#almost a little bit..... friendly perhaps?
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Saga Anderson, and Nordic rep in Alan Wake 2
Early on in Saga Anderson’s exploration in Alan Wake 2, she runs into Ilmo Koskela. Fiercely proud of his Finnish heritage, Ilmo gregariously makes note of Saga’s Nordic sounding name and the familiar design of her knitted sweater. Perhaps a fellow Finn?
Alas no, Saga’s mom is Swedish she informs him. Immediately Ilmo’s face falls. I’m not sure if it’s actually just the animated character defaulting to his resting face, but either way the timing is too perfect. Cue uproarious laughter from me. People in the Nordics are on friendly terms of course, but we gotta have the tiniest bit of… scornfor each other. All in good fun of course. It’s traditional.
Now, I’m Danish, not Finnish, but still, I feel right at home in the towns of Bright Falls and Watery in Alan Wake 2. All of the little nods to Nordic culture and mindset feel so wonderfully familiar to me. The melancholia, the irreverent sense of humor, the affection for the Finnish and Swedish quirks of the characters. The game feels all the stronger in tone and narrative for Remedy embracing the Finnish roots of the studio.
Which is exactly why it sucks that I almost immediately saw the charm of those narrative decisions weaponised against Saga.
I first watched the scene between Ilmo and Saga on a lets play when I was trying to figure out if I should finally dip my toes into survival horror and buy the game. Delighted by the writing I took a look into the comments to see if people were vibing as hard with it as I was. They were. But I also saw a comment that made me frown.
Paraphrasing, it basically went, come on, like hell a guy like Ilmo would make the assumption that a black woman is Finnish. There are a multitude of reasons why I think that person was wrong, mainly that Nordic people love it when we run into each other in other countries, but it also just made me sad.
Saga being black does not negate her Swedish heritage. Formally, she is American, sure (I assume, not sure how that works in the US), but she’s raised by her single Swedish mom, of course she’s going to identify heavily with that part of her herself. It’s a profound and essential part of who she is.
But hey, I’m a white potato Dane, so I’m not gonna argue that I know much about the experience of being biracial. I’m gonna stick to what I know, which is that Saga is a very moving and beautiful example of something that I’m actually not used to seeing much of - a story about connecting with your Nordic heritage and roots. And it’s part of why I love her so much.
When Nordic people show up in big, international productions, it’s usually as Vikings, and sure, it’s fun to see our wild ancestors, but contemporary questions of Nordic identity and heritage is not something I often see explored. Not even in our own productions.
So much of Saga’s story is about family. Fighting for her current one, Logan and Casey (and sure, David too, lol), and rediscovering her first one. Tor and Odin.
Her discovering her ties to Tor and Odin is profoundly moving and made me teary-eyed several times over. And sure, a lot of those ties are fantastical in nature, but they still feel very much grounded - and what makes us Nordic if not the ties to our myths and legends that Tor and Odin have made themselves the living avatars of.
While Saga’s mom, Freya, had good reasons for leaving the Anderson seer magics behind, seeing them as part of what made her family fucked up, she also cut Saga off from the fullness of her capabilities. It is only through Saga reforming her family, healing its scars and fully embracing the Anderson heritage that she becomes as powerful a parautilitarian as she is at the end of the game. That’s beautiful.
And in fact I think Saga being black only deepens the richness of those themes rather than negate them or make them irrelevant. Because yes, Saga’s story would have been moving if she was a white character too, but I am very well aware that a lot of biracial people of Nordic ancestry can feel alienated from that part of themselves. Not least because questions of who gets to claim a Nordic heritage can get pretty ugly around here. There are most definitely people who share the racist mindset of that commentator. It adds an extra dimension. Which is why seeing Tor and Odin’s eagerness to claim Saga as part of the Anderson heritage is all the more moving. Through her magics, she’s just so obviously an Anderson, and they’re so damn proud to call her theirs and fight alongside her. Because they all got that wild Viking blood in them. They’re part of her and she’s part of them.
Roger Ebert, the film critic once called movies empathy machines. I think games, when they’re at their best, can be an even more intense variation of that. Which is exactly why it baffles me that some people can play through Alan Wake 2 and still think Saga is a stunt-woke character rather than someone fully and beautifully integrated in the narrative. A narrative which, at its most basic level – in my opinion – is about the mystical bonds we form with each other and the rest of the world through art and love and blood and family and heritage. All the great horror doesn’t negate that either, it amplifies it. Kind of like that clicker.
#I really didn’t mean to write like… a fucking essay#so this is probably gonna flop#but I love Saga so much#and as a Scandinavian woman#I feel so seen by her#and I hate that people are being so vile about her character#Saga Anderson#Alan Wake 2
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Best of the Reptiles in Media - 01 - Godzilla (Monsterverse)
I figure that while I'm using this blog, I might as well post my ramblings on a subject dear to my heart: That being the representation of reptiles as characters in media. And not just villainous or vile ones like we're so used to. I'm talking about ones that inspire me. The ones that are legitimately compelling to me. And these posts are an excuse to espouse why.
Plus, it's just fun. You can thank the likes of @tyrantisterror and @bogleech for inspiring me to do these.
So who better to start with than with the lizard who's been an inspiration to me for almost my entire life. That being the one known as Gojira. AKA...Godzilla.
This is the one character in these posts who probably needs no introduction. Ever since his debut in 1954, the walking embodiment of the horrors of nuclear war, among other things, has been nothing less than an icon. This is the beast people think about when they hear "giant monster" or "kaiju". This is truly the King of the Monsters.
My introduction to Godzilla was a children's book called "Godzilla on Monster Island". It was a fun read full of neat monsters living together and teaming up to stop an evil plan. And it left me wanting more. I wanted more stories of these fantastic yet friendly beasts being friends and living together while having fun adventures. Little me was a bit disappointed to find that Godzilla spent more time fighting his fellow kaiju and trashing cities instead.
The truth, as I would find out, was that Godzilla is never just one thing. He is a fun defender of the Earth. He's the terrifying consequences of our tampering with both nature and science. And in recent memory, he's been a lot of other things. But most of the time, he's either hero or mankind's hubris on two legs. To me, he was a giant dinosaur that could fire thermonuclear breath, and that was all that mattered. It was after hearing about the historical significance of him that my respect doubled.
Back then, I would tell you that my favorite Godzilla from a design standpoint was the 2002 version. Personality wise, almost every Showa appearance post-1964.
But in 2014, everything changed. In came a Goji that seemed to have everything I could ask for. So, we're going to look at the one that resonates with me the most. The Monsterverse version.
That right there is perhaps one of the most awe-inspiring entrances I've ever seen in a cinema.
Before the release of Godzilla (2014), the franchise had entered something of a slump period. The last film was all the way back in 2004, and sadly, the kaiju genre was still something of a niche thing growing up. Here in America, you either liked superheroes or real-life celebrities as a kid. If you liked monsters, let alone giant monsters, you were one of the weird kids. That, or one of the kids who never lost their passion for dinosaurs. But those were rare.
Then Gareth Edwards unleashed this film, and while one could argue that Pacific Rim (2013) got the ball rolling, THIS ultimately resurrected the entire franchise of the Big G, and got him a degree of general respect from most film-goers (so long as you ignore the irritating internet drama regarding screen-time back then).
But let's get to the meat of this post. Why is this Godzilla so much better to me than the rest? A few things, really.
First off, there's Godzilla's role in the Monsterverse's narrative. For the most part, he is a guardian of the natural order, a means of bringing balance to imbalance. He is a metaphor for how nature is capable of righting itself, and how we either have to deal with it, or live with the consequences. In practice, Godzilla ends up going up against almost every monster, most of which are only a threat because we awakened them/created them. Yet despite this, he doesn't go out of his way to destroy us. He's not mindlessly destructive or particularly vengeful either. He knows we're a part of the world too. We just tend to grate a bit more on his nerves because of how much we screw up. If there's one thing this series isn't afraid to show, it's that...well, "the arrogance of man is thinking nature is within our control, and not the other way around."
Design-wise, this is one of the best Godzilla's around. He's bulky, has a killer stare, and there's something oddly endearing about how...well, meaty he is. He's like if my aforementioned previous favorite design, the 2002 one, put on both a lot of muscle and weight. It also ties into his fighting style, said to have been inspired particularly by bears. Even the sounds associated with him are amazing. From that hype-inducing charge of his thermonuclear breath to what might be the best rendition of the classic roar.
Then there is the body language. This Godzilla's usual gait is slow, almost plodding at times. He shows clear signs of exhaustion in some scenes. What he goes through is hard, and his job is even harder, but he still does it. It really helps sell his personality most of the time.
Part of why I like the Monsterverse so much is that, for the most part, the kaiju are treated as characters in their own right (that's not to say they weren't in previous iterations, far from it, but it's a bit more pronounced here than most of the post-Showa stuff). Sure, some films in this verse are better about it than others (more on that later...), but I like how you can glean what Godzilla is thinking of just by looking at his eyes. Of particular note is how they widen in "Godzilla: King of the Monsters" when Ghidorah gains the upper hand during the final battle, his absolute sneer of anger in the first movie when the male MUTO approaches him, or...this.
This scene. This one right here encapsulates so much of what I love about this iteration. Where Godzilla, dazed and thoroughly battered by both the fight with the MUTOS and having a building fall right on him, locks eyes with a tiny little soldier. You see a sense of tiredness, of pain, of acknowledgement, and maybe even a little wonder. This is not just some mindless beast fighting for its turf. It's a thinking being. And he's hurt. The most powerful creature on the planet isn't invincible, neither on the outside and definitely not on the inside.
And you know what? I've been there. There are times where I feel like I'm carrying the weight of the world, that there are things too heavy to bear, and its suffocating. Godzilla constantly shows throughout the Monsterverse that his job as a living balancing act is wearing on him. He gets put through so. Much. Crap. From getting buildings dropped on him to being personally dropped from a distance above the clouds to watching his symbiotic partner/mate die, it's almost unfair how we're expected to not really sympathize with him as much as...I'll get to that later.
But he never gives up. Despite all the pain and fatigue, he gets back up, and he fights. And he fights. And he continues until the deed is done. Someone has to rise to the occasion, and it might as well be him. If not him, then who?
That is the biggest reason I resonate with this Godzilla. His awe-inspiring design is one thing, but he gave me the strength to persevere. I don't give up, because he never did. Never before had the Big G been such a hero to me. Such that in 2014 I found myself silently sobbing to myself when it seemed like he was dead near the end even though that was clearly not the case. It's hardly a surprise that I based my personal Godzilla AU on him, albeit with the more sympathetic traits dialed up. Stuff like this made G14 and KOTM some of my favorite kaiju flicks...
...which made it more than a little disappointing when Wingard took the helm and basically said "screw that, this is about the monke now!" Yeah, GvK is the weakest entry in the series for me for a reason. Godzilla's more redeeming qualities are buried under a narrative that clearly is not interested in giving him the time of day or even the benefit of a doubt. Both it and it's successor, GxK, are Kong movies through and through, and that means poor Big G is put out of focus.
I cannot tell you how much I HATE this idea that the only way a monster can be relatable is if it either looks almost just like us or is really cute. Yes, I understand the universal appeal, but they had such a good thing going for Godzilla! And they throw almost all of it away just so that they can make Kong look better by comparison.
Credit where it's due, these issues are slightly improved in GxK. It's not only firmly established that Godzilla is an overall benefit to the world for keeping the other Titans in check, but we get some interesting bits with him like how he instantly responds and prepares to answer the call of the Iwi and help them. It shows that despite his tenuous relationship with humans, there are ones he clearly gives a lot of thought to. And there's also how he makes the Roman Coliseum his own personal bed. Not only is it kind of hilariously adorable, but if you remember how in KOTM he had his own man-made temple, you get the impression that he has a bit of homesickness. That's the kind of thing I like to see! More of that and less "he's only ever angry and he only ever fights, character is for primates only".
Also, while the Evolved design has nice details, I WANT THAT GUT BACK! it just looks weird otherwise with that disproportionately skinny waist.
But thankfully, our prayers might be answered:
With GxK's roaring success (ha!), it's more than likely that the next Monsterverse entry will finally give Godzilla an overdue character arc that doesn't begin and end with "destroy everyone and act big and scary and nothing else". Just please make sure that he doesn't have to die to get that. There are plenty of ways you can make us invest in the guy's story without having to kill him. I WANT to see more of that emotional vulnerability teased across the movies. I want to see him come to terms with how he's been going about his job. And more importantly...I want to see a more explicit Mothzilla scene. A nuzzle and everything. But that's just me.
Whatever the quality of his current status, nothing is taking away how much I love this version of Godzilla. He's taken me out of some very dark places, and for that, I say long live the king.
Also, he brought Mothzilla into the public sphere and every Mothzilla pic made since is the cutest thing ever, so I just love him even more.
#best of the reptiles in media#ramblings#godzilla#gojira#monsterverse#godzilla 2014#g14#godzilla king of the monsters#godzilla vs kong#godzilla x kong: the new empire
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So I've already established that AU Leo has a tendency to abuse his portaling abilities to just go and explore a bunch of places, including New York, which leads to him stumbling across Run Of The Mill several years before he does in canon. And of course he loves the place, the food's great, the Maze of Death is good for training and he gets to hang out with Hueso! Hueso does not enjoy Leo constantly showing up to bother him when he's trying to work, but it's not like he can just kick him out. This is one of THE Baron Draxum's sons, Hueso is already in trouble with yokai law-enforcement and the last thing he needs is more enemies. (And no, he does not have a soft spot for Leo, what are you talking about)
Anway that's all fine and dandy, until two particular individuals happen to stumble across the restaurant....
Similar to in the show, some time after Donnie's first encounter with the Draxum family, him and April find Hueso's restaurant as well and starts to frequent the place. And considering Leo's a regular, well, it's not long until they happen to visit at the same time and uh-
This happens pretty soon after Donnie first reunites with his brothers, but they've encounteredeach other a couple of times in between then and now, which means that the Drax Trio have had time to come to terms with the fact that Donnie is not planning on joining their team any time soon. And while they want to change that, they realize that for the time being he is currently an enemy. Mikey and Raph are still pretty hesitant to fight him, but Leo and Donnie pretty early on established a "fight each other on sight" dynamic, because of course they did.
All of this is to say, as soon as they lay eyes on each other in the restaurant, they immidietly start duking it out! Hueso understandibly does not appreciate such a ruckus in his fine establishment, so out of respect for Hueso the twins agree to avoid any fighting in the restaurant specifically.
Now, you would think that at least one of them would have the common sense to just avoid the place, but they're both stubborn and petty AF and so Leo and Donnie keep running into each other there! And they do respect the no-fight-rule.... to a certain extent. The rule was specifically for physical fights and says nothing about verbal ones! So every time Leo and Donnie run into each other they keep insulting each other to provoke the other into attacking them, which would lead to that twin getting kicked out and hopefully banned for life!
#of course... the two of them ending up in situations where there's nothing to do other than talk...#who knows#their interactions might eventually start turning a little less hostile#almost a little bit..... friendly perhaps?#but that'll be expanded upon in a later post :)#Tiz Sep AU#my art#tizel art#digital art#illustration#teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#tmnt#rottmnt#rottmnt fanart#rottmnt au#rottmnt seperated au#leonardo#donatello#april o'neil#rottmnt leo#rottmnt donnie#rottmnt april#rottmnt hueso#señor hueso#disaster twins#rottmnt disaster twins
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a smutty joel imagine with him saying, “you’re in trouble doll”
Pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader
summary: Joel, your dad's best friend, has pissed you off once again for his constant fear of your father finding out about you, so you decide to make him jealous, only he doesn't take it as well as you expected... or maybe exactly as you had
warnings: jealousy, he grabs you by the neck at one point, possessive!Joel smut| a bit of thigh riding, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, she calls him daddy ONCE bc I need to cut back on the daddy kink it's becoming a problem, kind of exhibitionism, and unnecessary feelings cause i can never fucking write a story where they're just fucking for some reason
You were flirting good
The way you only did when you weren't really interested, when it was just a game, when you were bored, or perhaps... in the mood for taunting someone
Maybe someone who was across the backyard, his hazel eyes burning a hole into the back of your head as he gripped his beer hard enough to shatter it, his head nodding slowly at whatever your dad was saying, but his thoughts only to you, only to that little asshole who had his hand on your cheek- on his girl
"I'd forgotten how funny you are" you said, after falling into a more than exaggerated laughing fit at one of Kaleb's miserable jokes.
He grinned with that smile guys have when they think they have it in the bag, when they’re already picturing you in their bed
As if
“Tell you what, I'm even funnier in front of a drink,” he said, his eyes glinting with victory “you free tonight?”
But before you could respond, a very much non-friendly voice barked from beside you
"she's not"
Joel looked even hotter than usual with that t-shirt clinging to his toned biceps and pecs, and the way he was looking at Kaleb... he looked ready to kill, and fuck if that didn't make him even hotter
"Tommy needs your help on the grill, I'm takin' a break" he nodded toward his brother, giving the guy a chance to scramble before he had to punch him in the face
"now?" Kaled wined, his gaze trailing to you, as if counting on the understanding of another man of what he was interrupting
"Now."
There was no room for negotiating, and the guy finally got it, sighing loudly before nodding
"Fine, I'll catch you later then," he smiled, watching you reciprocate, before he started for the grill
You squinted your eyes against the sun as you looked up at Joel, making a show of rolling your eyes as he gave you that stern, angry look he was always so good at giving
"Cockbloker"
You didn't wait for whatever smart retort he was gonna send your way as you turned around and started making your way into the house,
only of course, he was right behind you, closing the glass door to the kitchen with a loud thud
"you're in trouble doll"
again, you could only roll your eyes as you opened the fridge to look for what you didn't even know
The party of people just outside the windows was loud, but his steps as he stalked to you were the only thing you could hear
"I'm talking to you"
You could hear the restraint in his voice, almost feel it oozing off of him, the way you were getting under his skin, the way he was controlling his own rage
And when you only sighed, still not acknowledging his presence... then his self-control slipped, and his hand had forced the fridge to fly shut, the bottles rattling inside.
maybe this will get your attention
And it did, you turned to him, a bored, stoic look on your face
"what do you think you're doing?" he hissed, his jaw ticking
"what?" you cocked a brow "I'm not allowed to talk to people anymore?"
The way he tilted his head, flames of anger lighting his eyes as he took a step towards you made you want to get down on your knees and suck him off right there and then... but then again, you were supposed to make him pay
"Don't give me that bullshit" he growled "That wasn't just talking, there's only one thing that guy was after and you know it"
You scoffed, taking a step closer to him in affront
"so?" you asked, raising your brows "What I was after the same thing Joel?" you argued "You know, since you're so scared of my dad finding out... since you're always saying I should find someone more age-appropriate, I figured... why not Kaleb?"
Oh he was fuming
"At least he's not scared of my dad" you mocked "At least he wouldn't have to sneak out of my house after he's done fucking me-"
you didn't even see him move, the only thing you felt, was the back of your head hitting the fridge, and seconds after, his hand gripping your throat, and only then did you hear the gasp fleeing your throat
he had moved you to the other side of the fridge so that from outside, no one could see your dad's bestie choking his daughter without so much of a hair of second thought.
"If he even tries to come near you" his face was but an inch from yours "He won't have a dick to fuck you with sweetheart, got it?"
What did he think? That he was gonna scare you? please
You snorted, your mouth twitching in a smirk
"You don't own me Joel" you only purred "I can fuck who I want"
The snarl he let out was nothing but predatory
"You think that fucking guy's the right one for you?" he asked, his right leg in between yours, the top of his thigh dangerously close to your core
"you think that little asshole's gonna make you come?" his breath was ghosting your mouth, but he ducked lower, murmuring against your ear now
"You think Kaleb's gonna fuck you better than I do?"
Although shivers were running down your spine, you chuckled, as you murmured "Maybe"
He groaned, his thigh immediately going to your center, rubbing against your clit as his fingers tightened on your throat.
"say that again" he challenged, his voice rough and throaty
"what," you grinned, "you think you're some kind of sex god or something?"
The fact that he could hear all the little whimpers you were swallowing down your throat didn't help your case
"Have you forgotten already about all the times you were begging for my cock sweetheart?" he teased, his jeans damping with your slick as you parted your mouth in pleasure "All the nights you spent screaming my name, mh?"
His warm words felt so good on your neck, and his leg... if he kept at it you might just fall apart like that
"you think another man can do that for you?" his eyes were boring into yours now, his hand forcing you to meet his gaze
And when you didn't answer, the same smug grin on you, he understood what he needed to do
"You need a little reminder, 's that it?"
And just like that, you had exactly where you wanted him.
If he was aware that this was your plan all along, he didn't show it, probably because you had turned his brain into a jealous angry heap.
He watched the way you bit your bottom lip, the same way he's seen you do thousands of times before, need pooling in your iris and panties at the same time
"ah that's it, isn't it?" he growled, his right hand going to squeeze your ass "my dirty girl needs me to remind her who's the only man that can make her feel good huh?"
And fuck it, but you were already palming the bulge at the front of his pants
"whose cock she needs to be filled with" he smirked, watching your pretty eyes fall to his mouth
"then I guess I just have to, don't I?"
His lips were on yours faster than you could blink, his mouth ravenous and hungry as much as his tongue, which was exploring every inch of you as if he needed to have all of you, right there, right now.
You felt his hand leave your neck and seconds after your ear picked up his zipper getting undone and then he was picking you up and he was hastily freeing his cock from his boxers and-
It was all so fucking fast- he felt like a man possessed
For this much talk of you being the one to need a reminder, it looked like it was him the only one to need this
And maybe it was because seeing you talking to that guy made him see red, or maybe because it had been more than 24 hours since he had a taste of you and missed you more than anything, or maybe... maybe he was just starting to realize that it wasn't the 24 hours, and it wasn't Kaleb, but it was you, it had always been you, with that smart mouth and that smug attitude and your determination and kindness and beauty and fuck- this had never been just fuking- he could never just be having sex with you, he wanted to have you, all of you, not just like this, but in public, in front of everyone, in front of Kaleb and you pissed off dad- he wanted to- to bring you on a proper date and pay the bill and only then fuck you so good you forgot your name- he wanted, he wanted everything, he wanted you, completely.
"You know anyone could come in here at any moment right?" you asked breathlessly as you leaned away, your lips swollen already
He had you propped against the part of the fridge facing the wall, so you were hidden from the outside, but anyone could have just taken a closer look, or come into the kitchen for a fresh beer and caught you just as he railed into you... and he couldn't have fucking cared less
"What, you scared?"
And the way you smiled- the way you smiled was enough to make a grown man drop to his knees in an instant
"fuck me, daddy"
God fucking damn him, but he might just be in love
"Jesus fucking Christ doll"
He didn't let you laugh at him before he had pounced into you with one hard and deep thrust, his mouth crushing into yours simultaneously to drown out that clamorous moan he already knew was coming from your throat
He didn't let you get used to him, he only started fucking up into you like he needed to split you in half, like he needed to get deeper into you that he'd ever been.
He was grunting with each push, and you could faintly hear the fridge beside you move in tandem with his movements, but you couldn't have cared less about worrying whether or not it could be seen from outside.
he hit a particularly deep spot inside of you and just as you were about to cry out like a mad woman, his hand was on your mouth, shutting you up for good
"you let another guy touch this fucking pussy and they're dead" his eyes were just as brutal as his thrusts, although a veil of harrowing honesty lay beneath them
He was being serious, he needed you to know that
"got it?" he asked, your mind only half listening as your walls tightened around him "It's fucking mine" he purred, the hand he had on your waist tight enough to bruise "You're fucking mine," he said, "all of you"
You swore you felt pain underneath the anger in his voice
"I don't care what you say, I'm the only one that can make you come, 'm the only one who can touch you or fuck you or- or fucking take you out to dinner- got it?"
If it were any other moment you would have teased him, but this... there was something too precious- too honest about this
"yes" you whimpered into his palm,
And that sent him straight to fucking heaven, he couldn't help but relieve your lips of his hand and kiss you again, kiss you with every inch of life he had in him
"You're mine" he breathed, both of you breathing so heavily you were nearly hyperventilating
"I'm yours Joel" you promised, your core wisting and tuning as he drilled you closer and closer to the edge "I'm yours" you repeated, watching what it did to him, the relief plastered onto his face, the want only multiplying in his pace "only yours- all of me-"
"that's right" he breathed, his skin slapping with yours "My pussy, my body, my girl" he purred "You're mine, doll"
And just like that, he had pushed you over the edge, watching you fall apart closely before he couldn't help but follow suit, kissing you as he silenced both your moans, bottling them up inside of him, so he could never forget them, forget this.
You opened your eyes to find his already on you, so many unspoken words, feelings, hopes in them, and you couldn't help but smile, dropping your forehead to his as he settled you back onto the ground
"That was- wow" you sighed, still grinning like a kid "I should make you jealous more often"
"Please don't" he begged, his fingers drawing circles on your waist as you kissed him again, smiling softly onto his lips
You needed to talk, about what happened, about what this was, about everything... but as you both leaned away, a mutual understanding passed through you
Later
"You should get back out there" you murmured, although halfheartedly.
the prospect of moving away from his embrace felt like hell right now
"what about you?" he asked, his nose nuzzling against yours
"I gotta clean myself up"
"I could help"
You rolled your eyes playfully as a small laugh flowed through you
"Joel" you said, still smiling "go"
And so even if his whole mind, body, and soul were fighting against it, he did, kissing you one last time before he leaned away, fixed himself up, and looked at you one more time, before walking out of the kitchen and into the backyard
And as if on cue that fucking asshole had to come in and ruin his fucking vibe
"Hey, where's y/n? I've been looking for her" Kaleb asked, walking up to him.
Joel didn't even try to be nice, he didn't even bother with that "count to ten before answering" bullshit Sarah was always telling him about
"She's not interested, and if I see you even just looking her way ever again, I am going to kill you Kaleb, understand?"
To say the guy was taken aback was the understatement of the century
His eyes widened so much he didn't even look like himself
"w-what the fuck?" he spat "Where is she, I need to t-"
"she's in the bathroom" Joel cut him off, pure rage and annoyance in his voice, in his stare "cleaning my come off of herself"
Kaleb stumbled back, literally now
"w-wha-"
"I told you buddy" Joel said simply "she's not interested"
#joel miller#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#dad!joel miller#dbf!joel miller#joel miller x f!reader#dbf!joel#no outbreak!joel miller#joel miller fluff#tlou#joel miller x fem!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x y/n#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfic#smut#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#fluff#joel miller imagine#joel miller blurb#joel miller angst#fanfiction#the last of us#the last of us hbo#tlou hbo#joel miller tlou
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Sex Pollen
Paring: Husband Gojo x wife reader
Words: 4k
Warnings: NSFW (rough sex, blowjob, deepthroat, cum eating, marathon sex, dirty talk, size kink, breeding)
Summary: The curse you were fighting didn't attack, it just sprinkled pink pollen on you. It was irritating. You were hot when you got home. But you felt good. Your husband checked on you right away, wanting to take care of you. He was afraid you were hurt or sick. But you wanted him to fuck you. You had to convince him to do it.
@tohsri there's full version (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡
You sneezed as the curse she approached sprayed you with pollen that entered your nose.
You felt more like pollen hitting you than something dangerous.
Especially since it didn't hurt you at all.
The pink pollen that was around your face blurred and disappeared, and then you saw that the curse was standing a few meters away.
It looked a bit like a bee.
But you don't know why, it looked really friendly.
No claws or fangs.
It stood on those skinny legs like an ant. Four feet on the floor and the rest up.
It only had six legs.
But it was big. Maybe a little more than you.
Well, you know it. Your husband is almost two meters tall...
So you're used to something bigger than you.
Especially when it comes to him.
Wiping your face, you looked at the curse that just stood there.
The pollen that flew into your face came out of a very lascivious-looking rose a bit under the head of the curse.
Why is everything starting to make you think of sex?
But you can't help that the rose on the curse's body looks like a clitoris...
Maybe it's a coincidence...
Or maybe your mind just got lewd...
You ran closer to attack the curse, but your attack missed as you were again hit with pink pollen in the face.
You spat as it entered your mouth.
You were getting warmer from the effort.
This curse didn't attack at all...
This is supposed to be a semi-grade 1 curse? It doesn't even attack!
It's not aggressive.
It just sprays you with that damn pollen that doesn't even smell or anything. Plus, this pollen is not poisonous! It doesn't do anything to you.
This curse just annoys you, blowing this pollen in your face every time you get close.
Either this curse is just meant to annoy people, or it really doesn't do anything.
You've been exposed so many times. And it's still there, and you get the impression that it's looking at you with shining, innocent eyes.
Perhaps this curse really is innocent. If you're still alive, yes.
A normal curse would kill you right away.
You saw a bee with a flower coming towards you, flapping its wings in a strange way.
You got into a fighting stance.
And the bee slowed down, and began to walk more slowly towards you.
When it was a meter away from you, the curse didn't move at all.
And all of a sudden that damn pollen got in your face again!
You waved your hand in front of your face to dispel it.
You looked at the bee, which seemed to be giggling softly.
You waved your hand with cursed energy at the curse, but it evaded.
Then pink pollen sprayed onto your face again. Fourth time same!
It was looking at you like a dog.
Then it came so close that you jumped back, falling on your ass to keep your distance.
But the curse jumped on you.
And lest you attack, she released the same pollen again.
Fifth time in your poor face.
you were coughing.
"What is this?!" You were about to hit the curse, but then the bee released an incredible amount of pollen at you, which made you a little confused.
You kicked it, and you made it slide away from you.
This curse is really getting on your nerves...
You'd rather it try to kill you than get pollen in your face every time!
As you got to your feet, you saw that curse was dancing!
You ran quickly to land a sure blow.
The bee turned and the regimental cloud made you miss again.
Then again and again.
You were already tired.
You didn't hide your face from the pollen just to hit it in the end and go home.
You've had enough of it.
As the curse released a pollen on you, he swung, but it dodged again.
"Stop moving..." You growled with sweat running down your face.
It came to you. You looked at it and saw a huge pink cloud coming out of the rose.
You swung, and the curse did not escape.
"Have fun."
Wait, that curse says?!
Now you hit. Instantly exorcising the curse with one blast of cursed energy.
There was still that damn pollen floating around...
You've already lost count of how many times you've been hit in the face with that annoying thing.
You felt fine and nothing happened to you.
Except for the tiredness you felt. You were hot.
As if you had a fever. But that's only because of how long you've been trying to hit that curse.
The pollen fell right after you left.
And you walked to the assistant's car with heavy breathing.
"Gojo-san, do you need a medic?" Ijichi asked you.
"Call me by my name. I don't want you to confuse me with Satoru." You said as you got in the car and sat lazily in the back seat.
"(y/n)-san, Everything's all right?"
You looked into his eyes as he looked at you.
"I'm just hot... I'm not hurt. I just want to rest..." You mumbled as you rested your head against the headrest.
"I'll take you home right now. But are you sure you don't need a examine?"
"That curse didn't even attack me! It was just such annoying pollen around that made it a bit difficult to breathe. That's all."
"Okay, however, call me if anything happens. I'll come pick you up to take you to Ieiri-san."
"Thanks... If that's the case, I'll do it..."
___
"How is my wifey~?" You heard your husband's melodious voice as he entered the house.
You knew he'd be back at this hour today.
But you felt good hearing his voice.
Like you're relieved.
You were so hot.
But knowing that he had come made you feel a little better.
Still hot, but better.
You heard his footsteps as he climbed the stairs to come to the room.
You had your head in the pillows.
Your hips were grinding side to side and shaking.
Did you feel like you were getting wet?
Sure, you wanted sex today, but not enough to hear it from downstairs and get wet just from the sound.
Or are you delusional?
Maybe you really have a fever and all you think about is sex?
That voice of his when he says all that lewd stuff...
About his long fingers crawling over your skin, arching inside of you.
About his eyes.
About his lips that kiss you. your body.
Lips that tease you between your legs.
The tongue that licks your nipples.
Tongue that enters your hole so he can taste you.
Your whole husband...
You've been thinking about your husband's entire body...
About everything he is...
"I heard you had a strange mission. Ijichi asked me to check on you right away." he said as he entered the room.
You wanted to tell him: oh yes, Satoru, come to me. Touch me... Grab my clothes and tear it apart. I'm so hot. Touch me. fuck me. Breed me.
You didn't know why those words popped into your mind.
Especially the last one...
But you'd be lying if you said you didn't want it.
Because your thighs tremble slightly when you feel this feeling.
Waiting for him to come up to you and lay his hand on you.
Your thighs tremble when you hear his voice.
You want him to fuck you so much here and now.
Or is it your imagination?
Maybe he hasn't really come home yet?
Suddenly, the bed next to you sagged slightly under another weight.
He may have been wondering why it's so dark in here, since you've covered the windows and also no lights are on. But there was a chance you wanted to sleep.
"How are you darling?" he asked placing his hand on your head.
He hoped you were awake.
You turned your head to look at him.
Your breath trembles at the sight of him next to you in that t-shirt of his that sometimes reveals his arm.
Your legs also trembled involuntarily.
You wanted him to sit between your legs now, not next to you...
"Satoru.... Are you really here?" you asked, extending your hand.
You grabbed the fabric of his pants on his thigh.
He was real...
"I'm here. Why shouldn't I be real? Are you tired?" He asked, laughing at what you said at the beginning.
He rubbed your lower back with his fingers.
It sent very pleasant shivers down your body.
You were so sensitive, weren't you?
Your body reacted even to his presence next to you.
Not to mention his touch.
"Honey, your face is red. Are you okay?" He asked, checking your temperature by placing his hand on your forehead.
"I'm fine..." you said and sat down.
Your hand gripped his thigh tighter.
But he didn't seem to care. You may have just accidentally touched it.
Sometimes he would take accidental touches as your desire to seduce him, and he would immediately drag you to bed.
And now that you were doing it on purpose, he didn't know it...
"Do you need something?"
"Mmm..."
You grunted looking at him.
Suddenly you grabbed his arm and pulled him down, causing him to lie on his back on the bed. But his feet were still on the floor.
You jumped on top of him, sitting on his stomach.
"I need relief..." you moaned as you kissed his collarbone.
"(y/n)–"
"Toru, please... Give me relief. My body is so hot... I want something inside... I want touch... Please..."
He looks at you from behind the blindfold.
You kissed his cheek before your teeth caught his blindfold, struggling to get it off him as your hands were busy stroking his broad chest.
You circled your hips against his belly.
"Please Toru... A bit of relief..." you moaned into his ear.
Suddenly his hands grabbed your shoulders.
"(y/n), You know I'm always want to, but you're sick. I can't do that when you're not feeling well..."
"I feel great! It would be even better if you fuck me now... Toru... Fuck me raw... Fuck cum in me... Just do it... Now... Please..."
"But-."
You felt very good.
But it would be even better if you had his cock now.
"Please~ Toru~ I'm so horny for your fat cock... I want to hear your balls hit my ass... Oh god... I want you to destroy my pussy with that big dick..." You moaned as you planted kisses on his chest.
You pushed the fabric aside and crawled under his shirt, kissing his abs. To put your head on his chest later.
You lowered your hips to rub against his crotch.
Your already swollen and thirsty pussy pressed against his crotch.
"Destroy me... Mark me... Toru ~fill me~. Put as much sperm inside me as you have... Fuck all the time... Now Toru... Give me that hard cock... You like our height difference. You like it when my little pussy takes your monster cock. You love to see me smaller than you. How big your hands are compared to mine. I know my lovely husband has a size kink. You can tie me up, fuck me in the kitchen or in the bathroom. Just fuck me."
When he opened his mouth to say something, you placed your fingers on his tongue, collecting saliva.
You came out from under his shirt.
You shoved your fingers in his saliva under your pants and panties, feeling your hot wetness. You ruined your panties so much.
You rubbed your clit with your fingers, feeling his saliva sticking to your skin.
You put your head on his chest. Your hips twitched.
"Please, Toru, Agree. I'll be a good wife~ I'll take your dick so good. Do what you want with my body. Pour cum on me, fuck me in the ass, gag me, strangle me, bend me. Fuck too deep. destroy me. Arrange me however you want..." You moaned.
You placed your hand, wet from your juices, on his chest for support.
Your fingers were dripping with your wetness.
"Are you sure you're okay?" He asked, pretending he wasn't into it.
He wanted to stop.
Because either way, there's something wrong with you.
His little darling wife would never say anything so lascivious.
He wanted to fuck you, as he always did when he came home.
But circumstances were different now, and he had to take care of you first.
Although there was a chance you might have encountered a sex curse...
But that was unlikely!
But it was so...
He needed to know what was wrong with you first.
So he couldn't succumb to your lecherous words. Even though that's all you said, he wanted to do so much to you.
He couldn't succumb to your movements as you rubbed your groin against his crotch.
He saw your pants get wet.
Your eyes were shining and full of lust.
Almost tearful.
Your face even more red and charming.
Body trembling.
So eager for cock...
"Toru..." you begged.
But this time he couldn't give in, and he couldn't start undressing you right away.
"How am I supposed to convince you?" you thought looking at his face.
Kisses, touching him and you always worked.
Plus that dirty talk.
It must have affected him somehow.
You felt something hard against your clit.
You looked down to see how his slightly hardened cock stood out under his pants.
You smiled.
If he wants to cum, he'll fuck you.
"We can't. (y/n). There's something wrong with you. I need to fix this first. How are you feeling?"
"I feel good... So very good... Your dick is better... How do I convince you? Should I fuck with a toy in front of you? Shall I put your soft cock in me? It's all because of this pollen... Aah..."
"Pollen? What pollen? Is something hurting you?"
You quickly got off of him and knelt between his knees on the floor.
"My pussy hurts when you're not inside me." You put your cheek against his cock under the cloth. "How can I convince you that I'm fine? I feel fine. I'm not sick."
"You had a fever—"
"I'm horny..."
You grabbed the waistband of his pants and undid the buckle.
When you saw him move, you moved faster, tossing the buckle aside with a clatter.
Before he could grab your head, you pushed his pants and panties down, grabbing his semi-hard length with your hand and shoved it quickly into your mouth, going straight to the middle. To hear a satisfied purr from him.
"(y-y/n)..." he moaned.
You slid down on his cock, shoving it all the way down your throat. Which you never really did because he was too big. But now, because you're so horny and because he's not completely hard yet, you held him, warming him in your throat.
You started stroking his balls with your hand.
So ready to pour all over you the cum that accumulates there. Heavy and full.
You held him until he was completely hardened.
Your throat hurt from stretching. You had a gag reflex at times, but you managed to hold it back.
Your nose pressed hard against his pubic bone as you swallowed around him.
Saliva dripped from your chin as he sat in front of you on the bed, looking at the lewd image of your face in tears and saliva, as his whole dick disappeared into your little mouth.
He wanted to stop you, but it was so good...
Suddenly, he ran his fingers along your neck, feeling clearly where the end of his cock was.
He was proud of you.
But he was also terrified that his body didn't want to hold you back.
Your little hands continued to massage his balls so nicely, leaving not a single inch of skin untouched.
You go all over his cock, taking it down your throat, massaging his balls, and you're so wet that if it weren't for your pants, you'd be wetting the floor.
Isn't this the moment of his dreams?
His lovely wife is kneeling in front of him with a whole huge cock in her mouth. And comparing your bodies to each other, anyone would say that you are smaller than him.
You have a tight pussy and he has a big dick.
Or maybe you have such a small pussy because the size of his cock is too big? Maybe that's why you're so tight?
One thing is for sure, he will never let anyone check it out.
Because tonight and tonight you really want him to carve your walls into his shape.
His hands reached to his knees as he watched you pull it slowly out of your mouth.
The heat in your throat started to leave him.
As you get out the tip, you coughed a few times.
And he stood at attention in front of your face, ready for further caresses.
You put your mouth on his balls, sucking on one side, then opened your mouth hard to welcome most of the warm skin between your lips.
You put the length of it on your face, looking at him innocently. You even ignored the feeling of your saliva dripping down his shaft onto your face.
Your forehead with a drop of precum flowing out of it.
But you still continued.
As you pulled his now saliva-soaked balls out of your mouth, you ran your tongue all the way to the tip, inserting it into your mouth, and you dug in further, letting it sink back into your throat.
His chest was rising and falling heavily.
Then you pulled him out again, and followed the same path with your tongue to his balls.
Then up and down again.
Until you added your hands on its base to give it more sensations.
Maybe that will convince him?
You twirled your hands on him, same with your tongue.
You sucked it and swallowed it. It was so good.
For him and for you.
He didn't protest. Perhaps because you have adopted a course of action that is very difficult for him to reject.
You were insistent in pleasing him.
He was throbbing and twitching impatiently.
So you put it down your throat one last time, gagging on his thickness as the tip slid down the walls of your throat.
But you swallowed him, again playing with his balls to make him purr with pleasure.
Until it finally exploded in your throat.
You thought you would suffocate or vomit from the very sudden filling of your throat with a thick and hot liquid.
However, you calmed down and waited patiently.
He continued to squirt as you pulled him out, and you let him cover your cheeks white.
Maybe that's why he came so much because it was the best deepthroat blowjob he'd ever had.
He lay down on the bed on his back and his cock followed suit, laying on his exposed stomach.
You sat on his chest, and showed him the inside of your mouth painted white.
"Get you a trash can or a towel to spit out?" he asked calmly.
Not always someone wanted to swallow cum.
You put your finger to his lips and suddenly swallowed.
Feeling the thick heat flowing in your esophagus more to the inside of you.
You ran your fingers over your cheeks, then licked the white liquid from your fingers.
You wanted cum so much.
You don't know why, but you wanted to lick his cum off your fingers and you wanted more.
And so it was.
You wanted more of his sperm.
In you and on you.
"T-Toru..." You groaned, grinding your hips against his chest.
His cock was already at attention as he watched you lick his cum with relish.
"Fuck it..." suddenly he grabbed your body and threw you on the bed.
Ripping off his pants and shirt and then the same with you.
He bent you in half and entered your pussy, starting a long journey of destroying you from the inside out. A journey that aims to satisfy you and shape your walls into his shape.
All evening.... Half the night....
And also one whole next day and also half the night...
You wanted so much from him...
Surely that pollen you were talking about was sex pollen...
You would never take so much sex from Him.
Even he was so tired.
He was so sore.
But because it was so great, he didn't want to stop.
The bed was wet with saliva, sweat, tears, your juices and his cum.
But he was lying there. Glad the curtains are closed.
That day and that night will be unforgettable.
Alternating blowjob and fucking your pussy. Once or twice it happened that he fucked your ass...
But then he went back to your pussy anyway.
You suck him dry that night.
Your body was dripping with his cum.
You had the most white fluids in you.
There's no way you're not pregnant.
But it's your fault. You're the one who begged him to fuck you raw and also breed you.
He opened his eyes to see his hard red dick lying on his belly from all the sex you guys had had.
He slept a few hours and his body still wants sex?
Or was it because your tired but still horny body was still stroking his balls and shaft with your fingertips?
"Toru... One more... one more time..." you muttered, looking at him with puppy dog eyes.
You were as tired as he was.
How much liquid you spilled in this bed can definitely be counted as liters. If it weren't for the bottles of water, you would have died of desiccation long ago.
"The last time... I think it's really the last time..." You moaned.
He studied your face.
And suddenly he waved his hand at you.
By letting you in.
They slid their legs over his hips and you fingered his length into your stretched and cum dripping hole.
He groaned being so sensitive.
But it was nice anyway. Painfully pleasant.
As soon as he was deep inside you, your strength left you completely.
"T-Toru... Can you move? I don't have the strength..." you muttered.
Fluids about your thighs ran like water down the shower wall.
With a grunt, he flipped both of you over and, laying on top of you, began thrusting into you, only to cum with you in a few minutes moaning.
As your pussy milked out of him what his body had been able to produce in those last hours when he wasn't gushing like a fountain of cum.
You weren't as tired as he was.
So when he fell asleep, you left the house thanking him.
You cleaned yourself, but you didn't force his cum out of you.
What's left, let it stay there.
Because you don't regret wanting him to breed you.
You wanted to let him rest after all this.
Your body wasn't tired because you were in control of this powder. And now that everything you wanted to do with this powder was fulfilled, you were satisfied.
So did Satoru.
You went to his students to teach them that day because Satoru couldn't come today.
When you came home smiling, he woke up.
He greeted while standing naked in the kitchen as he ate cookies.
"There's no way I'm wearing anything. Don't even make me." He said, leaning his bare ass against the kitchen cabinet.
"Why?” You asked blushing at the sight of his naked body with scratches from last day. Marks on his neck that he got from you. Scratches on his back.
Your body was worse.
Handprints, hives all over the body, bites.
You had to wear a scarf!
"My dick is dying. You don't know how vulnerable I am because of what you've been making me do for the last day. Fuck, I can't even put my pants on without feeling like my dick is about to fall off!"
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk x you#gojo satoru#gojo x y/n#jujustu kaisen#gojo x reader#jjk x reader#gojo#satoru gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojou satoru x reader#gojo satoru smut#gojo x you
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Alastor x Gn!Reader
Favoritism pt.1
part 2
————/////————————//////
Synopsis: the others notice a certain Deer Demons positive behavior regarding one of the staff. (Reader)
a/n: reader is portrayed as pretty meek and quiet. At least upon first meeting people, and I may continue that trait in part 2 or have them open up a bit more.
———————————————/—/——————
“Don’t ya think it’s kinda…I dunno..weird?”
Charlie’s shiny eyes snapped up from the sparkly cards and glue strewn across the living room table. “What’s weird?” Angel hummed, one set of arms crossed thoughtfully as his eyes swept towards the far corner, watching a certain Radio Demon quietly chat with one of the hotels…”staff” members.
“That Smiles, is so sweet on (Y/n) and not the rest of us?” His hand waved around dramatically, watching Charlie’s eyes widen as they spun towards the aforementioned duo, studying them for a moment for any sign of irregular behavior on the deer demons part. Although not much could be considered regular in regards to him
“I’m pretty sure Alastor is just as much of a prick to them as he is to everyone else.” Vaggie huffed from her spot on the couches armchair, a small magazine in hand that she carefully tried to cut apart for the days craft. Scrapbooking, if it wasn’t clear. “…your markers bleeding babe..”
“Oh shoot!”
Angel guffawed, bolting up right and letting his arms flail wildly in disbelief. “No way toots! Don’t you remember when he first brought them ovah? As one of ‘s lil “Helpahs”?” He turned, “Huskers you know what I’m on about don’t ya?”
The grumpy cat deflated with a sigh, setting down a freshly cleaned glass just to pick up another and start again. “That demon, plays with souls and sinners like no other shitlord out there. And that one,” his clawed finger shot out to point dagger straight at you “just so happens to be his favorite. End of story.”
Charlies lips pursed at that, a small shimmer in her expression that made Vaggies brow furrow in stress, watching her lover fall back into her own mind and remember the hotels first ever introduction to you.
—————
“Now my friends, I do have one more favor to cash in on. I expect you all on your best behavior in regards to them..” His red eyes lingered on Angel with a sneer. “I won’t take kindly to any damage done by your hands.” The static that swelled behind his words reached its peak, before muffling once a small figure materialized just beside him.
A clawed hand curled atop your shoulder and if not for the familiar chill, perhaps you would’ve jumped, but the buzz of static and the crackle of a radio was a comforting sound you had grown all too close to.
“Now, this sweet thing is (Y/n), a special little friend of mine who will help you, though- mainly me, keep the hotel on tip top shape- isn’t that right dear?”
Your gaze darted around, and the others watched as you barely made a peep before a gentle smile pulled on your lips and you nodded..strange for someone in the company of the Radio Demon.
“What’s up with them? Can’t talk or what?” Angel mused, almost rudely, winking under your watchful eye that was almost..freakishly intense.
Alastor hummed and buzzed for a moment, gazing down at you in thought. “No No, just a bit shy is all. Always on the quieter side…”
“That won’t be a problem will it?” The static fluxed and swayed around them, shadows scratching at the walls of his underlying threat, that cut through the air.
……..
The princess was admittedly worried by your timid nature. You were almost…paranoid in a sense, looking as if you wanted to melt into the floor at any sign of confrontation, friendly or otherwise.
But…she did notice you seemed oddly at ease around the Overlord. Sticking close, though typically he was the one following you around as you did..whatever it is you were brought over to do.
She was even reminded of one instance, where you had been scuttling around, a stack of fresh dishes held precariously in your clammy hands as you made your way to the kitchen.
Charlie had been too busy at first to notice, she was speaking with Alastor about the future promotion of the hotel, when the loud sound of glass shattering rang through the room.
All heads snapped towards the cause, only to spot you, wide eyed and flat on the floor surrounded by dozens of broken plates and glasses.
Seemed you had tripped on a loose bit of tile.
Now, Husker just had been throughly..scolded by the Hotelier for dropping a bottle just a few hours prior, so the patrons and staff watched with baited breath as the ever encompassing form of the radio demon stalked towards your dejected form.
Vaggie had drawn her spear right as the crash had happened, ready to step in at any moment should she need.
But the others could only watch in surprise as you were gently ushered to your feet with soft dusts off your shoulder, and a little snap of clawed fingers. The mess disappeared in a flash, and your uniform was carefully adjusted by the tall red deer who softly scolded you.
“Now now my dear. You must remember not to overwork yourself. Can’t have you in poor shape now can we?” His words were condescending at best, paired with the gentle pinch of your cheek, but for whatever reason you seemed hardly put off, simply nodding shyly and quickly darting off to continue your next list of….errands, the deers ears swiveled in your direction till you vanished through the corridor.
——/
“Do you think they’re-?”
“Fuckin?”
“I was gonna say dating..” Charlie trailed off uncomfortably, watching tensely as Alastor almost…”playfully” whisked you around the parlor.
“They’re not.” Husks gruff voice cut through, dipped in firm belief that he was right. “That fucker has an angle no matter what, and whatever special treatment they’re receiving is just to follow through with it. That guy can’t even conceptualize caring about someone like that.”
Clearly that incident was still fresh on his mind as he mumbled quietly about how he was cut off from all booze the following week to, help clear his “shaky hands”.
The others grimaced, Vaggie especially as Charlie’s big eyes welled with fat tears. “That’s..that’s so sad!” She wailed, collapsing into her girlfriend’s arms, her reaction subtly mirrored by Sir Pentious who had slithered into the conversation.
“Wh..why are we crying??” He hissed, greated with rolled eyes from the spider and cat, and a dejected sniffle from the princess.
“Al-Alastor’s never been in love!!” She sobbed dramatically, Vaggie cooing in her ear while her hand rubbed her back soothingly.
“Oh..?” The snake perked up, a confused tilt to his head. “But aren’t Alassstor and (Y/n) …?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out! He totally dots on them don’t he Snakes??”
The engineer nodded rapidly, scales shimmering in the dim living room light.
“I told you morons, they’re not and never will-“ Husks aggravation of the topic was clear, the scrubbing of his glass a tad more aggressive.
“But…I jussst ssssssaw them kisssssing the other day…? Up on the terrace?”
…..
“Ex-fucking scuse me?”
#hazbin x reader#hazbin hotel#x reader#hazbin hotel lucifer#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor x reader#hazbin alastor#charlie morningstar#hazbin hotel husk#huskerdust
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daisy chains
luke castellan
x child of demeter!reader; poc friendly
masterlist
you often find yourself sitting on a random hill at camp, letting the warm morning sun soak into your skin and the slightly damp grass leave soft green stains on your jean shorts. you fiddle with the grass, often pulling out one or two strands and braiding them.
over, under, over, under. the patterned motion relaxes you as it continues. over, under, over, under.
you toss the strands of grass aside and opt for the daisies that lay around you. it was probably bad karma to rip flowers out of the ground and your mother would probably be at least a bit peeved if she saw you do this. it didn’t matter much to you, you never met demeter and didn’t feel indebted to her in any way. you could make as many daisy chains as you wanted, no one could stop you.
it was similar to how eliza, your friend from athena, would make paper stars whenever she got anxious. your daisy chains and her paper stars were just motions.
either way, luke didn’t mind your habit. he thought it was cute how your twitching hands could make such a beautiful little thing. the intricate braids laced around white daisies and took shape of whatever you wished. sometimes it became a crown. others, it was a necklace. you tried to make a bracelet once, but it fell apart and you hadn’t tried since, instead sticking to what you were more confident in.
speaking of luke, the son of hermes was making his way over to you. “what’re you doing up?”
“i could say the same to you.” you said with a smile so soft it rivaled your voice, unnecessarily quiet as to not wake any campers.
perhaps unknowingly following your example, luke lowered his voice as well, despite being far away from any cabins and not being loud to begin with. “you got me there. i was gonna go to the range to practice the bow, you know i’ve been trying to improve?” he added a lilt to the end of his sentence as if he was asking a question.
it took you a second to process what he was saying. “no… i didn’t know that. why? you’ve seemed fine with the bow last i saw you, no?”
“see!” he put emphasis on that word, as if he had proved you wrong. “i seemed fine, not good. big difference, love.” he looked down at your hands, noticing for the first time what you were fiddling with. “you wanna come join? i’m sure there’re plenty of flowers over by the range.”
your smile continued to widen at the goofy expression luke held, clearly proud of himself for finding a way to get you to join him. most times, luke preferred to practice his weaknesses by himself — that was why he was up so early, after all — but he always appreciated when you joined him. he called you his “good luck charm.”
“of course i’ll come, luke.” you popped up off the ground, now no longer as damp as it once was. green stains from the grass painted your shorts, but you ignored them. your hands scurried to snatch up the daisy chain that laid on the ground right below you. the chain was quickly stitched into a crown before you placed it on luke’s head. it was slightly too big and almost fell in front of his eyes.
he linked arms with you and the both of you continued down the hill, sitting course for the range.
not proofread
my tags are also rlly glitchy so pls excuse if any of them are wrong
#luke castellan x gn!reader#luke castellan#percy jackson x gn!reader#x gn!reader#percy jackson and the olympians#x reader#mine 📹#luke castellan x reader#pjo#percy jackson#percy jackson x reader#comfort#fluff#poc friendly#child of demeter
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I think about Sun and Moon's original versions a LOT, and I don't get why people say they're not expressive!
Or perhaps, I do, and I just wanna ramble. Anyways! Big ol warning for lots of talking, some fursuit gifs and analyzation of body movement.
So, they have flat, immobile faceplates, right? Technically, yes!some argue that this makes them immediately inert and expressionless and opt to enhance their expressions. And this is a-okay! Do what you like!
But as someone who used to be a costumer, and wears a fursuit on occasion,
(Sorry, I love this gif so much)
BUT! When in a mascot costume, fursuit, or any other costume with a mask over one's face, the performer has to learn how to move in order to portray the emotions necessary for character engagement with the audience! Whether it's exaggerated head bobs, using your hands to talk, or making everything a bit of a spectacle, even the way you tilt your FACE can affect how you look.
Even MUPPETS do this with their limited range of expression. And we can easily draw those conclusions of how the boys were programmed to act in canon!
Take Sun's default animation in the daycare, just standing there.
It's very obvious here what he's trying to portray, and who his programmed audience is- little children! When costuming around little kids, you wanna use big gestures, and get on their level because you can seem HUGE AND SCARY to them! You wanna get down towards the ground, make big sweeping cartoon motions, and make sure all your movements are ROUNDED- not jabbing, sharp, or sudden- so that the kid isn't ever surprised, but rather delighted by your performance as a costumer. I'll show you an example by the amazing performer, Temba the Bat! (Made by Toxicoon, I believe.)
Big sweeping motions, slow without being too spooky, and generally friendly motions while swaying the head! Looks kinda similar right?
Another point is, though, these exaggerated motions don't really... turn off when feeling other things. Sun and Moon don't have a customer service mode, and that's WILD to me that their programming requires them to act like this all the time. Exhibit B: Sun's pain in the transformation scene.
He's making such exaggerated motions and movements to INDICATE he is in pain or holding something back. He's gripping his face like something is trying to come out of it, and even dramatically falls backwards to indicate a loss of control in his body. Whether the way the fall looks so cartoonist was intentionally programmed in, I couldn't tell you.
And then... there's Moon.
This is SO cartoon villain sequel, isn't it? The hands tapping delicately on the surface, the exaggerated head tilt, all of it is so wildly exaggerated in such a smooth way to let you know "Ah! I'm in danger! Great!"
And yet... he still is low to the ground. Still in that pose of going after someone SMALL. Performing for someone small. His evilness is almost completely exaggerated and, dare I say, fabricated by his programming. Of course, the virus probably had something to do with it but LIKE! Look at that range of motion!
Idk what the point of all this is, I just wanna say: it's totally understandable to make the boys super duper expressive in the artistic, flat 2d styles i see a lot!
But man I do hope someone draws them biblically accurate while expressing something else because that would be hilarious to see Sun throwing a temper tantrum by banging his fists on the ground and flailing while his face is just
:D
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Aren’t you jealous? — Takashi Mitsuya
Content: short fluff
Tropes: established relationships, miscommunication
Warnings: not proof read
Summary: You and Mitsuya who have an undying trust in one another. So much so that when Mistuya is being too nice for his own good and then struggles under the reprocution, you just sit back, grin, and watch.
Vixen's two cents: hey! This has been collecting dust in the back of my drafts so I've decided to give it some love and let it see the light of day. I love mitsuya till the day I die and it's only a matter of time till I write something for Hakkai too (cutie). Anyway, remember that my requests are open if you have au idea you'd like to see! Now enjoy!
You take joy in watching Mitsuya grow uncomfortable around the overly-friendly girl who’s hanging off him like a tick. You had told him that she was no good before but he didn’t seem to care all that much, assuring you that he could handle it. Look who’s laughing now.
And when Hakkai comes up to you, face tinged pink with confusion (perhaps frustration?), and asks you why you’re not doing anything. You just smile and say “He can handle it, and if not I’ll know when to step in.”
Kai's eyes almost pop out of their sockets, his jaw basically hitting the floor. "What do you meannnn?" he whined in disbelief. "I mean that he did that to himself, I told him not to." You looked far too relaxed for Hakkai's liking and leaned back against one of the bar chairs on the kitchen island, one hand supporting your chin, the other grasping your drink.
"Youre just gonna let that happen?" Hakkai prompts again, completely baffled. "Yeah, look, he's coming crawling to me already." You smirk teasingly and nod your head in their direction. Mitsuya, clearly displeased, was weaving his way out of the girl's grasp, making a bee-line to where you and Hakkai were, but ever incessant on wooing him, the girl followed right after him.
"Hey there." you started once he entered your circle. Mitsuya and you made brief eye contact, his gaze screaming a plea before he looked to Hakkai, to whom he gave a weak greeting. “Hi.” He breathed, voice exhausted and annoyed as he rested both arms on the counter he was lying on.
"You seem... glowing." Hakkai tries to comment awkwardly, seeing the girl weasel her way to where the three of you are standing. Mitsuya only offers a disgruntled groan in return.
"Takashiiiiii! Are these your freindssss? you wanna introduce me already??? Hahahahahahah that's so sweet!!" The girl squealed and clung herself to his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. Your ears rung at her obnoxious laughter, the noise foreign and fake. The air grew uncomfortable when Mitsuya didnt respond,so she took the liberty of introducing herself, drawing out the short speech with elaborate (unnesseary) details, reaching over the counter to shake your hand.
You only looked at her, unimpressed, and look at her a bit pitifully. "This is the catch of the night Mr. Mitsuya?" you smiled down at the heap of a man, and he groaned in response. "Yes Mrs. Mitsuya, it seems that something got caught up in my net." It was a running gag between you two- and your friends to some sort: Mr and Mrs despite not being wed. It was clear that it was forever between you two though, so everyone just kinda went with it.
Little Miss disturbance didn't know of that though, and upon looking down at your hands and finding one (the wrong) ring finger embezzled with a promise ring, her mouth widened. Jaw on the floor and hands clammy, she slowly stepped away from Takashi and retreated. Fast. "It was, ah, uhh, pleasure meeting you mr and mrs mitsuya, let me know if you ever need a babysitter.”
Hakkai laughed out loud and clutched his stomach “You’re the best y/n! Man you totally owned her just now! Fuckin' wear the pants!" Te laughed and clapped a hand on Takashi’s shoulder, who had still not risen from his slumped pose. "You better not hire her though, I'll do it for free, swear I wanna watch your little beasts <3" Hakkai's voice had a serious edge now and he looked at you. "Make sure to tell me if he ever dares to treat you wrong. I'll rock his shit!"
Sighing you nod at Hakkai with a smile "Thanks Kai. Will do." you rounded the kitchen island and came to stand to next Takashi, resting your hand on his arm. "Good evening Mr. Mitsuya.” he pulled his head from the counter. "Good evening Mrs. Mitsuya." his drowsy eyes met yours - smiling as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You smiled back, and before long your lips met his in a soft exchange of endearment.
Out of the corner of your eye you could see Hakkai turn red and turn away with a shy smile on his face too.
#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo revengers#tokyo rev x reader#x reader#tokyo rev x you#tokrev#tr content#tokyo manji revengers#tr headcanons#mitsuya x y/n#mitsuya fluff#tokyo revengers mitsuya#mitsuya x reader#mitsuya takashi
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Katsuki realizes Izuku is his whole world after the war, but instead of panicking or trying to shove his feelings away he decides to embrace it. He attaches himself to Izuku (being apart from him during the battle made him understand how painful it is not to be next to him at all times) and tells himself it doesn't matter if his nerd doesn't feel the same.
But it does matter.
Everyone notices because Katsuki isn't good at being subtle; the stares, the fond smiles whenever Izuku is talking excitedly about his favorite thing, the way he turns into a feral thing whenever he hears someone saying something bad about Izuku.
However, Izuku has no idea. He's convinced himself this is the way Katsuki shows they're friends now. A very intense friendship, one that involves hand holding and having Katsuki making him breakfast and dinner because he says Izuku doesn't know how to take care of himself.
It must be something best friends do all the time, even though Izuku hasn't seen his classmates do the same.
They always end up cuddling on the couch; Izuku is not sure how that happens, they start by sitting normally next to each other, but Katsuki gets closer and closer (even if they have more space on the couch) and somehow Izuku finds himself on the other boy's lap. His classmates don't find it even remotely interesting or surprising.
Katsuki likes to play with his hands, even though they're full of scars, he's always touching them and holding them and sometimes nuzzling against them like they're a precious thing. Izuku usually gets flustered, but keeps convincing himself the other boy is being friendly.
"Izuku..."
"Yeah?" The green haired boy looks at his friend; he has to move his head in a weird angle because Katsuki is wrapped around him from behind, like he usually is.
"I want to live with you after we graduate."
"Like roommates?" Izuku beams. "That'd be great, Kacchan!"
For a moment, Katsuki looks a little bit disappointed, but he nods almost immediately, smiling fondly at the other boy.
"Anything you want, just don't... leave me."
"I won't, Kacchan!" Izuku promises, turning around to put his arms around the blond's neck. "I honestly can't imagine a future without you by my side..."
Katsuki looks vulnerable, but happy, his smile is wide, but it seems like he's fighting the urge to sob. If he starts tearing up, Izuku will too.
"I feel the same, nerd."
Even though he says that, Izuku feels like Katsuki is hiding something from him, perhaps he should talk about it with him tomorrow.
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HI GUYS @cherryjuiceblues here ! oof, this took me longer than i anticipated to finish, and for that i am sorry, friends! this is my installment to mine and @1800titz first collab :D if you haven't already read part one, written by titz herself, then you can do so here !!
some warnings before you read! following on from part one, this is dark harry. some very dark themes going on. and once again, as miss titz previously stated, harry is simply a faceclaim here. there is absolutely no intention to associate the real harry with this fictitious one !!
content warnings include: dom/sub themes, exhibitionism, light spanking/impact play, choking, name-calling, degradation, praise, threats of intending to cause harm (hitchhikerry is not a good man at all). generally, he's a bit meaner in this one!
word count is just under 11k (both of us had aimed to write a short and snappy 6-7k each but here we are LMAO) !! ENJOY :D
This bathroom is filthy. The slanted mirror swirls a little, in a thick, hypnotic puddle, as Y/N stares at the smeared reflection before her.
A new low, perhaps—this night, for Y/N (only competing with one other evening that springs to mind). In an unloved bar, in a dingy bathroom, fingers digging into grimy porcelain that no amount of suds from the muddy bar of soap could clean. (And, really—whose idea was it to have bars of soap in a public place?) Clenching digits in an attempt to wake up some from the wave of paranoia that skittered across her skin in the public eye of the bar.
Y/N swears her pupils fluctuate as she grounds herself in them. Recollects herself in this pigsty of an establishment. Forces some of the alcohol to evaporate off of her in waves as she sobers up to the thought of piss-stained tiles and sticky toilet seats.
Y/N doesn’t drink alone.
But she didn’t do hitchhikers either and look where that got her.
In a shithole—that’s where. In a shithole, on her lonesome, on a Monday night of all nights. Argued to be the worst day of the week to wake up, go to school, work—and most relevantly—get drunk. But she’d considered it important to force herself out—to maintain control over her actions whether they be sensible or not. It was rather unimportant to Y/N what day of the week it was. They’d sort of all merged into one since receiving the phone call—every day reduced to the same thoughts tick, tick, ticking inside of her head. Hours spent ping-ponging back and forth over every moment in which her life could have ended inside of that car.
She’d tried since; to phone him back. Each time met with the denying wall of a payphone. Y/N almost grew comforted by that failure—that safety of knowing no one would ever answer—until rationality kicked in and she blocked the number. A small, tiny ounce of power to hold.
And there’s a part of her, still, that doesn’t quite believe it. That surely friendly Harry—adorned in his soft sweatshirt, with his dimpled cheeks and yellow nails—could have only been laughing with his friends, all huddled around his phone that blasted on speaker, at the successful spooking of an unassuming girl. Despite the fact of all the evidence stacking up against him—that she’d heard only his breaths, only his voice, and the undeniable dead of night surrounding him. She needn’t even ponder over the possibility to accept it—lone stranger on the side of the road, in the dead of night, sleeping at a motel, so eager to manhandle and encourage Y/N’s struggle—
The door clatters, and then a body pushes it open, the heavy wood resisting some and disguising Y/N’s flinch at the sudden intrusion. She clears her throat, turning the tap on and pretending to wash her hands as she meets the eyes of a woman in the mirror, a small weak smile upturning Y/N’s lips, before she disappears inside a cubicle.
She’s retraced every single moment of that night. Looking back with shame and humiliation. Because (and it’s pointless to waste even a second on it now but) how silly—how stupid—does someone have to be; how lacking in common sense or respect for one’s self, to pick up a stranger on the side of the road. Harry was right to scold her over the phone, no matter the irony of it all. She might as well have served herself up on a platter for him to take. So easy, he’d said.
So easy it hadn’t been fun, is all Y/N can assume.
The broken seal of the door reminds her of the outside world, shaking her head—an attempt to rattle her thoughts into submission, to collect herself and focus on the surface level image of her reflection. To remember the facts. That she looks pretty. Pretty and put-together—and ready to drown more of her sorrows in another cocktail mixed with her chosen spirit.
It’s as quiet as it was before Y/N slipped into the bathroom, a handful of lonely men scattered on opposite ends of the bar—the occasional group huddled around a table—or a couple sprawled against a sofa. The wall-mounted television has been switched on, subtitles an obnoxious fluorescent yellow as the news captures the attention of few desolate drinkers. Y/N doesn’t notice the extra body occupying a high-top table nearest to the bar, her back turned towards them, as she makes herself (comfortable would be an exaggeration) settled once again on a rickety, wooden stool.
She doesn’t notice. Not until she orders a Cosmopolitan and twists her clutch onto her lap, opening the zipper’s teeth, fingers pinching the familiar edge of her card just enough for it to peek past the confines, and is hastily denied by the bartender. He shakes his head, hands busy as he mixes her drink, nodding in some direction behind her as he says, “Gentleman over there paid for it.”
And that… that can’t be right. Gentle and man are two respected words in their own right but together? Y/N’s spine straightens and her muscles tighten. There’s no way she could know, but somehow she does—shutting her eyes, expelling a breath in preparation—as she twists around on her stool to see the man who she invited into her sedan all those days ago. There was nothing gentle about that night.
Or so she found out.
And he looks… the same. Of course he does.
Same chocolate-swirled curls brushing against the unperturbed smoothness of his forehead. Same strong line of his nose, same hard clench of his jaw dusted in scruff that she’d let him brush against her face as they’d kissed. Same plush lips that purse around the rim of a tumbler, cheekbones sharp as he tips his head back enough to allow the cool liquid to slick down his throat. Same rough, sinewy fingers—the subdued yellow of his nails (so far along the spectrum from the blinding fluorescence of the television subtitles) now chipped in a way that suggests it’s fashionable as opposed to scruffy.
All the same features and yet Y/N can’t help but picture them in a new, scathing light—those soft tendrils matted with thick, dark blood, splatters dripping down his temple and beading at his chin. Blush-tinted lips curled up in a sinister, satisfied smile—chilling enough to slow the blood in Y/N’s veins—and those hands; his fingers that had previously delivered so much pleasure, wrapping around the handle of a sharpened blade with the intent to inflict more than she could have bargained for—no sunshine yellow in sight.
And the morbid image is hardly helped by the baggy garments that swallow his limbs, grey sweats and black hoodie selling one of two different visuals. Either that of a cosy boyfriend or a looming presence on a dimly lit street, late at night. Y/N’s brain opts for the latter.
Harry meets Y/N’s gaze with confidence—if he is surprised, or displeased, or worried by her presence then it shows none on his face. She watches the tick of his throat as he swallows the remainder of what looks like whiskey, before carelessly sliding the glass across the table in which he is slouching away from with arrogance, to meet its other empty friend as they clink together. His posture suggests complete ease—the sort of position you would take on a deep-set sofa—an ankle slung across a knee, an elbow propped behind you. Perhaps the type of arrogance only the person who had admitted their desire to murder you could have.
She blinks at him, unable to startle back around in fear. Not in order to preserve any sort of upper hand—but from a complete lack of said immediate panic; that fight or flight response. She blinks as she sees the screen of her phone behind her eyelids; as she sees every unanswered call she dialled to that payphone. The ringing in her ear as she waited, and waited, and waited.
The reminiscence, the amusement in his tone—that switched as though controlled by one—to disappointment and disdain, to deliver a warning with such severity that only left Y/N with more questions. Why wait an entire week to call? Why tell her about his intention? How many times had he killed before? Why didn’t he kill her?
“—Police have found what they believe to be the body of twenty-five-year-old Ruby Wilcox…” Y/N doesn’t know why this specific statement is deemed salient enough to shove it’s way past all the other droning noise and embed itself deep within her head—but it is. As though Ruby Wilcox is her own name, Y/N feels a pit of dread churning around inside of her stomach, twisting and turning in a true derivation of discomfort, as she peers around to acknowledge that she’s heard correctly, skimming the subtitles with grave trepidation. The journalist goes on, “...reported missing six days ago…” but Y/N already feels as though she’s heard the story.
She turns back towards Harry, unsure as to why it feels necessary to do so—the moment their eyes met the first time, she should have bolted. Harry’s already looking at her, as though his eyes have never trailed away, and it’s telling—the quirk of his lips. The way his tongue darts out to wet them and he can’t contain the small bracket that they form into.
His left eye flutters closed in a wink as new droning voices of monotonous news presenters burrow deeper and deeper into Y/N’s skin. The fear is undeniable. It aches deep inside the marrow of her bones; a lingering, languishing throbbing that can only be attributed to embedded dread. But if Y/N can’t deny that she hasn’t run for the hills then she also can’t deny the way the fear dances atop her skin like little bolts of lightning. Displacing the panic with a desperate flush of rage—a desire for violence to be met with violence—in a less than chaste way.
The danger—it… excites her, it challenges her. To know why, and how, to learn the extent of what spared her life. To take more. It feels reckless; almost demanding of death. It feels belittling, and demeaning, and like everything every girl is ever taught not to do. Could Y/N really justify endangering her life for the perversity of something as insignificant as body-slumping sex? Could she ever look herself in the eye again?
…Did it matter?
It doesn’t seem to when Harry suddenly stretches his arms out above his head, cracking the bones from his strenuous period of sitting down, and pushes himself up from the creaking, groaning chair. It seems as though the decision is made for Y/N when she bolts to follow him without a second thought. Or she bolts in her mind—her body delivers a much more convincing performance of nonchalance—seemingly casual as she sifts through her clutch in a faux check of inventory.
And then, when Harry’s broad back faces her for long enough, weaving his way towards the steel door of the back entrance—that’s when Y/N jumps down from her stool, downs the entirety of her drink and relishes in the warmth that blossoms in her chest, and leaves the bar.
The heavy door screams on its hinges, slamming shut with a reverberating bang. Y/N peers left down the alleyway, dim light from a distant streetlamp casting shadows across gravel—
“Sneaky little thing.”
Y/N startles, whipping around to see her stranger (surprised but not understandably by logic) as he mutters, “No self-preservation.” Effortlessly cool, leaning against the exterior of the bar—rough brick undoubtedly frigid and scratchy. His jaw works incessantly, clearly nursing a flavour of gum that he can only just have popped into his mouth—and disgust gurgles in Y/N’s stomach at the sight of his demeanour—unsettling yet titillating, all the same.
“Y’following me?” he pushes forward off of the wall, height suddenly looming as his lip curls into a simper much less pleasant than that of the man she’d met last week. Though it fails to feel threatening, her mouth still runs dry, now faced with the opportunity to say… anything—to ask, demand, accuse to her heart’s content—but she… she can’t, too inundated by the possibilities as her brain splutters and jolts like an empty engine.
When Y/N doesn’t answer, Harry’s mouth crooks up, pulling back to reveal a deceptively pretty smile—before he purses his lips to blow a cool stream of breath directly into Y/N’s face. Her nose crinkles as the conspicuous scent of peppermint forces its way, no doubt into her brain—to associate peppermint with him for the rest of her life—may it be long or considerably shorter after tonight. “Minty fresh,” Harry smiles around a chew, impishly delighted by Y/N’s scowl. “Wha’s the matter? Don’t like peppermint?”
Sure—yes, sure, she likes peppermint but what level of absurdity— A humourless bark of a laugh fizzles between them, Y/N unable and unwilling to ignore the fatuity of the situation. Y/N could say so much, but it seems she chooses, “I prefer bubblegum,” clearing her throat to ignore the waver in her voice.
Harry nods earnestly—as though her taste in confectionery holds the same gravity as that of an embarrassing truth or a confession of crisis—jaw flexing on its hinges, “Mm, makes sense. Little—” his arm reaches out, finger uncurling to brush a knuckle against a loose strand of her hair, “bubblegum princess,” and Y/N wonders if he might be a little insane, body tight as the distance between them lessens. Distance that could only be described as valuable in such a situation, with such a person.
It strikes Y/N now, the difference in his temperament—gone is the charm of a man brimming with polite conversation to show his gratitude towards her—in his place stands the one who spewed filth inside the confines of her sedan. Shameless, smug, awash with a handful of complexes, she’s now sure.
Despite the blast of fresh air and biting peppermint encouraging sobriety, dregs of intoxication still prevalently linger in Y/N’s bloodstream. That boost of liquid courage she needs to say what she does, to be reminded of that vehement anger, and to ignore the pounding of her heart—the way it begs and pleads with her to go back inside—as her foot takes her a step forward. Her voice drops to a whisper as she tilts her head up, now intimately close, “Do you still think my eyes are pretty?”
And Harry laughs—the sound forced from his lungs as he fails to conceal amusement. “Christ, no shame…” he pauses, eyes darting back and forth between Y/N’s falsely confident ones, “‘f course I do, I meant everything I said... Everything.”
It’s those words that drive home the reality of the situation; a clear confession, a clear joy to remember—“I was going to kill you that night. Thought about draining the life from those pretty eyes the second you rolled your window down.”
Y/N’s tether to sanity unravels, hanging on by a mere thread as she throws her hands in front of her wildly. “I let you inside my fucking car!” The fury finally weaponised, despite the whiny defiance of her tone, that is only further fuelled by Harry’s wry smile, growing and growing. It sets something alight in Y/N; the defeating realisation of a true psychopath before her. Nothing she could say would allow sympathy to seep into his bones.
Not that she demanded sympathy. What good would an apology do? An apology for what… scaring her? Disturbing her so deeply to her core that life felt bathed—drowned—in danger? The only real, tangible thing Harry had done to her was have sex with her and that— That was nothing to apologise for, no matter the embarrassment to admit as such.
So why… bother… Why bother to fight when he smells so inviting and the warmth of his body yearns to take the chill off of hers?
Harry dips down—peppermint again, mixed with the same pleasant cologne from the night he tainted her backseats, that had blotted itself in her memory unknowingly—eyes boring into her own. “You did more than that, pet,” an effort to get the words out without scoffing, “You let me fuck you inside your car. Begged me—”
She shoves demurely at his chest, coils of heat tightening at the memory, causing only the slightest of stumbles as Harry grips her hand to his chest and tugs her with him “—pleaded me—for it, in fact.” His breath fans across her face; close enough to still be warm and pebble her cheeks with goosebumps. Her lashes flutter innocuously—the perfect picture of doe-eyed and yet she has no intention behind it.
Y/N’s face is warm with the alcohol coursing underneath her skin and the tingling of Harry’s air dusted across it, that jacket of heat the only thing bracing her against the whipping breeze against her bare legs. Naturally, if it wasn’t for the existence of Harry, Y/N would feel perfectly content right now. Tipsy but not detrimentally so—surfing along the wave of intoxication with only an occasional plunge beneath the bracing waters. She feels good like this, most of the time. She feels confident, and sexy, and free of all of life’s burdens.
But now one of life’s more recent burdens is standing in front of her, simmering smile surely on the verge of snapping. Y/N wonders what she might do in order to make that happen—so be it, if that puts herself at risk. There's no such thing as risk when you’re a drink or two down. The anger feels subdued, the fear feels subdued—something in the back of her mind convincing Y/N of some faux sense of safety—however real or fake it may be.
“Didn’t you?” Harry nudges, sly fingertips catching her off guard as they tap sequentially against the curve of her waist, gently—subtly—manoeuvring Y/N’s body to rest against the harsh stone. She hardly realises she’s moving, too honed in on the whispering taunt of Harry’s voice.
Yes. She did.
But she doesn’t care to focus on that anymore—she doesn’t care to play the regretful part. Y/N has moved onto bigger and better things. She tilts her chin up, defiant in nature, as her tone takes on that of a snarky assertion, “How—how were you g’na do it? Tell me.”
It doesn’t seem as though Harry needs a reminder; he knows what she’s referring to. He knows and he shows zero interest in humouring it—her perverse request. Tapping fingers trail their way up, up, up until they’re cradling her collarbones, vast palm spread out across her chest.
He plays gentle, unknowing, as he shushes her, “It doesn’t matter…” he murmurs, hand slipping higher still until his long fingers can curl and wrap around her throat, the first indication of the whiskey having its desired effect clear when his eyelids flutter and syllables threaten to merge.
He doesn’t squeeze and it’s disturbingly unforeseen—the hold in which he keeps her in without pressure. But it’s not enough, and Y/N’s not satisfied with such an answer. No matter the desperation to surge forward and kiss him messily, or the eagerness to find out whether he’ll explore her mouth again or degrade her for his pleasure, Y/N doesn’t budge.
“Tell me,” she insists, voice teetering on the edge of too loud in the soulless alleyway. Her fist comes up in a weak thud against his chest, unable to display any other sort of physicality. “How were you gonna kill me, Harry—?” Her breath catches as he digs his fingers into the side of her throat—finally satisfied to see the edge of that smirk wiped off of his face. Piercing green holds her in place, sneer dominating her vision.
“Shut up—”
“When you were cumming inside me—?”
“—Shut the fuck up.”
Y/N wheezes when he squeezes even harder, mouth dropping open in a masochistic smile—eyes half-lidded as the blood fights its way to her brain. The warmth of Harry’s palm against the column of her neck presses just as hard, taunting and tormenting her airways—daring her to breathe.
“What—did you—” a second of respite in which he loosens his grip, as Y/N inhales as much as her little lungs can take, “do to that—woman?”
He scoffs at her—almost annoyed that she would care enough to ask—that he even has to waste his energy thinking about it. “I didn’t fuck her if that’s what you’re worried about,” serrated ice in his tone, freezing over when he spits out, “sweetheart.” No attempt at denial, no reassurance of his innocence—just. I didn’t fuck her.
It comes barrelling out; the provocation, “Had to get your fix somewhere else, then,” Y/N accuses, swallowing underneath the weight of his hand. “Didn’t kill me so you had to hurt poor Ruby Wilcox, didn’t you?”
“—Don’t play detective, pet,” he expertly deflects, squeezing harder—disguising any sort of discomfort with the quirk of his lips, “it doesn’t suit you. Much preferred it when you were dumb around my fingers, barking f’me like a good girl. D’you remember that?”
Very well. Too well. Even still after learning the truth, Y/N had remembered it in great detail. “Why didn’t you kill me?” she whispers, numb now to the pads of his digits and the way they demand bruising against the delicate skin of her neck. Pointed indentations to aggravate with her own pressing fingers (assuming she lives long enough for them to form).
“Maybe I just wanted another taste,” Harry admits, eyes clear—surprisingly sincere despite the vulnerability of such a claim. “Maybe I wanted to hear about more of your bad dates—”
“—It wasn’t a date—”
“Maybe…” and Y/N starts to doubt that earnest expression, “maybe I got off on the idea of ruining something—of leaving this kind, sweet, generous girl… with something real to cry about.”
Something real? Something real?
“Why me?” She’s not kidding herself; there’s nothing special or unique that might have altered years and years of Harry’s personal psychology—but maybe, just maybe—Y/N might be given something to help her sleep a little better at night. A reason; valid or not, just something to roll around in the palm of her hands until she could make sense of it.
She’s granted no such thing.
“You stopped the car, Y/N,” he drawls in such a casual tone, sounding the same as the man who had told her his name, debated the importance of the rules of Uno, and breathed a sincere wish that she got home safe. “You let me in. I had nothing to do with it,” Harry promises. But it’s not a friendly promise, nor a reassuring one. It’s an assertion that leaves no room for interpretation, a cold, hard fact that can never be dissected. And unfortunately for Y/N, the fact of the matter remains that this is all her fault.
Cold fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, material scrunching between her digits. Harry tuts, “Hands off,” but Y/N only grips him tighter—knuckles tensing as she urges him closer towards her body by the baggy fabric. (When she’s sober she might berate herself for pushing him the wrong way.)
It’s discernible; Harry’s distaste—eyes sharpening as they slice into her own. He takes matters into his own hands, forcibly removing hers from his front and squeezing the delicate bones of her wrists as he presses them, less than gently, into the harsh bricks.
“Not so obedient today, are we?” Their hips dare to meet, twitches and nudges teasing the inevitable. Y/N can’t disguise the way she bucks a little, thin dress waiting to be bunched and moulded by bigger hands. She knows what he feels like—and it’s impossible not to yearn for it.
Her words are airy—breathless from no exertion—heartbeat drumming in her chest with anticipation. “I assumed you…liked a struggle.”
“I do,” Harry hums, a smile edging back onto his face, as he dips down enough for his breath to kiss her ear, “...but where’s my easy little stray gone?” he pouts, leaning back to tilt his head in a way that suggests simple curiosity. “Girl I met two weeks ago was already open wide f’me by now… Wanna show me your tongue again, pet?”
And it’s juvenile—but Y/N isn’t sober and neither is Harry—when she sticks it out in a way similar to that of a snotty toddler as opposed to the languid reveal she gave him in her car. She pokes it out and scrunches her nose, almost amusing herself in the process. In what is a ridiculous display of immaturity that far from pleases Harry.
He grunts, “Yeah, that’s funny,” patting the side of her face. Hard. Not a slap but something that makes her cheek tingle and her jaw loosen. Even more so when Harry’s fingers squeeze either side and manhandle her face left and right—moving her as he pleases and reveling in the dipping of her eyebrows and the rounding of her eyes. It’s pathetic, really, how quickly she can be reduced to insignificance with just a little pawing.
But he underestimates her ever so slightly. She’s not quite finished it seems, when—through the mush of her mouth—she gurgles, “Are y’gonna kill me this time?”
The amusement that dances so often in Harry’s eyes fizzles out once more. “Shut up, Y/N,” he shoves closer, the blushing tip of his nose daring to brush against her bridge. “Don’t make me say it again.”
She practically preens, rocking up onto the tips of her toes, forcing their chill-bitten skin to brush. “Or what? You’ll make me?” The question floats between them like a perilous snowflake, not for long enough before she jeers, “How you g’na do it? You’ll finally get to watch th—”
Harry’s had enough of her voice, surging forward, desperately capturing the end of Y/N’s exhalation and coalescing it with his own. It’s rough, and it’s dirty—his fingers still controlling every purse of Y/N’s lips—hips finally clashing in a grinding of bones. He lets go of her face, encompassing hands tugging through her hair as he holds the back of her head. The only gesture of comfort he grants her away from the wall; not for long before those same fingers roam and dishevel—nails pinching just on the side of too hard.
Every subconscious twitch of her own fingers has Harry alert—any attempt of Y/N’s made to touch him in exchange meets her swift return of each wrist pinned to either side of her head—knuckles brushing sharp bumps of brick. A small noise seeps out of her mouth and into his own, vibrating against his lips and reducing Harry to a deep, acknowledging sigh.
They’re uncoordinated; desperation dominating precision and finesse. Laboured exhalations blanket their cheeks, noses squished and lips swollen. Harry’s hands float back up to her face, pressing coolly against the sides, spanning the entirety as his thumbs bracket their mouths. He holds her like he wants to consume her—crawl inside her skin, swallow her down—tongue boldly stroking against her own in contrastingly lazy flicks. A dizzying enmeshment of fast and slow, hard and soft.
Y/N’s neck aches from the angle in which she’s forced to meet Harry’s mouth, strong palms nearly pulling her off of her toes as he cups her cheeks with almost too much chivalry, too much romance. It would be all too easy to forget his confession, encompassed in his warmth, his scent—too easy to pretend it didn’t matter.
She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, pulling back as they clamp and opening her eyes just enough to watch the flesh snap back into place. There’s no time to smile with sadistic glee before Y/N’s head is yanked back by the roots of her hair, slender fingers wrapped in tendrils and tugging. Hard. A gasp is ripped from the back of her throat, cold and sharp against her tonsils. And Harry gets to experience the twitch of his lips and the amusement of winning as Y/N’s back bends to accommodate the sudden stretch of her neck.
He peers down at her parted lips, the slight tension in her brows from the strain, and her heavy arms that slowly droop down against the wall. Small clouds of mist pass between them—the cold air kissing their recycled breaths—soaking in the chill the longer they stay outdoors. The stray street light bounces off of one side of Harry's back, casting a glowing outline around his body as he blocks Y/N in against the wall. The irony of such an image. She shuffles her feet atop the gravel, aching from lack of movement—twitching when a thick thigh nudges its way between her own—soft sweatpants stroking her naked skin.
“Bite me again, sweetheart…” Harry taunts, voice scarily steady, “see what happens.”
A choked laugh escapes from Y/N’s chest, forced through her open mouth. A delightful invitation. She pushes as far up on her toes as she can manage, pulling against the force of Harry’s hand—reaching as far as his chin before she eases the tension. He smirks down at her, wandering fingers teasing the hem of her dress as his thigh warms between hers.
“Pity I don’t get to rip another pair of little tights,” he tuts, trailing a digit up the inside of her knee. “Trying to make the old men happy tonight, were we?” tugging at the material, tight against the tops of her thighs. “Hoping one of them might take you to the bathroom and let you call him Daddy.” He tuts again, “How sad.”
“Would you have?” she pouts, eyes bright with mirth. “Let me call you Daddy?”
“Would I have let you? Would I have given you permission? I don’t think so, pet.” He squishes her cheeks together again—demeaning, degrading—leaning back down to ghost his mouth across her puckered lips. “I don’t think you deserve to call me anything at all.”
Her lungs are tight; desperate for more than just a shallow inhale through her nose, borrowed from another. He’d slowly, ever so slowly, meshed their mouths together once more—stopping her from replying with anything other than a scalding kiss, tongues overlapping in an erotic embrace.
But Y/N finds herself impatient—and Y/N falls short in the realm of manners, greedy hands sneaking down when she gets the chance—palming at the thick outline through Harry’s sweatpants.
“Ah—ah, hands off,” he echoes, fingers tugging at her scalp again, forcibly expelling the breath from her lungs. “Ask nicely. I know you know better than that.”
“I do,” she pants, lips tingling with the imprint of Harry’s own. “I don’t think psychos…deserve nicely.” A dangerous blow. One he doesn’t take lightly—one that makes Y/N think she’s hit a nerve when he grits out his next command, jaw tight and eyes stormy.
“Turn around. You’re pissing me off,” not granting her the option to do so herself before his spanning hands are forcing her waist in a squirming prod until her front meets the wall. She wants to push back but Harry is consuming all the space behind her, chest expanding against her shoulder blades. The heat against her ass is dizzying, tunnelling all of her thoughts to places dissolute.
Harry spits his next words, anger palpable, “Fuckin’ brat,” pulling her against his crotch by the small of her waist. Y/N gasps, ears momentarily filled with nothing but white noise. “I let you go and the universe brought us back together, isn’t that something?” A pause; clearly waiting for her snarky response but he gets nothing. She’s too overtaken by the buzzing between her thighs. “I thought so,” he sighs, “but you’re being such a little bitch tonight.”
A pathetic whine crawls its way out of her downturned lips, wisping between them like a sad trail of smoke. Her head feels thick, like she wants to let it fall back and rest upon Harry’s shoulder. What was she annoyed about again? It feels futile.
The harsh emphasis of ‘bitch’ echoes in her ears about five beats after he’s gritted it out. And it burns deep within her abdomen, a searing coalescence of shame and arousal. “...Not a bitch,” she mumbles, eyes fluttering closed as her hands brace against the wall—willing herself to stay upright; to focus on anything but the heavy bump against her backside. But it is futile, because the insult doesn’t land the way it’s supposed to—it doesn’t upset or offend—and that’s when it becomes clear to Harry that the wall is crumbling. That his charm remains absolute.
“Oh, baby,” he coos, voice lathering her skin like thick globules of honey, “still so easy,” lips kissing the shell of her ear as his breath seeps into her hair, coating and warming. “My little bitch, how about that? Do you like the sound of that?”
She wants to shake her head but it’s too heavy, clogged with the fog of Harry’s voice—every nerve tingling as he glides his palms over her hips and down… across her pelvis and curling around the edge of her dress, teasing it, bunching it up just enough to dance his digits over her mound. Y/N’s hips twitch in anticipation, giving away what her words don’t say.
“Y’want my fingers…” an electrifying brush over her clothed clit, “here?” She exhales a shaky breath, trying to push back into him—it’s the only thing she can do, with her fingernails threatening to dig into stone and her forehead sure to come away with its imprint. Her heartbeat throbs between her thighs and a swallowed whimper seeps out of her mouth. “Got to hear you say it, pet. Say you want me to play with your hot, little cunt.”
“Mhm,” is all Y/N can manage, hoping—praying—that for once it might be good enough.
It’s not.
“Mhm,” Harry echoes, the pressure on her clit disappearing and the bulge nudging against her ass harder. Y/N pushes back—Harry pushes forward. A cant of his hips and a teasing reveal of more and more of her skin, the skirt of her dress manipulated high enough to brush across the small of her back and reveal the breadth of her underwear; less salacious than the purple thong Harry had admired previously. A soft white cotton and frilly pink decorating the hem.
“These are sweet, pet,” he mumbles. But it doesn’t fill her chest with warmth; it fills her with trepidation—waiting for the other shoe to drop—for Harry to tear them or rip them, defile them or taint them. But he never does. He doesn’t do anything aside from stroke his thumb across the hem of her panties, up and along the seam. Y/N exhales, trying to sway her hips in order to sway him but it seems he needs no persuasion.
“I’m waiting,” he scorns—much to Y/N’s distaste. Because waiting is not a luxury that either of them can afford right now. Time… Privacy… Two valuable assets that are not provided by the dimly lit alleyways between dingy bars and the rest of the population. The steel door barely a metre beside Y/N could swing open at any point—revealing a disgruntled worker tired after a long shift—or an impatient pedestrian could decide to try their luck exploring a shortcut and happen upon their preoccupied bodies. And surely there must be a view from a window somewhere, anywhere.
So Y/N says what she knows he wants to hear. “Please,” a whisper—unpossessing of the desperation Harry often desires. But she’s not finished. “Please. Please play with my— my…” his fingers drag down across the gusset, prodding at her fluttering hole through the thin material that’s far from dry. A motivating caress that wobbles Y/N’s voice, “—M-my hot, little cunt.”
Shame bathes in her skin, cheeks blooming with an imprudent heat. But Harry laughs at her compliance, no matter how pathetic or meek. He thuds the width of his fingers over her clit suddenly, Y/N’s knees buckling with the unforeseen impact but Harry grips onto her waist, holding her against the warm wall of his body as his fingers push at her underwear.
The wetness is embarrassing, thick and glossy through the cotton. Harry seems to take pride in it, spending too long nudging his fingers over the slick at her hole instead of focusing where they both know Y/N wants. And then a slip to the side, fingertips prodding at the flimsy hem—manoeuvring it over and out of the way, just enough for the shame to coat his skin.
They’re cold against the radiating heat from between her thighs, pulsing and rolling in waves throughout her insides. A jolt; a twitch, the width of Harry’s chest against her back.
“Hold them—fuck, you’re sopping—hold them f’me,” he instructs, Y/N’s shaking fingers obliging before they even know what for, slinking down the front of her body and shucking the gusset of her panties aside enough for Harry’s liking, “Y’always get this wet or is it just f’me?”
And Harry must know the answer—well acquainted with her pussy once before—asking the questions he knows will satisfy him most. “Jus’ you.” A pathetic admission—even more so when Y/N realises it’s not even a lie.
She’s never been more sure of something. Not by her own hand, not by another cock; never has she been so ruined. “No wonder everyone you fuck bores you.”
Yeah… she had insinuated that—she’d yearned for it to hurt, for it to be interesting—inadvertently matching Harry’s sick sense of pleasure. Because here she was, wetting his fingers—the same fingers he’d taken so much away with—and yet they felt so good.
“You need a bit of danger, baby?” Harry cups over her tightly. “Yeah?”
“—Mhm—”
He smiles, leaning forward into the back of her hair. “Need to pick strange men off of the side of the road? Need to fuck them in alleyways?” His palm grinds along her clit in slow, torturous circles, the tips of his fingers daring to dip inside of her but never breaching. “You gonna let me fuck you, pet? Gonna squeeze that cunt over me again like a good—” he retracts slightly, heavy hand slapping over her pussy and rendering Y/N immobilised, “—fucking—girl?” Each smack jolts her body, knees buckling, crumpled mouth whimpering.
“Ye-yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, please,” her tone borders on watery, thick with overwhelming urgency—coaxing him to warm his fingers inside of her—pleading with her grabbing hand as it reaches behind her and palms at the front of his sweats. And he’s told her no once… twice before already… so it’s only fair that he slaps down on her again. Harder. Louder. The sound of Y/N’s cry echoing out, just teetering over the edge of too pitchy. He doesn’t bother to smother it.
He’s terse, words forced through the gaps of his teeth as he grits, “Stop fucking touching me. Just…” he sighs, warm breath tickling the shell of her ear, “Jus’ be a… good… little hole, yeah?”
Yeah. Yeah. She can do that, she can— “Okay,” the breath trails out of her lips, wispy and frail, body tightening up when she feels… feels his middle finger circling the outside of her cunt—silently pleading for his touch—“O-okay,” she mewls again, dumbstruck as he pushes in—up to the first knuckle, and then the second, and the third.
“There you go,” it’s gentle, almost nurturing; far too soft for the stolen secrecy of an alleyway. Y/N keens, knuckles tightening around the gusset she’s still holding onto for dear life—empty hand flying down to cover Harry’s own. Delicacy coalescing with rigidity. She begs for his finger to sink deeper, to curl and to soothe—to be cajoled by another—to carve its path inside of her.
Harry wiggles it tauntingly, chest puffing out with a frustrated exhalation. “Give me your hand—come on—” he’s rough as he twists it behind her back, away from his skin and exposed to the cold air, “keep it there, stop—bothering me.” She’s not even rewarded with his bruising grasp around her wrist, just the aching chore of correcting each slip down her back as her arm tires.
His ring finger squeezes beside his middle, tip teasing Y/N’s achy hole, soft pads pressing into the spongy front of her walls. He scissors his fingers inside of her slowly, rubbing with virility as the backs of his index and pinky slap into the plush flesh either side of her wet cunt. And then he gets faster, grunting senselessly through every twitch and clench of her pussy. He finds that spot—and then he abuses it—Y/N unable to support her own weight when her knees start buckling and her tired bicep suffers behind her back.
“Can’t handle it, pet?” the cadence of his tone matches each punch of his fingers inside of her—the pit in Y/N’s stomach edged and taunted with every curl against her gummy walls. “S’it too good? Got you shaking all over th’place with just m’fingers.”
She thinks she garbles something unintelligent but it’s impossible to be sure when all the blood is rushing between her legs.
Harry murmurs, lips catching the shell of her ear, “I think you’re a little slut, baby,” biting down on her lobe with contrasting care. “Letting me ruin you in a dirty alleyway… Outside where anyone could see you—see your drippy pussy soaking m’hand.”
“Yes,” a sigh slips—agreeing to nothing in particular—an expression of pleasure, a plea for more.
A dark laugh stretches taut between them, powerful as his fingers speed up, palm slapping against her clit with each thrust. It vibrates and buzzes, twitches and pulsates. “You’re g’na cum for me, pet. Right now.”
It’s a simple demand. One that manhandles Y/N to the very edge—it dangles her over as the drop below taunts her. It beckons her like a siren call. Harry nudges her spot again, and again, and again—coaxing it, consoling it. Every curl of his fingers, every thud of his palm. It fills her up, breath catching, head falling back on her neck. And then she falls, plummets, cascades down—jaw dropped in a silent cry as her cunt convulses seismically around Harry’s fingers—clamping near violently. He rubs her through it, stroking her walls in heavy thrusts as he slows and forces her to feel it all.
“There you go, good girl. Filthy girl.” His hand glistens with her slick, pulling strings away with it. Y/N mourns his fingers, his warmth when he pulls away. Her hole flutters and her body suddenly feels cold—isolated and alone.
He exhales, “Fuck—put your hands on the wall, bend over a bit—that’s it,” crouching down, perverse in the way he inspects the glistening between her thighs. At least, that’s what Y/N assumes he’s doing as he nestles in closer to her cunt, close enough for his breaths to wash over her shaking form.
One heavy forearm pins the skirt of her dress over the rounds of her arse, his free hand coming up to spread her open with the precision of a man who has much more time than either of them currently do. Y/N doesn’t see the way her slick creates ribbons between his fingers after he nudges at her opening and pulls away to scrutinise them. She doesn’t see the way his throat bobs as he tucks his digits past his blushing lips and laves his tongue around them salaciously. She only hears the muffled hum, and the harsh breath leave his nose as the man beneath her drools around himself.
“Sweet little thing,” he pants, voice gruff—gravelly—when he finally brings his fingers back to her centre. He pets at her, thudding the thick of them against her quivering cunt unnecessarily; from a want to render her even less stable on her aching legs. “Absolutely drenched f’me, aren’t you. Does that scare you, sweetheart?”
A whimper climbs out from Y/N’s throat, delayed in her response. Answering of the wrong question—the one she would lie about if she were sober. She needs more—she needs something more… something all-consuming.
“Fuck—fuck me—now,” she pleads, hips pushing back as her neck cranes to catch a glimpse of the man below her.
He rises to his full height. “That’s not how you ask.”
“Please. Or I’ll… I’ll—”
“You��ll what, pet?”
“—I’ll tell everyone…” she whines, trailing off when her words reach no conclusion.
“Yeah? You’ll tell everyone. You’ll go to the police?” She’s nodding mindlessly, head weighing her down. “And what will you say?” tone turning petulant and shrieky, “‘I let him defile me, officer. I let him stretch me out on his big cock, officer. I let him do whatever he wanted, officer—’”
“Please,” her voice is thick, full with a sob—and a wave of panic washes over her at the possibility of not having him at all.
“Don’t know if you deserve it now,” drumming his fingers across the small of her back. “Threatening me, huh? Silly girl.”
No reasoning comes to mind—nothing smart or clever to wield as a rebuttal. Just a slew of pathetic sounds; only possibly attractive to someone yearning for power—someone like Harry. Her body answers for her, still desperately twitching and searching for his own and being rewarded with nothing. He stays stoic, mild palm smoothing along the expanses of her chill-bitten backside.
“Tell you what…” he starts, a sly smile morphing the sound of his voice. “You be quiet f’me, yeah? You be quiet and I’ll give you what you want. Don’t w’na hear a single fucking thing else from this bratty, little mouth, you understand?”
A trick—an attempt for her to slip up before they’ve even begun. She nods frantically, teeth clamped together, lips equally as shut. She’s ready to offer more than is wise, for him to fuck her—ready to give herself up completely just so he’ll quell that ache. The nerves of their exposition are really starting to buzz along the surface of her skin.
“There you go, not so hard, is it?” She shakes her head no, enthralled by the soft sound of skin rubbing against thick cotton, fingers slipping underneath elasticated waistbands. “Good,” Harry murmurs, so quiet that Y/N wouldn’t have heard it if it weren’t for her heightened senses. And then again, even softer, swallowed around a gruff exhale that she can only assume is in response to curling his fingers around himself. “Good girl.”
She feels him tug at the gusset of her panties—haphazardly skewed across her centre, unable to conform without the curl of Y/N’s prying joints keeping them astray. Harry stretches the stitches easily, forcing the fabric to adhere to his perversion, as his thumb strokes the skin adjacent to where she would really feel it.
The corner of a condom wrapper flutters to the floor out of Y/N’s periphery, landing by her achy feet, as the image of Harry tearing it with his teeth flashes behind her eyelids. He rolls it on silently—and for a moment she wishes she could see—picture the length, the girth that had scripted her deepest desires so dominantly.
He smooths his hand up, underneath her dress, shuffling in closer behind her as he nudges the head of his cock against her slick cunt. Y/N’s jaw drops open in a silent whimper—catching the noise, suffocating it in her throat before it ripples out around them. Sweat gathers in the palms of her hands, irritated against the rough brick wall when they’d much rather be buried in his hair. Her forehead dips down, willing Harry to do something… anything.
He strokes up and down her clit, smiling at every overstimulated twitch, dipping down to smear arousal. He teases her, letting the thick of his tip stretch her entrance before he pulls back. Once, twice, three times… And then he sinks in, fingertips creating divots in her hips, holding harder with each inch that he carves out inside of her. When his pelvis cushions against her ass, he sighs—a long exhale of breath—followed by a rumbling from within his chest, “Perfect little pussy.”
Y/N can’t help the little whimper that falls from her lips, brows scrunched, dipping towards the centre of her face. Either Harry has a change of heart or he doesn’t hear her—too enraptured in the feeling of every vein and ridge perfectly filling the space surrounding him; as though created just for him, his cock.
He doesn’t move, perfectly still—embedded deep inside of her convulsing pussy—feeling her out. Mentally (though physically too). Waiting and waiting, regarding her presence with a slight jerk of his hips that already press demandingly into her backside. Waiting for those words to fall off of the tip of her tongue, with a protesting or begging cadence, and redirect his little game. A game Harry doesn’t even know the rules to—the only importance serving in his right to manhandle Y/N every which way; however he may please. A single plea, or a frustrated curse… that’s all he needs.
But she holds on. She stays silent and her hands stay slipping down the bricks. Enough so to have the opposite effect; to rile Harry up, to have his digits curl tighter into her skin and pull out all the way—feel her clench around him in an effort to keep him inside—and then rock back into her. Harder. The thud of their flesh meeting rippling out around them.
Y/N doesn’t think that’s very fair; physically forcing the sounds from her larynx—punching the air from her lungs in such a way that makes it impossible for her silence to remain. She cries out, quiet enough to suggest a desire for modesty but loud enough for Harry’s lips to curl up nefariously.
“What did I say?” His hand clamps around her mouth, fingers brushing her eyelashes if he stretches them out far enough. The grip forces Y/N’s neck to stretch, trembling body elongating as Harry straightens her out and melds her into the wall. Her forearms squish into her biceps and her chest flattens indelicately. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was trying to cast her into the bricks, grout and all.
His hips snap back into her.
“Fuck,” Harry moans wantonly—exaggerated as he amuses himself with the pleasure of her newfound silence—“that’s sexy,” teeth grazing her ear. “So much hotter with your mouth shut, you know that?” She opens it just to spite him, tongue laving over his palm. His hips slap harder against her in return, eager to manoeuvre and curl his digits along the flesh of her tongue—eliciting a harsh gag from her unprepared throat.
It perturbs him none when she presses her teeth into his skin, clamping gently at first but losing the capacity to be anything when Harry slinks his other hand around her neck. The blood fights for its strength, struggling and forcing its way through to her brain as the periphery of Y/N’s vision darkens. There’s nothing scary about it—and if they weren’t outside she might feel a semblance of peace.
“You prefer it like this, don’t you?” Harry gruffs against the side of her face, lashes threatening to kiss over her temple. “Jus’ w’na be treated like a silly—little—slut.” His thrusts punctuate each word, short cries forcing their way between his fingers. Drool gathers in the well of his palm, shameful rivulets smearing against Y/N’s chin.
“Don’t you?”
“Mhm—Mhmn—” she garbles something thick, tongue heavy in her mouth—battling against the extra weight of Harry’s intrusive digits. She swallows around them.
He’s everywhere—soft clothes baggy on him and swamping her frame as he swallows her up—sure that if someone were to simply glance down their alleyway she would not be seen. Heat plagues her, rolling out of her pores in thick, murky waves—the kind of heat she suddenly fears she will always be cold without. The presence against her back, the stoicity of his figure.
Her noises topple out.
Sad, desperate, pathetic little whines—snappy with the way Harry pummels into her. No one would have to ponder for long to dissect the cause of such sounds. Flesh smacking, fabric chafing, laboured breathing.
“Yeah. Yeah. I know,” fingers tighten around her throat. “Shrieky thing, you are. Can’t stay quiet to save your life.”
The insinuation is not lost on her, no matter the delirium that she’s submerged under. And Harry relishes in it; of course he does.
He slurs, “Would you die happy? Right now? Right now, baby?”
And Y/N knows she’s deeply flawed when his words scratch a spot. When she doesn’t recoil in disgust, attempt to pull away and run—but instead melts even further into his grasp. Nodding in jerky nudges of her head. She’s not giving him permission to stop the beating of her heart but she supposes it doesn’t matter either way.
Harry rips his hand from her mouth, trailing saliva down the front of her dress, squeezing his thick forearm between her abdomen and the wall as he searches cruelly to overstimulate her. She’s been so easy thus far, soft and pliable no matter Harry’s propensity for writhing. But when he skims over her clit, that…—that’s when she starts to struggle. To will her body away from the torturous pads of his fingers.
This only encourages her tormentor, deft digits pulling up the hood, allowing no room to hide as he applies direct pressure and tightens the barrier of his arm as her body spasms out of control. A sob rips from Y/N’s chest, loud enough to be deemed inappropriate—and no matter how much pleasure he might find in those sounds, she’s teetering on the brink of becoming dangerous. The grasp around her neck loosens, fingers slipping up to push past her lips again; the only effective method of muffling her at all.
Y/N keens with the weight in her mouth, relishes in the way her lips have to wrap around his big, masculine fingers. “Fucking tight, pet,” Harry grunts, ministrations messy and uncoordinated as he rubs over her clit, bumping into his shaft with every thrust. And she is—clamping down so hard her muscles yearn to loosen. They yearn to melt into a softness, into a safety, into a slumber. But her brain is running away, and Harry’s not slowing down, the tip of his cock abusing the spot he already petted at so perfectly with his fingers.
And he knows she’s nearly there, smiles into the crook of her neck and lets his teeth bite into her flesh for just a second.
But just as her orgasm starts to topple over the edge, he stops. He leans back, pulling her hips so her bum juts out and her back arches again.
“Come on, I’m tired, baby,” he teases, a slither of playfulness lost to the tightness in his voice, hips dragging to a still. “Long day of slaughtering.” Y/N is too far gone to find the joke inappropriate. To even register anymore that this whole affair is inappropriate. “Work for it a little,” Harry leans back, eyeing up the place in which they meet, shining in the glow of the streetlight. She’s still for too long, trying to process where his movements have gone—confused pants turning the ends of Harry’s lips.
“S’feel good?” Hands aid hips slightly—just enough to gain momentum, as Y/N fails to question why she’s suddenly the one fucking him—only chasing the return of the blissful prodding of her insides. Harry’s eyes are glued to her pussy, stretched deliciously around the thick of his cock, dragging back and forth with each nudge of her over him. The soft of her ass meets his pelvis and he delivers a squeeze in return, fingers destined to leave their presence known as he manhandles the flesh. Pulling and indenting, the other hand hanging heavily by his side as his gaze trails over Y/N’s bending body.
He deigns to let the saliva in his mouth pool in the hollow of his tongue, lips pursing as a line of drool drips down onto her puckered hole—the sudden sensation making Y/N convulse around him—twitch and gasp, stutter her hips and still for a moment. Harry thumbs over her carelessly, moving his thumb down to the stretch of her cunt around his prick; an unnecessary wetness. Somewhat possessed by the image below him, removed of all purpose except this one.
“Did I tell you to stop?”
Y/N shakes her head, a squeak ripped from her throat when Harry’s palm comes down on her ass, the sound reverberating through the silence of the alleyway. “N-no,” she cries. No, he didn’t. He never told her to stop.
“So keep fucking moving, sweetheart.” She nods mindlessly, head shaking up and down as her hips pick back up—thighs burning quicker with the exertion of it all. Her forehead scrapes against the wall, eyes squeezing shut with concentration as she focuses on the in and out, back and forth—every stretch against her walls dizzying—every nudge inside of her rendering more and more of her body to jelly.
She wants that feeling back; the one where she’s constantly on the verge of cumming. But there’s too much to focus on—her hands digging into the bricks, her thighs shaking, her clit untouched and overstimulated at the same time.
“I don’t have all fucking day—” Y/N would scoff if she could but the frustration spikes, “—come on. Fuck’s sake—”
Harry loses his patience, pulling out completely in a jarring sequence of motion, leaving Y/N panting—struggling to stay afloat if she were treading water. He physically turns her around and hoists her up as though she is made of nothing—slinging her thighs around the bumps of his hips.
And this is the first time she’s seen his face in… a while. The first time since he’d started dismantling her with his fingers, his cock. Y/N’s heart jumps, the stoicity in which he displays; unsettling and erotic simultaneously. She lifts her heavy hands, moving with the weight of a thousand tonnes, but Harry is quick to catch them. He yanks them overhead, grazing the stone, incarcerated within the circumference of his hand.
It hurts. The wall scratches up the delicate skin of her back, through the flimsy material of her dress. It hurts but it’s grounding—Y/N only thinks about the way her flesh will serve as a reminder of Harry, of this bar, and of this alleyway.
“Gonna make me do everything myself, hm?” gripping around his shaft, painting it across her slit with a harshness that makes Y/N shudder. He’s disrespectful, sliding in indelicately, rough palm yanking down the front of her chest to smooth over her neglected tits, squeezing and moulding between his fingers.
Y/N’s already there, she’s sure. The pit at the bottom of her stomach tightening, her eyes clenching shut, head falling back unceremoniously despite the view she has below her. Harry’s grunting, low, gravelly sounds that enmesh with her own whimpery exhalations.
“Fucking look at me—look at me,” pinching digits squish her cheeks together. A smirk tugs at the corners of Harry’s mouth, tongue darting out to wet his lips when Y/N stares at them. “Let me see that pretty, slutty face.” Her brows quirk when he rocks in particularly deep, eyes flitting around—unsure of what to look at first. Harry’s own face is flushed; perhaps the only indicator he can even feel her at all. That and the size of his pupils—the shortness of his breaths as they wash across her face.
She holds his gaze, mouth ajar with soundless cries.
“You’ll always be my filthy—plaything,” pressing in so close their noses touch. “Even after I’m… long gone—and… you’ve got some other man’s cock inside you,” his breathing shallows, “you’ll always have been mine.” Y/N doesn’t doubt him, she doesn’t even try. Not when he punctuates every word with a thrust so deep it lingers and blossoms inside of her, spreading through each limb and tingling in her fingertips.
Harry’s hand manhandles her face from side to side, grip immovable.
“When you go running back to—Cody… and he can’t fuck you properly… and all you’ll wish for is me—but you’ll hate yourself for it, won’t you, pet?” He pouts, eyes rounding out in a faux sense of sympathy. “For wanting a cold-blooded killer to make you feel good.”
He hammers the final nail into the coffin, lips brushing her own in a sadistic contradiction, voice only a whisper when he says, “You’ll never feel this good again.”
Y/N sobs audibly this time, cunt clenching from his words alone. She thinks he could talk her over the finish line entirely. The promise is dreadful, and it weighs heavy despite how perfectly it nuzzles against her sweet spot. But then he drops her cheeks and snakes those same fingers down, circling easily over her swollen clit. She convulses, weak wrists tugging against the constraints of his hand.
Harry’s close, desperate now to reach his peak. He sinks his teeth into her bottom lip. “Go on. Cum. Cum on your stranger’s cock.”
It’s a wonder Y/N doesn’t crumple to the floor as she cums—but somehow her thighs stay gripped around Harry’s hips. If anything they tighten, squeezing up to his waist, yearning to crush him between her as he pushes her over the edge again and joins her himself as he releases rope after rope into the condom, hips rocking all the way through. He’s moaning a slew of real pretty noises, and Y/N can’t help but pulse at every single one—orgasm begging to last forever—forcing her eyes open no matter the struggle, so that she can really see what he looks like.
It’s devastating—when he smiles. Pleasure written all over his face as his thrusts slow down, cock still dragging through her but no longer with a purpose. And Y/N finds it disorienting; the happiness in which she could be convinced he is feeling. As if it were all a joke—some twisted roleplay—that they were simply playing a fun, little sex game, of all things.
He pats her hip when he slides out, too gentle for Y/N’s post-orgasmic haze. She’s tired now. Too tired to be out at a bar, alone.
Harry encourages her legs from around his waist. “That’s it, down you get, good girl.” Her legs wobble as her feet meet the ground, the centre of her thighs vibrating and pulsating. She only somewhat sees him tying the condom and tucking it back into the wrapper.
“Do you need some help getting home?” Y/N feels like crying. Of course she does. But not from him, never from him—that would be even sillier than letting him fuck her. And then fuck her again.
“N-no,” her voice dry and scratchy.
He’s not convinced but he doesn’t ask again. He simply crouches down and searches for the hem of her underwear under her dress. Y/N thinks he might fix the gusset back over the mess of her pussy but he doesn’t. No, he wiggles them down her thighs and lifts up each shaky leg to retrieve the fabric and twirl it around a slender finger.
“Let me have these, yeah, pet? A little trophy, hm?” Something screams from within Y/N to be scared. But she’s tired now. “It’s only fair… don’t y’think?—if I can’t have what I truly want.” She wishes to wonder why he can’t, but the thought doesn’t form fully. Perhaps he’ll kill her now, after all. She’s fulfilled her brief, performed her duties.
But he’s already taking a few steps back; a distance that feels gargantuan in her current state. She blinks, and then blinks again, mindless fingers fixing clothes and brushing hair from her face. The cold suddenly hits her like a freight train, bare legs littered in goosebumps.
Harry sighs, like he’s considering something in his head before shucking his hoodie from his body and letting it hang between them. An offer. “Keep it warm f’me,” he murmurs, eyes insistent. She takes it with a shaky hand, and hurries to drown herself in his second-hand heat.
He’s already beginning to walk away by the time her head emerges from the fabric, eyes flitting in a panic as they focus back on his shrinking frame. Y/N is offered one final glimpse when he angles his head back to see her, a small smile upturning his mouth. His words fill no hole, quell no worries, heal no wounds. They add insult to injury, smirk morphing his tone.
“Why don’t you… go back inside, yeah? Have another drink for me.”
Y/N’s feet feel stuck—glued to the gravel, too scared to take her eyes off of him for even a moment. But he nods his head towards the door, silently repeating his assertion. “Go on.”
Slowly, she heads back into the bar, the heavy door squealing on its rusty hinges. She sits back down on her previously claimed stool.
She waits.
The stranger never follows her inside. Y/N never notes his silhouette in her peripherals on the other end of the bar, yellow-polished fingertips stroking over a rocks glass as the two pretend not to know one another.
He never comes in and… maybe it’s for the better.
Y/N never sees him again.
#harry styles#harry styles x reader#harry styles smut#harry styles one shots#harry styles fanfiction#dark harry styles#dom!harry#dom!harry styles x sub!reader#dark harry#harry styles writing#harry styles imagines
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can i req a little drabble with nyx? i imagine nyx to be a bit like feyre but also being on the more broody side. perhaps where reader gets the “meeting the family” dinner with the IC and shes like a ball pf sunshine, complete opposite to nyx?
ambushes and invitations
Nyx x Reader
Summary: Told it's finally time, Nyx takes you to meet his family.
Warnings: none
A/N: thank you for the request! I love grumpy sunshine so much.
“I’m excited,” you insisted - almost bouncing on your toes as you walked together.
“You really shouldn’t be,” he grumbled, hand shooting out to grab yours. He pulled you in close - a bit too abruptly, and you stumped over your feet, a laugh echoing from your chest as you slammed into him, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you steady. Nyx’s mouth indented at one corner, eyes shining as he glanced down at you. Pausing, he licked his thumb, brushing against your jawline, a tinge of blue appearing on his finger. A spot of paint from earlier. Letting go of your waist, he kept his hold on your hand and your feet carried you down the path, footsteps light on the cobblestone. You’d insisted on walking - giving you time to wrap your mind around what the evening would look like.
He’d ambushed you at your home, where you were in the middle of trying to paint a gift, and ‘invited’ you to a family dinner. You couldn’t refuse, and the limited timeframe gave you less time for a ball of nerves to build. It wasn’t wholly effective. Truth be told, you were somewhat nervous. His family was intimidating to say the least, but you’d grown up around what you considered were intimidating people, and this was another dinner - at least you told yourself that.
The next time you tripped - a loose rock, not your fault, Nyx covered it - bringing your arm above your head and spinning you.
“Are you nervous?” You asked, as you drew closer to your destination.
“Me?” His eyes rolled. “Never, darling.”
Your eyes lit up in amusement. “Never? Because I remember very clearly the one time -”
A pinch to your side cut off your words, and you realized you were within hearing distance of two winged figures. You’d been distracted looking up at Nyx, and a light blush covered your cheeks.
“Don’t stop on our accord,” one of the males - Cassian, you recognized, said.
You grinned. “Once, we were-”
Nyx’s hand clapped over your mouth, muffling your words.
Both were friendly, even though you had the keen awareness your every move and expression was being monitored. That’s fine by you, there was nothing you felt the need to hide.
They all introduced themselves, but you already knew exactly who they were. Rhys, your High Lord insisted you call him Rhys, same with your High Lady. Nyx spoke of them so freely, a few complaints littered here and there, but actually meeting them as his parents was different. Sure, you’d seen both of them in Velaris at one point or another, but this was a completely different context. Maybe in your mind you’d created a different persona for them - Nyx’s parents. Either way, the two versions from your mind had no choice but to meld now.
“What do you do for work?” Feyre asked. This was a subject you could speak on for ages.
“I’m a teacher, for toddlers.” The spot of glitter on your wrist caught the light at the perfect time.
“Do you like it?” Her head tilted.
“I absolutely love it,” you replied and lulled into an easy conversation, some of your nerves fading.
Back and forth, questions bounced across the table - about nearly every subject, and you fielded all of them the best you could. Nyx seemed to glare at anyone who asked things a bit too personal or touchy.
-
“How’d someone like you end up with this broody asshole?” His uncle didn’t even wince as Nyx kicked him in the shin. Hopefully hard enough to leave a bruise.
“That’s what I want to know,” Mor said - glancing between the two of you.
Nyx cut in before you could answer. “Easy, I won her over.”
“Easy?” You raised your brows, amusement in your eyes.
“Not exactly.”
Your eyes seemed to say; good save.
Gods, he remembers the weeks he spent ‘chasing’ you, and trying to get the point across that he liked you as more than a friend. You were a ball of pure light and joy, bright enough to make him seem like a dark and stormy cloud, and he loved you for it. His little ball of sunshine, although everyone else was stealing your attention right now.
You’d been seeing each other for a few months when his parents finally put their foot down and insisted on meeting you. Everything was a bit last minute, and he felt a tad guilty for ‘inviting’ you with less than an hour, but it was a casual affair, and you were in good spirits about it - nearly exploding out of your skin the entire way here.
So far, it seemed to be going well. You were sitting directly next to Mor, and the two of you were making easy conversation.
Cassian caught his eye, an amused look on his face.
What is it? Nyx slipped into his mind.
She’s nice. Talkative. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Seems like she’s good for you.
Nyx brought himself back into the present, aware of your conversation starting to dwindle next to him. He found you looking at him with a curious expression, but a tinge of worry in your eyes, grabbing your hand under the table, he gave you what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.
“Do you have any Solstice plans?” His mother asked, a gleam in her eyes. That’s all it took for him to know she was absolutely smitten with you, but he still fought a wince at her direct question - he knew you didn’t, and if this went well he’d already planned on inviting you.
“I don’t,” your words were softer than normal - maybe a bit unsure. Nyx squeezed your hand again, hoping he wasn’t crushing your fingers.
“Perfect,” she clapped her hands together. “Join us.”
“If you want to,” he added, meeting your eyes.
Really?
She wouldn’t have offered otherwise.
The mental equivalent of an eye roll came through before you beamed at her and agreed.
-
Nyx flew you home, refusing to let you walk on your own and in the dark. You chose not to argue with him this time. Besides, you liked seeing the city from above, all of the glittering lights, and especially in his arms.
“You,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, closing your door behind him with his foot.
“Me?”
One arm wrapped around your waist, tugging you in close. “You are wonderful.”
Your words were muffled, face pressed against him, “where’s this coming from?”
He loosened his arms just enough for you to look up at him. “You survived them.”
Lips turning up at the corners, you poked his chest. “Survived?”
“You know what I mean,” he sighed.
“Sure,” you tucked yourself back into him.
“First, I would love to have you there,” he prefaced, hand running down your hair - and your heart jumped. “But you don’t have to come to Solstice if you don’t want to, or if it’s too soon.”
“That might be the most words I’ve heard you say in a row.”
He pinched your side before continuing, “I know she put you on the spot.”
You slid one hand up to rest on his chest - just above his thundering heart. “I would love,” you repeated his words, “to be there.”
“Thank the gods,” he breathed, pulling you close again.
#acotar next gen#next gen acotar#nyx archeron x reader#nyx x reader#nyx archeron x y/n#nyx x y/n#acotar drabble#acotar imagine
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Hellooo 👋, can you write enemies to lovers with fernando alonso maybe with some angst? 🤭
It's totally alright if you don't want to! Thankssss :))
EL DESTINO [FA14 oneshot]
Fernando Alonso x reader
Masterlist
Summary: Y/N works for Alpine, and even though Fernando Alonso isn't part of the team anymore, they can't forget their distaste for each other. The driver seems to think she's just an irresponsible party girl and Y/N doesn't like him because he's, well... annoying and mean and doesn't care about anybody but himself. Though could they be both wrong in their prejudices?
Word Count: 4.5k
Warnings: Not much, maybe they're kind of mean to each other and stupid at the start, but that's the point of enemies to lovers, right? XD
Author's Note: Hello Anon and thank you for the request! I didn't expect it to turn out so long, but hey XD. I hope you and everybody else will like it. Also I tried for a little bit of angst, but I'm not sure if I'm good at it... you can let me know :).
If anyone could read your thoughts at the moment, you’d probably end up locked behind bars and with the key from your cell thrown far away. Whoever's great idea was to allow the group of inexperienced interns to touch the important data and statistics deserved to rot seven feet underground. Chopped into small pieces. And doused in poison that eats their lifeless body until there's nothing left.
Okay, that's maybe a bit too violent, but still not far from the truth.
You rubbed your tired eyes, not caring about smudging the mascara anymore. There was basically no one left in the building, just a few mechanics desperately needing the cars to be in perfect condition tomorrow – or should we say today? And then there was you, who stupidly agreed to fix the disaster caused by too much excitement and not enough cautiousness. You knew the interns didn't do it on purpose, and blaming them wasn't going to help you, but still. It wasn't them who had to sit there long after their working hours ended, staring into a too bright computer screen.
When you finally managed to save all the damaged data, it was almost three in the morning, and before you made it back to the hotel, you weren't sure if it was even worth going to bed. Because of the emergency, you didn't have time to finish your usual duties. And even though it wouldn't be fair to want the analysis from you, that wasn't how the game was played in motorsport.
Legs almost giving out under you, you dragged yourself to the elevator. The poor lady sitting at the receptionist desk looked at you skeptically, but didn't say anything as you stepped in and pressed the button with the number of your floor on it. Generic music started playing, numbing your brain even more.
The metal door was about to close, but then a hand came between it. Before you blinked and processed what's happening, a man slipped into the elevator right next to you, pressing his own number.
You see, everything could have been fine. You could've just survived the thirty seconds of embarrassing silence, then mumble a polite goodbye and go to sleep in peace. But no. Fate apparently had other plans for you.
Because as the man turned to you and the bright light hit his face, you realized it wasn't just some stranger.
Suddenly, the silence shifted from the normal elevator weirdness to tension. You pressed your lips together, silently cursing the higher power that decided to mess with your life just today, when you looked like a zombie. With smudged mascara. Perfect.
For someone, maybe it would be a fulfilled dream to be in an elevator with Fernando Alonso. Two time World Champion, great driver, loved person. And a dickhead that almost ruined your whole career.
“You look like you had a wild night,” he murmured with a thick Spanish accent. You narrowed your brows, trying to control the anger bubbling inside of you. Was he trying to insult you? You wouldn't even be surprised.
“Perhaps I did, thank you very much.” Your voice lacked any signs of friendliness, clearly trying to provoke him. It was quite funny, really, how a minute ago you didn't have energy to think clearly, and now you were ready to argue with this man over anything. Almost like the magic of despising someone.
You noticed his jaw tensing and knew it wouldn't be good. But still, his words hurt: “Maybe if you focused more on doing your job instead of wild nights out, Alpine would do better.”
The sting in your chest was strong, but by some miracle the elevator finally stopped, and the robotic voice announced the twenty-sixth floor. Even life itself took pity on you, it seemed.
Without any other word, you turned away from Alonso and walked into the empty hallway, hearing a quiet scoff and then the door sliding closed again behind you, leaving you all alone in the darkness. How poetic.
Every door you passed looked exactly the same, and you just hoped you remembered your room number correctly.
You didn't even remember taking out the card and entering your temporary home for the weekend. You didn't remember taking your clothes off, removing the remaining makeup with a tissue because you were too tired for your usual skin care routine. You didn't remember responsibly setting up your alarm and then falling into the soft mattress.
All you could remember before the exhaustion took over were his words that cut deeper than he thought, and deeper than you'd like to admit.
-----
You couldn't believe it.
As you walked out of the debrief, you could basically feel everybody's frustration crawling up your spine, mixing with your own. The team, all the mechanics and engineers, pit crew members and marketing, hundreds of people worked so hard the whole week. And for what?
It was already bad when both cars didn't finish the last Grand Prix in Silverstone. But for it to happen again? That was downright embarrassing. Not only did it bring exactly zero points in the Constructors' Championship, but the drivers were angry, disappointed. You could see that in the team, the motivation level decreased quickly. And honestly, you couldn't blame them.
Last year, Alpine was the fourth-best car on the grid. Best of the rest, as they'd call it. But this season, everything was going terribly. You honestly weren't far from crying.
To lighten up the mood, some of your colleagues decided to enjoy a night out in Budapest before you'd have to fly to Belgium tomorrow, to prepare for yet another racing weekend. At first, you declined the offer, insisting you needed to catch up on some work, do analysis for the car and figure out exactly what happened to it. But then, one of the mechanics you were friendlier with saw your drooping shoulders, and pulled you into the club despite all your weak protests.
Soon enough, you let loose and after an hour, you were a few drinks in. Your head was spinning, a big smile planted on your lips and giggles coming out of your mouth uncontrollably. Not that you had low alcohol tolerance, but the last time you got properly drunk was some time ago. Perhaps you just forgot how it felt. The freedom, the sweet mist of oblivion clouding your mind.
Currently, you were sitting at the bar, sipping on a cocktail. You already enjoyed your time on the dance floor, which tired you more than expected. Thank God you went to the club right from the paddock, so instead of high heels that'd kill your feet, you had comfortable sneakers on.
As you waved at the young barman to give you another round of whatever he mixed for you before, you felt someone's eyes on your back. You didn't bother to turn around, thinking it was just another drunken man checking out half of the women in the club.
Then, someone stood behind you. “The drink's on me, hermosa,” the man said, voice smooth like honey. You froze. You knew that deep, thick Spanish accent too well. What the hell was Alonso doing here?
He clearly mistook your silence for an impressed one, or so you thought when he came to sit down next to you, his hand gently brushing your back. That was the moment you turned your head towards him, eyes wide, and his face dropped. So did yours.
You hoped for a split second you could pretend you were total strangers randomly meeting in a bar for just a little longer when he instantly frowned and his demeanor changed from charming gentleman to pain in the ass.
“Y/L/N,” he uttered it in a way that made you wonder if there was something wrong with your last name. “Guess I shouldn't be surprised to see you here.”
And here it was — the instant wave of anger and hurt he managed to bring up by just a few poking words.
“Says the right person.” You rolled your eyes, the flowing feeling the alcohol gave you before now gone. You felt like you were going to be sick. “I bet if it wasn't me you tried to hit on, you'd bring the poor woman to your hotel room tonight.”
“Careful, or you might sound jealous.”
“Oh, you wish, Alonso,” you laughed humorlessly.
The bartender chose that moment to bring you the requested cocktail you already forgot about. You gave him the cash, though you had no intention of actually drinking it. As always, Alonso left a sour taste in your mouth.
“I see you're drinking the team problems away,” he pressed harder, knowing damn well it was a sensitive topic. You gritted your teeth, reminding yourself to be the better person.
Then you looked into his dark eyes, and your self-control was gone. For some reason, you couldn't stand the look he was giving you. It was full of something that was too similar to disappointment. You hated people being disappointed in you, even if you hated that very person.
Out of nowhere, the alcohol kicked in, and you remembered why you didn't drink in clubs too often — it made you emotional. So stupidly sensitive that you couldn't stop your eyes from tearing up. You shook your head, opened your mouth, wanting to tell him something. Anything that'd make him just as much hurt as you were.
Instead, you bit your trembling lip and abruptly stood up. You almost knocked over the bar stool, though at the moment, you didn't really care.
Was it cowardly to run away from him and his harsh words? Yes, you knew that. But you did it in the elevator, and so you could do it again.
In a rush, you got through other people enjoying their night out, oblivious to the lump forming in your throat. You needed to get out, breathe in the fresh air and just forget about everything.
It was probably nearing midnight, and even though it was late July, you still shivered when you stepped outside the club. Just then you remembered you left your jacket back in the paddock. And you also realized the mechanic and his group of friends drove you here, and you had no idea where you were or how to get to your hotel room.
“Great. Just fucking perfect,” you mumbled to yourself, a few tears running down your cheeks. You wiped them away, willing yourself to calm down. Budapest couldn't be too different from other European cities, so you'd just walk to the nearest public transport station and then see what you could do from there. Yes, that was exactly what you're going to do, and it's going to be okay.
Having a plan calmed you down, at least a little. You walked in a direction you hoped would get you to the center and took your phone out. The battery was low, and you cursed yourself for not charging it during the day.
“Where are you going?” You winced and nearly dropped the phone when you heard the loud voice calling after you.
When you turned around, you already knew exactly who was standing before the club entrance.
“That's not any of your business,” you tried to sound tough, but it came out tired and weak. So instead, you lifted your head, trying to save the remaining bits of your dignity.
Alonso tilted his head, brown eyes studying you for a moment before he made a step towards you. “Don't tell me you don't have anyone to take you back to your hotel?” The undertone of his voice was strange, and if you didn't know better, you'd think it was worry seeping out.
“Oh, then I won't tell you,” you fired back, satisfied with your own answer as you turned around and left him standing there.
You made it around the block when a strong hand suddenly grasped your hand, and you screamed, prepared to fight whoever attacked you.
“¡Ay dios mío!” Alonso cursed and held his red cheek, where there was a clear hand print now.
You stared at each other in shock. You wanted to kill him for scaring you to death, but at the same time, you were relieved it was just him and not a creepy kidnapper.
“I'd say I'm sorry… but I'm not,” you managed to mumble. A weak attempt, you knew that. But it still seemed to wake him from his trance and make him scoff at you in annoyance.
However, he didn't let go of your hand.
“Let's go,” Alonso urged you back towards the direction you came from.
“I'm not going anywhere with you.”
“Y/N, if you think I would let a drunk girl wander around a city she doesn't know, alone, at night… then you clearly don't know me at all.”
It took a few seconds for his words to hit you, and all there was left for you to do was to look up at him with surprise written all over your face. That seemed to annoy him for some reason, but with alcohol still very much present in your system, you didn't have the capacity to think about it too much.
“Let's go,” he repeated, though this time you didn't protest when he started walking towards what turned out to be his car. You knew it very well, from the years you used to work together, for the same team. Silently, you wondered how the hell did he get it to Hungary, but you soon forgot about that.
Fernando unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for you. Your mom would probably tell you to be more cautious about getting into the car of a man you didn't like and were sure he didn't like you as well. But hey, it's still better than being lost in a foreign city, right?
So you sat down, and before you could reach for the seatbelt, he took it and strapped you himself, mumbling something about safety hazards with drunk people. You were so surprised by that unexpected action you didn't even have time to feel offended.
You closed your eyes, the comfortable seat making you sleepy. You heard him get in the car as well and join the night traffic. For a moment, silence reigned and for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel horrible and tense.
“Isn't it illegal to drive with alcohol?” you whispered, eyes still closed.
“I didn't drink anything in the club. Too busy with you.”
Just then, you realized you actually asked the question out loud.
“Sorry for ruining your celebration night. Probably didn't want to leave it with me,” you laughed quietly. When he approached you in the club, he thought you were a random pretty woman with whom he could share a drink and take her to his bed for a fun night.
“Whatever.” You could hear him shrug his shoulders. “Sorry for ruining your night. Though you don't have much to celebrate.”
That made you open your eyes and gaze at him. He was looking straight ahead, concentrating on the road ahead. The lights of the other cars occasionally landed on his face, and you wondered if he was always so handsome, or it were the cocktails speaking for you.
“Wow, even in an apology there's a hidden insult,” you snickered, though there was a small grin on your lips now. Yes, definitely the alcohol speaking for you, you told yourself.
This time, Fernando actually looked at you before he averted his sight back to the traffic. “I wasn't insulting you, Y/N. I was insulting the team.”
You raised your eyebrows, but didn't comment on it. It was pointless to argue over this, he had his opinion about Alpine and given the fact both your cars didn't finish two races in a row, you didn't have exactly the best arguments to convince him otherwise. After all, he was part of the team last year. And the year before.
For the rest of your ride, there wasn't much more said between the both of you. You were tired — not just because of the night out and drinking, but from the whole week, from the whole season.
Finally, he parked the car before a building you recognized. You didn't ask him how he knew which hotel your team booked, perhaps he remembered it was the same one as the year before. Honestly, you were just glad he helped you get out of the car and walked you inside.
Then, you found yourself in an elevator alone with Fernando, again. Though unlike a month ago, he gently held your hand for support this time.
You told him your room number and somehow, he got you all the way in front of the door. You thanked all the saints in the world when you dug the keys out of your purse. After three unsuccessful tries at unlocking the room, Fernando's patience apparently ran out. He took the keys out of your hand and silently opened the lock.
“Thanks,” you muttered, and let him lead you inside your own hotel room.
When the light switch turned on and illuminated all the papers lying around, he looked at you, flabbergasted.
“What's all this?”
You shrug your shoulders and look at him like he was stupid. Which he was, at least in your humble opinion. “Work. What else?”
“Yes, yes. But why is it… here?” He motions towards the desk, nightstands, and bed.
“Because I don't have time to do it all in the office.”
“You work overtime?”
Now you were starting to get irritated.
“Yes, I work overtime. Maybe if you weren't so insistent in thinking I'm a dumb party girl ever since I made one stupid mistake in your car's analysis a year ago, you'd see I'm actually trying my best.” You hated how hurt you sounded, pathetic in your own ears.
But honestly, who was he to judge you? You never actually stood up to him before, defended yourself against his mean words. You always sucked it up, let him complain about you to your boss, who almost fired you because of the driver's obvious distaste for you. And when he left the team at the end of last year, you never tried to contact him, talk to him. Fix your non-existent relationship.
Today, though, you had enough. Maybe it was the alcohol giving you courage, maybe it was his shocked face when he realized you actually did your job.
“Y/N, I-”
“Get out,” you said in a tone that didn't allow for any objections. Fernando seemed to understand, but the pained expression didn't leave his face when he slowly walked to the door. Like he didn't really want to leave, like he desperately wanted to tell you something.
You didn't care about him. He never cared about you before as well, did he?
And so, with one last, regretful look in his dark eyes, Fernando Alonso left your hotel room. When tears ran down your cheeks, you weren't sure why you were even crying.
-----
You were avoiding him after that. It wasn't the easiest thing to do, but you managed and after surviving the Belgian Grand Prix in Spa, you were excited about the summer break as never before. Almost a whole month without races, which meant you wouldn't have to meet anyone from the other teams, including Fernando.
Usually, the team worked tirelessly through the summer break — it was a great chance to have a proper look into the car's engine and come up with new ideas and improvements. God knew you needed that. Typically, you were amongst those loyal employees, basically living in the Alpine headquarters.
However, this year you really wanted a break. So you used your vacation days and stayed in your flat, finally sleeping like a normal person for once, eating home-cooked meals instead of team catering and enjoying the summer, though the weather could be better in England.
It was the start of August when you started finding flower deliveries on the threshold of your door. First, you thought it's a mistake, though what woman would refuse a beautiful bouquet of her favorite flowers. When it happened a whole week in a row, you thought about having a secret admirer or, in the worse case scenario, a stalker. Though, you still took the flowers inside every morning, cherishing them.
And then, one day, there was an envelope attached to the bouquet, and you had to curse yourself for being so, so stupid. Of course it's him, Fernando. Begging you to talk to him, to let him explain. One dinner, he said. One dinner, and then he'll let you go on about your life.
When he tried to write a poem in the middle of August, you finally gave in. You found his old phone number saved amongst many other contacts and sent him a simple “okay”.
The next morning, there was a time and address of the restaurant in the envelope.
You didn't let yourself get too excited about any of it. It's Fernando Alonso, the man who almost caused you to get fired from your dream job, the one that was so mean to you after making wrong assumptions about you and your way of life. Yes, he was trying now, but was that enough?
When the taxi dropped you off in front of the fancy restaurant, you took a deep breath. You had a simple dress on, light makeup, and a few accessories.
You walked into the empty restaurant. The waitress smiled at you when you told her the name of the reservation and led you to the only set table. You could see the deep brown eyes looking directly at you from afar.
Suddenly, nervousness settled in your stomach. If you didn't know better, you'd think this was a date — it certainly felt like one.
Without a word, he helped you sit down on a chair across from him and the waitress handed you the menu. It was without prices, but you were certain this place was lavish and expensive. Perhaps Fernando didn't want you to worry about it and let you order anything you wanted. And you tried not to be too impressed by that.
“You look very beautiful, hermosa,” he spoke after a minute of tense silence while you pretended to be interested in the menu. You didn't miss the fact he used the same nickname like that night in the club, when he thought you were someone else.
“Compliments won't make it easier for you.” Maybe you lied, because you liked him calling you beautiful.
“I know, but I couldn't help myself.”
The waitress came back with a bottle of wine that Fernando must've ordered before you arrived. You took a sip and it tasted like heaven. It almost made you forget about everything, almost.
“Please, can we talk?” You never heard his voice sound so… unsure.
“Aren't we talking right now?”
“Y/N.” The way he said your name was so soft, so delicate.
“Fernando.” You saw him flinch, and you realized it was probably the first time you called him by his first name. Suddenly, the whole situation felt more intimate.
He gulped, but there was determination written all over his face. Fernando Alonso wasn't the type of man to give up, you knew that. His amazing racing career was proof of that.
“Listen to me, please. I know that you have the right to never speak to me again after how I treated you. But I want to fix it, Y/N.”
Those brown eyes were going to be the death of you, burying themselves into your soul, your heart.
“I want to fix all of it, Y/N,” he repeated with all seriousness. “If you let me,” Fernando added.
And how could you say no to him? Deep down, you always admired him. Liked him, even. Before that fuck up with his car's analysis, you thought he might like you back. You always wanted his approval, and that was one of the reasons why his words and insults hurt so much.
Sometimes, people deserved second chances. Especially when they were looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.
Slowly, you nodded. “I think I might let you, Fernando.” You smiled, liking how his name felt on your tongue. “But it's not going to be easy, I'm telling you that,” you warned him with a raised finger.
“I wouldn't dream of anything less,” he replied with a thick Spanish accent that was stronger when he felt emotions. Fernando returned your smile and clinked his glass with yours.
-----
Brazil was a good race. Both Alpine cars ended up in points and Fernando, your Fernando, got another podium. You clapped along with others during the podium ceremony, eyes just for him. A proud feeling settled in you, and as he accepted his trophy for well deserved third place, he looked down at the gathered crowd. Mostly people from Aston Martin, McLaren, and Red Bull.
And then there was you — in your Alpine t-shirt, clapping for the driver who scandalously left your team last year, without a care in the world. That was when he knew he loved you, and that he'll always will.
You knew you loved him too when, after all the celebrating around the circuit died down or moved to clubs and private parties, instead of going to his hotel room, he knocked on the door of yours. Checking on you.
“Hermosa, I hope you're not working.” He rolled his eyes as he stepped in, seeing you indeed staring into your notebook at some data he probably shouldn't see as a part of a rival team.
“But Nando, I need to finish these-”
He cut you off the best way he could — hugging you from behind, gently turning your head towards him and placing his lips on yours. You instantly melted into the kiss, giving up the fight before it could even start.
“I think you need to properly celebrate your boyfriend winning,” he smirked, biting your lip teasingly. You felt like a teenage girl when the butterflies took off in your stomach.
Fernando slowly walked you to the bed, never parting your lips, as if his life depended on kissing you. You sat on his lap, your hips grinding against his as you moaned into his mouth.
And he couldn't help himself. He wanted to take you out on a magical date and tell you there, but how could he keep it a secret when you were sitting on him, so beautiful that his heart clenched. Smart and pretty girl. His smart and pretty girl.
“Te amo,” he whispered into your sweet lips, and your breath caught.
You pulled back a little, looking at him, silently asking if you heard him correctly.
“Te amo, Y/N,” he repeated. You knew enough Spanish for your eyes to tear up. “I love you very much.”
There was a heartbeat of silence, probably the longest one in your whole life.
“I love you too. So much,” you whispered back. And then, for him: “Te amo, Fernando.”
Now it was his turn to tear up, hold your face in his hands and press your foreheads together.
Perhaps the fate and its plans for you weren't so horrible after all.
THE END
Author's Note: Wow, if you read it all to the end, thank you very much! I'll be glad for likes, comments, reblogs, follows and every other way of support. Let me know how you liked this story and if you'd maybe like another oneshot from this "universe" because I have to admit, this version of Fernando and Y/N kind of grew on me... Have a great day and see you at the next post! :)
#f1 fanfic#fanfic#fanfiction#formula 1#formula one#couple#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#reading#fernando alonso#fernando alonso x reader#fa14#fa14 x reader#alpine f1#aston martin#aston martin f1#x reader#writing#oneshot#f1 fic#f1#f1 blurb#f1 fluff#f1 angst
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a little less lonely — jj maybank x reader
part 2 can be found here
☄. *. ⋆ content warning(s) & genre: swearing, alcohol consumption, adultery mentioned, rebounding, one-sided feelings, explicit sexual content under the cut: unprotected sex, creampie, tit play, overstimulation, squirting — angst, smut
˚♡ ｡˚ synopsis: what better way is there to heal a broken heart than over-complicating things with just a few glasses of wine to start things off?
✧.*
things had never been so complicated. under any normal circumstances, people found themselves drawn in by the beauty of the carolina coast. so eager to strip themselves of their everyday stress, all they seeked was a temporary sense of peace—an artificial promise that everything would be alright. maybe not right then and there, because all those problems found a way out the minute sunny, warm skies and salty waves came into the picture. the people were friendly, despite the tension. the food was great, as was the company. there was no better example of the perfect place.
however, bad luck had a way of clinging to those who found themselves with no way out, not even on earth's paradise.
you were never able to figure out where it all went wrong with john b. no matter how many hours you spent thinking about it, let alone distracting yourself from it, you failed to point out where exactly the bridge began to shake. the possibilities were endless. did it have anything to do with sarah's sudden presence amongst the group itself? did it have anything to do with growing tensions between him and rafe? he could've been drained, you could've just grown apart. in the end, he offered no explanation when he chose to end things with you. it was a swift, clean cut.
to be frank, you were feeling quite zen with the entire situation. despite having spent two full years with him, it truly didn't affect you as much as you expected. if you were asked about it two years ago, you'd have thought your life would fall apart. when the moment finally came, you accepted it with a gracious heart, no matter how much you truly yearned for him. you loved him, there was no denying it, but you knew you had no say in the decisions he made. you knew that from the second you met him.
you found yourself in front of his doorstep, offering a few quiet knocks to the wooden door. up until that point, he had returned a two full boxes of a few of your personal belongings he had grown to collect throughout your relationship. a third box with your name on it was waiting for you, just on the other side.
when the door opened, you found yourself face-to-face once more. you offered him a kind smile, gazing up at him. it was impossible to read his expressions, to tell what and how he was feeling. perhaps stoic, maybe sympathetic, even. his eyes were almost soulless, despite the smile he returned.
“hey,” you broke the silence, clasping your hands together. “you have the box, right?” he showed no interest jn accompanying your dialogue, offering only a small nod in response before turning on his heel, heading towards the box. you bit your lip, as if ashamed for giving in so fast, it definitely chipped away at the zen you were feeling just a few minutes prior. thankfully enough, your thoughts didn't offer much consolation for long. loud, angry, familiar voices pierced your ears, you couldn't help but turn in the direction of the source.
the last person you had expected was to see jj, someone you had spent a good portion of your life dating despite the messy ending. you had spent a decent five years with him, no matter how bad the last few months were. he was somewhat of a childhood best friend, with the two of you growing up in the same area, both of your fathers being best friends. after a while, perhaps just before puberty, you grew distant, but when the growth spurts finally hit, you were inseparable. he was your first boyfriend, and you were his first girlfriend. you had gone through so much together, teaching each other the rights and wrongs of a relationship, and you truly expected it to last. everybody did. all of that joyous hope went to waste when he met kiara, leading to the ultimate decision of throwing five years in the water for a cheap one-night stand, which eventually led to a serious relationship over the course of a few days. needless to say, no matter how angry and heartbroken it left you, you remained civil—for everybody's sake.
much like every other day, he wasn't alone. you squinted your eyes amidst the sun's beaming rays, making out kiara's frame trailing behind him, down the stairs of the house's front porch. there was all too much screaming from her side, frantic arm waving, long strings of curses. however, jj wasn't hesitant to retort. you couldn't tell what the argument was about, but the way he stormed off and climbed into the white, worn-out travel van could only tell you one thing—whatever they had going on, was over.
you turned around once again, only this time, returning john b's stare. he had come back, arms wrapped around the box. you didn't know how long he had been standing there, you were more focused on the way the top of the box was sealed shut, your name written atop in big, black letters. “damn, at least we aren't acting like them.” it was your subtly unsubtle attempt to lighten the mood, but no matter how subtle you could be, all john b responded with was a shrug—before closing the door, right in your face.
it wasn't necessarily a feeling of defeat, as much as it was a sign that you needed a glass of wine in your system as fast as possible.
when the sun had finally set, the moonlight gladly took its place, casting shadows alongside your trailer park. you were sat on your dining room chair, a bathrobe hugging you warmly as you crossed your legs, admiring the bottle of cheap wine calling your name. there really wasn't much negotiating needed to win you over—you found yourself reaching for the bottle before you even began thinking about it. maybe that was all you really needed for the zen to reach its full potential.
all that potential may as well have gone to waste when you heard the doorbell ring, a feeling of unease settling. nonetheless, no matter how ticked off, you clutched the front of your bathrobe tightly as you treaded toward the door. “who is it?” you called out, once in front of the door. a sigh was heard at first, but you didn't know what to expect anymore. perhaps john b, perhaps another one of your friends coming in to offer their condolences.
“it's your ex-boyfriend!” the familiar voice practically chirped. of all the unexpected guests you could have had, this one really took the cake. you rolled your eyes as you hesitantly reached for the doorknob. “jj, what do you want?” you were taken aback once you opened the door, taking a step back when you got a good look at jj, two suitcases by his side and a bag slung over his shoulder. he offered you a friendly smile, accompanied by an almost nervous wave.
“you saw the shitshow today, i presume,” he let out a nervous laugh, free hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck. “kiara and i just broke up.”
maybe your conscience truly was getting the best of you, or maybe you were healing. whatever it was, it made you sympathize with him. no matter what the past stated, you couldn't help but return the smile, opening the door just a little bit more as you stepped aside. you knew they've had their fair share of arguments, but you never really expected them to break up. not yet, at least. “oh, well, come on in.”
his gratitude wasn't immediately evident, not as much as his shock. he expected many things, from more yelling to bag-throwing and even hissy fits, but not any acts of kindness.
in no time, you found yourself in his company, right on the chair next to you, and it was time to crack the bottle open. he couldn't help but laugh, seeing you so eagerly fiddle with the corkscrew. it wasn't in a taunting matter, despite the look you shot him, but rather in pale admiration. you had poured yourselves each a glass as you brought your knees back up to your chest, awaiting further explanation from him.
“sorry to come over on such short notice, but i couldn't face going to a motel.” you raised an eyebrow, shooting him a playful look. “that's okay,” you murmured in response, tracing the shape of your glass before leaning it in for another sip. “is there a reason you're crashing here and not at john b's?”
he shrugged, clasping his hands together quietly as he stared into his glass, watching the ripples and bubbles the pale yellow liquid provided. “didn't feel like dealing with his shit today,” he licked his lips as he paused, eyes flickering between you and the glass, as if hesitant. “also, sarah was with him. didn't feel like dealing with her shit either.” the unexpected mention of her name sent a sharp twinge in your chest, and you couldn't help the silent feeling of defeat from pressing into your chest. jj definitely noticed it, his following look all too sympathetic as he watched you down the rest of your wine.
“am i allowed to ask what happened?” you finally broke the silence, head tilted to the side as you locked eyes once more. he laughed, but there was nothing funny about it. “you could ask, but i won't tell.” you quirked an eyebrow up, his tactics all too familiar as you shot him a look of disappointment.
“why not?”
“'cause it's embarrassing.”
“jj, did you cheat again?”
“no,”
“did she cheat?”
“nope,”
“you finally saw her without any makeup?”
it was his turn to shoot a disapproving look of his own, but neither of you could hold back the laughter that followed. despite it all, he shook his head, signalling that the break-up truly must've been something much deeper. “are you okay?” this was the first of your questions that was truly genuine. he nodded, once more. “yeah,” he responded, grabbing ahold of the bottle, filling your glass up alongside his. “it hadn't been working for quite a while. this was inevitable.”
you knew exactly what he meant by that, exactly what he was talking about. it was as if you, too, had sensed quite a while ago that a bad ending was written in the stars for you and john b. “well, these days anybody going through a break-up gets my sympathy.”
jj clicked his tongue before taking another swig of the wine. truly, he had been used to beer up until this point. the taste of grape brought back memories—how you would always have a bottle or two in your fridge while you were together. “that's right,” he responded, leaning back in his chair. “i heard johnnie boy lost feelings.” despite how painful it felt hearing everybody's thoughts out loud, you couldn't help but laugh bitterly. “no, johnnie boy lost love. found it somewhere else.”
it wasn't supposed to be a personal attack on jj's behalf, but the shoe definitely fit. his eyes were filled with a sorrow you never sought to uncover, guilt tugging at his heartstrings. “so, there will be no gloating from me.” you proudly continued, shooting him a smile as you raised your glass. he returned the smile, clinking away with his own glass. “well, here's to no gloating.”
you had explained to him that you were trying to keep a positive outlook on the whole thing, no matter how much it ate away at your pride. you talked and talked, and all he wanted to do was listen. “i even started writing last night,” you continued, downing what was left in what was definitely your fourth glass of wine. “and, well, i think there's a potential book in there.”
he couldn't fight off the pride he felt for you. “a book, really?” you nodded, the last of the bitter juices coating your tongue. “about all my failed relationships.” jj laughed appreciatively.
“you're not writing about me, are you?” he teased, earning him nothing but a humorless retort. “please, you're like the first fourteen chapters.” he grinned, even though he knew what was awaiting him.
“are you gonna be fair?” he asked teasingly. you nodded, just an edge of irony to your words. “i'm gonna be honest.” he feigned a worried sigh at your response, offering a displeased look, “i was afraid of that.”
it was nice to finally get some things off your chest, it was nice having someone to talk to, even if it was your ex-boyfriend. it felt like time was flying, and everything that had been bothering you up until then disappeared. “give me your glass, gotta finish this bottle off,” he insisted, gesturing toward what was left of the bottle, but you couldn't. shouldn't, really. “no way, jj, four glasses is my limit.” you made a weak, tipsy attempt at snatching the bottle away, but he was two steps ahead of you, pulling it away and coming to face you, as if he had a business proposition.
“if you help me finish off this bottle, i'll tell you what happened between me and kiara.” he was good, really good. you couldn't resist it, perhaps his story would provide at least some consolation. “hit me.” and so, he did.
you sipped away at your fifth glass of wine, ignoring the way your mind went fuzzy as the taste overwhelmed your senses once again. once jj had seen how dedicated you were, he smiled. “kiara was making the bed, and found a picture i kept under the mattress,” you shot him a look of surprise as you brought the glass back up to your lips. “a picture i didn't want her to see.”
“what kind of picture?” you questioned, a genuine edge of curiosity to your tone. your first guess would have been some sort of dirty magazine. your only guess, really, but kiara never seemed like the type to make such a big fuss over that. jj lowered his gaze along with the empty glass, only to lock eyes with you, once more.
“it was a picture of you,” he finally admitted. “it's something i like to take a look at every now and then.”
you didn't know how to respond. for the first time in a long time, jj had left you speechless. your reaction wasn't negative by any means, as much as shocked. you could only utter out a small “wow,” with truly nothing else to say. your eyes remained locked as you stared at the man you had once loved more than anyone else in the world, the same one that had truly messed you up in the long run. despite all of it, you harbored no hatred toward him whatsoever. not even to the extent where you found him leaning in, something you would've definitely pushed him away for. the only problem was that you didn't push him away, you found yourself returning the kiss.
however, you were the first to pull away, vision blurry as you both filled each other's ears with drunken laughter. “what the hell was that?” your tone was all but stern. jj leaned back once more. “that was something i've been wanting to do for quite some time.”
you couldn't help but roll your eyes at the stupid sentiment, despite the shared laughter. “oh, that's just you rebounding from kiara.” he shrugged, although he knew it was far from the truth. “so, you're on the rebound from johnnie boy. no harm, no foul.”
what really tipped the scale of morality for you was the fact that you truly had nothing against his proposal. you let out a sigh, “jj, it would be so weird.” he was quick to cut you off before you could rest your case. “we're two old friends who suddenly find themselves single, nothing weird about us helping each other out to be,” he paused, as if trying to find the write words. “a little less lonely.”
resisting would have been the appropriate thing to do. whether the answer was to push him back or pull away, the right thing would've been to resist. it wasn't right, no matter how good it felt or how familiar his touch was, it was morally wrong. it was wrong to use each other, it was wrong to go behind john b's back, just as kiara's. they were your friends. jj was your friend. it didn't matter, because neither of you resisted.
your mouths melded together, creating an all too familiar intimate connection, the air crackling with intensity. you couldn't help but succumb to his magnetic pull, allowing him to weave his fingers into your soft locks of hair. “shit, jay,” you exhaled through a moan, and it was the first time in a long time he's heard thst nickname. it's been years since he's heard it from you. he tapped at your lips with his tongue, eagerly awaiting your access. you gladly obliged, every gram of the guilt that had been building up, finally washing away as he continued to pursue you.
he wrapped his arms around your thighs, sliding you off the chair and into his grasp, not once breaking the kiss. you gasped, saliva trickling down your chin as jj stumbled drunkenly, barely getting it together as he located the entrance to your bedroom. when you fell onto the bed, the kiss finally came to an end, but it was only the beginning. with your head on your pillow and jj on top of you, heat coursed through your veins.
his lips attached themselves to your jaw, peppering kisses along the thin layer of skin. you whined, fingernails gliding down his clothed back as he sucked at your sweet spots. he could read you like a book, knew all of your weaknesses—all of your sweetest, most sensitive points. his tongue travelled further down your neck, veiny hands pulling apart the front of your robe, giving him access to your chest. you swore you heard him growl, but your own moans seemed to block out his noises as he took a tit into his mouth, the rough surface of his tongue circling your nipple before enfulfing the flesh whole.
he was hard, so painfully hard. you knew it, felt it, while he rutted his hips against your bare legs, erection hard against your soft skin. he whined, although he'd never admit it to anyone else. you were all he needed, this was all he'd been waiting for all those years.
“he ever get you wet like this?” the question came out before he could stop himself. there was a specific edge to his voice, a silver lining between curiosity and possessiveness. you couldn't bring yourself to answer, not while he had a hand fondling your tits so roughly, pushing and pinching, the latter rubbing your bare cunt, fingers almost immediately drenching themselves in your juices. all you could do was shake your head.
he was satisfied with the answer, enough to move onto his own clothes. he kept his gaze on your frame, wetting his lips as he took you in—tits bare and hanging out, bite marks littered around your nipples, robe untied, sweat trickling down your stomach, legs spread with your sticky juices coating the outside of your cunt. he peeled his shirt off, followed by the shorts and boxers he had dropped to his ankles.
eager. that's what he was. there was nothing romantic about the way you felt, eyes glued to his dick. you hadn't felt any of it all these years, and though it may have been the alcohol talking, you needed him more than ever. “jay, please,” how was he supposed to say no to such politeness? it wouldn't have been right, not with the way your desperate pleas made him want to ruin all of you.
that's exactly what he had in mind. he grabbed his shaft, lining it up with your entrance, a sigh of relief passing his lips the second he felt your slick coating his tip, and he hadn't even put it in yet. you bit your lip, knowing what was coming, hands pulling him in by his back. with every inch you took, more and more moans spilled out of your mouth. once again, he found himself peppering kisses. this time, on your cheeks. he cooed in your ear, telling you it'd be better soon. “just a few seconds, baby. little more and you'll feel so good,” he slurred.
he was never one to lie. the more you relaxed, the deeper he allowed himself to go. “fucking shit,” he growled, throwing his head back at the familiar feeling of your warmth. you took him well, walls clinging to his shaft, giving him barely the space he needed. you couldn't hold your moans back, and you knew your paper thin walls on the tiny island would do you no justice.
with your nails clawing at his back. he grabbed your legs, placing them over his shoulders to get a better angle going. your eyes practically rolled into the back of your head at the feeling. he drilled into your sopping cunt, hips snapping at an impeccable pace as he chased his high. his balls slammed against your clit, along with his thumb as he pushed his palm into your lower belly, smirking at the way he could practically feel his dick in there. his thumb rubbed at your clit, eliciting the sweetest moans he'd ever hear.
he watched your cunt swallow him whole, the foreign feeling making both of your heads spin. your eyes widened as jj picked up the pace, your heart racing at what was awaiting you. “jj, i gotta pee,” you whined, feet making an attempt to push him away, but it was no use. he shushed you, pressing down on your lower stomach once more. “that's it, fuck.” he quickened his pace, fingers aching as he abused your clit. your orgasm hit you like a brick. your mouth hung open but you remained inaudible, the only focus point being the way your legs shaked as your juices dripped down his shaft.
to add fuel to the fire, instead of stopping, jj began rubbing your clit a second time, flesh slicking the bundle of nerves up with your wetness. he was close, even closer after watching you cum all over his cock. “such a mess.” he teased, and he wasn't wrong. your sheets were soaked, your vision blurry, his pelvis dripping with your arousal.
“hurts so bad.” the sympathy he felt was overwhelming, but he couldn't stop now. he used his free hand to stroke your hair, moving lose strands out of your face. “give me one more, i’m about to cum, baby.” the overstimulation made your eyes water, hips stuttering to meet his powerful thrusts. all he could do was abuse the soft spot inside you, and it didn’t take long before you both came. he buried his face in your neck as he came, burying his cock into your pussy as he emptied all the cum he had to offer, hips stuttering as he moaned. you couldn't pull yourself together at all, head spinning as you did your best to recover.
when he did pull out, you found yourselvee sitting in silence. you were too tired to say anything, only able to turn to your side, eyes begging to be closed. you didn't mind the silence as much as jj did, he watched you closely.
he knew this would be the last of your interactions. he'd go back to kiara, you'd go back to john b. that's the way things would always be, and he knew that. he hated the thought of it, it left him feeling empty. unfulfilled. there was nothing he could do except make the most of the time he had left with you, wrapping his arms around your bare body and pulling you in close as he fought his tears back.
#obx#obx x reader#obx smut#obx angst#obx fanfiction#obx imagine#outer banks#outer banks smut#outer banks x reader#outer banks fanfiction#outer banks angst#jj maybank#jj maybank x reader#jj maybank smut#jj maybank x reader smut#smut#angst#jj maybank angst#jj maybank x reader angst
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Hate and love
Hello!
This one is from a request, you still can ask me to write something if you want to :)
I have to say that I'm not really sure about this one, but here it is.
Enjoy ♥
TW : Angst, harassment, divorce, loneliness.
______________________________________________________________
Your arrival in Barcelona at the winter transfer almost a year ago has gone rather well. You quickly bonded with most of the players and you didn’t have any trouble becoming a part of the FC Barcelona family. You maybe wasn't in the Top 3 of the public favorite players, but you don't really mind. You were a bit sad about the departure of some of them this summer, especially Jenni and Ana who were kind of mentors for you during these few months. And even if you continue to exchange news with them, you must admit that it is not the same.
Playing previously in Seville, you already knew quite well some of the players of the team, usually staying on the pitch after the matches to chat a little. You were separated during the World Cup, your national team not being strong enough to pass the qualifications you were in the first to return to training in Barcelona. This did not prevent you from making the trip to Australia to support your friends and obviously the Spanish national team.
You celebrated their victory from the VIP party with friends and family before returning to Barcelona in your daily routine. The world champions have gradually returned to training and you have welcomed new players to the team, always in a good mood.
Everything seems perfect told like that, yet there is something that bothers you since your arrival in Barcelona.
Aitana Bonmati.
She never seemed very happy to see you arrive and you never understood why. At first you said to yourself that she was perhaps afraid that your arrival would cause an imbalance in the group, as can happen sometimes when an element has a too strong personality. Some are afraid of change and you have not asked yourself more questions than that, letting this information slip into a corner of your brain. She wasn’t necessarily part of the small group of girls you trained with regularly anyway since you don’t play in the same spot on the field.
But this summer, you could see that the new arrivals had the right to a big smile and other privileges to which you were not entitled. It’s not really a question of ego, but you don’t understand what you did to her to make her react this way with you. And that's hurt.
You have even noticed with the passing of time that she tends to be rather unpleasant with you, not responding to your hello when you arrive in the locker room for example. It happens to her to roll discreetly her eyes when you speak and you even surprised once Ona throwing her an elbow in the ribs while making the big eyes. It was a relief to see that you were not crazy and that your teammates were taking your side, but it also confirmed what you thought.
And gradually, it plunged you into a kind of constant anxiety, reminding you of some of your traumas during your childhood and adolescence. During which you were often mocked, the girl who preferred to play football rather than dance. Your father always supported you in your choices, unlike your mother, your big brother and your big sister. When they separated you went to live with him and he sacrificed a lot so that you would be where you are today, but you never had the heart to tell him about the harassment you were experiencing at school.
**********
"Can I talk to you?"
Alexia’s voice surprises you while you were focused on the laces of your Converse, making you jump a little. Lost in your thoughts, you were ruminating about the disaster you were during this training. You didn’t put a single ball in the net, you got so distracted that you got a remonstrance from Jona and you almost kill Mapi with a bad pass. Mapi preferred to laugh and quickly came to reassure you by giving you a friendly slap in the back and a hug, to your greatest relief. You would have been horrified to be hated by another of your teammates.
"Sure" you mumble without looking at her.
Alexia’s voice was sweet when she offered to follow her to one of the conference rooms and you complied after picking up your bag and stuff. All the other girls have already returned and the corridors now seem deserted.
When you arrive in the room, you watch Alexia open the blinds slightly as you stand against the wall, very close to the door. You’re anxious and just waiting to be scolded. It often happened like this, teachers taking you aside to say that you weighed on the morale or level of the class. That you had to work on it if you wanted to be accepted and have good results. But no one ever seemed to wonder why you didn’t get along with your classmates. No one ever noticed or understood the harassment you were experiencing. You never mentioned that either, but you would have given ten years of your life for someone to notice. Anyone.
So when Alexia turns to you with an almost maternal expression, it completely disarms you. Her eyes were soft and you can easily detect a form of concern in it.
"You can come closer, I won’t eat you" Alexia gently smiles before sitting on one of the tables, probably to make this conversation less formal.
After hesitating for a second, you settle down in front of her playing nervously with your hair.
"What can I do for you?" you ask, instead of "How are you gonna let me know that I’m gonna heat up the backup bench over the next few weeks?"
"I just wanted to make sure that everything was fine. You seem a little out of place these last few days and it’s starting to worry us. I talked with Jona about it today"
She seems embarrassed to tell you that she told someone else about you without you knowing, making you frown. Your facial expression is probably misunderstood by your captain as she hastens to add
"Don’t take this the wrong way. we’re just worried about you"
"I... I'm fine"
You shrug before biting your lip. You are a bad liar, you know it. And it didn't fool Alexia.
"You don’t have to tell me if you don’t feel comfortable with it. But there are other people here who will listen to you with pleasure."
"Don’t worry about me. It was just a time like this, but I’ll be fine"
Because it's what you always did. Figuring and fighting things alone, even if you have now friends who you trust and who you know you can count on.
"You don't have to do that alone, you know"
"Why do you even care?"
You roll your eyes. Sur Alexia is a great captain, and you like her a lot. As a friend of course, but you can't denied that she deserve her title. Like most other girls she is sincerely kind and knows how to distinguish between competition and friendships in the locker room. This is an example for you, as it is for many other girls. And even if she knows all this, she remains modest and does not take the big head. Pretty impressive, in your opinion.
"Is that even a question Y/N?"
Alexia laughs, but it’s a surprise laugh. She seems surprised at the sincerity of your question. And, seeing that you don't answer, she gently shakes her head before answering you.
"Because we care, you're part of this family and even if half of us are totaly crazy, we care for each other. Whatever your problem is, you don't have to figure out alone."
And these sentences, even if it seems to be the most natural thing for Alexia, break down the barriers you have put up until now. You feel tears wet your cheeks without being able to do anything to stop them. As if the dam that you had formed all these years had broken and all the tears that you had retained until today finally decided to come out. And obviously, it bothers you terribly.
You mumble excuses between two sobs, but after more or less calling you an idiot, Alexia breaks the distance between you two to take you in her arms and rock you against her. You don’t know how long you stay like this, but you still stop crying.
So you tell her everything.
The harassment when you were little, from part of your family and the children in your classes. The divorce of your parents which you feel responsible despite everything, this feeling of loneliness that you have since you were born certainly. This feeling of never being fully understood by anyone, until you arrived here. And then you talk about your teammate who reminds you of that, without giving her name. You don’t want to be a problem and Alexia doesn’t ask you to name her. Maybe because she already knows who she is?
The blonde listens to you without saying a word, patiently wiping the tears that continue to roll on your cheeks. When you are silent, exhausted by these confessions and your tears, she speaks again in a calm and soothing voice.
"I’m not going to pretend that I understand you because I was lucky enough to have a family that always supported me. I wouldn’t be here without them, honestly."
The bond between Alexia and her mother, even her sister is know by anyone. You nod, still looking at her.
"But you, you made your way all by yourself. You're only 21 Y/N, you don't realise how strong you are. But being strong doesn't always mean you have to be alone. You have friends here, people who love you and care for you. You are not alone anymore."
With that you smile at her, feeling relieved. As if the weight of all these years were coming off your shoulders. You even feel like you can breathe better. So you thank Alexia, with simple words but you couldn’t explain how much you think about them. As she lays a kiss on your cheek, you put your arms around her neck to hug her and press your words. She gives you your hug back before training you out of the room. Tomorrow is another day and you promise to do better than that.
**********
The rest of the workouts of the week are much better and you decide to completely ignore Aitana. You remain polite nevertheless, but you act as if she's not there. And this seems to annoy her even more but you decided that's not your problem. Many times you feel her look burn your back and you have time to see her black look before she realizes that you are looking at her and she looks away.
But your morale and your game are back to normal and it’s a great relief for you. For Alexia and your coach too, the man simply slips you a short compliment at the end of a session. No need to make tons and that’s enough for you.
The last practice before the next game goes as usual. You do your warm-ups with your fellow defenders, then you are shuffled for courses and drills before a five-player mini-team tournament is organized. You feel a form of anxiety that makes your heart beat when your team is against Aitana, but you decide to focus on the game.
It goes pretty well until you are tackled a little too ferociously by someone from the opposing team. The pain in your ankle and instantaneous and you can’t hold a cry of pain as you collapse to the ground.
"What the fuck Aitana?" Mapi snaps, but you don't really care for now.
The second duel that took place next to you seems to have stopped too, but the tears of pain that fill your eyes prevent you from seeing it for the moment.
"You're ok?"
Irene has knelt beside you and you feel a compassionate hand behind your back. Long black hair obscuring part of the view informs you that it's Ingrid. You answer a simple no with a nod and a few minutes later you are transported to the infirmary. Ona offered to accompany you and you agreed, realizing that you didn't want to be alone.
**********
"Sprain" informs you the nurse and you let yourself go against the file of the infirmary bed on which you are. "It means rest for two weeks."
You pout, but turn your attention to Ona when she places a friendly hand on your arm. You are so used to spending this kind of time alone that you sometimes forget for a few seconds that she is with you. You must be able to easily win the worst friend award.
"At least it’s not the ligaments" Ona said softly.
"You’re right" you sigh.
She gives you a compassionate smile and you assure her that she can take a shower and change. You still have the prescription to wait and the nurse must come back with your brace and crutches. After making sure you weren’t going to go home with an Uber but with her and Lucy, she eventually left the room. She even offers to inform the rest of the team of your injury and you accept willingly, not wanting to go to put a show there downstairs.
A few minutes pass and you always wait when someone knocks on the door.
"I still haven’t finished Ona, but you can come in."
Except that it is not Ona who enters, but Aitana. The look fixed on her shoes and the air of someone who goes to the torture room. And this time, the anger you had not yet felt takes hold of you.
"I came to apologize" Aitana mumbles without turning her eyes towards you.
"Well, it's done" you answer coldly, turning your back on her.
You don’t want to look at her. You’re mad at her, at her behavior. That she doesn’t like you is one thing, but that she makes you unable to play for two weeks is another.
"It wasn't voluntary"
You hold a sarcastic laugh and slowly shake your head.
"Ok."
Aitana seems surprised at your reaction, but you don’t care. It's true that usually you are more the one who flees the conflict and who prefers to go with the idea of the person in front of you to please her. She stands there and it annoys you. So you suddenly turn your head in her direction and you talk to her dryly.
"All right, you can go now. Just leave me alone."
The tone of your voice seems to make her react since she frowns and steps in your direction.
"Don’t talk to me like that."
You feel your heart racing, you have never been very good at dealing with disputes and emotions. Until now you had managed to buried them deep inside when they became too powerful but it seems that since your confessions to Alexia you are no longer able to do so. She says it’s a pretty good things, but you're not really sure about that.
"Don’t tell me how to talk to you when you’ve been treating me like shit since I got here, Aitana."
Aitana is stunned. She never saw you angry and expected you to accept her apology so that she could get out of this room as quickly as she got in. Her lost look irritates you a little more, she knew very well what she was doing by behaving as she did since the beginning. And you gradually realized that you didn’t deserve this.
"Who made you come here? Mapi, Alexia, Jonatan?"
She blushs and it's enough for you to understand that you are right. If she had the choice, she would never had been here, begging for your forgiveness.
"Get out" you groan, turning your back at her once again.
She didn't and you sigh before getting up as you can. It may not be the most graceful way to do it and it may take some drama off the stage, but you don't care.
"I said get out" you say, raising your voice now. "You don't want to be here and I don't want you here."
But she’s still not moving and your patience is coming to an end. From now on there is nothing else that separates you, except the bed on which you were lying a few moments ago. The nurse still hasn’t come back, but this might be the time to do it please.
"I- " began Aitana, without saying anything more.
"What do you want? Two weeks without me aren't enough? Want to break my other leg too?"
The frustration you feel about not understanding Aitana’s reaction and behavior may be pushing you a little to say things you never had the courage to say before. But it was less positive to return the floor to your interlocutor, whose face and eyes finally come alive again.
"I told you I didn't mean it" she half-screams and you snort. "Maybe I was wrong for acting with you like I did but..."
"Maybe?!" you interrupt her coldly.
"You made my life a living hell! You came here with your damn smile and skills and all my life fell appart!" Aitana is clearly shooting now and you blink, surprised by her rage. "I was in an healthy relationship, happy in my life and with this team. And you came along and everything fell apart! I am straight ok, I am so fucking straight but all I can think about all the time is you! I hate you for the way you make me feel but I'm not fucking able to change it even if I tried since you are here"
It is your turn to remain silent, your brain analyzing each of the words that she just said. And all this has absolutely no meaning for you, except the part where she confesses her hatred to you perhaps. Aitana’s breathing is fast and noisy, you can’t tell if it’s that or your screams that didn’t allow you to realize that you were no longer alone in the room.
"Hmm."
You look over Aitana’s shoulder and you realize that Ona has returned to the room with Lucy holding your crutches and a sheet of paper while she herself carry your bag.
"Maybe it’s time to go home"
Lucy’s perfectly expressionless face keeps you from knowing how long she’s been here. Two steps behind her, Ona makes her look between you and Aitana without saying anything. You nod and pass in front of Aitana with a limp, Ona reacting by breaking the last meters to help you take your crutches in hand.
You follow them silently to Lucy’s car and after some arguments with Ona you finally agree to sit in the passenger seat. By taking your phone out of your pocket, you realize that you have received some messages from your teammates wishing you a good recovery. And you quickly understand that they have created a tournus between them so that you are not alone at home. There will apparently be only during the trip next weekend where you will not have peace. But it makes you smile and a little forget what just happened.
"You want to eat with us tonight?" Lucy asks.
"Nah I'm good thank you. I usually watch some crap TV show on friday night."
You see Lucy peeking at you to make sure you’re not playing superhero and you feel the way she’s measuring you. You look up and sigh.
"I assure you it’s okay. Enjoy your Friday night, I’ll probably go to bed early anyway."
This time it's Ona that Lucy looks through the rearview mirror but neither of them insists, to your relief. Being alone doesn't bother you. Once at home, Ona helps you get out of the vehicle and before she can open her mouth, you speak again.
"I promise, i'm fine Ona."
"All right. I’ll leave you alone on the condition that you swear on your cat’s head that you will write me if you're not okay."
"Leave the poor cat alone" you joke, making her smile. "I promise."
**********
The doorbell on your front door makes you frown. You’re sitting on your couch, a blanket on your legs and your cat on your stomach. Your sprain is better, it must be said that after a week and a half of rest it would be dramatic that this is not the case. You have resumed muscle training, but it is obviously out of the question that you start running again for now. You can now move without your crutches and it was a great relief to be able to get rid of them. Your ankle is still carefully immobilized but you are now doing quite well.
Salma left your apartment half an hour ago, and you’re supposed to stop receiving visitors. Your father phones you every day and hasn’t done it yet, but he has no reason to show up here unannounced. That’s really not his style.
The bell rings again, waking up your cat who is rustling a little before going to eat croquettes in the kitchen. So you get up from the couch and go to the door, opening it without removing the safety chain to see who it is. And almost immediately you close the door, but the fingers of Aitana who slip into the opening prevent you to do so.
"Don’t make me break your fingers"
"Just let me in"
"No? What the hell"
"Y/N, please…"
The despair of her voice makes you flinch and you press your forehead against the door. You’re too sensitive to people’s distress to leave someone with that feeling. Even if it was Aitana herself who put you in this emotion there a few weeks ago. You sigh and, already regretting your gesture, you open the door to let her in. You avoid looking at her when she enters your home, closing the door behind her.
"You have a cat?"
You refrain from pointing out that if she had been interested in you instead of making you regret your arrival, she would know. If you don’t talk about your cat several times during the day, there is a problem.
"How do you know where I live?"
Aitana stop looking at your cat who spread out on your plaid to turn to you. With your arms crossed, you wait for his answer with a certain hint of curiosity. Aitana has never set foot in your house and if you are not mistaken, she does not really live in the neighborhood.
"I asked Irene"
She shrugs and you signal her to settle down on the couch. You go back to your place, gently pushing your cat to be a little more comfortable. With a simple look he made you understand that you're annoying, making you smile gently. You caress him to apologize as he stretches, rolls into a ball and closes his eyes.
"I came to apologize"
Sitting on the edge of the couch, Aitana looks at you with the same suspicion as if she had been the last piece of meat in the middle of a horde of hungry lions.
"I’ve already heard that before" you answer by arching an eyebrow
"I know. But I just... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, really. My problems shouldn’t have affected you. I should have handled things differently, but I was confuse and scared."
She looks sincere and does not look away when you judge her with yours. Next to you your cat stretches lazily before turning around on the other side and continuing his nap.
"Ok. Apologizes accepted"
She looks at you so long it makes you uncomfortable. You have never been in her presence for so long and you find yourself nervously wrapping your hair around your finger.
"If I could, I would do things differently, you know? I understand it’s out of the question that something is happening between us now, but I would like to start all over again. Get to know you, possibly offer you a date and then two if things go well."
You’re slowly biting your lip looking at her. You’d be lying if you said that the words she said in the infirmary didn’t mark you. You were far from imagining that the reason for his behavior was related to an attraction to you. You think it’s pretty toxic, but you like to think people deserve a second chance. After biting your lip, you bend over and reach out to her.
"Well... Hi. I'm Y/N, nice to meet you."
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Hi! I was wondering if you do requests? If not, please ignore the rest of this ask and have a good day!
If you do, would it be alright to request a Lucifer x Imp!Reader that is very untrusting of bluebloods? Thank you, and stay safe!
— a/n: Hi there! I saw your request a couple days ago but honestly I was a little bit too lazy about it haha! It's an interesting idea, hope you like it 💞 or else...🤺
˗ ˏ ˋ Lucifer Morningstar x Imp!Reader ˎ ˊ ˗
G/N Reader — no pronouns or y/n used.
-You don't really like the higher-ranking demons.
-It could be either the way they are to the lower hellborns like you or a personal trauma, but the despise stills there; you just can't stand them, so you just decide to keep your distance when you and Lucifer cross paths.
-But he seemed to be interested in you in a weird, silly, and chaotic way.
-He was confused at first about your cold self, especially because you in fact had an attitude, and it was only towards him! looking at you casually talking to someone else, and you looked so relaxed and friendly, that just can't be. He figured it out later on, so he didn't take it personally; he still thinks it's unfair.
-At first, you guys were at each other's throats.
-Well, perhaps only you; you are the only one who seems to have a problem, really. Lucifer finds it amusing that you are frowning and almost could hear your hissing when he was trying to talk to you or when he was simply existing there, a little too close to your liking. He just raises his hands in surrender and lets you be, but he doesn't back down.
-I think this would be like a slow burn, but a very slow one. Lucifer has his own problems to deal with, and you can't trust him just yet, so the time you spend together is limited to every other week.
-He would try to approach you slowly, but he will not force you; he just wants to get to know you better. When he was looking at you from afar—in a non-stalking, creepy way—he noticed that you were actually interesting and a good talker. He just wanted you to be like that with him! He was being friendly; there were no ulterior motives behind it.
-You, on the other hand, were absolutely losing your shit; this guy just doesn't catch the message and still shows up unannounced and invades your personal space.
-But he isn't that bad, is he?
-I mean, he always greets you and seems kind of nice, offering you a drink or a snack while you are reading or watching TV.
-But-
-He just can't be that good; you can't let your guard down.
-I think that you two started to grow closer after a couple of months in this situation; you seemed to be less tense around him, and of course he noticed but didn't say a word. He just lets you go at your own pace.
-You were sitting reading a book when he approached you. He noticed how you didn't try to get out of there once he arrived and also took your bag from the free seat so he could sit. He smiled, silently watching you and doing a small talk. You don't always respond, but your answers are no longer sarcastic or mean.
-One day he slipped and almost knocked down a bookshelf. You couldn't help but laugh when he panicked. This caught his attention, and he just stood here. Your laugh was so cute, and you trying to hide it from him was even better.
-Lucifer started to catch feelings for you at that exact moment.
-Now you two started to spend more time together. Of course, you asked why he visited you more often, but he just waved his hand, said that his agenda was cleared early, and decided to come to say hi as he didn't have anything better to do. That liar bastard.
-Sometimes you stop what you are doing when he comes, listening to his histories and making a comment every now and then. He is happy to know that you are actually listening.
-He actually confessed to you on multiple occasions; you were taken aback the first time but decided to be completely honest with him. You said you didn't want to rush things and end up making it awkward for you.
-Of course, it wasn't the answer he was expecting and didn't try to hide it, but at least you didn't say no!
-He will keep bringing up the subject again sooner or later; he just wants you to give him a chance. However, you just keep rejecting him. You find it hard to suppress your smile when he groans in defeat every time you say that. He is kind of overdramatized.
-Please be nice to this silly guy; he's doing his best and will treat you as the queen you are once you give him the yes; it doesn't take too long to happen.
Likes and reblogs are appreciated 💞
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Like Afton, I Always Come Back
slyxxxblue
asshole personality disorder
vera-deville
The Heiress of DeVille