#the devil music company

[mumblelard]

finn came over after work yesterday. we sat at the kitchen table for three hours drinking mexico city mules and assorted howdy dews and talking about rare spices, hidden nests, the thermodynamics of steam, streptococcal manifestations, and other imaginary constructs. it was a nice afternoon

[soulmusicsongs]

Mr. Devil - LaVice & Company – LaVice And Company's Two Sisters From Bagdad, 1973)

[kingkat12]

fuck-me eyes and first times (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, loss of virginity, inexperienced sex?, oral sex (female receiving), mutual masturbation, awkward real moments lol, dry-humping, use of contraceptives, drunk driving, Roman using his powers for good?, blood, FLUFF, a dash of angst

summary: you've been unlucky with your first times all your life-- but tonight, you're sleeping with the equivalent of your shooting star.

word count: 12,139 (i love you guys, do u see)

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11

a/n: FINALLY THEY’RE FUCKING ISTG?? tihiii this is a bit of a different chapter!! i'm dead tired of reading smut where everything goes perfectly the first time and they barely communicate, so hopefully this will be a bit more realistic (hopefully!!) sorry for the wait, and hope you enjoy!!!!!!;)

The first time I broke a bone, I kicked my foot into the wall in a fit of rage.

The first time I got an A on a test, I cheated by writing the answers under my skirt. 

And the first time I lost a friend? That was the story of how I got here in the first place.

To say my track record for first times was bad, was an understatement. I didn't see myself as an angel of the world. However, as I glanced to the side for a brief moment at an intersection, I looked directly at the man who'd often joke he was the devil. Roman had spread out in the passenger seat, still a little drunk as his long legs rested against the dashboard. It didn't matter how many times I told him to take them down, that if I were to crash his car he'd fold in two and die-- he didn't care. 

We were still a little intoxicated from the party, but I was in a better condition than him, which was why I was driving; something he'd never let me do if he wasn't in this state. Roman's head lolled back against his seat, his eyes closing as he hummed along to the music. Space Song by Beach House was always my favorite song to drive to at night, and I was glad he seemed to like it as well.

The first time I heard this song, I had been driving home after getting introduced to Letha at a party. I was over the moon, happy to have finally found a person in this wretched town that I could enjoy the company of. I had been so dreadfully bored of all the others. 

Letha was a good hugger. A good listener-- never scared to tell the truth, especially as we grew closer.

"Roman is my baby cousin, I love him to death, but damn he can be annoying," she had said, smiling at me as she leaned against the kitchen counter. "The amount of friends I have lost to him is just crazy. Every single one seems to fall over like dominoes whenever he's around, and honestly? I don't get it. Maybe it's because we're related and all, but there has to be a fucking limit to how many times something like this can happen? How many times can he sleep with my friends and get away with it? Him doing that is the same as me sleeping with Peter, it's just not okay! I would never fucking do that! This situation is becoming hysterical, to be honest."

I remember frowning-- "Hysterical?"

"Yeah... If I wasn't so pissed at him, I'd just laugh at the absurdity," Letha's green eyes remained kind despite the heaviness of the topic. "But at the end of the day, I'm glad I get to keep you to myself. My previous friends were nothing compared to you."

Letha's words were sweet, but something felt off. I smiled as I spoke, hoping to keep my query a light one; "What do you mean, keep me to yourself? Gonna chain me up, Letha?" I gave her shoulder a nudge as she laughed. 

"Not like that, you freak! I mean that Roman doesn't seem interested in you at all, so I feel safe that you'll stay. And if he were to be, you'd never do anything like that to me," She put away her empty can of beer, and something in her eyes shifted just a smidge-- I wouldn't have caught it if my senses hadn't been sharpened by the mention of his lack of interest in me. 

"... Right?" Letha asked, urging a response. It seemed to dawn on her that she sounded on the brink of bitterness, and she broke out into an even wider smile to compensate; "You don't seem like the type to sleep with my cousin, but maybe I'm wrong?"

"Never," was what I had answered that night.

Never... Gosh, I was delusional to think I could behave. 

Once again, I glanced at Roman at the next red light, watching the way one strand of hair strayed from his stylings and laid in a soft wave over his forehead. He opened his big, green eyes, smirking as he realized he was being watched-- "Eyes on the road,"

It was embarrassing how fast I blushed. I quickly nodded, gripping the steering wheel harder as I fixated on the red light above us. "Was it the next intersection I needed to get off on?" I asked, hoping not to linger on the subject of my peeking. "Could you maybe turn on the GPS on my phone just in case you fall asleep?"

"I'm not sleeping," Roman prompted, holding out his hand to take my phone.

As I reached for it in my back pocket, I felt it vibrate as the lights turned green. I gave Roman my phone, in a rush to not miss the light even though we were the only ones on the highway. "Who's calling?" 

Roman didn't answer me-- I pieced together who it was when he started greeting my mom.

Oh no. 

I freed one hand from the steering wheel, trying to get a hold of my phone as Roman quietly laughed at my attempt. I didn't succeed; "Yeah, she's here," he said, grinning as he motioned for me to keep driving. "I hoped to have her stay over at my place tonight, as my mother is desperate to meet your lovely daughter."

I rolled my eyes, mouthing a simple fuck you. Roman had to bite down on his lip to suppress a laugh-- we both knew his mom was out of town and that his intentions were far from anything as pure as to introduce me to her. 

My mom seemed flustered by his pleasantries on the other side of the phone, but I couldn't make out the specifics of what she was saying. It didn't sound like she was objecting, though. 

Roman nodded along as he turned down the music on the stereo and (finally) removed his legs off the dashboard. "No, of course, I wouldn't dream of giving your daughter any alcohol! Yes-- Yes, we were at a party just now, but we're both sober as rocks!" He glanced at me, mischief dancing in the green of his eyes.

The look on his face now was priceless. Although he was lying to my mom right up her face (her ear?), he still looked damn charming as always.

"Uh-huh..." Roman mumbled, now reciting his phone number at her request. "We'll probably be up having dinner, so you can call me anytime if you have any questions!-- Yes, I know it's late to have dinner, but my mother is European like that. Your daughter is in good hands, don't worry!"

I rolled my eyes once more, knowing how fond my mom was of him and how easily she'd eat all of this up. When Roman finally got off the call, he broke out into a string of laughter-- "Your mom is so damn sweet, but I can tell she's terrified we'll have sex. It seems you've taken after her,"

"I'm not terrified!" I whined, turning left to get off the highway.

He snorted; "I was two seconds away from telling her I have a stash of condoms, and that she shouldn't worry about having to take care of a mini-me when you leave for college,"

I did my best not to blush-- this conversation was getting more and more suggestive. "Shut up," I mumbled. "I'm not terrified."

Roman's eyes softened as he sat back in his seat and watched me drive his car. I knew I was giving away my true feelings regarding the matter with the way I was anxiously tapping my fingers against the steering wheel. I continued; "I just had you locked in a closet trying to convince you I'm not. It's not that big of a deal,"

"Relax, I'm just teasing you," Roman ran his fingers through his hair, gazing into the rearview mirror to check how messed up it had gotten. His red car had an open roof, after all. He sighed, trying to choose his next words wisely. "Not a big deal, you say?"

"Well..." I was unsure whether to be honest or not.

Roman nodded, looking out at all the trees passing us by. His silence was unnerving, and I turned up the music to tune it out. I couldn't stand this. Something in him switched; Maybe he was upset that I said it wasn't a big deal? Or maybe he was realizing it was a big deal to him? I needed to change the subject; "This is the right direction, no? I feel like I'm just driving deeper into the forest--"

"I've never told you this, but after the first time we kissed, I kept having the same dream where never left the seven minutes in heaven closet," Roman placed his head in the palm of his hand as he leaned his elbow against the car door, sighing. "Over and over, every night. Nearly drove me mad. And in the dream, there were no seven minutes, no time limit. So it was just you and I, and we were going at it like fucking crazy."

I held my breath, my eyes widening further with every sentence. What? Was he drunk-rambling or was this something else?

Roman sighed again, attempting to relax as he closed his eyes and stilled in his seat. Like this, I could nearly mistake him for being asleep. "It all started with me wanting to fuck you," he mumbled. "But every night, at the end of the dream, I got greedy... Because suddenly, I also wanted you to love me." 

Had I not been good at keeping calm, I would've probably crashed the car into the nearest tree. I didn't get much time to process, to feel the weight of his confession, until Roman snapped out of it like a character taken straight out of an animation, now sitting up; "Turn here,"

I drove up to a huge gate, stopping the car as I tried to steady my breathing. "Roman--"

"Two seconds," he said, getting out of the car to walk up to the intercom. He was as good as normal now.

I was left still gripping the steering wheel for dear life, my mouth opening and closing as I tried to find the right words. I watched as Roman typed in a code, and the massive gate slowly opened as he jumped back into the car. 

My breath was still held in my chest as I turned to him, eyes wider than plates of expensive china. 

Roman glanced back at me with an innocent smile; the mood had completely switched. "Breathe," he cooed, reaching forward to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "It's just a mansion." With a sharp intake of air, he glanced at the backseat and the crumbled-up hot pink crop top we had brought with us (stolen, actually) from the party-- "A mansion with a possibility to put that anomaly in the fucking laundry."

I turned towards it as well, returning to my mind at the sight of the obnoxious colour of the top-- Knowing I had made him cum into the fabric of it merely an hour ago still felt like a triumph.

... Was it maybe my turn, now?

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And he was right-- this was an absolute castle of a house. I had suppressed the truth about Roman's wealth for as long as I could, not wanting to think about it in case my mind went haywire about it, but now it was smacking me in the face.

Still, Roman's hand on the small of my back was a comfort as he led me through the mansion on the most impromptu show-around I've ever witnessed. "This is the room where I learned how to shoot darts," he mumbled, pointing at the small dents in the wall. "I didn't know the darts were actually stuck to the wall and not the printed dartboard I hung up..." He bent down, picking up the painting his mother had hung up to cover the indents.

I couldn't help but laugh, clinging to his arm as we moved from room to room. The mansion was gothic, vampy, but that might've just been my imagination playing with me. The tall ceilings were intimidating, yet beautiful-- judging by my surroundings, there was no denying that everything around me cost a fortune.

I was yanked out of my trail of thoughts when Roman led me behind a red curtain by one of the big windows in the next room, and I giggled as he wrapped it around us. My back was pressed against the wall, engulfed by both the curtain and Roman's embrace; "This is where I learned how to French," he whispered, smiling as he pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. "And it was horrible. She fucking bit me and I squealed like a girl."

If Roman was trying to distract me from what he had said in the car, he was certainly doing a good job. The mental image of his first French kiss kept me beyond entertained, and we both continued laughing as he got us out of the wrap of the curtain.

However, it was the walk up the circular stairs that truly made it dawn on me who I was dating-- Roman Godfrey, the future heir to a billion-dollar company. Fuck. I stared up at the painting above us, the one of him and his mother posing with a rather regal-looking background. He couldn't have been more than fourteen in that picture, and I could see his classic intimidating stare through the painting and the way he clutched the chair his mother was posed on. It was clear that the boy in the painting didn't want to be there at all.

Roman turned, realizing what I was looking at; "I fucking hate that one," he grumbled, giving my hand a squeeze. "I refused to smile at that age. I look like I'm on the brink of killing myself."

"Not true," I squeezed his hand back. "Give yourself some grace. How old were you?"

"Fourteen,"

There you go. "Judging by the painting, I think we could've been friends at fourteen,"

Roman stopped in the middle of the curved stairway, his brows drawing together. "How so?"

I shrugged, trying not to focus on how much taller he was than me. If I thought about it for too long, I'd jump him. "Because I wore all black for about a year. If you refused to smile, and I refused to show any joy, I think we would've been a killer duo,"

Roman blinked twice before cracking into a chuckle. "That's unexpected,"

"Bet,"

"You're all... cute and bubbly now,"

"You think?" I wasn't sure how much I agreed. "The girl that's fucking around with her ex-best friend's cousin?"

Roman had to bite down another laugh. "What do you mean, fucking around? I haven't as much as touched you compared to how I could've,"

Oh.

Oh God.

I held back a shiver, staring up at him as he resumed leading me up the stairs. "But... you have touched me,"

"Sure," Roman proceeded to get a proper look at me in the darkness of the night when we reached the second floor. The green around his widened pupils practically shone-- it was impressively cat-like. "Impossible not to, with those fuck-me eyes of yours."

"Hey!" I wasn't sure why I was protesting, but I knew his snicker egged me on. "I don't have... that!"

I could see that Roman was on the brink of cooing at me, and he sucked in a sharp breath as he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. I hadn't seen him this amused in a while. "Right," he purred. "You don't. Not a trace at all." With a short kiss on my forehead, he moved away from me and started walking down the dark corridor. "Keep those fuck-me eyes in the hallway, and I might let you sleep tonight."

I sighed before gearing up into a walking sprint to catch up with his long strides-- If only he knew that sleep was the last thing on my mind. 

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When we finally reached Roman's bedroom, I couldn't believe the size of it. My room was nothing in comparison. I had certainly not expected the posters-- there were many rare classic horror films and some bands I was sure his mom probably loathed. However, I was surprised by the lack of half-naked models on his walls which I had always imagined; I let out a short, relieved breath. "Your room is nice,"

Roman hummed, throwing his jacket on a chair nearby. "Not too boyish for you?" 

"Nah," I mumbled, walking up to the posters on the opposite wall. There were a lot of movies I hadn't seen yet-- still, I couldn't help but laugh a little when I saw The Godfather. "It's very you."

"How great that you like me, then," 

"Lucky for you, yeah," There was something about this room that I couldn't help but love-- this was where Roman woke up and fell asleep. This was where he probably spent most of his time. I wondered whether the pillows smelled of his going-out cologne or the lighter one he usually wore to school. I wondered whether he'd been caught smoking in here, whether he'd done coke with Peter on his desk, and how many girls he'd had up here. By the likes of it, I somehow doubted anything like that ever happened at his place. If he had waited this long to have me over, I decided it was highly unlikely he'd invite someone he didn't know very well. 

I clasped my hands behind my back, taking long strides as I scanned the many posters on his walls.

Roman sat down on the chair by his desk, spreading out as he watched me with a smirk. "Not what you expected?"

I turned to him, my brows drawing together; "Why? Are you nervous or something?"

"I'm not nervous," Roman huffed, folding his arms over his chest. Now that I was looking straight at him, it was clear that he was. "I'm simply asking."

A knowing smile crept up my cheeks-- it felt like I had the upper hand, for once. "You're nervous,"

"Am not!"

"And now you're fidgeting,"

I was correct; Roman's right leg had given into a slight bounce. He rolled his eyes, muttering curse words under his breath. "It's not every day that I have girls up here, okay? I'm never here, stuff always happens at someone else's-- well, now your room. Because this is, like... my lair,"

I had to bite back an amused smirk; "Your evil lair?"

"Bingo. This is where I dissect people and stuff," He pointed to the table next to him. "So... yeah. Your opinion matters to me, I guess."

"Oh, does it now?"

"On some things, sure,"

I nodded, focusing on how the moonlight was dipping into the dark brown of Roman's hair. He didn't have to be so pretty all the time, did he? How rude. "Such as...?"

With a shrug, Roman now gazed at the tall ceiling. Like this, he almost looked bored. "Your opinion of me is the one that comes to mind, I guess,"

"My opinion of... you?" That was new. 

Roman met my eyes again, this time with a new emotion-- his head was slightly tilted to the side, and he was looking at me through his brows. I had a feeling he didn't intend the look to be as intimidating as it was. "It fluctuates,"

"My opinion?"

"Yep," he said. "Some days, you look at me like I'm everything. And then, the next day, I'm the biggest asshole in the world."

My lips drew together in a tight line-- this was unexpected. "And here I thought I was the only consistent thing in your life," I mumbled. "I don't know, Rome, every couple has its ups and downs, no? But I don't want them to make you doubt what I feel for you. Because... you know, right?" I started taking wary steps across the room. "You know I adore you, there is no way you've managed to miss that?"

With a sigh, Roman sat back in his chair with a smile. "Sure, I know that," he murmured, watching my every step with anticipation. "And I bet that tree you carved our initials into can attest."

Goddamn it. "You're never going to let go of that, are you?" 

As I finally approached him, Roman led me between his legs with a gentle hold around my waist. "Nope," He pressed his lips against my clothed chest, his fingers slowly digging into my top. My arms draped around his neck, and my next words were muffled against his hair; he reeked of his usual cinnamon-flavored cigarettes-- "But sure, if the tree ever starts talking, it will agree. You know I'm crazy about you,"

"Crazy is the keyword here,"

"Oh, shut up," I muttered, pulling away to get a proper look at him. Roman was so damn beautiful-- I had missed the sight of him in the past twenty-four hours I had been unsure of the state of our relationship. "I still can't believe you thought I was going to break up with you... Do you know how shitty you would have to be to drive me to that point?"

Roman pulled me back in again, enjoying the scent of my perfume with his next deep inhale; he pressed a short kiss to my neck. "Let me be paranoid," The next kiss lingered for longer, the warm exhale through his nose grazing my skin.

"But I don't want you to be," I tried. "I don't ever want you to doubt us like that. Never, ever again."

Roman stilled. With a sigh, he spoke; "Okay... but that's where you step into what people in my family call a deathtrap," He motioned for me to sit down in his lap, and with wary movements, I draped my arms around his neck and sat down, allowing him to place a sweet kiss to my cheek. "Deathtrap?" I echoed.

"Deathtrap," Roman shifted, placing one arm around my waist as his free hand traced small circles into my thighs. "Otherwise known as... hope." And just like that, it was as though his mind went elsewhere, as though something in his eyes shifted. 

However, I'd had enough of that-- I wasn't having any of it tonight. Knowing Roman saw hope as a deathtrap made my heart burn. Wary of not being too abrupt, I slowly placed a finger underneath his chin, catching his attention. "If you don't want to harbor any hope of your own, I'll lend you mine," I whispered, gently nudging his nose with mine. 

Roman's pupils dilated as his hot breath fanned against my upper lip. I could smell the beer on him, the cigarettes, yet the most prevalent was the anxiety-- it brushed upon my skin, and caressed my heart. "All of it, Roman," My hand went back into his hair, stroking through the softness of his locks. "All my hope, all my love... it's all yours to borrow. To keep, to mold, to steal, to hold, for as long as you like. It's not a trap of any kind. You're safe with me."

That was all it took, and so he gave in; with the smallest of sighs, Roman closed his eyes, relishing in the moment. "You make me feel... you make me feel," he echoed, almost in disbelief. "It's a painful thing, is it not?"

I dared to let my hand brush down the side of his face, my thumb gently ghosting over his closed lid to feel the softness of his lashes against the pad of my finger. "It doesn't have to be. It could feel really, really good,"

Roman let out a shaky breath against me; "I want that for you," he said, opening his eyes. The green in his eyes shone in the white shimmer of the moonlight, illuminating the intent in his words. "Want to make you feel good... in every way possible." 

Something about the drop in his voice nearly made me shiver-- I couldn't allow myself to, not in his lap. It took a few seconds for me to notice that I was holding my breath, staring back at him with a look on my face which I hoped didn't give away too much. Maybe I had misinterpreted his words? Maybe Roman meant that in a romantic way?

However, with the following upward curve of the corners of his mouth, so small I could barely notice it, I knew my intuition had been right. Roman definitely meant that in a different way. 

... I needed to listen to my intuition more, didn't I?

Roman's hand on my thigh lifted, now removing the vial of blood around my neck to place it on the table nearby; he proceeded to put his palm against my cheek with the gentlest touch, softly caressing my skin with his thumb. This was when it dawned on me that we were alone. Completely alone. Possibly for the first time ever. No interruptions, with no one to hear anything. Had this been a month ago, that fact alone would've been enough to make me jump off his lap, and I would've probably paced up and down along his room with nervous steps to soothe my anxiety. Being alone with him meant that I wouldn't be able to contain my need for him, I was sure of it.

But now? I believed Roman could do that for me. Soothe me. He could calm me down like no other. Now, I knew he wouldn't run off after getting what he wanted-- because now, I knew that what he truly wanted was me. 

"Could you let me do that?" Roman breathed, the green of his eyes finding my lips. I was confused as to how I hadn't melted into his lap already. "Make you feel good?" He leaned forward, just a few inches, now brushing the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip, transfixed. "Or... are you sure you want to do this? Have your first time with someone like me?"

There was something about the fact that he was even asking-- the old Roman would never. "Who else would I have my first time with? It's always been you," My lips parted in a soundless intake of breath, my gaze darting to his plush, pink lips. Like this, I could almost feel them against me; we had kissed so many times that my body remembered the sweet push of his lips simply by gazing at them. Still, I was afraid it would never be enough, and every kiss was as thrilling as the first one. "Just being with you like this feels good already."

Roman hummed, absentminded. "Not what I'm getting at,"

"I know," I breathed. "But I can't help but worry that--" I had to clear my throat, swallowing. Why was I getting so damn nervous? It was getting harder to breathe, and I was sure my cheeks were flushing. "Well... That I won't know what to do."

With a sigh, Roman bit down on his lip to hold back a laugh. "It's your first time, you won't have to do much," Despite his lids hanging heavy over his darkening eyes, I could see the want building in him. "I'll take the lead, okay? You just relax." He steadied me with his palm over my cheek before leaning forward-- my body hitched with caution as he brushed his lips across mine, slanted, until I allowed myself to give in. 

The soft pillow of Roman's lips was the sweetest pressure I had ever known. I could feel my blood heat with the intent of the kiss, and I suddenly got the urge to cross my legs to calm myself down-- I knew I couldn't. Roman's breath fell softly against my cheek as my hands went up into his hair, tugging gently at the tips of his dark locks as I kissed him back with my lips slightly parted, moving against his as though he was whispering me a question.

Maybe I didn't hear it-- maybe it was a warning? Had he actually whispered something, or was I imagining things? Because with the next second, Roman hooked his arm under my knees, lifting me off the chair as I yelped into the kiss. It didn't take long before I eased, telling myself he had lifted me many times before, and that he would never drop me. Never, ever. Roman smiled against my lips, humming just slightly as he carried me bridal-style across the room. It felt silly, cliché, until it dawned on me-- was he playing the cliché out for me? Was this what he perhaps imagined I wanted, something pure, something classically virginal?

In the few seconds our kiss was broken, Roman placed me down on the bed and watched as I giggled; it was impossible not to laugh as the recoil of the springs threatened to bounce me up in the air again. He tsked, now grinning as he made space between my legs, drawing me closer before he kissed me once more. It was bolder this time, pressing the soft fullness of his mouth against mine-- there was nowhere else for me to go but to him. 

My hands wove into Roman's hair again, pulling him closer as my heart thumped hard in my chest. Was this really happening? Or was this maybe something I was imagining, maybe the alcohol hadn't left my system yet? "Rome--"

Before I could continue, his lips were on mine again like a magnet, drawing us together, unable to separate the magnetic forces long enough to let me speak. It was confirmed; he was definitely here. This was real. There was an urgency to Roman's stubborn kisses-- you're mine, just accept it. Being kissed into submission was something I had never imagined was possible, yet here I was, my lips parting with a soft whimper, feeling his tongue against mine; it filled me with a complete and utter satisfaction, a final statement. 

I wanted him to devour me. As I coiled my fingers around Roman's dark hair, tugging him closer, I so desperately wanted only that. To melt into him, to become one-- was that maybe the core concept of sex which I had misunderstood all up until this exact moment? Just the thought of being connected with Roman like that, knowing he could possibly be inside me-- that thought had never evoked the physical reaction in me before as it did now. 

Well, fuck. I realized I was screwed before it had even happened.

Sucking in a sharp breath, the silk of Roman's expensive duvets kept me grounded as he softly groaned into my mouth. His tongue circled mine before gently sucking the tip of it into his mouth, and he listened to my whimpers as he withdrew shortly after, a lone string of saliva still linking us. I was unsure why I was left so speechless, why every little thing he did made me feel like my body was on fire, but I knew there was no rationality in need. The innate need ravaging through your veins. There was no way to make sense of it, and I was certain Roman was aware of that too. Yet suddenly, he was near-motionless, blinking twice as if he was a little lost on what to do, which I immediately thought was odd--

Oh. There it was. I was wondering when that would happen. 

So... Roman wasn't lost. Far from it. Flustered might be a better word-- I felt his erection poke into my stomach, and it made me realize how big his pupils had gotten. That was quick. "Uh... Surprise?" He awkwardly cleared his throat as his green eyes nearly devoured me whole. "Fuck it, there's one thing I want to do before we go on. It'll take a second."

I held my breath-- with Roman, that could mean anything. "... Okay?"

"Don't look so scared," he teased, getting off the bed and walking to his nightstand. In my head, I wondered whether he was grabbing condoms, or whether he was about to impose something kinky on me. I was ready to start my rehearsed lecture on going slow with me, that it was my first time and everything, until my mind blanked at the sight of a... candle?

Roman got a lighter nearby, looking back at me with a trying smile. "You once said that me and sweet don't go together," he explained, lighting the candle. "On our first date, I believe, if we can call it that. The blackmail part of it was probably not ideal, but it counts in my head. Anyway, I thought you might be right about the sweet part... but it doesn't mean I shouldn't try to be."

I was afraid I'd melt much, much faster than that candle. "Don't tell me you went out and bought that candle just for this?"

Roman shrugged, hoping to brush it off. "Well... I was determined to prove you wrong. And I had a candle for my first time, and I guess it eased me a little. But, uh... I think this is actually a funeral candle," 

"I see," I had to contain a laugh. Sitting up, I reached for his fingers as I longed to touch him again; "Well, no one's dead yet, but the night is still young."

Unable to hold it, Roman snorted, placing the lighter back on the nightstand before he interlocked our fingers. "I'm never doing anything like this again, so I suggest you cherish it,"

"What? But now I'm growing fond of the funeral candle, you're breaking my heart!"

Roman rolled his eyes, sinking down on the bed again, and he brought our intertwined fingers above my head. "If that's what I need to do to get you in my bed, I'll buy the whole fucking candle company," 

There was something exciting about the fact that Roman genuinely could. It wasn't just an empty threat. If he got high enough one night, I was sure he'd know who to call. I was surprised to feel he was still hard now that his erection was pressed up against me once more, but I didn't get much time to think about it-- Roman freed one of his hands, and he managed to make his way under my top as he kissed me once more.

My breath hitched against the soft push of his lips as it hit me that I might have to get fully naked for this. Fuck. Okay. Yet my anxiety eased at the thought of him being fully naked too-- I found my hips keening up against him, my need for friction growing with my arousal. 

Roman smiled into the kiss; it was a ravenous feeling. "Impatient?" he asked, barely leaving my lips.

"Yeah," It was merely a breath-- I felt his hand ghost over my bra, slowly tracing the hem. I could barely think, too excited to function anymore.

"No need," Roman pulled away, letting go of the remaining hand above my head as his fingers now toyed with the edge of my top. "We have all the time in the world."

His tone was enough to bring scarlet to my cheeks, but I nodded, swallowing when he bunched the fabric up in his hands and lifted it up and off of me. I raised my arms, pouting just slightly at the loss of contact-- who would've thought I'd get more drunk from kissing Roman than the beer Peter gave me earlier? 

With a sigh, Roman's eyes consumed me; the smirk with which he looked down at me only made me more flustered. "Rome," I whined, reaching my hands out for him. "Stop that, get back here. This isn't anything new." That was true-- me in my bra wasn't a sight he hadn't seen before. 

Roman tsked, sending me a stern look. "You're disturbing my thought process,"

"Your thought process?--"

"Yep," he said, shrugging. "I'm just thinking about how I want to cum right..." Roman trailed a line across my lower abdomen with his finger, using a touch so light it immediately made me squirm. "... here."

The squirming quickly turned into a small shiver, and my hands went straight to my face as my blush deepened. 

There was a change in Roman which was noticeable by the way he lost his smile, lost in whatever images he had in his head as he now leaned back down, pressing eager kisses to the apex of my collarbones. His lips trailed down my body, his fingers digging into the sides of my waist-- his mind was gone. I tugged at his hair as he inched further away, and I whimpered at the sensation of his tongue tracing a circle around my belly button. I never expected myself to like anything like that, but damn-- heaven. This was heaven. 

I was reminded of how much bigger Roman was than me when I was suddenly yanked to the edge of the bed, and I could only yelp as I did nothing to fight it. His hands trailed down the sides of my hips, now hooking his fingers around my panties, not yet taking them off-- instead, he was kissing me through my soaked underwear, humming. 

Christ, this was something I could get used to. I managed to register the fact that he wasn't on the bed anymore, and I propped myself up on my elbows with the last remaining power I had to confirm my suspicions. Roman stopped for a moment, pulling away to glance right back at me; "What?"

"You're... kneeling,"

"... Yeah?"

It didn't register in my head. "You don't kneel for anyone," The Roman Godfrey didn't get on his knees for anyone in the world. In my mind, he thought the world should be kneeling to him, and that he would never stoop so low.

However, the look he gave me in return told me everything I needed to know. Come on, now. Roman pulled my underwear off as he spoke, peeling it down my thighs; "I kneel for you," To him, that was as simple as a fact. The most logical thing in the history of the universe. He didn't even seem to deem the subject worthy of a further conversation, now grabbing my hips to bring me even closer to the edge of the bed as I let out a small squeak. Roman led my legs to hang over his broad shoulders as he leaned forward, rings of desire around his eyes as he licked a broad, flat stripe up my sex.

Fuck-- I did my best not to mewl as my fingers reached for his hair once more, twirling into the soft curls of his hair. "Rome--"

At this point, I was sure he wouldn't hear me no matter how loudly I spoke. Roman sensed I was about to start keening against him, and he pulled my legs back and held my thighs in place as he slicked his tongue in between my slit, mouth moving as though he was pressing deep, heavy kisses against me. I whimpered, my grip on his hair loosening as I felt my conscience slip into its usual drugged-on-Roman state. A very, very dangerous state of mind, if you ask me.

Giving me some time to breathe, Roman moved to leave soft kisses up along the crease of my thighs. "Keep your legs like this, okay?" he said, slowly trailing one hand up my thigh. Roman's finger teasingly tapped my clit, and he turned to watch the thin line of slick connecting the pad of his finger to me. It was hard not to squirm, and I brought one hand up to my mouth to hopefully suppress any noise. "Rome, what are you?--"

Oh. My breath hitched as he eased his slicked middle finger into me, careful to go in with slow strokes. I whined against my hand when Roman's mouth returned to me, sealing his perfect lips around my swollen nub, adding pressure. It was almost too much-- I felt myself clench around his finger when he curled it upwards, just as his lips covered my mound, sucking me in. 

"Christ," I breathed, reaching down to grab a hold of Roman's hair, the slick sounds of his mouth making goosebumps appear along my skin as I contained a shiver. "Shit, Rome, it feels-- so, so good--"

My mindless ramble came to an end with the next hitch of my breath; Roman added another finger, humming against me as an answer. With how nervous I was, it was a tight fit, and the sting that followed made me instinctively tighten my fist in his hair, my skin straining over my knuckles. It was hard to keep still, a string of whimpers escaping my lips. 

My hands shook as Roman continued slowly stroking his fingers into me. I wondered whether he could feel my anxiety seeping into my lust-- it was becoming so real. Roman's green eyes darted up at me, stilling his fingers, giving me time to adjust. He pulled away from me, leaving his digits in me as he spoke; "I'm not gonna last long if you tighten up like that later," 

His words conjured a deep blush to my cheeks, and I brought my hands up to my face to hide. "Sorry," I breathed. "I don't-- don't know what's happening."

Roman shrugged, placing a wet, gentle kiss against the inside of my thigh. "You're nervous. It's normal," His hot breath ghosted over my soaked sex as he moved to the other thigh-- "I think it'll help if I make you cum like this. You'll relax more. And I'll keep my fingers in, get you used to the feeling... Unless you want them out?"

For a man who said he didn't deal with virgins, he certainly knew how to talk one down from the cliff. I let out a shaky breath, peeking down at him past my fingers; "N-No, it's okay,"

Roman seemed to be holding back a laugh; "You look a little spooked,"

"I... do?" Knowing my boyfriend, I knew he probably found that incredibly hot.

"A bit. Wanna stop?--"

"No!" That was a little too quick. Fuck. 

Roman chuckled as he proceeded to bite down on the inside of my thigh with a teasing smirk-- I squeaked, clenching around his fingers. "Good," he purred, leaning forward to press a short kiss to my clit, drawing out another squeak from me. Something told me he liked the sound of my pleasured panic. "It's been some time since the last time you let me do this. I've missed the taste of you."

"... It's been, like, four days,"

Roman let out a groan, and I could see in his eyes that it was building in him-- the innate lust. "A fucking eternity," he breathed, a new rasp appearing in his voice. With that, Roman didn't lose a single second leaning back down, slicking his tongue between my folds, returning to suck down on my clit with a moan. 

Oh, well-- I knew I was done for. Still, knowing his goal was to make me cum, knowing I didn't have to hold back, I let my hands wander back into his hair with a whimper of pleasure. It didn't take long before I clenched around his fingers again, the burn of the stretch subsiding with every flick of Roman's tongue. 

"Fuck," I breathed. "Fuck, fuck--"

Any attempt to speak dissolved into incoherent cries, teetering on the edge while pleasure surged through me like a relentless wave. Still, it didn't take more than two more sucks to ease me over, and I felt my climax drawing out long and slow against Roman's mouth, tightening around his fingers with a whimper. 

My head lolled along the duvets as I tried to catch my breath. With every time Roman did this, it only got better-- it was hard to believe that was even possible. I came to my senses when I felt his fingers slide out of me, the twinge of pain having long passed. 

"Fuck," Roman said, a laugh to his voice as he pressed kisses up along my stomach, getting up from the ground. "Best fucking pussy in the world."

God-- I hid my face again, my blush deepening. That dirty mouth of his. "That was so good," I purred, reaching out for him; "Come here, Rome. I miss you up here."

Chuckling, Roman shook his head, motioning for me to scoot further up the bed. "Just a sec," he said, walking back over to his nightstand, opening his drawer again and shuffling around. I did as told, watching him with a sigh; he was right, that orgasm had relaxed me. However, my zen didn't last long-- I suddenly felt all my muscles tightening when I watched Roman bring the fingers he just had in me to his lips, absentmindedly sucking on them as he now held up a silver wrapper with his free hand as though that was the most normal thing in the world. I also spotted a clear bottle which I could only assume was lube. 

What the fuck? The sight of him doing that made me want to disappear into the bed-- why was the sight so... thrilling? It must've been the look of enjoyment on his face. "Oh, that's hot," I mumbled, my eyes immediately widening with the realization of what I had just blurted out.

Roman cocked a brow as unclasped the vial of my blood around his neck, placing it next to the candle before he got back on the bed, now trailing the residue of spit and slick on his fingers across my thighs. "Well, you taste nice,"

"Not that nice?"

A hum; "Wanna try some, make up your mind?" he asked, a teasing smirk spreading across his plush lips as he brought his hand up to his mouth, wiping off the remnants of my slick to coat his fingers. 

I shivered, grimacing— "No, thanks," Hoping to distract Roman from trying to convince me, I sat up, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. Frankly, I had enough of being the only one that was undressed.

Roman hummed, following my hands with his eyes, grinning from ear to ear as he threw down the condom and the lube somewhere on the bed. "More for me, then," he mumbled, licking my slick off his fingers as he kept his gaze on me-- it didn't take long before he pushed me back down on the bed, unbuttoning the last of his buttons with ease I could never match. 

My heart had probably never worked this hard before in my life. "Rome," I tried, watching him discard his shirt. Fuck-- he was gorgeous. I could feel myself blushing in an instant, shamelessly looking him up and down; I knew he didn't mind. Why was I reacting like this? Roman being breathtakingly handsome wasn't news? "I think... I think--"

"You're still thinking?" Roman's hands gripped my waist as he leaned down, kissing up my torso as I whimpered beneath him, reaching for his hair again. "Stop thinking. No thinking."

"No thinking?" I echoed, giggling as his eager kisses reached my neck, getting ticklish. "You're asking for too much." Now that he was finally close again, I draped my arms around him, trailing my fingers across his broad shoulders with a sigh. Being skin-to-skin like this was my favorite thing in the world-- being connected.

Roman hummed, his erection once again pressing into my lower abdomen. "Either you stop thinking of your own volition..." he said, pulling my chest up against his. "... Or I'll have to fuck your brains out. Your choice."

I shivered, feeling my mind start buzzing. That was a damn easy choice. "That sounds rough," I mumbled, my breath hitching as Roman pressed a kiss to my ear. "You said you'd be gentle..." To be completely honest, this was the part I was nervous about-- would he maybe not be able to be? I was a little scared he'd be like one of those horror-story guys Letha had told me she'd been with, one of those guys that just slap you all of a sudden or start choking you cause they've seen it in porn and think that's normal behavior. 

Roman pulled away, hovering barely an inch above my lips; his breath grazed my cheek, and the green of his eyes were glazed over with a look of confusion. "Am I not being just that?" he asked, nodding to the candle.

Oh-- I turned to the supposed funeral candle. 

It allowed sweet a kiss to my cheek, the tip of his upturned nose pressing into my cheekbone; "Trust me. I wouldn't want to hurt you, you know me,"

He was right-- from the very first moment we got together, he had told me just that.

Still, it was only when I felt Roman's lips against mine with the softest of pressures, that I pushed my concerns away. It was the sort of kiss that made my heart burn, the sort of kiss that made my hands trail up into his hair to keen him closer. I pushed all my thoughts of horror into a heap, churned it in my mental grinder, processed it, and allowed the product of it to slip past my lips; "I want you," I breathed, feeling myself grow needy against him.

Roman hummed, a small roll of his hips onto mine following-- I didn't expect it to make my breath catch in my chest. "I want you too," 

Something in me ignited; I wanted him to do that again. Disoriented, I reached down for the zipper of his jeans, moaning into the kiss that followed. "Want you more," 

Roman smiled; "Not possible," 

At this moment, I was thankful to be made up of solid matter-- if not, I was sure I'd have melted straight into the bed, a puddle of pure horny. I wasn't sure when Roman lost his pants, too consumed in the kiss to function. My state of arousal only heightened when my hips bucked up, feeling the hard outline of his cock between my legs; I was suddenly reminded of the time we did something similar in an alleyway on our first day. But this was different-- this was a direct contact of his clothed length brushing up against my clit with repeating strokes, a motion which had my breath hitching as my nails dug into his shoulders.

Roman let out a soft groan, nipping at my neck as he ground down against me. "This," he breathed. "This is what you do to me. I wanna be in you so fucking bad."

With the next roll of his hips, I whimpered; the buzzing of my mind refused to still. "Have me, then," was all I managed to say, tugging at Roman's hair as the tips of my fingers burned.

What followed happened so fast, I barely registered it. I heard the ripping of the silver wrapping in the midst of our heated kiss, adrenaline and dopamine coursing through my veins as every little sweet word rolling off Roman's tongue filled me with that familiar warm feeling I always got around him.

For this, it was all worth it. All the drama with Letha, all the tears, all the pain-- it was all worth it. 

"You're everything," Roman whispered, rubbing the head of his cock along my soaked sex as my hands skimmed the muscular range of his back. "You're my everything, do you know that?"

God, how I wanted to be one with him. Wanted him in my head, wanted him in me, wanted to melt into him and become one single entity, never to part. From the first moment I met him, from the first moment I laid eyes on him in class, from the first moment he smiled at me, I knew it was Roman. It would always be Roman, it would always, always be Roman for me, and knowing he thought the same of me as well, that I was his everything-- all my longing, everything, had been worth it. Because I was his everything too, finally, just like he had always been mine. 

However, as Roman angled his cock and gently pushed the head in, kissing my cheek with the sweetest touch, I didn't expect the painful, sharp sting-- I wasn't sure how loudly I gasped, how far my nails dug into his back, but I was really damn certain that this hurt. 

Roman was out of me within the blink of a second; "Shit," he breathed, a panicked look in his eyes. "Should've-- Should've warned you."

The sting remained as I did my best to breathe through it. "That's a stretch," was all I managed to say, stroking over where I had scraped his back. 

"I'll take that as a compliment," Roman mumbled, scanning me. He didn't seem bothered by the crescent moons my nails were leaving behind. "You okay?"

"Yeah..."

He cursed under his breath, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead. "I forgot about this part... My brain doesn't work when you're naked," Roman sighed, reaching for one of the hands I had on his back. "If you want to go on, I might know a way to make it a little easier."

I met his eyes as he brought the back of my hand to his lips; "I guess it's supposed to hurt a little, Roman, just... just do what you usually do, I trust you," Maybe I needed to push through it? I could take a little pain, couldn't I? That was until I remembered the pain again-- it made me clench. Ouch.

With a certain look I knew too well, he shook his head as he now wrapped his fingers around my wrist. "No. It's not supposed to hurt," he said. "And I said I wouldn't hurt you, so..." Roman trailed my hand down along my body, watching as my eyes widened. "In my experience, it helps if you... help."

"Help?"

"Help yourself, so to speak," Roman purred, his signature cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Cause I doubt this will be your first time doing this."

"Doing what?-- Oh," As he placed my hand over my sex, he slid two fingers above mine, guiding me to rub my clit. Roman was right; it wasn't my first time doing that to myself. Still, this was a different feeling-- My hips immediately bucked up into our hands, and when Roman leaned down to kiss me, I knew I was done for. 

Everything felt warm, everything felt right. "Just keep doing that," he whispered, sinking his teeth into my lower lip. "Wanna?-- Again?"

Roman didn't need to use more words than that; I knew what he meant. I nodded, feeling my cheeks redden at the fact that I was touching myself in front of him like this-- however, I didn't have time to think much about it.

Soon, I wasn't the only one touching myself, anyway.

"Should've used this from the start," Roman mumbled, cursing under his breath as he poured a dash of lube on his cock from the clear bottle nearby. "Got too excited... fuck." With a lazy grip, he wrapped his hand around his length, spreading the lube with slow strokes. 

My mind was buzzing.. I watched as Roman's lips parted, a shaky breath escaping him. "It's okay," I tried, rubbing mindless circles around my clit. "It's just me."

"Yeah, and I care about you," Roman's eyes were halfway closed as they met mine, darkened with growing lust. "Ready?"

I nodded-- yeah.

This time, when Roman's cock pushed into me again with the slowest of strokes, the pleasure from my clit dulled the sting. The only thing left to adjust to was the stretch; my breath hitched as my free hand went back up into his hair, wincing against his lips as his thick length stroked me open. 

Roman cursed as his parted lips hovered above mine. He held me tightly against his body, watching out for any signs of discomfort before he spoke; "Shit... This feels better than I--thought," 

My head rolled back against the duvet, breathing against Roman with small heaves. "Rome," I whimpered. "Fuck, this is--" I didn't expect the feeling, didn't expect the tips of my fingers to burn more as I grasped at his hair, didn't expect the way my whole body reacted-- it was different from anything else I had ever felt or thought I could feel. Being filled up by Roman was...

It was everything.

Everything I had ever dreamed of. 

It felt good, it felt right-- I moaned, clenching at the feeling of his cock slowly sinking into me at a steady pace, my body aching with love. This was as gentle as I bet anything like this could possibly be, and I squirmed a bit beneath him, adjusting to the feeling of having his cock inside of me. 

Roman let out a shaky breath, containing the urge to pound into my warmth like I supposed he usually would. "Hurts?"

"No, no-- Ah," 

With his next thrust, Roman kissed up my jaw, keeping every stroke careful. "Want me to put it in all the way?"

"The-- There is more?"

"Baby..." he breathed, containing a choked laugh. "I'm only halfway in."

I was sure I was about to faint. How the fuck?-- No, I couldn't think clearly in this state. No more thinking. I decided to trust him; I knew Roman would pull back if it hurt, anyway. "Okay... Let's try,"

As Roman pushed in more of his length, the quiet moan escaping him blended in with my string of panicked whimpers. I didn't even know I had space inside me for more-- my eyes sprung open, my legs giving into a tremble. "Rome, I-- a-ah, this is--"

"Shh, look at me, breathe," Roman brought his hand to my face, guiding me to look into his eyes. His voice was soft, caring; "You okay? Is this too much?"

The shock was the thing that had gotten to me, I was sure of it. Because after a few more deep strokes, a few tighter circles around my clit, my fear eased as I realized this was a sensation I would be chasing for the rest of my life.

"Feels good?" Roman asked, his voice nearly breaking-- I imagined it was hard to not give in to the pleasure of the tight embrace around his cock.

Still, I could only nod, twisting my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him towards me to smother him with a heated rush of my lips against his, moaning into the kiss as I pulled my hand from between my legs-- it was starting to brink the line of overstimulation. 

"Good," Roman muttered against my mouth. 

The kiss didn't last too long; my shock was still coming and going in waves. "I'm-- we're having sex," I blurted out, my cheeks flaring red. The truth was hitting me like a blow to the head. The thing I had dreamed about since the first day I laid eyes on him was actually happening.

Roman contained a laugh, looking rather endeared by my realization; "Yeah, you're doing it, you're having sex... I'd give you a high five, but-- hah, that wouldn't work,"

Why were we laughing? Why was this... fun?

Caught between the fire in my chest, the twinge of humor, and the ache pulsing low between my legs, I whimpered as I realized I wanted-- no, needed more. Still, a small, meek call of his name was all I managed to stutter out.

Roman shifted, pushing my body so that my knees were bent at his sides; "Speak your mind," 

How was I supposed to conjure a cohesive sentence in this state? "I want-- you, more--"

"We're going-- hah, back to that?" 

"Not that! More, Rome-- just, more, I need--"

He let out a breathy moan, smiling back down at me; he knew exactly what I meant. "Thank God," Roman's cock filled me over and over, his thrusts growing harder, faster as he found a steady pace to rock into me. "You're taking me so good, aren't you?"

My head felt like it was spinning. This couldn't be real. I couldn't possibly be as lucky as to finally sleep with Roman Godfrey. 

His voice brought me back; "You're doing so well," he murmured, burying his face into the crook of my neck, muffling a quiet moan against my skin. It was the most magical of sounds-- my heart was threatening to beat out of my chest, and I was sure the warmth of skin against mine probably helped with the overheating of my brain. "Doing so, so well for me... I've wanted you like this for so long."

"Me too," I breathed, my hips keening to take his thrusts. "Wanted you-- since forever."

My words only seemed to reel him on; Roman hips snapped harder into me as I whimpered. "Forever?" 

"Forever-- a-ah,"

Something in Roman's breathing changed. It was almost as though I could read his thoughts, feel his new reality form. Was it maybe the last push he needed to believe I was his till death? That there was a person out there walking this earth, breathing the same air, that could possibly want to be with him for an eternity? "Forever," he breathed, latching onto my neck with repeated needy kisses in an attempt to drown out the noises threatening to spill past his lips. "You and-- and I, forever."

As Roman's cock repeatedly pushed into me, I could only whimper; the stretch was still something to get used to, and my nails bit into his back as I tried to steady myself. "Forever," I managed to breathe out, hearing him moan into my neck at the sharpness of my nails against his back-- I knew he'd like that. I knew Roman too damn well. 

"Forever," he echoed, breath washing warm against my ear as he raised himself, his cheek nuzzling mine in an intimate embrace. 

I clenched around the girth of his cock, shivering. This was so unbelievably sweet, nothing I had ever expected from him. Roman was so much taller, and his broad build served as a comforting weight through the wave of new pleasure my body tried to comprehend. With the next surge of love washing over my chest, the next pump of Roman's cock, I felt my chin give in to an involuntary quiver as I gripped him tighter. 

It was at this moment that it truly dawned on me;

I loved him. 

I loved Roman Godfrey.

Tears swarmed my eyes as one of my hands went up into his soft hair, hoping he'd take it as an urging for him to kiss me again. I didn't want to have a chance to talk, to blurt it out and scare him away-- which is why, when Roman shifted and crashed his lips against mine, I only felt relief. 

I was safe. I was cared for. And damn, I felt good. 

However, what I hadn't expected, was for the shift of angle to brush past a spot inside of me I had only ever felt when Roman's fingers curled into me. But this was far greater, far more stimulating-- I let out a choked moan against Roman's lips, my eyes springing open as my head tilted back into the duvet, heaving for air as my legs gave in to a tremble. 

I didn't have to look up at him to know the exact look on his face, yet I dared to take a peek; he was too hot to resist. And there it was, those parted, perfect lips paired with that dark look in his green eyes of victory. This is exactly what he had wanted to reduce me to all along, wasn't it? Roman's hair had never been this messed up (courtesy of my hands), and the sheer look of it nearly made my heart swell. "Good tears?" he asked with a whisper, scanning the look in my eyes.

Fuck, yeah. I could only nod. 

Knowing Roman, I was wondering when he'd-- oh, hello, you. I was waiting for the eventual switch. A man like Roman Godfrey couldn't stay sweet forever. 

At the sight of my tears, I knew something new in him ignited. He placed a hand over my mouth, placing more of his weight on me as his other hand pulled me tighter against him, the wet snaps of his cock pushing into me growing louder as I moaned out against his palm. "Listen to this," he purred, a sinister smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he made me listen to the sound of our union. "This is sex, you're damn right. This is what you'll be craving from me." 

God-- I squeezed my eyes shut, the continuous push of the tip of Roman's cock against my sweet spot inside sending my brain into a frenzy. 

"I get why you've been reserved... You'll never be who you were before this again," With a grunt, the next snap of his hips only grew harder, knowing I could take it and adjust. It certainly didn't help the tremble of my body. "Gonna get you fucking addicted to this feeling. To me. Cause you've given yourself to me now, do you-- do you realize that?"

My wet lashes fluttered as I slowly dared to open my eyes, my heart thumping harder than ever before. If only he knew how addicted I already was. 

"This is it," Roman breathed, the green hues of his gaze engulfing me; "This is us. This is you. This is who you are from now on. My girl... Only mine. Forever. Gonna help you cum on this cock, okay? Gonna give you the first time you deserve, h-hah--"

Something about the look in his eyes unnerved me, despite the hot nature of his words-- What? There were many ways for him to make me cum, surely, but the second my fingers started numbing up, my mind started flaring red with a passage from my most hated book;

The upir's ability to mesmerize is an ancient and powerful form of psychic influence, capable of bending a victim's will. This control often manifests subtly, with suggestions that feel like one's own thoughts. If one is being mesmerized by a upir, it is often accompanied by a stilling of one's inner monologue, or a numbing sensation. Prolonged exposure can lead to disorientation, memory lapses, and a gradual erosion of autonomy. The key to resisting lies in anchoring oneself to reality—through pain, strong emotions, or focusing on a meaningful object. Beware: once under an upir's thrall, distinguishing truth from illusion becomes a perilous challenge.

Beware. 

Beware.

The last time my fingers had numbed up like this, was the time Roman forced me to tell him what had happened between Jasmine and I. It felt like the autonomy of my thoughts evaporated, seeped out of my ears, and disappeared into Roman's grasp. 

However, at this moment right now, this moment of blinding pleasure and complete rapture of my soul and love, I wanted nothing more but this. I knew I wasn't being mesmerized of course, because upirs weren't real-- but as Roman kept my face still and my eyes on him, it felt like it. It was almost like I heard him telling me to cum. A few more thrusts were all it took, the complete transfixion of Roman's unnaturally dilated pupils swallowing me as I only saw green, green, green-- his hand quickly left my mouth to hear me cry out, a choked moan escaping me as the fear toppled me. This was an orgasm unlike anything else I had experienced, and I felt myself pulse around Roman's length, practically milking his cock as I struggled to grapple with the most intense climax of my life. "Fuck-- Fuck!" I whimpered, my nails digging further into his back as tears welled in my eyes. 

The mere sight of it was enough for Roman to nearly buckle over, and I was ripped out of the trance, heaving for air as he spilled into the condom, teeth grazing my shoulder as he tried to bite back his moans of pleasure, hips keening into my tight warmth. 

I slowly slid my hands off Roman's broad back, realizing we had both dripped sweat onto each other's skin as I hoped my breath would soon go back to normal. My body ached in a way it had never ached before, and I winced as Roman eventually pulled out of me with a sigh. 

There was a long moment after he rolled off of me where we simply gazed at each other. I watched the heave of his chest, the way his brown hair laid over his dangerous green eyes, and wondered how on earth I had been so lucky as to have him fall for me too.

However, suddenly, amid my awe, a small droplet of blood gathered at Roman's nose. To my surprise, he was completely unbothered. The look in his eyes told me he had an inkling this would happen, and it further confused me.

I leaned forward to wipe away the blood pooling at his upper lip with my thumb. "You're bleeding," I echoed, aware that I was stating the obvious.

Roman's eyes softened; "Are you, though?"

"... What do you mean?"

Shifting, he wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer as his other hand slid between my legs, sliding a finger against the wetness of my sex as I squirmed, a short giggle escaping me as I nuzzled up against him. Roman then scanned his finger as I continued to wipe away the stream of blood coming from his nose, watching as it smeared against his cheek. He hummed; "You didn't bleed. At least that's good?"

"I guess?"

Roman kissed my bloodied thumb, a shaky breath escaping him at the taste of the iron; "How was that for you? You okay?"

If only he knew. "You were great," I purred, nipping at his jaw. "It was lovely, Rome."

He let out a breath; "Thank fuck," Roman murmured, visibly relieved. "And you were really damn sweet. I knew those fuck-me eyes would be the death of me... Sorry if it got a little intense at the end, there."

"No, no, that was-- fuck, that was so hot,"

Roman smiled. My sweet boy. Another kiss; "But now, there's one thing I wanted to do." He propped himself up on his elbow, and I closed my eyes as he made sure I laid with my back against the bed-- I was too tired to focus. The ache between my legs refused to subside, making me worried about the state of my thighs tomorrow. They better not fucking cramp up with every step, similar to the day after a hard session at the gym.

And just as I was about to ask him to return to me, to stop doing whatever the fuck he was doing, I suddenly felt a warm, slick substance drip onto my lower abdomen. With a gasp, I snapped out of my drowsiness, only to be met with the sight of Roman holding the condom above my stomach with a devilish grin, letting the content pour down on me.

He chuckled at the sight of my widened eyes, my speechless state-- "Didn't manage to cum here, as I said... so this will do,"

"Roman, for fuck's sake!" 

"What? You look good with my cum all over!--"

"Roman!"

"Fine!" he huffed. "Gonna go grab some wipes, I'll be right back. Anything else you need? Water?"

I wondered whether Roman realized how sweet he was being-- I glanced over at the candle flickering in the moonlight, the vial of my blood lying neatly next to it. The sight made my heart swell; God, how I loved him. It killed me that he couldn't know. I knew he'd run in the other direction if he did. "Water would be nice," I breathed, watching as Roman got dressed again. 

It all hit me like a wave, now;

The first time I got my heart broken, I had been at fault. 

The first time I got a black eye, I had swung the first punch.

But the first time I had sex? It had thankfully been with the man I loved. Still, I was sure the cosmic imbalance would catch up to me again and drag me back down into the dirt soon enough. 

But not right now.

Not right now.

Here, I was safe with Roman. The universe couldn't get me now, no-- not with the equivalent of the moon lying next to me. He had returned to me in no time, holding me close in his nearly immediate slumber after having lent me a shirt of his to sleep in. The cosmos wouldn't dare to touch me now. 

I adjusted the cover on top of us, kissing Roman's forehead; "Are you sleeping?" I whispered, poking his cheek with the gentlest of touches. 

No response. Phew. 

And just as I started to fade into sleep as well, I ran my thumb across the softness of his cheek. I connected our foreheads with a content sigh before I pressed my lips against his in a loving kiss. Roman looked so peaceful-- the universe wouldn't dare to take me now, wouldn't dare to wake him up. 

"I love you," I whispered like I would be put to death if I awoke him. With one last glance at the candle, my heavy lids fluttered as my heart cried;

"I love you,"

(a/n: thank you SO MUCH for reading this monster of a chapter!!<33 if you've made it all the way down here, here are all the other chapters if you're interested!!<33 MWAH)

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11

tagging those that seemed interested!!<333

@mentallyscreamingsincebirth @putherup @corawithfanfiction @vladsgirlxx

@iamaslytherin0 @sexualparkour @the-universe-is-complicated @heavenly-bratt

@lafemme-nk @namiusedbubble @useyourwandbro @strmborns @literally-lani

@virgosapphire79 @star-girl-04 @veyzus @ddipotassium @pecxiebu

@mil88691 @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @katifefe @sn0wybowie-blog

@lilithskywalker @likecherriesinthespring @sadheartjellyfish @vadersangel

@shehangsbrightly @burningmiraclekingdom @dollforaswan @austinswhitewolf

@nico-velvet @shiiiii-okayyyy

[izzabela]

white noise - audio 1

a/n: I just wanted to drop in and say....THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR SUPPORTING THE ORIGINAL IDEA SO HARD GUYS!!! special thanks to @junovae , @red5tars , @devil-in-hiding , and @beloveds-embrace for boosting and hyping my idea up. i've been letting this marinate in my head for a long time, and I'm so glad that it's well-received :)

please please PLEASE enjoy guys, i worked really hard to make sure this was a perfect first chapter :>

"What on God's green Earth do you think you're doing with this schedule!?" your boss's words flying to you as fast as the papers he threw off the side his desk.

As the assortment of schedules, checks, files, and folders rain down like snow, you simply look at your boss with a cool smile and dead eyes. You've dealt with things like this before, the same tantrums over and over again with a man who's still growing up at forty-five.

The sun was setting over the New York City skyline, and you've just about had it for the day. It's been thirty minutes since your allotted time to clock out, and this man-child is still holding you up like a baby with his pacifier.

"Sir, you have a meeting with XYZ's CEO stand-in Friday morning," you calmly explain to the toddler as you pick up his mess. "That same day, you have a lunch on Wall Street with Mr. Allen in regard to the upcoming acquisition to one of your sub-companies."

Without breaking a sweat (but most definitely popping a blood vessel), you continue to give reasonable excuses for your choice in scheduling.

"And on that same day, sir, your presence is requested at your brother's residence, to celebrate his third engagement," you finish, giving him a good once-over to see how he's doing. "Speaking of, did you purchase that Rolex I linked you? I had sent you a message via work-phone with the exact link."

He's matting his poorly-worn toupee wig down and coughing profusely.

100-0, you tally your mental game you've been keeping track of.

As you grab the last piece of paper, ironically the one with his Friday schedule, you place the stack back on the center of his desk. There's enough force pressed down that his name plaque jumps (maybe in fear for your wrath too).

"Do you have any other questions sir? Or am I free to go home?" you smile tightly, hands neatly over themselves on your belly.

"Y-you're free to leave," he pulls his necktie nervously, beads of sweat on his forehead and palms as his butter-fingers attempt to fix his tie.

You nod, keeping the tight smile all the way past the threshold of his office, past the snarky bitch of a front-desk woman, and all the way to the elevator.

"Good afternoon, Pumps," the elevator-doorman greets you. "Long day in the office?"

"An understatement, George..." you sigh, rubbing your temples in circles to soothe an incoming headache.

George was probably your only peace in this hellscape of an office: kind demeanor, soft voice, manners, it seems the bar is below the ground with how poorly people behave here in your office.

It's silent on the way down, the light jazz of the elevator music filling the conversation-less space.

Ding

George's gloved hand presses the open door button, and you mosey on out with a little falter in your step.

"Take a rest, Pumps. Lord knows what will happen if you leave that man to his devices," he humors, earning your chuckle as you give him one more wave before walking past the front desk of the main entrance and into the revolving doors.

You spin in the revolving doors for a mere moment before getting spat out back on the street. You'd think that the sunset would help soothe your growing pain, but the streets come to life with blaring neon lights and flickering street lamps.

This is New York City after all.

Slapping your shades on and plugging your earphones in, you begin the trek home. Your houlders slumped and legs dragging like an army man coming home from deployment, you mindlessly listen to your de-stress playlist to try and relax before heading home. You don't think the pain of your head will leave until Siri reads a notification.

A NEW POST FROM GHOST PLUS A LONG MESSAGE, WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO READ IT?

Suddenly all your pain felt nonexistent, and you've regained bounce in your step once again. Your favorite voice actor posted, and a long notification means scripted content.

You discovered him, a VA named "Ghost" after scrolling through Reddit for a bit. The nation of subgroups and communities, you found your forever home with him after a ramble fap of his after a stressful day of work a couple of years ago.

Enamored by his husky voice, low timbre of his throat, and his British accent, you learned he had more than just Reddit. You didn't think you'd be addicted, but after exhausting his master-list on Reddit, you decide to follow his links to other places.

Other than his fifty-thousand on Reddit, he has one-hundred thousand on Youtube for his SFWs and one million on TFCo (the audio company he belongs to)- and when you saw his exclusive content? Well, you just had to get your hands on it all. Not to mention he's a successful voice acting career in audio books (you've bought those solely because he voices some of the characters).

And if one thinks this is degenerate, try working for a man who can't think for himself- you'd do anything to decompress and relax.

Which is where you are in the present, picking up your pace to head back to your house so you can relax with the voice that makes you delusional.

The walk felt like a marathon, but you finally made it to the lobby of your apartment. You don't even need to push the door open when they swing inwards for you, accompanied by another familiar voice.

"'Notha long day, Pumps?" a thick Yankee accent rings in your ears. You offer a bright smile, trying to hide the fact your leg muscles have been screaming at you all day.

You take your earphones out. "Nothin' I can't handle, Tony," you describe your day in a mere two words. He only sighs and shakes his head, offering to walk you all the way to the elevator.

Tony looks at you funny, "Can't fool me, lil' miss," he scolds. "Your calves are twitchin', 'ich means you need a good 'n long bath."

You chuckle, "You got it Thomas. Warm bath and sleep."

You hear a faint "atta girl" as you step into the elevator, and his figure disappears behind the silver walls as you go up to another battle.

Ding

The doors part, and you hear the echo of your shoes bounce off the walls as you near your flat door. Lost in the sea of your stuff, your keys probably lost in the void called "your purse," you hear a shuffle and a click of another door opening.

Out walks the guy that moved in right next door. You watch with a glare, eyeing him like someone eyes a stain on their clothes. He wears the same black trousers, black t-shirt topped with a black jacket with his head hooded, and that stupid black face mask with the lower part of a skull.

"Evenin' Simon," you begrudgingly greet. He turns towards you, also eyes you head to toe, and nods.

You do everything in your power to hold yourself back from strangling him.

Simon always struck you as odd: didn't talk to anyone, wore black (and black only), and dressed poorly. Everyone who lived in this side of NYC came from daddy's money, mommy's trust fund, or a mix of both. You took his apprehension in talking as introversion, so you tried to make your presence (and support) known from afar.

In the first month he moved in, you tried to strike up conversation whenever you'd see him leave or enter his room. Just like he did now, he'd offer nothing but a simple glance-over and a sizing, eyeing up and down like a child.

Over the next couple of months, you tried peace offerings of food and snacks. From homemade meals, to little snacks and munchies, you left them at his doorstep for him to grab by himself. You're pretty sure he hated them, usually finding nothing left on your door.

(Unbeknownst to you, Simon ate everything of yours to the bone- no crumbs left).

Since his initial move-in, you've counted that it'll be almost a year since he moved next door to you. God found you his strongest soldier with the way you remained so patient with him and his disdain for others.

One thing you haven't let go, though, was the noise he made late in the night. Whatever he missed in the day (which is usually 100% of noise he never made in the day), he'd make it up tenfold deep into the night. Sometimes you hear him curse loudly, or the annoying creak of his bed slamming into his wall. There were even moments where you've heard him laugh like a villain, before he'd goes back to letting curses wring out like water from a wash rag.

You've really tried to be patient with him, but juggling between a fool of a boss and an ignorant man, you felt it chip away at you like weathered stone.

You make your frustration clear, shuffling the stuff in your bag a bit louder, hoping that he'd get the memo, but he walks past you like a speck of dirt- unnoticed and left behind. Finding your flat key, you groan as you twist, unlock, and make it inside your apartment. You drop everything in the hallway, kick your heels off, and crash on your couch.

Usually you'd take this time to scroll through Instagram, catch up with messages you missed, or simply flip through Netflix to find the perfect show, but all you craved right now is sleep, a shower, and food (maybe a bit of wine too).

"Get to it, Pumps," you scold yourself, pushing yourself off the plush cushions. "For George and Tony..."

Seems your doorman and elevator-man were right, a hot shower does wonders. Though you came out of the shower a bit dazed, at least you were relaxed now. Your stomach wasn't, though, as it grumbled angrily.

"Yeah yeah, I heard ya," you mumbled, opening up your fridge to find it empty and sad (was that a fly leaving?). You curse and make a mental note for groceries tomorrow after work.

"Ramen will do just fine," you answer yourself, walking to the pantry to grab an instant pack to cook.

It's nice and quiet as you cook your noodles, the faint sounds of the city traffic sounding more like a lullaby than record scratch. You look over to your side as you stir your pot, the floor-to-ceiling windows allowing full view of the Empire State building, park, and the other buildings in the area.

Taking the pot off the stove, you carefully place it over a pot holder and grab a bowl. Pouring the soup and noodles in, you multitask and check anymore notifications you missed through the day, and the one from a couple of hours ago is first in line. The TFCo notification banner is calling your name, and you press it immediately to see what's new with your man, "Ghost."

The notification read an announcement for a new exclusive drop, a werewolf!shifter! in rut taking his pretty bunny!shifter in heat, and the tags filled your belly with butterflies: primal play, chase, CNC, shifters, and a mean!ghost tag- the list is filled with dirty tropes that make your core tighten and panties damp.

You're tempted to drop everything and fall victim to your desires, but ignoring your stomach felt like a bad omen in the making (and another earful from Tony would not be good). Besides, it was on your phone- you can wait.

Enjoying the loaded sodium soup of your ramen, you do some more doom scrolling on some other accounts and socials of VAs you follow. You occasionally listen to Soap Dish, a Scot with a fiery temper and even hotter audios, you listen to him when you want something goofy or silly. Occasionally though, he'll drop a great CNC, mean audio that really gets you heated.

Then there's Gazzandgoo (Gaz for short), another British VA with great all-around content. Ranging from mean BDSM audios to him whimpering and subbing, you enjoy Gaz's flexibility and range with his voice. A guilty pleasure of yours is his whimpering and sub audios (high powered job needs equal amounts of destress right?).

Slurping the last of your soup down, you didn't realize the time left you as your phone's clock read "eleven thirty" (was the doom-scroll that bad this time around?). Doesn't matter since it's officially "you time"- where only you, your search history, and the government knows what you're doing tonight.

After a quick rinse and toss of your bowl and utensils in your dishwasher, you dig for your headphones from your bag so you can indulge. Scooping it out, along with some papers, hair pins, and business cards, you leave the mess for tomorrow as you enter your room. Pictures of your friends, the few family you had in contact, diploma, and posters judge you as you get into bed and in a comfortable position.

Leaning back, headphones in, you press the notification of the TFCo app and watch your phone light up with the direct audio link of Ghost and his latest content.

There's lots of sound effects as the audio plays, the script being very in depth. You hear the rustling of leaves and grass, the billowing breeze, and the faintest noise of pebbles rolling over each other. The image of a forest is painted in your mind, and the painting gains a new addition with the sound of ragged breathing.

"Ah.... fuck..." the recording of Ghost's voice is in the background as you hear his groans and moans grow closer.

You close your eyes and let yourself go in the audio, imagining Ghost's werewolf character pouncing on top of you.

"'N what's this pretty bunny doin' here?" he muses in your ears. "Wandered on the wrong side of the forest, huh? Stupid fucking bun..."

Your legs twist and close, the friction of your panty fabric and your legs pressing together getting you worked up. Imagining what Ghost looks like, what he feels like, is sending you into overdrive as he continues to speak in your headphones.

"You look fucking delicious," he groans, and you shiver as you hear the sound effects of his hands running across a toy he uses for a body. "So soft, so fucking perfect. Gonna be a meal for me?"

You dumbly reply to the emptiness of your room, and your cheeks blush as Ghost groans again.

"You sound so cute begging for your life. How 'bout a deal?" he eggs you on, and you nod once again.

"If you can outrun me and make it out the forest, you get your life," he offers the first half of his wager.

He chuckles, "The other part? That's easy, isn't it bun?" you hear him brush over his mic to get real close. "If you can't, you'll be my meal."

"On the count of three. One, two," your chest is rising and falling quickly, the anticipation of what he'll do pushing you to the edge. "Go."

The sound effects of your character running through the grass, hopping and sprinting in order to stay alive. You cave and shove your hands down under the waistband of your panties, fingers flicking over your sensitive bud as you can hear Ghost grow closer and closer.

You hear the sounds of Ghost wrestling, noises of foliage and nature bending and breaking under you. The audio paints the picture of you pinned under Ghost, and his maniacal laughter rolls through your ears thanks to binaural headphone settings.

"Pathetic," he spits out at your futile escape. "Were you even trying?"

It sounds like Ghost was sniffing you, his inhalations close to the mic as he comments on your scent. You can also hear the sfx of him reaching down and to your aching pussy.

"Oh... maybe you weren't trying bunny," he teases, the audio effects of pussy squelching invading your ears. "Maybe you wanted this- wanted to get lost, caught, and eaten alive by the big bad wolf..."

You whimper, circles over your little clit growing faster and needier as his voice rings through your mind. "Beg me for your life- 'please don't eat me, Mr. Wolf'- beg me nice 'n proper..."

The squelching grows more obscene, and you can't tell if that's your own cunt or the toy he's using in the audio. It doesn't matter though, as the sounds of wet pussy stop, and you hear a shift in weight and position.

"I take it back- no need to beg when your cunt is drenched, bun," he teases, and you're so sure his cock in tapping the entrance of the toy that represents you.

"What? Scared? 'Fraid my cock's gonna hurt?" he asks, and you respond with a sad keen (ironic, since your fingers are working overtime for you to reach your peak).

Suddenly, a deep grumble and "oh fuck" is heard, and you realize Ghost is stuffing you full in the audio. You moan a little louder, slipping a single finger in, curling it to make sure it hits your spot just right.

Perverted sounds of Ghost's cock bullying the toy he uses to represent his listeners fill your ears, and the sounds of said toy smashing into his hips add sprinkles of erotica as you imagine yourself getting stuffed full of him. Lost in your own pleasure, you squeeze your eyes tight as you focus on reaching your finish.

You must've wandered a little too far in your imagination as you didn't feel your earbuds fall of your ears. The audio is no longer heard for you, but you can't tell when you're riding off of your imagination (and maybe the faint audio that's coming from the earbuds, since they're on full blast).

You're drawn out of your lust as the earbuds fall like marbles on your hardwood floors. Immediately, your hand flies away from your aching sex, and you see the buds lay pitifully on the floor. You groan, borderline sulking over the fact something so simple drew you away from your peak.

As you reach for your tech, your ears catch on to another noise. It's coming past your bedroom walls, and it sounds a lot like the audio you're listening to right now.

"Such a good girl f'r me..." the voice groans, a strangled moan escaping the lips of your neighbor and entering your ears.

"He sounds so familiar...." you whisper to yourself, and the next line he grunts out pieces all of the issues you've had with him together.

"You wanted this, didn'tcha? Takin' all 'f me like a dumb slag, but'cha wanted this didn'tcha?"

"You like this, don't ya?" he annunciates, semi-muffled noises of a pocket-pussy getting stretched out like actual cunt floating into your ears.

Every ounce of arousal has left your body as your braincells fire and connect the dots, and you swear you can hear the sounds of bells echoing in your brain.

"Ghost" is Simon, and Simon is "Ghost."

And "Ghost" is your neighbor.

ding ding ding

[vivwritesfics]

She's The Devil

(In Disguise)

She was just a hooker and Fernando was just a man looking for directions. They were never meant to fall in love

3.7K

Warnings: reader is a sex worker, non descript smut, Lawrence stroll is an ass

Fernando Alonso was incredibly lost. All he wanted to do was got to The Crown Plaza Hotel and sleep after a long day on track.

But he was so lost. Looking around and trying to read street signs weren't helping at all.

So, Fernando kept going. He drove until he found a busy street and parked up on it. But, before Fernando opened the car door, a young lady, scantily clad, knocked on his window.

Fernando rolled it down. "Hey, big boy," she said. "You need some help?"

She was pretty, he thought as she leaned against the window. But she was clearly nervous. Something stirred within him.

Fernando nodded his head towards the passenger seat. She walked around to the other side of the car and climbed in. Almost immediately, she reached for his zipper, but Fernando placed her hands back in her lap. "Oh, so, do you want me to touch myself?"

"I want you to tell me where The Crown Plaza Hotel is," he said.

She sat up a little straighter. "This is still going to cost you," she said before she directed him to The Crown Plaza Hotel.

As soon as they reached The Crown Plaza Hotel, Fernando climbed out of the car abd gave his keys to the valet. She did the same and held her hand towards him, expectantly. "Pay up," she said.

Fernando looked towards the hotel. "The money is up in my room," he said and pulled the door to the lobby open for her.

With his hand on the small of her back, Fernando led her through the lobby. He didn't much care for the stairs he got as he walked her into the elevator and pressed the button for the floor he was staying on.

Even in the elevator, she was looking around, eyes full of wonder. "Nobody has ever taken me somewhere this fancy before," she whispered. Elevator music filled the silence between them as the elevator took them up and the doors once again slid open.

Just as he had in the lobby, Fernando had his hand on the small of her back as he led her to his room.

It was, without a doubt, the most impressive Hotel room she had ever been in. "Holy shit," she whispered as she looked around, taking in everything. There was a plush sofa with a television in front of it, a spread of food on the table against the door abd art work hanging all around the room. "Have a seat and something to eat, if you'd like," he said as he threw his jacket over the back of a chair.

She instantly went over to the table and grabbed an apple. Sinking her teeth into it, her too high heels clicked against the floor as she walked over to the sofa and sat down.

It was the comfiest thing she had sat on in weeks.

Fernando took his time to find the cash he had brought with him. Every time he walked past the door of his bedroom, he looked at her, watched as she got herself another apple. She looked so young, no older than twenty-five. She was too young for this life, he decided as he watched her.

Finally, Fernando found the money. He pulled out the desired amount and brought it to her. "This is a really nice room," she said as she turned on the television.

Fernando couldn't help but look at her. He had no doubts she'd go back out onto the streets or back to a cold, one bedroom apartment, and limited food.

He shoved the money back into his pocket. "How much for you to stay with me for the next three days?" He asked.

She raised her eyebrows at him. Three days, that was three days of no other client. She thought on it as she ate her second apple. "Why would you want me here for the next three days?"

Fernando sat on the sofa with her. He tucked himself into the corner of the sofa and she turned towards him. "I'm in an unfamiliar city," he answered. "Maybe I want some company."

She let out a snort. "And you want company from a sex worker? Are you at least going to have sex with me?"

"Not unless you want me to," he answered.

She grinned and began taking off her heels. "£500 a day, and you can get me dinner."

That Fernando was more than okay with. He picked up the phone already in his hotel room and ordered food for the both of them to the room.

While they waited for the food, Fernando let her choose a movie. As much as he wanted to make conversation, he stayed quiet, letting her grow comfortable.

Her feet were tucked beneath her legs as she watched the movie. But then she turned her attention towards Fernando. For a moment she watched him, pulling her legs up to her chest and pressed her cheek her to knee. "How does somebody afford the nicest room at The Crown Plaza and the services of a girl like me for three days?"

Fernando let out an uncomfortable laugh. "I am... a Formula One driver," he answered.

"Shut up," she called, sitting up straighter. "No way!"

"I am!" He insisted.

Grinning, she leaned back on the sofa and stretched her legs out so that they were almost touching him. "I know nothing about Formula One, but aren't you too old?"

Fernando let out a scoff. "I'm not that old," he replied with a polite grin as a knock came from the door. He stood up and opened the door, allowing the food to be brought into the room.

"Dig in," Fernando said as soon as the member of staff was out of the room.

She did just that. She ate until she was fully stuffed, not noticing that Fernando barely touched any of it.

After she had eaten her fill, she laid back on the sofa and continued to watch the movie. But she didn't last very long, not before her eyes were falling shut and a yawn was leaving her lips.

Fernando watched her. "You can take the bed, if you'd like," he said and she stood her head.

Standing, she stretched and grabbed her heels from the floor. "Can you take me home?" She asked somewhat quietly, sitting back down to pull the heels onto her feet.

"You could take the bedroom, the door has a lock," he said.

She looked towards the bedroom. It certainly looked comfier than the mattress on the floor she would be returning to.

She took him up on his offer and slept in the bedroom. The door remained locked through the night, while she slept in nothing but her underwear.

Fernando slept on the sofa. It wasn't entirely terrible, but his neck ached when he woke up.

He ordered breakfast two his room, two plates full of cooked food, a plate stacked high with toast and a collection of cereals.

By the time the food arrived, she was unlocking the door and walking out in his robe. "Good morning," Fernando called as he placed two pieces of buttered toast on the place he hadn't touched.

She sat opposite him and grabbed a glass of orange juice. "Hi," she said, crossing one leg over the other. (Fernando kept his gaze fixed firmly on her face as she did so).

He cleared his throat and slid an envelope towards her. "I want take you out for dinner tonight," he said as he took the envelope and looked inside. "Go and buy yourself some clothes. As many as you'd like."

She was silent as she counted through the bills. "You can't be serious," she said, putting the envelope of money back down. There was at least £300 in there, along with a keycard. "How do you know I won't just run off with it?"

"It's less than half of what you'll be getting paid on Sunday," he answered, pushing his half finished breakfast away. "I'm heading to the track today, I've written my number on the envelope," he said.

She pushed her eggs around in her plate. "I thought you didn't race until Sunday."

Fernando couldn't help but smile. "I thought you knew nothing about F1," he replied and she snorted. "It's practice today. Qualifying tomorrow, and then the race on Sunday," he informed her as he grabbed his jacket. "Do what you want in here, treat it like your own," he said as he walked out of the door.

She did just that. After finishing her breakfast and an extra slice of toast, she explored the only other room that she hadn't visited.

The bathroom was gorgeous, bigger than her entire apartment. The tub was huge, with enough room for at least four people. Sitting on the edge of it, she began to run the water. As it ran, she turned and looked in the mirror. For once, she actually looked well rested. She ran her hands through her hair, her gaze travelling down to the black bag of toiletries below the mirror. But she didn't look, didn't invade his privacy.

She'd never been somewhere this luxurious, she thought as she sank beneath the copious bubbles in her bath. She scrubbed her body and massaged the shampoo into her scalp.

Even when she was finished, she still just laid there, waiting for the water to grow cold, the bubbles around her to pop and for her skin to grow pruney.

It was only then that she climbed out. She took her time drying her hair, a towel wrapped around her body as she moved through the hotel room, picking up her clothes as she went.

Her hair was still somewhat damp when she left the hotel room and climbed into the elevator, humming along to the music as it took her down to the lobby.

Again as she walked through the lobby, she was stared at. Maybe it was because of the height of her heels or her lack of clothing, but she didn't care. She swayed her hips as she walked out of The Crown Plaza Hotel.

It was an area she rarely visited in her line of work. She had no idea where she was going as she strolled down the streets, looking for a clothes shop.

The first shop she found she went into. She walked around the sales racks, looking for a classy dress for her dinner with Fernando. But nothing in that shop caught her eye.

She moved onto the next one. This hate it all. Classy dresses, pretty shoes and cute purses. She took some more times looking through the racks, searching for the perfect dress.

It was black and form fitting. Skirt was long, down to her mid calf, and had a slit going up the left side. It was simply perfect. She found the perfect pair of black, open toed heels to go with it, paid, and kept going.

There was still a fair bit of money left in the envelope. And, why would Fernando give it to her if not to spend it.

She returned to the hotel maybe minutes before Fernando. When he walked in, she was holding her new clothes up to her body and swaying in front of the mirror. She clearly couldn't wait for dinner.

Fernando cleared his throat, announcing himself. She placed the dress on the bed and walked out of the bedroom, heading towards Fernando. "Hi," she said, stopping in front of him.

"You went shopping, then?" He asked her.

She nodded. "Got a dress for tonight as well as a couple of other things. I hope that was okay."

Fernando couldn't stop himself from smirking. But he couldn't think of her, wouldn't think of her like that while she was on his dime.

"Well, go and get ready," he said and she turned, returned to the bedroom.

Fernando followed her. As she dug around in one of the shopping bags for the makeup she had bought.

As she ran off to the bathroom to do her makeup, Fernando got dressed into a white shirt and a pair of jeans. She did her makeup in a new style, a prettier, softer smile. One that didn't automatically give her 'fuck me' eyes.

As Fernando waited on the sofa, she ran from the bathroom to the bedroom to get dressed. She pulled her shoes on and did them up before stepping into her dress and pulling it up over her body.

As soon as she pulled the straps up, she walked out of the bedroom and over to where Fernando was sitting. "Zip me up?" She asked as she turned around and pulled her hair out of the way of the zipper.

Fernando's breath hitched as he brushed away the hair she hadn't been able to gather up. His fingers were soft against her skin as he pulled the zip up and let her hair full back in place.

He took her out for dinner. Her arm was linked through his as he walked her through the lobby to his car. The car that she hadn't quite gotten a good look at the night before.

It really was something. Some sort of McLaren, she didn't know which. But it was gorgeous. Fernando opened the door for her and she carefully slid in, holding her dress in place.

Fernando drove, playing his music as he took her to their destination. Again, it was a restaurant she had never been to. One a couple of the few dates she had been on took her out to eat, but it was never anywhere like this.

"Are you sure you're okay being seen somewhere this fancy with someone like... me?" She asked as Fernando pulled up outside. Each dish was going to be a minimum of £25 each.

Fernando looked at her, really looked at her. "I don't know," he answered, placing his hand onto her knee. She didn't have a problem with it, but as soon as he put it there, he withdrew it. "But I want to know."

Taking her arm once again, he took her into the restaurant.

Fernando let her order whatever she wanted. While they waited for food, they spoke. He asked about her life and she asked about his. When Fernando asked how she got to this point in her life, she hesitated. It wasn't the easiest subject to talk about. "I haven't... uh... turned many tricks," she finally said. "My colleagues look after me. They make sure I'm picky with it. Your car looked fancy enough for them."

Fernando let out a chuckle, his hand stretching across the table towards her, revealing the tip of the tattoo on his arm. "I'm glad," he said, softly.

But she had already grabbed his wrist and pushed up his sleeve. "I had no idea you had a tattoo," she said as she traced her finger over it.

"I'll show you the one on my back after dinner," he said, unable to hide his smile.

She settled back down as their food was placed in front of them. "How long have you been in F1 for?"

"Over twenty years now," he answered and she immediately grinned.

"See," she began as she pushed her food around on her plate. It was incredibly fancy and she was craving a greasy, terrible for you, pizza. "Told you that you're old."

Again, Fernando grinned. Normally he had an issue with people calling him old, made a point to prove that he was still young, that he still had fight in him, but with her he didn't mind. "Won the championship in 2005 and 2006."

"That's impressive, I think," she replied as she took a bite of her food.

"It is."

She took a bite of her food and looked around the restaurant. It was far too high brow for a girl like her. She sunk in on herself and took another bite of food. "Nando, do you wanna get out of here?"

As soon as she said it, he was calling for the bill and having their food boxed up for them. Fernando kept her arm on his as he walked her back out to the car, the food balanced in his other hand.

Once they got to the car, she opened the door for him and Fernando slipped into his seat. "Do you want to get anything else to eat?" He asked as they drove.

"Aren't you on, like, a strict diet or something?" She asked in reply, keeping hold of the food.

Fernando shrugged his shoulders. "If you something, I'll get it."

There was only one thing she wad craving at that moment. "Pizza?"

"Of course."

They got pizza and returned to the hotel room.

Sitting on the sofa together they watched movies while eating pizza. Fernando only had some, letting her have the rest. Just like the previous night, she began falling asleep on the couch against him. Fernando moved her to the bed.

The next day, between free practice and qualifying, Fernando was Karting with Lance. It was for the Aston Martin social media, the two of them racing around the circuit.

After free practice, Fernando returned to the hotel room. "Come with me today," he said as she sat at the table, feet propped up as she ate a pastry.

"Really? You want me to be seen with me?" She asked as she let her feet drop from the table.

"I can make sure that there are no cameras on you."

He doesn't want to be seen with you, something inside of her said. But she was getting paid for this, so she went with it. "Sure, sounds fun," she said and walked into the bedroom to get dressed.

Leaving the door open, she dropped her robe and pulled the sundress she had bought the day before onto her body. He better have seen her, she thought as she pulled on a pair of sandals, which she had also bought the day before.

"You look..." Fernando breathed as she stepped out of the bedroom towards him.

She held her skirt and spun. "Is it too much?"

"It's perfect," he said and offered her his arm. He walked her out of the room and out to the car. For the entire journey to the track, Fernando gave her a rundown of the team.

"Most importantly, you're going to see I'm not that bad for an old guy."

She giggled and reached over to kiss his cheek. Fernando parked up and took her hand as they climbed out.

Hand in hand they walked to the track. It seemed like everybody was waiting for them when they arrived. Before he knew it, Fernando was leaving her standing with Lance's girlfriend as he suited up and pulled his helmet.

They raced, Fernando holding the lead. He really did prove that he wasn't so bad for an old timer.

As soon as they finished filming the video, Fernando pulled off his helmet and walked over to her. "Not bad for an old timer, I'd say," he said with a grin.

"Not bad at all," she replied, holding his helmet from him.

But when Lawrence Stroll called him over, Fernando went. He left his helmet with her and joined his boss.

"Where did you find that pretty young thing," he asked as they walked.

Suddenly Fernando didn't feel comfortable answering. But he swallowed down the fear he was feeling. "She gave me directions for The Crown Plaza. And then I kept her around," he answered.

Lawrence frowned. "Is she... is she a hooker?" He asked and Fernando nodded. "Well, she can't come to the race tomorrow," he said. "It wouldn't look good for Aston Martin."

As much as Fernando didn't like the sounds of that, he understood. He said goodbye to his boss and walked back over to her. "Come on," he said, taking his helmet from her. "I think I promised to show you my back tattoo.

He did what he needed to do before leaving the track and walked her back to the car. They climbed in and, with an hour and a half before Fernando needed to be back for qualifying, he took her back to the hotel.

Things were quiet when they walked in. Fernando kept a hold of her hand as he walked her to the bedroom. As soon as he was at the bed, he pulled off his shirt and laid down on the bed, revealing his back tattoo to her.

"Wow," she gasped. She climbed onto him, sitting on his back as she traced her fingers over the lines of his tattoo. "Did it hurt?" She asked, feeling his shoulders and his muscles.

Fernando didn't know. He kept a hold of her, rolled her over while keeping her on him. One look in his eyes and she was dipping down, kissing him like it was the last time.

He spent all of the time he had before qualifying making sweet love to her. He was slow, rolling his hips against her own, eliciting soft cried of his name from her hips. Nobody had ever treated her that tenderly before. Nobody had ever made her cry out like that.

"I have to go," he whispered, his hands intertwined with hers.

She brought his hand up to her lips and kissed the back of it. "D'you think I could come with you?" She asked sweetly, innocently.

It was so difficult, but Fernando said no. He left her there while he went racing. Part of him wanted to break it off now, knowing it could never work between them, but he couldn't bring himself to.

But that day was fast approaching and his heart was already breaking.

[vamptember]

WELCOME BACK TO THE VAMPIRE PARTY! 🦇

Welcome to our third annual Vamptember event celebrating Anne Rice's The Vampire Chronicles and all its adaptations! 🖤

For the month of September please join us in making vampire stuff! Fic, art, headcanons, playlists, meta, anything you can think of! Base it on the books, the 1994 movie, the AMC show, the musical, whatever you want! Canon or AU, get creative!

RULES

1. There are no rules. Please have fun!

2. Each day has THREE PROMPTS in case one doesn’t speak to you! Pick one or combine them or rearrange them, it’s up to you!

3. Tag your posts #vamptember so that we can reblog! If your post isn’t showing in the tag please don’t hesitate to DM it to us!

4. We finally have an AO3 collection this year, find it here!

Tell your friends and share to spread the word! Daily prompts (3/day) under the cut!

1. 1920s / Experiment / Eros & Psyche

2. Pomegranates / Sick / Dating App

3. Eucharist / Slice of Life / Gentleman Death

4. Private Jet / Tape Recorder / Missing Scene 

5. Romeo & Juliet / Meet Cute / “The easy cleft of my mortality”  

6. Library / Genderswap / Shrine

7. FREE DAY

8. Medieval AU / Honey / “Evil is always possible” 

9. Colosseum / Flights of Devils / Slow Burn 

10. Phantom of The Opera / Rat / Ceremony

11. Nomad / “He ate my heart” / Aphrodisiac 

12. Beautiful Boy / Grocery Store / Magic

13. Night Club / Tiara / Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

14. FREE DAY 

15. Ghosts / Breakfast In Bed / Three Is Company

16. Roleplay / Office / Forest

17. Kittens / Reverse AU / “You made a mess”

18. Lost In Translation / Eras / Marriage

19. High School AU / Metamorphosis / Dream Daddy

20. The Romance of Certain Old Clothes / 1497 / Blind Date

21. FREE DAY

22. Music Video / Pupil / Egg

23. 5 + 1 / Cigarette / Guardian Angel

24. “Half in love with easeful death” / Divorce / Mercury

25. Hospital / Celestial Bodies / Garden

26. Funeral Pyre / Tea Time / Dress Up

27. Drag / Reptile / Hair Washing

28. FREE DAY

29. Hunger / A Mother’s Love / Insects

30. Your Age / Tattoo / Epilogue

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Slipped Through The Cracks

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: angst, domestic violence, bruises and cuts, heartbreak

Summary: Three years ago, you married your fiance while staring into the eyes of the love of your life. Spencer watched you get married to his brother when he had the chance to stop it. He should have. Three years later, you go running into his arms because your husband isn’t who you thought he was. Spencer let you go once, he won’t do it again.

Square Filled: go through me for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Then

A wedding day should be special. It should be the best day of a woman’s life. You’ve dreamed about the perfect wedding since you stumbled upon your mom’s dress when you were six. You even made a toilet paper veil to go with your short white dress you only wore for church on Sundays. You should be crying because you’re overwhelmed by the happiness, not because you’re terrified.

You’re standing at the altar with your fiance but all you’re thinking about is his brother. Spencer Reid is supposed to be the one you’re marrying. He’s supposed to be at your side, ready to promise you the world. Instead, it’s his older brother, Zack. Zack is… scary. He’s dominant. He’s possessive. He’s controlling. It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be but compared to Spencer, he’s the devil.

“Do you, Zachary Reid, take Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife to cherish and to hold, to love until death do you part?”

He squeezes your hands and smiles.

“I do.”

“Do you, Y/N, take Zachary Reid to be your lawfully wedded husband to cherish and to hold, to love until death do you part?”

You open your mouth to respond but pause. Three seconds. That’s all you’re given to think about this decision. You look from Zack to Spencer who is standing right behind his brother. Spencer is the best man. There’s so much history between you three. You love Zack, don’t mistake that, but you’re in love with Spencer. When Zack was having one of his moments, you turned to Spencer for comfort.

Spencer was the one who stayed up with you when you couldn’t sleep. He’s the one you told all your secrets to. He supported you when you wanted to go back to school to get a bachelor’s degree. He came over when you were sick to take care of you when Zack was busy with work. He always gave you an extra present at Christmas time and on your birthday after everyone else had gone to bed.

He was your New Year’s kiss every year until Zack caught you two. He wasn’t mad but it wasn’t suspicious that Spencer sported a black eye the next day. He’s your best friend and soulmate yet you’re marrying someone else. If he feels the same as you, then this last second is his moment to say something.

He doesn’t.

“I do,” you say and pull your eyes from Spencer.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Zack pulls you close and kisses you in front of everyone. Cheers erupt and music plays as everyone celebrates this new chapter in both of your lives. The celebration moves to the reception area where everyone enjoys good food, good music, and each other’s company. The first dance begins and Zack pulls you onto the dance floor. He holds you close to him and sways softly to the music.

You look past his shoulder at Spencer who is watching you two with hooded eyes. He’s always been an easy book to read but at this moment, you can’t read a goddamn thing he’s feeling.

Now

You should have seen this coming. The warning signs were always there. Even before he laid a hand on you, something was telling you to run and never look back. It’s hard to say no to a man like Zack. He wants things done his way and if they aren’t, he turns into a whole other person. Someone darker. Someone with bad intentions.

He made it damn near impossible to leave.

The second an opportunity arose for you to leave, you took it. It’s why you’re running in a rainstorm toward the one person who can make this better. Even if he can make it better for a few hours, you’ll take it. You might have a few hours before Zack knows you’re missing if you do this right. You made sure none of his men or staff saw you on your way out.

Your tears blend in with the rain so the only indication that you’ve been sobbing is how puffy your eyes are. You’re in pain but the thought of going back to Zack brings you more pain than any of the physical wounds on your body.

When you get to his house, you lean on the door frame to catch your breath. It hurts to breathe since your ribs are poking your lungs but you manage. You knock frantically on the door until he opens the door. Spencer’s eyes widen when he sees the state you’re in. Torn dress, bruised skin, and soaking wet.

“Y/N… what…?”

You fall into Spencer and he wraps his arms around your body to keep you from crashing to the ground.

“Please help me.”

Spencer looks around to see if there is someone around to make you behave this way but sees nothing. He pulls you into his house, ignoring the pools of water on the floor. He brings you to the couch and sits next to you so he can examine your wounds.

“What happened? Does Zack know you’re here? Does he know you’re like this?”

It’s because you feel so safe with Spencer that you don’t think twice about telling him this. Once you say it, he’ll be the only person you have ever told about this part of your life. Zack has everyone on his side so no one will believe you.

“He’s the one who did this to me.”

Spencer turns on a lamp so he can see you better and gasps when he sees just how badly you’re bruised. You have a black eye, there is a yellow bruise under your chin that’s healing from the last time he hit you, your arms are both purple and a sickly yellow from the different stages of bruises, and he’s sure if he took off your dress, he’d see more bruises.

“Fuck.” Spencer doesn’t curse often so you know it’s a big deal when he does. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

“No!” Panic flurries in your chest at the thought. Zack has eyes and ears everywhere. “No hospital. You’re a doctor, right?”

“Not that kind of doctor,” he winces. He sees the desperation in your eyes and sighs. “Wait here. I’ll be back.”

Spencer leaves the room and comes back five minutes later with a hefty first aid kit. It hurts when he touches your bruises but you let him try and clean you up. You know he wants to ask because you can see it in his eyes but he respects you so he doesn’t.

“Zack and I went to a coffee house before going to his work. We were in line and he was on his phone. The guy behind us started a conversation with me. It was nothing. I don’t even remember what we were talking about. He was really nice but that pissed Zack off. When we got to his office, he accused me of cheating on him. I tried to tell him I never have but he wouldn’t hear it.”

“Is this the first time?”

“No,” you whisper. “It’s the fifth.” Spencer takes some gauze and dabs a cut on your face to clean some of the blood off. He’s shaking from how angry he is. “When it happened the first time, he kept saying how sorry he was and how much he loved me.” Tears spill over your eyes. “God, I’m an idiot.”

“He won’t hurt you ever again, okay?” You nod and he continues to clean you up as best as possible with his first aid kit. “Alright, the bleeding has stopped.” He gently caresses your face. “I shouldn’t have let you marry him three years ago.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask with a whimper.

“I thought you deserved better than me.”

You cry. “You’re the best there is, Spencer.”

Don’t do this, Spencer. This is wrong. She’s hurt and vulnerable. The little voice inside his head is telling him not to kiss you but he finds himself leaning toward you. You close your eyes expecting to feel his lips. Instead, your phone ringing is what interrupts you two. You don’t have to see it to know who it is. You take your phone out of your pocket and see Zack’s name on the screen. Spencer immediately snatches the phone from your hand and answers it.

“Zachary,” Spencer answers with venom.

“Where is my wife?”

“With me, but if you want her, then come get her. You’ll have to go through me to do it. Trust me, you don’t want to fuck with an FBI agent.” Zachary is flabbergasted and stutters as he tries to think of something to say. He could never stand up to Spencer despite being older. “Get a lawyer. You’re never seeing her again, you dick.”

Spencer hangs up on your husband, and you stare at him with parted lips and wide eyes. No one has ever stood up for you like this before. He looks like he is going to get up, and you grab at his arms to stop him.

“Please don’t leave me,” you beg.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He pulls you into his lap and kisses your head. “I’m not a doctor, Y/N. You need to go to the hospital.”

“As long as you come with me. Tomorrow. Tonight, just hold me.”

“You got it.”

With ease and comfort, he scoops you into his arms and brings you to his bedroom. You’ve been with him for nearly an hour but it’s the safest you’ve felt in a long time.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Neither the devil you know nor the devil you don’t

TONIGHT (June 21) I'm doing an ONLINE READING for the LOCUS AWARDS at 16hPT. On SATURDAY (June 22) I'll be in OAKLAND, CA for a panel (13hPT) and a keynote (18hPT) at the LOCUS AWARDS.

Spotify's relationship to artists can be kind of confusing. On the one hand, they pay a laughably low per-stream rate, as in homeopathic residues of a penny. On the other hand, the Big Three labels get a fortune from Spotify. And on the other other hand, it makes sense that rate for a stream heard by one person should be less than the rate for a song broadcast to thousands or millions of listeners.

But the whole thing makes sense once you understand the corporate history of Spotify. There's a whole chapter about this in Rebecca Giblin's and my 2022 book, Chokepoint Capitalism; we even made the audio for it a "Spotify exclusive" (it's the only part of the audiobook you can hear on Spotify, natch):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/12/streaming-doesnt-pay/#stunt-publishing

Unlike online music predecessors like Napster, Spotify sought licenses from the labels for the music it made available. This gave those labels a lot of power over Spotify, but not all the labels, just three of them. Universal, Warner and Sony, the Big Three, control more than 70% of all music recordings, and more than 60% of all music compositions. These three companies are remarkably inbred. Their execs routine hop from one to the other, and they regularly cross-license samples and other rights to each other.

The Big Three told Spotify that the price of licensing their catalogs would be high. First of all, Spotify had to give significant ownership stakes to all three labels. This put the labels in an unresolvable conflict of interest: as owners of Spotify, it was in their interests for licensing payments for music to be as low as possible. But as labels representing creative workers – musicians – it was in their interests for these payments to be as high as possible.

As it turns out, it wasn't hard to resolve that conflict after all. You see, the money the Big Three got in the form of dividends, stock sales, etc was theirs to spend as they saw fit. They could share some, all, or none of it with musicians. Big the Big Three's contracts with musicians gave those workers a guaranteed share of Spotify's licensing payments.

Accordingly, the Big Three demanded those rock-bottom per-stream rates that Spotify is notorious for. Yeah, it's true that a streaming per-listener payment should be lower than a radio per-play payment (which reaches thousands or millions of listeners), but even accounting for that, the math doesn't add up. Multiply the per-listener stream rate by the number of listeners for, say, a typical satellite radio cast, and Spotify is clearly getting a massive discount relative to other services that didn't make the Big Three into co-owners when they were kicking off.

But there's still something awry: the Big Three take in gigantic fortunes from Spotify in licensing payments. How can the per-stream rate be so low but the licensing payments be so large? And why are artists seeing so little?

Again, it's not hard to understand once you see the structure of Spotify's deal with the Big Three. The Big Three are each guaranteed a monthly minimum payment, irrespective of the number of Spotify streams from their catalog that month. So Sony might be guaranteed, say, $30m a month from Spotify, but the ultra-low per-stream rate Sony insisted on means that all the Sony streams in a typical month add up to $10m. That means that Sony still gets $30m from Spotify, but only $10m is "attributable" to a specific recording artist who can make a claim on it. The rest of the money is Sony's to play with: they can spread it around all their artists, some of their artists, or none of their artists. They can spend it on "artist development" (which might mean sending top execs on luxury junkets to big music festivals). It's theirs. The lower the per-stream rate is, the more of that minimum monthly payment is unattributable, meaning that Sony can line its pockets with it.

But these monthly minimums are just part of the goodies that the Big Three negotiated for themselves when they were designing Spotify. They also get free promo, advertising, and inclusion on Spotify's top playlists. Best (worst!) of all, the Big Three have "most favored nation" status, which means that every other label – the indies that rep the 30% of music not controlled by the Big Three – have to eat shit and take the ultra-low per-stream rate. Only those indies don't get billions in stock, they don't get monthly minimum guarantees, and they have to pay for promo, advertising, and inclusion on hot playlists.

When you understand the business mechanics of Spotify, all the contradictions resolve themselves. It is simultaneously true that Spotify pays a very low per-stream rate, that it pays the Big Three labels gigantic sums every month, and that artists are grotesquely underpaid by this system.

There are many lessons to take from this little scam, but for me, the top takeaway here is that artists are the class enemies of both Big Tech and Big Content. The Napster Wars demanded that artists ally themselves with either the tech sector or the entertainment center, nominating one or the other to be their champion.

But for a creative worker, it doesn't matter who makes a meal out of you, tech or content – all that matters is that you're being devoured.

This brings me to the debate over training AI and copyright. A lot of creative workers are justifiably angry and afraid that the AI companies want to destroy creative jobs. The CTO of Openai literally just said that onstage: "Some creative jobs maybe will go away, but maybe they shouldn’t have been there in the first place":

https://bgr.com/tech/openai-cto-thinks-ai-will-kill-some-jobs-that-shouldnt-have-existed-in-the-first-place/

Many of these workers are accordingly cheering on the entertainment industry's lawsuits over AI training. In these lawsuits, companies like the New York Times and Getty Images claim that the steps associated with training an AI model infringe copyright. This isn't a great copyright theory based on current copyright precedents, and if the suits succeed, they'll narrow fair use in ways that will impact all kinds of socially beneficial activities, like scraping the web to make the Internet Archive's Wayback Machine:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/13/spooky-action-at-a-close-up/#invisible-hand

But you can't make an omelet without breaking eggs, right? For some creative workers, legal uncertainty for computational linguists, search engines, and archiving projects are a small price to pay if it means keeping AI from destroying their livelihoods.

Here's the problem: establishing that AI training requires a copyright license will not stop AI from being used to erode the wages and working conditions of creative workers. The companies suing over AI training are also notorious exploiters of creative workers, union-busters and wage-stealers. They don't want to get rid of generative AI, they just want to get paid for the content used to create it. Their use-case for gen AI is the same as Openai's CTO's use-case: get rid of creative jobs and pay less for creative labor.

This isn't hypothetical. Remember last summer's actor strike? The sticking point was that the studios wanted to pay actors a single fee to scan their bodies and faces, and then use those scans instead of hiring those actors, forever, without ever paying them again. Does it matter to an actor whether the AI that replaces you at Warner, Sony, Universal, Disney or Paramount (yes, three of the Big Five studios are also the Big Three labels!) was made by Openai without paying the studios for the training material, or whether Openai paid a license fee that the studios kept?

This is true across the board. The Big Five publishers categorically refuse to include contractual language -romising not to train an LLM with the books they acquire from writers. The game studios require all their voice actors to start every recording session with an on-tape assignment of the training rights to the session:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/09/ai-monkeys-paw/#bullied-schoolkids

And now, with total predictability, Universal – the largest music company in the world – has announced that it will start training voice-clones with the music in its catalog:

https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/umg-startsai-voice-clone-partnership-with-soundlabs-1235041808/

This comes hot on the heels of a massive blow-up between Universal and Tiktok, in which Universal professed its outrage that Tiktok was going to train voice-clones with the music Universal licensed to it. In other words: Universal's copyright claims over AI training cash out to this: "If anyone is going to profit from immiserating musicians, it's going to be us, not Tiktok."

I understand why Universal would like this idea. I just don't understand why any musician would root for Universal to defeat Tiktok, or Getty Images to trounce Stable Diffusion. Do you really think that Getty Images likes paying photographers and wants to give them a single penny more than they absolutely have to?

As we learned from George Orwell's avant-garde animated agricultural documentary Animal Farm, the problem isn't who holds the whip, the problem is the whip itself:

The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.

Entertainment execs and tech execs alike are obsessed with AI because they view the future of "content" as fundamentally passive. Here's Ryan Broderick putting it better than I ever could:

At a certain audience size, you just assume those people are locked in and will consume anything you throw at them. Then it just becomes a game of lowering your production costs and increasing your prices to increase your margins. This is why executives love AI and why the average American can’t afford to eat at McDonald’s anymore.

https://www.garbageday.email/p/ceo-passive-content-obsession

Here's a rule of thumb for tech policy prescriptions. Any time you find yourself, as a worker, rooting for the same policy as your boss, you should check and make sure you're on the right side of history. The fact that creative bosses are so obsessed with making copyright cover more kinds of works, restrict more activities, lasting longer and generating higher damages should make creative workers look askance at these proposals.

After 40 years of expanded copyright, we have a creative industry that's larger and more profitable than ever, and yet the share of income going to creative workers has been in steady decline over that entire period. Every year, the share of creative income that creative workers can lay claim to declines, both proportionally and in real terms.

As with the mystery of Spotify's payments, this isn't a mystery at all. You just need to understand that when creators are stuck bargaining with a tiny, powerful cartel of movie, TV, music, publishing, streaming, games or app companies, it doesn't matter how much copyright they have to bargain with. Giving a creative worker more copyright is like giving a bullied schoolkid more lunch-money. There's no amount of money that will satisfy the bullies and leave enough left over for the kid to buy lunch. They just take everything.

Telling creative workers that they can solve their declining wages with more copyright is a denial that creative workers are workers at all. It treats us as entrepreneurial small businesses, LLCs with MFAs negotiating B2B with other companies. That's how we lose.

On the other hand, if we address the problems of AI and labor as workers, and insist on labor rights – like the Writers Guild did when it struck last summer – then we ally ourselves with every other worker whose wages and working conditions are being attacked with AI:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/01/how-the-writers-guild-sunk-ais-ship/

Our path to better working conditions lies through organizing and striking, not through helping our bosses sue other giant mulitnational corporations for the right to bleed us out.

The US Copyright Office has repeatedly stated that AI-generated works don't qualify for copyrights, meaning everything AI generated can be freely copied and distributed and the companies that make them can't stop them. This is fantastic news, because the only thing our bosses hate more than paying us is not being able to stop other people from copying the things we make for them. We should be shouting this from the rooftops, not demanding more copyright for AI.

Here's a thing: FTC chair Lina Khan recently told an audience that she was thinking of using her Section 5 powers (to regulate "unfair and deceptive" conduct) to go after AI training:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3mh8Z5pcJpg

Khan has already used these Section 5 powers to secure labor rights, for example, by banning noncompetes:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/25/capri-v-tapestry/#aiming-at-dollars-not-men

Creative workers should be banding together with other labor advocates to propose ways for the FTC to prevent all AI-based labor exploitation, like the "reverse-centaur" arrangement in which a human serves as an AI's body, working at breakneck pace until they are psychologically and physically ruined:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

As workers standing with other workers, we can demand the things that help us, even (especially) when that means less for our bosses. On the other hand, if we confine ourselves to backing our bosses' plays, we only stand to gain whatever crumbs they choose to drop at their feet for us.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/21/off-the-menu/#universally-loathed

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[seren1tyhaze]

Dive

PAIRING: doyoung x afab reader (ft djj)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k (got a bit carried away)

SUMMARY: your best friend drags you out to a club to be her wingwoman as she meets back up with a stunning stranger and you cross paths with the hottest man you've ever seen in an expensive suit and a cross around his neck

THANK YOU: @strwbrysunday you know how important you've been in getting this across the finish line and you're a literal angel. thank you so much <3 thank you to all my friends who watched me brainrot over this over the past week and inspiring me to keep working on it with your positive words.

WARNINGS: explicit smut, smoking, drinking, drug reference, profanity, heavy religious imagery in a sexual setting (and I mean HEAVY - so if this is going to bother you, this isn't the fic for you)

PLAYLIST: Dive by DoJaeJung, Angel by NCT 127

This was clearly inspired by the Doyoung D&G promo images with the rosary and the rest was history...

I can dive, I'm diving into you

—

Ouch. You pinch your eyelash with the curler as you lean in closer to the glassy mirror in your best friend’s bathroom. You knew you should be wearing your contacts but had forgotten them at home and you weren’t going to hear the end of it from her if that was the excuse you had for ditching her for the night.

It had been an exhausting week at work but somehow your adorable firecracker of a platonic soulmate since childhood had dragged you to her apartment as soon as the clock hit 5:00PM in the co-working space your small start-up you both worked for shared with some other local environmental companies.

She had shed off her casual work clothes hours before, now wearing a glittery black dress, hugging her hips tightly, strings ruched up the side revealing plenty of thigh, covered with nude fishnets. You envied her long and bouncy locks that flowed down her back, reaching up to touch your straight hair that never cooperated with the curling iron.

“What is it?” she asked from behind you, catching you staring. 

“Is there something on my dress?” she spun around, craning her head to look at her own ass in the mirror.

You started to speak before you realized she was showing off, dropping to the floor quickly before slowly standing again, shimmying her rear as she started to sway to the faint music coming from her living room.

You rolled your eyes with a huff, curling your other eye’s lashes and applying a few coats of mascara.

“Loosen up, angel,” she called back as she moved into her walk-in closet to select her shoes and handbag, using her pet name she had been calling you for years.

You finished up the rest of your makeup, cleaning up the little pile of products and packing them back neatly in their small pouch before examining yourself in the mirror. Your dark hair fell almost to your shoulders, eyes accentuated with smudged dark liner and cheekbones dusted with a bright coral blush that complimented the glossy color across your lips. You had let your best friend convince you to dress up more than you usually did, since she said the club you were going to tended to cater to a more affluent clientele. 

A skin tight white leather crop top pushed your breasts up nicely and you had even let your friend dust some shimmering glitter across them with a large puff earlier. You smoothed the matching devastatingly short skirt and adjusted the lace up black boots that travelled up your long legs and over your knee. You felt confident in the outfit and only slightly uneasy about the night ahead. Your friend had a tendency to scan for her prey of the night the minute you entered a venue and often spent the night locking lips with half the dance floor or as she did the weekend before, dancing on stage with the burlesque dancers at the late night speakeasy.

Standing next to her as you both did final checks in the mirror, you looked like the moonlight and sunlight, night and day, devil and angel. A dangerous pair for any person to come across in a crowded club with these outfits, to say the least. You giggled as your friend planted a glossy kiss to your ear before pushing your hair back into place, following her out of the spacious apartment.

“WOO!” shrieked your friend, waving long fingernails at a tall, slender man leaning against a private booth tucked near the DJ. A warm grin spread across his plush lips and you couldn’t help it when your heart jumped a little in your chest. How your friend always found the most attractive people to surround herself always surprised you (not like you were complaining).

She had met Jungwoo the weekend before at a rave and had gabbed your ear off about the attractive and rich heir to a fortune who lived downtown in the middle of all the weekend excitement and had fed her drinks all night long while clutching onto her hips as they danced. She hadn’t gone home with him but instead had gotten his number and promised to meet him out the next weekend. The next weekend was now and out the two of you were.

Jungwoo was absolutely stunning, bright white hair damp, long, and hanging around his cheeks and across his forehead. He wore a sheer blouse unbuttoned halfway, exposing much of his toned chest and loose grey slacks that didn’t leave much to the imagination when he moved.

Taking careful steps through the crowd, you followed your friend who now had her hand held close to the lips of another man, this one dressed in the remains of an expensive suit, tie loose and sloppy around his neck with several buttons of a crisp pale blue shirt undone. He had dark hair slicked back to reveal his stunning face and his eyes glittered when he pulled them to yours to greet you.

“This is Jaehyun, Jungwoo’s roommate!” she giggled, a glass of champagne somehow already in her hand as she grinned at Jaehyun’s tender kiss to the back of her hand.

“Lovely to meet you, girls,” Jaehyun spoke deep and smoothly, his voice like velvet.

You cleared your throat with a small smile and shifted your weight in the uncomfortable shoes, eyes darting past the two men in front of you to a third seated in the booth.

Goosebumps instantly dotted your bare arms as you raked your eyes over one of the most attractive men you had ever seen. Even seated, you could tell he was tall with a broad frame. His hand was stretched out across his knee, high end designer fabric covering every inch of his body.

As if in slow motion, he lifted his head from his phone, placing it next to him to take a long sip from the short glass of dark liquid on the table in front of him. He brought his dark eyes up to meet yours and as soon as you made contact you watched his adam’s apple move in his throat, gulping as he peeled his eyes down your body.

You moved a hand to grip your other forearm, suddenly self conscious but equally intrigued, cocking your head slightly to the side. Your vision blurred briefly and you cursed yourself for not remembering your contacts as your loss of focus refused to let you make out the expression on the mystery man’s face.

“Doie - don’t be rude, say hi!” Jungwoo slurred out, taking a strong hand to the small of your back to guide you into the booth and directly next to Doyoung.

“Hi,” he spoke, quiet and soft, pulling his hand off his knee to extend a handshake to you.

You chuckled lightly and let him shake your hand, taking a moment to inspect him further now that you could see him better.

The white collared shirt under his suit jacket was tight (almost too tight) with the top buttons straining against the fabric enclosure. He had a soft jaw and plump lips, dark hair styled in a way that was kept but still messy in a sexy way. When he smiled his eyes crinkled in the corners and his neutral facial expression was hard to read when he wasn’t speaking.

You let your eyes wander down to his tight pants before shaking your head, begging your dirty mind to control itself. It hadn’t been that long since you had hooked up with a stranger at a bar but long enough to let your mind wander within minutes of meeting this man.

Doyoung reached across the table to pour you a glass of champagne from the bottle in the ice bucket and as he did, you noticed a glimmering chain around his neck. As he leaned further, you saw the small black beads on the chain catching the light and much to your surprise, a cross slipped into view briefly.

You sucked in a deep inhale at the sight - this man was wearing a fucking rosary around his neck.

Flashes of hours kneeling for Easter vigil mass, heavy clouds of incense in your face as you held the thurible in a floor length white robe, dark smudges on your forehead, and getting tipsy off communion wine in the church basement with your cousins flew across your mind as you watched him laugh at something Jaehyun said.

Jungwoo swore loudly as he dripped tequila across the table, attempting to pour five shots evenly. You can’t pull your eyes away from Doyoung, watching as he bows his head lightly, wincing ever so slightly at the curse words.

Who the fuck is this guy?

Taking a long drink from your champagne glass and tossing back the shot that is handed to you, you reach into your bag and dig out a carton of cigarettes, pulling the ashtray at the center of the table closer to you.

Pulling a loose stick with your lips, you instinctively gesture towards Doyoung who moves a hand quickly to decline. You shrug and move a bit closer to Jungwoo who is taking a long drag from a neon green vape. He chuckles and tosses his hair from his eyes as he watches the interaction.

“You’re better off making moves on Jae,” he says to you on his exhale. He tosses an arm around your shoulder, nudging your bare shoulder lightly with his thumb, cocking his chin up to draw your attention to a smiley Jaehyun swaying to the music, slightly off beat, as your friend tries to get him to salsa dance with her.

“Doyoung is a little more on the conservative side. Doesn’t smoke, doesn’t like getting high, barely gets drunk, takes his grandma to church on Sundays, all that,” Jungwoo adds, giving you a softer smile as he pulls your eyes into contact with his.

You narrow your own eyes slightly, not sure if this is some twisted attempt at reverse psychology to push you even more into the arms of his friend. While he was wearing the rosary, that didn’t necessarily scream “priest”. He was in a high end club’s most desirable VIP booth, surrounded by drinks and other substances, with two party boys that looked like models.

“Well he’s taken every shot that’s been poured for him, so I don’t know about that ‘not getting drunk’ part,” you quip back, taking a long drag from your cigarette and blowing it behind you through tightly pursed lips, intentionally avoiding Doyoung’s direction.

“Yeah he and Jaehyun lost some big account today, I think he’s just blowing off some steam. Plus he owes me,” Jungwoo winks as punctuation, making it apparent that he wasn’t going to elaborate on the end of that statement.

Throughout the night you learn that Doyoung and Jaehyun work at a big investment bank, Jaehyun sharing a small apartment with Jungwoo in the middle of all the city nightlife, the three of them having known each other since they were kids. Doyoung seemed to have never moved on from their strong faith-based formative years, holding onto these ideals even years later and still an active member of his family’s church community. When he checks the time on his phone you see the smiling face of an older woman pushed up against his, assuming this to be the grandmother Jungwoo mentioned before.

He’s quiet as you chat with him, having to do most of the talking, but is kind and puts some of your nerves at ease even when your friend is off in the middle of the dance floor doing god knows what with god knows who.

Despite his reserved nature, you feel his eyes trained on your every move, following your lips and hands as you smoke another cigarette, the way you cross and uncross your legs with ease, despite the short skirt that has a tendency to ride up when you wiggle in your seat.

You watch him in the same way he watches you, the way his hair falls into his eyes every once and a while and instead of pushing it away with his hand, he shakes his head lightly, flicking his eyes up as if to chastise the loose strands. When he leans forward to take a sip of his drink or gesture to the waitress, his toned chest is exposed by the undone buttons on his shirt.

As much as you hate to admit it, his very presence is intoxicating and it’s affecting you more than you would like. Goosebumps crop up on your arms and you suddenly feel chilled in the warm room, sending a shiver down your spine.

A loud laugh draws your attention across the booth and you are met with the sight of your friend feverishly making out with Jaehyun, sandwiched between him and Jungwoo who has his hand up the hem of her dress, laughing into her neck.

You whip your head back towards Doyoung, giving an awkward smile to him before the chill sets over you again. You train your gaze downwards, examining the patterned carpet on the floor and the laces on your thigh high boots, picking at the edge of the string. You startle at the feeling of fabric being draped over your shoulders, looking up to see that Doyoung has placed his suit jacket around your shoulders.

He keeps his arm wrapped around your shoulder after placing the jacket and you suddenly feel an additional set of eyes on you as you lift up to meet Jaehyun’s gaze. He’s staring at your slightly spread legs, running a wicked tongue across his bottom lip as it quirks up into a wry smile.

You feel Doyoung’s grip around your shoulder tighten and turn to see his face close to yours, your heart jumping in your chest when you feel his breath across your cheek. You can’t bear to break eye contact with him, despite the fact that you desperately wish you could see Jaehyun’s reaction.

“You seemed cold,” he murmurs to you, lips almost brushing across your skin as he speaks close to your ear. He smells delicious, like soft musk but still clean and warm. You mentally take note to slyly ask Jungwoo what cologne his friend wears.

“Thank you,” is all you can muster and you resist the urge to drop your head to his shoulder, suddenly feeling lightheaded in the haze of alcohol, nicotine, and the blaring music of the club.

Doyoung reaches to the table for his glass, arm never leaving your shoulder, rolled shirt sleeve revealing a large and intricate cross tattoo on his forearm. At the sight of the ink you are jolted back to the reality that this man is not who you want him to be. You would normally have a hand palming his groin in the dim lights of the club, moaning into his mouth as he gripped the exposed skin on your back and whispered filthy strings of words into your ear.

But no, you had to bag the “Holier than Thou, Man of God.” Of course you did. This was not going to be good for your libido.

Your friend is suddenly dragging you by the hand to the bathroom, moving surprisingly fast in her towering heels.

“Sooooooooo, angel,” she whines from the single use stall she pulled you into after locking the door.

“What are you about to ask me to do?” you sigh, fixing your hair in the mirror as your friend hikes up her dress to pee.

“I’m going to take those two home with me,” she bluntly tells you, as you predicted.

“Yeah I think anyone in this club could have told me that,” you reply, rolling your eyes for dramatic effect. You didn’t really care what she did, only frustrated now that you had to make the hike home in an expensive taxi or wait for the unreliable train service.

“It’s fine, babe, I’ll get home okay,” you add, mustering the sweetest tone you can for your oldest friend. She deserved to blow off steam as much as next person, but you loved staying over at her luxury apartment on the weekends and the lazy mornings you spent sipping homemade cappuccinos and doing face masks.

“You’re the BESTTTT!” she nearly shouts, throwing her arms around you, damp hands fresh from washing them in the sink getting your skin wet. You laugh at her, congratulating her on getting her dick wet and ushering her out of the small room with a smack to her ass.

Back at the booth she wastes no time murmuring in the ears of the two eager men before they share a steamy three way kiss that results in Jungwoo tugging Jaehyun’s bottom lip with his teeth, looping an arm around his slim waist.

You are flicking through the various ride share apps on your phone to find the cheapest option, boots feeling uncomfortably tight on your feet after a long night. Last thing you want to do in this outfit is sit on an empty train and make the long walk uphill to your apartment complex once you arrive at your stop.

“What are you doing?” Doyoung asks, face suddenly close to yours again. There’s a level of concern in his eyes that you cannot read when he speaks to you.

“Calling for a car home, I don’t have the luxury of living right here downtown and had plans to crash at hers. I’m assuming my job doesn’t pay as well as yours and Jae’s,” you reply, only lifting your eyes up to meet his after you’ve spoken.

God his eyes are so pretty.

“Why don’t you stay at mine, I can sleep on the couch and my driver can take you home in the morning,” he offers, picking your phone out of your hand and locking the screen.

You open your mouth in protest before thinking more on the offer. His driver?! You would be crazy to turn him down and your friend is already halfway out the door headed towards what will undoubtedly be a night to remember.

You nod and quickly stand, holding a hand out for his, guiding him out the back door of the club. He’s making a call on his phone in a hushed tone while you slide your long coat over his blazer, still wrapped around your shoulders, Jungwoo giving you a  small smile and wiggle of his fingers as he slides into the back of a cab.

“I love you angellllll,” your friend slurs out dramatically, knowing she is far less drunk than she appears, playing up the antics for the men around her. Jaehyun has an arm tucked loosely around her waist, grinning ear to ear as the evening wind ruffles his dark hair.

You pull your friend in for a hug before she ducks into the car, latching her lips immediately onto Jungwoo’s exposed neck, drawing a chuckle from you on the street.

Jaehyun pauses before getting in the car, dipping down to whisper right along the shell of your ear.

“Angel is it? I don’t know about that,” he practically moans out, voice breathy and deep.

“Seemed like a devil in disguise in that tight little skirt, slutty legs spread in the club for our sweet and innocent Doie,” he laughs out, laying the degrading tone on thick. His finger is under your chin, tipping it up to force you to look at him. Your heart is pounding and flying around your chest and you can feel your cheeks burn.

Suddenly there’s a hand on your back and you don’t have to look to know that Doyoung has stepped up behind you.

Jaehyun gives you a wink, pushing past you to plant a lingering kiss on Doyoung’s cheek, before turning and disappearing into the car.

Before you can say anything to Doyoung, a black town car replaces the cab in its spot on the busy street, Doyoung moving quickly to open the door for you, helping you in with a strong hand. He closes the door softly before moving around to the street side to slide in next to you, greeting the driver in the front pleasantly.

Your head is spinning and you desperately hope there is time to have a cigarette before going upstairs to Doyoung’s apartment, feeling anxiety creeping up in your chest.

Despite the spacious backseat, Doyoung can’t help but be pressed up against you, twisting to look at you as you make small talk. You watch him when he answers questions you ask and listen to a small story about a frustrating email exchange at work, as if the two of you had known each other forever.

Distracted by the beaded chain around his neck again, you reach over, taking the cross gingerly in between your pointer and middle finger, inspecting it. The metal is cold in your hand and nostalgia rushes over you as you hold it in your hand.

“I dip it in holy water every morning to help keep me grounded and ask that God bless my daily travels,” he offers, smiling lightly at you as he explains in earnest. You know by now that he isn’t lying, that there would be no reason for him to.

“I kiss it as well, asking him to bless my words and calm my mind in a world filled with temptation,” he continues, unwilling to break the heavy eye contact.

He reaches out and draws your fingers to his lips, still holding the cross, and kisses the small metal piece, catching the tips of your fingers with soft lips. They are warm and plush, sending jolts of electricity through your hand and to your chest. You have to shift in your seat to calm the throbbing in your core. This gesture shouldn’t be turning you on this much and you know now that if there is a hell, you surely are destined to take residence there.

The tension in the car is thick as you shiver, hand moving before you have a chance to think, bringing his hand and yours to your own lips, copying his kiss. You watch him gulp and pull his bottom lip in between his teeth as his eyes darken at the sight of the cross pressed to your lips.

Oh you are so royally fucked.

You watch him as he absently brushes the back of his hand against your own in the elevator ride to the top floor of the sleek and modern building. He lets his fingers tangle with yours briefly before holding his hand out when the door starts to open, bringing the foyer of his apartment into view.

You let a gasp fall from your lips, taking in the beautiful space around you. Lights flick on as you reach down to release the knot holding the laces of your boots in place, stepping out of them carefully by steadying yourself on a small table adorned with realistic looking fake flowers. 

You try to keep your boots tidy under the coat rack, slipping off your coat and hanging it up and checking yourself in the small mirror above hooks of dangling keys. You notice one key with a Kuromi cover, smiling lightly and wondering if he had picked that out for himself. He will tell you one day that it is the key to his mailbox and one of the kids from his Sunday school class brought it in for him after they said Kuromi reminded them of Doyoung.

You follow him to the open living area which melts into the compact kitchen adorned with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. He’s opening the door to the fridge, pulling out a pitcher of water and pouring two glasses.

The apartment is warm but minimalistic in style, adorned with shades of cream, black and gray. You half expect to see a statue of Mary where the tv sits but there’s barely any religious imagery present. Maybe you had misjudged him after all.

As you close the space between you, you let his blazer slip from your shoulders, catching it and folding it gently in your hands, looking up towards him through your long lashes as you lean your hip against the cold edge of the counter, offering the blazer to him. Instead of taking the jacket from your hands, he leans forward, brushing a thumb across the high point of your cheek, examining your face.

“Let me know if there is anything I can get you to feel more at home, I want you to feel comfortable,” he murmurs, eyes flicking down briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

You feel butterflies in your chest and despite how tired you know you should be, your heart is pounding and core tightening at how close he stands to you in his beautiful apartment, finally able to hear his voice clearly without the sounds of the club or busy streets of the city. It’s velvety smooth and even and his lips tip up at the edges when he finishes his kind statement. You want desperately to push up and capture them in yours but instead nod slowly, taking one of the glasses of water into your hand gulping down some of the cool liquid to try to quell the arousal building within you.

He brushes your skin with his thumb once more before taking the jacket from you, moving to his bedroom and returning moments later with a couple pillows and a large blanket, which he leaves on the plush couch.

“I don’t mind just sleeping out here,” you offer, scanning the comfortable looking room, knowing if you slept in the living room you might be able to more easily slip out unnoticed in the morning. You’ve never been one for tender mornings in bed with a one night stand and this situation shouldn’t be treated any different. You don’t believe he will actually make any move beyond what he has, despite the brief intimate moments you’ve shared since stepping out of the club.

“No no, I insist, take my bed. The bedding was just changed this morning,” he makes sure to note and you realize how rich this man truly must be if he avoided mentioning who exactly changed the sheets. Surely not Doyoung, with his thousands of dollars of clothing and jewelry on his body and on-call car service and penthouse suite.

He moves to open the door to the balcony, cool but comfortable night air flooding the living room as he hands you a vintage glass ashtray from the media cabinet.

“In case you need one before you go to sleep or in the night,” he offers, smiling lightly at the shocked look on your face.

“Jungwoo is always hanging around here when I’m working late and I’ve learned there is no way to stop people from doing something they want to do. I can’t change my friends and I wouldn’t want to. I have things in my life and things I have removed from my life but that is my own decision and shouldn’t affect my relationships with those I love,” he adds, fingers brushing over yours as they make contact to pass the item to you.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take a shower quickly and then let you have the bedroom and bathroom. If you need it, there’s a toilet near the elevator and some fresh fruit in the fridge,” he continues, resisting the urge to brush his lips over your bare shoulder.

You thank him and take your purse out to the balcony, closing the door lightly behind you but making sure it latches fully. Stepping forward towards the edge of the balcony, you quickly light a cigarette and feel calm wash over you as you watch the flickering lights of the city skyline. The cool air feels good against your cheeks and exposed abdomen, needing desperately to cool down. You try (and fail) to not let your mind wander to thoughts of Doyoung in a steamy rainfall shower, steam gathering on glossy mirrors and hot water racing down toned biceps and thighs.

You burn through it eagerly, extinguishing the cigarette in the ashtray and disposing of it in a small bin attached to the balcony’s railing before heading back inside. Doyoung is emerging from his bedroom in a tight white tank top and loose grey sweatpants, bare feet padding across the plush throw rug.

“I left you some clothes and towels on the bed but help yourself to my closet if you need something warmer,” he mutters awkwardly, the power balance shifting slightly as he stands in front of you in casual clothes, black rosary still visible proudly on his chest.

“I’ll wash up, if that’s okay? If you’re tired and want to sleep, don’t worry about waiting for me to finish. I usually stay up pretty late and I’m sure you have early mornings,” you ramble, scratching at the back of your neck, suddenly feeling nervous.

“Take your time, I usually read for a while before bed,” he gestures to a small leather bound bible on the coffee table. Of course he does.

In the shower, you let the water rush over your body, using some of the small skincare bottles to wash your face and step out, massaging shower oil into your damp skin. You sigh into the warm white towel fresh off the warming rack and feel like you’re living in a dream. 

Can’t I just stay here forever?

You know your modest apartment waits for you a few miles away, with your own much smaller and dingier balcony where you like to sketch in your journal as you watch birds settle on the hanging flower baskets. You could never see yourself living full time in the cold of the city, barely any green space and garbage littering the streets.

Checking outside the bathroom door before emerging, the coast is clear as you step back into his spacious bedroom, lightly touching the clothing he had laid out for you. A large and faded t-shirt that appears to be from a church camp is folded neatly, logo barely still visible. 

A package of unopened cotton boxer briefs is next to the shirt, knowing he must have been panicking thinking of how he could offer you something to wear without it seeming creepy. But he seems to at least have experience taking care of stranded tipsy guests (even if they usually were just Jungwoo and someone he brought home from the bar). You pull the shirt over your head and it falls easily to your mid-thigh, skimming over your hardened nipples, painful as they make contact with the cool air from the vent.

Sliding on the boxers, you pull them up to your waist and the shirt covers them fully. You decide against the sweatpants next to the shirt, knowing they will be far too long for you and opt to instead roll on the pair of long socks before placing the pants back on the dresser. You listen at the door for any noise from the living room, hearing a light hum of music you can’t decipher. Pressing your ear closer you recognize Debussy floating through the air and let out a small smile.

You’re about to tuck yourself into the king sized bed before you realize you didn’t bring the water glass in with you. Scanning the room you don’t see one and silently curse yourself.

Sliding the door open quietly, you stick your head out tentatively, his head lifting to look at you. He looks absolutely adorable, bundled up in a fluffy blanket with his small bible in his lap and two scented candles lit on the table. The music did turn out to be Debussy, playing softly on a record player in the corner.

“Is the music too loud?” he asks, moving as if he is going to turn it off.

“No no, it’s beautiful,” you breathe out in reply, sliding out from the door and covering your chest with your arms, self conscious. This causes the hem of the shirt to hike up, exposing a sliver of the white briefs covering your lower half.

Doyoung’s eyes trail down your body, as if wanting to mentally capture this image of you dressed in his clothes, standing sheepishly in front of him. He pushes away thoughts of you on your knees in front of him, mouthing along his length through his sweatpants while he tugs on your silky and damp hair.

“I, um, just came out for some water,” you add, crossing to the counter to grab the glass before returning to stand awkwardly next to the couch.

“Why does she call you angel?” he asks suddenly, pulling an arm up on the back of the couch, unintentionally opening up a perfect sized space for you to sit next to him.

You smile lightly and cross to sit next to him, perching on the edge of the cushion so as to not crowd him.

“My middle name is Angelica,” you replied softly. “She just took a liking to the pet name many years ago.”

He smiles softly at this explanation, suddenly aware that his other hand has strayed to the hem of his shirt hanging loose on your torso.

“Angel…” he tries, feeling the way it sounds in his voice, feeling the way the words taste as they roll off his tongue. He smirks, pinching the fabric at the edge of the shirt in between his fingers and releasing it.

“Can I call you that?” he breathes out, suddenly closer to your face than you had realized.

“Only if you’re a good boy,” you manage to say in an even tone, hand finally reaching out to touch his chest, flattening against his toned pecs, metal beads digging into your palm.

His eyes flutter, brain clearly short circuiting at the mention of praise, fingers stilling but breathing becoming more labored.

“Can I please kiss you?” you ask, eyes and voice hopeful. You palm the cross on the rosary, holding it tightly in your hand as you pull gently, bringing yourself closer to Doyoung as your eyes slip shut, not waiting for a response.

His lips are on yours suddenly, pressing firmly as his hand flies to your lower back, pressing you flush against his chest, capturing your hand in between your bodies. You refuse to let go of the rosary, pulling tighter so he’s forced to deepen the kiss.

You feel his hand push up the back of the shirt and up your back, as if reaching for a bra to unhook and you can’t help but smile against his mouth, knowing he is far less innocent than he seems.

You rise up on your knees, moving your legs to straddle him on the couch, suddenly feeling something firm against your bare thigh. Your grin grows, nuzzling against his nose teasingly.

“Well, well, look who isn’t such a good boy after all,” you growl out, unable to control how horny you are for this man under you.

He pulls back, breaking the kiss, brows furrowed in confusion at your comment. Reaching between your bodies, he pulls out the leather bible and you flush deeply, unable to process that you thought it was his erection.

You avert your eyes from his and reach an arm up to touch the back of your neck nervously but his hand quickly grabs your wrist as he moves your hand to his lap, eyes darkening. When he pushes you down against his sweatpants you feel him harder than you thought he would be, not to mention way bigger than you thought he would be.

“Who said I was a good boy, angel?” he asked quietly, almost sounding annoyed with you. He grips your wrist tighter, pulling you closer to him before capturing your lips in his again.

It takes you a moment to respond, brain foggy at the name and sequence of events that had just unfolded. It doesn’t take you long to recover before slipping your tongue into his mouth hungrily, fingers lacing his hair to pull him desperately close.

You can’t help but move quickly with him, spreading your thighs to grind slow circles into his clothed crotch, biting back moans that bubble in your throat.

Hands are suddenly tugging at the hem of the shirt and you quickly oblige, peeling off the thin cotton and discarding it on the floor. Your chest is heaving as you sit on his lap in just the white boxer briefs, nipples erect and back arched to push your full chest towards him.

Doyoung hungrily licks his lips, eyes darting over your body as if there’s a time limit to the amount of time he has to look. You know you look good and he knew from the minute he saw you walk in the club that you would be on his lap, tits bouncing as he pressed up towards you with an experimental thrust. A small groan slides from his spit slicked lips as he slides one hand to your lower back and the other to cup your breast.

“Good God,” he lets out before lowering his mouth to your nipple, flicking eyes up to watch as you tumble contrasting curses from your plump lips.

He moves his mouth expertly, tongue laving over the sensitive skin, teeth dragging against your tight nipple. His hand on your lower back feels huge, fingers spread wide and gripping at your flesh as if you will disappear if he loosens his grip.

“Fuck me right here,” you can’t help but mutter into his open mouth after a particularly loud gasp flies from your mouth when you feel the tip of his dick collide with your clothed clit.

He pulls back, face seemingly questioning himself, eyes flicking over to the coffee table with the bible before turning upwards and fluttering shut.

You’re amazed at how this man can have his tit in your mouth one minute and then the next…

“Wait, are you praying?!” you ask in shock, stifling the laughter that builds in your throat.

He peeks at you with one eye open, smiling lightly before closing his eyes again and humming out an incoherent reply.

“Amen,” he says softly after a few more moments have passed.

You don’t have time to question him further when he quickly pulls his shirt over his head, revealing tight and toned abs and letting his broad chest crowd you in what could only be described as a bear hug. He pulls you close to his chest and you can feel his heartbeat reverberating through your own skin.

“The angel wants to get fucked, does she?” he growls as he digs his nails into your back.

“Let’s see what we can do about that,” he adds before flipping you over suddenly, standing above you as he slides the boxers down to your ankles, leaving your socks on.

He then moves his hands to his own waistband, removing the sweatpants and revealing his hard cock, already flushed and angry with arousal. As he bends down, the rosary dangles from his neck and you can’t help but stare.

You’re laid out, exposed in front of him as he drops to his knees, nudging your knees to widen in front of him. Your eyes are wide as you watch him, controlling and calculated. You have to ask yourself the same question you asked in the club, who the fuck was this guy?

“You asked if I was praying earlier,” he speaks quietly, long fingers dragging along your sensitive inner thigh, avoiding where you want him the most.

“I just like to thank God before I eat,” he adds, eyes glimmering with mischief as he pushes forward, tongue licking a long stripe along your dripping core, sending shockwaves throughout your body.

Your brain is swimming with pleasure at the filthy words he spoke and the way his mouth is warm against your burning core, tugging on his hair and slipping your hand down to his neck to stroke the shorter strands there to encourage him.

His muffled moans send vibrations along your folds and shivers up your spine as he laps at you like it’s the fucking last supper. You feel your release close, thighs pulling in to tighten around his face. He shoves them back open every time they threaten to suffocate him, giving him access to every inch of you. 

Your orgasm creeps up on you and you are suddenly screaming his name, head thrown back on the back of the couch, vision blinding white. Your eyes are clenched shut as you make every attempt to slow your heavy breathing.

You feel warm hands under your thighs and realize he's lifting you from the couch. You let your arms fall lazily around his shoulders and your head loll over as he carries you to the bedroom. Laying you gently on your back, he’s suddenly leaning over you, lips brushing against your jaw, peppering kisses up to your ear and leaving more along your hairline.

“That was heavenly,” you sigh out, feeling dizzy from the soft gestures.

He smiles and pushes your hair from your face, leaning down to kiss you. You can’t get enough of his lips, every time they press over yours you’re drawn in closer, wanting more and more.

“I know you said you wanted me to fuck you on the couch and as much as I would love to bend you over and slam into you, I want to see your face when I make you cream on my dick,” he says as if it’s the simplest and most normal sentence on the planet. He sits up, reaching a veiny hand over to the bedside table and into the shallow drawer there.

Your mouth hangs open for a moment until you feel his fingers on you again, rubbing slow circles on you, gathering your post orgasm arousal as he tears open a condom that is carefully dangling between his lips. He slicks up his rock hard erection with your wetness before sliding it on and running a hand through his now messy hair.

You adjust yourself on the bed, propping your knees up so he can crawl between them. He brings his face close to yours and drags his tongue lazily against your lower lip before pushing into you. 

Your eyes widen, feeling the stretch of his massive cock and the look on his face when he finally feels himself inside you. You swear he’s seen the second coming of Christ and you wish you could take a picture of the pure bliss.

It doesn’t take long for him to pick up a consistent pace of pumping in and out of you, grunts and moans falling from his lips and sounding almost like he’s singing. You almost come at the sight of the rosary dangling above you and moving with each thrust, knowing how fucking filthy this is but how it’s the most turned on you’ve been in ages.

He’s close and you don’t know how much longer you can last after him so you hook your legs around his back and push on him, silently begging to flip over. He obliges and lets you return to a similar position from the couch, him seated against the pillows and you rising up and down on his cock. This drives you insane, watching his face contort in pleasure as you ride him, letting his name fall over and over from your lips like your own prayer.

“Angel, I’m so close,” he moans, pulling you so tight against his chest that you feel yourself becoming one with him. You move together, moan together, and release in strangled cries together. 

You pull back, out of breath and struggling to compose yourself, glancing down at your chest to see an imprint of the cross in between swollen breasts. He has a hazy, happy grin across his face and you know you have to look the same in this moment.

He reaches out, brushing pads of his fingers across the imprint on your chest before dipping down to kiss at the cross mark.

You think your heart might explode in that very moment, suddenly visualizing the two of you holding hands in a church pew or leaning over candles, lighting them and bowing your heads in silence.

What the fuck has gotten into you?

–

Once he finishes tucking the plush duvet around your naked body, he lays flat on his back, exhaling in relaxation for what sounded like the first time that night, and humming out an almost angelic note.

“And on the seventh day, God looked at all he had made and rested from the work he had done,” Doyoung paraphrased, grinning at his joke, turning slightly to nuzzle his face into your bare shoulder.

Your cheeks warmed and eyes welled as you watched your dark haired lover drift off into sleep, arms laying beside him, not clinging to you as they had been all night, as if fully relaxed at how you seemingly fit so easily into his bed, into his life.

Checking the time, you unlock your phone, lower the brightness, and fire off a couple check-in texts to your friend and one to your mother asking if you completed your sacraments as a child and if she knows where your old prayer book is. You can’t believe this man is reigniting this in you and while you know no amount of good sex is going to fully pull you back into a toxic institution, you see the good in him and wonder if there is a world where the two of you can balance his faith and your more progressive views.

The next morning comes quicker than you had anticipated and light is streaming through the sheers covering the floor to ceiling windows. You glance over to see a still sleeping Doyoung, surprised once you check the time, knowing he probably starts his day at the office before you. You check your phone, frustrated at how quickly it will soon be the time when your boss is checking in to see if you are working from home or coming into the office. You send off a quick message to let them know you will have a late start to the day, working from your apartment.

They reply with a teasing tone, noting that you and your friend must have gotten into some fun the night prior since she had called off entirely. Oh boy, couldn’t wait to hear about that.

You roll over, seeing Doyoung’s eyes open in narrow slits, running a wet tongue over his dry lips.

“Morning star,” he smiles at you, placing that same strong hand on your lower back, pulling you gently closer to him.

“Hi,” you squeak out, giggling as his fingers brush lightly over your spine, tickling you.

“Can I make you coffee?” he asks, pressing lips softly to your temple, holding there and breathing in the scent of your hair, still faintly holding the floral notes from his shampoo.

“You don’t have morning prayers to get to?” you tease, pushing your lips towards his, silently asking for a kiss.

He pulls back, knitting his brows together and almost rolling his eyes.

“You really have me all wrong you know,” he starts, pushing strands of hair from your face before cupping your cheek gently, just as he had in the kitchen last night when you first got back.

“Yes, I have my beliefs and values that ground me. But that doesn’t mean I abstain from every activity marked as a sin in the bible,” he continued, his voice even and strong but not mean.

“I would have thought that would have been obvious by everything we did last night,” he added, pressing a little more firmly on your lower back, gliding his palm down to the slope of your ass to grasp at the skin there.

You gulp audibly, startled by his candid admission. Maybe you did have him all wrong. Maybe you judged this book by the cover too quickly, your opinion shadowed by everything you knew from the devout adults you had grown up around. You had always assumed it was black and white, no gray space between for any compromise.

All you could do in that moment, overcome with emotions you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge, was pull him close to you and connect your hips with his to slowly create friction between the two of you. You hungrily captured his lips in yours, sighing into him as his fingers gently tugged your hair and brought you to another two unholy orgasms.

–

You don’t bother showering again, opting to take Doyoung up on that ride home from his driver who arrives in less than fifteen minutes, despite the morning rush hour traffic. You’re soon stepping out onto the busy streets, feet back in those painful boots and coat wrapped tightly around you to cover your revealing outfit you still can’t believe you wore out all night (but probably have to thank for this entire encounter).

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t a lost little angel!” comes a familiar voice, catching you as you are approaching the black car, the driver standing with a neutral expression waiting to open the door for you.

“Jungwoo, hey,” you start, stepping towards the man who is placing his motorcycle helmet on the seat, arms crossed as he leans gently against the expensive bike. 

He’s wearing low rise leather pants with a matching belt adorned with a large silver buckle. His jacket is open and you can see a tight and cropped red shirt underneath, exposing much of his toned abs and navel. Nude color blocking rose up the sides of the shirt, covered in black crescent moons and he is wearing a stack of gold chains tight around his neck. A large green stone is dangling from his ear, moving as he speaks.

His hair is fluffy from the helmet, eyes smudged lightly with dark liner, most likely still from the night before. He looks absolutely unreal and your mind drifts to images of your friend pressed between him and the equally sexy Jaehyun in the crowded bar, stirring tension deep in your core.

“How was your night?” you add, stepping closer to him, curious about what your friend had gotten into.

“I’m sure just as sinful as yours by the look of this walk of shame,” he almost sneers back, tone unmatched to the large grin covering his face from his lips to his eyes. He grabs your phone from you and punches his number in, punctuating with a sultry wink. His eyes are flicking up and down your body dramatically, making overly exaggerated facial expressions at you.

You roll your eyes at him, turning to head to the car, wagging your fingers at him seductively and putting extra emphasis in your steps as you know he has his eyes glued to your ass as you slide into the car.

When Doyoung emerges from the shower with a towel tied low around his waist he finds Jungwoo lounging in his favorite chair in the living room, flipping through a magazine he had left here the week before. He looks up to make eye contact with Doyoung, smiling and letting a low whistle slide out his lips.

“Don’t start, Woo,” Doyoung warns curtly, pouring two cups of coffee and preparing them the way they both like.

“Look look, I have Father Lee on speed dial, he’s ready to do an emergency confession for you in the lobby of your office if you need it this morning,” he laughs back, closing the magazine and accepting the mug.

Doyoung rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to reach over and slap the back of Jungwoo’s head. He knows his friend is exaggerating but he had consequently already sent Mark a text that he would stop by the church later that day for a chat. Having one of your oldest friends be a priest that was known for being more on the liberal side had its perks.

“Just because I don’t flaunt my escapades all over town or upload racy videos into the shared DJJ iCloud album, doesn’t mean I’m not getting my dick wet,” he replies after a long sip of much needed coffee.

Jungwoo almost spits out his coffee at the vulgar comment, lips twisting up into a wicked smile as he watches his friend, relaxed and shirtless mid-morning on a work day.

“Something’s different about you, Kim Doyoung,” Jungwoo chuckles, tapping back into his conversation with Jaehyun from earlier, who had frantically texted him from the office that Doyoung hadn’t shown up for their morning meeting and wasn’t replying to any of his texts.

“I guess you could say I was touched by an angel,” Doyoung replies wickedly, winking at Jungwoo before standing and letting his towel fall from his hips, whipping it at leather clad knees before walking slowly back into the bedroom.

Jungwoo’s eyes widen and a smile spreads across his face, watching his friend’s toned ass move away from him and examining the red marks dotting his broad back.

“Oh Jaeeeeee, I have an idea for something that could be fun and oh so messy,” Jungwoo whispers into the phone as he steps out onto the balcony, lighting a blunt in the cool morning air, surrounded by the sounds of the bustling city below.

~~

Part Two TEASER + Tag List NOW LIVE HERE

[steddieasitgoes]

he can't sit with us (or maybe he can?)

written for @steddie-week Day 4 prompt: Trade Rating: T | wc: 2651 | no cw thank you to @stevethehairington and @thefreakandthehair for beta-ing this one for me!! Read on ao3

Eddie is amped up. 

Lunch has always been his favorite part of the school day, but today is going to be an especially good one. Not because of his lunch — he forgot to grab the sandwich he made last night so he wouldn’t forget, and he’s been out of lunch credit for weeks now, so he’s shit out of luck on that front — but because today’s the day he unleashes his latest rant on the hivemind that is the Hawkins High student body. 

It’s taken him weeks to work out everything he wants to say about the giant mall they’re building a few blocks from Main Street that everyone and their workaholic fathers are excited about. The one that led to the demolishment of Hawkins' second-best trailer park — Forest Hills being the best, obviously. He even asked Wayne’s advice on what he should say since his uncle has way more experience going against The Man™ and The Man’s™ People. 

He’s pretty proud of what he’s come up with. Sure, it’s a typical Munson rant that goes on a personal tangent in the middle about how Sam Goody and Tape World are probably going to put Jet’s Jams out of music. And okay, yeah, Jet’s Jams is the fucking worst most of the time and only ever has the top 40s bullshit in stock, but at least Eddie has some pull with good ole’ Jet and can bargain with the dude to order a metal record or two every once in a while. You think Sam Goody is going to take his advice? Not a chance in hell!

But then he’ll get back on track and get into the educational stuff that Wayne talked to him about. At least, that’s the plan; all he has to do is stick to the bullet point list he scribbled out in Ms. O’Donnell’s class thirty minutes ago, ignoring whatever the fuck she was going on about at the front of the room. 

It’s going to be great. Definitely one of his best lunchtime soapbox speeches. Hell, maybe this will be the one to actually wake some of his peers up. Capitalism is the real devil here. Not him. 

He’s bouncing with adrenaline and nerves as he saunters into the crowded cafeteria, ready for his moment, ready for—

What the hell? 

Eddie stops midstride when he spots Gareth and Jeff waving at him from a table in the middle of the room. Again, what the hell? That’s not their table. Not even fucking close. 

Eddie doesn’t believe in the social hierarchy of high school cliques, but he does respect the lunch table distribution system Hawkins’ operates under. And he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that tables in the middle are destined for the so-called elite. Not his Dungeons & Dragons club and the other lost sheep stragglers he’s accumulated over his extended high school career.  

They’re supposed to be sitting at a table on the outskirts of the room. The one by the windows, with the art kids to his right and the drama kids to his left. The weirdo, outcast corner. 

And yet, there they are in the middle of the room at a table usually occupied by the so-called elites and anyone else they’ve deemed worthy of their company. 

“This isn’t our table,” Eddie says, slamming his hands down with enough force to knock Gareth’s brown paper bag over, taking his unopened Dr. Pepper can with it. 

Gareth scowls, righting the can. “Now I see why you’re a super senior. Of course, it’s not our fucking table!” 

Eddie intertwines his fingers before pillowing his chin against them. “Okay then, Gareth the Great, tell me why we are sitting here.” 

“Our table is occupied,” Jeff supplies. 

“Occupied? Everyone knows that’s our table! Is this person new? Have they recently had a lobotomy?” 

This time, it’s Freak who speaks up. “No. He knows. He probably just doesn’t give a shit. A table’s a table or whatever.” 

Or whatever? Fat chance. A table hasn’t ever been just a table in the hellscape that is Hawkins High. Still, Eddie can’t help but be curious. There aren’t many people who would willingly sit at a new table this late into the school year. It’s a ballsy move.

He figures it’s a scorned drama kid or drumline member — there’s always drama in those groups; someone is always fucking someone they shouldn’t be, horny assholes. But when he turns to get a glance at this intruder, it’s not a butthurt outcast taking up court at the table, but rather Hawkins' very own Fallen King, Steve Harrington. 

For the third time, what the hell? 

“Did you tell him it’s our table?” 

“No! He’s Steve Harrington! I don’t think he’ll appreciate a couple of nerds telling him to move.” 

“And we value our lives too much to mess with upperclassmen,” Gareth says, mumbling something about learning his lesson the last time he tried something stupid like that. 

Eddie rolls his eyes before scoffing loud enough to startle the nearby table of cheerleaders. He wiggles his fingers in an innocent wave before focusing his attention back on his friends. 

“Please, Steve is all bark and no bite. And he hasn’t been Steve Harrington in a while.” Eddie raises his voice several octaves, batting his eyelashes as he says Steve’s name. “Now he’s just Steve Harrington,” he says, shrugging his shoulders with a nonchalance he never would have expected to use for someone of Steve’s former status. “He’s just some guy whose girlfriend dumped him for an artsy loner.” 

“It doesn’t matter, man! You don’t mess with people like Harrington,” Jeff says, shaking his head. “I’m sure it’s just like a one-time thing or something. It’s not like any of his friends are sitting with him. Maybe he’s just fighting with them.” 

Jeff has a point. Steve is alone. Sitting at the table all be himself, poking disinterestedly at an apple sauce cup. He’s not cowering or trying to make himself smaller like most people would do if they were stuck eating lunch alone, but he’s not making a show of it either. He’s just there. Minding his own business, staring out the windows Eddie has spent all five years of his high school career looking out off. 

“Those sounds like quitting words, Jefferson,” Eddie taunts, turning his attention back to the group. He makes a show of looking each and every Hellfire member in the eyes when he speaks again. “Are we quitters?” 

The entire table groans, a few shake their heads. Gareth, always the brave one, throws a chip at Eddie’s head that he manages to catch in his mouth. And people say he’s not athletic! 

“Since we’re not quitters, what should we do about this unlawful infiltration?” 

“I don’t know if it's an infiltration,” Freak says. “We just like traded tables without a verbal agreement.” 

“That’s worse than a seize!” 

“I don’t know, man. You’re the one that’s all fired up about it. Why don’t you go over there and ask Harrington to give it back to us.” 

“You know what,” Eddie says, pushing off the table until he’s standing. “I will.” 

With the same gravitas he entered the cafeteria with, Eddie saunters over to Steve. The sooner he gets this table thing handled, the sooner he can get on with his lunchtime diatribe — see Mr. Vance, I do listen in English class, old bat.

Eddie’s not a quiet walker by any means — he’s had enough pillows thrown at his head from Wayne for the way he stomps around the trailer in the mornings — but he manages to sneak up on Steve. Maybe it’s because his eyes are trained on a squirrel running up a tree in the distance, mumbling encouragements as the poor thing struggles to make it up. 

Huh, Harrington’s a squirrel fan? Who knew? 

Eddie’s watch chirps, a reminder that there are only ten minutes left of lunch. Jesus H. Christ! He’ll have to do an abridged version of his speech now, but it should still be enough to get his point across. That is if he manages to get Steve to trade tables with them without a fight. 

“Fancy seeing you here, Steve,” Eddie says, loud enough to startle Steve out of the squirrel watching. “What brings you to my humble abode?” 

Steve glances up at him with a look of disinterest he seems to have perfected in his fall from grace. And honestly, as much as Eddie hates to admit it and would never say it out loud unless he was being waterboarded or some shit, this new version of Steve really works for him. 

“Your humble what?” Steve asks, dropping his disinterest to look up confused instead. 

His brows pull together, scrunching up his forehead in a way that should be unflattering but is honestly sort of endearing. And his head is tilted to the side like a confused animal — something Eddie has a lot of experience with, given his unofficial status as a trailer park animal rescuer. Eddie’s so lost in studying Steve’s confusion that he forgets to actually respond, which like, is new territory for Eddie. He’s never one not to talk. 

“Look, man, I don’t know what you want, but could you just spit it out so I can go back to enjoying my lunch?”

Eddie’s personality returns to his body in an instant. “Enjoying your lunch, you say?” He takes a second to glance at Steve’s lunch tray. A measly bite has been taken out of the cardboard the school passes off as pizza. The side of congealed mac and cheese sits untouch and his apple sauce cup is open but still perfectly intact. “Doesn’t look like you ate at all, Steve.” 

“Seriously, Munson, what do you want?” 

Eddie tsks and yanks the seat next to Steve away from the table before not-so-gracefully falling into it. He kicks his feet up on the table a moment later, the toe of his boot knocking against the carton of milk he’s willing to bet Steve also hasn’t touched. Though he can’t really blame him for that one. Milk is not a lunchtime beverage, and no amount of dairy propaganda is ever going to change that. 

“As I’m sure you’re aware, Harrington, this is my table.” 

“I didn’t know the cafeteria had assigned seats.” 

“Bullshit, you didn’t,” Eddie growls, throwing his hands up in the air. The move forces him to lose his balance, chair wobbling on two legs under him, threatening to give out and dump him on his ass. Definitely not the lunchtime show he was hoping to give today. But before he meets his demise, Steve extends his hand, steadying the chair long enough for Eddie to drop his feet and reclaim his balance. “Thanks.” 

Steve grunts in response and goes back to staring out the window. 

Fucking squirrel. 

“Look, Steve,” Eddie says, getting straight to the point this time. “I don’t know why you decided to switch tables today or why you decided my table was the one you suddenly wanted, but can we please just switch back?” 

“I’m good here.” 

He tears his eyes away from the window for long enough to glance at his former table, where Gareth and Jeff are using straws as lightsabers without a care in the world. Steve snorts, and Eddie stiffens; he really, really doesn’t want to have to fight anyone today, but if Steve’s willing to be a dick about his friends in front of his face, well, fight, he will. But then Steve’s face softens, and he shakes his head in amusement. 

“Looks like your friends are good where they’re at, too. Though the lightsaber skills could use some work,” Steve teases. “Are we good then?”

“No, we’re not good!” Eddie shouts, trying his best to keep his brain on task. We’re here to get our table back, not ponder why Steve Harrington suddenly has a soft spot for nerds because what? “That’s your table, man, and this is ours. You’re going to upset the fragile balance of this place.” 

“Shouldn’t you be thanking me or something? I thought upsetting the balance was your life goal.” 

How dare Steve Harrington read him like that.

Since his dramatics haven’t worked, Eddie opts for the truth this time. “I have no interest in sitting in the middle of the damn cafeteria where everyone can see me and my friends just to cause a little societal unrest.” 

“And I have no interest in being forced to sit in the middle so everyone can stare at me while judging me and my mistakes.” 

Oh. 

The truth shouldn’t be all that shocking. Anyone who has eyes has witnessed Steve’s fall from King too well; Eddie’s not sure there is a word for what Steve is now. He’s not a pariah or an outcast, not smart enough to be a nerd, and the rumor is he quit basketball, so he’s not a jock. He’s just… lost? 

Steve groans, running a hand over his face for a second before his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. “Can we pretend I didn’t say that?” 

“Uh, sure?” 

“Look, Eddie, I’m not going to trade tables with you, but if this one means that much to you, I don’t mind sharing.” 

“I thought you said you don’t want people staring at you?” 

“I don’t.” 

“Okay, well, sitting with the Freaks of Hawkins is definitely going to get people staring and talking, and honestly, you might even have to dodge a punch or two just for being in our vicinity.” 

“I’ll survive.” 

For the first time in his life, Eddie has no idea what to say. On one hand the idea of sharing a table is so preposterous he’s convinced he might be dreaming right now. But after a quick pinch to confirm that he is awake, he goes back to weighing his options. Sharing a table with Steve isn’t ideal, but sitting in the middle of the fucking cafeteria is a death sentence. He might be able to hold his own with the upper echelon of Hawkins High, but his ragtag group of friends isn’t so scrappy. 

And then there’s the lost sheep of it all. 

Eddie’s spent most of his high school career looking after lonely high schoolers. Whisking them under his wing, giving them a safe space to eat lunch or a club to hang out at after school to avoid having to walk back home alone. He thought he’d become somewhat of an expert at it, but it seems Steve Harrington has managed to slip through his cracks. 

Eddie would be the world’s biggest hypocrite if he didn’t at least try with Steve. It’s not like he has to join Hellfire or anything. All he’s really asking for his a spot at their lunch table. 

“I have one condition.” 

“Of course you do,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. 

“Actually, I have two.” Steve chuckles and motions for Eddie to get on with it already. “One, you can’t make fun of anything that happens at the table. We’re weird. You know it, we know it. We’re allowed to tease each other about it. You are not.” 

“I wouldn’t do that. Not anymore.” 

Eddie nods. “And two, you have to give me your dessert every day.” 

“Every day?” Steve balks. “You can have my applesauce and pudding cups, but I’m not giving you Friday’s chocolate cake.” 

“Guess you’re going to have to go back to sitting at the fishbowl table then.” 

Eddie watches as Steve considers this for a moment before his shoulders heave the world’s biggest sigh. “Fine.” 

Without warning, Eddie pushes away from the table, the legs of the chair screeching against the linoleum. His lips twitch at the corners, pulling into a genuine smile as he stands and offers Steve his hand. “Welcome to the Freak table, Steve.” 

[mj0702]

The other Bronze - Part One

Here we go again 🤣 Thank you (as always) to Crush and Bubs

(the bad Spanish is courtesy of Google and if you find typos or anything please point them out to me 😉)

Y/n POV

You finally walked the last steps towards the door of your Sisters small house at the Outskirts of Barcelona. What you're doing in Barca on a random Friday Night? You wanted to surprise Lucy for her Birthday. It took a lot of begging to Mum and Dad to let you fly all on your own from Manchester to Barcelona and when you turned your phone on after landing, you had 26 missed calls and 15 messages already, the last one from your older Brother Jorge telling you to text him if the Plane crashed and you died – real Clown that one. You phoned Mum, telling her that the Flight was just a little delayed and that your still very much alive and not Shark food in the Ocean. You knew Lucy had training, so you stayed a little longer at the Airport, watching people, drinking Coffee. You found some nice company in a Girl, who waited for her Girlfriend and surprisingly spoke English. So know you're currently walking up the steps towards Lucy's front door, her spare key (which you got from Mum, in case Lucy wasn't home), my Earplugs blasting Music and you opened the door – boy what a mistake.

„Luuuucccyyyy!! Happy Birth... OH MY GOD MY EYES!!! OH EW!!“ you started to yell out in horror before spotting my Sister on her Couch. Naked. With another Girl on her knees in front of her, her head buried between your Sisters legs. You turned around as quick as you could, shutting the Door behind you. A few minutes later, some shuffling and swearing from the inside, said door got ripped open again.

„What are you doing here?“ Lucy asked you and you couldn't tell if she was pissed off or just annoyed.

„Surprise??“ you say, your back still facing her.

„Why do you have a Key to my Apartment? You can turn around by the way“ she sounded annoyed, which was good – annoyed is better than pissed off.

„Mum... I just saw things I never wanted to see ever“ you shrugged like it was self-explanatory. „Dear bloody Jesus“ your Sister huffed out, before grabbing your Arm, starting to pull you inside, as you tried to stop her by holding on to the Door frame

„I'm NOT going back in there again“ you say, gagging for good measure.

„Stop being difficult“ Lucy said, putting her arm around your Shoulders instead, having more leverage. Back inside you were sat down at the Kitchen table, the Girl from earlier just making some Coffee.

„I hope you sanitized that Table“ you mumbled, before looking at your Sister „No way you haven't fu...“

„If you finish that Sentence, I'll call Mum telling her that you broke that ugly Vase at Christmas three years ago“ Lucy narrowed her eyes at you, before turning to the Girl „Ona... this is my overly annoying baby Sister y/n... devils spawn... this is Ona, my Girlfriend“

You just looked at the Girl with a blank face nor knowing how to react to these news.

„Manners“ Lucy growled at you and slapped the back of your Head

„Hola“ you said to Ona, not really knowing what to think of her.

„Hola“ Ona smiled back, putting a cup of Coffee in front of you, which Lucy took away the instant it touched the Table „No hay café para ella“ she said to Ona, while ignoring your frustrated „Oi!!“.

„Por qué?“ the dark haired woman asked.

„Look at her.... she's already a pest, I don't need her caffeinated up“ Lucy answered, finally in English, while pointing at you.

„Aye you Arsepiece“ you huffed out, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

„You're English, not Scottish, ya wee shite“ your Sister grinned at you, but finally came over, ruffling you Hair, which is Lucy language for „I love you“.

“I was born in Scotland therefore I’m Scottish” you grumble out.

„I don't understand a word you two say“ Ona said confused, her spanish accent thick as she speaks english and Lucy laughed out loud

„All good...“. She then looks at you again „But seriously... what are you doing here?“.

„Wanted to surprise you for your Birthday... haven't seen you since the Euros“ you mumble a little embarrassed

„You... missed me“ Lucy smirked

„No... how could I miss your annoying Ass?“ you answered quickly and she KNEW she hit a nerve

„I missed you too, Devils Spawn“ she said, pulling you into a side hug

„You never told me you had a younger Sister, Lucia“ Ona said, smiling slightly at our interaction

You just raise an eyebrow at Lucy „Lucia? What have you done to fuck up so badly, that she uses your actual name?“

„Lucia is more common here, you daft punk...“ Lucy rolled her eyes at you still holding you to her side before answering her Girlfriend „I try to keep her away from the Spotlight“

„Oh...“ Ona said, like she understands, which you doubted „I'll leave you two to catch up, I'm going to go...“ she smiled

„Weren't you about to come a little while ago?“ you blurted out, which earned you a very hard punch to the shoulder courtesy of your lovely Sister

Ona just look confused, which causes you to laugh „You can explain that one, Kneeless... Bathroom that way?“.

As you renter the Kitchen, you see Lucy and Ona kissing in the Doorway. You comment it with a loud dry heaving sound. Lucy blindly throws a shoe at you, which misses by miles and you snap a photo of her. You can only see Lucys back and Onas Hands around her Neck, so it's obvious that there's someone else, but you can't see who. You sit back down at the Table, your Stomach starting to growl and you realize just how late it is. You shot up and run up to Lucy, grabbing her shirt, pulling hard successfully ending the make out session

„You have to phone Mum that I'm here, otherwise she'll send a search party and I'm already dead, because I didn't text her that I arrived safely“ you stumble over your words, because nothing is more scary than Mum Bronze in Mum Mode. Lucy rolled her eyes, pecking Onas lips again for a final goodbye, before pushing you back into the Apartment again

„You realize what I just gave up for you?“

„Multiple Orgasms, I know... I don't want to know, but I know... can I post a picture, saying I'm with you?“ you murmur the end of your question, knowing Lucy is very picky with private Pictures and even more, when you're involved

„Let me first call Mum, then let me check the Picture, then we decide what we get for dinner, okay?“ she pressed a Kiss to your temple, already her Phone in Hand, dailing Home.

She was on the Phone to Mum forever, apologizing telling her she was so happy to see you that we forgot to call her. Straight A+ lie, but if someone can pull it off, it's Lucy

„You owe me, Smol“ she said after ending the Call „Now show me that picture, so I can say No and we can go finding food, since my fridge is empty and I planned on eating something else tonight“ she grinned, as you start to dry heave again.

„Please... i REALLY don't want to think about it“ you say pained

Lucy laughed out loudly and you smiled. You really missed her.

„Show me the Picture“ she said, encouraging you, a smile playing around her lips, as you show her.

„That's a good one“ Lucy said after a minute of looking at it closely handing you the phone back „You can use that one... Just don't tag Ona please“

„I don't even know who she is“ you said looking apologetic „but I think she's nice“

Your Sister laughed again „She is... haven't felt like this since Keira“

„Why did you and Keira split up? I really liked her“ you said and Lucy looked at you for a second, really looked at YOU before answering

„We just fell out of Love... nobodies fault... it just happened and it wasn't fair to either of us to keep pretending“ Lucy said carefully, yet seriously, knowing that Topic was difficult for you

„As cliche as it sounds, but we're still friends and I know, Keira will be over the Moon seeing you again“. Truth is, when Lucy and Keira split up you refused to talk to your Sister for weeks, not grabbing fully why she would leave Keira. Keira who was a mixture between a big Sister and a Mother to you. Keira, who made you laugh, when you where sad. Keira, who carried you to bed, when you fell asleep during a Movie. Keira, who held you when you came crying into Lucys Bedroom, just woken up from a Nightmare. In the End, you was just too young to grab fully what was happening. Maybe not too young but you couldn’t understand the feelings behind it.

„Was it my fault?“ you whispered, always the nagging feeling at the back of your Head, that it was your fault they split up.

„What?“ Lucy asked confused „No... of course not! Y/n listen to me... it had NOTHING to do with you“

„But if I would have acted more grown up and not come running nearly every night..“ you stared and Lucy immediately knew what it was about

„Y/n... it had nothing to do with that... nothing! You went through something traumatic and we were honestly glad you trusted us enough to come to us or let us calm you down when you had a nightmare“ she said insistently, holding your look „You had nothing to do with what happened between Keira and I, do you understand me?“

„I just... I feel like it's my fault“ you look down, playing with your fingers

„It's not... and if you don't believe me, you can ask Keira...“ Lucy said, grabbing your Hands in hers, holding them tightly „It just happened“

You let her pull you into a hug and for the first time in a long time you felt safe and home.

„Thanks Luce“ you mumbled against her shoulder

„Always ya wee shite“ she said and you felt her smiling into your Hair.

Yes, even at 16 years old, Lucy is a whole Head bigger than you were. Your stomach growled again and Lucy laughed „What do you want to eat, I'll order“

„I'm in Spain... obviously I want Fish and Chips, Idiot... I want authentic spanish food“ you said sarcastically

„Smartass“ she rolled her eyes „We could also go out, whatever you want“

„It's YOUR Birthday... why do I have to choose? “ you said, honestly confused

„I was trying to be nice... I know a small little Restaurant, not too far from here“ she grinned at you

„Do I have to change for it?“ you asked, looking down at your button down shirt, ripped jeans and the baby blue chucks

„Other shoes and you're good to go“ Lucy said as she threw a pair of NIKEs your way „I'll just go change, don't do anything stupid“ she pointed her finger threatenly at you

„Never, my beloved Sister“ you say sarcastically.

While Lucy is changing, you decided against posting the picture of Lucy and Ona kissing online. You know your Sister values her privacy and even she gave you the ok, it didn't feel right – but that doesn't mean you couldn't send it to someone else... Keira.

Y/n: ~ inserts picture ~ It finally happened Kei... I walked in on her... thankfully I haven't eaten today, otherwise Lucy would have to clean that up too

Keira: You're in Barcelona, Bitsy?! Why didn't you tell me?

Y/n: Sure am... wish I wasn't tho... ehm... surprise?

Keira: I hope you didn't plan to fuck off without saying hi... and don't kid yourself, Bitsy... that definitely wasn't the first time you walked in on your Sister ;)

Y/n: of fucking course not... and how would you know that, Ms. Walsh?

Keira: Because I was there :p

After you read Keiras last Text, you threw your Phone to the other End of the Couch with a loud „EW!!“.

Lucy came running from the Bedroom, looking at you shocked „What happened?? Are you okay?“. „I walked in on you and Keira???“ you cried out in agony.

„What?“ Lucy looked at you confused. You showed her your Phone, which caused her to laugh – full on belly laugh „Oh yeah... I forgot about that“ Lucy laughed.

„I WALKED IN ON YOU AND KEIRA???“ you screeched horrified.

„Yep... multiple times actually“ Lucy grinned.

„Oh god... I think I need to throw up? When... wait no... don't answer that“

Your Sister laughed again, throwing a coat towards you, silently telling you that you were leaving. „Is it okay, if I invite some people?“ she asked you, as you leave the Apartment.

„It's your Birthday, Luce – you can invite whoever you want“ you shrugged your Shoulders. „Whomever“ Lucy corrected you automaticly, before she pulled out her phone and send some texts. „Smartass“ you mumble as your Sister put her Arm around your Shoulders, manoeuvring you through the City.

Just as you rounded a corner into a small side road, someone shoulder checked you, turning around, yelling something in spanish at you. You looked at the guy confused, feeling Lucy going into protective Mode, making herself bigger by your Side. Before she could say anything, you looked at the Guy, yelling at him „Cállate la Boca, matildo hijo de puta!“

Your Sister looked shocked at you as does the Guy. You put on your best Bronze-Fightingface, before making a step towards him. Just as the Guy made up his mind and also took a step towards you, a Woman pushed right in between you two oozing confidence and started talking calmly to the Guy. She was pretty but damn – she was intimidating. The Guy talked back twice, before turning around, leaving the little alley

„What the Hell, Y/n??“ Lucy yelled at you „What the hell did you say to that guy? I understood ONE word and know it wasn't a compliment – and since when do you speak spanish?“

She then turned to the Woman „Hola Alexia... Gracias por interferir“

„Ningún problema“ the woman smiled at my Sister

„And you“ she turned to you „Where did you learn that?“

And there was that intimidating look again, which made you gulp. You grew up with Lucy Bronze, but this woman scared you. You pushed yourself behind your Sister, trying to hide

„Answer her“ Lucy pulled you out from behind her.

You just shook your Head and mumbled „She scares me Luce“

„Good“ your Sister mumbled „now answer her“

You shook your Head again. The woman looked at you and smiled slightly

„Excuse me. Hi, my name is Alexia, I'm a teammate and friend of your Sister“

You're still careful, not to stand to close to her „Hi... Y/n... I'm.. the Sister of my Sister“

This actually made her laugh, while Lucy groaned and started to rub her forehead embarrassed

„So... now that we know each other, where did you learn to offend spanish people? As much as I gathered, you don't speak spanish..“ Alexia said and immediately she got all scary again

„I... no... yes?“ You looked at her and tried to hide behind Lucy again, who groaned again. „Cariño.... my patience is wearing quite thin... you better start talking” Alexia said sweetly, but you knew it was a fair warning

“A girl at the Airport taught me... I just tried to order a coffee, which is SO hard in your country and the Barista didn't understand me and she kinda took over and ordered for me... as a thank you, I paid for hers... and we sat together as she waited for her Girlfriend and since we had time, she taught me some spanish” you stutter out

“Do you even know what you just said?” Alexia looked at you shocked

“ehrm... no... but the girl said I have to put on a Bitchface after saying it... she was cool...”

“Y/n... you just can't throw around spanish phrases, because SOMEONE told you” Lucy pressed.

“She look trustworthy” you defended yourself

“Cariño...” Alexia said softly “... don't EVER say that again, because you will get hurt in the process”

“Is it bad?” you ask unsure

“It is...” the Spanish woman said “... and if I ever find that Girl, that taught you, I will have a VERY serious talk with her... in spanish” she winked at you

“What are the Odds” you mumbled and Lucy looked at you

“What odds?” she asked you confused

“That girl just turned around the Corner” you said, pointing at a Girl, laughing loudly with some other girls

“I should have known” Alexia groaned out “María Pilar León Cebrián!!! Nosotras necesitamos hablar!!!” she yelled out

The Girl in questions Head snapped towards Alexias angry Voice, her laughter dying in her throat. She made eye contact with you, her eyes went comically wide and you could swear, you saw her mouthing the word “Fuck”, before slowly starting to walk backwards

“Oh please do” Alexia sneered, while walking towards Maria “Please start running, so I can chase after you because after I caught you, I'm gonna drag your sorry Ass up to Nuo and let you run Laps until Training is over and then some more...”

You turned towards your Sister “Isn't Nuo Egg?” you ask confused

“Huevo is Egg.. Nuo is the Stadium where we train and play” Lucy explained

“Ah... and why is Alexia calling me Cariño ... is that some weird spanish name?” you said, still confused

This Time Lucy laughed out loud, while Alexia is “actively” having a word with Maria – she was outright yelling at the poor Girl. You actually did feel sorry for her. Maria looked very guilty, trying to explain, but not getting a word in.

“Cariño is a form of endearment... something like Honey”

“Excuse me?? She could have at least taken me out on a Date first” you huffed, but smiled.

“Are you causing trouble already?” a voice behind you said amused. You turned around and sprinted off, throwing yourself in the Womans arms.

“I missed you, Keira” you mumbled into her neck, while she's hugging you tightly

“I missed you too, Bitsy” she kissed your Hair, not breaking the contact

You felt safe in her arms. Lucy came over after getting over her initial shock of you just sprinting off

“For once, it wasn't her causing the Trouble... it was Mapí” Lucy said, nodding towards a still yelling Alexia with her head

“What a surprise – Mapí causing trouble... these two would absolutely cause havoc” Keira laughed, not letting go of you

“Take a guess, why Mapí is getting yelled at... they have met already” your Sister grinned

“Oh god” Keira groaned laughing “What has Mapí done?”

“She taught me spanish” you said proudly

“What did she teach...” the other english woman started before getting interrupted by Lucy “Don't!!!! Don't ask!”

Keira was a little taken aback, but didn't ask any further

“She taught me a phrase... apparently it's a bad one and I'm not allowed to say it again, otherwise the scary Woman will have my Ass” you said, still pressed into Keiras side

“Scary Woman?” Keira raised an eyebrow at Lucy

“Alexia” your Sister answered shrugging her shoulders

“Mapí would like to say something” said Woman stood behind you three, her hand grabbing the back of Marias neck, who looked like a kicked puppy

“Lamento mucho haberte enseñado algo malo” the smaller Woman mumbled, clearly not happy or comfortable with the situation

“En Inglés” Alexia rolled her eyes “As you maybe remember, little Bronze doesn't speak spanish”. “Su hermana lo hace - ella puede traducir” Maria said

“Maria” Alexia warned “Deja de ser difícil y discúlpate correctamente”

“I'm sorry for teaching you bad spanish” the younger woman huffed out annoyed

“It's...” you started, before Alexia interrupted you “And now we try to say that, like we really mean it” she said to Mapí, grabbing her neck a little tighter

“I'm sorry” the younger girl winced

“Very good” Alexia smiled, but everyone saw it was fake, before getting a stern face again “You still will run laps tomorrow”

“What??? I apologized” Mapí said shocked

“Still doesn't change the fact, that you nearly caused a fight – if I hadn't stepped in, she most like would have end up in the Hospital with a broken nose... or worse” Alexia said

“Oi!” you yelled out “I may be small, but I can hold myself, thank you very much”

“We” Alexia looked at you sternly “Will talk tomorrow”

You gulped again, making yourself smaller at Keiras side, who had watched the whole interaction with an amused grin on her face.

“Can we get food now?” you whispered into Keiras side

The Midfielder laughed loudly “Let's go” she said as she pulled you into the small Restaurant, everyone following you. You sat between Lucy and Alexia, Mapí to Alexias right, next to her her Girlfriend Ingrid, Keira was to Lucys left with one seat free in between them for when Ona would join.

“What's edible here?” you ask to no one particular, studying your menu.

“Should I order for you, Cariño?” Alexia ask, wanting to make you feel welcome and comfortable “If this is you aassuming that this is a date, then no...” you say distracted, still try to figure out the menu.

Alexia was taken aback, while your Sister laughed.

“But what is... potatoes braves?” you asked, looking up confused.

Mapí clutched her heart dramatically “My heart... my Heart burns... I think I have a heart attack.. is this what a heart attack feels? My poor Heart”

“What is her deal?” you asked your Sister, who already had tears in her eyes from laughing

“You just absolutely BUTCHERED her language and food” Keira said, her tone dry as usual still looking over the menu.

“But it says there...” you climbed on top of Lucy, your Knee pressing into her thigh, causing her to groan out in pain, to show Keira on the Menu “Potatoes braves... or something like that”

“Patatas Bravas” Keira corrected you “It is potatoes, but it's not called Potatoes and definitely not Braves..”

“Look at you, all fancy spanishing” you rolled your eyes at her, but she knew you didn't mean it.

“Could you please finally get off me?” Lucy groaned out, pushing you back on your chair “When did you get so heavy?”

“Are you calling me fat, Arse biscuits??” you challenged her by raising an eyebrow

“What if I do, Twat McFuckknuckle?” Lucy taking your bait, raising her eyebrow as well

“Stop it! Both of you, we have company AND in public” Keira said sharply, successfully interrupting your interaction “God the two of you – always trouble”

You kicked Lucys ankle lightly under the Table, she shoving you, pushing you successfully into Alexia.

“Sorry... she pushed me” you mumbled out, while shoving Lucy back.

Alexia looked at Keira “Are they always this violent towards each other?”

“Oh this isn't violent – this is actually them behaving” Keira smiled fake, watching you two shoving each other “Just wait till there's food on the Table – THEN it gets violent”.

Just as they were about to order, Ona joined the small Group, pressing a small Kiss to Lucys lips. You watched that interaction with a frown on your face. You cared deeply for Keira and assumed it wasn't easy on her watching her Ex and her new Girlfriend kissing right in front of her. You carefully looked at Keira, but saw her laughing with Ingrid, who changed seats for conversation purposes.

“What's this dark look on your face, Cariño?” Alexia whispered in your ear, unknowing to you, she always had an eye on you.

“Nothing” you said flatly, not wanting to start a scene “I'm just hungry”

It was your Sisters Birthday after all and she looked very happy with Ona.

“Dinner will be served soon, don't worry” the Barca captain said lightly, putting a hand on your bouncing knee.

“Ale?” Mapí asked from Alexias other side.

“Si?” the woman in question looked at her younger Teammate

“Can we swipe seats?” Mapí asked hopefully.

You look at her confused “You want to what?”

“Swipe seats... I take Alexias, she sits in my seat” the young spanish said

“Oh... OH... you mean swap...” you say as you realize what she wants “and they say I butcher a language”

“No” Alexia said sternly “before you ask, you two won't be anywhere unsupervised”

“Oi” you exclaim “I'm very capable of looking after myself”, while Mapí exclaimed something in spanish.

“No idea what she said, but she's right” you say, pointing at Mapí

“Enough” Alexia said sternly, both of you stop complaining immediately.

Keira looked impressed at Alexia, trying to hide her smirk. Lucy was in her own world with Ona, ignoring everything around her. Finally there was Food on the Table and before the Plagrabfor everyone even were placed on the Table, you and Mapí already starting to grab whatever you could reach. Alexia watched in horror, as you two just loading food on your own plates without waiting for the rest “Excuse me? María León... I know for a fact that you have manners and won't just load your plate with food without WAITING for everyone else – especially for the Woman who celebrates her birthday today... isn't that right, María?”

Mapí looked down on her plate guilty, before starting to put the food back.

“I thought so” Alexia said, still a mad undertone in her voice

You on the other Hand didn't care one bit. You grew up in the Bronze household. You snooze, you loose. You threw a little fried something into your mouth, chewing happily. That was until the spiciness kicked in. Your eyes went wide, tears starting to form in your eyes and you started to have problems to breath. As always, you turned to Keira for help, throwing food at her to get her attention.

“Y/n please... I didn't raise you for years so you start throwing food in public” the Woman said, turning to you before realizing what was happening. Once she saw you in your distressed state, she immediately came over, pulling you out of your chair and out of the restaurant. Lucy finally noticed her surroundings, as Keira pulled you outside. She jumped up, following the two of you outside

“What happened?” Lucy asked worried, seeing you having difficulties to breath and tears streaming down your face.

“I don't know. She suddenly started to throw food at me, I actually was about to tell her off, but saw her having problems to breath and got her out” Keira gave Lucy a rundown, while keeping you upright

“It's okay, Bitsy... calm down” Keira started to talk to you in a low, soothing voice “Take a deep breath for me”

You tried to follow her instructions, but with no luck. Lucy finally sprung into action grabbing you by your shoulders, making you look at her

“Did you eat something?”

You nod, still trying your hardest to breath.

“Spicy?”

You nod again, thankful that your Sister keeps a cool head.

“You're doing good, Bubs... Do you know what you've eaten?”

You shake your head.

“Okay... we can work with that” Lucy said, a small reassuring smile on her lips, turning to Keira “Could you get something dairy.. milk... yoghurt... whatever”

“Sure” Keira smiled before disparaging inside the Restaurant.

“It's okay, Bubs... it's going to get better soon, I promise – just... don't shovel everything into your gob without asking next time.. these guys here are absolutely unholy when it comes to spicy food”. Just as your Sisters calm voice started to work on your nerves, Keira appeared with a glass of milk AND yoghurt

“Drink Bitsy” she smiled assuringly at you, pushing the glass of milk into your hands.

You took a sip and immediately felt your tight chest loosen up. Greedily you drowned the whole glass, feeling better with every gulp.

“Fuck” was the first word, that left your mouth after you regain your breathing again.

“You okay now, Bubs?” Lucy asked concerned.

“Getting there” you said, leaning forward, your hands on your knees “But I think I need to throw up”

Lucy pulled you upright quickly “Are you serious?”

“Yep” you breathed deeply, your stomach on a wrath for torturing it

“I'm getting you home right now” your Sister said seriously “Spicy is one thing, but your stomach is normally made of steel, that's not normal”

You just groaned

“Stay” Keira said to your Sister “It's your Birthday – I'll take her to my Place and have an eye on her... you stay and enjoy your evening, okay?”

“I can't ask that of you, Kei” Lucy said softly

“You're not asking... I'm offering” Keira smiled softly “If she feels up for it, we can meet for brunch or lately at training”

“Thank you” Lucy whispered, hugging her Ex-Girlfriend before turning to you “You behave... be good for Keira”

You nod before Keira wraps you into a hug, leading you away.

As soon as you're out of earshot and view, Keira let go of you and grinned knowingly “You can stop pretending now...”

You looked at her shocked “How did you know?”

“I was always able to tell... your sister is right, you have a stomach made of steel... your whole face changed after you drank the milk and I knew you're alright again... what I don't know is why you put on a show” the english Woman smirked at you, as she called you out

“Didn't want you to put up with Lucy and her new One being all lovey-dovey all evening... and I didn't want to put up with it either” you mumble caught.

Keira started to laugh loudly “Oh Bitsy... I see that lovey-dovey every day... it's okay for me... Lucy deserves to be happy...”

You looked at Keira and she knew there was more to it.

“What's wrong, Bitsy?” she ask lovingly

“I feel like it's my fault you broke up...” you mumble, having a hard deja-vu

“Oh sweetheart... no it's not... Lucy and I just grew apart. It happens and it's nobodies fault, especially not yours... but there's more, isn't it?” Keira said softly

“I don't like the new one” you mumble out, looking down embarrassed

“Why? Ona is a good person, she's good to and for your Sister”

“She looks like she doesn't even need to shave” you exclaimed.

Keira bursted out laughing “You're one of a kind, Bitsy... trust me... Ona is a good Person and she's good for Lucy... I know you're always struggling with change, but please.. give Ona a chance, she'll surprise you”

“M'kay” you mumble.

You arrived at Keiras Apartment, she let you both in before setting up her guest room for you. You went on exploring Keiras home. You were about to open a cabinet as she called from the guest room “Don't you dare open my Cabinets... I love you but you're a clutz”.

You quickly let go of the handle, looking at the pictures hanging on the wall instead. You spotted one of yourself and Lucy, sound asleep on your Couch in Manchester. You laid on top of Lucy, while she was sprawled out under you, her right arm over your back, holding you safely, her knee carefully placed on some pillows, her glasses askew on her face, your hand fisted in her shirt.

“I love that picture” Keiras voice soft behind you “I came back from training, wondering why she hadn't answered my texts about dinner... I walked in and both of you were softly snoring on the Couch. Your leg was so close to her freshly operated knee, that I was afraid you'd hurt it, if you move and I tried to lift you off her, but both of you started to stir as soon as I moved you. So I just let you sleep – after I took a picture. I think Lucy slept for another hour and you slept for nearly three more hours”

Keiras voice was soft and full of love, that you started crying silently. Another picture showed Lucy and Keira in a park, you asleep in between them. You pointed at the picture, your back still facing her.

“London” Keira said understanding you even without words “Our first anniversary.. She planned this whole Weekend to the brim, with fancy Restaurant, Musical Show, Sightseeing... everything... then your parents got so sick with the flu, that we took you with us... her plans went so fast out the window” Keira laughed quietly “but we improvised and instead of fancy restaurant we did pick-nick in Hyde Park – and I wouldn't change it for the world. You were so done after a day of exploring the city and all of the sights, that you were out like light as soon as you sat down”

You pointed at the next picture, again the three of you.

“You can't remember this one?” she asks you surprised.

“I do” you whisper “but... please”

“Paris” Keira said softly “Third anniversary.. Lucy just joined Lyon and invited me over to France for our anniversary She told me, she has the weekend off and wanted to take me to Paris – I honestly thought she would propose... Somehow you heard Lucy talking to your mum and begged her to let you come as well. It was the first time you two were separated and everyone could see that it was so hard on you. Lucy said as long as I'm okay with it, you could come. I remember you being so over the top with your nerves, that you ran around the Airport like a maniac... I lost you twice” Keira chuckled “and as soon as we started, you were out like a light again. In Paris, I had do carry you off the Plane, because you wouldn't wake up – and I still had to get our luggage AND carry you. It took me forever and Lucy was starting to panic that I bailed until she saw me, packed like a Donkey holding onto your sleeping form, dragging our bags behind me. And what did she do? She first smiled and then laughed – but it was the most beautiful sound in the world to me”

“Do you miss her?” you asked quietly.

“Of course I do” Keira answered honestly.

“Do you still love her?”

“I love her, yes... but I'm not IN love with her” she said.

You finally turned around, hugging her tightly.

“I miss you at home... so much” you mumble into her shoulder, tears rolling down your cheeks. Keira held you tightly “Oh sweet girl.. I miss you too – I really do”

You stayed like this for a moment, before your eyes grew heavy and Keira carefully walked the two of you towards the Guest bedroom, not letting go of you. You held onto her for dear life, letting her guide you.

As Keira kicked the door of the Guest room open, you mumble into her shoulder “Don't wanna sleep alone”

The english Woman chuckled lightly “I thought so... I just thought I'd offer, just in case... being a good host and everything”

She guided you towards her own Bedroom and sat you down on the Bed. You already were half asleep and whined tiredly as Keira let go of you. She smiled at your hunched over form

“Hush you... I need to change and get ready for bed – you too by the way”

You whined again “too much effort”

“Come on” Keira pulled at your Shirt “Teeth, Face, Change”

You felt like being Seven all over again.

“Nooooo” you whined out.

“Don't start... I'm not Lucy, I'm not a push-over... seven years of me in your life should have taught you that” Keira said severe.

You huffed heavy-hearted, before pushing off the Bed, shuffling towards the bathroom.

Keira smiled to herself “Still a big baby”.

After both of you went through your nightly Routine, with Keira basically brushing your teeth for you and changed your button down shirt with a normal shirt to sleep in, you made it into bed, where you immediately cuddled into Keiras arms and closed your Eyes. The older Woman kissed the Crown of your Head as she mumbled sweet nothings into the dark room, knowing you'd fall asleep in an instant.

Part 2 follows... at some point 😅

[delulu4anime]

𝔚𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔗𝔬 𝔓𝔩𝔬𝔱 𝔗𝔴𝔬⇥ᴄɪɢᴀʀᴇᴛᴛᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏ ʟᴏʟʟɪᴘᴏᴘꜱ

🪦ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ⇥ ᴀᴋɪ ʜᴀʏᴀᴋᴀᴡᴀ x ᴄᴏ-ᴡᴏʀᴋᴇʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

🪦ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴛᴇʀᴀʀʏ ᴘᴀꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ⇥ ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜰɪxᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

🪦ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴜʟᴏɢʏ⇥ ʜᴇ ᴄʀᴀᴠᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪᴄᴏᴛɪɴᴇ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʀᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏ ꜰʟᴀᴠᴏʀ. ᴡʜʏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴀꜱᴛᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ? ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ꜰɪxᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏꜱ.

🪦ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢꜱ⇥ ꜱᴍᴏᴋɪɴɢ, ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ʙʟᴏᴡᴊᴏʙꜱ, ᴅᴏᴍɪɴᴀᴛᴇ ᴀᴋɪ, ʙɪᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜʀᴏᴀᴛ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱQᴜɪɴᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴡᴀʟʟᴏᴡ, ᴅᴇꜱᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴇ ᴀᴋɪ, ꜱʜᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴀ ʟᴏʟʟɪᴘᴏᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪᴍ.

🪦ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴠᴏᴛɪᴏɴ⇥ 2.5ᴋ+

🪦ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇʀᴍᴏɴ⇥ 🔞ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ. ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴀᴠᴇʏᴀʀᴅ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴅɪꜱᴛᴜʀʙᴇᴅ. ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏᴡ🔞-ɪ ᴀᴍ ꜱᴏ ᴜɴʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴀʙʟʏ ꜰᴇʀᴀʟ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀᴋɪ ᴀɴᴅ ᴋɪꜱʜɪʙᴇ ꜰᴏʀᴍ ᴄꜱᴍ. ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ᴜɴʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜʏ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ɴᴇᴇᴅꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴛᴜᴅʏ ɪᴛ. ɪ ꜰᴏᴀᴍ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ɪ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ. ʟᴏʀᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴇʀᴄʏ. ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏꜱ, ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴀʏ ᴛᴡᴏ ʙᴜᴛ ᴏʜ ᴡᴇʟʟ. ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴅᴀʏ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴏꜰ ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ɪ ᴡʀᴏᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴏɴᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴍʏ ᴘᴀɴᴛꜱ. ᴀꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ!

🪦ᴛʜᴇ ʜʏᴍɴꜱ⇥ ᴏᴏʜ, ʟᴇᴛ'ꜱ ᴛᴀʟᴋ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴄʜᴇᴍɪꜱᴛʀʏ/'ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ɪ'ᴍ ᴅʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇʟᴛ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ/ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʀ ᴍᴏʟᴇᴄᴜʟᴇꜱ/'ᴛɪʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄʟᴇꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜᴏʟʏ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ/ɪꜰ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ/ꜱʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴀɴ ᴜɴᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴇʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ/ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ʙᴏʀɴ ɪɴ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴏʀ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ-ꜱᴇɴᴛ/ʙᴜᴛ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴀʏ ɪ'ᴍ ɪɴᴛᴏ ɪᴛ

The music bumped throughout the house and the conversations people were having seemed to all blend together. Aki wasn't sure why he let Himeno talk him into coming to this party tonight or why Power and Denji felt the need to tag along. Regardless he was regretting his decision greatly. Himeno was drunk and moving to the song that played a few feet away, not at all in rhythm with the tune. He'd lost sight of Power hours ago and he would've done the same with Denji had Aki not been staring him down like a hawk.

He could see how flushed Denji's cheeks were as Makima talked to him. She looked so relaxed talking to Denji while he looked like a mess as he usually did when talking to a woman especially one a beautiful as Makima. Aki could feel the jealousy bubbling up in him over this; that should be him having her attention not some idiot like Denji. Aki scoffed as he pushed off the wall he had been leaning against; he needed a cigarette...now. He maneuvered his was through what seemed like an endless see of people to get to the patio.

However, once he was able to get there he noticed even more people outside drinking and laughing with one another. Something he didn't want to partake in at all. He sighed as he looked around and saw a flight of stairs a short distance away so he decided to take his chances. He made his was upstairs and notice immediately that no one had bothered to set foot up here and better yet there was a balcony. Aki made his way through the bedroom and noticed the sliding door was ajar. The curtains on either side swayed in the light breeze that had made its way inside. Soon his gaze shifted to the person who was leaning against the balcony railing. Shit...he really wasn't in the mood to make small talk with anyone; maybe if he turned around quietly he could...

Before a plan could even form in Aki's mind you looked over your shoulder when you sensed someone's presence. Aki froze for a moment when your gaze met his and when he realized it was you he suddenly didn't mind the company. You were technically a newbie, only being with Makima’s sector for a year, but with how reserved you were most of the time he wondered if you had been a private devil hunter that just decided to join something like Public Safety. He didn't ever ask because asking leads to conversations and conversations were the last thing either of you ever seemed to want. You two were cordial with one another, never saying more than needed, and he liked that. You weren't a hassle.

So with his shoulders now relaxing knowing he could partake in his cigarette in peace he reached out and opened the sliding door. He stepped out into the cool night air and closed the door behind him. You had moved your gaze back out to the city around you without saying a word, knowing you didn't really have to when it came to Aki. A lollipop stick hanging out of your mouth like always. Aki pulled the carton of cigarettes out of his pocket and opened the lid with his thumb. He looked at the two measly cigarettes he had left and he made a mental note to stop by the convenience store on the way home.

He pulled one out and put it between her lips before he pulled his lighter out. There was a soft click before the flame appears and he leaned forward to lit the end of his cigarette. He makes sure to keep his distance from you so he doesn't blow the smoke near you. He inhaled the nicotine and it immediately sent a wave of relief over him; his eyes closing to relish the sweet relief.

"That's a nasty habit y'know." You said as you broke the silence between you two.

He opened his eyes and pulled the cigarette away from his mouth and exhaled the smoke. He stared at you for a moment as you continued to look out at the city; the party below seeming like a million miles away.

"Says the one always with a lollipop in her mouth. Don't know what's worse the fact you're bound to have cavities or the fact you look like a ten year old." Aki sassed back and for a moment he felt guilty for doing so…that is until you laughed. You looked over your shoulder and raised a brow.

"Better than getting lung cancer don't you think?" You shot back and Aki paused for a moment before he rolled his eyes.

He took another drag from his cigarette as he leans against the railing away from you still. Despite not really caring about the consequences of his habit he at least didn't want you to inhale the smoke. There was a brief pause between you as he exhaled the smoke and watched it lift into the night sky.

"I never understood your obsession with lollipops." Aki uttered out breaking the silence between you. His gaze moving over to you.

You hummed at his words as you grabbed the stick and slowly pulled it out of your mouth. Aki's eyes locking in on the way you do so and he can't stop the way he swallows thickly before his gaze moves back to meet yours. There was a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he didn't quite recognize especially when it was directed towards someone like you.

"It's called an oral fixation. You have one too just with cigarettes." You replied as you motioned to his cigarette between his fingers with your lollipop. "Helps ease the stress doesn't it?" You say as put it back in your mouth savoring the sweetness of the artificial cherry flavor.

"There's no way a damn lollipop will ease the stress." Aki says with a scoff and you roll your eyes at his skepticism. This reaction out of you was a nice little change up from how you both usually were with each other. It made him want to keep pushing you as he took another drag. "At least it keeps you quiet I guess."

Aki's lips curve up at the corners as he brings the cigarette back up to his mouth to take another drag.

"I know a few things that would keep me quiet for ever longer. Would fill up my mouth too much to even speak actually." You shot back without missing a beat.

Aki's eyes widened as he inhaled too much and started to cough. You watch him with a gaze akin to boredom as you continue to enjoy your sweet treat.

"What?"

"You heard me."

Silence that filled the air between both of you once again as you just stared at each other. Enough to hear the party continuing on downstairs and even the lyrics to whatever pop song was currently playing could be heard if you listened close enough. You could see the resolve in his gaze shift as he clenches his jaw; this was a side of Aki you hadn't seen before and you couldn't deny that you liked it. A lot.

"You don't know what you're talking about." Aki grumbled as the grip on his cigarette tightened between his fingers.

"Oh but I do know what I'm talking about. I mean it's one of my favorite things to do anyways. Suck on lollipops." You said as you continue to taunt him.

You expected him to blush and stammer on about how lewd you were being. To stop and even roll his eyes because despite him being attractive that didn't mean he had any experience with women. He was such a stickler for the rules at work and his mind seemed to have a one way track which really only consisted of killing devils or Makima. Which is why you didn't expect him to put his cigarette out on the balcony railing and his lips to pull into a slight grin. He let out a breathy chuckle and flicked the cigarette butt off the balcony not caring one bit where it could've landed. In the matter of a second he was in front of you and looking down at you with something you couldn’t quite pinpoint in his eyes. You took a small step back but the railing preventing you from going anywhere. He reached out and grabbed your jaw and your breath hitches.

"Open your mouth." Aki commanded.

You blinked up at him for a moment and he raised a brow. He let go of your jaw and patted your cheek lightly.

"I said open your mouth."

You immediately do as your told and open your mouth. Aki tilted his head to the side as his gaze moves down to where the lollipop is sticking out of your mouth. He motions to it with his chin before his lidded gaze moves to meet yours.

"Gimme that." Aki said and your brow furrowed for a moment before your hand seemed to move on its own.

You raised your hand up, grabbed your lollipop, and started to pull it from your mouth. His eyes are glued on the way you slowly removed the lollipop from your mouth. A small string of saliva on the red candy before you reached up to put it in his mouth. He leaned down slightly as he wrapped his lips around the candy. His gaze moving to meet yours as he hummed at the flavor. Aki leaned back and moved his hands to his pockets as the white stick moved from one side of his mouth to the other.

"Get down on your knees." Aki commanded again after a moment of silence which only caused your eyes to widen.

"W-What?" You breathed out not expecting Aki to say or do this.

"You heard me."

Your body moved on its own again as you immediately fell down to your knees in front of him. He looked down at you with expression that was different than his usual aloof expression...he looked hungry.

"Go on. This is your favorite thing to do after all right? Sucking on lollipops. Show me then. Suck on mine." Aki said in a condescending tone as he moved the lollipop around in his mouth again.

You could stop the soft whine that leaves your lips at his words and the butterflies in her stomach start to flutter about. Had you known rilling him up would lead to this you would've done it a long time ago. Your hands reach up and start to undo his belt and slacks; in a matter of second you were eye level with his cock. Your mouth practically watered before you looked up at those blue eyes that seemed to darken the moment your eyes met. You opened your mouth and took in his length into your mouth.

You hummed at the taste of his pre-cum that had already started to form at the tip. The mixture of his taste combined with the after taste of the cherry was quickly becoming your new fixation. Your gaze never leaving his as you start to swirl your tongue around him which only causes him to groan. His eyes narrowing as you start to slowly move your head up and down against his length. His jaw clenched slightly as he watched you move against him and he couldn't stop himself for moving his hands out of his pockets and to the back of your head.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back as he shifted his hips against your mouth slightly. You moaned around him as you moved your hands to his thighs and gripped the fabric of his slacks.

"T-That's it...just like that." Aki grunts out as you move your tongue about and continue your movements.

The party continued on downstairs and occasionally you could hear the people right below you on the patio laughing and conversing with one another. They had no idea the lewd actions that were happening just above them on the balcony. It only excited you and made you want to please him more. Your eyes flutter shut as you focus on making sure he feels good. You pick up your movements which only earns you a string moans and grunts from the man above you. His grip on the back of your head tightens as he starts to move his hips more. His lips part and the lollipop hangs lazily in his mouth as feels his restraint snapping.

"F-Fuck m' sorry." Aki breathes out and before you can even process why he was apologize he was already bucking his hips forward. "C-Can't help it. Feels so good."

Tears build up in your waterline as you let him use your mouth the way he wants. He couldn't believe he was doing this. Had planned to save himself for his work and that was it. But seeing you standing there, taunting him, with that goddamn lollipop. Something took over him and right now he was feeling anything but regret.

He clenched his jaw and he feels the candy crunch under his teeth. He can feel his release coming sooner than he thought and it was all because of that mouth of yours. Because of your sassy remarks, the way you flaunted the lollipop, and now this. This might be his new fixation. His new way to dull down the stress of being a devil hunter. For having to baby sit Power and Denji. For not being able to even touch Makima the way he wanted. No this...this would be what he'd crave from now on. You.

"O-Oh fuck baby...baby...h-haa...m' gonna cum." Aki moaned out.

Baby? Heavens he was losing his mind. Your mouth felt too good. The way he spoke only caused you to moan around him and that was all he needed to send him over the edge. His teeth biting down on the stick of the lollipop as he held your head in place. His release filling your mouth as you gripped his slacks tightly. You swallowed every bit and as you pulled off of him you were expecting to be able to take a breath of air. What happened instead was Aki kneeling down to crash his lips against yours. The stick from the candy discarded but with the way he moved his tongue into your mouth all you could taste was the aftertaste of his release and cherry flavored bits of the lollipop. You moaned into the kiss as you both moved in sync with one another before he pulls away first. You both pant and swallow the pieces of the candy as you look at one another.

"Let me be your fixation," Aki panted out. "Let me taste you...devour you."

©ᴅᴇʟᴜʟᴜ4ᴀɴɪᴍᴇ 2024 ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

ᴅᴀɪʟʏ ᴄʟɪᴄᴋꜱ

ᴘᴀʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ɢʀᴀᴠᴇ

[urdreamydoodles]

Remy LeBeau "Gambit" x Fem!Reader

Laughing at every jokes he make

You find yourself on a romantic stroll with Remy LeBeau, where his playful jokes and charming demeanor lead to a deeper connection. As your laughter draws you closer, you both realize there's more than just flirtation between you, culminating in a tender and passionate moment.

The warm glow of the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the streets of New Orleans, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and the lively hum of jazz music in the distance. You found yourself walking alongside Remy LeBeau, your hand barely brushing against his as the two of you meandered through the quiet backstreets. The gentle breeze carried with it the rich smells of the city and a sense of anticipation you could feel in your bones, a feeling heightened whenever you were in his presence.

Remy had insisted on taking you out for a stroll, away from the chaos of your usual lives as X-Men, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. It was impossible to say no to that roguish smile of his, the one that made you feel like you were the only person in the world who could see through his devil-may-care attitude to the heart beneath. Today, though, Remy was especially playful, cracking jokes at every turn.

“Y’know,” he began, his deep Cajun accent weaving through his words like music, “if de X-Men ever decide t’fire me, I got a back-up career as a stand-up comedian.”

You chuckled softly, the sound light and airy, though the joke itself was far from laugh-out-loud funny. “You sure about that? You might want to keep practicing.”

His grin widened, eyes flashing with a spark of mischief. “Practice? Chère, I’m already a master. Ain’t nobody got charm like Remy LeBeau.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, a little louder this time. There was something about the way he said things, like he didn’t care whether they were funny or not—he was confident you’d laugh anyway. And, of course, you did. It wasn’t just the jokes themselves, though. It was the way he carried himself, with a swagger that spoke volumes, and the way he’d glance at you, his red-and-black eyes lingering just a little too long, sending a shiver down your spine.

Remy raised an eyebrow as he leaned in closer. “Now you laughin’, but I know y’thinkin’ I got potential.”

“Potential to get booed off the stage, maybe,” you teased, nudging his arm with your shoulder, your eyes crinkling at the corners from how hard you were smiling.

“Ah, chère, you wound me!” Remy dramatically placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt, though his smirk gave him away. “Lucky for me, I got a beautiful girl like you t’keep me company. Long as you laughin’, dat’s all dat matters.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the casual compliment, even though you were used to his flirtations by now. Being called “beautiful” by Remy was like being told the sky was blue—he said it so often, you’d think it would lose its effect. But it never did. It always felt like a small flame igniting inside you every time the word passed his lips.

Your laughter faded into a quiet smile as you glanced up at him, watching the way the evening light softened his sharp features. Remy had a way of making everything feel light, like the weight of the world could fall away when you were with him. He was always making jokes, always teasing, and you always laughed, even when they weren’t all that funny. It wasn’t that his jokes were bad—they just didn’t always hit the mark. But the way he looked at you when he delivered them, with that lazy, confident grin, you couldn’t help but laugh. Because he was trying, and because, for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, his laughter became contagious, drawing your own out of you like a melody that was meant to be sung.

As the two of you continued walking, you noticed Remy glance at you out of the corner of his eye, the smile on his lips softening. There was something different in his expression now, something quieter and more thoughtful. He stopped suddenly, taking your hand in his without a word, guiding you toward a small, secluded park nestled between two rows of charming old houses.

“C’mere,” he said softly, pulling you toward a bench shaded by a large oak tree. The branches above rustled gently in the breeze, casting dappled shadows on the ground beneath your feet. Remy sat down, his hand still holding yours, and patted the spot next to him.

You sat, feeling the warmth of his body close to yours, your hand still tingling from his touch. The playful banter had died down now, replaced by a silence that felt… deeper, more intimate.

“Y’know,” Remy began after a moment, his voice quieter than before, “I been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’.”

Your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t often that Remy got serious, and when he did, you knew it was important. “What’s on your mind?”

He looked at you, his red-on-black eyes meeting yours in a way that made your breath catch. “I been thinkin’ ‘bout you. ‘Bout us.”

There was a pause, the words hanging in the air between you like the last note of a song waiting to fade. You weren’t sure what to say, so you waited, letting him find the words.

“You always laugh at my jokes,” he said, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Even when they ain’t so funny. Why’s dat, chère?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. It seemed so simple, but the way he asked it—like it meant more than just the surface—made your heart stutter in your chest. You glanced away for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts, before looking back at him with a smile of your own.

“I guess… I just like hearing you talk,” you said, feeling the truth of it even as you spoke the words. “Doesn’t matter if the joke is funny or not. I like being around you, Remy. You make me feel… lighter. Happier.”

His expression softened at that, his smile turning more genuine, more tender. “Dat so?” he murmured, leaning just a little closer, his voice low and smooth, like the soft rumble of thunder in the distance.

You nodded, your heart thudding in your chest. “Yeah, it is. I don’t think I could stop laughing around you even if I tried.”

For a moment, Remy said nothing, just watched you with an intensity that made your skin tingle. Then, without warning, he reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin longer than necessary. His touch sent a thrill down your spine, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

“Y’know,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, “I been doin’ a lot of thinkin’ ‘bout how lucky I am.”

“Lucky?” you echoed, your voice quieter now, the world around you seeming to fade as the space between you and Remy grew smaller.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his hand still resting lightly against your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Lucky dat someone like you’d wanna spend time wit’ someone like me. Wit’ all my bad jokes an’ all.”

You laughed, the sound soft and breathless, and Remy’s smile widened at the sound. “I think I’m the lucky one,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Remy’s eyes darkened slightly at that, and you could feel the air between you shift, becoming charged with something unspoken. For a long moment, neither of you moved, the world narrowing to just the two of you, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, Remy leaned in closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Can I kiss you, chère?” he asked softly, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart raced, your pulse pounding in your ears as you nodded, unable to form words. The moment you did, Remy’s lips met yours, soft and warm, sending a surge of electricity through your entire body. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, but it quickly deepened as Remy wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer.

You melted into him, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him back, every thought in your mind dissolving into the sensation of being this close to him. His lips were firm yet soft, his touch tender but possessive, as though he’d been waiting for this moment as long as you had.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and flushed, Remy rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in soft, shallow pants. He smiled, a real smile, the kind that reached his eyes, and your heart swelled in your chest.

“Now dat’s a punchline I can get behind,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

And just like that, you laughed again, not because the joke was funny, but because you were happy—truly, completely happy.

[guzhufuren]

About upcoming chinese wuxia BL The General's Son (将军家的小儿子)

- director and executive producer Ma Huagan (director of Word of Honor) - screenwriter and chief producer Zhou Shucheng - original script - will not be broadcast in mainland China - 24 episodes (rumoured to be 18 mins long) - company Happy Yeah Media 欢宜时光影业 (made Nine Colors Deer King) - started filming: 2024.05.25 - wrapped up: 2024.06.14 (21 days)

starring: - Li Kaiwen as Li Jianwei (born 2002.10.17 height 188cm, studying in the Musical Department of the Chinese Academy of Drama) - Dong Zifan as Chen Xiaoxi (born 1999.07.31 height: 182cm, graduated from University College London) - Wang Chao as Shi Tou, Guan Yuxi as Little Peach, Dong Xiaobai as Princess Qingyuan, Xu Heni, Su Tong, Ao Lei

Synopsis: "General Li's family were killed on New Year's Eve. Li's youngest son, Li Jianwei, as beautiful as jade and spring flowers, escaped death, but disguised himself as a courtesan and went to Wei Mountain to seek revenge. Chen Xiaoxi, a person who was pure and lively, but was killed unjustly and became a devil. What will happen when the two meet on the Wei Mountain?"

[rapturously]

uhh asking for a request of bo and just anything that involves with duct tape 😭😭 gagging or bounding im happy either way

Also love ur work! 🩷💖

souvenir.

➾ pairing ; bo sinclair x fem!reader.

in which bo decides that he’ll take you as his souvenir — a pretty hiker lost in ambrose.

format: one-shot — requested.

word count: 5.3K.

warnings: SMUT (mdni), DUBCON, drugging, kidnapping, bondage (tape and chains), restraints, cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, groping, knifeplay, rough sex, p in v sex, different positions, spitting, choking, bruising, hair-pulling, scratching, marking, use of pet names (good girl, sweetheart, etc.), dom/sub dynamics, begging, dirty talk, edging, creampie, unprotected sex, bo is definitely not nice in this fic

author’s note: this is definitely more of a darker fic, but I actually loved writing it ,,, nothing like gross and horny sex with bo sinclair to get the blood flowing! I hope you all enjoy! Still working on requests, I’m hoping to post a few things this week since I’ve been so busy!

Warm, glittering rays of a vibrant Louisiana sun cut through the thick canopy of trees and marshland, bathing your face in a haze of heat. It was midday — hot and sticky, accompanied by a stifling humidity that was prevalent in the South, not terribly far from a saltwater coastline.

Beneath you was the grass — clutches of wildflowers blossomed amongst strands of emerald, a temporary refuge for you to rest as you savored the outdoors. A town sat in the near-distance, baking away underneath the sun, as evidenced by the paint wearing thin and the asphalt looking gray instead of black.

You’d been hiking by yourself — that was your first mistake. Too brazen and bold enough to be without the company of your friends, and now, subject to the ire of Ambrose’s hidden devils.

It was akin to ringing the dinner bell when Lester had caught wind of your presence through the scope of a well-used Barrett. Once he’d informed Bo over a very colorful phone call, your fate was sealed, doomed to become another pretty fixture in the House of Wax.

There was no getting out of Ambrose — you just didn’t know it yet.

As the glaring sun began to slip behind the verdant canopy above you, you took it as a sign to relocate, trekking the short distance toward the quaint town. You could hear the general buzz and chatter of townsfolk, but there wasn’t a soul in-sight — the ones that were, confined to their eternal tombs.

“Nobody’s home.” You murmured, thumbing the thick straps of your backpack as you sauntered down the middle of the road, glancing at some of the vehicles lining the road. Some appeared brand-new, others showing signs of weathering.

You passed the gas station and row of various houses, making your way toward the church. The distant hum of an organ guided your path, leading you to the steps and to the devil himself.

Bo Sinclair stood in front of a set of white doors, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, a bead of sweat glistening upon his brow. He wore his Sunday best to look the part, gaze flickering toward your pretty, doe-eyed countenance when you’d stopped a few feet away.

A cloud of billowing smoke drifted into the air, a thin gray wisp that dissipated into the staggering heat. He appraised you in an unusual silence, drinking you in, shamelessly admiring the way your jeans clung to your body. Bo’s own fascination was nearly palpable — he still wondered what possessed a girl to go hiking alone.

Maybe you were stupid — he didn’t think so.

“Sermon getting to you?” You hadn’t intended to come off as simpering or awkward, gesturing toward the cigarette in the stranger’s mouth. A chattering ambiance and piano music emanated from inside of the church, and you felt severely underdressed in the presence of this man — the only one you’d seen in the town so far.

A huff escaped him as he ashed his cigarette, granules of charcoal floating towards the steps. “Might need another cigarette if that’s the case,” Bo chortled, taking another long drag. He ogled you again, jaw tensing as he sized you up, unbeknownst to you. “You lost?”

You would do perfectly — prettiest thing he’d seen in ages, that much was for certain.

Bo’s mind worked differently than yours, sinister and callous when compared to your innocuous demeanor. Whilst you stood along the picket-fence, contemplating about finding a good drink of water, Bo was picturing you strapped down to his bed, clothes cut away.

“A little bit,” It was painful for you to confess to being lost, considering how many times you’d traversed the backwoods of Louisiana. The sound of your voice was enough to momentarily sever Bo’s salacious train of thought, watching as you picked at the fading paint along the fence. “Do you know if there’s a convenience store around here or anything?”

He shook his head, motioning down the street. “Closed for th’day, I’m afraid. Lookin’ for somethin’ in particular?” Bo asked, attempting to lay the foundation for you, building a rapport that was surely to break once he got his hands on you. It was all about the building.

You shrugged, withering away beneath the oppressive heat of the midday sun. You wondered how this man was so unusually comfortable within an all-black suit and tie. Nonetheless, you decided to be truthful. “I’m just looking for a quick drink before I hike back to the main road. I’m a little low on water.”

“If you’re willin’ to make the trek, I can take you up to my place. Won’t take long, ten minutes or so.” Bo offered, attempting to sweeten the deal. It was akin to a predator skillfully drawing their prey inward, making it difficult to resist. He took another lengthy drag of his cigarette before smashing it against the concrete with the toe of his boot.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother,” Admittedly, you felt intrusive — a meddlesome presence amidst a quiet, peaceful town. You felt even worse interrupting a church service, but Bo didn’t seem phased whatsoever. “I don’t want to distract you from church, either.”

Bo scoffed, lips twitching into something sardonic, one hand perched atop his hip. “Don’t think th’good Lord really cares a whole lot for me these days,” He mused, and you couldn’t tell if he was being serious. “Let me take you up there.” He motioned for you to follow him.

Leaving the white chapel behind, you walked alongside him, somewhat smitten by his Southern drawl and charismatic charm. Beads of sweat glistened along his brow, and he promptly loosened his tie as the two of you made it toward a stretch of beaten-up road.

“Name’s Bo, by th’way. Forgot my manners.” Bo mused, making sure to really lay on the flirtation and appeal. It wasn’t hard for him to tell how flustered you were already — and he fully intended on manipulating such a fact.

“Nice to meet you, Bo.” You smiled, cordial and polite as you sauntered alongside him. “How long have you lived here in Ambrose? It seems so far from the rest of civilization.” It was out of reach, away from the rest of the world, a world that was impervious to the sinister deeds of the Sinclairs.

Unfortunately, you were now in their territory, subject to their rules and ire.

Bo chuckled, shamelessly stealing glances at you whenever possible. You were gorgeous — a looker with a sweet demeanor. He wanted to lick that sweetness right off of you, drain it all, keep it for himself. “Lived here for most of my life. Town’s real quiet, jus’ known for the House of Wax.”

Intrigue glistened upon your features, and you recalled the sign that you’d spotted during your hike — Trudy’s infamous House of Wax. The building itself sat in the distance, nestled amongst a cluster of hills. Even that seemed relatively dormant.

“It’s nice here, really peaceful. You must get used to the silence.” You replied, stepping up the incline as Bo gently steadied you with one arm. You murmured a soft ‘thank you’ as a house came into view, rustic yet large. This must’ve been Bo’s home. “Is this it?”

He motioned toward the house, wrapping his tie around his hand as he loosened up his collar. “Yeah, this is it. We’ll go on inside, you can sit an’ I’ll get you fixed up with somethin’ for the road.” Bo chimed, making his way to the front door.

Bo let you inside, gesturing toward the couch and recliner that sat in the living room. It was a very well lived-in home, but you didn’t seem to mind. You moved toward the couch, finally able to sit somewhere comfortable and relax, placing your backpack beside you.

“Thank you for doing this, Bo. I appreciate it.” You piped up, watching as he moved toward the kitchen. The interior of the home felt warm and inviting, littered with plenty of things to look at. There was ample opportunity for Bo to take matters into his own hands.

One of the cupboards in the kitchen had what he needed, a syringe filled with some strange concoction, a thicker liquid. His dark gaze darted toward you, distracted by your surroundings. Bo took the syringe, discreetly keeping it by his side as he stepped behind you, offering you a water bottle.

“‘Course. Heat’s pretty bad in these parts.” He replied, and you immediately unscrewed the lid, greedily drinking several gulps of icy water. Bo was close, hovering above you with a manic look in his eyes.

Before you had time to properly react, his hand closed around the underside of your jaw, squeezing tight to hold you steady. The intrusive, cold prick of a needle digging into your neck made you scream, but Bo had you in a rather uncomfortable chokehold.

“Shh, shh,” He soothed, stroking at your hair. Everything felt numb, and you could no longer feel anything in your arms and legs, reduced to simple tingling sensations. Your cries were in vain, throaty and hoarse as you sank into the couch, limp and lifeless. “Jus’ relax. All that strugglin’ is gonna make it worse.”

Your eyes felt heavy, beginning to close with a weight to them — the last thing you remembered was the glimpse of Bo’s insidious smirk and dark hues before you’d been rendered unconscious.

———————————————————————————

The scratch of duct-tape reverberated around the concrete cellar, obnoxiously close to your ear, causing you to involuntarily wince. The haze of unconsciousness was lifting, but that sound — it made you groan, unpleasant and invasive. You attempted to move as the heaviness wore away in your limbs, but you had no such luck.

You were in the underbelly of some cold, dingy cellar, cement walls lined in grainy polaroids, tools, and obscene amounts of sex toys. An icy, uncomfortable sensation began to pool within the pit of your stomach, and you tried to jerk against the tape around your wrists.

A strange, unsettling chill fluttered about your body, causing you to shudder. Your hiking boots were nowhere to be found, flannel stolen too, leaving you in your shorts and tank top. Something felt intrusive, as if there was an outside presence bearing down on you, crawling beneath your flesh.

Bo was standing at the foot of a strange chair, stained with months-old cruor, dressed differently than before. A pair of mechanic’s coveralls were stained with grease and oil, dark enough to conceal bloodstains. He bit at the strip of duct-tape, clutching it between his teeth as he bound you, keeping you restrained.

“W—Wait,” You babbled, and suddenly, the heightened sensation of fear and startlement blistered through you, visceral and volatile. “Please don’t do this.” Your whimpers fell on deaf ears as Bo continued his mission, sweat layered in a thin sheen along his temples.

Death in a town that wasn’t on the map was a fate worse than any other — you would rot into the ground with no one to find you, only the animals and trees would know; bear witness. You would cease to exist and become a memory, a painful one, eternally trapped within Ambrose.

“You can make this real easy on yourself,” Bo’s husky, dark drawl emerged from the bitter chill of the cellar, roughened hands sliding along your legs. “All you gotta do is behave for me, yeah?” He stood above you, a twisted version of the man you’d met at the church — or perhaps, the real him.

You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling vulnerable and exposed in your current position. Your hands were bound on either side of you with many rings of duct-tape, legs chained to the floor, yet there was some room for you to walk — if that were even possible. You shivered, mostly from the oppressive cold of the basement coupled with fear.

“Please,” Your chest felt tight, fear unfurling from your ribcage as it spread across your body. A shudder rolled down your spine when Bo grabbed your chin, thumb stroking along your lower lip. “Please don’t kill me.”

Something about this place told you that he’d killed before — they’d been in the very same spot that you were now. A sinister, lascivious gleam glimmered within his dark eyes as they raked over your body, lips curling into a smirk.

“Didn’t say anything about killin’ you, beautiful.” Bo corrected, digits beginning to squeeze your chin, putting pressure on your jaw. “But I might change my mind if y’make this hard for me.” His other hand moved toward your shorts, unbuttoning the front as he ripped the zipper down in one swift movement.

You began to squirm, mortified and flustered as you fought against the tape wrapped around your wrists — but it wasn’t any use. “Don’t.” Your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper as he gave you a pointed look.

Bo scoffed, head cocking to one side. “Be a shame if I gotta shut that pretty mouth of yours, too.” It wasn’t a warning, but a threat, a promise — one that he intended to make good on if you weren’t careful. “Gonna open up for me?” He crooned.

There was something hideous about him touching you — and even more so was the disgusting fact that you wanted to let him do it. He was handsome at the church, all a facade of Southern charm and debonair wit, but this was something else entirely.

With a defeated, pitiful expression, you began to part your legs, and that was akin to victory for Bo. His dark chuckle made you shiver, feeling his hand brusquely tug and wrestle with your shorts, inching them down your legs. “You’re real pretty,” He uttered, looking you in the eyes. “Prettiest thing I’ve seen in ages.”

Heat pooled within the pit of your stomach, and you clenched your hands into fists, nearly whimpering when he ghosted his fingers across your clothed cunt. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction — this was wrong, depraved on so many levels, but you found yourself submitting instead of retaliating.

A strangled whimper escaped you as he rounded the chair, standing right in front of you as he planted a kiss against your forehead. “Bet you’re all wet from this, huh?” He husked, voice kept to a low growl as he slipped his fingers into your panties.

Arousal had collected there, slick and warm upon his digits. Part of you wanted to melt into the chair and disappear, muscles tense and taut as you worked to suppress your whining.

“Fuck, look at that,” Bo sneered, greedily sucking your nectar right from his fingers, causing your breath to hitch within your throat. “Guess I was right.” His hand returned to your aching cunt, the other wrangling your panties aside, movements harsh and rough.

You hated that it felt good, offered you a sliver of relief — you wanted to scratch at your restraints, thighs beginning to quiver. A string of incoherent babbling escaped you, mumbled pleas for him to stop. It was quite the juxtaposition to your hips, which happened to lurch forward into his hand.

Bo bullied his way in between your legs, spreading you apart as he lowered himself to his knees — unexpected, but you still felt embarrassed. “Gonna have to have a taste of this pretty cunt,” With a gravelly hum, he grabbed your thighs, unceremoniously spitting a wad of saliva onto your throbbing cunt. “Don’t move.”

“Bo,” It was almost involuntary, moaning his name as you jolted forward, mouth agape. Bo’s grin felt like a hot brand against your inner thigh as he clamped his hands down into your legs, hard enough to cause bruises. “P—Please.” You sputtered.

Part of you felt terribly embarrassed for enjoying yourself at the hands of this man who’d kidnapped you, your innocence being taken advantage of. His calloused, rough hands spread you apart, broad tongue licking a stripe along the length of your slit.

Bo was eating you out like a man starved, breath hot and heavy as he savored you with his lips, tongue swirling across your cunt. His hands groped into your haunches, against the swell of your pliant flesh, practically forcing your hips to tilt into his face as he buried his head between your legs.

With a wanton moan, you slouched back into the rigid frame of the chair, listening to it creak and groan as you writhed around. The manacles that shackled you to the concrete rustled with your movements, fingers curling into your palms. His tongue was deliberate and slow, teasing you with every stroke.

You tried to smother your noises, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but he was ten steps ahead of you. “Can’t hear you, sweetheart,” Bo stopped, ceasing any further contact until you submitted to him. “Gonna have to beg for it, I s’pose.” His sigh was theatrical and badgering, forcing you to whimper.

A simpering, choked-up noise escaped from the back of your throat, desperation beginning to mount as you jerked and jolted forward. Bo simply sat still, attempting to smother that smarmy, devilish grin of his as you shook your head back and forth. “Please keep going, please!” You cried.

Bo clicked his tongue, seemingly unimpressed and dismissive, reaching for the knife that sat in his back pocket. “Ain’t ever met a girl this ungrateful. You rather I stop an’ get this all over with?” His voice was vitriolic, full of a manipulative venom that only served to drag you deeper into his pit.

The sharp, icy blade suddenly traced over your legs, goosebumps erupting in its wake as you shook your head. You didn’t want Bo to hurt you — the idea of being harmed, of being so helpless — it frightened you. Bo enjoyed seeing that little pang of fear within your doe eyes as he prodded the tip of razor-sharp silver into your flesh.

“I’m sorry,” You gasped, stumbling over your words and babbling, restless within the chair. “Bo, please! I — I’ll be loud, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt me.” It was a gushing string of pleas and begging that didn’t go unnoticed this time.

With soft shushing, Bo sighed, kissing along your inner thigh as he dug his nails into your flesh. It was rough enough to make you feel the burning sting of pain, chest heaving with labored breaths as he nudged his lips against your cunt again. “I think I’m gonna keep you for m’self, how’s that sound?” He uttered.

“Good, good,” You nodded. “I — I want you, please keep going.” Whatever bite and edge you had before had diminished completely, shadowed by his dark, domineering nature. It was hard for anything to break through that barrier of his. He retracted the knife, then and there.

A cajoling chuckle escaped him, one filled with mockery and a duplicitous edge as he lapped at your cunt once more. His tongue was like hot coals, raking across your slit with a wanton need, fingers grabbing and groping at the meat of your thighs.

His cock twitched within his jeans, desperate to be inside of you, make you scream. You wanted to grab at his tousled tresses or grip onto his shoulders, but the duct-tape prevented you from going anywhere, digging into your wrists.

Bo savored you as if you were some delectable meal, licking his lips before toying with your clit. His mouth was feather-light and teasing that bundle of nerves, enough to make you contort within the chair. A strangled moan left you, noisy and desperate, wrought with desire.

“Please, Bo, please,” You breathed, and when your thighs threatened to squeeze his face, he roughly pushed you apart, gazing at you from between your legs. The duct-tape chafed at your flesh, uncomfortably tight around your wrists as you writhed, hips bucking forward. “Please!” You were nearly sobbing.

All inhibitions had been abandoned — you were his now, reduced to his pretty plaything, all spread out on a silver platter. Molten heat surged through you when he lapped at your cunt, hand slipping down as he teased your entrance, giving you no warning as two digits sank into you.

A blissful whine left you, head rolling back against the chair as he nudged your clit, just enough to keep you chasing after that sensation. Bo was undeniably cruel, grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud, causing you to squirm and shiver, all sound escaping you.

“Sing pretty for me,” Bo’s husky, Southern purr emerged from between your thighs, teeth nicking your thigh before he finally began to suck on your clit. His thick digits pistoned in and out of your weeping cunt, providing you with an overwhelming barrage of pleasure. “That’s it.” He huffed, lurching forward.

The rattling of chains couldn’t rip you from the moment as liquid heat coalesced between your legs, with Bo’s chin steeped in your arousal. You moaned again, flexing against your restraints, stomach churning with an anticipation that made you want to melt.

Bo grunted, greedily lapping at your sweet cunt, fingers beginning to curl into that sweet spot, prompting you to choke on any sound that bubbled within your throat. He was like a predator, with you in his clutches, a rabbit trapped within the jaws of a wolf.

With another barrage of practiced licks, he continued his onslaught against your clit, eliciting a myriad of sinful, inhuman sounds from you. Bo — it was the only word that fell from your lips like some chant, and he didn’t stop, feeling your knees buckle and shake around him.

His digits buried themselves into your tight cunt, sluggishly rocking in and out as he sucked on your clit. It sent you careening over the edge, lost to a white-hot explosion of ecstasy as you came, moaning and shivering, a complete and utter mess.

He was the devil — pearlescent teeth glinting in the low, buzzing light of the cellar. The shadows moved in a way that made him seem sinister. You were surprised that he didn’t have horns and a forked tongue, but it was likely a trick of the eyes. You huffed, fading away into your post-orgasm haze, but Bo was far from finished.

“We ain’t done just yet,” He uttered, licking his lips as he moved up from between your legs, hand gripping your chin as he dragged you forward. Bo made you open your mouth, head tilted backward as he leaned in, countenance contorting into a sneer. “Got a little gift for you, for bein’ good.”

A wad of his saliva landed upon your tongue, and you nearly choked, feeling filthy and vulnerable. His eyes glistened with an insidious shade, shadowed and bemused as he closed your mouth, forcing you to swallow his spit.

Bo was expectant, waiting for you to say something — but when nothing emerged, he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Where’s your manners?” He reminded you, patting your jaw like he would a beloved dog.

“Thank you.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, somewhat shrewd as Bo grinned, seemingly satisfied with your answer. You squirmed again when Bo began to unzip the front of his pants, breathing noticeably heavier and wrought with unrestrained excitement.

“Now,” Bo hummed, fishing his cock from the confines of his jeans. His erection was thick and heavy within his calloused palm, oozing with pearls of precum. With a step in your direction, he pressed the head of his cock against your cunt. “M’gonna fuck you right.”

You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, letting out another moan as he teased your entrance, hooking his hands around your hips. Bo was rough and callous, dragging you forward as he sank his cock into you, grunting at the tightness and warmth.

Another wanton moan escaped you, back beginning to arch as he thrust forward, chest rippling with grunts and subtle growls. Lewd, crass noises reverberated throughout the cellar, the only ambiance that you could really focus on. His shadow eclipsed the stark glare of the light, gaze fixated on you.

Bo’s eyes were shadowed, brewing with something dark yet indecipherable. He began to adopt a very brutal pace, cock pounding away at your poor cunt. You hadn’t done this in so long, to the point where it felt borderline unfamiliar. You sputtered and moaned, feeling one of his hands abandon your leg.

That rough, calloused hand of his found its way to your slender neck, digits squeezing at your throat. It wasn’t particularly gentle, but not enough to completely rob you of air. You whined, unable to keep from watching the way his cock disappeared again and again into your sweet, oozing cunt.

You wanted to grab onto him, onto his arm, chest, anything — instead, you were met with harsh resistance from the duct-tape. “Bo,” You moaned, hips rolling in-tandem with his movements. Bo hunched closer, hand tight around your throat as his thumb pressed into your jugular, causing you to wince. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Bo’s voice dropped to a lower octave, cock rutting away into you with a rough, unyielding amount of force. If he went any harder, he might’ve threatened to split you in half. “Fuck, you’re nice n’tight. Can’t believe you’re gettin’ off to this. You like bein’ tied down an’ fucked by a stranger?” He uttered, and you began to stammer.

A wave of liquid heat burned bright within the pit of your stomach, a flame that only grew in intensity as he kept up with his brutal ministrations. Your cunt clenched pathetically around his cock at his words, causing you to shiver again. “I—I …” You didn’t know what to say, embarrassed and ashamed.

Bo scoffed, voice tapering off into a grunt as he continued to rut forward, cock buried inside of you until he could go no further. “Got you so fucked you can’t even speak,” He sneered, grip tightening on your throat. It was bound to leave some sort of mark, but you knew he didn’t care. “You gonna behave?”

Your head bobbed up and down several times over, voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.” You squeaked, watching with blown-out pupils as he reached for the knife, cutting you loose from the duct-tape. Though, once your hands were free, you were being dragged onto the cold concrete on your stomach.

The steely, sharp bite of the knife sliced through your tank top like butter, leaving you completely exposed to Bo, who remained entirely clothed. Goosebumps coalesced along your spine from the icy temperature of the ground, feeling his hand close into your hair as he fucked you from behind.

His cock battered away at your cunt, stretching you in ways that you never thought possible. It was harsh and intrusive, digits tugging on your hair, wrangling you like you were molded from obsidian. Bo savored the sensation of you rocking back into him, thighs quivering like a leaf.

Your eyes flickered toward the muted brick wall on your left, met with a garish display of polaroids — other girls, girls like you. You had a feeling that none of them had lived to tell the tale.

A pang of dread consumed you, followed by fear — you hoped that you wouldn’t end up on that wall too, immortalized in some sick photograph. Instead, you wanted to increase your chances of survival, moaning and whimpering his name, forehead snug against the concrete.

“You wanna cum?” Bo asked nonchalantly, spoken through labored breathing as his thrusts became quick and sporadic. He was close, cock throbbing inside of you as his other hand clawed bruises and marks into the swell of your hips.

“Yes,” You didn’t hesitate, moaning again when he dug his nails into your flesh, causing you to squirm from discomfort. “Please, Bo! I want you to let me cum!” Desperation was laced within your voice, high-pitched and simpering as he let go of your hip.

“Good girl,” Bo grunted, somewhat perplexed by you. “Finally usin’ your manners.” He reached between your thighs, slathered in your slick and his precum, thumb rubbing circles into your clit. Your back began to arch, pushing back into him as he fucked you like a wild animal, chains clanking against the floor.

Pleasure rippled through you in blistering waves, coupled with the faint sting of pain that radiated from your hip. Bo grunted, breath hot and strenuous as he fucked you senseless, pounding away at your cunt with little regard for your comfort. His thumb toyed with your clit, causing you to writhe and moan.

With another harsh rut of his hips, Bo grunted, pushing his hips forward as he came inside of you, ropes of white-hot seed flooding your cunt. His brow glistened with perspiration as he pulled his cock free, leaving you with the mess of it all, haphazardly smeared between your legs.

Bo, in all his cruelty, tore his hand away from your clit, leaving you a throbbing mess, edged to the brink. You wanted to beg for him to continue, but you were spent, hot flesh soothed by the cold temperature of the floor.

“W—Wait,” Your protests were weak, but still strung-out with desperation. “Aren’t you going to keep going?” There was a little sliver of hope within your voice, but he relented, lips curling into a bemused smirk as he gave your ass a light smack.

“Changed my mind.”

You hated him.

For a moment, you saw red, frustrated without any semblance of relief, but also in misery over your current situation. You didn’t know what to do or say — and the last thing you wanted was for him to become angry with you. You didn’t want to become a permanent fixture on his wall of past trophies.

He stood up, hovering above you as you sheepishly rolled onto your back. Bo’s unsteady, dangerous leer sent shivers down your spine, watching as he stared at you for several moments. “Guessin’ you’ll last longer than the rest have,” He crooned, swiping his tongue across his lower lip. “Go on.”

His head jerked toward the chair, signaling you to climb back in. Your legs quivered in the aftermath of being fucked stupid, and you awkwardly reached for your panties and shorts, but Bo intercepted you. Wordlessly, you sat down in the leather seat, naked and entirely vulnerable.

“Keep you like that for when I come back.” Bo’s Southern purr made you shudder as you trembled, both from fear and from the cold. He couldn’t help but take a little bit of pity on you, tossing you a blanket from the old mattress that sat several feet away from you.

Something about being left entirely alone, naked and used in this basement, made you more terrified than anything else. You didn’t want to be left alone with just your thoughts. Even if Bo had kidnapped you, he was more tolerable than solitude. “You’ll come back?” You asked.

Bo huffed, retrieving his baseball cap. “Maybe,” He could see the hint of fear that had glossed over your eyes. “Maybe I’ll leave you down here an’ let you rot.” His voice was somewhat vitriolic, but undecided — part of you knew that he couldn’t leave you alone after this.

You would take the physicality over being isolated.

Silence drifted between the both of you as your legs shifted, the sound of clanking manacles providing the only bit of ambiance. Bo made for the iron-wrought door, standing in the doorway to give you one last look. Even in your disheveled state, you were beautiful — and now?

You belonged to him.

Before Bo shut the door, his lips twitched into the ghost of a devilish smirk. “Guess I’ll see you soon.”