#and their last friendly words to each other

[bunnysbrainrot]

Bourbon and Mead

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟸 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 '𝚃𝚘𝚘 𝚂𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝' 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚢𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙷𝚘𝚣𝚒𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐.

Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader, Jackson!AU

Content: Alcohol consumption, flirting, slow-burn tension, slow dancing with Joel, teasing, POV switch. Bear with me, folks, this'll be worth it.

Summary: It's been a busy first week in Jackson, but you're finally starting to feel at home. Even still, you haven't made many new connections, but hopefully tonight's big event can help. Despite your nerves, you go anyway, and see some familiar faces.

Word Count: 4,300+

It had been just under a week since your patrol with Joel and his group, and you're settling in rather well. For such a shabby spot, you have decorated your living space impressively, and it settles something in you. After so long, you're really starting to have a place to call home.

Knock, knock, knock.

The noise shakes you out of a stupor, and you make your way to the heavy wooden door, and tug it open to reveal a friendly face, Maria.

You've had little chance to interact with new people since arriving in Jackson - when you're working as a community this directly, a hell of a lot of work goes into it. Which means, everyone's busy. Just about constantly. That being said, outside of your own room, Maria has been your only companion.

She can sense your loneliness, too, but she hasn't let on. The last thing you needed was the pressure of making a name of yourself in the first few days, so she had kept you busy with chores, patrols, hunts, you name it. To her, that plan would help you adjust to how Jackson functioned as a whole, so you could have the foundation of being a community member, to get your bearings.

Her smile is bright as she speaks, "Hey, sweetheart, just wanted to let y'know about the dance happening tonight. If you're feeling up for it, you should stop by."

The offer erupts a warmth in your chest.

"The dance?" You ask eagerly.

Maria nods, "Used to call it a square dance, but not enough folks know how to, so it's more of a get-together now, but we'll have music, drinks, the whole nine."

It doesn't take long for you to choose your answer. You cheerfully tell Maria, "That sounds wonderful. Where is it, and when does it start?"

She starts to describe the layout of the nearby buildings to the dance, waving her hands in front of her methodically, "But trust me, you won't be able to miss it. Just follow the music." Maria ends her sentence with a wink.

"What do I wear?"

There's a beat as she looks you over, and past your shoulder to your chest of drawers, which she helped stock when you first arrived.

Maria waves a hand dismissively as she replies, "Some people take the chance to dress up, some people dress down. You do whatever you're comfortable with, honey."

You flash her a grateful smile, and she issues a small goodbye before walking off.

---

A good few hours buffers you before the dance. The optional dance, but something in you will stop at nothing to go. You need to see people, have some laughs, live a little.

You take your sweet time getting ready, too. Some downtime is well deserved and rare, but it gives you the perfect window of time - debating on your outfit takes the longest. You opt for a casual hairdo, one that won't get your neck all hot and sweaty once you start dancing. The watch on your left wrist reads 6:47 PM up at you.

Whooping voices can be heard outside your window as people saunter down the street, toward the festivities, you assume. You sneak a peek through the curtains, eyeing a gaggle of townsfolk laughing alongside one another. Their eyes are bright, voices uplifted and loud. The men clap each other on the shoulder aggressively, while the women jab each other in the sides with their elbows. There wasn't much to make out, but whatever they were joking about had them roaring with laughter.

Seeing the crowd inspires you to make way out the door. You ensure all your lights are off, save for your nightstand lamp to come back to an inviting space. A deep breath later, and you were out the door, too.

There's a new feeling in the air, and you can place it precisely. Upbeat music plays far down the small Jackson streets, but its effects are widespread. All around, the other residents beam brightly as they go about the evening. Most people nearest you exchange small 'hello's' and wave politely, others still smile your way. Tightness wells in your chest as you realize just how long it had been since you'd seen so many friendly faces.

The music's volume eventually blares as you near the open area for the dance. The weather proves to be fair enough to host the event outside, so rows of string lights hang between nearby poles and sides of buildings. In the back of the venue is a group of people wielding a variety of instruments, nodding and bouncing with the quick beat of what you knew as bluegrass music.

"Hey, look who's here!" A voice calls out. You glance around until you realize the call was for your attention. You turn to the voice and recognize the woman from last week's patrol, who'd given you the rundown of who your partners were.

You greet her in return before registering the rest of the group. A few of them could be familiar around town, but for the most part, new faces.

Except for one.

Joel's eyes aren't on yours when you find him in the group. He's looking to one of the men, seemingly in a deep conversation. Perhaps he could feel your eyes on him, because his eyes flicker to yours for a split second. He pauses, lets his conversation partner speak, while he gives you a polite nod, before turning back to the man.

The fluttering in your gut was a dead giveaway, this is why you wanted to come. The prospect of seeing Joel again was exciting, but usually slim. And here he was. If only he could just move on from his conversation...

A hand lands on your arm comfortingly. The kind woman tells you, "It's so good to see you again! How have you been settling in?"

There's a twinge of an accent in her words, Southern, but more subtle. Her words are as soft as a hug.

"It's been going alright, finally getting to decorating," you start. The woman listens. Wait... did she ever introduce herself? Shit. How were you supposed to see someone this much without knowing their name?

"That was the best part when I got here. Once I had my space set up, it really felt like home," she replies.

There's a beat of silence between you, and it breaks when you ask, "I'm sorry if this is awkward, but I never got your name the first time we met." You briefly introduce yourself before she replies.

Her eyes crinkle when she smiles, "I'm Cara. I never introduced myself, but I wanted you to have at least be one friendly face here."

"I'm thankful for it, I really am. It feels better now that we have names to the faces," you offer with a nervous smile.

Cara looks at you mischievously, softly grabbing your bicep, "Let's get a drink. Whaddya say?"

That kind offer melts your anxiety away, and all that's left is you, Cara, and the joy of sharing a drink with a friend. In moments, you have a glass of homemade mead in your hand.

Someone else from the group calls Cara over, so for a moment you're left alone with your cup of fermented honey goodness. It's sweet, slightly bitter, but leaves your stomach feeling warm as it settles. The burn in your throat is numbed by the warmth in your belly. You make it back to Cara's group and decided to strike up conversation with those folks, thinking that it'd be a good place to start.

The first few conversations are long - a flurry of questions about your background, your journey out to Jackson, and how you've been adjusting to the move. You learn some basics about some of them, but there's a distraction lingering in the back of your mind.

Joel.

A few people in the group break away to leave for the dance floor, the jovial music beckoning them ever closer. You don't follow immediately, which leaves you with a few stragglers, and him.

For the first time in days, you hear his voice again, "What'd you get?"

The question snaps you to attention, looking down into your glass. You glance back up at him and motion with the cup with a swish, "Some mead, I think. Pretty good."

He nods, "Pete makes some damn good mead, 'specially if it's for a party. Pulls out the good stuff."

Part of you wonders if his lighthearted talking is to make up for the blunder on last week's patrol, to ease the embarrassment you still held from it.

"What's in your cup?" You retort.

"Usually it's bourbon, but tonight, it's beer," he replies with a gaze into his own cup. He copies your motion and swirls the cup a few times. A bit of the foamy liquid sloshes out and onto the dirt in front of your, nicer, combat boots. Some of the beer spatters onto your feet and into the dirt.

"Damn, maybe they should cut me off," Joel jokes, reaching into his back pocket and revealing a handkerchief, holding it out to you. "Sorry 'bout that."

You take the cloth, "Making a mess of the place already, and it's not even eight o'clock yet, impressive."

The joke seems to land with Joel; you can tell by the way the corners of his eyes tighten.

Joel

What you say makes him chuckle. It's rare to find someone with a sense of humor these days. That kind of fresh attitude can bring a lot of life in a world like this, especially around here, especially after the loss these people have felt.

New folks were few and far between, given how desolate Jackson had become since the world fell to shit, but there was a wind of change when you arrived last week. Joel could tell from the second he saw you on patrol, even trotting ahead of the group at one point. The light in your eyes when you awed at the mountains tugged at his heartstrings. A type of longing for that kind of simple joy. To be young, without most of his hardships, seeing new parts of the world, even though it had shrunk.

On the patrol, you had gotten too far ahead, in line with Joel in the lead, and you knew it wasn't your place, but you hadn't shied away from him. In fact, you had embraced it, and listened keenly when Joel advised you keep your distance. Normally it'd feel like taming an unruly child, but you had a certain curiosity in your eyes, you were eager to learn.

Joel knows how harsh he can be, let alone to new faces. The worry of how that attitude rubs off on people subsided decades ago - one could say that Joel has truly embraced that 'grouchy old man' stereotype. That attitude has saved his ass more times than he could count, and has kept him safe after all these years. But, there's an unavoidable weight when it comes to hardening yourself up as much as Joel has. It's a truth that he's been evading for years. You make yourself untouchable, but you forget how much you need someone else.

Even so, it's easier that way. You keep losses to a minimum as long as you're not attached. Living that way had gotten him this far.

But now you stand in front of him, with beer-splattered boots and a kind smile despite your new shoes being soiled. You take his handkerchief and bend down to clean your shoes, and hand the cloth back to Joel. His fingers brush against yours when he takes it back - yours are delicately soft against his calloused ones, and it takes him by surprise.

In that split second, Joel's eyes search your face for any change, to see if you freeze like he does, to see if your breath hitches like his did, for any sign that this isn't just some fluke.

It could be a trick of the light, but Joel swears there's a new redness in your cheeks. When you look at him next, it's with bright, innocent eyes, a type of innocence Joel would surely ruin.

"Thank you, Joel," you say softly. His name on your lips is the sweetest thing he's ever heard, it's almost sickening.

Joel clears his throat and gives you a nod, "It's the least I can do."

The sun is dipping behind the mountains, streaking the sky with glorious pink hues against the emerging stars of dusk. A fiddle lilts happily as the song picks up pace, the tune itself serving as an invitation to get yourself moving. In the distance, Cara flashes you a wide smile, and waves a beckoning hand over to her gaggle of folks. You can barely make out her words as she mouths them.

"Let's dance!"

Joel notices your distraction, looking back at Cara trying to whisk you onto the dance floor. There's a good number of people breaking into a flurry of moves, all whooping and laughing as they pass one another. Joel looks back to you, the softness that was there before is seeming to dissipate. His face is hardened again, resigned.

"Guess I'm being stolen away," you say.

"Be careful," Joel replies, "Carried Away Cara doesn't let up. You'll be dancing for hours."

You comment, "Didn't know I signed up for that kind of night."

You've reached the group by now, and Cara is already handing you another glass of mead, and a huge smile to go along with it.

----

You're onto drink number four, you think, and the sky has shifted from a pale pink to a deep indigo, littered with bright stars and a beautiful crescent moon. It seems like the music has blurred together without beginning or end, and your boozy haze doesn't reveal any tiredness, so you keep dancing. Joel was right, Cara's had you dancing for what feels like hours at this point. But damn, did she know how to party.

The song the group's playing begins to slow down, and part of the crowd disperses away. Chattering can be overheard amidst the quieting music. You place a mostly-empty glass onto a nearby picnic table and look around the venue. Folks pass you by with a pep in their step, their faces flushed red from alcohol and relentless dancing.

A breath of fresh air wafts through the venue, rustling through your hair that had tacked with sweat to the nape of your neck. You smile from the sensation, relishing in the cool air across your hot skin. Shit, what time is it?

Your watch beams 10:13 PM back up at you.

Damn, where did all that time go?

The night has given you a rush of adrenaline you haven't found in what feels like months. Something about this dance is erupting a sense of joy you were sure you'd never feel again. Laughter, dancing, good people. Such simple things really do lift the spirits.

You can feel a pointed stare at you off to the side, but do you dare look? Of course you do - it's not like the mead is letting you act composed. Being as subtle as you can muster in your state, you glance to the side, where that looming sense had come from. Far off, leaning against a tall wooden fence, is Joel.

While he had practically ignored you when you'd first seen him tonight, he can't take his eyes off of you in this moment. Your heart skips a beat when he holds the stare, his deep brown eyes never leave yours, even as other partygoers pass between you. It's as if the world had paused, but perhaps just for you, frozen under Joel's gaze, the sole subject of his attention.

He stands alone on the side. No one to interrupt you if you go over...

Before you decide, you wave and smile. A silly drunken grin you'd normally hide. Right now, with his focus only on you, is the most alive you've felt in months. The high of it creeps up from behind, whispering encouragement in the form of a dare. Go up to him.

Your legs make the journey before you register what's happening; your body suddenly has a mind of its own, no way to back down now.

The narrowing distance from Joel pushes your heart to your throat. While your legs carry you smoothly, your senses are turned upside down. The anxiety you have about Joel is nothing but a distant memory. Tonight, you'd overcome your nervousness.

"Not much of a dancer, hm?" You call to him over the music.

A small smile spreads across his lips, "With these knees, I'm lucky to do a damn foxtrot. Someone out there was having the time of their life, though."

He truly has a gift. The moment he speaks, everything else seems to disappear. God, you'd ask him question after question just to hear that voice - deep and gravelly, but the accent is thick and sweet like molasses. A slip of your imagination has you wandering into uncharted territory. Imagine a "baby" or "honey" or "sweetheart" in that voice... Your mind vacates long enough for Joel to arch an eyebrow at you, and you're immediately brought back down to earth.

"I don't know how I went dancing for that long," you exhale.

Joel shakes his head with a chuckle, "You'll get some damn good sleep, that's for sure."

It'd be better if you were sleeping with me.

The unfiltered thought jolts through you, snapping you back to attention. Maybe the mead was making you a little too confident.

Behind you both, the music group's slow beat has pulled folks into a smooth rhythm. The dance floor littered with small groups and couples as the song continued. This new intimate energy could not have been timed any worse. You took a big breath and let it out slowly.

"It's getting late, I should probably head home."

Joel pauses, looking toward the band, then down into a cup of amber-brown liquid. Maybe he resorted back to his usual bourbon.

You follow suit and watch the band play on. A tug in your chest begs you not to go, not yet.

"Think you got time for one last go?" His question snaps your head to him. There's a new spark in his eyes, a softer glint amidst the chocolate brown.

Your answer is immediate, breathless, "Of course."

Anything. Anything for him.

As long as it reveals a glimpse of the man underneath the tough shell. It's still in him.

Joel extends his hand, palm up, to take yours. You lay yours on top plainly, holding a breath at the sensation of your skin against his. It's not like before with the handkerchief. This time, it's intentional, he wants to touch you.

The way his fingers curl to hold your hand settled that debate. His touch is careful. It didn't take a genius to know how rough he could be, with those toned muscles shifting under his plaid shirt; in contrast, he held you with such delicacy, as if you'd break if he gripped too hard.

"You know how to dance at all?" Joel asks.

You bark a laugh, "With this many drinks in me? Highly doubt it."

Joel's laugh is louder this time around. You can actually make it out, and you can feel that it's genuine. "I warned you about Cara. Now I get a drunk dance partner."

"Hey, you asked me to dance. You don't get to give me shit for havin' a good time," your words slur together, proving Joel's point.

Amidst the crowd, Joel manages to find you two a nice spot with plenty of room. The surrounding couples look how you feel - entranced with their partners, focused and attentive, like the other person is the only one left in the world.

"How 'bout this? You lead me."

You freeze, "But, I-I don't know what to d-"

"Do what you want. I'll follow."

"And if I make a fool of myself?" You question.

His other hand migrates to your waist, holding you gently at your side, "The you better really sell it."

Your laugh is giddy. He lets you have room for mistakes. There's room to be human around him.

A deep exhale later, you place your hands on Joel's shoulders and begin to sway, a slow and steady pace with the beat of the song. Seems the mead has done its work of clouding your judgement - you're locked in the swaying motion.

"Is this okay?" You ask softly, finding Joel's eyes. There's a warmth in them you hadn't seen before.

He nods gently, "You lead the way, sweetheart. Don't worry about me."

Who'd have known that a single word could melt you completely. Your mind instantly hooks on it, cycles it in your mind as if to brand it into your memory.

Sweetheart.

Your smile is instant, but feels like one of those sloppy, stupid drunk grins that reveal how not-yourself you are at the words.

And so, you sway. As promised, Joel follows right along.

He shifts closer, readjusting the hold on your waist, spanning his fingers along the small of your back. A polite caress, not meandering and wandering around like most drunk men you'd encountered. Joel can keep his hands to himself. Joel has manners. Joel has self-control.

There's a lead to follow with his movements, you discover. It does feel more natural to wrap your arms around his neck like this...

In a swift moment you've melted into him, and with it, your nerves.

You also find that it's far more comfortable to rest your head on his chest. A beat later, your senses return, and you raise yourself back into standing position, realizing the crossed boundary.

"Gettin' tired already?" Joel asks bemusedly.

Maybe he didn't catch it. Thank goodness.

"You're basically rocking me to sleep here," you quip back.

Joel reminds you, "You're the one leading us."

You roll your eyes as you shake your head, bringing a laugh from him again. The sound of it lights you up from inside, flipping your stomach. You'd already learned that that sound was rare.

"Some dance partner I am," you say sarcastically. Joel's smile broadens, and the hand on your back shifts. His thumb idly sweeps across your spine.

Somehow, your arms are back around his neck, and your head is against his chest, all without protest. Joel's thumb still caresses your back as a sign. The song in the background changes to something simpler, with fewer instruments, giving highlight to a slow solo from the fiddle player.

"You're right, I think I'm gonna sleep like a log tonight," you murmur.

Joel's chuckle vibrates against your cheek. The huff of his laugh gives you a whiff of bourbon, sickly sweet and smoky, blending in with his deeper woodsy scent.

"You gotta be more careful next time," his voice slows. "We'll get some water in ya, help fight that hangover tomorrow."

You nod against him, smiling broadly, knowing that you're in good hands. Your words come out sheepishly, "I'm sorry I got so drunk. I... didn't think you'd see me like this."

A gentle squeeze on your side.

Joel's breath skirts across your neck when he mutters, "You think I'm gonna blame you for havin' a good time?"

His lips graze the shell of your ear as he speaks, and his words have a secrecy to them, an intimacy you hadn't seen from him before. You pay attention to the feel of his lips on your skin - they're soft and gentle, but know where to drag along in all the right places.

It's enough to leave your knees wobbling in your drunken stupor, high purely off of his touch, head spinning as you search for a new sensation.

"It has been pretty fun," you reply between trembling breaths.

There's a subtle brush of lips against your neck when he speaks, "I'd say I'm havin' a pretty good time."

Your knees practically buckle beneath you.

The rush of it all has you pulled back from him now, staring at him with surprised eyes. It's not that you didn't enjoy or accept that move, just that quickly, in front of so many people...

Joel's look shifts to something of embarrassment, "Maybe I've had a lil' too much."

You let out a nervous laugh, "I think I'm right there with you, I... I'm sorry."

He doesn't ask what the apology is for. He knows exactly which line was crossed. The hardened look returning to his eyes tells you that this moment of bliss is coming to an end.

"You don't got anything to be sorry for," the thick Texas accent is palpable in his reassurance. "I'm bein' a fool."

A fool. For doing this.

Hopefully he can't see the way that word breaks you. You force a bigger smile, a dismissive one that says 'we can just forget this ever happened', with a wave of a hand.

You offer, "Like you said, just having a good time."

His smile is wry. There's something unreadable in his expression.

Nonetheless, his grip of your waist loosens, releasing you as the fiddle in the background song comes to a silent end. Something akin to tension hangs in the air between you, pulled taught like a string to be severed.

"Well, I won't keep ya any longer. I... appreciate the dance. I know you're probably itchin' to get back in bed, so..." Joel says, trailing off, pressing his lips into a thin line.

You nod, collecting yourself, "Y-Yeah, probably good to get some sleep soon. You, too."

Joel smiles again, but his heart isn't in it like before.

He gives you a quick pat on the shoulder, eyes averted, "Get home safe, alright?"

Before you can wish him the same, he's lost amidst the crowd.

Hello, my sweethearts! So glad to be developing this story more, and I hope you've been enjoying so far! If you'd like, vote in the poll below for how'd you like to see this story develop (if you catch my drift)

As always, thank you so much for your support. And if you're new, it's nice to meet you! Love you all!

-Bunny

{all banners/dividers are from cafekistune on Tumblr}

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #tlou #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us 2 #bunny writes #smut #smut writing #fanfiction #tlou2 #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal

[estapa-edwards]

CLOSE - R. MCGROARTY

paring: Ethan Edwards x reader

word count: 2.5k

requested? yes - rutger x younger fantilli sister (rutger and the fantillis have known each other for years know!) maybe she is the youngest one that plays hockey and is drafting thsi year (to the jet) and her and rutger just keep getting closer?

warnings: use of y/n.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

The ice rink was alive with the sounds of skates gliding and pucks clacking, a familiar melody to Rutger Mcgroarty's ears. At just ten years old, hockey was already his passion, and he spent every spare moment at the rink, honing his skills and dreaming of one day playing in the NHL.

One chilly afternoon, as Rutger was practicing his shots against the boards, he noticed a trio of siblings making their way onto the ice. They were the Fantillis, a family he had seen around the rink before but had never spoken to. Adam and Luca, the older brothers, skated confidently ahead, while their younger sister trailed behind, her eyes wide with excitement.

Rutger couldn't help but be drawn to her, her enthusiasm infectious as she marveled at the ice around her. He skated over to her, a friendly smile on his face. "Hey there," he said, his voice warm and welcoming. "You look like you're ready to tear up the ice."

The youngest Fantilli grinned up at him, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "I'm trying," she replied, her voice filled with determination. "My brothers are teaching me."

Rutger nodded in understanding, impressed by her eagerness to learn. "Well, you're in good hands with them," he said, gesturing to Adam and Luca, who were now circling back to join them. "They're some of the best players around."

Adam and Luca greeted Rutger with nods of acknowledgement, their focus shifting to their sister as they prepared to start their practice. Rutger watched with interest as they began to skate drills together, the youngest Fantilli following their lead with determination and grit.

As the afternoon wore on, Rutger found himself gravitating towards the youngest Fantilli more and more, drawn in by her infectious energy and passion for the game. They laughed and joked together as they practiced, forging a connection that would last for years to come.

___

As the years passed, the bond between Adam, Luca, and Rutger only strengthened, fueled by their shared love of hockey and the countless hours they spent together on and off the ice. Meanwhile, the youngest Fantilli, Y/N, found herself drawn to Rutger's sister, Molly, forming a close friendship of their own.

As their siblings grew closer, Rutger and Y/N's paths began to cross more frequently, their encounters becoming a regular occurrence in the halls of the rink. Each time they passed each other, a small smile would flicker across Rutger's lips, and Y/N would return the gesture with a grin of her own.

Their conversations were brief but meaningful, filled with talk of upcoming games, favorite players, and the latest gossip from around the rink. Despite their busy schedules and the demands of their respective teams, they always found time to catch up, their bond growing stronger with each passing day.

There was a comfort in their friendship, a sense of ease that came from knowing that no matter what, they could always count on each other. And as they navigated the ups and downs of adolescence together, Rutger and Y/N found solace in each other's company, their friendship becoming an anchor in the tumultuous sea of teenage life.

But amidst the chaos of their teenage years, there was always a flicker of something more between them, a spark that refused to be extinguished. 

___

The crisp autumn air enveloped the four friends as they walked through the bustling streets of their hometown, laughter and chatter filling the air. Rutger walked beside Y/N, their shoulders brushing occasionally as they shared stories and jokes, while ahead of them, Molly and Luca strolled hand in hand, lost in their own world.

It was a rare moment of respite from their hectic schedules, a chance to simply enjoy each other's company without the pressures of hockey looming over them. Rutger savored the moment, relishing the easy camaraderie that flowed between them.

As they reached their destination, a cozy café nestled in the heart of the city, Rutger held the door open for Y/N with a grin. "After you," he said, gesturing for her to enter ahead of him.

Y/N flashed him a grateful smile before stepping inside, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the warm, inviting interior. Molly and Luca followed close behind, their hands still intertwined as they scanned the menu for their favorite drinks.

Seated at a table by the window, the four friends settled in, their conversation flowing effortlessly as they caught up on each other's lives. Rutger couldn't help but notice the easy chemistry between Molly and Luca, the way they looked at each other with affection and adoration.

As they sipped their drinks and shared stories from their past, Rutger found himself drawn to Y/N, his heart pounding in his chest as he realized just how much he enjoyed her company. There was a warmth and familiarity between them that he couldn't ignore, a connection that went beyond friendship.

And as the afternoon turned into evening, Rutger couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just a hangout with friends. It felt like something more, a chance for him and Y/N to explore the spark that had been smoldering between them for years.

With a newfound sense of determination, Rutger glanced at Y/N, his eyes meeting hers across the table. "Hey, Y/N," he said, his voice tinged with warmth. "How's your training been going lately?"

Y/N's eyes lit up at the question, her face breaking into a smile. "It's been intense, but I'm loving every minute of it," she replied, her enthusiasm evident in her voice. "I've been working on improving my shot accuracy, and I think I'm making some real progress."

Rutger nodded, genuinely interested in her progress. "That's great to hear," he said, a sense of pride swelling in his chest. "I have no doubt you'll be dominating the ice in no time."

Their conversation flowed effortlessly from there, touching on everything from their favorite hockey moments to their shared love of classic movies. And as they laughed and joked together, Rutger couldn't help but feel grateful for the friendship he shared with Y/N.

As the evening drew to a close and they bid farewell to Molly and Luca, Rutger couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something special.

___

The air was tinged with a bittersweet sense of anticipation as Rutger, Adam, and Luca prepared to embark on the next chapter of their lives, leaving behind the familiar comforts of home for the uncharted waters of college. Boxes were packed, goodbyes were said, and emotions ran high as they prepared to say farewell.

In the midst of the flurry of activity, Y/N stood on the doorstep of their family home, a mixture of pride and sadness tugging at her heartstrings. She watched as her brothers gathered their belongings, their excitement palpable as they prepared to set off for their respective colleges.

Rutger caught her eye from across the room, offering her a reassuring smile as he carried a box of his belongings to the waiting car. Despite the excitement of starting this new chapter in their lives, there was a pang of sadness in his heart at the thought of leaving behind the people and places that had shaped him into the person he was today.

As Adam and Luca said their final goodbyes to their parents, Y/N approached Rutger with a small smile, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Take care of yourself out there," she said, her voice soft but filled with emotion. "And don't forget to visit whenever you can."

Rutger nodded, his own eyes misting over as he took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. "I'll miss you, Y/N," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "But I promise I'll come back whenever I can. And we'll always be just a phone call away."

Y/N smiled through her tears, grateful for the bond she shared with Rutger and her brothers. They had been through so much together, and she knew that no matter where life took them, they would always be there for each other.

As Rutger, Adam, and Luca bid farewell and drove off to embark on their college journeys, Y/N stood on the doorstep, feeling a profound sense of emptiness settle over her. The once bustling home now felt eerily quiet, the absence of her brothers leaving a gaping hole in her heart.

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she watched their car disappear around the corner, taking with it the familiar presence of her siblings. It was a moment she had dreaded, the realization crashing down upon her that she was now truly alone in the house for the first time in her life.

Y/N closed the door behind her and leaned against it, the weight of solitude pressing down on her shoulders like a heavy burden. The silence of the empty house echoed around her, amplifying her sense of loneliness and isolation.

She wandered through the quiet rooms, each one filled with memories of happier times spent with her brothers. The sound of their laughter, the warmth of their hugs, the comfort of their presence - all of it felt like a distant dream now, a painful reminder of what she had lost.

As she passed by Adam and Luca's empty bedrooms, Y/N felt a lump form in her throat, a wave of sadness washing over her. The rooms that had once been filled with life and laughter now stood silent and still, their absence like a gaping wound in her heart.

She sank onto her bed, feeling the weight of her grief pressing down upon her like a suffocating blanket. Tears spilled from her eyes unchecked as she allowed herself to mourn the loss of the familiar rhythm of life with her brothers by her side.

___

As the school year progressed, Rutger and Y/N's conversations became a cornerstone of their daily routines. They would exchange messages throughout the day, sharing snippets of their lives, from the mundane details of classes to the exciting moments on the ice.

On lazy Sunday afternoons, they would find themselves engrossed in long phone calls, their voices a comforting presence on the other end of the line. They talked about everything and nothing, their conversations flowing effortlessly from topic to topic.

Sometimes, their discussions veered into deeper territory, delving into their hopes, dreams, and fears for the future. Y/N found herself opening up to Rutger in ways she hadn't with anyone else, his genuine interest and empathy making her feel safe and understood.

"Hey, Rutger, do you ever worry about what the future holds?" Y/N asked one evening, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Rutger replied, his voice calm and steady. "All the time," he admitted. "But I try not to let it consume me. We can't control everything, you know? All we can do is focus on the present and take things one step at a time."

Y/N nodded, comforted by his words. "You're right," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Thanks, Rutger. I needed to hear that."

___

As the 2023 NHL draft approached, anticipation hung thick in the air, especially for Y/N, who was eagerly awaiting her turn to hear her name called. She had invited Rutger to join her at the draft, knowing that his presence would provide her with the comfort and support she needed on such a monumental day.

The draft day arrived, and Y/N's heart raced with excitement and nerves as she took her seat beside Rutger in the stands. The atmosphere was electric, the air buzzing with anticipation as the first round began.

As each pick was announced, Y/N's anxiety mounted, her fingers fidgeting nervously in her lap. But Rutger was there by her side, his steady presence a calming force amidst the chaos of the draft floor.

When Adam's name was called as the third overall pick by the Blue Jackets, cheers erupted from the crowd, and Y/N couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for her brother. Rutger squeezed her hand reassuringly, offering her a supportive smile as they waited for the next pick.

And then, finally, it was her turn. With the fourth overall pick, the Winnipeg Jets selected Y/N Fantilli, and a wave of relief washed over her as she heard her name called. Cheers and applause filled the arena as she made her way to the stage, her heart pounding with excitement and gratitude.

As she shook hands with the team representatives and donned the Jets jersey, Y/N couldn't help but steal a glance at Rutger in the stands, his eyes shining with pride. She knew that this was just the beginning of their journey together, and she couldn't wait to see what the future held.

Back in their seats, Rutger wrapped an arm around Y/N's shoulders, pulling her close as they watched the rest of the draft unfold. The prospect of playing together on the same team filled them both with excitement, a dream they had both shared since they first met on the ice all those years ago.

___

Several years had passed since that momentous draft day where Y/N and Rutger's dreams of playing together for the Winnipeg Jets had become a reality. They had spent countless hours on the ice together, honing their skills and forming a formidable partnership on the team.

Their friendship had only deepened over the years, their bond strengthened by the shared experiences of victories and defeats, highs and lows. But amidst the chaos of their busy lives as professional athletes, Rutger had never found the right moment to tell Y/N how he truly felt.

Until one crisp autumn evening, as they sat together in the locker room after a particularly grueling practice, Rutger finally mustered up the courage to broach the subject.

"Hey, Y/N," he began, his voice hesitant but determined. "I've been wanting to talk to you about something."

Y/N looked up from where she was lacing up her skates, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "What's on your mind?" she asked, her tone gentle and encouraging.

Rutger took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say. "I know we've been friends for a long time," he started, his heart pounding in his chest. "But lately, I've been feeling like there's something more between us."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, her gaze meeting his with a mixture of shock and curiosity. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rutger swallowed hard, his nerves threatening to overwhelm him. "I mean, I've developed feelings for you, Y/N," he admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "And I was wondering if, maybe, you'd like to go out with me sometime? Like, on a real date?"

There was a moment of silence between them as Y/N processed his words, her expression unreadable. But then, to Rutger's relief and delight, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"I'd like that," she replied softly, her eyes sparkling with warmth. "I'd really like that."

#hockey #nhl x reader #umich hockey #rutger mcgroarty imagine #rutger mcgroarty x reader #rutger mcgroarty

[latenightdaydreams]

Hi hi! Hope you don't mind that I have another request eheh... 🥲 I'd like to request smut with some build up before it, if you don't mind of course ^^; I've just been recently obsessed over those tropes of s/o(s) being apart for too long. And then thought of a reader who happens to be an intelligence officer working for KorTac. She and König aren't together yet per sé, more like have fallen for each other but never got to voice it out. Now, reader is chosen to carry out espionage against their enemy. However, it lasts for a year or two. Which is risky af. Anyway, those feelings they had for each other never left and they only grew within time. Plus they really miss each other hjshjs- And then when she finally comes back, cue the reunion. Cue the confession. Andddd cue whatever happens after that. Sorry if my request is more lengthier than before 😭 feel free to decline

So uh yes. That's basically it. Stay safe and take care of yourself 🫶 just gonna drop this gigantic special delivery package to this wonderful writer over here (you ofc) of... Oo what's this— BOOM. LOVE ✨💓💞💕💖✨

OMG this is such a sweet idea🥹 Never feel bad sending in a request! I love reading them and I love the challenge of bringing your idea to life! Thank you for all of the love you send my way, it is very appreciated and it makes my day to see your messages and comments! I hope you have a fantastic day and enjoy the story!

Reunion (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

>cw: fem/afab, p in v, oral

2.3k word count

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You stand in your room packing your suitcase as König sat at your desk chair. His eyes slowly going up and down your body, taking in how beautiful you look doing something so mundane. His mind flushed with thoughts of you, your mission, and his feelings. He has so much to say, but now isn’t the right time.

“Are you nervous Maus?” König bounces his foot nervously.

“I- no.” You lie. “It will be easy.”

“You’re definitely the best person for the job.”

You turn and smile at him. You want to say how much you’re going to miss him while you’re away. You’re aware that this mission will be long, maybe a year. It hurts your heart to think he might meet someone new while you’re away. What if you come back and he has a whole new life? A lot can change in that amount of time. Your heart sinks, but you continue to fake a smile for him.

You turn and face him. König looks up to meet your gaze, his pale blue eyes look sad behind his mask. The mask hiding the frown on his lips. He stands and walks to you, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.

“I’m going to miss you Maus,” he whispers as he rests his head on top of yours.

“I’ll miss you too.” You wrap your arms around him and hug him back. “Don’t forget about me.” You say with a giggle in your voice to hide the pain in that statement.

Your giggle doesn’t work because König notices. His arms tightening around you, “I could never forget you, y/n.”

König has the overwhelming want to lean down and kiss your soft lips, but he can’t. You two are just friends. Military code forcing him to shove his feelings for you aside to not cause any issues. Yet, underneath his uniform, he is just a man in love; desperate for a chance to touch you in a more intimate way and express his love for you. He settles for friendly hugs and breathing in your scent instead.

He pulls away from the hug and looks down at you. Your beautiful eyes looking back at him. His heart pounds in his chest, he is already starting to miss you and it hurts.

“I’ll carry your bag to the garage for you.” He says closing your suitcase and picking it up.

“Thank you, Kö.”

The last time you two see each other you spend 20 minutes hugging, breathing each other in. Words hanging on the tips of both your tongues, yet no one brave enough to cross that line. Both of your hearts break as you know this could be your last time together. All you can do is hope that life brings you both back together.

The mission went on longer than expected. Two years and seven months, König has been counting the days; marking off the calendar waiting for the day you finally return. The only sign that you’re alive is the intel that KorTac occasionally gets from you, but it’s been three months since the last message. He is use to a life of solitude, but without you he feels a new level of loneliness.

He walks past your room every day before returning to his own. Your room remains vacant, everything left exactly how you left it. Every night he looks at a photo of you he has tucked under his pillow, gently kissing it hoping you’ll return to him soon.

It was another day of mundane tasks and paper work for König. He sat at his desk with your file pulled up on his screen, your photo attached. He marks off another day from the calendar, another day without you.  Not even intel from you.

Around 12pm, König sits with his mask off, eating his lunch he packed for himself. He wonders where you are and if you’re safe. What if you’ve been captured and murdered or worse, fallen in love and decided to run off with the enemy. Being alone with his own thoughts is torture.

Just then there is a knock at his door. He rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh. He was in the middle of eating. Putting his sandwich down, he picks up a napkin and cleans his mouth before pulling his mask down over his face. Again, a knock.

“Alright, come in.” König says as he straightens himself out. He minimizes your file that he has still pulled up on the computer screen.

The door opens and closes, he looks up to see…you.

König’s jaw drops and he just sits there staring at you for a while, as if he can’t believe that you’re real and standing in front of him. You look just as beautiful as you did the day you left. Nothing has changed other than your hair being longer now, and it suits you.

You stand there quietly waiting for him to say something, do something. He just sits there looking at you in complete shock.

“Hey Kö,” you break the silence as you take a few steps closer.

Hearing the nickname, Kö, makes his heart flutter; only you and his mother have ever called him that. You’re really here. He isn’t hallucinating. It’s you. Quickly he stands to his feet and walks towards you, pulling you into a tight embrace. He takes a deep breath, breathing you in. He’s missed your scent so much these last few years, he had forgotten what you even smelled like. Forgotten just how perfect your warmth feels against his body.

Your arms quickly wrap around him, you’ve been dreaming of this moment for so long. Being away from König was harder than you thought it would be. Especially for almost three years, you weren’t sure if you’d be returning to the same man. Yet here he was. Your König. He waited for you.

König pulls away from the hug and moves his hands to grasp you face and turn your face so you can look into his eyes. His eyes glossy, tears threatening to fall. He doesn’t speak as he just looks at your face, taking in your beauty. He hasn’t seen you in the flesh for so long, it’s like he is seeing you again for the first time. His beautiful love.

Without thinking, König pulls his mask off; revealing his face to you for the first time ever. He leans down and gently presses his lips against yours; slowly out of fear of rejection, yet once your lips touch, you don’t pull back or turn away. You kiss back with even more passion, making König melt inside.  He grips your face a little tighter as he begins to kiss you harder, matching your passion.

Breaking away, he rests his head on yours, tears now falling down both of your faces.

“I was scared I would never see you again.” His voice breaks as he speaks to you.

“I know,” your breathing shutters.

He pulls away slightly as you look up at his face. You take in all of his features that have been hidden all these years of friendship. He’s…beautiful. You’ve thought of what he might be hiding all this time, it’s just scars. They only add to how attractive you see him.

“Kö, I’m in love with you.” The words flow out of your mouth as if it’s word vomit.

Your heart begins to pick up and you swallow hard, waiting for his response. Your hand reaching out to wipe tears away from his eyes as they fall.

“I’m in love with you too, y/n. I always have been.” His voice cracks.

He leans down and his lips meet yours again, his tongue licking your lips as they part to accept him. He lets out a soft moan as he tastes you for the first time. He’s wanted this for a long time, since the day you stayed behind with him after a failed mission. That was the day he fell in love with you.

His hands drop down to your waist as he begins to push up the hem of your shirt, his warm hands caressing your soft skin. You don’t stop him; your body has always craved him. You’re his now, in this moment, and forever. Slowly pulling away from your lips, his eyes drop down your body.

“Is this okay?” He seeks you consent before continuing. His hands continue to caress your waist, moving up slowly.

You nod your head, closing your eyes as his lips come back to meet yours. You continue to make out as his hands move up your body. He begins to pull you shirt up, breaking the kiss to take your shirt fully off. He looks down at your breasts cupped in your bra. He brings you closer to him as he can wrap his arms around you and unhook your bra. You let the bra drop from your body.

König quickly drops to his knees, his lips finding your breasts and kissing all over, his lips grazing over your nipples giving you chills. His hands fumble with the button of your pants as he undoes it. Pulling down your zipper, he looks up at you. His hands wrap around the top of your pants and pull them down with your underwear.

His eyes look at the soft bush between your legs before he kisses your stomach and hips. You lean back against the wall and he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder. Slowly he kisses down your thigh that’s resting on him. He finally begins to kiss the soft hair covering your sacred area. He takes a deep breath, taking in your scent completely. He has always wanted to be graced with the privilege of giving you pleasure, and here he is finally.

He sticks his tongue out and licks from the bottom to the top, his tongue making small circles over your clit. He can’t believe just how sweet you taste. The small moans leaving your lips mixed with the smell of your arousal making his cock rock hard in his cargos. He begins to suck lightly on your clit, flicking his tongue over it as he does. Your legs begin to tremble and jerk.

You look down at him as he eats you out, your fingers gently combing through his blonde hair. You could have never imagined that he would be this good as he begins to focus in on your clit. Legs shaking you moan out, calling his name. You feel a rush, a build up of pleasure.

Knowing that you’re about to cum, König keeps his rhythm. You push his face into your cunt, forcing him to only breathe in your sweet natural musk. His face covered in your arousal; he can’t take it anymore.

He moves your leg off of him gently as he stands up. He begins to quickly undo his belt and take his pants off. He pulls his shirt off, revealing his Greek god like body to you. You just look at him, in awe. The same way he looks at you.

You both stand there looking at each other’s bare bodies. König just can’t get enough of you. He walks closer to you and scoops you up in his arms. He walks to his desk chair with you. He sits slouched in the chair as you sit on his lap, your wet pussy rubbing against his erection. You lean in and kiss his lips as he moans softly feeling a tease of what your warmth will be like.

With no regard for safe sex, you lean forward, reaching down and grabbing his cock to guide it into your pussy. Once the tip squeezes in you both let out a harmonious moan. Your eyes studying his face as he is focused on watching you stretch around his cock.

Your hands on his shoulders for balance, you continue to sit down until König bottoms out inside of you. His hands squeezing the supple flesh of your thighs as he submits to you and lets you take control of your shared pleasure. Your tight cunt squeezing around him, breasts bouncing in his face as you move over him. His muscles flex as he assists you in your movements.

“Oh Scheiße, Maus. You feel so fucking good.” He moans out as his head falls back against the back of the chair; eyes closed. He has never felt this level of pleasure before with another partner. The sound of your wet cunt filling the space between your shared moans and panting.

“Kö,” you whimper out as your hands move to his chest, fingers digging deeply into his skin.

König opens his eyes and looks down at your cunt eagerly trying to milk him. A creamy white ring circling the base of his cock, and he can smell the sex in the air. He can’t hold on anymore. He wraps his arms around your abdomen and holds you close to him while he begins to quickly thrust up into you, his balls slapping against your ass. You begin to moan out loudly, definitely loud enough to be heard from the hallway, but he couldn’t care less.

“I-I’m going to- ah,” König couldn’t even speak as he begins to sweat from his rapid movements. His hands grasping your ass as he begins to roughly push you down on his cock. You can feel him throbbing deep inside of you as he cums. His cheeks turning slightly red from embracement of not lasting longer.

Your lips meet his with desperation as you both kiss. His hands still gripping you tightly as you rest on him, as if you might leave again if he lets go. Breaking the kiss you both look into each other’s eyes. One of his hands leaving your body and moving up to caress your face gently.

“Are you mine?” König sounding so submissive and gentle, a side no one ever sees of him.

“Of course.”

#konig #konig x y/n #konig cod #konig x reader #könig #könig x reader #konig smut #könig smut #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig x reader smut #cod konig #könig call of duty #könig x reader smut #könig x y/n #könig x you #smut

[iloveetoeatbananas]

Stranded (Minho x fem!reader (one-shot))

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ok so this is my first time writing any sort of fanfic but I thought I would give it a shot. I read over it multiple times and there shouldn't be too many spelling errors but don't be surprised if u find a couple.

Warnings: contains spice and mild cursing

Context: high school au with everyone from the glade plus people from the other mazes like Brenda, Sonya, Aris, ect. Minho's on the track team (obviously) and reader is on the debate team.

Word count: 4.4k

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You were in your junior year in high school, and you had already gotten a couple months into the school year. It was early October and the weather began to change, becoming slightly colder and colder each day. You could feel a cold gust of wind hit your face as you walked out of your school's double doors. You walked over and lent on one of the pillars your school had built in front of the main entrance as you began to slip your phone out of your pocket.

You only had one new notification from Brenda which read,

'sorry girl I won't be able to pick u up tdy. I got an email a couple of hours ago from my mom saying that I needed to pick her up from work because her car broke down, so I wont be able to work on our social studies project. Sry!'

You honestly didn't bother to read anything after the 'won't be able to pick u up tdy' part. What were you supposed to do now? You didn't have that many other friends you could just text and get them to pick you up. It's not like you were unpopular or didn't have many friends, you actually were quite known around school. It would be relatively hard for someone to hear your name and not know who you were. After all you were head of the student council, captain of the debate team and on your way to being valedictorian next year. So needless to say, you were far from being unpopular. Although you always preferred having a small group of really close friends, though you were friends or friendly, with many other people in your grade.

Unfortunately, you weren't quite close enough with any of your other friends to just text them and ask them for a ride out of the blue.

And almost as if being stranded at school couldn't get any worse, you look at your battery percent and see, oh great, 1 percent. You shut your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose, taking a second to curse at yourself for forgetting to charge it last night while you were sleeping.

But you calm yourself, thinking that it'll be fine. You'll get a ride home someway or another, right?

Well you thought wrong.

Right when you look back at your phone screen, its black. You stare at your phone, jaw dropped, continuously clicking at the power button, but to no avail the screen stays pitch black, leaving you to stare at your reflection wondering, 'how the actual fuck did I manage to be this unlucky.'

You tuck your phone back into your bag and you realize you really only have one way of getting home. Walking.

Wow this is just so amazing because of course this happens the day you get out at 5:30 because of a debate competition. Meaning you had to wear black heals and tights, paired with a tight pencil skirt that only went up to your mid-thigh, and a black blazer with a white undershirt that revealed more of your chest than you wanted it to.

Majority of the outfit was borrowed from Brenda, and you had changed into it at the end of school. Giving the clothes you were wearing the whole day to her because you didn't want to carry them around. The plan was for her to bring the bag of your clothes with her as she came to pick you up after your debate comp and drive you both back to your place to work on your project, where you would swap the clothes back.

Was it a semi overcomplicated plan? Yes. It definitely was, and you were now cursing at yourself once again because of it.

However, right as you come to terms painstakingly long and difficult journey you're going to have ahead of you, someone behind you speaks up.

"Hey (Y/N). What are you still doing here?" A familiar voice says, sending shivers down your spine. You could recognize that voice anywhere and you didn't have to turn around knowing that the person behind you was Minho. Godamint of course it was him, the dude who had been picking on you since kindergarten, the dude who you hated, and also the dude who got surprisingly hot over the summer. He was by far the last person you wanted to run into after your day was already totally trashed.

You turn around slowly so you can face him and as you do, you see him towering over you. He looks like he'd recently stepped out of the shower with his wet and slightly towel dried hair. Minho was on the track team and you were aware that on Friday's and during most days of the week, he would stay at school late because of practice. And based off of his hair, you could assume that he showered in the locker room before heading home. You gave yourself another moment before responding, as you look at the grey sweatpants he's wearing as they lay low around his hips, and at the black compression shirt he had on which complimented his physic quite well by it's ability of defining his muscles.

God what were you thinking? You couldn't help but think he was hot. Even though he had made it his mission to annoy you ever since he laid his eyes on you.

"My debate competition just ended." You say dryly while snapping back into reality, shaking off what you were thinking of moments before.

He checks his watch before responding, "Oh right. But didn't that end like ten minutes ago?"

"Yeah.. it did." You confess, realizing that you had stayed here sulking for ten minutes when you could've just accepted your fate and given yourself a head start on walking home. And maybe then, you wouldn't have had to run into this guy.

"why are you still here then?" He asked in a confused tone that lacked little to no concern.

You glare at him for a second but before you can give your embarrassing answer, he speaks again.

"Hey I'm just wondering, no need to get all mad. I just thought that you would've had a ride by now, princess." He says with a grin forming on his face while he puts both of hands up as if he's surrendering. He's clearly trying to do anything he can to get some sort of reaction out of you, and he knew that by using his little nickname he'd made for you at the start of the year, he'd get just that.

"Well actually if you could just shut up for a second then I would've been able to answer you." You snapped at him before continuing, your voice much softer now out of embarrassment, "I um, I don't actually have a ride. Both my parents are out of town for the weekend and Brenda bailed on me so I'm probably just going to walk."

"Really? Dressed like that?" He questions with a chuckle while teasing you and gesturing to your outfit. However he can't help but blush when he see's you dressed the way that you are. Most of the time you tend to wear sweatshirts and baggy clothing, but seeing you in clothing that complimented you curves- wow- It didn't fail to catch Minho off guard.

"Well, what other choice do I have?" You say as your words come out slightly more desperate then intended.

"I could give you a ride if you want." Minho responded, and Minho shocked himself just as much as he had shocked you by saying this.

You and Minho I have seen each other a lot this year because you both actually shared a decent amount of classes together. Although everybody knew him as being super athletic and really popular, he was a lot smarter than people, (a.k.a, you), gave him credit for. And even since you both had known each other since forever, the sudden offer was still odd. Considering how hostile you were to each other obviously.

"I'm not sure. I bet I can just walk home."

"Seriously? You'd probably give up walking home in those heels a mile in." He said with a chuckle, slightly mocking you but you choose to ignore it.

You roll your eyes at him, "Fine." you say with a huff while you both begin walking into the parking lot. "where's your car?"

"Who said I'd be driving you home in a car?" He responds as he tries to fish something out from his sweatpants' pocket, and when he finally pulled out what he was looking for, you see him hold up a key.

You look at him confused until you keep walking with him and see that you're headed towards a black motorcycle.

"Oh absolutely not." You say as you immediately stop in your tracks and Minho walks over a couple more steps and unlocks it.

"Come on it's just a motorcycle."

"Dude are you serious. Do you know how many people die on those things yearly?"

"No, how many?" he asks while looking at you with a smirk, already able to sense your bluff.

"I don't know- but probably a lot!" You answered because of course you don't actually knowing how many deaths motorcycles cause, but you thought it was safe to assume that they caused many.

"Thank you for the offer, but I think I should just start walking home now if I want to make it before it gets dark out." you say while walking past Minho and his stupid motorcycle. But Minho grabs your wrist before you can walk away any further. Feeling his skin on yours sends a jolt of electricity through your body. You turn around to face him and he keeps his hand on your wrist but his grip softens.

"Do you even know the forecast for today? It's supposed to start storming around six, and I don't think you want to get caught walking home in the rain right?" After he says that you look up at the sky and see that it's already being filled up by dark and angry clouds that could start raining down on you and Minho at any second, then you look back at his motorcycle.

Minho takes in your silence and speaks again, "Look, if you don't make your decision in the next five seconds then I'm leaving with or without you alright? I really can't be driving while it storms so I'll need to drop you off as soon as I can if I want to be able to make it home too."

"Alright fine." You say as you sigh, clearly defeated.

Minho leads you back to his motorcycle and sits down, his bag slung over his shoulders and onto his chest rather than on his back so that you can sit behind him. You tell him how to get to your house and you mutter a silent prayer as you sit down behind him, hoping he doesn't notice how far your skirt is riding up your thighs.

You aren't quite sure where to place your hands so you opt to cross them at your chest. Minho adjusts himself and turns his head slightly so you can here him better, "You know, you might want to hold onto me while I drive."

"I think I'll be fine." you snap at him.

"Suit yourself then." He shrugs as he faces forwards and presses on the gas, much faster than you expected.

You let out a yelp and immediately you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling yourself closer into his back, and you basically cling on to him as if your life depends on it. You dig the side of your head into his back and shut your eyes.

You can already tell he has a wolfish grin spread across his face as he says, "What did I tell you?"

"Yeah, ok whatever I-I get it I should've listened." you blurt out quickly, not trying very hard to disguise the fear in your voice. Minho slows down as he leaves the parking lot of your school and he realizes that he can feel you trembling.

"Hey, hey, its okay. I'll be more careful alright?" He says in a caring tone while he places one of his hands on your knee.

"Just... please go slow Minho." You reply as you hug onto him even tighter.

"I will princess don't worry. I promise I'll get you home safe." He says while thanking god that you can't see how red he's getting. Something about the way you had said his name altered something in his brain chemistry and he would do anything to hear you say it again. And you on the other hand felt that he was being genuine when he said that he'd keep you safe, and it really did sound like he cared. It only took seconds for your face to get as red as a tomato and though you were glad he couldn't see you, you were praying he couldn't feel how hot your cheek was getting on his back.

Your grip on his stayed just as tight and if not tighter for the remainder of the ride home. Although, during every stop you would loosen your grip slightly and Minho would place his hand down by your knee or lower thigh again, rubbing his thumb in circles on your skin which never failed to give you butterflies in your stomach each time he did so.

The silence between the both of you hadn't been awkward at all, if anything, it was quite comforting. Being in each others presence was enough for the both of you. And if anything, the quietness allowed you to think about Minho and how you felt about him now.

Though you didn't really want to admit it, something about the way he was acting towards you now, made you see a very different side of him, and it gave you a reason to like him. But then again this is Minho your talking about. He could have any girl he wanted, practically the entire female population at your school flocked to him. But you are thinking about this as if you don't have boys coming up to you, trying to talk to you at your locker every day. Or like Gally in particular hasn't been begging for you to tutor him since freshman year.

Regardless of the amount of times boys came up to you, you always rejected them, because you had never really felt that way for anyone. Except right now. Because you could practically feel yourself falling harder and harder for Minho every second.

Little did you know that Minho was thinking the exact same way about you, and though he would rather die than admit it to anyone, he's liked you for the longest time.

Do you guys ever remember getting bullied by a guy back in elementary school, and when you told your parents about it they were just like 'oh its just because he has a crush on you!' well that was Minho. Minho was that little boy tormenting you all those years ago because he had the fattest crush on you and just didn't know how to express it. And he never grew out of that habit either. Sure when you guys grew up he would still pick and tease on you but he'd kept getting bolder and bolder, hoping you'd pick up on it one day.

A sudden drop of water on your heads knocked you and Minho out of your thoughts and snapped you back to reality.

"Shit." Minho mumbled under his breath. You finally peaked for head up a bit and opened your eyes to see that he was driving into your neighborhood but it was too late. The light sprinkles of rain soon turned into a downpour after mere seconds. Minho quickly pulled into your drive way and you unbuttoned your blazer and put it over your head to try and keep you at least a little dry until you reached the front door. You got up from your seat and only made it a couple steps forward towards your house until you realized Minho wasn't following you.

"What are you waiting for? Do you want to stay out in the rain and get drenched?" I asked him.

"You don't want me to leave?" He questioned, a bit of hope surged through him, making him think that maybe you didn't hate him as much as he thought.

"Leave? You can't leave now, do you see how hard it's raining? Never mind that, you said that it was going to storm and I can't let you drive home knowing you could just get struck by lightning or some shit." You explain, trying to make it seem as if you didn't care about him, but you definitely did care and you sucked at not making it obvious.

Minho couldn't even respond, he just stared at you, a grin forming at the edge of his lips.

"Can you- stop looking at me like that! Just come inside before I change my mind." You say, turning away and heading straight to the door because you can already feel your cheeks getting red and you don't need to hear Minho's snarky remarks over it.

Minho wouldn't be lying if he said he was a bit flustered too because he hadn't expected you to say what you just said- I mean, inviting him into your house? Minho was absolutely over the fucking moon.

He dashed into the house and got in right after you did, shutting the door behind him. You set down your bag and began taking off your heels before facing Minho. He also dropped his bag and took off his shoes. He looked at you as you cleared your throat.

"Thank you, for um, driving me. Sorry I got kinda freaked out." you say, the redness in your cheeks this time weren't because you were flustered but rather because you were embarrassed. As you looked down, expecting Minho to make fun of you over the way you clung onto him, he takes your chin in his hand and moves it up slightly so that you're now looking at him.

"There's no need to apologize princess."

you just stared at him, too shocked to move because of the contact he'd made with you. Even though you both could've stayed in that position forever, you moved your head to the side, severing the eye contact you and Minho were making, and making him take his hand from your chin.

Immediately Minho began cursing at himself for being so bold. I mean it was amazing enough that you invited him into your house but he totally just ruined it. He just couldn't wait any longer for you, but he got impatient. At least that's what his overthinking ass assumed.

"Minho, I-" you started. You were taken aback by the action but it's not like you didn't like it. In all the years of teasing he had never been that bold or genuine. You couldn't tell if he was still just messing with you for fun.

"No, that was- look I dunno why I did that. I didn't.." He scoffed while looking away.

"Minho look at me." you said while turning your face to look at him again.

He just silently took his hand away from his face and looked at you.

"What's been up with you this year? It's like, you keep teasing me, but then you call me princess and do things like this- It's just- what's your deal? I can't tell if you still hate me, or if you like me or something." You blurt out, way more intensely then you had expected. You couldn't tell if this was just a whole joke or not, like if he really just found pleasure by getting some sort of reaction out of you. Whether that be you getting flustered, or annoyed at him.

"No I don't- I don't hate you at all (Y/N)." He paused while sighing. "This is going to sound stupid but I've liked you since before I can even remember. I just never knew how to tell you, so I just tried to get more bold, and hope that maybe you would catch on, I guess."

You just stared at him with a dumbfounded look on your face, not quite too sure if you were hearing him correctly. But he seemed so sincere, you really wanted to believe he was telling the truth.

"God okay I never should've said anything. I'm sorry, that was all so stupid. I'll leave right when the rain lets up-" Minho barely finished what he was saying as you leaned in and grabbed his shirt, pulling him into you as your lips merged with his.

After a moment of him not reciprocating you pulled away, "I'm sorry I thought-" But before you could say anything else Minho began kissing you again.

You melted into his touch as he slid his arms around your waist and pulled you into him closer. His grip around you was firm as he held onto you as if you could just slip away if he didn't hold on tight enough. You flung your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss between the both of you. It had started out gentle and soft but it only got more and more desperate and passionate as time went on.

"I like you too." You mumbled against his lips between kisses, and at this Minho only became more and more hungry for you. You allowed his tongue to explore every inch of your mouth, and he grew desperate for your taste.

All while holding the kiss he lifted you up by your hips and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he pushed you into a nearby wall in your house.

He kept one of his arms on your waist while the other slid down your shirt and up your back, his cold fingers traced around your spine which only made you arch your back further into him. A slight moan escaped you which only made Minho tighten around his pants. You could feel him harden between your legs, and considering your skirt was far up your thighs by now, and your tights and panties only provided a thin layer of clothing between the both of you. You could feeling yourself throbbing down there as well.

Minho could tell by the way you were fiddling with the hem of his shirt that you were trying to take it off him. Minho pulled away and removed his hands from you and tossed off his shirt, leaving you to stare at his amazing physic.

I mean come on, the guy looked like he had been carved out of stone.

You both took no time at all to crash your lips onto each others again as your hands began to roam all over his chest. He took both of his hands and placed them on your ass in order to keep you propped up on the wall as he continued to pepper your lips with kisses.

He bit against your bottom lip causing you to moan again, but a phones ringtone of the song 'Eye of the Tiger' interrupted you and Minho from continuing.

He murmured a curse to himself and you giggled as he took his phone out of his pocket and answering the call and putting it on speaker. He used one hand to hold his phone as he kept the other on your ass.

You took this as an opportunity to start kissing down Minho's neck, moving down to his collar bone and sucking on it, making sure it would leave a mark. This caused Minho to make a soft groan but since the call was still connecting, the other person wasn't able to hear it.

"Dude where the fuck are you? You were supposed to come over after your practice to help me with our Latin assignment." The very clearly annoyed boy with a British accent questioned. You could tell it was Newt immediately, I mean, not many people have who go to schools in America have British accents.

"I'm sorry I got kind of caught up with something." Minho huffed out. Clearly trying to hide his moans as you continues to leave a trail of kisses and marks along his chest and neck.

"Holy shit you sound like you've just ran a marathon. Wait are you even at home right now?" He asks, this time much more confused then he was before.

"Uh no- I'm not at home right now."

"Then were the fuck are you?"

"At a- friends house."

"Which friends house?" Newt was interrogating Minho as if they were a married couple and Newt caught Minho coming home at 3am smelling of liquor and another women's perfume.

"I'm at (Y/N)'s house.." He said softly, hoping his friend would maybe keep his cool after he said this.

"Hi Newt!" You chime in after leaving several knew hickeys on Minho's neck.

"Jesus Christ I knew it. You've liked her for years! Good job Minho, you finally had the balls to tell her." You hear Newt laugh along with several other people in the background.

"Godamit Newt who else is with you?" Minho says, his face growing redder every second.

"Oh you know, Thomas, Gally, Fry, Alby." He says while trailing off.

Just then you can hear someone grab Newts phone on the other line, "Just letting you know (Y/N) you could do so much better." He says while everyone else with him chuckles, and you can tell it was Gally who said it.

"Oh shut it Gally. Your just mad because she chose me over you. And maybe this way you'll finally get the hint and stop asking her to tutor your dumbass." Minho snaps at him, his protective and jealous tone turning you on way more then you thought.

After Minho says that you can hear everyone on the other line burst out laughing, and even you let out a bit of a laugh afterwards as well.

You can hear Newt take back the phone and say, "Alright we'll leave you to it." as he hangs up the phone.

You look back at Minho as he puts his phone away. "What if I do want to start tutoring Gally?" You say with a smirk as you tilt your head to the side, teasing Minho.

"Oh please. Your mine now princess and I'm not letting Gally, or anyone else for that matter, anywhere near you." He says, and even though he's ginning while he says it, you can tell that he's being completely serious. "Now where were we?"

______________________________________________________________

ok guys this is it!! plz lemme know if u liked it or if theres anything you guys think I should work on/ do better whenever I write these in the future. Also if u guys want to give me any other prompts for me to write, or if yall want a pt. 2 with yk smth a lil more spicy then tell me

#minho #minho tmr #minho the maze runner #minho tmr x reader #enemies to lovers #the maze runner #tmr fanfic #tmr fandom

[producedbyhanjisung]

⎯ STOCKHOLM. christopher bahng chan

🎧 : bang chan x female reader

TROPE. age gap! au (chan is 37, reader is 18), kidnapper x kidnapped

WORD COUNT. 2.5k

WARNINGS. drinking, mentions of drugs, illegal activities, nineteen-year age gap, kidnapping, reader falls in love with her kidnapper, sadism + masochism

SYNOPSIS. on the morning of january first, y/n wakes up chained to a wall, stripped to her undergarments, and a camera pointed right at her. strangely enough, behind the camera is what looks like a harmless, friendly, incredibly attractive man. as y/n and the mysterious Bang Chan begin to learn more about each other, y/n finds herself succumbing to stockholm syndrome: falling in love with her very own kidnapper

SMUT WARNINGS. sadism + masochism, use of vibrator, some non-con themes, sextape making, overstimulation + edging, corruption kink, exhibitionism, dumbification kink

As your eyes opened, you expected to wake up somewhere you didn't know. You were absolutely wasted the night before - New Year's Eve - and you had been almost one-hundred percent sure you would wake up in someone else's bed. However, you hadn't imagined that you would wake up with shackles around your ankles and wrists, keeping you tight against a concrete wall in a cold room that somewhat resembled your great-grandmother's basement.

You're flabbergasted, to say the last. In all of your years getting drunk and fucking random people, you had never been kidnapped. And either this guy was really fucking kinky, or you had been kidnapped.

You suspect the latter, seeing the tape recorder set up on a tripod in front of you, facing you. As you survey your surroundings, you also take in your attire - completely nude, spare for your lacy white bra and matching panties, complete with a small white bow.

"Morning."

You look up, startled at the handsome guy that you hadn't noticed enter the room.

"Y/N, right? I'm not sure I caught your name last night."

You vaguely remember his face as one of the guys you had danced with the night before, letting him grind up against you and grope your body to the beat of the music. You nod at him.

"Do you know why you're here, Y/N?"

You shake your head, staying silent.

"I find you quite beautiful, actually." The man has a thick Australian accent, one you're sure you remember from the party. "Really, a work of art. An ass to kill for, and apparently, unmatched intelligence."

"That's just a rumor," you say finally.

"Ahhhh, she speaks. You have such a pretty voice, sweetie." He sends you a dimpled smile. "I really don't think it is, though. Your IQ is three higher than that of Albert Einstein. Do you know what that means, sweetheart?"

You watch him, waiting for an answer.

"It means you are a certified genius." The man's smile drops. "This is why you've peaked my interest."

"'Cause I'm good at taking tests?" you ask softly.

He shakes his head. "Much more than that. I want to pick your brain apart, pretty girl. I wanna find out what makes you tick." Then, he smiles again, wickedly. "But more than that, I want to humiliate and violate you in ways you wouldn't have thought possible."

So that's what he is, you think to yourself. A psycho with a god complex.

"Do you think I can do that?" he asks.

"Do what?"

"Everything I just said."

"Yes I do."

He tilts his head at me. "Giving in so easy?"

"What else should I do?"

He moves closer to you, taking your chin in his hand and examining your face. "I suppose you're right."

You watch him, utterly stunned at how fucking exquisite your kidnapper's appearance is.

He backs away from you now, moving behind the tape recorder. He repositions it so that it's trained on you, then turns the viewing component of it so that you can see yourself, dangling helplessly and half-naked from the wall. "I'm going to start, yes?"

You nod slowly. You know that fighting whatever this man was about to do to you would be futile, so you waited and watched, eyelashes fluttering.

He retrieves a knife from a table of dangerous-looking utensils off to your left, returning to you.

"What should I call you?" you ask him suddenly, dreading the feel of the knife tracing your skin.

"Chris," he says simply. "In Korea, they call me Chan. Here they call me Chris."

"Chris? Or Chan? Which do you prefer?"

He tilts his head, as if puzzled by the question. "I'm not sure."

"I like Chan. It suits your face."

"Does it now?"

You nod, humming a "yes."

Chan's lips quirk up in a half-smile, and you find yourself smiling back. "First things first," he says after a moment, "I need to mark you."

"Mark me?"

He nods. "It won't hurt long, love." He moves around you, to your left side, and grasps your thigh gently. You bite back a gasp, watching as he lifts the knife. It's digging into your skin before you can protest, drawing a thin line of scarlet over the plush skin. You register in your mind it hurts, but it fascinates you to watch, taking your thoughts off the pain and onto the beauty of the letters that he's now carved into your leg. B.C., in small, pretty writing right in the middle of your thigh.

"Painful?" he asks, moving back to the table to the side and retrieving some sort of paper towel, returning to you and gently dabbing at the blood.

You blink. "A little."

"You didn't scream," he says.

"I didn't."

"I wish you would have."

"Would you like me to now?"

"No, sweetheart, don't force it."

You're surprised at how easy this conversation comes to you. This man just cut his initials into your thigh, and all you could think about were his pretty dimples and crinkly eyes.

"Where are you from?" you ask.

Chan looks up at you. "You baffle me," he says, examining you. Then, "I was born in Seoul, but I grew up in Sydney." He pauses. "You?"

You tell him where you were born, surprised at how intently he listened to you.

"I like hearing you speak," he says. "Your voice is beautiful."

You stay quiet, unsure what to think.

"I bet your screams would be beautiful too." A mischievous expression flits across his face. "You know what I bet would be the most beautiful of all?" He leans in close to you, so that his lips are right next to your ear. "Your moans."

You blink dumbly up at him.

"Look at you." He cradles your cheek in his hand, watching you with a bittersweet expression. "Intelligence already crumbling. I thought you'd last longer, sweetie."

You're tongue-tied, both disgusted and turned on by the sadistic words.

He pats your cheek once, twice, then turns away. "I'll be back later to bring you dinner, and a fun little toy."

"What am I supposed to do until then?" you ask quickly, desperate for him not to leave you. As much as you don't want to be down here with him, you even less want to be down here without him.

He shrugs. "You'll find something." Then he pauses. "Actually . . . would you like your toy early, hmm?"

You nod slowly. Chan retreats from the room, returning a few minutes later with a white box. He opens it, inside awaiting what looked like a vibrator. Nope, scratch that, it was a vibrator.

You swallow, looking at it, and Chan grins at you. "The best form of torture is too much pleasure, don't you agree, sweetie?"

You swallow hard, finding yourself nodding nervously.

Chan moves back over to you, stepping gracefully, and smiles. "For the next three hours, this is going to be attached directly to your clit."

You only stare at him.

He begins by removing your panties, then your bra, leaving you completely bare for him, and for the tape recorder.

"Pretty pussy," he mumbles, as though to himself. He leans forward, using one finger to spread your lower lips and another to prod around your private area, poking gently into your hole, then around your clit. Finally, he stops, bringing up the vibrator and configuring it so that the head stayed directly on your clit. He gently turns it on, watching as you gasp a little.

"Three hours," he says, tapping his wrist, then turning the vibrator to the highest setting. "I'll see you, pretty girl."

The moment the door is closed, unable to bite back the noises produced from this torturous device.

Three hours later, you've passed out four times, came at least twenty, and are shaking, dripping sweat, and sobbing. Your clit burns with too many sensations, and your stomach convulses violently with every buzz being emitted into your core.

When Chan reenters the room, he carries with him a plate of food. He sets it down quickly upon seeing your ragged state, mouth open slightly as he watches you.

You hardly notice him enter, buzzing with too many sensations. You only snap back to reality when you hear a shutter flick in front of you, and you find that he's taken a Polaroid photo of you.

He stays silent, listening to you whimper as the film develops. When it's complete, he turns off the vibrator, and you slump in your shackles. You feel him unlock your ankles, then your wrists, and you drop to your knees on the floor, still shaking vigorously.

Chan kneels beside you, brushing your hair from your face and soothingly thumbing your cheek. "Tired?"

You nod.

"Too tired to eat?"

You nod again.

"No you're not." He stands, retrieving the plate of food he brought with him. On it is what looks like a rather appetizing piece of chicken, salad, and small bowl of pasta. "Eat."

"What if I don't want to?"

"I'll force feed it to you."

You can't tell if he's joking, so you shakily take a bite. You struggle as you pick up your fork, and Chan takes it from you exasperatedly. "Let me," he says. He gathers a bit of salad on the fork, taps your jaw for you to open your mouth, and puts it in. You close your mouth, letting the lettuce fall onto your tongue, eyes locked with his.

"I'm sorry," you find yourself saying.

"Why?"

"I'm shaking."

"That's not your fault, is it?"

You shake your head.

"Then why are you sorry? Hmm?"

You shrug as he puts another bite of salad in your mouth.

The two of you stay silent for the rest of the meal. That night, he doesn't reshackle you, but locks the door behind him. The next day, he returns. At least, you assume it's the next day. You're not sure how much time has passed since you've woken up in this dank room. He'll come for a few hours in the morning, then leave for a few hours, then return for a few more. Each time he returns, he asks about you. As if he truly wants to get to know you, instead of killing you. He continues torturous ministrations, destroying your body and your mind in one. And somehow, you hardly mind.

Finally, on the evening of what you can guess is the ninth day, he returns as usual, bringing with him a meal.

He watches you eat, tongue in his cheek. "I'd like to bring you upstairs today."

You pause to stare at him. "Up . . . upstairs?"

He nods. "You should shower, before you stink any more."

You look down. "It's not exactly that sanitary down here."

"I'm well aware. That's why I'm bringing you up. I quite like you, honestly. So I'd like to propose to you an offer."

"An offer?"

"An offer. An exchange, I suppose. Your freedom for your service."

"Go on."

"You will marry me. You will be presented as my wife, and you will act as such in the public eye. In private, you are mine. You're my slave - my belonging."

"I just have to stay with you?" You look up at him. You're smart enough to know that even seeing the sunshine for a day being married to a kidnapper would be better than rotting down here until he eventually decided he'd had enough and kill you. Your mind was made up, but you were curious.

"Yes, love. I'm fond of you, actually."

Fond of me. You ponder this. "Okay . . . I'll do it. First, though, I have a question."

"Shoot."

"How old are you?"

Chan looks down. "I'm thirty-seven."

"Oh."

He nods. "You?"

"Eighteen." You meet his eyes.

"So young and fragile." Chan traces his fingers over your cheek. "So much to corrupt, hmm?"

You nod.

"Come on, you need to shower."

You let him bring you upstairs. You leave the basement into a small house. The walls are pretty pastels, decorated with plants and paintings of all varieties. Chan brings you away from the main floor, up another flight of stairs to what you can guess is his bedroom. It's neat and tidy, and an open door off to your right is your best guess at a bathroom.

He brings you into the bathroom, letting you strip out of the clothes he gave you a few days before, after finally giving in to your begging for warmth. You jump a little as he starts to remove his shirt. "What are you doing?"

"Stripping. I'm joining you."

"Um, why?"

"'Cause I'm not letting you off yourself with a razor in my shower."

"I wasn't gonna off myself with a razor in your shower."

"How do I know that?"

You watch him, deciding not to argue. The water is already on, steaming up the room, and his skin glistens with every movement. You avert your eyes from his dick, but you can see its general shape in your peripheral vision. Huge.

He pulls you into the shower by your waist, stepping in behind you. He'd seen you naked before, but something about this close proximity and steamy room felt so much more intimate than the hours of sextapes he had filmed of you.

Chan helps you wash your hair, then your body. His touch lingers over your curves, rubbing you in a way that you didn't know was possible. It's only moments after that you find yourself hoisted up, legs tucked around his waist, hands running through his hair, head tipped back as his lips attach to your neck.

"Do you promise to be mine?" he whispers into your jaw, teeth grazing your Adam's apple.

"I promise," you say desperately, watching him with hooded eyes.

He pushes inside you with no warning, already rock hard. You feel the tip of his member kissing your cervix, pressing in just the right ways against your walls. He kisses you hard, pushing you against the wall of the shower. Chan is thrusting inside you slowly, mouth struggling to stay attached to yours as the two of you are overwhelmed by emotions and sensations.

You cum at the same time as him, coaxing every last drop of cum from his cock.

You collapse into him, shaking as you come down from your high. He holds you gently, turning off the water and helping you out of the shower. He's wordless as he wraps a warm towel around you, kissing your forehead as he dries you, then himself, then helps you to his bed.

"Just sleep, love," he tells you softly. "I'll wake you up in the morning."

The next morning, Chan is beside you, sleeping soundly. For some reason, you're comforted by the sight. The man who kidnapped you nine days ago - who would have thought you'd be madly in love with him by the end of it all.

TAGLIST ⎯

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#smut #stray kids #skz #bang chan #felix #han #lee know #seungmin #hyunjin #oneshot #kidnapper #kidnappers #kidnap au #murder #horror #bang chan smut #bang chan x you #chan x reader #chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagines #prod.j.one

[outromoony]

Forgive me, Peter (is it something I did?)

Marauders microfic from Peter's POV | 2.2k words

ao3 link here

James was Peter's whole world when they were young.

The moment they met, Peter knew James was different from any other kid he'd ever met. He was kind, and didn't make fun of Peter because he didn't know how to play certain games or was in bad shape for sports. James was always so kind to him, so patient. They will spend hours and hours playing by themselves in James's garden because the other kids didn't want to play with Peter, but James said he preferred to play with him anyway.

They lived very close to each other; in fact, they were technically neighbors. Peter only took a six-minute walk from his house to James's, and they will see each other every day. James would show him everything he knew about Quidditch and discuss his favorite teams, and in return, Peter would teach him how to play chess and vent about his older siblings at home. And James will listen, he will always listen; and for the first time in his life, Peter felt like his voice deserved to be heard, that his opinions and feelings mattered to someone other than just himself and his own shadow.

That was, until they got on that train.

The Hogwarts Express was everyone's dream. Peter could remember his brother and sister talking about it nonstop when they came back from Hogwarts for their first break. Peter was excited about it, but it also made him anxious. When he received his letter, he couldn’t actually believe it at first. He knew he had magic since he was nine, but still, his aunts and brother loved to point out that it was weak, that even if he wasn't a squib, his magic would never be strong enough to even do anything relevant with it. Peter could not avoid feeling as if there had been a mistake, as if he didn't belong there. But just three feet away from him, there was James, smiling at him reassuringly and fondly as he awkwardly walked towards the train.

James had always been his anchor, the one and only person who could keep him grounded when he felt too low about himself. James would assure him he was wonderful, and that being his best friend was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

And James might have been Peter's anchor, but perhaps Peter had always been James's shackles.

The moment James met Sirius Black, Peter knew his relationship with James was never meant to last.

They were still friends, of course. James never wanted Peter to leave his side, and tried to get him into conversations. But Peter knew since the beginning of their Hogwarts journey, that Sirius was everything James wanted Peter to be, even if he never said it out loud.

Sirius was loud, that was the word that described him the best. He was loud, and so, so alive. And for Peter, who had always felt a little bit dead inside, that was like looking directly at the sun and getting a little blinded by its light. He tried, he really bloody tried, but he couldn't change who he was, how he felt, how he acted. No attempt was enough to get James to talk or look at him the way he did with Sirius Black.

When he was sorted into Gryffindor, he was so surprised that he tripped on his way to the Gryffindor table. Everyone clapped, and amidst all the loud noise, he could hear Sirius whistling and James shouting his name. Peter smiled nervously and sat between James and Remus. James gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, and Remus just gave him a quiet nod. Peter didn't even look at Sirius when he called his name.

Peter Pettigrew had never been brave. He never felt like it, and his family reminded him every day how much of a coward he was. Since he could remember, he had always been afraid of making friends, and his parents needed to talk to the other kids for him to be able to have someone to play with. His siblings needed to force him to do new things like flying a broom, and his aunts scolded him when he refused to try new food. When he became friends with James, he became that force he needed to start opening up a little. James never forced anything into him, always respected his boundaries and tried showing him the light of life. He succeeded, of course, James always did; but when Sirius came into his life, that light started to banish little by little, wound by wound.

He knew from the beginning of his life that he would never be anyone's first choice. He knew it and accepted it. At least, he thought he did. His parents will always choose any of his siblings, just never him. His siblings will always choose each other, and James... oh, James. He really thought, for a period of time, that he was James's first choice, but now he realized that would never be the case, not while Sirius Black was still breathing.

He even tried getting close to Remus. The boy was quiet and liked reading. Peter initially thought that perhaps he was reserved with everyone, not just with Peter. But, fast enough, he realized that wasn't the case. Sirius, somehow, had broken that shield Remus always carried with him, cracked his mask, and got him into his most vulnerable human form. Remus loved Sirius, he loved him in a way Peter quite never understood, but again, he really never understood what was so special about Sirius Black that was leaving him completely alone, what was so special about him that he could just take everyone and everything away from him, even James.

He never intended to hurt him, to hurt any of them. Even after seven years of feeling like he was just something less than a sidekick for his friends, he still was something to them, at least he wasn't alone, at least James hadn't given up on him after everything. He never intended to do any harm, but Peter had always been weak, manipulable. The Dark Lord gave him what he had been craving his entire life, an opportunity to be someone, to do something important, to be someone's choice.

So he did it, he started working as a spy for the dark side. At first, it was alright— great, even. Voldemort chose him as one of his most loyal followers, he even sat next to him in the meetings with the rest of the Death Eaters. He felt like he was important, like he had done something right for the first time in his life, and for the look in Voldemort's eyes when he looked at him, he had.

The first time it actually hit him was when the news of the McKinnons reached his ears.

He had never been close to Marlene, not like Remus or James were, but he knew her; he knew her more than any of the people that had died in the war. He knew that her laugh was the loudest out of everyone in the Gryffindor tower, he knew she loved playing Quidditch just as much as James did, and that she loved reading some weird muggle books, which she would later recommend to Remus. He knew she loved music, especially rock, and she and Sirius would annoy everyone in the common room by singing and shouting lyrics left and right from their favorite rock bands. He may not have actually known her that well, but he saw her breathing and living for so many years, and because of him, she was dead.

He tried swallowing the feeling of guilt, tried pretending as if nothing had happened, and continued doing what the Dark Lord asked him to. That was the first time Peter actually realized how badly he had fucked up, and he was now trapped. He couldn’t back off now, but still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was always meant to end up like this.

When the prophecy came, Peter was the first person Voldemort asked for information.

He wanted every possible location of the Potters, their schedules, any piece of information that could help him get to them. And for the first time since he had joined the Death Eaters, he lied to the Dark Lord.

That was probably the bravest thing Peter Pettigrew ever did in all his pathetic and miserable life. He lied, he lied about everything he knew, about every piece of information he had. He lied as much as he could, until he couldn’t anymore.

James and Lily now knew about the prophecy, and Dumbledore had sent them into hiding. Those were the exact same words he told Voldemort when he asked again about the whereabouts of the Potters, but when the Dark Lord asked about the type of magic they were using to hide, Peter couldn't even think of a good enough lie, so he told the truth.

He knew that if the Potters or Sirius were suddenly found dead, it would be his fault, but none of that happened. Voldemort didn't know who the secret keeper was, Peter had had enough decency to keep that piece of information to himself, but he knew that the first suspect would be Sirius Black, James's best friend and Harry's godfather.

Sirius apparently had the same thoughts, because one night after a meeting, after everyone was already gone, Sirius asked him to be the new secret keeper.

He apparently had already told James and Lily about it, and both of them agreed. Sirius was the most obvious option, and nobody will ever suspect him.

"Is it because I look weak?" Peter wanted to ask him desperately. "Because I look incapable?" But he didn't say it out loud, because maybe he was; maybe he was weak and incapable and a coward, and maybe he'd always been.

After he became secret keeper, Voldemor knew. Peter wasn't sure how he knew it, but he did. Maybe he could read his mind, or maybe he'd never been really good at pretending, but in that moment, when Voldemort asked him the location of the Potters, Peter knew it was over.

Because he was a coward, after all.

He could have begged for James's life, just like Snape did for Lily's. Perhaps, that would have been the last decent thing he could have done for him. But deep inside, Peter knew that it was in vain. Snape never knew Lily the way he knew James, or even Lily herself. They both loved so hard, so intensely, so deeply, and they were so brave, something Peter never had been. They loved so much, and Harry was just the person they loved the most in the world. They wouldn't let their child die without a fight, and then Voldemort would kill them all three.

The moment it happened, Peter felt it in his bones, in every cell of his body, in every beat of his heart.

James was dead.

Peter never thought it was possible to feel absence so deeply in your soul you felt like your own shadow had been torn away from you. He felt it all, but at the same time he felt nothing at all—not when the Dark Lord was gone, and he had lost everything.

Sirius Black gave him a new reason to run: he was going to kill him, he had promised. With every single step he took, he could feel Sirius's breath on his neck like a sharp knife threatening to cut him open, and he deserved it; he knew he did.

But he didn't want to die.

So he ran and ran, until his lungs were full of memories, and regrets, and fear—oh, so much fear. He was terrified of dying.

It was just a matter of time until Sirius found him, he knew he didn't have much time. He had promised to kill him, and if he knew something about Sirius Black, was that he was always true to his threats.

So he did the only thing that crossed his mind—the only thing that gave him an actual shot to survive. He hid among the Muggles, even though he knew Sirius would find him anywhere, and when he inevitably did, Peter was ready.

He caused an explosion that killed probably hundreds of muggles; he wasn't sure, but he didn't care that much. Sirius was there in the explosion, but he didn't die; Peter's plan had never been to kill him.

He held his breath, and without thinking too much, because if he did, he might never be able to do it, he cut one of his fingers. The pain was terrible, the blood was everywhere, but when he transformed into his rat form once again, the pain was already gone, so was Peter.

And he ran once again—he ran away from the life he used to have, the life he would never have again. He ran from his guilt, from his bad decisions, and from every time he betrayed himself.

He ran and never looked back; that was the one thing he always did the best.

He was a coward, after all.

#marauders fanfiction #marauders microfic #microfic #peter pettigrew #james fleamont potter #james potter #prongstail #marauders #the marauders #marauders era #marauders fandom #the marauders era #dead gay wizards #dead gay wizards from the 70s #taylor swift #ttpd #the tortured poets department #wolfstar #jily #sirius black #remus lupin #marlene mckinnon #voldemort #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #wormtaiil #padfoot #moony #prongs #Spotify

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Bedroom Eyes Like a Remedy

I'm Bright Baby Blue, Falling Into You

Chelsea!Roy Kent x Coach's Daughter!Reader

3.6k words (kind of a long one!)

Warnings: Language, lying/sneaking around, no Ted Lasso characters except for Roy, fluff & flirting, some spice, mentions of drinking, "locker room talk", protective dad

Staying up all night with a professional footballer sounded good at the time, you reasoned with yourself as you stifled a yawn. But now, walking down the hall to grab one of the coaches a breakfast sandwich, you were almost regretting it.

Almost.

You were nearly at your destination when a hand grabbed your wrist. When you whirled around, Roy was smirking at you.

“You busy tonight?” he murmured in place of a greeting.

Melting at the sight of him, you leaned against a wall and batted your eyes flirtatiously. “Depends, are you making me an offer?”

Roy bit his lip and shrugged. “Homemade dinner. Horribly expensive bottle of wine.” He leaned in close to whisper in your ear, “Finish what you tried to start last night.”

He definitely noticed the way your thighs pressed together at his suggestion. “Sounds like a plan, Kent.”

He opened his mouth to say something else-

“Oi, Kent!”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your dad was striding down the hall, head tilted at the sight of you and Roy clearly in the middle of a conversation. Oh hell, did he notice the way your eyes were wild for the midfielder? Did he catch Roy’s tiny step back to put distance between you? Shit, did he see Roy whisper suggestively in your ear?

Roy stood like a soldier at attention as your dad approached. “Weight room,” your dad said sharply.

“Coach.” With a nod to your dad and not a second glance at you, Roy walked briskly down the hall in the direction your dad instructed.

You tried to sidestep to get back to your task, but the sound of your dad clearing his throat had you freezing like Roy did. “What were you and Kent chatting so intensely about?” The question came out slowly, as though he was dreaded your answer.

“A book he recommended to me,” you blurted out quickly. Roy and you suggested books to each other from time to time; your dad knew that well. “Kent wanted to know how I was enjoying it.” You shrugged. “Sorry for keeping him from training,” you added, hoping your face was innocent enough to convince your dad.

He nodded, a slow nod, processing your words. “You two seem to be quite chummy lately,” he observed. “Smiling at each other, whispering in corners.” He narrowed his eyes. “Anything you need to tell me?”

You were thrown back to being a teenager, caught coming home past curfew, caught with a boy in your room, caught with alcohol on your breath. Each of those times, you had been honest with your dad. Each of those times had concluded with a firm but loving conversation, a hug between father and daughter, a better understanding of each other.

But not this time.

“No,” you lied. “Just being friendly. But I won’t distract him from work anymore, I promise. We’ll save our chats for after practice.”

A small shove from your dad told you that you were off the hook. “Alright,” he conceded. “But be careful with Kent, alright? I don’t have to tell you about his reputation. Not that he’d be daft enough to go out with you.” He let out a light chuckle, one you returned with a weak smile. When he caught the absolute mortification on your face, his own grin dropped. “Because you’re my kid,” he clarified firmly. “And Roy Kent knows better.”

Apparently not, you thought to yourself. “Dad…” You cleared your throat. “D’you think it would really be so bad if I… if we…”

“Don’t.” Your dad’s voice was a sharp knife to your abdomen. “Come on, love. You know how these guys are. Talented as hell, but not boyfriend material.” He shook his head. “I know you probably think he’s a nice guy, he’s good-looking and famous, but you’ll only wind up hurt, and I’ll wind up in an awkward situation here.” He smiled at you. “There’s plenty of other fellas you can go after. Leave Roy Kent and the rest of them on the pitch.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, missing the distressed look on your face. “Think you could grab me a breakfast sandwich too?”

You pretended you weren’t struggling for air as you nodded. “Sure, Dad.”

The knots in your stomach from your conversation with your dad were still there that night as you stood in front of your closet. No one likes lying to their parents, you reminded yourself as you pulled out your favorite dress, the one you usually saved for clubs and birthday dinners. But sometimes, a girl had to do what a girl had to do. And what you had to do was dress yourself up and go see Roy Kent at his flat, even if it meant looking your father in the eye and lying through your teeth about going out with your girlfriends.

As you drove the now familiar route to Roy’s, you were struck by the realization that your alibis had one thing in common: your recently neglected friends. Shit, you thought. You needed them to be in on your secret if you were going to keep this up. You fished your phone out of your bag and quickly dialed the friend whose name had slipped out of your mouth a lot lately.

“She’s alive!” Angela shrieked when she answered.

The chuckle you let out was tinged with guilt. “Hey,” you greeted. “Sorry for falling off the face of the earth.” You cleared your throat, trying to figure out where to start. “See, there’s uh, this guy-”

“He must be fit to have you forgetting your friends,” she teased.

A dreamy smile crossed your face as you thought about the sight of Roy in the changing room. “He is,” you assured her. “But… he’s also kind of a secret.” You sighed. “And I’ve kind of been using you as my excuse to leave the house to see him.”

Angela tsked at you jokingly. “Dating a guy Mum and Dad don’t approve of? Naughty girl.”

“Well, Mum might approve if she got to know him.” You paused for a long moment. “But Dad-”

“He’s not a footballer, is he?” Angela laughed. “Let me, guess, you finally shagged Roy Kent?”

She’d meant it as a joke; all of your mates knew how much you drooled over the midfielder. They teased you constantly. But they also knew your dad’s feelings about his players, having heard his warnings first-hand once you had all grown up and found yourselves looking at his team in a new light. They knew his one rule for hanging around Chelsea FC was staying away from the fellas. And here you were, his own daughter, completely breaking that rule.

“I mean…” You let out a deep exhale. “I haven’t shagged him yet,” you explained pathetically. “I’m actually on my way to his flat now for…” Your face was burning hot. “That.”

A choking sound came through the phone. “I’m sorry,” Angela scoffed. “You’re sneaking around with Roy Kent?”

You paused for a moment. You could tell her you’re joking, that you’re seeing some nobody and you just want to keep things private. But shit, you had to tell someone. “Yes,” you quietly confirmed.

There was a long silence on her end; for a moment, you worried that she’d hung up to call your father and tell him everything. Finally, her voice returned. “Well shit,” she laughed. “Good for you, girl!”

The breath you’d been holding flew out of your mouth. While Angela promised to help keep your secret, you arrived at Roy’s place. After agreeing to get together soon so you could give her all the details, you hung up, satisfied that you had at least one person in your life who was happy for you and your relationship with Roy Kent. Not that you considered this a relationship relationship, you quickly scolded yourself. Maybe fling was the better word. No, that didn’t quite cover the way Roy looked at you while eating hot dogs the night of his photoshoot. Romance? Sure, you told yourself. This romance with Roy Kent.

Roy was certainly feeling romantic, it appeared. He greeted you with a slow kiss in the doorway before taking your coat and purse from you and ushering you inside. A couple of candles were lit in the otherwise dim living room, and from his stereo you could hear soft music playing. He took your hand and led you to the dining room, which up to this point was just the room you passed through on your way to the kitchen. Tonight, however, the table was set for two, with candles and wine and a vase of flowers sitting on a white tablecloth. You eyed the tablecloth carefully; you wouldn’t have thought of Roy Kent as the type of man to own a tablecloth, if you were being honest.

He must have caught the way you blinked in surprise at the setup, because Roy cleared his throat as he held out your chair for you. “Figured, my first time making you dinner, might as well do things properly,” he mumbled as you sat down.

“It’s lovely,” you assured him. You stared at him, with his hard expression and twitching fingers. “Thank you. Really.”

A pleased look twinkled in his eye as he turned to the kitchen. “I hope you’re hungry.” He returned with a pair of plates accompanied by a heavenly smell. “It’s, uh, a pesto gnocchi,” he explained as he set the plates on the table.

As the two of you tucked in, you stole a glance at him. He had a hard look on his face, stony and expressionless as he stared at his plate. But when you looked at his hands, you caught the way they twitched and fidgeted, betraying how… nervous he was? Excited? You hoped happy was somewhere in the jumble of emotions it looked like Roy was feeling.

Just as you were trying to decide what to say to break the quiet, Roy looked up at you, eyebrows scrunched. “The fucking candles aren't too much are they?” he blurted.

A soft smile graced your lips. Nervous, you decided. Roy was definitely nervous. “Everything is perfect,” you murmured, feeling bold enough to touch his hand. “Especially this food. Holy shit, who knew Chelsea’s superstar could cook?” You smirked at him. “I bet you learned to cook just to impress women, Kent.”

He rolled his eyes as the corner of his mouth curled upwards. “Fuck off, I actually enjoy cooking.” He chuckled and added, “But yeah, it does seem to be…” He bobbled his head. “Impressive.”

You decided to shove down the pang of envy at the idea of other women, gorgeous models and famous actresses, sitting in this same spot, eating this same dish and drinking the same wine from the same glass. Instead, you focused on the warmth of Roy’s eyes as he gazed at you. “Well, consider me impressed.”

You tried to think of the last time you had such a perfect date. It wasn’t as if you went out with losers; the guys you dated were always good-looking enough, smooth enough, smart and clever enough. Most of them were decent enough in bed. They knew the right places to go and the right things to say. They were fine. Hell, some of them were even great.

But none of them were Roy.

Roy who rolled his eyes playfully and told stories that made you laugh and made faces at you when you called him a prick. And gazed at you with the softest brown eyes known to man and offered up small smiles when he listened to you talk. And asked about a million times if you liked the food and made sure that you had enough of the wine that you knew the campus pub would never carry.

Roy Kent was nothing short of the perfect date.

The empty plates lay in front of you for a long time, ignored in favor of chatting about football, university, mates, books, everything and anything either of you could think of. While telling you about being a kid in Sunderland, Roy eventually trailed off, clearly preferring to lean his elbows on the table and smile gently at you in the candlelight. You wondered if you had the same look on your face, a look full of fondness and bliss that carried words that felt far too scary to even entertain.

“Thanks again for visiting me last night,” you murmured, tracing the rim of your wine glass. “I think you should climb through my window more often.”

 He chuckled lightly and reached out for your hand. “Well, if it gets me more dinners like this, I might have to.” He leaned forward, his rapidly moving eyes betraying the calculations he was doing in his mind. “Especially if… you want to continue from last night?”

Every inch of your skin burned in anticipation. “That… sounds like a good idea,” you breathed. You bit your lip gently. “You’ve seen my room. Guess it’s only fair you show me yours, right?”

“Right.”

This wasn’t the first time Roy Kent had taken a woman to his bedroom. Not by a longshot. Just like this wasn’t your first time letting a guy lead you to his room. But something about this felt… different. There was something in the air, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, as you held Roy’s hand and walked through his posh apartment. Something thick and heavy that you could feel in the tips of your fingers and the pit of your stomach.

But you didn’t dwell on whatever that something was. Not when Roy Kent was lying in bed on top of you, his mouth on yours, demanding your full attention. Your hands pulled and tugged at his shirt, already desperate to get him out of his clothes. He seemed to be thinking the same thing, because his own rough hands were shifting the skirt of your dress upwards. In a tumble of soft moans and even softer giggles, the two of you managed to remove each other’s clothing until you were both down to your undergarments. With only his boxers and your favorite pair of panties between you, Roy’s hardness rubbed against your heat sinfully, providing you with more of the friction he’d begun to give you the night before in your bedroom.

“Fuck,” you groaned as he bit and licked at your neck, not caring if he left little marks on your skin. He rocked against you lazily, a preview of the pleasure you knew you were in for. When his tip brushed against your clothed clit, you let out a sharp gasp. “Fuck, Roy.”

He stilled for a moment, smirk against your skin. His chuckle hit your ears like music.

Shit, had you done something wrong? “Everything alright?” you breathed.

Roy lifted his head, smile wide on his face. “I’ve just realized… I haven't heard you say my name since the day we met.”

Confusion flooded your face as you tilted your head at him. “What the fuck are you on about?” You couldn’t help but return his grin with a quizzical smile of your own. “I say your name all the time.”

“Nope.” He shook his head emphatically, his scruff tickling your bare skin. “You always call me Kent. You never call me Roy.”

The two of you blinked at each other, both trying to remember an instance, any instance, where you’d used his first name. Hell, now that you thought about it, you didn’t think he ever said your name either; it was always ‘princess’. It was nothing short of ridiculous, now that you thought about it properly. You were in bed with the man, practically naked, and you’d never even spoken his given name before or heard him use yours. As if you both came to the realization at the same time, you burst into fits of laughter, pressing your foreheads together the way you had in your bedroom the night before.

Once your giggles died down, Roy stole a kiss, a long, affectionate one. “I like how you say my name,” he mumbled against your lips. As he spoke, his hand snaked between your bodies, travelling down your figure until he reached your panties. With a smirk, he began sliding them down your thighs. “Bet I can make you say it again.”

For once, you didn’t tease or playfully argue. Because for once, you had to admit that Roy Kent was completely and utterly correct.

~

Once you’d caught your breath, you glanced up at Roy, whose chest you were resting on. He looked so blissful and gorgeous like this, with his bare chest and flushed face and dreamy eyes. Some part of you- alright, all of you- wished you could just stay like this all night, curled up against him.

But you didn’t think that was an option.

“I should get going,” you murmured, starting to sit up. “You've got training tomorrow and all.”

Roy’s firm grip around your middle pulled you back down to him. “You can stay,” he urged. He narrowed his eyes at you teasingly. “Unless now that you’ve gotten me in bed, you’re done with me,” he joked, as if he knew you were fighting not to suspect the same thing of him. “Because I don’t know about you-” His arms pulled you close. “-but I would like to repeat that a few times, princess.” He planted a kiss to the top of your head. “The whole date, I mean,” he clarified. “Good food, good conversation, good sex…” He raised his eyebrows at you. “Not a bad deal.”

Although his voice was light and full of teasing, you didn’t miss his meaning: Roy wanted to keep seeing you. While you weren’t totally sure what that would entail- going public, being exclusive or not, putting labels on things, telling your dad- you knew you were in. You would be in for anything this man suggested so long as it involved the two of you spending time together, in and out of the bedroom, sharing smiles and kisses and jokes and your bodies. Whether or not it was smart, you knew you were seriously falling for him. And the realization was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

“Yeah, Roy,” you hummed, kissing his bare chest as he held you tight. “It’s a pretty good fucking deal.”

~

It was nearly four in the morning when you tiptoed back into your house, thanks to the alarm Roy had been thoughtful enough to set for you. It had been a challenge to remove yourself from his arms and his warm bed, and an even bigger challenge removing yourself from his lips when he insisted on walking you to your car. It was almost silly; you’d be seeing him in a few hours, but he kissed you like he was a soldier saying a final goodbye before shipping off into the unknown. Then again, it wasn’t like you could act like this during training, not under the gazes of an entire football squad and coaching staff and one very protective father.

Later that morning, that protective father walked down the hall beside you with a pensive look on his face, as if he wanted to say something, but never opening his mouth. He’d done it the night before, when he watched you walk out in your little dress and giant heels. And he’d done it this morning, before finally asking what time you’d come in and if you’d had a good time with the girls.

Roy wasn’t in the changing room when you began organizing your father’s desk for the day. He’d mentioned something to you about going in extra early, since he was already awake, so you assumed he must be in the weight room already. Perhaps it was better; no chance of your dad seeing you exchange goofy smiles this early in the morning.

Your dad was reading over a report when you saw him perk up at a conversation going on in the changing room.

“-Kent totally got some last night,” a young striker was saying.

“He say with who?” the defender he was speaking with asked, his voice dripping with gossipy curiosity.

A soft chuckle wafted into the office. “Nah. He didn’t even say anything happened,” came an admission. “But you knew Kent. He’s got that dopey smile and he keeps stretching his back, the way he always does after- ahem- strenuous activity.”

The defender laughed. “If he’s not saying anything,” he mused, “it must either be someone really fucking famous, or it’s something serious. Kent always kisses and tells.”

“Just don’t tell Coach’s girl.” Your dad tensed at the mention of you. Your eyes remained trained on his desk, as if you couldn’t hear a word from the changing room. “She’s been mooning over Kent more than usual lately, poor kid.”

“I think she’s a great gal,” the defender countered. “If Kent wasn’t… Kent, then maybe she’d have a shot.”

The two players continued their coarse chatter as they left the changing room, speculating who the mystery woman could be and recalling some of Roy’s more memorable conquests. Your dad looked over at you, mouth in a straight line and eyebrows raised. You simply blinked at him, refusing to be the first to say something, lest you betray yourself.

“See?” he finally said softly. “Leave. Him. On. The. Pitch.”

“Yes, sir,” you murmured as he turned back to his report. You quickly tugged at the sweater you wore, hoping its high neckline would hide the hickeys Roy had left you with the night before.

Taglist:@gee72sstuff@book-of-roses@kissykissymouth@emmy2811 @hart-kinsella @klaine-92@dearvoidgoodnight@misshall14@issieruby@royal-sunflower@kissmekent @itswhateveripromise@slaymybreathaway@darkmagazineblaze@larascorneroftheworld@infinetlyforgotten@caught-the-feels@rae4725@sisinever@cskidjgsjaoaknayan52782 @dd122004dd @veryprairieberry @spacecluster

#roy kent bright baby blue #Chelsea!Roy #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent imagine #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction

[wordsaresimple-imnot]

Truth or dare - Joe Toye x F!Reader

Summary: Could taking Toye's cigarette from his mouth on a dare be the push Reader and him need to cut the recent tension in their friendship?

Warnings: Cursing, heavy make-up, suggestive ending. 1st person POV (female, no use of y/n).

A/N: I have the biggest respect for the real life heroes of WWII (and all other wars, past & current), this work & all other works is based on the actor(s) and character(s) portrayed in the Band of Brothers series.

A/N pt 2: This is the second fic I've posted today and I'm really hoping it's good. The ending leaves room for a possible smut part 2 if anyone is interesting. Comments, likes, reblogs mean everything to me. Thank you & enjoy!

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

"What's so funny?" I ask as I sit down at the nurses table in the mess hall. I got there just in time to grab the last bits of lunch options before my shift starts.

"We are playing 'truth or dare' and Emily just had to answer who she'd rather kiss: Tab or Luz." Betty told me between giggles.

"Well? Who'd you pick?" I shoot Emily a smirk, already knowing her answer as we've been the only ones in our group that came from Toccoa and therefore the closest.

"Tab." Her face gets redder, as if that was possible, then she gets a mischievous look in her eye. "Your turn. Truth or dare?"

"Dare." I know she knows too much dirt on me to let her ask a question. But judging by the smile spreading on her face, I'm not sure I chose correctly.

"Go get that cigarette Toye is smoking." Her smile widens as the girls within earshot say 'oh' and some whistle.

Joe Toye is not someone that most of the nurses like dealing with. Not that he's rude or inappropriate, he just intimidates them. Not as bad as Spiers, but they put him right up there. From an outsiders point of view I can understand, he's not overly friendly like most of the guys in Easy you have to work a little to weasel past the hard exterior.

For myself, all I had to do was shoot Tab down for the billionth time back in Georgia as I was wrapping up his ankle that he twisted on yet another Currahee run. Don't get me wrong, I like Tab but not in that way and the quicker I could make him understand that the sooner we could just enjoy being friends.

Right when I was finishing up with his wrap, he started to say another pick-up line and being at my wits end I snapped a little. Grabbing his ankle I put enough pressure on it that made him stop talking and sit up straighter.

"Tab, if you come onto me one more time I will break your ankle. Do you understand me?" I kept my voice low and hard, maintaining direct eye contact so he knew I wasn't playing. With a small gulp, he nodded his head and I put on my most charming smile. "Wonderful, now take it easy with that ankle. If Sobel gives you a hard time about it, let me know and I'll put in a word with my supervisor to find a reason to annoy him."

With a final nod, I got him off the bed and started to help him to the door when a hand pushed me to the side and took my spot next to Tab. My protest died on my lips as I came face to face with Toye.

"I can take him from here, ma'am, thanks." He threw Tab's arm over his shoulder and started moving to the door. Two steps later he looked over his shoulder back at me with a small smirk on his face and said, "Remind me to not piss you off when you're fixing me up." Without waiting for a reply, he turned back around and kept himself and Tab moving.

From that day forward a friendship of sorts grew and since landing in Europe and dealing with the horrors of the war in our faces everyday, we'd grown even closer. The past few weeks things are taken a turn to being more flirty with beginning stages of intimacy. Jokes whispered in each others ears just so we can be closer than normal, fingers touching when handing each other items, lingering hugs, forehead and cheek kisses. It was all adding up and creating a tension neither of us seemed ready yet to break but didn't want to dispel either.

Emily's foot nudging mine under the table breaks me from my memories and makes me send her a glare. She's fully aware of the gray area Toye and I are in at the moment and seems to be all too happy to add fuel to that fire. I give a loud sigh and look around till I find him sitting a few rows to our left, sitting with Guarnere and Buck. Inwardly I groan, those two are never going to let me live this down.

With a final glare in her direction, I stand up and make my way over towards the guys. I can feel all of the girls eyes on my back which does nothing in helping me stay calm.

All three of them see me at the same time and smile in greeting.

"Hey doll, how's it going?" Buck asks as I sit across from him, next to Toye.

"About to go on shift, thought I'd say a quick hi and get a smoke." I shrug, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Here ya go." Bill tosses his pack my way from next to Buck.

"Thanks, but uh, I think I'll take this one." Before I can over think it, I pluck the cigarette resting between Toye's lips and take a long drag. I blow the smoke right in his face, hoping it'll hide how red my face is and stand up quickly. "Always a pleasure."

I practically jog to the nurses table, ignoring the laughs and 'good jobs' as I grab Emily by the arm and force her to leave the mess hall with me. I don't let go of her until we are nearly at the medic station. With a final puff I toss my stolen cigarette into the road and turn to face my friend that hasn't stopped beaming at me since I grabbed her.

"What?!" I sound almost frantic.

"Oh calm down, it's not the end of the world. It was just a cigarette."

"How do I even begin to explain what that was?" I put my hands on my hips.

Emily shrugs and flicks some invisible dust off her shoulder, "Just tell him that it was dare. But honestly, I don't think he really cares why you did it. The way he was looking at you as we left was more than mild interest. You're welcome." She pats my cheek and goes into the medic station, leaving me with no choice but to groan and follow her.

It doesn't take long for me to push the earlier experience from my mind and become overwhelmed with current and new patients in need of varying medical attention. Most are stable and just need an easy wrapping or cleaning up. There's a few that have been with us for a little while that still need monitoring but they're in relatively good spirits so it helps make the shift not too depression.

It's fully dark outside when I finally am able to step away and take a breather. With a signal to Emily letting her know I'll be around back, I slip out quietly and lean against the backwall of the building. I can't be alone more than a few minutes when I hear footsteps heading my way. I just want to be alone. But my annoyance goes away when I see who it is.

Neither of us speaks as he stops right in front of me and tucks a lose piece of hair behind my ear.

"You okay?" His words are soft and light, barely above a whisper as if he's afraid anything louder would break the small bit of peace we've managed to get in this hidden area. All I do is nod, not wanting to elaborate on the different faces and wounds I've been dealing with the past hours. His response is to pull me in his arms and spin us around so that his back is against the wall and I'm leaning against him.

We stay like that for a bit, listening to the noises on the street and each other breathing. It's nearly enough to make me fall asleep when I feel his chest rumble and the question I've been dreading is asked.

"So what was that at lunch?" I groan into his chest before pushing back far enough to look at his face. Fuck Joe Toye for being beautiful and sexy at the same time when he allows himself to give a full smile, not just a smirk.

"The girls were playing truth or dare and that was my dare. Sorry." I shoot him a small smile and pray he just drops it. He gives a small hum as he takes in my words.

"Well then, truth or dare?" He leans more against the wall, waiting for my answer. I gape at him.

"You can't be serious." The intimidating Joe Toye is trying to play 'truth or dare' with me? What the fuck.

"I'm always seriously," Joe winks, "so, truth or dare?" The glint in his eyes tells me there is no safe choice.

"Dare." I'd rather do something stupid than be asked something I'd rather not answer right now.

The silence stretches between us almost to an unbearable point, making me start to fidget in his arms.

"Close your eyes." His words make me freeze and my face scrunches up in confusion.

"That's my dare?" I'm trying to figure out what the catch is, but I can't find one.

"Close. Your. Eyes." His voice leaves no room for argument and since it's not anything crazy all I can do is comply.

With my eyes closed I try to use my others senses to figure out what his next step is. At first all he does is stand up straighter, move one hand up my back and gently cups my cheek. Joe pulls me a little closer to him and then I can feel his breathe on my lips.

"I'm going to do something now and I only want you to respond if it's something you really want. If you don't, just push me away." I barely finish processing his words when his lips brush against mine softly, teasingly.

When I don't make a move to push him away, he gently pecks my lips still in a teasing manner. The next time his lips touch mine I grab onto his jacket to hold him there and kiss him back. At the feel of his tongue tracing my lips I open my mouth and let him have complete control.

We lose track of time staying wrapped up in each others arms, making out like teenagers. We break apart at the same time when we finally need air. I'm not sure what comes over me but I kiss along his cheek, making my way to his neck and begin nipping at his exposed flesh. The hand that had been on my check moves to my the back of my head, fisting my hair but not moving me away. His breathing is becoming more ragged and when a groan escapes his lips from a particular bite I leave I feel like I've died and gone to heaven. As my tongue works to sooth the sting, the hand that was on my back drops down and grabs my ass, pushing my hips against his, letting me feel his erection.

"Joe." His name comes out as a whimper mixed with a moan and that makes him grind against me again.

Just as we are about to kiss again, someone clears their throat and we freeze.

"Very sorry to interrupt, and believe me I am sorry, but I need help checking wounds and restocking the stations." Emily's voice is both amused and apologetic.

"Yeah, I'll be right there, Em." My voice comes out much too ragged but it's not like she doesn't know the reason at this point. I wait till her footsteps grow faint, before beginning to pull away from Joe. He's slow to let me go and only manages to move his hands back to my waist.

"I should be off in a few more hours...can I come find you after?"

"No need, I'll be waiting outside for you. I believe we have some things to finish." He pulls me flush against him, making his point perfectly clear. Before I can think of a cheeky response, he gives me a final, firm kiss and spins me around towards to way back inside the building.

I walk a few steps, then turn around and shoot him an innocent smile, "No touching before you find me, Toye. I have a few ideas on how to spice up 'truth or dare'." I laugh lightly to myself when all I can hear as I round the corner to the building entrance is Joe cursing.

#joe toye #joe toye x reader #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #hbo war #hbo band of brothers #band of brothers x reader

[hella1975]

just full force threw a shoe at my sister's face and when my mum got me alone after she was like 'you shouldn't clobber her. but i get it' 😭

#it kicked off today but in my defence she's actually proper in the wrong this time even my DAD called her a bitch and my mum is FUMING #baso my sister came into my work with her mate when i was closing the other day and all the staff GLARED at them bc of aforementioned #close so i was being v chill so everyone 1) knew it was my sister and not some customer coming in late and 2) her friend wouldnt be uncomfy #like that's the real kicker her i was being extra laid back FOR her friend so he'd feel more at ease. and one thing about me is yes ive #said countless times i have a rural accent but my mum also raised me to know when and how to speak nice if need be bc people are cunts here #so when im waitressing i speak nicely bc it's a stuck up restaurant w stuck up customers but when im with my sister? making a point of #being laid back? my normal accent came through. and her mate when i was gone said i sounded 'really [from the county we live in]' #which WOULD NOT BE A COMPLIMENT. it's baso saying 'your sister sounds local and chavy' without using such explosive words #and my sister LET HIM SAY IT. SHE DIDNT DEFEND ME. and she told my mum about it later bc SHE THOUGHT SHE'D TELL ME OFF #LIKE SHE DID IT TO SNITCH. THERE WAS NO SCENARIO WHERE MY SISTER WASNT BEING A CUNT. and my mum hit the ROOF #one thing she's rlly been big on is loyalty bc it's always been the 3 of us so when she found out my sister let him say that she FLIPPED #and this all happened last night and i only found out this morning bc i overheard them screaming at each other and turns out my mum #tried to keep it from me bc she didnt want my feelings hurt and IM pissed bc it actually did hurt more than i thought it would #like i KNOW what people say about my accent but it's a guy i know? my sister's been friends w him for years? i was being nice? #it's EMBARRASSING like i was clueless & friendly and turned around for him to be like 'look at this stupid local girl' like?? #and my sister did NOTHING? it just sucks so i STORMED upstairs when i found out and had it out with my sister #and she knew she was fucked so she did all 'im not talking to you i have nothing to say' AND PUT HER EARPHONES IN? #the way i RIPPED them out. got in her face like okay girl u think i sound like a chav ill act like a chav lets GO #and it just got really aggressive and i wound up grabbing HER OWN SANDAL and full force hurling it at her face 😭 oops #from close range too like i was already in her face so i basically just smacked her with a sandal DSHGJKSH #now we're sat in silence bc alas we still share a room. WHAT the fuck. insane tbh but it's a bit funny. im so angry rn i could KILL #hella goes home

[adastra121]

“The Other Side” (Touchstarved OC Rewrite)

So I made a parody of "The Other Side" from The Greatest Showman with my Touchstarved Hound OC, Alon. Here, she's trying to partner up with Mhin to — as thieves are wont to do — pull off a Senobium caper, but it takes a bit of back and forth with someone who's so used to being on their own.

Alon: Right here, right now, I put the offer out. I don't wanna chase you down but I know you see it. We form a team and we will find the key To all the answers we both know we’re seekin'. So trade that tragical for somethin' magical (Mhin: Tragical’s not a word.) And if it's crazy, live a little crazy! You can try the same old schtick and hope that something finally clicks. Or change the game and schtick with me…

Alon: Don't you wanna get away From this Lowtown part you gotta play? Then I got what you need, so come with me, we’ll pull a heist! It’ll take you to the other side! 'Cause you can do like you do or you can run with me. Stay in the dark or you finally take a leap. Oh, damn! Suddenly you're free to fly! We’ll get us to the other side!

Mhin: Okay, my friend, you want to count me in. Well, I hate to tell you but it just won't happen. So thanks, but no. I think I'm good to go. ‘Cause I quite like the dark you say I'm trapped in. I’ll say it’s bold of you, this crazy plot you brewed. That nerve is something, really, it's something. But I work best alone, and your plan sounds like a joke at most — We can’t afford to play the fools.

Mhin: Don't you know that I'm okay With this Lowtown part I have to play? 'Cause I take what I need and I don't need a ride-or-die. I will take myself to the other side. So go and do as you do. Run off and leave me be. No need for change, you can go on and keep your key. Oh, damn, can't you see I'm doing fine? I don’t need your help to save my life.

Alon: Now is this really how you plan to get past those gates? ‘Nother vine, ‘nother try to carry all of the weight? Mhin: If I join up with you, Someone is bound to get hurt. We could die, be confined, try choosing which one is worse!

Alon: Or we could finally win a little, finally breathe a little. We could take back our freedom to dream And it’ll clear a path to cure our achin'. Take our curses, start 'em breakin'. Now that's a change that seems worth embracin’! But I guess I'll leave that up to you…?

Mhin: …Fine, you’ve intrigued me, but my services are costly. So how much actual coin would you be offering? Alon: Fair enough, you want insurance for the action. Seven gold, come on, let’s shake and make it happen! Mhin: I wasn't born this morning, eighteen would be just fine. Alon: Ack! Why not just ditch the heist and try to bribe your way inside? Mhin: Fifteen. Alon: I'd do eight! Mhin: Twelve. Alon: Maybe nine. Mhin: Ten.

Both: Don't you wanna get away To a whole new part you're gonna play? Then I got what you need, so come with me, we’ll take the ride To the other side! So you can do like you do or you can run with me. Forget the gates 'cause we’re going to take the leap! Oh, damn, suddenly we're free to fly. We're going to the other side!

Mhin: So if you do like I do (Alon: To the other side) So if you do like me (Alon: We're goin' to the other side) Both: 'Cause if we do, we're going to the other side. We're going to the other side!

#touchstarved #touchstarved game #touchstarved vn #touchstarved mhin #touchstarved oc #alon the hound #mhin x alon #alon x mhin #the greatest showman #songwriting is not my strength XD #but I tried to change the lyrics to fit them #alon uses 'we' a lot right away because she wants to team up with mhin #they want mhin to know that they're on the same side and that partnering up can help them both achieve what they're looking for #and I guess alon also already sees them as two peas in a pod #both of them being newcomers to Eridia #both of them haunted by some sort of affliction that has pushed them toward the senobium as their last hope #and both of them being — deep down — very lonely #mhin on the other hand doesn’t use ‘we’ very often because they’re trying to keep distant #unlike alon they don't see the two of them as a unit and they are trying to avoid that at all costs #so each ‘we’ is a reveal of sorts that they HAVE considered what would happen if they teamed up with alon #or worse — befriended them #and as mhin believes nothing good comes from letting people in #they also use the word 'run' differently #alon being the friendly and outgoing charmer she is uses it in a way that's almost like extending a hand to a new friend #“run with me buddy! we're gonna have tons of fun together I can already tell!” #and mhin uses the word in the traditional sense — again to distance themselves #“run away. don't come any closer to me.” #I kept the “take a leap” and “free to fly” parts because mhin's shadow form resembles a bird #I wanted the image of them flying over their walls and obstacles together

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

It's 4am and I can't sleep and I have a crush on a woman who lives halfway across the country from me, this is all of the worst things that could've possibly happened

#i was super sleepy so i went to bed at 10:30pm but my normal sleep time is 4am #so my body just thought it was a nap and woke me up at midnight abd wouldnt let me sleep again #so now its late and i cant call back asleep because i had a nap earlier #and for some reason its really making me feel like. lonely. oh lonely is the word #this time every year i get super lonely and full of crushes #usually earlier winter tho. like December. and i dont think this is the yearly crush #i think i legit like her. but she lives in one part of the country. and i live eighteen hours away #thats one obstacle. the other thing is: #i met her at a week long camp thing. we talked in the last like. three days. and havent seen each other in person since #weve texted a bunch. especially lately. but weve never called. or seen each other since last May #we also just recently learned each other's last names and where we live #so idk. idk whats up with me but i really like her. BUT theres hope #because (if she gets hired) shes going to work at the same camp as me this summer!! two whole months working together #and i didnt ask her to apply. she decidd she didjt want to go back to her old camp and then applied to mine #she wants to spend two whole months with me. on her end tho im sure its just friendly. which is valid. idk if shes even single #its all these damn romance stories I'm reading. theyre fucking me up #idk man i really just. like her a lot. and its 4am and i wish we could be cuddling. or even just texting #she has a terrible sleep schedule and might be awake rn but i dont want to wake her up if she isnt #anyway. goodnight

[envy-of-the-apple]

The Sun Eats the Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 9.1k

Part two: Earth Kills the Moon

Synopsis: Your boss takes on Gojo Satoru as his newest client. Much to your relief, he doesn't seem to recognize you.

(Warnings: noncon, dubcon, rough sex, oral sex, bullying, harassment, one mention of choking, penetrative sex, afab!reader, coercion, forced relationships, implied baby trapping attempt, hint of pregnancy kink)

You wanted to quit the second you read the name. 

You should have. It would have been so easy to hand in your two weeks, tell your boss that you just couldn't. Or maybe you could have convinced one of the other paralegals to take your place. 

It's pathetic. Almost a decade had passed and you still felt yourself slink into the girl you once were, rolling under his thumb, utterly helpless. You should be better than that. You worked so hard to reach where you are now. 

You were different now, you told yourself over and over again. You were older, smarter. Besides, it'd been a decade, would he even remember you?

It's Higuruma who notices your restless fingers. You shouldn't have underestimated him, despite how exhausted he looks, nothing goes past your boss. He asks about it when you two are seated in a beige room, waiting for the client. 

"Is everything alright?" 

You're still staring out the window. How high were you? 16 stories, maybe even higher. Resentment, you can feel it rise up your throat, build throughout your body. Of course, he has fancy cars, pretty buildings, and limitless money. Men like him will never know what it's like to have nothing. All men were born equal. What a fucking joke. 

Higuruma shifts, and you jolt out of your thoughts. "Yes," you console, "apologies, I'm just tired." 

The lawyer hums, and you're not sure if he believes you or not. Before he can say anything, the frosted doors open. The rest of the legal team comes in, sitting at the long table you and Higuruma inhabited. 

He comes in last. He'd always had a liking for theatrics. 

Not much had changed within a decade. He was taller, bigger. He'd switched out of his high school uniform, opting for something more business-friendly. He still made heads turn. Became the center of attention. 

It's his smile that throws you. Sincere, real. Lingering on his face like extravagant jewelry. Hard not to notice. 

You react better than you anticipated. You don't shake or tremble or cry when he passes you. You just squeeze your fists, bunching your skirt in your palm. It helps. 

He sits down, right at the end, so everyone can see him. One foot elegantly crossed over the other. When he tilts his head, his soft white hair threatens to shift over brilliant blue eyes. 

"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to explain why we're all here." A few chuckles resonate from the small group. "Let's just do our best and hope nothing gets too out of hand."

His eyes slide over to meet yours, and you steel yourself for his eyes to widen. For something wicked and cruel and nasty to sink into his face. 

Nothing. 

Gojo Satoru maintains that same smile. The blaring sun. Painfully innocent. His gaze lasts barely a second before moving to the next face, and the next, and the next. 

"I look forward to working with all of you."                                     

𖤓

If you could describe Gojo Satoru in one word, it would be: celestial. 

He's like a shining star. Brighter than the sun. Everywhere he went, he was bound to attract attention. Much like how the Earth is drawn towards the sun, people are drawn towards Gojo Satoru. It's the natural order. 

But, if an insignificant planet resists the Sun's gravitational force, it'll get crushed. You learned this the hard way. 

Gojo had always been in your class for years. The third year was no different. Despite the commonality, you two never talked to each other. You had no reason to. Until the vending machine gave you two cartons, and you suddenly remembered from an overheard conversation that Gojo liked chocolate milk too. 

"Want it?" You hold it out to him during lunch break. He was in the middle of a boisterous conversation with his friend. They did intimidate you, but you had no reason to be scared. It's not like they were bullies.

Gojo's sunglasses dip down. He eyes what you're holding in your hand, before his gaze drifts back up to you. 

"The machine gave me extra," you supply, "do you want it?" 

"Oh, sure," he says after a moment. Your hands brush. "Thanks." 

You nod, and then you walk back to the cafeteria. It was meaningless. A favor between acquaintances. He was helping you more than you helped him. You didn't want to carry chocolate milk around in your backpack. You forgot about the interaction within a few hours. 

𖤓

The meeting ends hours later. When you stumble home, it's barely evening but you can still feel the stress creeping through your legs and arms. 

You go straight to your laptop. Fumbling through the keyboard, desperate, searching. 

He's famous. Of course, he is. In his mid-twenties, but already a multi-millionaire. The head of an extremely elite family. Your eyes scan picture after picture after picture. Photos of him drinking with models in skimpy bikinis. Fancy cars. Huge houses. Private jets. Gojo Satoru: the man behind Gojo Co., Gojo Satoru and supermodel Menza hinted at relationship, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru. 

You pull away when it starts to burn, when the rage and sorrow become too much. He has everything. Everything he could want. He made you go through hell for months, and yet he never got punished for it. The universe rewards him with lavishness you'd never be able to touch. 

It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. 

Through your blinds, the sun happily shines. 

𖤓

You don't notice it until it becomes painfully unbearing.

Gojo calls you by your name now (until that day you bet he didn't even know you existed). He's like a ghost, constantly appearing out of nowhere to sling an arm around your shoulder, eager to chase off any of your friends to talk to you about things that don't matter.

He constantly offers to walk you home (and then Gojo ignores your refusals and does it anyway). It stays like that for a few days, never bordering beyond friendliness. You think he's harmless. Maybe he just hasn't had someone genuinely do a nice favor for him. Besides, you're flattered by the attention. Even you can be swayed by the pull of Gojo Satoru. It feels nice to be wanted. 

You reason it'll just be for another week. A week later, you two will be nothing but acquaintances, sometimes exchanging quick smiles during class. 

It doesn't truly dawn on you as to what he's doing until he comes out and says it. 

"What?" Because you must have misheard him. 

"We should," he says, not even bothering to repeat himself, "I mean, we're practically dating already. Let's just make it official." 

You stare at him. As always, he's utterly beautiful. The light of the setting sun makes his skin glow gold. Whenever he's walking you home is one of the rare times he removes those sunglasses. His eyes are like jewels, pretty things that you wish were yours. 

You laugh. It's high and panicky because you still think he's joking. He doesn't laugh with you. You stop. 

"Oh-oh, I'm sorry Gojo-I wasn't-I didn't think. I'm just not...interested in dating anyone right now. It's not you! I think-I think you're great, but it's just the wrong time, and school is getting so much busier and-" you keep rambling, coming up with excuse after excuse because you're convinced Gojo would cut you off with an awkward laugh, tell you it's fine. 

He doesn't do either, letting your flounderings get more and more pathetic. His smile had dropped. You can't read his expression anymore. 

Eventually, you grow quiet, standing with him in that silence. When that gets too much, you timidly tell him to have a goodnight and walk home. He doesn't follow, staying rooted to the sidewalk where you left him. You're not running away, you tell yourself over and over again. And yet, you can't help but feel relief as soon as you can't feel his eyes. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

𖤓

It was something minuscule. 

Barely considered legal work. The case would most likely be finished in a couple of weeks. The defendant had nothing on Gojo Satoru, at least from what you and the other paralegals could see. You highly doubted it would even go to court. Higuruma always had a knack for bringing anyone to the table. Gojo would be let off from whatever he did without a hitch. No punishment. Just like always. 

"Word of advice, don't think about what happens in the private sector," Higuruma says, over whiskey. 

The firm was celebrating another victory at a fancy bar. You were still stewing over the face of that young woman's face when the judge ruled in your client's favor. She looked heartbroken. You can still remember the sleazy smile your client had given her. 

"It's a job," he says, "do it. Boost your resume, and get out." 

He takes another dainty sip of his glass. Tonight, the circles underneath his eyes seem even darker. "You're a young kid. Do something else with your life." 

When he offers to buy you a round, you accept. You think about that night sometimes, and you wonder if Higuruma wished someone else would have given him that advice when he was younger. 

Do the job, and get out. Easier said than done. Especially when the job involved Gojo Satoru. 

Associating with him was dangerous, you knew that firsthand, especially when he was interested in something you had. You'd left, but that wouldn't save you. The space of decades would not help. 

Burn Gojo once, he won't forgive you. Burn Gojo twice? You don't think there's anyone alive who did that. 

Over the coming days, you expect something from him. It's a nagging feeling in your stomach. The delayed response to a gunshot. Dread. You expect him to snap. Push. Break. 

He never does. Gojo remains pliant, the same to you as he remains to your boss. There's no additional touching, no disgusting nicknames, no scathing looks. Nothing. 

You don't get the confirmation until a week later, when Gojo stops you near the elevator. 

"Higuruma's...assistant, right? Sorry, never got your name," he says, and you steel yourself because the two of you are alone and here it comes but if you yell loudly enough maybe-

"He asked for some paperwork, and I finally found it for him." Gojo hands you a stack of sheets with a cheery smile. "You won't mind giving that to him, will ya? Thanks!" 

Just as quickly as he arrives, he leaves, shoes clicking down the hall as he goes. You can only stare at his rescinding back, the palpable feeling of relief nearly making your knees buckle. 

The best news you could have possibly received. Gojo Satoru had completely forgotten about you. 

When you got home later that evening, the rain was heavy, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. 

𖤓

You don't have proof it was him. 

It's unjust to accuse people of things they didn't do. You lack any evidence. It could have easily started by itself. You'd always been meek and timid. People were bound to take advantage of that. 

But the timing was just too perfect for it to not be caused by him. 

In the weeks following the incident with Gojo, school went from tolerant to hell. It started small, at first. Tiny. Unoticable. Insignificant. Some people (Gojo's lackeys, you'd later realize), would nudge you as they passed you by the halls. They apologized, mid-laugh, and in the beginning, you truly thought they were sincere. Then, the nudges turned into pushes, then shoves. That's when you knew you had a target on your back. 

At first, you found it kind of hard to believe. Bullying? It sounded so childish. Something reserved for petty middle schoolers. You were in your final year of high school. You were already an adult. You laughed it off, for a bit. Mostly because it was so ridiculous. Only when it starts becoming more severe, more apparent that you were his target, do you start taking things more seriously.

There was no proof, but everyone knew it was Gojo. And being on Gojo's bad side wasn't something people were willing to risk. One by one, your friends started to disappear, reducing their involvement by sending strained smiles during passing period. The more stubborn ones who were more adamant about staying by your side were chased away too. They'd skip school for a few days, before coming back and completely ignoring you.

Teachers and staff were no help either. Why would they? Gojo's family held them in the palm of their hand. The most your homeroom teacher would do was avert his eyes whenever something was thrown at you for the third time in class, and quietly remind students to settle down. 

You fell on the ground with an embarrassing thump. A chorus of laughter, and a mocking 'sorry' is all you hear from the crowd. Other students step over your scattered papers, giving you looks of sympathy but never bothering to help. You'd call them cowards, but you know you'd do the same.

Instead, you focus on collecting your papers. You avoid the lump in your throat. The tears that threaten to break over your waterline. It's humiliating, being stuck on the floor like this. It's only Wednesday, but you already feel like breaking.

Hands, scarred, move past you, collecting the rest of the sheets. His face is carefully blank as Geto Suguru neatly tucks his share all in one piece before handing it to you. You give your thanks. He ignores it. 

“Are you hurt?” Geto asks, his voice barely loud enough to hear.

You think you scrapped your knee during the fall, but other than your pride, you're fine. You shake your head. Geto sighs. It's not out of relief.

“That's good,” he says anyway.

You found it ironic that Gojo's best friend is the only one who bothers to help you these days. It makes sense, in a way. It's not like he'll send his goons to Geto, instead. In this solar system, Geto Suguru is the only person unaffected by Gojo's solar flares. 

You work in relative silence, collecting the mess that fell out of your bag. Geto hands you the last of the supplies, idly watching as you tuck them away.

“Take my advice,” he says just before he leaves, “give in.”

He stands up. Geto Suguru has always been taller than you, but now the difference feels even worse. When he looks down at you, a flicker of pity lingers in his eyes. It's gone before it can mean anything. 

“It'll only get worse from here if you don't.”

Worse, he had said. God, what could be worse? You were already at rock bottom. All you have left is your dignity. Something you intend on gritting your teeth to keep.

You quickly learned something about Geto Suguru: he knew his best friend. 

Friday. The end of the worst week of your life has finally arrived. The week after is break, and then maybe Gojo will move onto some other hyperfixation, and finally leave you alone.

Classes were out. You were done, free to run home and cry the entire week away. And then, you noticed, your locker was open.

Smashed in, was a better term. Completely, irrevocably, destroyed. It looked like someone had taken a wooden bat to repeatedly smash in the metal until it cracked open like an egg. 

You don't want to look, but you have to. The busted door is barely hanging on its hinges when you push it open. 

It's worse than anything you could think of. 

Your books, textbooks, journals, are all torn apart and written on. All the contents of your bag have been thrown around. Your assignments, your notes, your pens and pencils. But it's your laptop that makes your throat stop. Smashed, broken without any hope of being salvageable. Your everything was in there. Why why why would he do this to you? 

This wasn't bullying. 

This was abuse. 

Fuck pride. Fuck dignity.

You were so tired. 

Despite the hell his lackeys put you through. Gojo Satoru himself never bothered you. In fact, you hadn't seen him all week. He doesn't make himself impossible to find. You know where his group hangs out after school. You're barely holding yourself together when you hear his voice. His pretty laugh. You don't care about how you look, close to breaking, your voice high-pitched and shaky. 

"Why?" 

Your voice catches his attention. He falls into silence, just like the rest of the group. Gojo surveys you for a moment. There's a scoff, a hint of amusement before he waves off the rest of the group. 

"Get lost." 

They comply, dispersing in multiple directions. For the first time, in a long while, you and Gojo are left alone. You and Gojo are left, alone. 

"Well?" he tilts his head, completely bored. 

"What do I have to do?" You ask desperately, "What-what do I have to do to make this all stop? Please I'll-I'll do anything, just-just make it-" 

It's all too much. You can't hold your sobs in, bursting into tears as you fumble through your words. He tuts in mock pity. You flinch when you feel his hand against your cheek, but he doesn't let you shy away. 

"Anything?" He asks when your sobs simmer into hushed whimpers, "Really? Anything?" 

You blink, looking up at him with rough teary eyes. He's grinning, wide and manic. Your heart drops when he lowers himself to whisper in your ear. 

"Anything, right?" 

You nod once. He sighs in pure delight. His breath tickles your cheek. 

"Get on your knees." 

You jerk back, but Gojo doesn't let you go far, a hand on your shoulder, keeping you rooted on the spot. At your look of pure panic, he only laughs a little. 

"I-I-Gojo you-" 

"And call me Satoru now. Since we're gonna get to know each other a lot better," he interrupts with a chiding grin, ignoring your wide eyes. "What? I thought you said anything, right?" 

He's asking, but it's clear you don't get a choice anymore. His grip on your shoulder is tight, close to crushing skin and bone. You're trapped. No, you were trapped the moment you talked to Gojo Satoru. 

To think this all started because of two cartons of chocolate milk. 

You relent when his grip gets too painful, sinking down to your knees. The grass is cool, and you know it will leave damp spots on your skirt, letting everyone know what you did for him. 

"Good girl," he coos, and you shudder at his hand petting your hair. Like you're some precious pet. To him, maybe you are. How could anyone think of treating a human like this? You should be grateful he does it for you, instead of demanding you to pull him out. Still, the jiggle of his belt makes you wince. You turn away, not being able to bring yourself to look. Only when the tip of his cock reaches your peripheral, do you look back. It's big. You should have expected it, considering his height. It's already leaking, a bead of precum that makes you shudder. He moves forward and you instinctively grip his thigh. 

"Gojo I-" 

"Nuh-uh. Satoru," he ununciates, "Satoru. You gotta' start listening to me baby, or else we're gonna have problems." 

You look down at the grass. Green, soft. 

"Satoru." 

His eyes flash in satisfaction. 

"Open up, pretty girl." 

The last of your fight disappears, sinks into the soft grass. You swallow, once, before you take him. It's a slow, torturous process. He's too big, your jaw is already starting to ache. Satoru barely notices your discomfort, sighing in contentment when you start to gag on his cock, reaching down to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 

You make a muffled gurgle and he tilts his head down. His sunglasses fall forward, two pretty eyes stare at you. 

"What? Don't act like this is your first time-" he stops himself, mid-thought. 

"Wait...this can't be your first time, right?" 

If you weren't humiliated enough. You can't even lie, averting your eyes to avoid any further shame. 

"Poor baby," Satoru says, all too delighted, "lemme' walk you through it. Gotta' suck on it, just like a lollipop-that's it-use your tongue," he encourages, still gripping his cock in his hand, like he was feeding it to you. 

You can feel your mouth open wider. Tears stream down your face, not just from your pride, but also from pain. Satoru lets you take him in like this for a few more moments, just enjoying your warm mouth. 

"There we go," he breathes, "take-fuck-take all of me." 

But Satoru isn't known for his patience. You've barely taken all of him in yet before he grabs your hair to fuck your throat properly. You choke, sputtering all over his cock. He barely pays you any mind, his head thrown back as he rams himself down your mouth without a care in the world. 

"Y'know, our first time together could-could have been nicer," he says through gritted teeth, the heat was starting to get to him, "but you just had to go and mess it up, huh?" 

If you were stronger. If you were braver. You would have rejected it. Screamed. Fought. At the very least, you would have denied his delusions. But you weren't strong. You weren't brave. You were weak. Stupid. This was all your fault. Had you just given in the moment he asked, this wouldn't be happening to you. Or maybe, he'd be a bit nicer about it. 

He hisses, gripping the back of your head before something warm and disgusting fills your mouth. Above you, Satoru lets out a shameless groan, a mix of your name as well as a curse. He releases you then, finally letting you sink to the floor. You fall forward, resting on your hands and knees, panting, trying to regain your breath, some semblance of sanity. You can still taste him. It's salty, a sickly tang. You spit as much as you can on the grass. It doesn't help. 

He kneels, getting down to your level. With the way he's silently watching you, you know he's waiting for the right answer this time. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

So, you drop your gaze down. You take in a deep long stilted breath. 

"Yes, Satoru," you say, voice quiet, pliant, "I'll go out with you." 

His demeanor drops in just a second. He smiles, painfully innocent, like you hadn't spent the last few moments choking on his cock. He cups your face with both hands and you wonder how he could look at you like that, gently, as though you weren't covered in tears and his cum. 

(You still feel it drip down your mouth. Tonight, when he finally lets you go home you'll cry for hours in the shower, hoping the water will wash away all the shame you feel. It won't.)

"Finally!" He exclaims, laughing, light, happy, elated, "I'm so glad you finally came around. I was starting to think I was ugly or something." 

 You stay like that for a while. Underneath him. You let his hands run up and down your body, like he's feeling the space that makes up you. Soon, you'd realize Gojo Satoru liked to touch things that were beneath him. A thought muddles it's way through your numb brain. You bring yourself to look at him. 

"Satoru?" you ask. He sighs in satisfaction, stroking your hair. 

"My laptop...it's broken." 

You didn't know what else to say. It sounded accusatory, even to your ears. Righteous. You wondered if he heard it too, if he'd do something about it. 

Satoru only scoffs.

“that old thing?” You flinch. It was a gift from your aunt, you highly doubted he cared enough about the sentimental. He hugs you closer, almost like a snake, constricting you within its scales before it devours you. 

(You think the worst part is that he didn't even deny it.)

“I'll just get you a new one, baby.”

He walks you home later that evening. When he demands a kiss, you comply, numbly pressing your aching lips to his. 

The sunset is pretty today. 

𖤓

It's not a particularly hard case, but Gojo has a knack for keeping those who work for him busy. Higuruma had asked you to stay behind, once again. The two of you were stuck alone in the office building, a room that Gojo had graciously supplied. 

You were milling through a stack of papers when someone new walked in. You didn't recognize her. She was tall, pretty, sparkling jewelry littered her neck and wrists. Your eyes drifted up and down her outfit, something that definitely wasn't business-appropriate. A part of you wants to ask where she got that lipgloss from. 

"Oh," she tilts her head, surveying the two of you with pretty eyes, "is Sato not here?" 

You inwardly cringe at the nickname, but choose not to show it. Higuruma is the one who saves you, in the end. He speaks on both of your behalf. 

"Mr. Gojo isn't here at the moment," he says, "feel free to wait." 

She does as she's told, plopping down on a seat right next to her. Higuruma goes back to ignoring her, dutiful in everything like he always is. You, on the other hand, don't like the way some of the other associates eye her legs. When you wordlessly hand her your jacket, she gratefully accepts. 

"Thanks. I love your bag, by the way," she cheerily says and a part of you feels bad for her. 

Minutes pass. She crosses her legs and then uncrosses them. When she crosses them again, you have to look up from your paperwork and ask if she's feeling alright. 

"Just nervous," she admits, "I-I haven't seen Sato since our...last meeting." 

Everyone in the vicinity knows this wasn't a casual business meeting, you don't get why she's avoiding the elephant like that. Probably to save face. It's clear from her behavior that she wasn't expecting so many visitors, so perhaps this situation is new for her. You found it strange that a booty call would be called up to an office building, especially when people were clearly watching, but you doubted Mr. Gojo cared about that. He was always shameless in that regard, uncaring about anyone's reputation, even his own. That's why he's in this legal mess in the first place. Besides, you were part of Gojo's Satoru's legal team. Part of your job is to be discreet about his extracurricular affairs. 

Gojo Satoru hadn't changed at all since high school. Why would he? His personality has gotten him this far, after all. The Sun would never change, it's a constant sphere of fire. You wouldn't want him to change. You were banking on his stagnant nature to slip by. You couldn't imagine if he did change, improve himself, and realize how horrible he'd been to you. How would you be able to keep yourself together if he pulled you aside one day and tried to apologize? You'd break. Things are better the way they are now. Let Gojo Satoru indulge himself in all this lavishness, forgetting about the people he's tortured. It's better this way. 

You glance over at the girl. She's young, maybe a couple of years younger than you. You can see the flush on her cheeks. The clear swooning. A part of you wonders what she'd think about that man if you ever told her what he did to you. What a monster he is-

"There you are!" Mr. Gojo strides in, just as silent as always, making himself known when he wants to. 

The girl jumps up, her eyes lighting up in pure excitement as she practically drags herself into Mr. Gojo's arms. He places an arm on the small of her back, scarily close to touching somewhere inappropriate as she chatters away. They disappear off to wherever rich men like him go. 

It's so quick. You must have imagined it because, for a second, you were sure he'd glanced back at you. 

𖤓

By now, everyone knows you're Satoru's. That means, like him, you're untouchable. 

You're not celestial. If Satoru was a star, then you were a stray meteor he'd found hurtling through space, and he couldn't resist forcing it to revolve around him. In exchange for suffering through his solar flares and radiation, he protects you from bigger planets that are all too eager to smash into you. The one relief is that no one seems to bother you anymore. You haven't been shoved around, pushed, or prodded. Sometimes, you receive glares from Satoru's old ex's, but it's more tolerable than burnt homework. 

Satoru has officially chased away all your friends, but he's more than happy to keep you company. You sit next to him in lunch now, quietly listening as he prattles on to the rest of his friends (you recognize some of them, the ones who messed with you, they never seem to hold your gaze for long). You used to study on campus alone, right after school let out. Now, you still do it, but with Satoru watching. It's hard to concentrate with his wandering fingers and wet lips. 

He takes all of your firsts. You don't give them to him, much less, he demanded it of you. The first time he fully takes you is far less romantic than you'd ever hoped. It was on his bed after he'd practically dragged you over to his house that night. You went home the next day covered in marks that took nearly a week to heal. A little while after that, Geto came to talk to you again. For the second time ever. 

"Here." He offers you a packet. Pills. You're confused for a moment until you realize Satoru didn't wear a condom. 

"Thank-" 

"Don't," he cuts you off, "Don't thank me." 

He says it with so much hate that you think it's directed at you. It isn't until years later that you realize the disgust was towards himself. 

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

When the moon was out, you often stared at it, reveling in its beauty. Now, trapped in between Satoru's arms, you find its skeleton a bit too haunting to look at. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

Graduation is coming up soon. You already had your college picked out, far far away from this backward town. From his conversations, Satoru was planning on going to some high-end college in Tokyo. With the way he kept looking back at you, you had a feeling he was planning on dragging you there too. 

You were intelligent enough to keep your mouth shut about your plans. Satoru never asked, so you guessed he assumed you would let him bully you into whatever he wanted. He was right, so far. It's not like you'd ever argued with him. 

Your parents were the only people who knew about your plan. They were excited, albeit for the wrong reasons. 

"I'm so glad to see you're this interested in higher education," your mother beamed, "why the sudden change?" 

You look at your mother's face. People have told you that you share the same smile. You wonder if she'd keep smiling if you ever told her about what Satoru's been doing to you, the bullying, the harassment. 

You can't. You won't, because you can't bear to see her give you the same pitiful look your classmates give-the one Geto gives. You don't want her to see you as something broken. 

"I'm just starting to think I might go into law," you finally say, "definitely need college for that."

On Thursdays, you have to sit inside the gym during Satoru's basketball practice. You wait on the bleachers, reviewing notes, and listening to the squeaking of sneakers. Satoru's good at the sport. You know last year they won a few tournaments. Whenever he scores a point, he gives a cheer, turning back to see if you saw it too. In those moments, you remember he's just a kid. He's your age. You can feel the envy. There, but too insignificant to do anything. He pleasantly lives his childhood, even after he stole yours. 

Practice ends, always a little later than it's officially supposed to. Coach gives the final whistle and then Satoru is jogging back to you. Your things are already neatly packed into your bag. His breath is barely ragged, you can smell the hint of sweat as he kisses you on the lips. You can feel eyes on you, same as always. It's getting easier to ignore the gawking. After all, you're Satoru's now. 

"Miss me?" he asks when he pulls away. He grabs your stuff before you can, hauling your backpack away. To others, it may look like he's being a sweet boyfriend. To you, it's another leash, tugging you to where he wants to go. You're not sure how Satoru sees the action. 

You clamber out of the bleachers, following him without a word. Usually, Satoru would walk you home. You'd share a kiss with him on the front porch. And for the rest of the day, he'd finally leave you alone. 

He grabs your hand, shooting you a wink when you lightly jostle into his body. Instead of heading out the door, Satoru turns his gaze towards the empty locker rooms. The light's automated. It flickers an unsettling white, casting a sick glow along the tiles. You are barely through the door before Satoru's pinning you against the lockers, kissing you as aggressively as he can. 

Your hands immediately find their way to his shoulders, squeezing. It's not enough to hurt him, but it grabs his attention anyway. He lets up a little, relaxing into your touch. 

"Sorry, baby," he says not sounding apologetic at all, "just be good f'me, okay? Need you." 

He's pent up, you realize and you look at the door. School's out. The campus is nearly empty. But people are still around. And the door he just shoved you through doesn't have a lock- 

Oh, wait. Would it even matter if someone came in and saw you? Everyone knew you were Satoru's. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

He's trailing down, dropping to his knees. He flips up your skirt, pushing aside your panties, and attaches his hot mouth to your pussy. He's ravenous, today. Sucking on your clit like he can't bear to do anything else. You gasp, immediately assaulted by the shocks of pleasure running up and down your back.

You press against the wall, arching your back, giving him even more to suck on. He hums in approval, his voice getting lost in your wet folds. You're practically dripping now, and Satoru, with all his debauchery, gladly licks it all up as you writhe and whimper above him. Your thighs grow tighter around him, threatening to crush his skull if both his hands weren't carved into the fat of your thighs, squeezing. 

Your initial panic is washed away, crumbled by his insistent tongue and fingers. You whimper out his name again as his tongue circles your clit and two fingers continue to move in and out of your sopping pussy. You're crying now, tears of pleasure and brokenness floating down your cheeks. Despite how blurry your vision is, you can see Satoru looking up at you. 

"Getting close?" he's breathless, but there's still a hint of playfulness in his voice, "gonna sing, pretty girl?" 

He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit and you're gone. You seize, throwing your head back as your legs shake from the force of your orgasm. It's a scream, so loud and shameless. Satoru gives a groaned pant, lapping up your aftertaste, making you jolt from the overstimulation before he finally gets to his feet. You watch as he haphazardly wipes the remnants of you with his sleeve before he's kissing you again. 

"Always so sweet f'me," he purrs, biting at your lips before he fumbles with his belt. His cock is already red and strained. He pants, head shifting to fall at the crook of your neck as he lines himself up and sinks into you with one full thrust. 

You whine a mix of a sob and a hissed moan. He hushes you with a stilted breath, barely keeping himself together as he pumps himself into you. Both of you are sweating now. You can feel the beads draw down your neck. He licks at your clavicle, biting when he starts to get more aggressive. When it's too less, he hikes your thigh over his waist, keeping it there so he can go even deeper. 

"Fuck, I'm crazy for you," he slurs against your skin. You can barely pay attention to his words, barely keeping your own voice in check, "’would do anything for you, pretty girl." 

He raises his head, looking you in the eye. His sunglasses have been tossed on the floor. You can his beautiful eyes, two cosmic galaxies of blue. You could stare at them for hours, discovering each variant of cerulean, naming each one. You bet each day you look, you'll find another shade. They're so pretty.

You wonder how pretty those eyes would look floating in a jar. 

"'Toru-!" you gasp when Satoru rocks himself into again, even faster. The name you accidentally gave him when you're too fucked out to comprehend language makes him laugh in pure delight, his smile uncontrolled, delirious. 

"Right here, baby," he moans into your sweaty skin, hand reaching down to rub your clit, "your ‘Toru's right here. Just where you need him." 

His fingers move under your shirt, squeezing at your tits, exploring, roughly grabbing at your chest. The sensation makes you wince. Your walls draw even tighter, choking his cock. 

"Too-too much, 'Toru, p-please." He growls at your begging, burying his face in your neck again. He nips at your damp skin, you flinch. 

"I gotcha' baby," he breathes, "just-just lemme-" He presses on your clit. It's all you need. 

You come with a sob, your pussy squeezing, milking Satoru for all he's worth. He's not too far behind, hips stuttering before he whines in your ear. Something warm fills your cunt. 

You flounder, sagging against the wall. Satoru's the only thing that keeps you upright as you fight to catch your breath. He isn't in any better shape, panting just as hard as you are. He lifts his head, pressing his damp forehead onto yours. There's a dreamy smile on his lips. A look of absolute adoration. 

"I love you." 

You look at him. There's nowhere else to look.

"I love you," he repeats, leaning forward to kiss the corner of your lips. His lips trail down, caressing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. It would almost feel nice, but you can only stare straight ahead. You can see the dull green lockers in the distance. You can smell the mold in the damp locker room. You can feel Satoru's cum slowly seep out of you, trailing down your thigh. 

Fuck three weeks. 

You needed to get out, now. 

𖤓

The only reason you went is because you were told Gojo Satoru wouldn't be there. 

His assistant had off-handily mentioned that he had a meeting on the other side of town. Very last minute. The building as a whole would be empty, just a skeleton crew and a couple of security guards to keep the place running. It made sense, it was 8 pm- long past any proper business hours. 

Higuruma could have easily gone, but it's clear the sleepless nights have been getting to him, or the stress. His paralegal is more than qualified to act like a middleman between him and Mr.Gojo's associates. It's an easy mission. Just grab a few things, and get out. 

Gojo Satoru wasn't supposed to be there. 

And yet, there he was, leaning against the door, blocking you into the room. 

His assistant had always been a mousey thing. Tonight, however, he'd been extra ansty, looking around the room. Babbling out excuses as to what was taking him so long. Now, when he can barely even look at you, you realize he was just a distraction. 

"You're off the clock, Fimo," Gojo finally breaks the silence, "take tomorrow off too, okay?" 

His assistant quickly nods, keeping his head down to flit out the door. You can't even bring yourself to be mad at him. Gojo always had a habit of singling out the weakest, crushing them within his fist, unless they bent or broke. 

The door shuts with a click. 

"You know, I didn't even recognize you at first," he starts. He takes a small step forward. 

You take one back. He puts his hands up. 

"Okay, don't be like that," he sighs, exasperated, "It's been what, 10 years? How you've been?" 

He steps around you, barely brushing against your shoulder to get to his desk. He reaches down, grabbing a wine bottle and two glasses from a cabinet, setting both down on mahogany wood. 

"Wanna drink? Technically, it's against company policy to serve alcohol in the building but I won't tell if you don't." He grins. It looks bloody. 

He looks so casual, the man who's haunted your nightmares, leaning against a desk in a building he owns. Your heart's beating in your chest. It's so loud. You wonder if he can hear it too. 

When you don't respond, he rolls his eyes. 

"Figures." He pops the cork. "You were always such a stickler for the rules." 

"What do you want?" You ask, your tone weaker than you'd liked. 

"What? Don't you wanna catch up? I missed you." You flinch at his words, looking away. "A paralegal, huh? Gotta' say, wasn't what I expected, but it fits you." It sounds condescending, but you don't poke the bear, opting to stay silent. 

He seems to take an issue with that, regardless. 

"Are you mad? If anything, I should be the one upset at how you just ran off like that. After all that time we spent together too. I didn't even get a breakup text." 

 His last words, send a chill up your spine. A warning. Staying here any longer would be a mistake. 

You go to move. 

Satoru's faster. 

Your head slams against the wall. Hard. Enough to hurt. You struggle anyway, clawing at the hand that's gripping your throat, the body pinning you down. Above you (he's gotten so much taller now), Gojo tuts in disappointment. 

"I tried to be nice and look where that got me. You tried to run again," he muses, like he's disappointed, "I shouldn't be surprised. You've always needed something with a bit more teeth." At his threat, his hand on your throat tightens. You freeze. 

It's barely choking you, but it's enough of a warning. His other hand is playing with the end of your blouse, feeling the fabric. You can feel the tears start. They're a familiar taste. Only this time, they're twinged with bitterness. 

"Don't do this," you whisper, "Don't-don't-" 

"Yeah, I don't think you're in any position to make demands right now." He's grinning, but when you look into his eyes, you can see the anger. A fire that has burned for a decade. At that moment, you realized Gojo Satoru had changed. Now, he was better at hiding how he truly felt. 

You should have quit the moment Higurama got him as a client. 

Gojo's dragging you over to the desk, haphazardly pushing away the stuff already on it. The computer, the bottle, the wine glasses all fall to the floor with a deafening crash as he shoves you down, splaying you across the table. He follows you down, leaning to meet your lips in a frenzied kiss. It's different than all the other times he'd kissed you. He'd lost all the inexperience, more keen on making you stay put and bleed. When you try to turn your face, pushing at his chest, he only growls. A large hand grabs your chin, keeping you in place for him. 

When he pulls away, there's a hint of blood on his plush lips. It's not his. He licks it up regardless. 

You're full-on sobbing now; barely in sucking air as your body shudders and jolts. You don't expect comfort, least of all from him, but he's cooing, wiping away your tears. 

"Missed this," he purrs, ignoring the way you weakly push at him, "'guess that was my mistake. I was expecting you to be different. Nah, you'll be the same crybaby you always were. That's how you managed to slip under my radar." 

He buries his face into your hair, sighing in contentment as you shiver underneath him. His lips graze the crown of your head, a complete juxtaposition to his words. 

"Scream all you want. No one's here, baby." No one's gonna save you from me.

 Still, you try anyway. Your hands grip his broad shoulders, digging in your nails until he hisses. 

"Fuck maybe you have changed." He rasps, fiddling with his belt. "You're bitchier now." 

"Gojo-Gojo what are you-" He bites on your bare clavicle. You squeal, stilling underneath him again. 

"Satoru," he insists. You slump over the desk as he takes both your hands, wrapping his leather belt around your delicate wrists. You wince when he twists it into a knot. The leather bites into your skin. The fight dissolves just as rapidly as it arrived. He hadn't even lifted a finger against you. You were just that pathetic. 

"Satoru," you breathe, waving your flag of defeat. He hums, licking at the bitemark. You can feel the heat bloom on your skin. They'll be a mark tomorrow, and much like Satoru, it would go away so easily. 

"There's my good girl," he groans, cold hands fiddling with the buttons on your blouse, opening it up until your bra pops out, "I know I should be more mad, but I've always had a soft spot for you. Guess things will never change, hm?" 

His mouth dips down, tracing your collarbone to your breasts. He wiggles down your bra, letting your tits spill out and into his hands. He squeezes one while taking another in his mouth, swirling the bud with his tongue before devouring. His moan is barely muffled by your tits. Yours is clear, high-pitched and breathy. Satoru always had no problem being shameless. And he often dragged it out of you too. 

He's mouthing something against your skin, but you're too distracted by his other hand, slinking down your waist, pushing up your pencil skirt, letting it bunch around your hips. In the moment, you chastised yourself for wearing something so easy to get rid of, but it wasn't like you were expecting for him to be here, to bring you down just like he did when you were in high school. It's not like you were expecting to fall. 

Satoru feels around your pantyhose, running up and down your thigh, searching. He squeezes the sheer fabric, before he rips a hole into it. You gasp, jerking at the action. 

"That's-"

"I'll buy you new ones," he says, voice muffled by your tits. The conversation feels familiar. 

He bypasses your panties immediately, finding your pussy with practiced ease. You're already soaking. At this, he raises to look at you. You can't keep eye contact, timidly looking away. He laughs. It sounds sickenly affectionate. 

"You're so cute." He purrs just as he leaves another mark on your chest. Your tits bounce under his attention as he pushes two fingers into your tight sopping hole. Your back curls, arching off the desk as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you. Disgust grows within you, not at him, but at yourself, for letting yourself get this low. This desperate. 

It doesn't stay for long. He's cruel like that, moving in a way that makes you forget your humanity. His fingers get even faster, digging into your cunt and curling somewhere deep inside, hitting a spot that makes you gasp. You're reduced to whimpering moans by the time he finally stops, fingers exiting your pussy with a wet noise. He brings them to his mouth, sucking on his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste. 

"Fuckin' sweet," he moans, taking his fingers out with a sickening pop before wiping the drool on your heaving tits. 

Your eyes float to the window. The moon is out, you blearily realize. It's a blood moon, a rusty red. Once every 3 months, it'll lose its heavenly glow. The innocent milky white will get shadowed by the Earth's rusty atmosphere. It'll regain its color eventually. The Sun doesn't like to be overshadowed. 

Something hard and blunt slides between your legs. You're barely given a second to comprehend it before Satoru grabs you by the hips, filling you up with one thrust. You yelp, a semblance of his name on your lips, but it's shrouded by the moan you give out. 

He stays like that for a bit. You should be grateful he is letting you adjust to him. His cock is sickenly familiar to your walls. Satoru's hair brushes your cheek as he leans up to whisper in your ear. 

"How many?" he sounds like he's gritting his teeth, barely in control, "how many guys have you let fuck you since you ran?" 

You blink, wondering if he's seriously asking, but you can hear the seriousness in his tone. Even now, he's concerned with the wrong things. He's always been petty like that. 

"You," you say because there's no point in lying, "it's only ever been you." 

You say it like it's a curse, because to you, Satoru had cursed you. He'd stolen something you'd never be able to enjoy, devouring it, keeping it for himself. A part of you will always hate yourself for letting him do that, just like a part of you will always be his. 

Satoru deflates, as if he's relieved, easing his face into the crook of your neck, placing an almost loving kiss on your shoulder. He starts slow, slowly drawing his cock out, just until his tip is barely still in, before he pushes himself back into your hole. His pace is slow, controlled. It's different than when he was younger, more eager to get himself off more than anything. Now, it's like he's enjoying the intimacy, the feeling of your walls squeezing him. The wet noises. He's barely affected. Unlike you, writhing underneath him, close to falling apart. It's his length that gets you, forcing your pussy to stretch just to fit him. His cock hits everywhere, all at once, an endless torture of pleasure. 

It takes you a while to get your brain back together, to collect the mush, and realize that Gojo isn't wearing a condom. 

"S-Sato-" You try, just when he spreads your thighs apart, pushing them close to your chest so he can get deeper and kiss you at the same time. His hand slips down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles and you feel yourself getting even closer. You squeeze your eyes shut at the onslaught. 

"Try again," Satoru huffs, "What's my name? I know you know it, pretty girl." 

"'Toru," you beg because it's all you have left. Your breathless gasps make you sound even more unconvincing but you still manage to stutter out, "I'm-I'm not on anything, so-so please-" 

"That's okay," he mutters, though it's clear he's half-listening, "I'll take care of you and the baby."

"No-I-I-can't-" 

He drops his leisure pace in exchange of shorter, faster thrusts. His cock barely leaves your pussy, grinding in your hole as his breathing starts to get a little less controlled. 

"I'll make sure it takes this time too." 

Your eyes open, and you forget your panic to stare at him. You think back to the pills 18-year-old Geto had handed you. Always discreet. You'd...you'd always thought they were Satoru's idea. 

He hits something inside you, right then. You implode, crashing and burning as you gush around his dick. He's not kind enough to ease you through it, ramming his cock even harder inside your battered pussy until he's hunching over you with a shudder. You can feel his cum settle deep inside your womb. 

You stay like that for a few moments, not saying anything. It feels like hours before Satoru is moving again, drawing his softened cock out of your overstimulated pussy. You can feel the cum drip out of you too, spilling onto the desk, but you don't think Satoru's too mad about that. He flicks your clit a few times, watching your hips jerk and you give an exhausted whine. 

He kisses your breasts. He kisses up your jaw, before finding your lips. Dazed, you find yourself kissing back in reluctant acceptance, your body aching for any semblance of gentleness. 

"I love you." 

You look into his eyes, and you realize he's right. Gojo Satoru loves you, and this is how a man like him loves. He meant it, all those years ago, just like how he does now.

Satoru loves like the Sun. Too bright. With enough heat to burn your soul away. It's why you ran. 

"I love you," he repeats like the phrase doesn't kill you each time he says it, "so you're never leaving me." 

"Not ever again."

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The Sun had eaten it. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then perhaps, you were the Moon. Stripped of your color. Unable to create light of your own. Reflecting only what you're given. 

How foolish of you to think you could ever escape his radiation. 

#yandere jjk #yandere #yandere gojo satoru #dark content #dark jjk #dark gojo satoru #x reader #gojo satoru #reader insert #afab reader #bullying #harassment #forced relationship #tw: dubcon #tw:noncon

[vaspider]

Pete Buttigieg is just a faggot.

It's very important to me that younger queers understand this: to the people who you're trying to be more respectable for when you say things like neopronouns set the trans movement back or you're why the cishets don't accept us or including [aces/bi people with the 'wrong kind' of partners/non-binary people/kinksters/non-passing trans ppl/furries/polyam people] just hurts us, can't you wait until we get all our rights before we talk about some of yours? -- to those people? Pete Buttigieg is just a fag.

On Sunday at Pride Northwest, some kids -- late teens, early 20s -- asked what our button I survived Reagan for this? meant. All of the queer adults at the tables making up our ad hoc counter looked at each other and sighed a little. Emet and another adult started to explain the way that the Reagan Administration handled -- or didn't handle -- the beginning of the AIDS crisis. How many people died. How much we were ignored. The Ashes Action. The Time Magazine article which explicitly blamed bisexual men for passing the pandemic to the cishet community, playing on all the worst stereotypical bullshit. The way that even when the CDC started paying attention, they were so focused on gay men that they ignored AIDS in the lesbian community, leading to the "women don't get AIDS, they just die from it" poster. And so on.

I finished counting out change and passed the last Bear Pride raised fist pin over to a bear a little older than me, then turned my head and interjected, "they didn't care until it started infecting more than just the fags." I turned my head back and handed him his change. He laughed bitterly and said, "remember when they called it 'gay cancer?'"

That what I need you to understand. The people for whom you are folding yourself into smaller and smaller boxes will never see you as anything but a freak. A queer. A dyke. A tranny. A fag.

Never.

These are people who will stand by and let you wither away and die alone, gasping for breath in a cinderblock room, and not even claim your ashes, and they will say you deserve it, because of your lifestyle. If they speak of you at all it will be by the wrong name, with the pictures you hate the most. They will curse at your lover, throw him out of the home you shared, and steal the gift you gave last Christmas to throw it in the trash just so he can't have it and they'll say Jesus loves you! while they do it. They'll feel good and righteous and blessed and holy and pure for doing it.

And for them, you spit in the eye of your sister. For them, you disavow your sibling. For their sake, you trim away bits of your heart and lace yourself up tight. Never too loud. Never too queer. Never inconvenient or embarrassing, never asking for too much.

Pete Buttigieg is what happens when your Boomer dad turns out gay. Middle America. Parents still married. Suburban-sprouted. Valedictorian. Harvard-educated. Rhodes Scholarship. Military service. More power to him: I hope he and Chasten are very happy together. Genuinely, I do.

You couldn't create a more respectable gay if you grew one in a lab run by concerned voter focus groups.

But Pete Buttigieg? Is just a fag.

That's the part you don't seem to get: when they abandoned us, they abandoned all of us. Rock Hudson was a beloved movie star and even personally friendly with that horrid pair of ambitious jackals. Nancy Reagan refused to help him get into the only place in the world that could treat him at the time, and he died.

It was 1985, 4 years after the CDC first released papers on what would eventually become known as HIV/AIDS and 7 years after the first known death from an infection from HIV-2. Reagan hadn't even said the word AIDS by the time Hudson died.

Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, and so am I. Unless I'm a dyke, which seems to depend on who's yelling what from which window and what day it is.

Yes, there will be people who genuinely love and accept you. Those people are worth all the frustration of the rest, thankfully, and they're the ones who love you in a pup mask or a leather harness and a neon jock like the ones sold by the men up the row from us last weekend. They're the ones who laugh out loud when you tell them you hid the word "dyke" in your company name, the ones who love you in all your messiness and uncertainty and the way you don't fit into neat boxes all scrubbed up and clean.

Most cishets, though... well, they don't actively mean you specifically any harm, at least not when they have to look at you. Not when you're right there in front of them. Maybe they'll be okay with you, personally, especially if you're the kind of gay who makes a good rhetorical device, and as long as you remain a good rhetorical device.

They need people to know that they don't have a problem with the gays, after all, and there you are, being all convenient. You make a nice token, and as long as you do, well. You're useful.

But they call you by your deadname when you're not around, and they put the wrong pronouns in your medical record even though they met you years after you came out, and they won't put themselves out to save you. Not one little bit.

I didn't want to be here again. The year I graduated from high school was the worst year of the AIDS crisis. The world into which I became an adult was a world in which an advisor and friend to Reagan, William F. Buckley, openly advocated for forcibly tattooing the HIV status of HIV+ gay men on their buttocks (and IV drug users on their forearms), and in which my father not only told me that when I was 14 or so, but when was told me that he'd advocated for that tattoo being "over their assholes."

(Buckley wrote that in '86, but he doubled down on it in 2005.

Fucker.)

But yeah. I didn't want to be here again. I wanted my daughter to inherit a better world. I wanted Obergefell and Lawrence v. Texas and Hope & Change to really mean something. I work for it, today and all days. I haven't given up.

I need you to know that, too. This isn't a white flag. I'm not surrendering. This isn't over. To misquote Henry Rollins, this is what Marsha and Sylvia and Stormé and Leslie and Brenda and Auntie Sugar trained us for. This is punk rock time.

But I need you to understand that if Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, if that human embodiment of a Wonder Bread, mayo and Oscar Meyer bologna sandwich is not respectable enough for them -- and he's not -- then the rest of us have absolutely no hope of measuring up. Not even if we trim away every colorful, beautiful piece of our community, not even if the Sisters Of Perpetual Indulgence vanish into the ether, not even if we sacrifice the five elements of vogue on the altar of white supremacist cishet middle-class conformity: we can't trim ourselves down to something they'll accept.

The only other option is radical acceptance of our queer selves. The only other option is solidarity. The only other option is for fats and femme queens and drags and kinksters and queers and zine writers and sex workers and furries and addicts and kids and the ones who can look us in the eye and see all of us to say we're here, we're queer, get used to it just the way we did 30 years ago. It's revolutionary, complete and total acceptance of our entire community, not just the ones the cishets can pretend to be comfortable with as long as we don't challenge them too much, or it's conceding the shoreline inch by inch to the rising waters of fascism until we've got nowhere left to stand and some of us start drowning.

That's it. Either it's all of us or it's none of us, because if we leave the answer up to the Reagans of the world and all the people who enabled him in the name of lower taxes and Democrats who wring their hands, weeping oh I don't agree with it but we'll lose the election if we fight it right now, the answer is none of us.

The brunch gays can come, too, I guess.

#long post #uncensored slurs #slurs #homophobic slurs #ronald reagan's grave is a gender neutral toilet #lgbtq #queer #trans #transgender #fag #dyke #lgbt

[scuderiahoney]

Always Walk Me Home

Max Verstappen x Reader // Strawberry Wine Pt I

Strawberry Wine Series

Masterlist

Summary: You and Max are keeping things casual. Sooo casual. You can be casual. Right?

Word Count: 4.3k

a/n: Heeeeere we go, his number is in my bio for a reason, it’s my other favorite boy! This one is heavily inspired by some of the prompts on this list. anyways enjoy!

Warnings: alcohol/mild intoxication, mild sexual references, google translated Dutch

Things with Max are… brand new. Everything is still fresh. Everything he does gives you butterflies, makes your heart skip a beat. It’s the honeymoon phase, as everyone calls it.

It’s so brand new that nobody knows. Nothing is… official, yet. You’ve just been on a few dates, had a few movie nights. You’ve stayed at his place a couple times, waking up with his arm around your waist and Jimmy and Sassy curled up next to you. It’s casual. You’re keeping things casual. Max seems content to feel things out, to keep seeing you without labeling it. You’re trying so hard to be casual about it that it’s almost embarrassing.

You feel like everyone sees straight through you. On top of spending time alone together, you and Max are friends, so you see each other at group outings and clubs and dinners with your other friends. Max acts the same there as he always has- kind, courteous, and friendly. You won’t lie, sometimes you wish he’d hold your hand or pull your chair out for you or something, anything to show you that you’re not the only one feeling less than casual. But you’re scared of scaring him away, so you keep your mouth shut.

…..

You’re out to dinner with friends, somehow ending up sitting next to him. It’s nice, really nice. You can smell his cologne, can feel the warmth radiating off of him at the packed table. You have to fight the urge to nudge his foot with yours, to press your knee against his. That wouldn’t be very casual of you. You can do this, you can be normal.

He’s saying something to the person next to him, laughing and leaning towards them. You want to be the reason he’s laughing, want to be in on the jokes. You keep your mouth shut and look at the menu instead.

“What are you going to get?” Max asks.

He’s suddenly in your space. He’s leaning close, his shoulder brushing against yours. Be normal. You shrug, sliding your finger down the menu.

“Probably the shrimp scampi,” you say, pointing at the item.

Max nods. “You love seafood.”

You blink, breath caught in your chest. He’s right, but you didn’t know he knew that. Let alone for him to say it as fact. It’s not like he’s whispering either- someone else could hear. It’s silly, because it’s such a small thing, but you’re overanalyzing everything about it.

“I do,” you agree, turning and smiling at him.

“I remember things,” he says, a soft smile on his face, and now your face is growing hot.

Someone draws his attention away, and you look back to the menu. You nearly yelp in shock when something brushes your knee, but- it’s Max, you realize with a start, his hand searching for something. You hold your breath. His fingers find yours, and he interlaces your hands, palm to palm. He keeps them resting on your leg.

You try to take even breaths. He’s holding your hand in public, with your friends right next to you. Sure, it’s under the table, but this is the most you’ve gotten from him in a setting like this. He’s held your hand on dates, done much more in the privacy of his home, but here it feels overwhelming. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, and you resist the urge to hold on so tightly to him that he can’t let go.

Eventually the food comes, and you both let go so you can eat. But it was nice while it lasted.

…..

Max’s apartment is spacious and cozy, despite the fact that he’s gone from it so often. There’s a warmth here, an aura that just screams Max. His cats roam freely, though while you’re there they have a tendency to follow you around.

“They are traitors,” Max accuses as Jimmy and Sassy weave around your ankles in the kitchen.

“Maybe I’m just better than you,” you say.

“Oh, you are,” he says, sending up a swirl of butterflies in your stomach. “But I feed them. So they are traitors.”

You laugh, leaning down to pet the cats. They nudge their heads against your hands and legs, paw at your socks, and when you walk into the living room, they follow after. Max just watches with disappointment.

By the time he joins you in the living room, drinks in hand, both of them are curled up in your lap. He lets out a huff and sets the drinks on the table. Then he’s nudging at the cats, and you cry out when he pushes them both off your lap.

“Max!” You say, appalled.

He laughs, lays down on the couch, and promptly placed his head exactly where the two cats had been. He stares up at you with a wide grin, eyes squeezed nearly shut.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you answer.

He reaches for one of your hands. He squeezes your fingers softly before bringing your hand up to his hair. You laugh and take the hint, start running your fingers through the blonde strands. He lets his eyes fall shut. Then you watch as he brings his hand up, purses his lips, and points at them.

You take that hint too, lean over and plant a kiss on his lips. When you try to pull away, he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and keeps you there. He deepens the kiss, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of your neck to hold you there. It’s not the best angle, but it’s nice, always nice to kiss him.

He finally lets you go and collapses back into your lap, a satisfied smile on his reddened lips.

…..

“I can’t open it!” You squeak. “What the fuck, how do they make it look so easy?”

You’re holding a bottle of champagne in your friend’s apartment, trying to get the cork out. It doesn’t help that you’re scared- one too many horror stories about someone getting a cork to the eye, or breaking a window. You huff and try again, gently. No use.

“Lando slams it on the ground,” your friend suggests, her eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, and he also shattered one of Max’s trophies,” you say. “So maybe not the best example.”

You hear familiar laughter, then, and you drop one hand to your side, still holding the bottle in front of you with the other. Max makes his way through the kitchen, a smile on his lips that paints his whole face. You hold it out to him, pouting.

“No, no,” he says. “I’ll show you.”

He wraps his hand around yours, around the bottle. You can’t lie, your mind goes somewhere else for a second, but you tamp those thoughts down and try to focus.

“See, you put this hand on the cork,” he instructs, “and this hand on the bottom.”

His hands are warm over yours. Your face feels hot. Does he feel the sparks when his skin touches yours, too? Or is this normal for him? Is it just a friend helping another friend? You wish you knew, wish he’d say something to quell your worries and calm your racing heart.

“-and then you twist, like this,” he demonstrates.

The bottle hisses, and you jump, but there’s no dramatic pop, no shooting of the cork. You just pull it out, and you stare at the bottle with wide eyes. Oh. That was-

“Easy, right?” He says. “You are already a pro.”

You laugh, shake your head, and hold out the bottle to your friends, standing there with their empty glasses. You want to study their faces, ask them if they noticed anything. You want to ask if they saw the sparks, too. Someone takes the bottle, and your hands fall to your side, the cork still between your fingers.

Your knuckles brush against something- when you look, it’s Max’s hand. He’s still standing there, watching as everyone passes the bottle around. You swallow tightly, bump your hand into his. Deliberately. You want to look up at his face, want to gauge his reaction, but you resist the urge.

Max reaches his pinky out and hooks it with yours. For just a moment, standing in the kitchen, surrounded by your friends, you’re linked. The sparks run from his finger, up your wrist and arm and straight to your heart. Your chest fizzes like the champagne, bubbly and overflowing.

…..

You weren’t even planning on seeing Max tonight. It’s a girls night, one that’s been suggested over and over, each of you being too busy to make it happen until tonight. You’re at your favorite bar, bass thudding in your chest, your friends all around you.

And then, there’s a tingling feeling in your spine. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Someone is watching you. You turn over your shoulder and lock eyes with Max.

He’s leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other. He has a black t-shirt on that’s always been one of your favorites- it hugs his upper arms and his chest so perfectly. He’s watching you, a soft smirk on his lips, a drink in his hand. Everyone is moving around you, but you’re stuck on him.

You smile, wave, and force yourself to turn back to your friends. You like him, you want to spend time with him, but you’ve been neglecting your friendships because of it. Your friends have been teasing you all night about how you’ve been too busy, how you keep checking your phone, how there must be a guy. You’ve denied it at every turn. You can’t leave them now. Ditching your friends for the guy who isn’t even your boyfriend would be the opposite of casual. You force yourself not to look at him, but you swear you can still feel him staring.

Ten minutes later, a bartender appears with a tray of shots and lime wedges. “For you,” she says, pointing at you, and your friends squeal in excitement. She points behind you, then. “From him.”

You turn over your shoulder again. Max is watching, and waving this time. You laugh and wave back, and your friends all do the same. He’s far away, too far to make it in time as you each grab a shot and throw them back in unison. You put the lime between your lips and turn to look at him again, raising your brows. He laughs, eyes lit up so bright you can see the blue even across the room, you swear. Then he juts his chin in the direction of the hallway when nobody else is looking. A message just for you.

You find him out there ten minutes later, trying not to make it obvious and taking the time to come up with an excuse- you fake a phone call. The hall is empty when you walk out, and you wonder if he’s given up on you- you know you saw him walk out. Then he pops his head out from around a corner and waves you over frantically.

He’s leaning against the wall, the same way he was in the club. You stand against the wall on the other side of the hallway and stare at him.

“I’m not leaving right now,” you say. “I promised I’d stay out late.”

“I know,” he says. “Just wanted to see you.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah? Seeing me across the bar wasn’t enough?”

The tequila running in your veins has you feeling braver than usual. It doesn’t seem to scare Max. He just grins wider, brow quirked.

“No, it wasn’t,” he says. “You’re pretty from far away, but even prettier up close.”

Your face feels hot. He pushes off from the wall, leans towards you. He could box you in if he wanted, could pin you right there, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes your hand in his and pulls you away from the wall, too. The kiss he sweeps you into is sweet. He wraps his arm around you, and you sling yours around the back of his neck. One of his hands cradles the side of your face as he deepens the kiss. Out of all of it, you’re much more focused on the feeling of his thumb on your cheek than the feeling of his lips on yours. It’s strangely intimate, strangely soft, the way he holds you as he kisses you in the hallway of a bar. The way his nose nudges against your cheek, the way he pulls you closer and closer like he can’t get enough.

He pulls away, leaves you gasping for air.

“You taste like lime,” he says.

You nod, dumbfounded.

“You should go back to your friends,” he suggests, kissing your temple. “If I keep kissing you I won’t want to let you go.”

You breathe out a laugh and slap his shoulder. “If you keep staring at me in the club I won’t be able to focus on anything else.”

He laughs. “I know,” he says. “That’s what makes it fun. Besides, you’re fun to watch.”

…..

Three days later, Max is holding your purse. He’d taken it from you when you were all standing in the lobby of the restaurant and your friend dragged you into the bathroom. He’d promised to keep it safe. Now you’re back, your friends are gathering their things and saying goodbyes, getting ready to go home. You’re watching him.

The little black bag looks even smaller in his hands. His fingers are wrapped around the clutch, thumb rubbing back and forth across one of the stitches the same way it had on your skin the night before. He’s talking to someone else, but when there’s a break in the conversation, you nudge him.

“I can take that back,” you say, holding your hand out.

He tilts his head, blinks softly. “That’s okay. I’ll carry it.”

You’re sure you’re staring at him like a deer in the headlights. “Okay, but I’m leaving, so I need my purse.”

He nods. “I thought maybe I could walk you home. If you wanted.”

You nod in response, feeling a bit dumbfounded. The two of you exit the restaurant, waving goodbye to your friends. He takes your hand the second you’re outside, your purse still in his other one. Your fingers knit together like second nature, now. You could predict the pattern of the brush of his thumb against your skin like clockwork.

Your apartment isn’t far, but you find yourself walking slow on purpose, prolonging the moment. You pass people on the street and you know that to them, the two of you look like a real, actual couple. It’s nice to pretend. You lean into his shoulder, and he stumbles and laughs and keeps both of you upright. The two of you talk the whole way there, about everything and nothing and all the stuff in between.

When you reach the apartment building, he finally holds your purse out to you. You open the clutch, digging through it to find your keys and the front door access card. He watches in amusement as your fingers fumble through the bag.

“D’you wanna come up?” You ask. “I have some of that wine you like.”

You pull the card triumphantly from your bag. You look up at him, and he’s smiling softly, something sparkling in his eyes that makes your breath hitch. Makes the champagne bubble in your chest all over again.

“That’s okay,” he says, softly. “I’ve got to get back to the cats. But can I take you to breakfast tomorrow?”

You blink, card still pinched between your fingers. “Yeah, sure.”

He tilts his head at you. “Maybe brunch. You are going to need sleep. How about you text me when you wake up and we’ll go from there?”

You nod. He nods back. Then he reaches up, cups the side of your face in his hand. He’s so gentle about it, more so than he normally is. When he presses his lips to yours, he tastes like gin and he kisses like… like he cares for you. Like this isn’t leading somewhere else, like he’s not going to pull you into his lap and start trailing kisses down your neck. He kisses you just to kiss you, just to say goodnight.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says when he pulls away. “Goodnight, liefje.”

You smile up at him. “Goodnight, Max.”

He smiles back. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to your forehead softly. You swear you’re melting into the sidewalk. You must be a puddle under his feet. You want to press yourself into his chest, tell him to wrap his arms around you, ask him to never let you go.

But you’re trying so hard to be so good at being casual, so you kiss his cheek, turn around, and walk inside. You take the elevator up, leaning against the wall and covering your giddy smile with your hand. When you get into your apartment, kick off your heels, and drop your bag on the counter, your phone buzzes. It’s a call. You look at the screen and see Max’s face.

“Hello?” You answer.

“Did you get in alright?” He asks.

Your heart squeezes fiercely in your chest. He sounds so soft, asking it. You walk over to the window, peel back the curtains, hoping you’re right about what you think you’ll see. There he is, still standing in front of the entrance, phone to his ear. He’s staring up at your window. When he sees you, he waves.

“Yeah,” you say. “You didn’t have to wait, you know.”

But I’m so glad you did.

“Yes I did,” he says, voice soft and scratchy from the night out. “Had to make sure you were safe.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “Let me know when you get home, okay?”

“I will,” he says. You watch as he waves again, smiling up at you. “Goodnight.”

…..

He picks you up for brunch the next day. By the time you’re in his car, it’s nearly 10:30. He drives with his hand on your knee, like always, fingers dancing across your exposed skin below the hem of your sundress. You like watching him drive, like being here with him. He pulls up to the restaurant and runs around to open your door for you, leaving you laughing. He hands the keys to the valet. Then he slips his arm around your waist and leads you inside.

You’ve been on dates with him, but none this fancy, none where you feel a little out of your element. Max seems comfortable, though- it’s moments like these where you’re reminded he’s not just your-friend-Max. He’s F1-world-champion-Max-Verstappen. Of course he can get a reservation here with such short notice. They’re honored to have him here.

A waiter leads you to a booth in the back. The restaurant is bright and airy, fresh flowers on every table. Max asks for a pitcher of water and orange juice before the waiter leaves. He pulls your chair out for you, pushes it in when you sit down. Your palms are sweating, heart beating rapidly. It’s just- this is the closest you’ve come to feeling like you’re actually dating him. Suddenly, it’s terrifying.

You ask him what’s good on the menu. He points out his favorites- the French toast, the eggs Benedict, the omelettes. He tells you he’s going to order a fruit sampler for the two of you to share, and you smile softly.

“They always have the best strawberries,” he tells you, eyes lit up. “You love strawberries.”

“I do,” you tell him, warmth filling your cheeks. “You do too.”

You’d bonded over that, when you first became friends. A strawberry wine that nobody else wanted to drink. Too sweet. You’d split the bottle with Max and went to bed with a sugar rush, your lips still tasting like strawberry. Ever since, for every special occasion, the two of you have gifted each other that same strawberry wine. It’s a running joke, among your friends- you’ll open the bottle, ask if anyone wants a glass. They’ll ignore you, but Max will come running.

He opens his mouth to say something, but over his shoulder, you spot something that makes your blood run cold.

“Shit,” you mutter.

He looks at you in concern. “What is it?”

“Nothing, just-“ you sigh. “Your coworker is here.”

Charles Leclerc has just walked in the door, a girl on his arm. The waiter is pointing in your general direction, towards an open table a little ways away. There goes your whole morning. He’s going to want to leave now.

Max turns to look, brows raised. “Oh. At least it’s one I like.”

You can’t help the laugh. “Should we go?”

Max turns back to you, perplexed. “What, get up to say hi? I don’t like him that much. He’ll come over here when he sees us.”

Us. You wish he meant it how you want him to.

“No, like-“ you sigh, gaze flickering down to the table. “You don’t want people to know, so-“

“What?” He asks, wide eyed. “What do you mean, I don’t want-“

“You didn’t want to tell anyone,” you say, quietly. You can’t look at him. “We haven’t even really talked about this, and… I figured you…”

You trail off, because you can feel him staring at you. He reaches over and tucks his finger under your chin. He tilts your face upwards towards his. His gaze is soft, a small smile on his face.

“Schatje, you have to be joking,” he says, and you stare back at him. “Of course I want to tell people. I have wanted to tell the whole world since I kissed you the first time.”

You blink. “But you- you didn’t want to put a label on it. You never…”

“We never talked about it,” he says. “I was giving you time. I’m a lot. Dating me is a lot. You are… I was following your lead.”

“Oh my god,” you blurt out, a giddy feeling in your chest. “Oh my god, I’m so dumb.”

The two of you just stare at each other for a moment. His eyes are bright and sparkling, his smile spreading across his whole face. You’re so done being casual.

Charles appears at the end of your table seconds later, smiling at the two of you. “Max, hi, good to see you. And I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” he adds, turning to you.

“Charles, this is my girlfriend,” Max says, reaching across the table to take your hand.

When you greet Charles, you can’t wipe the giddy grin from your face. It stays there the whole rest of the day- through breakfast, through a walk through a park, through a late lunch at Max’s with the cats winding around your ankles. Every time it starts to fade you think of Max, bright blue eyes, his finger under your chin. You fall asleep still smiling. You’re pretty sure it’ll be there when you wake up.

…..

The next time you go out with your friends, Max carries your bag the whole night. He also keeps his hand on the small of your back nearly constantly. He orders and pays for all of your drinks, includes you in all the conversations, and brushes his lips against your temple every time there’s a lull in the talking.

Nobody questions it. None of your friends even bat an eye. You find out why when you end up in the bathroom with the girls, a tradition as old as time itself.

It turns out they all already knew.

“Max told us all the day after he kissed you the first time,” someone tells you. “And then he told us we all had to act like nothing was different, because he didn’t want to scare you off.”

You collapse into a fit of laughter, bracing yourself against the sink. All this time, you were worried about it, and he’d told everyone right away. You’d thought you were the one struggling to be casual. God, you’d have saved yourself so much trouble if you’d only asked. If you’d only told him straightforward what you wanted. If you’d only been up front.

You’re giddy with it, then. You can feel it coursing through your veins and buzzing in your fingertips. You won’t call it love yet, at least not out loud. It’s too soon, right? It can’t be love. But it’s something, and now you want him next to you. You want his lips on yours again. You’re missing him even though he’s just through the door, waiting for you, your bag in his hand.

When you return to his side, you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. You watch his smile grow and his cheeks turn red. You place your hand on his shoulder and put your lips against his ear.

“You should take me home,” you tell him.

His cheeks get even redder, and he turns to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say with a nod. “You’ll walk me home, right?”

“Always,” he agrees.

He takes your hand, squeezes lightly. You feel like you’re glowing brighter than the neon lights above your head.

…..

You slip up over your morning cup of coffee three days later. The cats are in your lap. There’s the perfect amount of cream and sugar in the mug, he’s made it exactly right. The sun is shining through the windows, bouncing off his hair and painting his skin in golden light. You weren’t going to say it out loud, you really weren’t, but it slips past your lips anyways.

“I love you,” you say.

Max laughs, takes the mug from your hands, and kisses you.

Then he says it right back.

read the prequel/ sequel, Someone Sane

okay, now I’ve got my three favorite boys in the masterlist! thanks for reading! come say hi, or check out more of my writing here. drop an ask or a dm to be added to the tag list!

taglist: @4-mula1

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #formula one fic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 x reader #f1 fanfic #max Verstappen #fanfic #max verstappen fluff #fluff #honeywrites #mv1 #strawberry wine verse

[sleyu]

thinking about how mean!bf sirius would have a hugeee corruption kink, he just wants to ruin your mind yk

idk maybe its just me

i think mean or not, it is definite that sirius black has a corruption kink and it unquestionably couples with his possessive nature.

just imagine mean bf ! sirius meeting you for the first time. you’re a timid, but undoubtedly kind individual who is meek next to him—fully aware of sirius’ notoriety in his personality and habits. he becomes so awestruck, he has nothing to respond to your unassuming questions aside from the occasional nod or gentle murmur.

he displays a calm, relatively friendly aura until the pair of you begin to become acquainted with each other and ultimately, begin dating. it is only then, that the mean teasing and snickers begin, and his heart bursts with joy at the sound of your bashful whines and protests every time he playfully slaps your ass or tugs your skirt, laughing and pulling you close to him, muttering how his actions are all in good fun and that he’d never let anything actually hurt you.

‘so bloody sensitive. y’know i’d rather die than let someone lay a hand on you, dummy.’

and of course, sirius isn’t stupid. he’s been having lewd, perverted thoughts about you since the day he met you. in fact, it was only the same night that sirius cast a silencing charm around his bed to hide the sinful sounds of him grunting as he fisted his cock, thoughts about bending you over the classroom desk polluting his already depraved mind.

since you’ve started dating, he reckons it’s time to manifest these fantasies into life, especially after noticing how your meek gaze has begun to linger on his broad chest and widen at the sight of his bulging crotch. his inner self beams with joy and crude anticipation every time he feels you pawing at his thighs, looking up at him in despair as if you’re unsure of what you really want or why the throbbing ache in between your thighs is only getting worse.

i think mean bf ! sirius would definitely become dizzy at the sight of you on your knees, hands gripping his muscular thighs, begging him to let you suck his cock or to fill your cunt up. usually he was the one doing the begging, but here you were, pliant, obedient, and desperate for his every touch. he genuinely has to sit down and stare at you while also controlling the immoral urge of forcing his cock down your throat, watching how your eyes widen and become teary as your throat contracts and chokes around his pulsating cock.

he genuinely cannot control himself once he sees you fully submit to him, begging him to give you the exact things you were too shy about even insinuating merely a month ago. it makes him feel so accomplished knowing that he was the one that made your brain all cloudy and fuzzy—that he was the one who got your cunt hooked on the feeling of his relentless, unforgiving cock.

‘sirius—my fingers—they’re not good enough—need your cock in me—jus’ want you to ruin ‘n abuse me—please da—’ as soon as you become close to uttering the last word, he’s already lifted up your skirt and forced his cock inside your aching pussy anyways, groaning into your mouth and fucking you ten times harder than he would have any other day.

‘slut—you’ve become a little slut—oh, fuck—‘n who’s are you, huh?’

it becomes the first time that sirius loses all sense of reason and caution as it has become evident to him that he’s irreversibly corrupted you into becoming just as disgusting and perverted as him.

‘nah, not sirius’, honey, you're daddy’s, yeah?’

‘gross fuckin’ bitch loves that, huh, puppy? you like it when daddy forces himself inside you like that, hm?’

‘hogwarts newest slut, yeah? but only mine, isn’t that right? only i get to ruin—fuck—this whorish cunt—mmm,’

sirius is so mean, he doesn’t even tell you when he’s about to cum :( he makes you cum and afterward, you’re a fucked out mess because he just doesn’t stop. your eyebrows begin to furrow and you can only manage to mumble a quiet ‘sirius?’ before he groans into your neck, breath all hot and heavy, and pumps you full of his hot, sticky cum. all you can do is whine and writhe beneath him as he pushes your knees to your chest and uses your cunt to drain his massive cock.

all the while, he’s reveling in the realization that he has just cummed inside you and that if spells and birth control were forgotten, it would be no surprise if you fell pregnant with the copious amounts of cum pumped inside your spent hole.

‘my dirty girl likes when daddy breeds her, doesn’t she? oh, don’t shake your head, pup, i know you like it—can feel you clench—god—around me right now.’

sirius gets so turned on when you confess that you can’t make yourself cum without him ever since the two of you started having sex. the image of you crying out in frustration at the feeling of your own neediness and the dull throbbing in between your sore thighs—incapable of doing anything without his guidance—makes his cock harden far quicker than it should have.

‘poor thing. my dumb girl can’t do anything without me, can she? your small fingers just aren’t as daddy, hm?’ paired with a faux, mocking frown because sirius black is an asshole that is very visibly ecstatic that you’ll always have to come to him to find a release.

and nothing fuels his ego more than having you beg him to stuff you full of his cum before class begins. he loses his mind seeing the effects of ruining your perfect, angelic interior. his once smart, goody-two-shoes, good-girl has become a conniving slut, her own cunt betraying any logic or rational thinking within her mind :( seeing his shy, perfect-attendance girlfriend begging him to skip class with her to fuck in a dingy broom closet is all it takes for him to bust right then and there.

#sirius black smut #sirius black x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black blurb #sirius black headcanon #sirius black angst #sirius smut #sirius x reader #sirius fluff #sirius imagine #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #poly!wolfstar #poly!marauders #poly!wolfstar smut #harry potter smut #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic #harry potter fluff #harry potter blurb #harry potter fanfic #sirius black fanfiction

[kaciebello]

Offspring garden

Masterlist

Luke Castellan x Demetre! reader (fem)

Summary: Luke and the reader are the unofficial parents of the camp, whether they like it or not.

Warning: Non, no use of y/n

author note: English is not my first language so I am sorry for any mistakes beforehand. Proofread by me and me only (Ｔ▽Ｔ ) Requested!

word count: 1.2k

“LUKE CASTELLAN” A yell could be heard throughout the whole camp. The boy in question lifts his head from his sword to look for the source of the noise. Only to see a familiar girl with an angry scold on her face. He stands up when he sees her, dragging two familiar boys behind her. He just signs and makes his way to them.

“Hello, honey.” He says, hoping to de-escalate the situation. She just huffs and points a finger at him before turning to the two boys who were now looking at the floor in shame.

“Don't you even dare to sweet talk me, Luke?” To him this was comical. The Stroll twins often did something they shouldn't, they however did not get caught that much. No, seeing them being closed by a girl who’s just a few years older was funny. She resembled a mom giving a lecture to her children She turned to him again.

“Keep your siblings in check, because if I catch them again in my garden-”

“You're gonna what?” Luke says, coking his head to the side with a smile.  Her eyes narrow at him as she steps closer. The boys yelp out a little ‘ sorry, mom’ teasing tone in their voice, as everybody noticed some of the younger kids calling her that by accident during the campfire last night. She ignores them and takes our step to Luke. He secretly waves his arm at the boys and they scatter away as quietly as they can, although few giggles leave them anyway.

“Don't try me today Luke, we have so much to do and I don't have the time or the patience for this. And you, you are- Luke where have they gone?” She says her eyes flipping between him and the place where the boys were standing a minute ago. Luke just shrugs and smiles. The girl sighs placing her shaking her head.

“You can’t just let them go, I brought them here for a reason.” She says kicking a stone with her foot. Luke took her hands in his, wrapping them around his neck. Now that he had her undivided attention he suede them back and forth.

“They're just kids.”

“Cheeky, that's what they are.” Luke just laughs. Leaning in, their noses brush on each other. Before Luke could continue, a pair of giggles were heard before the water fell on them from the top of the Hermes cabin. In shock, the pair steps away from each other and look up. There they were, the Stroll twins, with two buckets of water having the time of their life.

“LUKE!” He's not sure he can get them out of this one.

—

Being the counselor of their cabin did give them an advantage. Granted, it was more work than the normal ‘training to be a hero ‘ thing. The older campers however did not mind, because it meant they got to call light out. Now the Demeter cabin went to sleep almost as soon as the sun set, not fans of the dark. The Hermise cabin, however, is quite the opposite. If they had to pick they would switch the whole camp to night one. 

However, it was not unusual to see the Demetre cabin counselor at the Hermes cabin after she called light out on her own. Not that Luke was having a problem with his cabin, no. Well kinda, it's always hard for the new kids, and he and his siblings are more mischief than anything else. The friendly face of the Demetre kids makes them calm down and fall asleep despite the noise.

He was leaning on the doorframe, his eyes glued to the girl reading kids' stories. He was supposed to keep an eye on his siblings. That was their deal. But he only started to pay attention to them when a shirt was thrown in his face. Taking it down and looking up to try and find a culprit, he finds Chris with a smirk on his face. Luke just rolls his eyes and throws it back. Making his was the girl who was tucking in the last camper. His hand lands on the small of her back as she straightens.

“ All done?” He whispers although it is useless when he hears his sibling laugh at full volume. The girl looks up at him and nods. Turning and making her way to the cabin door. Luke follows her very close by.

“Will you walk me back?” She asks, playing with his bracelets. 

“Why? Scared of the dark?” He cocks his head to the side. Only receiving a glare from the girl. Before she can answer one of the Hermes girls pipes in.

“You have the same conversation every night, You are boring as an old married couple with kids.” She says before letting her head hit the pillow. Both Luke and the girl look at her. The Demeter girl shakes it off before he does. Letting off his hand and clearing her throat.

“Alright, that is enghou, lights out!” She said, making sure everyone could hear her. Some kids listened right away and some hesitated before laying down too.

“But you not our-”

“I SAID LIGHT OUT.” The light switch was flipped to the end she said. All that could be heard was the cabin door opening and closing, indicating that the two counselors had left on their adventure.

—

They were both sitting on the floor. Her back was pressed to his chest as she sat between his legs. Watching Annabeth, Percy and Grover fool around the arena. Luke insisted they needed training, although he was not teaching them anything. The girl opted to read her book, as this is as quiet as it gets around the busy camp.

“What do you say we go on an adventure next summer,” Luke says catching her attention enough to listen but not enough to put away her book.

“Chiron is not letting us go on a quest Luke.” She says nonchalantly. Luke just shakes his head and his hand goes to play with the corner of the book.

“No, I meant like, go and have a trip, Europe maybe.” He finishes and the girl chuckles. Turning over a page before finishing her chapter. Make sure she places a bookmark before closing the book and putting it aside. She leans even further onto him before answering.

“ As if Mr. D is gonna let us leave. We basically run the camp for him.” She says and Luke laughs. His arm now resting across her chest, both watching the trio who were playing some kind of game. It looks like a twisted version of Marko Pollo as Annabeth kept going invisible to confuse Percy even more. Luke leans down and kisses the girl on the forehead. She looks up at him with a smile before reaching to pat his head and tug at the base of his curls.

In bliss they sat, soaking in the sun. A quiet day where they get to be teenagers. All, however, comes to an end when someone yells out ‘Mom’ and all heads turn to her. The girl can just groan before getting up and following the sound. Flowers blooming in her hair out of frustration. Luke does not stay that far behind

#luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson x fem!reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson fic #percy jackson x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan #percy jackson #percy pjo #percy series #demetre!reader