royal Infirmary nurse practitioner, while his dad was an accountant at Pearl Lemon. They met at a coffee shop. He was working as a barista to pay off his student loans, and she was a nurse just starting her residency. He wowed her with his terrible jokes, and she charmed him with her infectious smile, and the rest was history. Three years into their marriage, baby Mikey was born, with the addition of his baby sister Lilypad a decade later.

When you remained silent, Michael knew your stubbornness would give him endless headaches. But you were his best friend, the only person he saw worth befriending in the infinite sea of prats and slags that overpopulated their university. You laughed at his shitty jokes, and he snorted at yours. You would try to trip him up with out-of-pocket sums; he’d laugh when he answered them before your calculator. You had his back when some rugby bloke pushed him around, and he had yours when some fake tanned bitch called you a tramp.

“Look, I can’t promise it’ll be anything like your home. I know you miss your mum’s cooking and your dad’s drunk stories. But my parents already made me promise that I would get you to visit because it’s Christmas and no one should be alone and you’re going to die without me here and blah blah blah. Just say you’ll come? Lil’ will murder me if you don’t come. She’s been dying to hear all about the Great Apple and Broadway.”

“…It’s actually called the Big Apple.”

Your comment brought a loud and rather unattractive snort to leave his mouth. And the chuckle that came after brought a small and tentative smile on you.

“Look, are you coming or not?”

You had to admit, the invitation sounded welcoming. You were dying to put faces on the people that made Michael Gavey, well, Michael Gavey. He rarely talked about his family, but his tone was warm and soft when he did. It was such a sweet contrast to the snarky little shit you were used to, and so temptation won in the end.

“…Fine.” You agreed after dragging out the tension. “But I am bringing presents for all your family members, and you have to help me. And any funds that were spent on me are going to be paid back before summer. Got it?”

A true, genuine smile crept across Michael’s face.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“…Will I be seeing any baby pictures of you?”

“Don’t push it.”

You weren’t sure what exactly to expect from Michael’s family – maybe they were wonderful, or maybe the idea of an American that hailed from a city with some of the highest crime rates in the US gave them hives – but you were sure that you wouldn’t be alone if Michael were with you. Safe to say, your expectations were set way too low.

His dad's arms immediately enveloped Michael after you two exited at your stop and the station. You had always assumed most British father figures to be a bit cold and distant, but it seemed that stereotype didn’t apply to his dad. You went in for a handshake but were also caught in a warm hug. You introduced yourself while expressing your gratitude to him and his wife’s generosity.

“Oh no, please,” he insisted, “please call me Greg. Mr. Gavey was my father’s name, and I don’t think I’ve grown that many wrinkles yet.”

When you arrived at his home, it was a medium-sized red brick building in the suburbs. After entering the door and Greg announcing your arrival, quick footsteps ran down the stairs, and a young girl with golden honey curls in pajamas and a pink tutu ran to Michael.

“MIKEY!” she exclaimed. “YOU’RE HOME! Did you miss me? Why did it take you so long? You said your tests were done by the third. It’s the fifteenth today!”

“Lily, Lily,” Michael breathily laughed, “calm down. Of course, I missed you. But I had to wait for my friend because she’s hopeless with directions.”

“That is not true!” you blurted. “It’s not my fault I come from a grid system!”

“Anyway, this is my very good friend, Y/N L/N. Y/N L/N, this is my little sister, Lily.”

Lily turned to you with a big smile and curtsied like a perfect ballerina.

“Hello! My name is Lily! I’m eight, but I’ll be nine in April!”

You almost squealed at how adorable the sight was. You crouched down and mirrored her smile.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Lily! I’m Y/N, and I’m turning nineteen this coming b/m! Your brother here told me so much about you.”

“He did?” she asked with wide eyes.

“He did! He told you how smart you are in math and that you’re an amazing ballerina.”

Lily shyly looked down as a massively cute blush bloomed on her cheeks.

“I wanna be good at sums like Mikey. That way, I can help Daddy with his work like Mikey did when he was my age.”

“Ok!” interjected ‘Mikey,’ cheeks equally flushed at the slipped detail from his baby sister. “Time to find Mum. She in the kitchen?”

“Yep! She’s making roast chicken and mash with peas!” She turned to you. “Is Y/N allergic to anything?”

“Nope!” you replied, “Only dust, but I’m pretty sure that won’t be in the dishes.”

Meeting Michael’s mom – who was absolutely gorgeous, by the way – was another huge highlight of the break so far. Hearing you three entering the kitchen, she immediately turned off the stove and dashed over to hug you and her son.

“Oh, Y/N!” she warmly greeted you. “I’m so happy that you were able to come. Michael has told me so much about you. Have you adjusted well in Oxford? The time difference isn’t putting too much strain on you, is it? You both look so skinny – are they feeding you at all at that school?”

“Careful, Mum. You might scare her off.”

You shot him a mocking glare before answering his mother.

“Don’t be mean! And I think I’ve adjusted well enough to the university. Jet lag wasn’t too much of an issue because my parents made sure I moved into my dorm early and adjusted to the time zone changes before classes started. The food they serve at the dining halls doesn’t compare to homecooked meals, so I haven’t had much of an appetite. But after walking into the kitchen, I think I’ll be able to regain it once I have your cooking!”

“Oh, you are so sweet! I’ll let you get settled. Greg and I cleaned up the guest room for you. It’s next to Lilypad’s room. She’s excited to hear any stories you have about New York. It’s just on the second floor at the end of the hall.”

Walking back to the entrance to grab your bags, you were just in earshot of Michael and his mom’s conversation.

“Michael! Why didn’t you tell me she was so beautiful! I thought she was a model from Vogue when she first walked in! Are you sure nothing’s going on between you two? Should I expect any grandchildren in the near future?”

“Mum!” he loudly groaned as you softly chortled.

Christmas with the Gaveys was so much fun. You played a dozen board games. Michael was a beast in Poker and Uno while you cleared the board with Scrabble and Black Jacks. Mrs. Gavey was a fantastic cook – you couldn’t remember the last time you had any meal that had more than salt as a seasoning since coming to England. You tried sticky toffee pudding for the first time – you almost cried at that first bite. Everyone was so warm to each other and showered one another with so much love. Most of the neighbors watched Michael grow up, and many shared his childhood stories. It reminded you a lot of the Christmases at your parents’ apartment back in Queens.

The community and camaraderie- it was like you were back at home with your family. Your mom would pick up a roast duck from Peking Duck Sandwich Stall in Flushing while you and your dad would go to Eileen’s to wait in line to pick up your favorite cheesecake. The building would have a huge potluck on Christmas Eve, and everyone would bring a dish. Your neighbor, Mrs. Wong, would bring out everything necessary to make her famous dumplings. Everything was made from scratch. You and the kids of the building would learn how to wrap the fillings in the wrappers while the adults made the wrappers and fillings. You would play White Elephant with the other kids on Christmas Day, which usually ended in a fistfight.

You still missed home. You missed your parents and cat. You missed making cookies with your parents because Christmas was the only time when both of them had time off from work. While his school was still on break, you and your dad would take advantage of your mom’s employee benefits and watch a bunch of live Broadway shows.

When your parents skyped you, you cried after seeing their faces for the first time in so long. School was so stressful, and you were starting to regret traveling so far when you could have easily gone to a school so much closer to home. You tried your best to reschedule your flight, but round-trip flights were expensive, and they increased exponentially during the holidays.

You cried for an hour after seeing the prices online.

But thanks to Michael, you felt so much less alone than you would have if you had stayed at Oxford for the entire break. You introduced him to your parents during the call, and they loved him. It was such a massive relief that they liked your friend, especially because of how much his friendship meant to you. When he left the room, your parents basically forced you to ensure he would come with you to stay with you when you returned for the summer. They were shocked when you told them he had never had fresh jianbing or a decent slice of pizza. After the call, you were confident they were making a list of every store and stall you and Michael would visit during his visit.

Classic Queens’ family behavior – showing love by forcing food down your throat whether you like it or not.

At the moment, you were at the window in your room and looking at the moon. It was about three in the morning, and the rest of the household was asleep.

Well – everyone except one.

Michael had crept in about half an hour ago, and the two of you were just looking at the stars. You hadn’t expected to see so many – you could only see the lights from planes and aircraft at night back home. There wasn’t any talking, only comforting silence. The scene outside your window with the fresh snow on top of the rooftops and ground. Each house had a slight outline of their Christmas tree lights shining from their lower windows.

Your fingers itched for your pencil and sketchbook to immortalize it.

Ever so softly, Michael broke the silence while looking at you.

“So,” he began, “how would you rate your first English Christmas in the Gavey Household?”

You looked back at him with the biggest smile that Michael had ever seen on you.

“Ten out of ten. Would pay to see lightsaber reenactment again.”

If there was a God out there, you prayed for the coming term to be as wonderful as this holiday had been for you.

Suburban Prescot, Liverpool December 2006

In a well-established suburban home in Prescot, a short boy with crystal blue eyes and inky black hair locked himself in his room. The noise and babble from downstairs gave him a headache. He hated his parents. He hated his sisters. He hated being invisible and being from nowhere.

He had to get out of here.

In his backpack, a photo of a specific heir of a manor was safely tucked in the bottom. The new term was going to be different for him. He would make sure of it.

Tagging: @aemondsbabe, @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @valeskafics, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindnow, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list by commenting!

#saltburn x reader #saltburn #saltburn crack #saltburn au #michael gavey x reader #felix catton x reader #farleigh catton #farleigh start #venetia catton #oliver quick #michael gavey #saltburn 2023 #saltburn movie

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nxuvillette · 11 months ago

Text

BEHIND THE SCENES — OLIVER AIKU

synopsis: you and oliver’s sex tape had gotten leaked onto twitter. your relationship comes to a halt, but once you reconnect, you recall what happened that night he filmed your sexual encounter with each other.

❥- pairings : oliver aiku x fem!reader

❥- note : thank you to @flseur for helping me with this idea !! i seriously couldn’t have done it without you <3. i hope you all enjoy !! reblogs are appreciated !!

content warnings : nsfw [17+], fem!reader, ageless + blank blogs dni, secret relationship, personal trainer!reader, some brief angst, non consensual video sharing (oliver did not share it !), mentions of food, use of pet names (baby , princess , good girl), consensual recording, unprotected sex, begging, praising, marking, breeding kink, creampie, brief choking.

The sun spread its golden rays into your bedroom through the beige curtains that blanketed your windows. It was your day off. You enjoyed nothing more than taking in an extra hour or two of sleep. It was your normal routine during the weekends, so you decided to roll over onto the other side of your bed and try and focus on sleeping.

BUZZ!

Your phone would normally vibrate throughout the morning or even during the night. You had friends who would send you Instagram posts or even text you to ask about meeting for coffee on a certain day. It wasn’t unusual at all, so you didn’t really pay much attention to your cell phone. You were too drowned in sleep to even bat an eye.

BUZZ!

Your sleepy eyes opened slightly at the sound of four consecutive notifications. You didn’t know who was messaging you at this early hour, but it was getting kind of annoying. Part of you wanted to put your phone on do not disturb, but the laziness of being in bed only sucked you back into the mattress you were resting on. It was probably nothing. Your friends were probably just blowing up your phone with posts or other random shit. It was never that important.

BUZZ!

An annoyed sigh left your lips. Who the hell was spamming you? You wondered if it was Isagi who had something stupid to say sometimes, but when you lifted your phone off the bedside table, you were surprised to see that it wasn’t him. There were multiple text messages coming from not just your close friends, but one of your clients, Oliver Aiku.

Your eyes scanned over the messages, furrowing your brows at the contents of them.

Kunigami: umm.. is this you??

Isagi: hey, y/n, idk if you’ve gone online buy something is out there and i really hope you’re alright.

Oliver: y/n

Oliver: y/n please pick the fuck up right now

Oliver: this is not the time to be ignoring me we need to talk asap.

Sae: wtf is going on??

Oliver: y/n please call me when you have the chance

Confusion covered your body at the concerns of your friends. Isagi’s message confused you the most, though, because what did he mean something happened online? You weren’t really big on social media like that. Sure, you had a few thousand followers on Twitter and Instagram, but by no means were you some kind of influencer or celebrity online. You preferred it that way. Having too much attention was overwhelming and you never liked the spotlight to begin with.

You swiped out of your messages and went onto Twitter. To your surprise, your notifications were blowing up and your small number of followers had jumped seemingly overnight. It made you even more confused now, because what happened? You didn’t post any tweets that could go viral, so what was all of this attention for? It wasn’t until you pressed a video you were tagged in that you realized what you were going viral for.

Immediately, you recognized yourself. You were lying in the bed of your client, Oliver Aiku, and he was fucking the shit out of you. Everything about that night had rushed back into your brain at light speed. You remembered giving Oliver permission to record the sex you were having, but you never allowed him to post it. Neither of you wanted something like that to get out, and it was like a nightmare knowing that it was out and so many people had seen it. There was this pit in your gut that made you sick to your stomach. Did Oliver leak it? Did he show it or send it to someone else and they released it? You were pissed, hurt, but most of all, you felt embarrassed. Hundreds of people saw you at your most vulnerable and who knows what might happen to you now that this was public news.

You left Twitter and searched for Oliver’s contact. It made sense why he was messaging you so much. He must have seen it way before you did.

You pressed the call option and it began to ring, but after a few seconds, he picked up. “(Y/N)! Thank god..” he sounded panicked, which annoyed you. “I dunno how-“

“Oliver, what the fuck?! How did this happen?! Did you fucking leak it or send it to someone? Be honest with me, because I’m so fucking.. mortified right now.” you were very angry, more angry than you had ever been in your life. You knew what kind of man he was, so it wouldn’t have shocked you if he was the one to share your business.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down before speaking to you again. He was well aware of how bad this looked. Things like this happen all of the time to women without their knowledge, and it’s a disgusting matter. He understood your feelings completely. “(Y/N).. I didn’t leak the tape, I promise. I would never ever share something like that with anyone else. Baby, you know I’m not that kind of guy..” he sounded upset, but also genuine at the same time.

You shook your head, staring at the ceiling. You wanted to believe him, you really did, but all of this seemed way too sketchy. Oliver was always a ladies man and it was shocking enough that he wanted to have a relationship with you that wasn’t just professional, so maybe it was just too good to be true. “Then how did it get out? It doesn’t make sense, Oliver. I know you’re a good guy.. but how do I know you’re not lying to me right now?” you questioned, looking down at the floor.

Oliver sighed, knowing you had somewhat of a point. Given the circumstances, it made sense why you would accuse him of doing such a thing, but he genuinely liked you. He would never do that to anyone. “My manager was telling me that I should start moving shit off of my iCloud because people are hacking, so I must have forgotten to move it and someone more than likely hacked into it and posted it.” he said. “I promise, baby, I would never do that to you. I like you so much.. I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to.”

You didn’t reply for a few seconds. It did seem likely that his cloud could have gotten hacked, but still, it didn’t help that the video was now out there for the world to see. Many strangers saw your body and your voice. It made you feel dirty and it was such an uncomfortable feeling. Oliver probably didn’t fully understand how you felt, but you weren’t about to argue with him on that.

“I want to take a break, Oliver.”

There was silence on the other end for a few moments. You could tell that Oliver wasn’t happy with it based on his reaction, but this was all too much for you. This could destroy your life and even career opportunities. “Right.. um, I understand, (Y/N).” he broke the silence. “I’m sorry again.. I was an idiot to not properly protect our privacy. I’m here if you need anything, always.”

After that, the phone suddenly hung up. He didn’t even give you any warning, but you knew it upset him. It wasn’t like either of you meant for this to happen, but it was a very serious matter. You didn’t want your family seeing that or someone you were good friends with. You needed time to clear your head and just be by yourself for a little while. Things like this don’t just pass overnight, so you wanted to disconnect for a bit.

TWO MONTHS LATER

The aroma of coffee filled your nose as you sat in the cafe. Many people entered and exited with their orders and others sat down to use the wifi that the cafe offered to do work.

You sat at one of the tables beside the window. A few small snowflakes danced onto the ground from the sky. It was quite a chilly day. The wind was like glass being cut against your skin and bundling up didn’t exactly help with the sheer cold. You were kind of nervous. It was the first time in two months that you had seen Oliver in person, and you both decided to meet up after not speaking with one another for a while. It was going to be awkward and you knew that, but you wanted to at least see him and talk.

You shifted around when you noticed Oliver stepping into the cafe. His eyes immediately lit up when he saw you sitting by yourself at the table. He looked the same as ever. His stubble was a bit shorter and he had that same haircut he usually had.

The stool screeched when he pulled it out to sit across from you. You didn’t want this to feel weird or awkward, so you put on the bravest face you could find and smiled at him. “Hey.. long time no see, how are you?” you placed your hands around the coffee cup which was still warm.

He took in your appearance and couldn’t help but grin as well at you. Oliver couldn’t lie, he missed you a lot. You were once his everything and to lose you made him feel like shit. He knew he fucked up back then and he wanted to make things better again between you two. “I’m doing okay, you? How have you been? I kind of missed you..” he said, reaching over to place his hand atop of yours.

His touch was like electricity on your skin. It had been so long since you felt him against you. Not seeing him for so long brought back so many reminders as to why you were into him in the first place. “I missed you too..” you replied. “I’ve just been managing lately. After everything, I took a break from social media and such. I was lucky enough to keep my job.”

Oliver felt a sting in his heart at the situation. He knew this was ten times worse for you than it was for him. He was mocked by a few of his teammates who didn’t know what the hell they were talking about, but he knew it was much more bad for you than it was for him. “I see.. I’m glad to see you, though. You look good.” he tried soothing you the best he could, even if it didn’t work as well.

“Look, I.. I know that wasn’t entirely your fault for what happened. I shouldn’t have just thrown it all on you, but I’m over it.” you looked at him with seriousness all over your expression. “The video was taken down and I don’t want that to define me whatsoever, so I forgive you, Oliver.”

He seemed genuinely relieved to hear that you didn’t hate him. He thought you were going to knock him out and whoop the shit out of him for what happened. He truly didn’t mean for any of this to happen. He cared for you deeply and the last thing he wanted was for you to get hurt or hate him. “I appreciate that.. and again, I’m sorry. This was my fault for not being smart enough.” he said, squeezing your hand tightly.

You smiled at him. “Trust me, it’s okay, you couldn’t have known this was going to happen. I promise..” you replied.

Both of you sat there for a few moments just taking in the atmosphere around you. It was all familiar to you. That’s what you liked the most about Oliver. He made you feel safe and you felt like you could genuinely be yourself around him. You missed him a lot. It took a lot in you to not reach out, but after some time, you figured you would patch things up with him. He was your client, after all. Being his personal trainer meant you’d see him more often and the last thing you wanted was for things to become awkward.

His thumb brushed against your palm, making eye contact with you at the same time. “I wanna take you out.. I don’t care if people see us together.” he lifted your hand to kiss it.

Your cheeks felt hot at his proposal. Normally, you two kept things pretty private, but seeing that he didn’t care about it being public, it made you happy. “I’d love that..” you grinned, looking at him with a happy glint in your eyes.

While sitting there, you began to remember what had happened the night you and Oliver had hooked up. At that point, you two had been seeing each other for a month or two. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for you to come over to his place after having a workout, but that night was different. You could feel it when Oliver kept brushing his hands against yours, or the way he stood a little too close to your ass which led his aching cock to brush against it. It didn’t take long for you to end up on the bed inside his bedroom.

Oliver’s lips touched against your skin. His teeth grazed against the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, licking and sucking to leave a mark that would be visible to anyone. His large hands were all over your body. He wasted zero time tearing off your leggings and pulling down your sports bra to reveal your pretty tits he had spent so much time eyeing. He was so gentle. He left a trail of wet kisses on the valley between your breasts and then down towards your navel. He thought your body was the prettiest thing he had ever seen. He spent so much time fantasizing about what he’d do if he was alone with you, and now that moment had come. He wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers so easily.

A smirk appeared on his features when he saw the damp spot soaking through your panties. He hooked his fingers under the hem and pulled the fabric down from your thighs, exposing your pretty cunt. His cock hardened immediately when he saw how wet you were. Fuck, you really were perfect in every way possible. “Shiitt, all this for me, princess?” he chuckled, spreading your thighs apart to see your pretty hole.

You whimpered when you felt his breath fan over your pussy. You were practically throbbing over the fact that he was hovering over you. “Y-Yes..” you moaned. “Oliver, please.. I need you..”

He was surprised to see that you were tugging at his shirt to bring him closer. Who was he to deny you of what you wanted? He then tossed off his shirt, throwing it somewhere into his bedroom. You shivered when you watched him pull down his shorts, revealing his cock that was leaking pre-cum around the tip. A happy trail went down from his stomach all the way to his pubes that were properly trimmed. You had seen him shirtless many times before, but seeing his dick made you even more turned on.

The tip of his cock slid against your clit. You moaned softly at the contact it made with your body. You wanted him inside you so badly. You didn’t even have the desire to make him do foreplay. “Ready for me, baby..?” he looked down at you, positioning his cock at your entrance.

You nodded, placing your hands on his broad shoulders. “Yes.. so ready..” you looked at him with desperate eyes.

Oliver then pushed himself into you. A sharp gasp slipped through your lips at the sensation of his cock filling your cunt. The stretch was intense. You felt like you could hardly take him from how big he was. He was only halfway in and you already felt so full from just that. The burn felt too good. You couldn’t help but dig your fingernails into his shoulder blades. Oliver didn’t mind the pain, though. He was losing it right about now. You were so tight and the way your pussy hugged his cock was so perfect. He couldn’t help but groan at how much pleasure he was feeling. Where the hell had you been?

Once given the go ahead to move, Oliver set himself at a rougher pace. He wanted to go slow, but he couldn’t keep fighting with himself. Any restraint he had early on was now diminishing with every rut of his hips. He was so lost within you. He couldn’t think of anything else.

Your cries of pleasure were uncontrollable at that point. His cock was bullying your walls and reaching places inside you that made your body melt for him. It didn’t help that he had all the stamina in the world from being a pro athlete. He could probably go on for hours without feeling tired. “Oliver! God, yes! M-More! I need more!” you whined, making eye contact with him.

He smirked at how needy you were for him. Oliver never imagined he’d have you underneath him like this. His cock stuffing your pussy, making you sob from how good it was. This was all a dream for him, and he was so thankful it had finally come true. “Yeah? More, baby? Fuck, I’ll give you more..” he then reached over to his bedside table, grabbing his cell phone that had been discarded for almost an hour now. “Wanna be on camera, princess..?”

Your head shook almost instantly at his request. You trusted Oliver more than anything. Plus, it was kind of thrilling to you that you would be filmed. It made you clench around him just a little tighter when the thought crossed your mind. “Yes..” you spat out.

Oliver then held his phone above you. He moved your legs so your knees were now nearly touching the bed you were lying on. It gave him the perfect view of everything. You were a bit stunned at first when the flash turned on, but none of that mattered to you. You were too lost in bliss to think about that.

He began to play with your puffy clit, sending multiple waves of pleasure to wash over you. He thought you looked so fucking cute. He knew he made the right choice in finding you that day. You were everything Oliver Aiku ever wanted in a woman. “Like that..? Look at you.. bein’ such a good girl while I fuck you..” he grunted. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna ruin you..”

Oliver tossed his phone aside, focusing solely on you once again. His pace picked up. It was so fast that you saw stars in your vision whenever he reached your g-spot. His balls smacked against your throbbing clit, creating some lewd noises that filled the room. Beads of sweat trickled down Oliver’s gorgeous body, leaving a nice shine to his skin and his muscles. He looked so hot above you. You wished you could snap a photo of him so you could remember that night forever.

The burning pit inside your stomach was only growing larger with every thrust. Oliver could feel your pussy slowly becoming tighter around him. He knew you were close. You had become so desperate for that release. It was clawing at you like an animal wanting to escape from its cage. “O-Oliver.. I’m close!” you moaned, closing your legs just a little so your knees were now against his waist.

He chuckled at the sound of that. He wanted to make you cum so hard that you couldn’t think straight for days. You were so pretty and perfect for him. “C’mon, princess, cum all over this dick..” he leaned down to capture your lips into a sloppy kiss. “Show me how much of a good girl you are..”

At that moment, you finally let go around him. Your pussy clamped around his cock and Oliver’s hips stuttered from the feeling. Your cum coated his cock nicely, making squelching noises accumulate from how wet you were. He couldn’t help but smile at how great you did. You were calling out his name like it was a prayer, and he loved nothing more than to hear that. You were addictive. He didn’t think he could find someone better than you in this life.

Oliver’s hand found its way around your throat. You watched him with glassy eyes as he fucked you through your orgasm. Your body felt like it was on fire. Your thighs were shaking and you couldn’t even form proper sentences from how fucked out you were. “Where do you want me to cum, baby..?” he asked, squeezing your throat slightly to restrict your breathing for a brief moment.

“I-Inside..! Inside me, please..!” you managed to say with a whiny tone.

You were so fucking dirty. He loved it.

Oliver clenched his teeth as he increased his thrusts once again. His cock was twitching inside of you and his balls started to feel tight from his release being so close. “Fuck.. ‘gonna cum so hard inside you..” he grunted. “Make this pussy all mine.. you’re all mine, got it? N-No one can fuck you this good.. or breed you as well as I can, baby. Shit.. say it, say you’re mine..”

You did exactly as he wanted, grinning in the process. “I’m y-yours..” you whimpered.

A groan rumbled in his throat as he finally reached his climax. His cum gushed into your pussy, filling your womb with white. There was this rush of warmth that spread across your abdomen when he came inside you. It was so good. It made you crave it more.

Oliver panted, staring down at you to see if there were any signs of discomfort on your end, but he was relieved to see that there weren’t any. You seemed very drowsy and tired from his point of view, but regardless, you looked beautiful. He couldn’t get enough of your beauty. How could someone like you fall into his lap like that? You were too great for him. He knew he was going to cherish you.

Oliver vowed to never let you go, no matter what.

#·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ official work !#blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #blue lock fanfiction #bllk x female reader #bllk x reader #bllk smut #bllk x y/n #oliver aiku smut #oliver aiku x reader #oliver aiku #oliver x reader #oliver smut #creds to @/cafekitsune for banner !!!

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a-major-love · 3 months ago

Text

Night Fever

Pairing - Michael Jackson x Fem!Reader

Summary - Of all people you could have met that fateful night, it had to be him.

Word Count - 1k+

Warnings - MDNI, fem pronouns, mentions of smoking & alcohol, no use of y/n

A/N - I always imagined dancing with Michael was incredibly fun but also probably intimidating. Enjoy!

1977

Spotlights pierced through the haze of smoke filtering the air, beaming down on the partygoers. Sweat rolled off their skin, mingling with the overpowering stench of perfume and cigarettes. The men and women’s eyes twinkled at you, sparkling from pressed glitter. Their bright, painted lips mouthed along to the stream of ABBA lyrics filling the crowded space. The music pouring from the speakers vibrated under your feet. Studio 54 was lively, and terrifying all at once.

“Friday nights are always the busiest,” your friend – Alicia – mentioned from beside you. Her stark black hair was pulled into a tight bun, revealing her teal colored eyeshadow. The sequined dress she wore hung off her bronzed shoulders, flecks of glitter dotted her skin.

You glanced down at the denim jumpsuit you wore, with a thick belt secured around the waist. Somehow, despite the pumps digging into the soles of your feet, you felt mildly underdressed. You scanned the crowd, biting your lip as your eyes swept over the other dancers.

“Let’s go, birthday girl,” Alicia said, nudging you towards the center of the room.

You giggled. “I’m just trying to appreciate the atmosphere.”

“Well, you can go appreciate it out on the dancefloor.”

She grasped onto your forearm, pushing through the cluster of hot bodies that brushed against you two. You could feel the men’s gazes pass over you, their heavy eyes glancing over your form before looking away. Glasses with golden liquid, and pierced olives swung around you as the people got lost in the music.

You finally approached the middle of the dance floor, where a bright, glowing disco ball hung above your heads. Alicia broke out into a grin, her pearly white teeth pointed to the ceiling. Her dangled hearings whipped around her face as she began swaying to the music.

It was initially her idea, at first, to celebrate your birthday at Studio 54. All you knew about the nightclub was that the entrance fee was too expensive, and the line never seemed to ease up. As much as you adored Alicia, you couldn’t find a good reason to stand outside all night – in New York during the spring – hoping to make it inside before the place closed. If there’s one thing you understood about spring in New York, it was how cold the nights could be.

So, how in the hell she pulled this off, you were sure she would take to her grave.

You laughed, watching her bounce around, throwing her head back. Acting as if a plethora of eyes weren’t on her. You swayed your hips, letting your eyes close as the sweet sounding harmonies of the Bee Gees washed over you. It felt as if everybody on the dance floor was in sync, breathing and moving in time with each other.

Sharing one heart, one pulse to the music.

Your body moved and rocked, becoming bewitched by the entrancing tune.

“Excuse me-

You suddenly bumped into someone, startling both you and the stranger.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you said, whipping around to face them. A pair of oak, brown eyes crinkled at you as the strange man chuckled to himself.

“It’s alright,” he assured, adjusting his blazer. “You’re not a bad dancer, you know.”

You playfully grinned at him, “Have you been watching me dance?”

“I – uh didn’t mean it like that,” he stammered.

You scanned the man, taking in his wide doe eyes and large afro currently dusted with glossy confetti. A gold pendant rested between the dip of his chest, a sliver of deep brown skin peaking through the few undone buttons.

Somewhere, in the back corners of your mind, familiarity tugged at your brain.

“Have we met before?” you inquired, furrowing your brows.

“No, we haven’t,” he answered, perhaps a little too quickly.

You opened your mouth to reply, when he stuck his hand out.

“Is it alright if we danced together?” he asked.

Heat creeped up your face, as you took his inviting hand – his skin was silky smooth and warm in your grasp. He softly smiled at you, as he tugged your form closer to him. Swiftly, he twirled you around, giggling at your reaction as you nearly stumbled from the sudden movement. You caught yourself in time, taking both his hands as you grooved to the deep bass coming from the speakers.

His eyes remained trained on you, as if analyzing every motion and gesture you made. The music enveloped you two, as the dance floor fell away, along with the people surrounding it. The club was nothing but a blur of color, as the hot white lights radiated down on you two. The music pulsed through your skin, reverberating against your ribcage. The sweet, lingering scent of nicotine floated through the air. It was as if the dancefloor came alive from under your feet suddenly, a pulsating heartbeat belonging to the untamable beast known as music. His hands never left yours, as he pulled you into his side, before going into a spin.

You watched, in fascination. “You’re not a bad dancer yourself.”

He bashfully smiled. “Well, I’ve been dancing for most of my life.”

“Do you do it for a career, or something?” “...You could say that.”

He twirled you again, interrupting whatever train of thought you were processing.

The night went on endlessly it seemed, as if time had temporarily stopped. Yet, the crowd of Studio 54 never broke off. A stream of guests revolved in and out of the space, some dressed in dripping jewels that outshined the hanging disco ball or extravagant outfits that felt expensive to even look at. It felt as if you were in a lion's mouth, a wet, breathing cage waiting to clamp down on you.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around your frame.

“Let’s get going, my feet are killing me,” Alicia groaned, already tugging you away.

“Wait!” The man called out, feeling your hand loosen in his grip. Alicia squinted at him, trying to make out his features through the alcohol induced brain fog.

“You look a little familiar...” she muttered.

“I’ll meet you outside,” you explained, nudging your friend back. Alicia glanced over at you, glossy lips pouting at your urgency. She finally caved, rolling her eyes as she knowingly nodded and began to maneuver her way through the crowd.

You turned to face him. “I had a really great time, uh-

“Michael,” he introduced, squeezing your hand.

Had he been holding it the entire time?

“Well, it was really fun dancing with you, Michael.”

His eyes flickered between yours, as if weighing something in his mind. Michael eventually sighed, reluctantly loosening his grip and letting your hand fall to your side.

“I hope we get to do it again, sometime,” he said. With wistful smile growing on his lips.

You returned the smile, clenching your hand from the sudden loss of warmth. Without another word, you turned and made your way to the exit.

The bumping music followed you out the double doors and onto the bustling street of New York City’s nightlife. A breeze brushed against your bare arms, biting at your skin. Alicia was leaning against a car, impatiently tapping her foot. Her eyes finally landed on you, wearing a strange expression you couldn’t quite place.

“Girl, I have several questions,” she started, opening the car door for you.

You snorted. “Ask me when it’s not past midnight.”

She sidled into the passenger seat, as you started up the engine. The bright, white lights of Studio 54 reflected off the hood of your car.

You could still feel his presence, even during the drive home.

#michael jackson #michael jackson x reader #king of pop #the jacksons era #studio 54 #1970s #one shot

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prolix-yuy · 5 months ago

Text

Olive Branch

Pairing: Francisco Morales x F!Reader

Summary: If Frankie doesn't like olives, then what does he like?

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: T, alcohol consumption, mention of drug use, incredibly tame for me, hints of spice. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: I was challenged by @happypedrohours to write a story involving Frankie and olives, and what do you know, these are two of my favorite things! I was snickering to myself the entire time as the olive metaphor rolled out, but what the hell, we're gonna keep it in! Enjoy my friends, and Happy Pedro Hours!

Cross-posted on AO3

When it slides in front of you, you know it’s a good one. You watched the bartender make one at the end of the bar and it was just how you like it. Dry, cold, three olives on a hardy metal toothpick. You were practically salivating by the time you ordered your own and it slid in front of you, shining like the Holy Grail.

“Didn’t know you liked martinis.”

Head whipping around, you stutter out a laugh as Frankie slides in next to you. He perches an elbow on the bar, free shoulder coming close as the crowd tucks you into each other. Your eyes dart to his crinkled brown ones, then to your drink, and back again to distract from the proximity. His hand is tucked into his faded jeans, but it wouldn’t take much to cup your elbow or wrap around your waist.

“On special occasions,” you quip, tossing your head at Will and Tatiana surrounded by your friends. She’s showing the girls the ring, the men clapping hands on Will’s back and making him laugh. The air holds the fresh taste of new beginnings.

“Never had much of a taste for ‘em. Just gasoline in a glass,” he replies. Your face must be ten levels of indigent with how quickly his eyebrows shoot up.

“Do I look like a car to you?”

Frankie’s eyes twinkle, and it flips your stomach.

“Definitely a hot rod.”

You laugh it off, rolling your eyes. He’s never serious, after all. He likes to ply you with compliments just short of flirty and leave you high and dry at the end of the night. The first time it stung so hard you didn’t go out with the boys for weeks.

“He’s just a little fucked in the head, don’t take it too personal,” Santi told you when he finally wrestled the reason for your absence out. “Can’t stop chasing anything messy with two legs. Last girlfriend was a cokehead, even worse before that. He likes ‘em pretty and crazy, and he bags ‘em left and right. They always leave him worse for wear.” Santi’s eyes narrowed over his knowing smirk. “So now you like him?”

“Fuck no,” you spat out, arms folded tight. “I don’t deal with boys who play games.”

Yet here you are, again, with Frankie, ready to roll the dice yet again. At least he doesn’t know you’ve still got a soft spot for him ready to land.

“I’ll ignore the fact that you called Hendricks gasoline,” you scold, sliding your gleaming prize closer on its soggy black napkin. “There’s also vermouth, and olives.” You take a sip, the warmth of the gin and sharp salt of the charcuterie mainstay sweeping across your tongue. Frankie’s eyes drifting down to your lips on the rim of the glass.

What a cocktease. At least most men who eyefuck you actually follow through.

“Shaken, not stirred?” he quips in a rough approximation of a Scottish accent. You snort, instantly regretting it as the burn of brine and alcohol decimates your sense of smell. Trying to hide it under a tiny cough, Frankie’s face turns to the bar.

“Not much of an olive guy either, so you're 0 for 3 on convincing me.”

You don’t know why, but your stomach sinks briefly as you gingerly twist the glass stem between your fingers.

“Perfect, more for me then,” you shoot back brightly, but he looks back a fraction too soon before the disappointment flits away.

“C’mon, you know you were never gonna change my mind,” he teases, jostling you with his shoulder as he motions for the bartender.

“Never said I was,” you add absentmindedly.

Frankie will never be an option. He’s made it clear time and time again that he doesn’t choose you. But sometimes, when you let your mind drift, you think about how it could happen. Some dark room where he finally finds something he’s been looking for. The brushing of noses and near-misses before one of you finally acts and you’d know what his lips feel like. Then he would lick into your mouth and his flavor would dance with acidity and botanicals on your tongue and he’d moan at how good you taste.

But he doesn’t even like olives. Or you.

Frankie’s drink is a golden lager, malt rising to your nose. You like beer too. You like a lot of things. You could sit at this bar and talk about your favorite drinks for hours. You’re not just the martini girl. You’re so much more.

You need some air. Your daydreams are getting in the way of enjoying the night and Frankie’s none the wiser, so best keep it that way.

“I’m gonna bring my gasoline olives back to the party,” you say, ducking out from Frankie’s body without waiting for a reply. Maybe catching a glimpse of surprise, you strut back to the girls. The warmth of their excitement and enthusiasm reinvigorate your tight throat.

Your drink dwindles slowly, savoring the clean flavor and crushing the olives one by one between your teeth. One of the girls tries the dregs of your glass and wants one of her own, so you weave back to the bar so you can help her order. A holler rises from the boys around Will, and when you look you catch Frankie’s face again. He’s all beaming smiles, eyes barely visible from behind his crows feet and gleaming teeth. He catches your eye and his smile softens, and over the din of the bar he mouths “you good?”

You nod. Of course you are. What would Frankie know about that?

The drinks come, followed by cheers and hums of contentment. You will definitely be tipping well tonight. Before you can make it back to the group Benny cuts off your path, swooping one arm behind your back and your free hand into his.

“No no no, Benny, I’ll spill!” you shriek, feeling the telltale wetness of a sloshed drink over your fingers. “Shit, I think I got it on the back of your shirt…”

“Ah, I’ve had worse,” Benny says, mock-dancing with you to the barely audible music.

“How’s Will?” you ask, leaning over his shoulder to snag a healthy sip of the martini. Now a more manageable level, you let Benny lead you away from the bar.

“So in love it makes me sick.” You raise an eyebrow. “In a good way!” he adds, turning you so the man in question is visible. Tatiana’s tucked under his arm, and his mouth drifts to kiss the top of her head.

“You know what, I get it,” you agree, the both of you snickering as the tempo of the music changes. It might be a Hozier song? It’s hard to tell over the babble of voices.

“How are you?” he asks, feigned innocence a red flag flicked in front of your eyes.

“Peachy. Why?”

Benny’s hand squeezes yours in a soothing rhythm.

“Hey, don’t bite my head off. Fish mentioned you seemed down. Something about olives?”

The flash of heat rocketing to your face has to be combatted, so you choose comedy.

“Oh yeah, the fact that they never give me enough in my damn drink. Could drive a woman to tears!” Your put-on mid-atlantic accent doesn’t sell it. Benny chews on the inside of his cheek before leaning to bring his mouth to your ear.

“I know you’re gonna tell me to fuck off…”

“Then you don’t have to say anything.”

“...but you and I both know this ain’t about olives.��

You lean back, jaw set and eyes cool.

“You’re right. It’s about absolutely nothing.”

“Hey…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Benny lets go and you down the rest of your drink. It burns and you hate yourself for it, but it feels good to let liquid frustration carve through the center of you.

“It’s late, and bar snacks aren’t gonna soak up the hangover I’ll have tomorrow. I’m gonna say bye to Will and Tatiana, get a cheeseburger, and go home.” Benny puts his hands on his hips, blue eyes filled with a brotherly care you know better than to try and tamp down.

“And it’s not about olives?”

Plucking the toothpick full of metaphor out of the glass, you point it at him.

“It’s not about olives.”

Benny relents, and walks you over to the happy couple. Promises of more drinks and a bachelorette party are half shouted before you pick through the crowd and exit the front of the bar.

The air is just starting to get cool, alcohol thrumming in your blood. You love the way a martini buzz feels, your mind crystal and your body sharp as glass. It’s different from the smoky haze of scotch or the sluggish thudding of beer. Martinis make you diamond.

Which is why you notice Frankie immediately upon his exit, even though you can tell he wanted to go unseen for a few moments longer. He fumbles his hands into his pockets, ambling up to stand beside you while you glare at the Uber app.

“Got a ride coming?”

“Eventually.”

He nods and stares at the toes of his boots, which you observe surreptitiously. The progress bar keeps filling and emptying as the silence stretches.

“I’m sorry for shitting on your drink.”

You can’t help but snap your face to him, eyebrows raised.

“I sure hope you didn’t shit on my drink.”

The poor choice of words quirks the corner of your mouth as Frankie tries to recover.

“Jesus Christ, I mean…you know what I mean! I didn’t mean to be a dick,” he says, now contemplating the sky with resignation. There's still a fight in you, but you try to meet halfway.

“S’all good, I shit on your terrible beers all the time. We’re even.” You glance back at the app and shut it out of frustration. You’ll try again in a minute.

“I don’t hate olives, either,” he rushes out. You roll your eyes, shoulders slumping. God, could they just let this go? You’re embarrassed enough about it. Before you can make another joke, another deflection, he barrels on.

“To be honest, I’ve never tried…olives. I see them all the time - at parties, at the bar, at friend’s houses - and there always seems to be some reason not to try them. I’m always having something else, or just had something, and I don’t want to…I’m afraid if I try the olives, I’ll really like them. And I don’t know what I’ll do if that happens. And that’s been scaring me off from even trying.”

Frankie looks up at you, mouth parted and brow furrowed, as realization rises slow and fizzy.

“Because I think I could really, really like them. Enough that I’d want them all the time. But I’ve never had anything like that before. And I don’t want to hurt the…olives.”

Your heart is thudding in your ears, lower lip close to a betraying tremble before you force it between your teeth..

“You don’t want to hurt…the olives,” you parrot back and Frankie sighs, lifting his cap enough to rake his fingers through his hair before resettling it.

“Fuck it, you know what I mean, right? It’s not about…it’s not about the fucking olives,” he says, and one of his hands wraps around your shoulder. It’s hot and strong and your chest swells at the touch.

“If it’s not about the olives,” you say, tentative, voice dropping into a lower register. He’s closer, almost as close as in the bar, thumb worrying back and forth over your shirt. “Then why don’t you show me what it is about?”

You expected more hesitation, but with that permission he lunges for you, cupping your face with both hands as he crashes your lips together. It’s fast and messy, teeth pressed against your lips and his tongue slipping in to taste. He groans and your knees go weak, head spinning worse than any drink could hope to do. You clutch the lapels of his canvas jacket and pull him closer, sweeping strokes of your kiss filling your mouth with bitter hops. With a lurch he pulls back.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles against your lips, but he continues to clutch at you, arm banding around your waist to keep you snug against him.

“For what?” you tease, sliding your nose along his proud profile.

“Takin’ so fuckin’ long.” His teeth graze your jaw lightly, heat pooling in a place that’s demanding a more private location for proper penance.

“I think you owe me a lot more than one very good kiss, after everything you’ve put me through,” you contemplate, his grip tightening.

“Still waiting for your ride?”

Your fingers wander to the nape of his neck, and his curls are just as soft as you imagined.

“No.”

A gentler kiss follows, broader, somehow still able to make your head spin.

“Good, you’re coming home with me so I can properly apologize.”

The next morning as Frankie opens his front door for his breakfast delivery, he finds a pristine jar of olives resting on his welcome mat. The scrawled note - better start getting a taste for these! - is clearly in Benny’s handwriting. The memory of your body, soft and sleeping in his bed, pulls him back inside.

After everything that got him here, he could learn to like olives.

END

"This is where righteousness ends It’s a relief to wave this overdue white flag and My blind spots have tortured you enough How much salt could I pour in To think that I called myself a friend."

Alanis Morissette, Olive Branch

#francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #catfish morales x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #prolix fics #happypedrohours

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