#this turned out gayer than i thought it would

[eliasisasexhaver]

Redraw of a g1 frame that was um, funny

#transformers #maccadam #transformers fanart #megaop #this turned out gayer than i thought it would #old man yaoi #if you know me irl no you dont

[hyypnotix-writes]

Part 2

~ hiya! I'm really nervous about posting this, but I couldn't not at least try to give you a second part after the response the last one got! ~

~ I really appreciate everyone reading it and enjoying it as much as you did ..I hope this one doesn't ruin it for you! ~

~ I think this one's around 13k words. so again ..it's a long one, if you have nothing else to do! ~

~ there’s quite a lot of story before Alexia makes an appearance, sorry ..but she does eventually show up! ~

~ I promise to put more of her in the next part if any of you end up wanting one ~

~ I’m really worried this will disappoint a lot of you, but at least you still have the first part to go back to, if nothing else! ~

~ I really hope you're able to enjoy it even just a little bit, and thanks again for loving the first part so much! the response was very overwhelming and I've loved you all reaching out to tell me that you liked it ~

~ good luck! good bye xx ~

~ Part 1 ~

________________

One night.  

One perfect night.  

That’s all it took.  

One perfect night to throw your whole damn life into disarray.  

One perfect night, that’s lead to endless subsequent nights, spent tossing and turning on your own, replaying the memory over on a loop in your mind. It’s only been about a month, but it feels like an eternity.  

A never-ending, exhausting cycle of yearning and confusion.  

It was the most welcome distraction from your ex-boyfriend’s evil escapades, you’ve not really thought about him at all since. 

It should have set you free, broken you out of the chains of mundanity. It showed you a whole new world, a world of women. It gave you a new perspective on life. Unlocked a realm of brand-new possibilities all ready and waiting for you to venture, and yet, you don’t want to explore any of them.  

It's not that you haven’t tried.  

You’d have been an idiot to assume that it’s only her that can make you feel like this. That would be giving her an awful lot of credit. Yes, she was your first woman, but that didn’t mean that she needed to be your last. The way your mind and body reacted to her, maybe you could have been slightly gayer than you thought, but it doesn’t really look to be the case.  

A pair of lesbian sisters always seemed incredibly unlikely to you, and your sister’s already called dibs on the label. Maybe it’s the mere existence of your younger sister that eradicates the possibility of any real queerness in yourself. That’s probably how the handing out of sexualities works, right? 

It’s a working theory, and one that you seem to be proving the accuracy of.  

You’ve been to a few more clubs since your entanglement with the Spanish mystery. Only returning back to that specific one, once. It gave you a headache just stepping through the door. She was still everywhere in the room, her spirit living in the walls. You barely managed to stay inside for even a second before it became too much for you, sending your heart and mind racing.  

You took yourself back home, reminiscing every single kiss you’d shared with her on that fanciful journey back to her hotel together. Looking up at the floor she had been staying on, as you hastily walked past it on your own.  

Even the nightclubs that aren’t haunted by her ghost, haven’t yielded much greater success with you. 

You paid a visit to a smaller bar, a fair few nights after your perfect one, and had found a woman interested in you. More than interested. She was pretty, and friendly enough. She was flirty and bought you a few drinks. She didn’t try to play it weird by aiding you in your consumption of alcohol. There was no intriguing salt and lime foreplay. She was far more straightforward, far less irritating.  

Maybe that’s why it didn’t work. Maybe she was too plain. Maybe she was too simple and easy for you to understand. Or maybe it’s the fact that when she pressed herself against you in search of a kiss, an alarm bell rang out inside of your head. You suddenly found yourself all too aware that she was a woman, and you simply no longer wanted to follow through with your curiosities.  

It doesn’t help in your confusion, why the femininity of one woman can leave you feeling more certain of your straightness, while another’s femininity has you still helplessly pining after her.  

It’s not like you were under any illusion with the Spanish woman. You were entirely aware that she was also a woman, and it wasn’t off putting to you at all. You enjoyed her being a woman. She smelt nice, she tasted nice. Her body was beautiful, and her lips were soft, and it doesn’t make any sense that she’s allowed to put a yearning in you that no other woman is able to satisfy.  

That does seem very typical of her, though. She really was very cocky and frustrating.ﾠﾠ

Until she wasn’t, of course.  

Then, she was just sweet and considerate. Cautious and careful. Flirty and undemanding. She took you back to hers and she still had no expectations from you. She was still willing to let you walk away. Maybe you should have.ﾠﾠ

You knew even then that you should have.  

It was daft of you to follow after her. Foolish to lose yourself with her, spending the night together, giggling under the sheets. Sharing kisses as you drowned yourselves in each other. Learning her body, every mark, scar and freckle, and committing them all to your memory. Tracing her curves and her tattoos and discovering what it is that makes her tick.ﾠ

She was patient, and understanding, she wasn’t in a rush with you. She spent the whole night exploring with you. Studying your body, wanting to learn all the things you liked her doing, and the things you really liked her doing. She turned what could have been a terrifying, embarrassing, disaster of an experience, into the most incredible encounter of your life.  

She brought you more pleasure than your pathetic ex-boyfriend had ever managed to give you in your whole 5-year relationship, in less than 5 minutes of her having your clothes off. She had the most unholy of noises spilling from your lips with her fingers and tongue inside of you, and she wasn’t exactly quiet herself, in letting you know when you were doing the right thing with her.  

She was intoxicating, exhilarating. She was life-affirming.  

She’s a far more dangerous addiction to you than alcohol could ever manage to be. You’ve never been tempted by drugs before, but you can’t even imagine the high from them being able to compete against what she’s done to you.  

It was just one night.  

It was one perfect night.  

________________

Living back with your younger sister isn’t exactly where you saw yourself being at 26. Your London flat had started feeling a little too big for you, without a traitorous arsehole of a man invading your space. So, you invited her to move in with you, not wanting to have to give up your dream property just because he had decided to try ruining your life. You needed help with the rent, and she had gratefully accepted.  

You didn’t necessarily expect her to also invite her idiot new girlfriend into your home with her. That wasn’t really part of the deal, though you didn’t explicitly tell her that she couldn’t. You can’t really blame her. If you were able to spend every waking moment of your life with ‘A’ right beside you, you’d jump at the opportunity headfirst.   

It still doesn’t aid in the dispelling of your confusion. There’s no jealousy when you see them together. Her girlfriend does nothing for you, none of her girlfriends ever have. You both have decidedly different tastes in women. Your sister’s taste is entirely questionable, yours is perfection.  

You haven’t mentioned your Spanish predicament to your sister. She’d probably laugh at you for it, call you tragic, and embarrassing. Tell you everything you’ve already been telling yourself on repeat in your head. She wouldn’t be very helpful; she very rarely is. She’s your very annoying, smart-arse of a little sister, who couldn’t possibly give you any decent advice. She’s 2 years younger than you and she's an idiot.  

She’s not the one who’s still hung up on a stranger after over a month, though. It’s rarely taken her longer than 24 hours to get over someone she’s been with. She’s not the one who’s been questioning herself every night. She’s never questioned herself at all. You’re fairly certain her very first thought, straight out of the womb was about another woman.  

She didn’t really have to come out to the family at any point, she kissed her first girl when she was 8. Always been a bit of a Casanova, your sister. A walking stereotype of a lesbian. Short, brightly coloured, undercut hair, quite a few piercings, heavily tattooed. She’s obsessed with women’s football, always watching re-runs of ‘The L Word,’ and overwhelmingly insistent in trying to prove to you that Taylor Swift is also secretly gay.  

Your sister’s certainty in her own sexual identity isn’t something that’s ever irritated you before. Not when you were always so sure of yourself, too. You appreciated her confidence. It was admirable, given the way people can be with her. She’s your self-assured little sister, who isn’t great at confrontation. So, you support her whenever anyone tries to tear her down.  

Now, however, this too-late-in-life existential crisis you’re struggling with, has you wishing she’d try to be a little bit more questioning herself. Her surety and cockiness about her sexuality is suddenly the most prominent attribute of her personality, and it’s really starting to drive you up the wall.  

It’s a rare evening where it’s only the two of you at home together. You don’t really know where her girlfriend is, and you don’t much care. You only feel responsible for one annoying lesbian, the one who shares your surname.  

She’s being rather antisocial with you, playing video games alone in her bedroom, and you’ve just finished tidying up the dining table after sharing the dinner you cooked for you both. You’re not exactly sure how you’ve found yourself solo parenting your stroppy little sibling when you’re really not much older than her yourself, but there you go.  

Maybe you should try speaking to her. See what she can possibly offer you by way of sapphic guidance. If she’s going to continue having her nuisance girlfriend living here rent-free, she should at least try giving you something to make it worth your while.  

You walk straight through to her bedroom and collapse your head onto her stomach on the bed. Making sure to do so with just enough force behind it to ensure you manage to leave her winded and interrupt her gaming. She grunts under you, and you earn an overly aggressive smack to your shoulder for achieving your goal. As, whatever other little child she’s playing her game against, has just managed to score past her.  

“You’re a twat!” She scolds, and you backhand her face to shut her up. She raises her fist above your stomach, and you flinch, bracing for impact.  

“I have a question!” You shout, before she has chance to attack.  

She pauses her lifted fist above you, and reluctantly agrees to a truce, providing your question is of interest to her. “What?” She groans, and you fiddle with your fingers, trying to find the right wording.  

“Why do you like women?” You ask, your face grimacing as you await her response.  

It isn’t your smoothest ever phrasing, not your wittiest form of delivery. It’s honestly, rather annoyingly, not the most subtle line of questioning. Despite it not being entirely to the point, your sister isn’t stupid.  

“What?” 

Oh ..maybe she is! 

That’s not going to be super helpful with your impending interrogation.  

“Why not men?” You suggest, still trying not to be too blatant. “How did you know you liked women?” 

“I looked at one.” She tells you, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Why?” 

“Do you find every woman attractive?” 

“No, but I find enough of them attractive to sense a pattern.” She explains. “Why?” 

“And you’ve never been attracted to a man? Not even tempted?” 

“No. Not once. Why?” 

“Never ever?” 

“Y/N!” 

“I was just wondering.” You tell her quickly, drumming your fingers on top of your stomach.  

“About women?” She queries. 

“About ..why women. What it is about them.” 

“Aside from the obvious?” She snickers, nudging your arm.  

You quickly bounce your head back against her stomach winding her again.  

“Stop doing that!” 

“Stop being annoying!” You warn her. Your frustration at yourself getting the better of you.

She tries to push you off of her, but you mess with the analogue sticks on her controller, and she turns her focus back to salvaging her match. “You really are a twat! Get out!” 

“I need your help.” 

“I don’t care!” 

“..I’m sorry.” You mumble, and she scoffs at you, pushing you off of her bed unceremoniously.  

You can’t say you blame her, you’re a constant threat to her in that position, it’s too big of a risk. You enjoy bouncing your head and ruining her childish little game far too much.  

“Why do you like men?” She counters, and you find yourself stuck for words as you sit on her floor.  

It’s the question that’s been floating around your own head for a little while now. You’d never thought about it before. You just were. You had crushes on them all throughout your childhood, you’d had meaningless boyfriends in your teens, you met your bastard ex at university and figured that was it.  

You didn’t need to question why you were attracted to them, it just always made sense.  

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly, letting out a groan as you grab one of her pillows and bury your head into it.  

“What’s going on?” She asks, as she prods at your shoulder with her foot.  

“Nothing. I was just—” 

“Thinking about women?” 

“No!”  

It isn’t really a lie, you’re not thinking about women, just the one. The one woman who’s been invading all of your thoughts for the past 30 something days. The one who won’t let you sleep properly at night, who won’t let you focus completely at work.  

The one woman who refuses to leave your head for even a second just to let you rest, to let you breathe, to let you remember what life was like, prior to her entering it and recklessly setting fire to everything, before she ran away from you and disappeared into thin air.ﾠﾠ

“I kissed one.” You confess, trying to suffocate yourself with her pillow.  

This really does take her by surprise. You can hear her movements on top of the mattress as she turns her game off and pulls her pillow from you with a rather startling urgency. There’s great confusion on her face as she looks at you. She really must think you’re very boring if that’s enough to render her speechless. Imagine her reaction if you admitted to all the other things you did to the Spanish enigma.  

“You kissed a woman?” She asks, frowning at you.  

You’re not entirely sure why she looks quite so cross about it. You’re not trying to steal her thunder here. You’re not about to start trying to catch up with her numerous exploits of female companions.  

“Mhmm.” You mumble in reply, smoothing your hair back from over your face.  

“Why? For a man?” 

“No! I just wanted to ..I thought it’d be fun.” 

“..and ..was it?” 

“Mhmm.” 

She looks at you with a very distinct air of incredulity. It’s a rather annoying look, weirdly condescending. She doesn’t believe you. Why she thinks you’d bother lying about it, you really do not know. You’re not that desperate for a story to tell her.  

It’s almost offensive that she thinks you’re so incapable. You didn’t just kiss a woman. You went down on one, you had your fingers inside of her. You evoked moans from her, she scratched her nails down your back. You’re not some virginal prude. You’re not inept. It can’t be that shocking and inconceivable that you could share a single kiss with someone of the same sex.  

You were right, telling your sister was pointless. She’s offered you no assistance and no support. She’s a useless little waste of space and her horrible girlfriend is an advantage-taking little freeloader.  

“Thanks, very much! This was really helpful!”  

Your words are laced in sarcasm as you slide yourself up away from her bed with a sigh, throwing your middle finger up back in her direction as you exit the room, and slam her bedroom door shut behind you.   

You slam your own bedroom door shut behind you too, just in case she hadn’t picked up on how pissed off you are.  

You’re not really pissed off with her. She doesn’t know what’s going on inside of your head. You’re pissed off with yourself, for still being all entirely far too consumed with a woman whose name you do not know. Who wouldn’t even bother sharing her profession with you. It isn’t fair.  

You collapse headfirst onto your bed and let out a rather guttural groan into your duvet. You’re very frustrated. Your brain’s a mess, your sexuality’s up in the air, and you allowed yourself to picture, far too clearly, your memories of having sex with the gorgeous Spanish woman and now that ache that she’d put inside of you is back.  

There’s a knock at your door, and you’re not in the mood. You grab your duvet and burrito yourself in it down to the foot of your bed.  

“Y/N?”  

You don’t even grace your sister with a response. She doesn’t deserve it. She’s a swine.  

No, but she really is a swine, as you can hear her turning the doorknob and just walking right into your bedroom anyway. She’s really, unbelievably terrible at reading social cues.  

“Do you want to come to Spain with me next week?” 

See what I mean? What the hell?  

That’s a very serendipitous little offer, though. You didn’t even mention to her that the woman that you kissed was Spanish.  

Did you?  

She can’t have worked that out by herself. That would be insane. She’s already proved herself to not be the sharpest tool in the shed. That wouldn’t make any sense. What an intriguing little invitation.  

It’s very embarrassing that just the mention of the country sends a shiver down the back of your neck. All this instant adrenaline running through you, as if she’ll just be waiting for you there as soon as you land down in a random Spanish airport. Yeah, that seems likely!  

Spain’s not the biggest country in the world, but it certainly isn’t small. You’re not going to accidentally stumble into her again on the beach, or in a marketplace. She’s definitely not going to be staying in the same hotel that you’d be in.  

It shouldn’t have your heart racing like this. The chances of finding her again are so infinitesimally small, so extremely impossible, so overwhelmingly unlikely ..but you do stand a better chance, if you’re in the right country.  

“Next week?” You mumble under the sheets, playing it incredibly cool, as you try to ignore the way your heart’s started thumping at a thousand beats per minute.  

“Yeah.” 

“I thought you were going away with your girlfriend?” 

“..we broke up.” 

Shit. She would make this all about herself.  

You wiggle yourself free of your duvet cocoon and open up your arms for her to crash into you. She might be a useless little swine, but she’s your useless little swine. “Are you okay?”  

“Mhmm.” She grumbles, as she starfishes herself on top of you.  

“I’m sorry.” 

“No, you’re not. You never liked her.” 

“That’s not true.” You protest half-heartedly, kissing the side of her head.  

“I am fine ..I broke up with her.” 

“Well, thank fuck for that!” 

“See!” She laughs, rolling off the side of you. “You hated her!” 

“She was horrible!” 

“You could’ve said.” 

“You wouldn’t have left her if I told you to. You’d be getting bloody married to the girl. Twat.” She giggles defencelessly next to you on the bed, because you’re absolutely right. She has always been a contrarian little thing. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Yeah. I’ll find someone else tomorrow.” 

“Unbelievable.” You chuckle, shaking your head as you push her away. “You can’t just give me her ticket. Did she not pay for it?” 

The embarrassed little look on your sister’s face is all the wordless response you need. Her girlfriend never paid for anything. She really was an advantage-taking little freeloader.  

“Where are you going in Spain?” 

“Barcelona.” 

“Why?” 

“Football.” 

“Oh! Give me a break!” You exclaim and roll down away from her back to the foot of the bed. “Why are you going all the way to Spain just to watch some football? You can bloody watch it here.” 

“It’s the Champions League!” She informs you excitedly, and you can’t even pretend to match her enthusiasm. “Chelsea’s playing Barcelona.” 

“Woo.” You respond flatly, rolling your eyes with a shake of your head. “You watched them play together today, didn’t you? Why are they so bloody obsessed with each other? Even I know there’s more teams than that.” 

“It’s the second leg..” She starts explaining, but none of it means anything to you, and you really just can’t bring yourself to care.  

Going all the way out to Spain to be stuck inside a stadium with thousands of screaming fans? What sort of holiday is that? You don’t care about Chelsea’s success or failure. Your sister’s dirty crush on their star-striker is just another one of her many celebrity infatuations that you can’t make any sense of.  

You don’t want to sit next to her as she gets herself all hot and bothered watching women run around a football pitch. You don’t even enjoy watching men do it, you have no interest in watching women.  

“No. I’m good, thanks.” You tell her, dismissively.  

“Please? We can do more than just watch the football.” She offers, pouting pathetically. “You have to come with me! I’ve just been dumped!”  

“No, you haven’t!” You remind her, laughing at her useless attempt at guilt tripping. “And you haven’t really left me much time to negotiate with work.” 

“You work too hard and you’re due some time off! Your boss isn’t going to refuse you, just bat your eyelashes at him. The filthy pervert.” 

“Hm.” You mumble, drumming your fingers over your stomach as you think.  

She isn’t wrong, about you working hard, at least. You do like to bury yourself in your work. You enjoy your job, and the harder you work, the more you earn. You haven’t had time off in a while, and your boss is unlikely to say no to you, you are his favourite employee. You don’t agree that it’s because he has a crush on you, you get good results for the company, and attract lucrative clientele.  

If batting your eyelashes could get you back in the arms of your Spanish one-night stand more easily, though, you’re not above flirting with him to get you there. You could take a few days of leave, go off to Spain, and possibly run into the woman who’s been living inside of your head.  

It’s such an incredibly remote possibility. An absolute stab in the dark chance of finding her. She probably isn’t even in Barcelona. You’re not cultured enough to be able to pin her accent to a specific city. She’s just Spanish. There’s much more places in Spain than just Barcelona. Barcelona isn’t even the capital. Maybe she’s in Madrid, Valencia, Marbella. She could be a party girl living on the island of Ibiza, you had originally found her in a bar. You don’t get a body like hers drinking yourself senseless every night, though.  

What if you do find her, and she wants nothing to do with you? There was only ever the promise of one night together. You already pushed your luck by spending the rest of the morning with each other, she doesn’t owe you anything more. It’s unlikely that she’s been spiralling quite as pathetically as you have. She’s not going to be fending off a sexuality migraine.  

You undoubtedly won’t have been the absolutely mind-blowing experience to her, that she was to you. She’ll have had sex with countless women. She definitely enjoyed herself with you, that much you’re certainly sure of. You can’t fake every bodily reaction to someone, but the rest of it could have been for show. The display of heartbreak afterwards.  

So, maybe she’s an actress, that would certainly make sense. It would explain why she had money, and why she had a company paying for her hotel. Maybe that was her little ‘business trip’. Perhaps she was in London promoting a Spanish movie. Maybe the entire thing was all a performance, and you fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.  

Either way, stalking her in Spain would be far too pathetic. Even if she does want you to find her, it’s so desperate and needy of you to go all that way, and if she doesn’t want you to find her, you end up looking insane. Travelling to Spain, to possibly just show up right there on her doorstep? What a terrifying thing for you to do to the woman.  

But what if it’s a sign? 

Your clueless little sister, inviting you all the way to Spain, with absolutely no idea that the woman you’re harbouring all of these confusing emotions for, lives there? Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s the universe trying to get you back together. Maybe she didn’t fake it, she does feel the same, you’ll find her in Spain and spend the rest of your lives together.  

Please. Behave and be so goddamn serious with yourself. You sweet and simple, delusional little fool.  

“The woman I kissed was from Spain.” You inform your sister thoughtfully, and she sits herself up on your bed to frown at you.  

“You’re still going with that?” 

“Why don’t you believe me?” 

“You’re straight. Straight straight straight.” She points out, with such an incredibly annoying inflection to her voice, it makes you want to bang your head against the wall. “You’re also 26. You were in love with an ugly bastard for 5 years and you’ve never shown an interest in a woman before.” 

“I hadn’t met her before.” 

“Gayyy!” She giggles, and you give her an almighty clack on her arm with the back of your hand, to wipe the smug little smile from off her face.  

“Go with the woman you’re hooking up with tomorrow.” You instruct her. “I’d be a nightmare to watch football with, you’d have to keep explaining things to me.” 

“I don’t mind doing that.” 

“Do you have no other friends to go with you?” You laugh and she pouts dramatically again, shaking her head. “You’re a lonely little loser!” You tell her with a smile.  

“Is that a ‘yes’?” She asks, rolling her eyes at you.  

You take in a deep breath and let out a very heavy sigh. 

What’s the worst that can happen?  

She’s already completely upturned your life. It couldn’t make things any worse for you. Whether you’re able to bump into her or not. You’ll either find yourself some peace, lounging in the Spanish sun, or you’ll be left in exactly the same position you’re in now, but with a much healthier glow to your skin.  

You could even find yourself a Spanish man while you’re out there.  

Mm.  

It’s really not a good sign for your heterosexuality, that that’s no longer an appealing option to you.  

“If I can sort it with work,” you reason, “yes. I’ll come to Barcelona with you.”  

She lets out an embarrassingly girly squeal and crashes her head against your stomach, with just enough force behind it to manage to leave you winded.  

“Twat! I’m making no promises about going to the game, mind. I’m just coming for the tan.” 

“Maybe your ‘Spanish lesbian’ is also a fan of football.” She encourages  

“Mhmm. I’m pretty sure she is.” You admit contemplatively. “Is that an entry-level of requirement for lesbianism, then?” You ask, rolling your eyes. “Because if that’s the case, I really can stop questioning myself.” 

________________

Booking time off work really is as easy as your sister thought it would be. Maybe your boss does have an inappropriate crush on you like she suspects. 

She’s very excited about having you for company, and she tries to educate you on all of Chelsea’s history, the players’ statistics, and their personal lives, all before you go on your little trip together. It really does just go right in one ear, and straight back out of the other. You’re not fussed on the facts and figures; it’s not why you’re going.  

There’s not enough room in your brain to care about the ins and outs of Sam Kerr and Kristie Mewis’ relationship. You’re not interested in the fact that Chelsea currently have 6 WSL titles, and are going for their fifth-straight one, and you really aren’t bothered that the semifinal’s first leg match against Barcelona ended in a draw.  

That is a fair amount of information for you to have retained already despite not being interested. Your sister really has been going on at you, you’re almost a footballing expert.  

Touching down late in the morning in Barcelona, you can’t pretend there isn’t a tiny part of you that’s letting yourself get a little carried away with dreaming. You’ve played through enough countless scenarios in your head of running into the Spanish wonder again back in London, of course your mind’s racing with the possibilities in Spain.  

You drop your bags off at the hotel your sister’s booked for you both, with the intention of heading back out to explore the city together. It’s a peculiar looking building, bright red, oddly shaped. She really never has been one for subtlety, it’s the perfect sort of accommodation for her.  

She insists on wanting to have a look at the Olympic Stadium before the big match, as well as seeing the state of Camp Nou’s renovations, and you really can’t indulge her any more than you already have. You probably will end up joining her for the game tomorrow, but you’re absolutely not walking around the outside of football grounds for fun.  

You’ve seen the exterior of Stamford Bridge more than your fair share of times, Wembley, the Emirates. There’s not that much difference between the lot of them, and they’ve never really been your favourite form of modern architecture.  

So, you agree to go your separate ways for your first afternoon in the city, you’ll meet back up with each other tonight.  

Playing tourist around the streets of Barcelona on your own, is quite an exciting little experience for you. You’re not very worried about getting lost, despite not speaking too much Spanish beyond the basics. Your hotel’s a distinctive looking building, it’s not going to be super difficult to find your own way back to it.  

You get a taxi further into the main hub of town and you’re able to mosey about with a rather unrestrained confidence, turning down tight alleyways and strolling aimlessly along multiple cobbled streets. You manage to find yourself being comfortably led astray, by allowing nothing more than just the warm gentle breeze to guide you as it blows against your body.  

It turns into a more casual exploration of the more authentic side of Barcelona away from most of the tourist hotspots. You have no real idea where you are, and you’re quite enjoying the small rush of adventure.  

A coffee is what you start craving, and you’re not exactly limited by options. Every other building on the peacefully quiet backstreet you’ve found yourself on, seems to be a tiny café. You could start ip dip doo-ing all the individual offerings, but that’s putting far too much consideration into it. You decide to go for the smallest one, the most unassuming. The best coffees always come from the places that aren’t trying to market themselves to any foreign tourists.  

A little bell rings out as you step through the door and the barista almost jumps out of his skin at the sight of you, he clearly isn’t used to getting anyone other than his regular patrons. You offer up your friendliest of smiles and a quick ‘hola’ to show him that you mean no harm, and you tap your finger gently on the countertop as you inspect the board behind his head.  

Choosing the littlest coffee shop might have been a tiny mistake because absolutely everything on the menu is written in what you can only assume, is a rather confusing variation of Spanish. You can’t back out now, the barista already has an adorably excited look on his face at having someone new in his little shop, you can’t break his heart like that.  

You study the chalk written on the board for entirely far too long, in the hope that the words will slowly start translating themselves for you. It doesn’t work, obviously. So, you take a punt at a random one of them, with the rather daring assumption that you haven’t just ordered yourself a troubling batch of Spanish poison.  

“¡Dos, por favor!” Comes a call from behind you, from a woman you surely do not know. It’s recognisably ballsy of her, almost rude.

Her words echo in your ears, as time stands still around you. You’d recognise that voice anywhere, with that unmistakable, and entirely enchanting, cocky little tone to it.  

You can’t really have found her so easily. Life’s never been that kind.  

You can feel your heart clattering around in your chest instantly. Like it’s trying to escape from your ribs, to go off and say hello to hers, all by itself. Your chest’s rising and falling intensely as your breathing shallows and picks up pace.  

It can’t be her; it can’t be. This city’s just absolutely full of Spanish women.

She holds out her card right over you to pay, gently resting her arm down onto your shoulder, and you’ve definitely seen that tattoo before. The ‘11’ printed on her wrist.  

She’d refused to explain the meaning when you’d asked her about it. She wouldn’t give you the backstory behind any of her tattoos. It was too personal; you weren’t allowed to know.  

She thought you might have really fallen for each other if you both started sharing too much information about yourselves, and you only had the single night to spend together.  

“It would be too painful.” She had reasoned with you.

That was very clever thinking on her part. She absolutely managed to prevent you from having an awful lot of heartache and suffering about the whole thing, by letting you know absolutely nothing about her..ﾠ

You still can’t bring yourself to turn around and look. Even though you know it must be her. It can’t be likely that there’s multiple Spanish women that have branded themselves with that specific number on that specific part of their body. Surely to god.  

“..gracias.” You manage to choke out very shakily, in little more than a whisper, still facing forward.  

You have to turn around at some point. You can’t very well drink your coffee on the tiny little counter right in front of the barista when you can’t even have a conversation with him. Just staring at him, silently, neither of you able to speak each other’s language? That would freak him out! You’ll find yourself back on a plane headed for England before you know it, with a restraining order hanging over your head.  

Grow up and turn around. Just turn around.  

It’s her. It has to be her.  

The barista accepts the woman’s payment method with a familiar little smile back at her, and she carefully retracts her arm from over your shoulder slowly. You can smell her perfume on her wrist as it wafts back past the side your face. You recognise the scent, and you find yourself following it round you like a lost little puppy, your knees almost giving way beneath you.  

You didn’t accidentally stumble upon her at the beach. It’s not a Spanish marketplace. She definitely isn’t staying at the same hotel that you’re in.  

You’ve found her, while getting yourself lost. In the tiniest little café, on an unnamed, tumbleweed backstreet, right in the very heart of Barcelona.  

There’s a wide smile of disbelief on her face. Which is hopefully an indication, that she isn’t terrified of you being here, she hadn’t faked her feelings, and she, much like you are with her, is a little overwhelmed to see you.  

“Hi.” Is all that drops out of your mouth, as your mind goes blank at the sight of her.  

“Hi.” She says back, with the exact same breathlessness as you, her voice cracking ever so slightly.  

“….Hi.” 

“You’ve already said that.” She reminds you, and she’s clearly able to bring herself back to her senses far more quickly than you are, because there’s that charming little smirk tugging at the corner of her lips again.  

You’re not really sure which one of you instigated it, you both just sort of ended up colliding into each other, gripping at the material of each other’s clothes. It’s a very desperate hug. Even more so than the one you shared outside of the hotel elevator. You melt into each other, merging yourselves together like two corresponding puzzle pieces.  

It’s an embrace, holding not just the 12 hours of curious devotion between you, but over 30 days' worth of frenzied yearning. It has you both clinging to each other with everything you have, as it defies everything you came to accept as truly achievable, that heartbreaking belief in you, that this reunion would never really happen.  

It’s an impossible hug, and it’s one that neither of you want to pull away from. 

“What are you doing here?” You mumble against her, clinging to her shirt as she buries her head in the crook of your neck.  

“I think it should be me asking that question.” She tells you, chuckling. “I have far more right to be in Barcelona than you do.” 

“This is where you live?” You ask. “You’re from Barcelona?” 

“Mhmm.” She murmurs. “Mollet del Vallès.” 

There’s really no reason for that to be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. It’s only a place name. It’s a good job she didn’t spend much time speaking Spanish to you back in London, you really would have been like putty in her hands.  

“What are you doing here?” She questions.  

“I thought you might want your sweatshirt back.” You joke casually, and she loosens her grip on you slightly so she can face you.  

“Do you not want it anymore?” She asks, furrowing her brow as she studies your face. 

There’s a clear look of uncertainty in her eyes, a small sense of worry, and you do feel mildly guilty for teasing her. “I was hoping ..maybe I could swap it for another.” You smile. “It doesn’t really smell like you anymore.”

She doesn’t allow you to feel guilty for too long. That small air of arrogance that’s always threatening to escape her, does so, in a predictable little smirk at the implication.  

“You’ve been wearing it that much?” She asks you proudly, and you push your tongue against the inside of your mouth as you roll your eyes at her typical display of cockiness. She carefully closes the small distance between you both again, gently pressing herself flush against you. “Does it smell of you?” She whispers in your ear, sending a ripple of goosebumps down the side of your neck. 

“Mhmm.” 

“Mm. Maybe I could be persuaded to make a trade, then.” 

She’s impossible for you to resist when she’s like this. It’s still an intriguing talent she has, evoking such a physical reaction from you, by doing hardly anything at all. A quiet little whisper in your ear and your body’s immediately burning up next to her? You’re still so incredibly tragic.  

You might no longer be certain of your sexuality, but maybe it really doesn’t matter. Why do you need to understand it? Why does it need an explanation? No one else in the world is important at all when she’s standing here in front of you. No one else would ever really stand a chance. How could you ever be interested in anyone else, when you know that this woman right here exists? How could any other person ever truly compare? 

There’s a desire in you that’s clearly also felt in her, when she moves herself to look at you. It’s written all over her face, the twinkle in her beautiful eyes, and the fact that her lips are so incredibly close to yours.  

You lean in, and so does she, but it’s like something quickly shoots through her body, as though she’s suddenly being brought back into the room. She does a quick scan of the café, and she collects herself before she lets you both get carried away.  

“We can’t kiss in here.” She tells you quietly, and you frown at her as you pull yourself back.  

“Why not?” You ask, doing your own quick search to try and find what she saw to put her off.  

No one seems too interested in you, though there’s admittedly a couple of people discreetly watching her. She is very beautiful, so it’s not surprising, but you do sort of wish they’d stop their gawking. This gorgeous woman is here with you, and you’re not really in the mood for sharing.

“There’s not another bloody homophobe about, is there?” 

“No!” She laughs, shaking her head. “Well, I don’t know, actually. I haven’t asked around, but we just ..can’t kiss in here.” 

It’s curious. She didn’t have any issues kissing you in front of people before. Spanish people are very famously more physically affectionate with each other than British people are. So, it seems unlikely that the two of you would turn too many heads just by kissing.  

“Okay..” you accept reluctantly, pouting a little at the rejection, “so ..should we just quickly nip outside to do it then, or?” You joke cheekily, pointing to the door with your thumb.

She chuckles with you, resting her forehead to your shoulder. “You’re still as straight as ever!” She grins, as she wraps you back up in her arms.  

It’s quite nice just losing yourself in her embrace. Burying your head in her neck and holding her tight against you. Having her arms back around you, her perfume overwhelming your senses. The rest of the coffee shop fades into a blur with her in your arms. She’s comforting, reassuring. She’s real, and she’s here.  

“Ale!” Is called out by the barista not a minute later, and you’d have very happily paid it no attention at all. The immediate flinch from the woman that you’re holding, in response to it, however, tells you that you might have just found out a very valuable piece of information indeed.  

You repeat it under your breath, as she pulls away from you and goes to collect your coffees from the counter.  

She says a quiet ‘moltes gràcies’ to the barista, and she narrows her eyes with a small grimace as she returns to you. There’s still a clear reluctance in her to give too much away, she’s not entirely grateful to her little coffee friend for unknowingly revealing slightly more to you than just her first initial.  

Ale. It must still be short for something, you figure. You start reeling off name possibilities at her in quick succession. Alessia, Alex, Alexis, Alexa. You’re like a dog with a bone, because she makes it clear that you’re getting closer, but she still shakes her head at every guess.  

It’s very frustrating, as she offers you absolutely no assistance with your guessing, but it can’t be as convoluted a mission as trying to discover Rumpelstiltskin’s ridiculous name. Thankfully, it isn’t. It’s on only your 5th attempt that you cause the same small flinch in her, and she smiles softly at you before looking down very quickly. You’ve struck gold.  

Alexia. 

It’s a beautiful name. Your favourite name, you’ve decided. It rolls off your tongue with so much ease, you want to repeat it again and again. 

“Now you know too much.” She sighs whimsically, handing you your coffee as she walks past you to collect her bag from the table she was previously sitting at.  

She gestures for you to follow her and leads you to a quieter area away from the other customers right at the back of the shop. She pulls out your chair for you to sit down, and you can’t not smile at the tiny act of chivalry. She really is very sweet. It’s a shame that she won’t let you kiss her.  

You reveal your own name to her, as she joins you on the other side of the table and she repeats it back to you quietly. Whether it’s the sexy Spanish accent, or just the fact that it’s her saying it to you for the first time, you’re not entirely sure, but your heart skips a few beats after hearing it. 

“Now we both know too much.” She tells you, and she takes a small sip of her coffee.  

There’s the tiniest level of nervousness, that blankets itself over you both as you sit together. It’s a little absurd, you’ve seen this woman naked. She’s seen you naked. It isn’t technically a first date between you, neither of you asked the other to be here, but you both clearly have the little jitters of being on one, coursing through your bodies.  

You find yourself just watching her a few times as you talk over your drinks together. You still can’t really believe you found her so quickly. So, you don’t want to risk taking your eyes off of her for too long, in case she just disappears into thin air while you’re not looking.  

She’s also the most beautiful sight in the café. So, why would you want to waste your time looking at anything else? 

You’re not being very discreet about your staring at all, and neither is she, really. You keep exchanging shy smiles over your cups as you catch each other looking. Both of you blushing and quickly averting your eyes as they meet, and then gradually repeating the whole thing all over again. You’ve definitely caught her gazing a few more times than she’s caught you. So, maybe she’s even more tragic than you are.  

The little coffee you ordered by chance, is Alexia’s usual order, so she tells you. It’s not the most life-changing piece of information for her to share with you, but it’s something else for you to know about her, and you’re absolutely sure to make a note of it. It probably keeps you on an even tally too, she already knows that you enjoy drinking a tequila.  

You’re still not allowed to kiss each other, for whatever obscure reason, but she has reached for you hand under the table. Interlacing your fingers together isn’t a new thing between you both, and neither are those tingles that immediately shoot up through your arm at even the most innocent of touches from her. She really does have an incredible effect on you, it should probably be more terrifying to you than it is.

“Why are you really here?” She asks after a moment, as she strokes her thumb over your knuckles.  

“My sister dragged me here.” You answer. “It’s a very important football match tomorrow, apparently.” 

“The one against Chelsea?” She asks, with an unmistakable look of interest in her eyes, that has you rolling your own lightly back at her.  

“I think she’d say against Barcelona,” you point out with a sigh, “but yeah, that one.” 

You had managed to work out that Alexia was probably a bit of a football fan. She has a little stick figure tattoo of a footballer on her leg, the outline of a baby being given a ball on her back, and you have exceptional detective skills. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.  

So, it isn’t a surprise that she’d be excited by your footballing interests, but it is unfortunate that you really don’t share the same passion for it as her.  

“Unless you’re a very daring rebel,” you start, “I assume you’ll be supporting Barcelona tomorrow?” 

“Mhmm,” she murmurs, with a small twinkle in her eye, “and you’ll be supporting Chelsea?” 

“Not emphatically,” you admit with a smile, “but I’ll be in that section of the crowd, yeah.”  

“You don’t really care about football at all, do you?” She asks knowingly, with an edge to her smirk that’s intriguing, as you shake your head at her in apology. “Maybe you should introduce me to your sister instead, then!” She winks, and you very quickly remove your hand back out of her hold.  

“Don’t.” You tell her. “Please. Don’t even joke about it.” 

It’s admittedly a little cute that she finds herself quite so hilarious for her disgusting little joke, but you are very unamused by the idea. If the childish look of mischief on her face wasn’t so entirely endearing to you, you may very well have got up and left her right then and there.  

She rests the back of her hand on your thigh with her palm outstretched, and you roll your eyes at her before placing your own hand back into it. She raises it to her lips to place a lingering kiss to your fingers, leaving you with the faintest of blushes across your cheeks. So, maybe you can find it in yourself to forgive her just this once.  

“I have a sister.” She reveals. “Her name's Alba. She’s a few years younger than me. I’m the older sibling, like you are.”  

“Uh oh!” 

“What?” 

“Well, now I really do know too much.” You tell her with a wink.

“My sister’s Emily.” You inform her rebalancing the tally of facts you keep sharing with each other. “Though she’d kill you for calling her that. I think she’d change her name completely if she didn’t think it would upset our Dad so much. She just goes by Em these days ..so ..she probably would have enjoyed your silly little initial idea, actually,” you admit thoughtfully, frowning a little at the realisation, “maybe I really should introduce you to her instead..” 

“Por favor.” She says quietly, quickly shaking her head at you and raising your hand to her lips once again. “Don’t even joke about it.” 

“Will you be going to the game tomorrow?” You ask, a not-so-subtle attempt at finding out if you might be getting to see each other again so soon. “We’d be like star-crossed lovers in the stands. Very Romeo and Juliet of us!” 

“I don’t know that we want to be comparing ourselves to those two! I don’t remember it ending very well for them.” She reminds you, narrowing her eyes at you as her intriguing little smirk returns to her face. “And no. I’m working tomorrow, I won’t be in the stands.” 

“Boo. You can’t be that big of a fan, then!” You tut in disappointment. “I’ve come all this way to support my team!” 

“Your team!” She chuckles. “Will you be there in a Chelsea shirt?” 

“Absolutely not. I’ll be in very neutral colours.” 

She smiles, nibbling at the inside of her mouth as she lowers her eyes to look at the table. She knocks her hand gently on it a few times before turning her attention back to you. It’s impossible to know what she’s thinking, but she’s definitely debating something silently in her head.  

“I could give you a Barcelona one?” She suggests a little cautiously, and you have to smile at the idea. Your sister would certainly disown you if you took one of those back home with you. It’d be worth it, just to see the look on her face.

“You have a very weird habit of offering me your clothes.” You tell her slyly.  

“Mhmm. I really like seeing you in them.” She admits sultrily, and your breath catches as her eyes darken looking at you. “I think I have one in my bag, if you want it.” 

It’s a surprisingly sexy little offer, and you do quite like having her clothes on your body. It’s hard not to laugh at her peculiarity, though, even your sister isn’t that crazy of a football fan.  

“You just ..carry it around with you at all times?” You ask, furrowing your brow as you chuckle at her. “That’s really weird of you! Do you sell them? You go round offering them to unsuspecting tourists? Is that your job? Is it a fake? Are yo—”

“You need to stop trying to know things about me.” She interrupts softly, shaking her head as she chuckles.  

“And just ..blindly accept that you always have a football shirt on you?” 

“Mhmm.” She giggles, and you narrow your eyes at her.

She really is very curious.  

She pulls it out from her little duffle bag from under the table and hands it to you with a gleam in her eye as you take it from her. You push your empty coffee cup to the side and spread the shirt out over the table to study it.  

They’re not exactly your colours, but you can probably make them work. You hold it up against you to check that it will suit, and she bites her lip as she watches you. There’s a name printed on the back of it, you realise, and you smile a little as you read it in your head.  

“Don’t most adults keep it blank? Or just go for their favourite player?” You ask smirking. You turn the shirt around and rest it over yourself, and she gently bites at the skin around her fingernail as you trace the lettering over your chest. “I thought it was just little kids that got their own name on the back. Do you quite like pretending you’re also on the team?” 

“Mhmm ..maybe.” She mumbles, stifling a giggle as she rests her head in her hand. She smiles at you fondly, as she continues gazing at your little shirt inspection.  

“That’s really very cute of you.” You tell her, placing the shirt back on the table and leaning over it as you trace your fingers over the number. “Why ‘11’?” 

“Hm?” 

“11. You have it tattooed on you. You’ve chosen it for your shirt.” You point out. “Is it your birthday? You were born on the 11th? You were born in November? Born on New Year’s Day? Is it just your lucky number? Is it—” 

“Stop, trying to know things about me.” She interrupts again quietly, reaching for your hand and meeting you across the table to rest her forehead to yours.  

“But I want to know things about you.” You whisper. “I want to know when your birthday is. I’d like to know your surname. I want to know what you do for a living, how you got those scars on your knee, how much you weighed when you were born. The name of your first crush, where you went to school, the meaning behind your tattoos. I want to know each and every incredible milestone you’ve ever achieved, and all the unfathomably boring things that you got up to in between each of them. I want to know every single detail about you, and your life, Alexia. I really, really want to know you.”   

It’s quite the thing for you to confess to the poor woman after only meeting her on two separate occasions, but the way her grip on your hand kept tightening as you spoke, the slight clenching of her jaw, and the fact that her lips are dangerously close to yours once again, probably means you haven’t just completely scared her off with it.  

“We’d have to spend a lifetime together, trying to learn all of that about each other.” She whispers to you, her lips lightly brushing against yours.  

“Is that a proposal?” You chuckle, gently bumping your nose to hers. Your eyes trail to her lips, and it’s really very hard to not act on your impulses. “Am I really not allowed to kiss you in h—“ 

It seems that you are allowed to kiss her in here, when it’s right at the back where no one’s watching. Or she’s allowed to kiss you, at least, because there's no doubt which one of you instigated this. Her lips move against yours, and your pulse reacts to her immediately.

It's a kiss harbouring an awful lot of emotion, for two people who still hardly know each other. It's slow, passionate, careful, and every confusing little worry that's been plaguing your brain since the last time you kissed, instantly melts away into nothing as her tongue slips back into your mouth. You're the only two people in the world when her hand's pulling you in by the back of your neck, and you’re tugging her closer by grabbing at her shirt.

It’s probably a good job she did decide to take you further away from everybody else, because it doesn’t stay an entirely family-friendly kiss for very long. It’s not wildly inappropriate, you’re not animals, and the bastard table’s in the way of you doing too much with each other. Thank goodness it is, because it’s been over a month, after all, and you’re both clearly quite a bit needy. You really can’t be doing that in public.  

“I’ve missed you.” She murmurs against your lips, pulling you impossibly further into her.  

“I really missed you too.” 

Hours feel like minutes, in Alexia’s company, as you spend the afternoon roaming Barcelona together. She still refuses to tell you everything about herself. You don’t learn her surname, and she still won’t tell you what she does for a living, but you do both share other things about yourselves with each other. 

It doesn’t matter how insignificant any of the details probably are. Every single one of them still feels important to you, because it’s another little glimpse into her. Every single fact, story and secret that she shares, is what makes Alexia, who she is, and she was absolutely right, you do find yourself falling more for her, with all of the little things you keep discovering.  

She eventually agrees to tell you her birthday. Which makes the whole ‘11’ obsession even more intriguing to you, because the 4th of February ’94 does absolutely nothing to clear that little mystery up. It does tell you that the man in his twenties that you were looking for the night you first met, didn’t even turn out to be a woman in her twenties at all. She turned 30 nearly 3 months ago. She’s absolutely decrepit! 

She gives you a tiny tour on your stroll together, bringing some clarity to the Catalonian streets you’ve been carelessly walking down. Explaining the extra confusing writing on the menu board, and casually revealing to you that she can speak 3 different languages. So, your drunken boast about your GCSE level German, probably wasn’t very impressive to her at all.  

You’re both approached a fair few times by people asking for directions. You can never understand what it is that they’re saying, and you're not really of much use to them just standing there being awkward. So, you hang off a little to the side taking in your surroundings, waiting for her to help them out, before she excitedly returns back to you. You’re not at all bothered by the interruptions. Your patience with it keeps earning you a quick discreet kiss from her as she wraps her arms around your waist, and you return the same display of affection, for her unrelenting kindness to strangers.

Alexia insists that she isn’t a tour-guide, and she’s also not an actress. So, you are very slowly whittling down the options of what it is she could possibly do for a living. She asks you about your own career, which is incredibly cheeky of her, considering. So, you simply refuse to tell her.

Maybe it’s that competitive streak in you, but if she wants to play it secretive, you can absolutely match her for it. You only agree to give her the corresponding facts to the one’s she’s willing to give to you. That way, if she’s falling for you with each new piece of information the same way that you’re doing for her, at least you’re both crashing down for each other, at exactly the same speed.

There’s slightly less careless abandon with being too physical with each other, walking hand in hand around Barcelona. It’s arguably tame compared to how you both were back in London. Whether it’s the lack of alcohol that’s keeping her more reserved, or maybe just because it isn’t yet nighttime, you’re not entirely sure.  

You’re still stealing kisses as you waltz along the streets, but you’re not pushing each other up against the walls of buildings out in the open. Maybe that would be a little indecent of you both. You’re pulling each other down quiet alleyways, instead, pressing yourselves together in secret coves.  

It doesn’t feel entirely necessary, the streets you’re exploring aren’t particularly packed with people, but you don’t question it too much. You’ve really just missed having her lips on yours, and whatever capacity she feels comfortable doing it in, you’re more than willing to oblige.  

You couldn’t really care less who sees you kissing her. You all but forget that they exist when she's pulling you into her and leaving her mark on you. It is arguably far more exciting, however, trying to be sneaky about it with each other. You're both almost actively searching for places that you're unlikely to get caught in. Finding hidden areas and seeing how much you can get away with together.

Your hands find their way under her shirt on more than one occasion. She really does have the most beautiful body. She jokingly reprimands you for it each time, but she doesn’t really discourage you from doing it. She does continually tease you, for your ever-decreasing signs of straightness, though.

Each newly shared kiss with Alexia, is somehow even better than the last. Whether she’s passionately throwing caution to the wind with you, by kissing down your neck, or trapping your bottom lip between her teeth. Even when she’s just being painfully frustrating, by giving you the quickest of pecks before skipping away. Every single one of them still sets your soul on fire, and they still manage to pull all the air right out from your lungs, every single time.

Alexia waits with you, as it turns to evening, on a bench by the road for your taxi back to your hotel. You try not to let the mild burning in your eyes ruin your final moments with her, but you can feel yourself starting to break.

She pulls out the football shirt from her bag again and holds it out for you to take with a shy smile. “I really hope you enjoy the game tomorrow.” She says, and you try to allow yourself to chuckle a little while nodding your head. 

“Mhmm. Thank you, I’ll try.” You tell her, throwing her shirt over your shoulder and quickly rubbing the corner of your eyes. “I’ll have to get Em’s permission to wear this, first. She’ll be very unimpressed with me.” 

“Just don’t let her burn it!”  

“I won't.” You promise, interlacing your fingers with hers and placing a kiss to the back of her hand. “The other fans might throw tomatoes at it, mind!” 

She chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple, and there’s that familiar sense of dread in your stomach, as you watch the road, knowing your time together is quickly running out again.

You catch her gazing at you as you turn to her, and maybe there’s a little butterfly or two in your stomach as well, at the way her eyes are watching over you. “Are you okay?” You ask.

“Mhmm. You haven’t even gone yet,” she tells you smiling, tucking your hair back behind your ear, “and I already can’t wait to see you again.” 

“You’re really that certain that you will? You’re still sure you don’t want us to swap numbers?”  

“We’ve already bumped into each other a couple of times now. I have no doubt we’ll manage it again.”

It’s nowhere near as reassuring to you as it seems to be to her, but there’s a certain level of romance in her conviction in fortuity. Maybe you are beginning to believe in the possible existence of fate, though you're not completely enamoured by continuing to leave your encounters with Alexia, entirely up to chance. She cradles your head in her hands and gently wipes the tears that are threatening to spill from your eyes with her thumbs.

"I'll never forgive you," you warn her weakly, "if this ends up being it for us."

"Trust me." Is all she asks of you, and she pulls you back into her, resting her head against yours as she runs her fingers over your back.

It feels like an unspoken promise from her, to keep at least trying to find you, and there's a power in her certainty that has you desperate to believe in it too.

It’s still a little hard for you both to say goodbye to each other, but she’s already told you she has a busy day tomorrow, and you can’t really bring her back to your hotel when your sister’s already sharing the bed with you. You share another long hug, and a few more secret kisses before your taxi pulls up, and you finally hesitantly agree to part ways. She places a kiss to your cheek, by way of goodbye as you clamber yourself into the back of the car, setting off without her once again.  

You try to reassure yourself, on the taxi ride back to your hotel. You've ran into each other twice, in two separate countries, by pure dumb luck. It can't be impossible for it to happen again. Maybe there’s something connecting you both, an invisible string, an intangible little bungee cord, that's making sure that neither of you is ever able to truly stray too far away from the other. Alexia has ‘no doubt’ that you’ll manage another meeting again, and you take some comfort in knowing, that you still have 2 days left in the city, to do exactly that.

________________

Collapsing back down to lay on the bed in your hotel room, you have a sneaking suspicion, that you’ll have a far better night’s sleep than you’ve managed to have in a long time, tonight. Your mind isn’t spiralling with confusion anymore, and there’s no longer a gaping hole inside of your chest.  

There’s an excitement in you, a warmth. An encouraging little hope that you really have found something special. Someone special. That once-in-a-lifetime connection with another person who’s also trapped in this world along with you.  

It definitely isn’t the someone you expected to intertwine your soul with. Any younger version of yourself would be very confused about where she’s ended up. It isn’t a connection you want to keep questioning either. It’s not one you really have any doubts on the existence of at all. She’s just it for you, and maybe it’s okay that that’s all you can say to justify it.   

You don’t need to be attracted to other women; you don’t really care about your weakening attraction to men. It just makes sense when you’re together with her. There’s no confusion, no uncertainty, there’s no warning alarms ringing out in your head. There’s just Alexia, and the existence of anything and anybody else, will always pale in comparison to her. 

Your sister arrives a little after you, plodding back into the hotel room, clearly wiped from whatever individual Spanish adventure she got up to today, and she flops herself into one of the armchairs with a very heavy sigh.  

“Long day?” You ask. 

“Mhmm.” She mumbles, frowning at you suspiciously. “You look very happy?” 

“I am very happy!” You tell her with a smile. You excitedly roll over and reach down the side of the bed to retrieve your souvenir of the day from its hiding spot. You launch it right into your sister’s face and she grunts a little under the impact. “Will you hate me, if I wear that tomorrow?” You ask, trying to contain your newfound enthusiasm. 

She pulls it off from where it’s wrapped itself around her head, and she gives you a very unimpressed look. “You bought a Barcelona shirt?” She asks, clearly disgusted with your choice of fashion.  

“I was given it.” 

“By?” 

“..a woman.” You tell her, gently biting your bottom lip as you smile up at the ceiling.  

“Mm.” She mutters with a sigh, moving to join you over on the bed. She thwacks the shirt down over your stomach and lets out a huff next to you. “Well, at least she has good taste.” She tells you. “Or she’s just a bit basic.” 

That’s a little rude ..and very confusing.  

“What do you mean?” 

“Going for the best player on the team.” 

That’s less rude ..but even more confusing.  

“..What do you mean?” 

“Are you joking?” She asks, with a very clear tone of annoyance to her voice. She grabs the shirt and thwacks you with it again. “A woman gives you a shirt with a name on the back, and you don’t even care enough to ask who the bloody player is?”   

Maybe your head is racing again. That’s incredibly confusing. It really doesn’t make any sense. It’s her name, not a player’s name. Maybe they just share a name. It’s not an incredibly rare name, that’s not impossible. 

Your Alexia has a mild interest in football, she’s not playing it professionally. Who would keep that a secret? She’s reticent with sharing information, that’s for certain, but she’s not a bloody liar, and she told you she wouldn’t even be there tomorrow.  

No.  

She said that she was working tomorrow, and that she wouldn’t be in the stands with you. 

Your mind has started racing, and so has your little heart.  

“What. do. you. mean?” You repeat slowly, trying to keep yourself calm.  

“Alexia Putellas.” She tells you, very nonchalantly, and your brain all but short circuits at the name.  

“Who is Alexia Putellas?” 

She thwacks you again with your shirt in dismay, and you’ve really had just about enough of being treated like a piñata. You sit up, pull it from her hands and thwack it across her face as you ask her to explain herself.  

“She’s a footballer, for fuck’s sake!” She shouts, rubbing the palm of her hand against her eyelid. “She’s Spanish. She plays for Barcelona!” She pulls out her phone, to search for her Instagram and bonks you on the head with it. “That’s Alexia Putellas, you twat.” 

You look at the profile, and the hotel room blurs around you. You can feel your heart thumping in your chest, hear the blood pumping around in your ears.  

Your Alexia, is Alexia Putellas.  

She doesn’t sell shirts for a living, she’s not an actress nor a tour-guide, she really isn’t even a spy. Though she’d probably make a pretty good one, the way she never gave this piece of information away.  

Your unexplainable connection with another human being, and she plays football for a living? Clearly very well too, as 2 of her pinned photos have her holding a massive award for it right next to her face. Every other post on her page is about football. She’s Barcelona, through and through.  

She’s verified, she has over 3 million followers. She’s been out here, existing on the world’s stage, all this time, without you ever knowing. Your own sister’s been privy to more information about her than you have.  

She was in London a month ago for football, according to her Instagram posts. The cryptic little ‘business trip’ she was on, was a quarter-final match against Arsenal. An embarrassingly easy win for Barcelona, she must have been out celebrating it when she found you in that club.  

She was back in London again last week for football. You could have seen her then. You missed a chance at an earlier reunion with her, because you refused to go with your little sister to watch her in the first leg against Chelsea.  

Your breathing’s very shallow as you scroll through the endless stream of photos. Your mind is absolutely spinning. It’s all a bit much to take in. You lock your sister’s phone and place it back on her chest as you try to collect yourself. You really don’t want to risk learning too much about her. You want her to tell you everything, you don’t want to find it all out behind her back.  

You’ve been waiting with bated breath all afternoon, savouring every little piece of information she’s given you, and your smart-arse little sister could probably tell you loads about her if you asked. Lots of the details you’re so desperate to know about Alexia are probably only a quick google search away, but you feel guilty enough just knowing her surname without her having been the one to tell it to you.  

She hadn’t been super willing to even give you her first, and no wonder! It’s the single name that’s plastered on her shirt, it’s the name she’s known mononymously as. She’s women’s football’s answer to Beyoncé, Adele. 

Of course, she didn’t want to kiss you in front of people in the café, out there on the streets. It’ll be why she only kissed your cheek in front of the taxi driver. She probably is a little liar, because she almost certainly wasn’t giving directions to people when they approached you both. She presumably isn’t old friends with the two men who wanted a photo with her. They all just know who she is. The whole damn city of Barcelona knows exactly who she is.  

Maybe she was testing you, waiting for you to crack, to confess to knowing everything about her. How couldn’t you know about her? How unbelievably rude of you.  

She’s a celebrity footballer, and you’ve treated her like she’s one of the most normal people in the world. You’ve flirted with her, teased her, kissed her, slept with her, and she’s welcomed it all with that adorable little smirk.  

So, maybe she’s liked that you didn’t know, that you really had no idea about who she was at all. You can’t have had any preconceived thoughts about the woman when you’ve had no prior knowledge about her. Perhaps it’s been part of the fun for her, just being with someone who really couldn’t care about the noise surrounding her. Maybe that’s the reason she didn’t really want you knowing about it. Her fame could have changed things, pushed you away.  

It wouldn’t have. She’d have to do something intrinsically evil to frighten you off. Especially now, after the afternoon you’ve just spent together, learning more, and falling deeper for her. She’s still just the woman that baffled you with a lime in a nightclub, wound you up by kissing someone else. Rescued you from a night of undeniable regret, and turned it into the start of something magical.

She’s your once-in-a-lifetime connection, your confusing, and frustrating, perfect one-night stand companion. She’s the woman that's turned your whole world on its head, and it just turns out, that she quite likes to kick a ball around, with a bunch of other women for a living, and people from all over the world, have been watching her excel at it for years.

She has to know that you’ll have found out already, you’ve told her your sister’s football obsessed. Even if your sister didn’t know who she is, there’s bound to be other people wearing her name on their backs tomorrow. Probably not many of them were given their shirts by the woman herself. There’ll be even less of them with one of her sweatshirts in their bag.  

Maybe she’s excited for you to connect all the pieces together. Giving you her shirt was far too bold a move for her to still not want you to know. She’d have just talked you out of going to the game, if that was the case.  

She wants you there, being a very daring rebel, with her name boldly resting between your shoulder blades, rooting for her and Barcelona, right in the middle of the Chelsea fans. You’ll probably stand out like a sore thumb with your red stripes in the sea of blue you’ll be standing in, and maybe that’s exactly what she’s hoping for. She had ‘no doubt’ that you'd see each other again, after all. 

“She’s the best player on the team?” You ask your sister dreamily, collapsing back down on the bed and clinging to the shirt in your hand as you hold it against your body.  

“Mhmm. Best in the world.” She tells you, and there’s that exhilarating little thrill shooting right up through your body.  

“Oof. I’ll tell Sam Kerr you said that!”  

She scoffs to the side of you and flicks your forehead playfully. You lift Alexia’s shirt, holding it out in between your fingers to study her name again in disbelief.  

You're falling in love, with the ‘best in the world,’ and she seems to be falling for you, too. A little nobody from London, who’s spent the past month pining after who she thought, was a little nobody from Spain. She’s once again turned your whole damn world on its head.  

She really is absolutely everything.  

“I will hate you if you wear that thing tomorrow.” Your sister warns you, as she hits the shirt with the back of her hand. “I offered you a Chelsea shirt and you gagged at it!” 

“I’ve not gagged at this one.” You point out with a grin. “It’s a shame you won’t be friends with me tomorrow.” You tell her, resting the shirt back out over your torso.  

“You can’t wear it!” 

“I bloody can, and I very much will.” You inform her. “You should rethink wearing a Chelsea shirt. You’ll be very disappointed when we beat you tomorrow.” 

“‘We?’ You really are a twat. You’re Barcelona’s biggest fan all of a sudden?” 

“Too bloody right, I am!” You tell her decidedly, hugging the shirt against you. “I’ve always loved football, me.” 

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso imagine #alexia putellas imagine

[slut4thebroken]

“Childhood Enemies Turned Lovers?” - part 1

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Robert Fischer x reader

Summary | Arranged marriage enemies to lovers au. Need I say more?

Warnings | Angst, fluff?, domestic violence, kind of, slow burn, but not too slow, misogyny, i think, enemies to lovers, alcohol, robert is so fucking sassy lol, slut shaming, flirting, implied/referenced homophobia.

Words | 4.1 k

Notes | We’re not gonna talk about how the reason for this arranged marriage lowkey makes no sense okay? 🤫

Ao3 link | <3

Fic Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You’ve hated Robert Fischer for as long as you can remember. Growing up, your father told you that the Fischer’s were no good and their business wasn’t much better. You, of course, believed him. You didn’t know any better. 

Unfortunately, you often attended the same events, like charity galas and fundraisers, and every single interaction ended in juvenile bickering. As you got older, you grew to resent him— solely because of the fact that he got hot and you couldn’t have him— and the jabs became more personal. You mocked him for his daddy issues, he mocked you for your reputation— you’re seen a few times with different guys and all of a sudden that makes you a whore, nevermind the fact that half of the guys you were seen with are gayer than Elton John. 

But the rivalry between your families was hurting both businesses. And even though neither you nor Robert had anything to do with it, you were still partially responsible apparently. Which is how you found yourself at dinner, sitting next to your father and across from Robert, his father beside him. The tension was thick, one wrong word from anyone and all of this would go down the drain immediately. So you kept your mouth shut, letting your father do the talking. 

“As much as we both hate to admit it, we can’t keep this up.” He said and you waited for the point he was trying to make. 

“Both of our businesses are struggling because of it and I think we came to a fair solution.” Robert’s father added. You sighed and picked up your wine to stop yourself from telling them to just spit it out already. “We want you both to get married.” You choked on your drink and started coughing as you set the glass back down, Robert had a similar reaction with his food. 

“It would end this petty feud and our businesses would be stronger together.” Your father explained and you turned to him in shock, staring at him as if he had grown a second head. 

“Are you fucking crazy?” You hissed, making his gaze harden. 

“Don’t make a scene. We don’t need you embarrassing the family any further.” He spat, making you clench your jaw and look away. It’s not your fault paparazzi are obsessed with you and stalk you everywhere you go.  

“I never thought I’d say this, but I have to agree with her.” Robert finally chimed in, speaking apprehensively. 

“Son, you know we’re right.” You watched him soften at his fathers words— what a weak little daddy’s boy. You thought with a scoff. 

“No you’re not.” You said, keeping your voice at a normal level. 

“That’s not for you to decide.” Your father said and you stood up suddenly, throwing the napkin from your lap onto your plate and grabbing your purse. “Sit back down. We’re not done.” He warned. 

“I’m not listening to this shit. Figure out another solution.” You spat. When you tried to walk away, he grabbed your wrist in a bruising grip. You swallowed down a whimper from the pain, not turning back around to face him as your eyes started watering. 

“Sit down.” He hissed, tightening his grip until you couldn’t hold down the sound anymore. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like anyone heard it. You moved back to your seat and he let you go. 

As you kept your gaze on your lap and rubbed your sore wrist, you could practically feel his gaze on you. Sure enough, when you looked up, Robert was staring at you with a mixture of confusion, concern, and pity. 

“I’m sorry. One day I know you both will see this the way we do.” His father said. After a few more minutes of the men conversing and you keeping your head down, your father finally dismissed you and you practically ran out of the restaurant. You texted your driver, then waited outside the building, trying to at least wait until you were in the car to start crying. 

“Hi.” You stiffened, then shook your head with a sniffle. 

“I don’t need this right now, Fischer.” You said quietly, voice trembling. 

“Me neither. I came to ask if you’re okay.” He spoke with a gentleness you didn’t know he was capable of. 

“Of course I’m not fucking okay.” You spat viciously. “I’m barely in my mid twenties, I don’t want to marry yet— I’m not ready to marry yet. Let alone you. I want to- to marry someone I love.” Your voice broke pathetically and you kept your gaze forward or down, not able to look at him. He let out a heavy sigh, but didn’t respond, seemingly realizing that nothing he could say would help right now. His hand suddenly touching yours made you flinch as you head snapped to him. He gently lifted your hand and inspected your wrist, running his thumb over the red skin. 

“Don’t.” You said sharply, not wanting to feel worse about yourself. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“Well you thought it. He’s not— he’s not an abuser, okay? He just doesn’t know his own strength.” You defended weakly. The first part you technically believed, but you knew that what he did was always intentional— one of his ways of asserting his power over you. 

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly, making your gaze harden. 

“I don’t need your pity.” You spat, pulling your hand away. You could’ve cried in relief when your car finally pulled up. He called out for you when you started walking away, making you freeze, then turn back around. 

“They told me to tell you there’s going to be a meeting you need to attend next week to go over everything.”  

“Is that all?” You asked, voice breaking slightly as you spoke. 

He hesitated, then gave you a small, “yes” and you continued walking, now finding the driver standing there with the door open. You spared him one last glance before getting in. Even though you knew he couldn’t see you through the practically black window tint, it still felt like his gaze was on you. 

The next few days were spent drinking and crying. Eventually you decided your pity party was over. If you’re about to be married off like fucking cattle, might as well make the most of your time as a free woman, right? Which is how you found yourself at your semi regular hookup’s house. 

It wasn’t good. He seemed to realize that your mind was elsewhere and offered to talk, saying you didn’t have to keep going. That made you scoff and snap back some mean retort about how if you wanted to talk, you would’ve hit up a shrink. Which you felt bad about, but it was quickly forgotten. 

The meeting was in two days. There were moments when you seriously considered not going… but you didn’t want to find out what the consequences would be. On the day of the meeting, you woke up late— already off to a bad start— and had to quickly wipe off last night's makeup and do your best to reapply it quickly. 

When you arrived, the conversation stopped and everyone turned to you, watching you take off your sunglasses as you sat in the only open chair, next to Robert. 

“Nice of you to finally join us— and hungover too.” Your father snarked. 

“Sorry I’m late.” You said with an exaggerated smile. “Please continue.” The expression dropped almost instantly and you waited for the conversation to pick back up. 

It dragged on slowly. They talked about the business and legal aspects of the deal, made sure everyone was on the same page about what they would get out of this arrangement, and you just sat there the whole time, trying not to cry as you thought about how you’d never be able to have a boyfriend— at least not a public one, and he probably wouldn’t want to put up with the secrecy of it all. Those thoughts spiraled into the realization that you’ll never experience being with someone you truly love. 

Someone called your name loudly, making your head snap up. 

“What?” You asked, trying to push down the panic attack. 

“I asked if you were listening.” Your father said, completely unamused. 

“I was. I need to just— I need… I have to go to the bathroom.” You scrambled out of your chair, ignoring your father calling out for you, and practically ran to the bathroom. You slammed the door shut and locked it, then leaned against it, trying to take deep breaths as you hyperventilated. Your chest tightened and you doubled over, placing your hands on your knees to steady yourself. Tears quickly filled your eyes when you remembered why you were having a panic attack in the first place. 

Someone slammed their fist on the door rapidly, making your breath catch in your throat. 

“Come out of there, I’m not going to tell you again.” Your father said, making your crying come back full force. 

“I- I’m almost done.” You did your best to get the words out through your sobs and uneven breaths. You waited for him to yell again, maybe get someone to break down the door, but you heard hushed voices, then silence, followed by a quiet knock. 

“What?” You croaked. 

“He only agreed to let me.. ‘handle’ this, if you actually let me in.” He said tentatively and you had no reason not to believe him, so you unlocked the door, then leaned against the wall so he could come in. 

He almost seemed shocked by your current state, probably expecting you to have just run in here out of boredom. 

“I can’t. I can’t, Robert.” You whimpered, taking in shaky, uneven breaths. 

“I think we can find a way to make this work.” He said softly, making you shake your head. 

“I don’t want to be married to you for the rest of my fucking life! I want to marry someone I love, someone I actually want to spend my life with.” 

“I know, I do too. Can you just listen to me please?” You don’t think you’ve ever heard him say the word please before. When you stayed silent, he continued. “My father is already very old and within a few years, he’ll most likely pass and the company will be mine. After that I can try to keep the peace with your family and we can get a divorce, then go our separate ways. I know it’s not ideal, but you’re not going to be stuck in a loveless marriage for the rest of your life.” You started to calm down as you processed his words. You really only have to wait maybe five or ten years before this will be over. Which seems like a lot but you’ll still only be in your early to mid thirties. It could be worse. 

“You’re right. I didn’t think about it like that.” You said, exhaustion clear in your voice now that you weren’t actively panicking anymore. 

“I usually am, you’re just too stubborn to listen to me.” He chuckled, making the corners of your lips curl up into a small smile. “Make yourself presentable, then come back out. The meeting’s almost over but they want us to get lunch together for our first publicity stunt.” You were about to make a snide remark about him telling you to ‘make yourself presentable’ but it died in your throat when you looked in the mirror. 

“Oh my god.” You muttered, embarrassed. He chuckled as he left the bathroom and only then did you register what he said— you have to get lunch with him. Looking like you just crawled out of a dumpster after rotting there for a week. You did your best to wipe away the mascara on your face and just touch up the rest of you, in hopes of making your face slightly less noticeable. Taking a deep breath, you held your head high and put on your best fake smile before walking out. 

“Sorry, everyone. I hope I didn’t miss anything too important.” Your father gave you a warning glare at your demeanor. “I heard we’re getting lunch?” You said, trying to move the topic away from yourself. 

“Yes. You two have made enough of a fuss in public that just jumping right into this will be worse than playing it up, pretending like you’re actually starting to get along now.” Mr. Fischer explained. 

“Paparazzi will be there?” You confirmed. 

“Yes. So you might want to stop by your apartment first and make yourself presentable.” Your father added, making you take a deep breath as you dug your nails into your hand. 

“Got it. Anything else?” You didn’t mean for it to sound sarcastic, but based on your fathers expression, that’s how it came out. Thankfully Robert spoke before he could comment on it. 

“They want us to arrive together. Should I meet you at your apartment later or just come with you now?” Your apartment was a mess right now— that’s the last thing you wanted. 

“I think it would be best if,”

“Go with her.” Your father answered for you. Robert looked at you questioningly and you gave him a dry smile. 

“Sure. Come with me.”

After a short drive, you finally arrived in front of your apartment building. When he started unbuckling his seatbelt, you turned to him. 

“Maybe you could.. wait in the car?”

“I don’t want to sit in here for an hour while you get ready.” He scoffed and you rolled your eyes. 

“Fine. Suit yourself.” 

You led the way and when the front door opened his eyes widened in shock as he stepped inside. 

“Welcome to my depression house. This is how it looks when I’m depressed.” You said sarcastically, walking over to grab the empty bottles of alcohol from the coffee table and put them in the trash. 

“Should I be offended?” He asked, walking around the messy space. 

“Maybe just a little.” You said teasingly. He eyed the pictures of you and your friends—none with your family, he noticed— and the little trinkets you had on the bookshelf, then turned and looked at the rest of the room. 

“It’s… cuter than I thought it would be.” He finally turned to you and you raised your brows. 

“What, were you expecting an evil lair? Maybe a dungeon?” You asked, amused. 

“No, I just… didn’t think you’d have so many decorations, let alone colorful ones.” 

“Well I hope you’re good at adapting because you’ll be stuck with this for the next few years.” 

“We are not decorating like this.” He scoffed. 

“If you want to tell our fathers that you refuse to go through with this because you don’t want to live in a beautiful house, then go ahead.” 

“I think they’d understand.” He sneered and you narrowed your eyes at him. He’s not wrong though, your father used to hate how you decorated your room when you lived in his house. He hates the way you decorate your apartment even more though. 

“Ever heard of the phrase, ‘happy wife, happy life’? Because it’s true and I’ll enjoy making your life a living hell until you finally give in.” You smirked. 

“God— I forgot how much of a stubborn bitch you are when you’re not moping.” He spat and you gaped at him. 

“And I forgot how insufferable you can be when you’re not kissing your daddy’s ass!” 

“Maybe if you tried that every once in a while, your father wouldn’t treat you the way he does!” He seemed to immediately realize what he said, after he said it. You clenched your jaw and looked down, taking a deep breath. You were already emotional from the meeting, so it wasn’t surprising when your eyes started burning with tears. 

You wished he was right. But your father has always treated you the same no matter how you act, you learned that very early on. 

“I didn’t mean,” 

“Stop.” You said quietly. “I’m just going to go get ready.” You muttered, walking passed him and into your room, closing the door just a little too loudly. 

You were mostly just embarrassed now, rather than angry, and you wanted nothing more than to just stay locked in your room today. But you couldn’t. So you redid your makeup, put on a nice outfit with a matching purse, then walked back out. He suddenly stood up from the couch, as if you had caught him doing something he shouldn’t be doing. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have,”

“It’s fine. Next time though, you could at least make the insult true and a little more creative.” You didn’t look at him as you walked past him to grab your keys and open the door. You waited impatiently as he tentatively walked closer. 

“God, Fischer, could you move any slower?” You huffed, making him roll his eyes, but speed up. 

The car ride to the restaurant was awkward. Neither of you really knew what to say. You were just glad when his phone rang, it felt like it made the tension a little less thick in the small space. You listened to him talk, wondering what the conversation was about. Whoever was on the line was doing most of the talking because he responded with “yes” and “okay” and “I understand” and not much else. When he finally hung up and put his phone back in his pocket, he turned to you. 

“That was my father. He wanted to remind us to pretend like we actually want to be there.” You scoffed a laugh, rolling your eyes. 

“I’m surprised no one called me to tell me that.” 

“I’m guessing they figured I’d take it better and be more successful at convincing you to behave.” He said teasingly. 

“Oh, I can behave, Mr. Fischer. Contrary to popular belief I can be a good girl.” Your tone was overly seductive and you batted your eyelashes at him, smirking when his cheeks turned pink. 

“Don’t call me that.” It's almost comical the way he thinks he can sway the conversation in the direction he wants. 

“What should I call you then? Sir?” He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. 

“Robert is fine.” He said, voice strained. You barked out a laugh, making his cheeks go even redder as he clenched his jaw, not looking at you. 

“You’re too easy, Fischer.” 

Lunch went surprisingly well. You had a few small spats, but you both made sure to keep the smiles on your faces. Anyone who wasn’t in hearing distance would think you were having a pleasant conversation. 

You made the headlines less than 24 hours later. “Childhood Enemies Turned Lovers?” You almost scoffed at the cheesy line— that was seriously the best they could come up with? The pictures included were all carefully selected by a PR team so that people would believe the fake date was actually real. 

The following week, your father texted, ‘Sunday early afternoon.’ and nothing else. You figured it was another PR thing, but you texted Robert to be sure. He confirmed that it was indeed another planned ‘date’ and that he’d pick you up at 11, telling you to dress pretty, which made you scoff. You almost did the opposite, just to piss everyone off, but your father’s been off your back a little more than usual, so you decided to just do it. You wore a sundress and a cardigan, hoping it would be “cute” enough. When you got in the car, you frowned.  

“Why do I have to wear a dress but you can wear that?” That made him scoff. 

“I’m significantly more dressed up than you. Why are you complaining?” 

“Yeah but that’s different, you always wear that.” 

“I don’t know, okay? I didn’t decide.” You huffed and turned back to face the front of the car with your arms crossed over your chest. “You look good though.” He suddenly said, making your head snap back to him. His gaze was trained on the bare skin of your thighs for a moment before slowly trailing back up your body, lingering on your breasts that were pushed up because of your crossed arms. 

“You done yet?” You asked, making his eyes meet yours as his lips curled up into a small smirk. 

“No, not yet.” His gaze moved back to your body and you scoffed as your cheeks heated up. 

“Fine. Let me know when you’re finished objectifying me please.” You said with faux seriousness, even though part of you was enjoying the attention. 

You arrived at a cafe and he held the door open for you to walk inside, making you blush— and need to remind yourself that this wasn’t real. You both ordered your drinks and he paid. Once you were walking outside for a bit, drinks in hand, you couldn’t push down the curiosity anymore. 

“Where are we going?” 

“A walk.” 

“I hate walks.” You frowned, making him turn to you. 

“Okay? What am I supposed to do about that? Carry you?” You rolled your eyes at his tone. 

“You’re so sassy sometimes, has anyone ever told you that?” 

“Not to my face. Why? Did you hear something?” You snorted a laugh at that, making him smile. You walked in comfortable silence for a while, then when his hand suddenly brushed yours, you flinched away from him. 

“What are you doing?” 

“They didn’t tell you because they figured you’d throw a fit about it— their words, not mine.” He added the last part when he saw your expression. 

“Don’t you think holding hands on the second date is a little soon?” He looked over at you with raised brows as he grabbed your hand. 

“You’ve been known to do more on less.” You could tell that he didn’t really believe it, he was just teasing you. 

“That’s only because those dates were the first ones where the paparazzi actually saw us.” You explained, feeling like you needed to defend your reputation to him. Which was weird cause you’ve never cared too much before. 

“That wasn’t denial.” He smirked and you rolled your eyes with a huff. 

“What, you think I fuck on the first date too?” 

“I didn’t say that.” He defended, making you scoff. “…But based on some of those videos.. I wouldn’t be surprised.” He added tentatively. 

“Don’t act like you haven’t been caught doing the same thing. The only reason people don’t call you a slut is because you're a man.” 

“Those were all PR stunts.” He said quietly, the teasing tone now slightly gone. “I don’t usually take girls out in public which caused a whole big speculation of me being gay and obviously my father couldn’t have that.” He chuckled dryly, making you frown. 

“Are you?” You hoped your tone showed that you weren’t making fun of him, but genuinely asking. 

“No.” He said defensively. “Are you?” It almost seemed like he was expecting this big ah ha moment, the way he asked that. 

“I don’t know. I’ve never dated a woman— also because of my father. I’ve hooked up with a few, but I never let myself focus on my feelings for them too hard because if I am, then that’s a whole big secret I have to keep and I just really don’t want to worry about that.” Saying it out loud like that made you sound so fucking gay— “And it’s not that I don’t like men!” You added quickly. “I just,”

“I understand.” You both walked in silence for a few more minutes, then let out simultaneous sighs when you saw the first camera. Even though this was staged, you still don’t exactly have fond memories with paparazzi, so it was pretty uncomfortable to say the least. 

“Just think,” He murmured against your ear, making you shiver, “after a few pictures, we’re done and you can go back to your depression house with your weird decorations and not have to put up with me for a while.” You couldn’t suppress the laugh from his words and you tried to ignore the way the clicking of the cameras got more intense. 

“I actually cleaned. So it’s not a depression house anymore. And they’re not weird, they’re cute and fun.” He pulled back to look at you, the signature ‘son of a millionaire’ smirk on his face. 

“Sure they are, sweetheart.” Despite the mocking tone, your entire face turned red from the pet name. 

The photos were released later that night, the main ones being you laughing and smiling as he whispered something in your ear. God— you looked so pathetically love sick, it’s disgusting. 

Part 2

Taglist (join here)

@pedrisgatorade @lunyyx @faebirdie @cillianscrybaby @vivvive @ceruleanrainblues @mrkdvidal1989 @brooklynscherry-z @ohmysatansstuff @d1lf-loverthinqs @butlersluvbot @mandowhatnow @baekhyunstruly @nashja @halleysc6met (didn’t let me tag ->) @crunchsworld @bluujaiwrites @idkdudsworld @miyababby @n1ghtw1ngslver @xxorazz

#robert fischer #robert fischer x reader #robert fischer smut #inception #enemies to lovers #arranged marriage #childhood enemies turned lovers?

[ladykailitha]

Batshit Soulmates Part 3

Hey guys! More of this delicious AU.

Steve is suffering under the effects of the truebond. And things get a little dire for Max, too.

In Medias Res| Prologue|Pt 1| Pt 2|

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

****

Steve got back to his house and immediately stripped down to hop in the shower. He turned the water to as hot as it would go. He needed to drown out his thoughts and hot water would help with that.

He washed and conditioned his hair, allowing the conditioner to do its thing while he did the rest of his routine. Once he was done, he rinsed his hair.

He towel dried his hair, taking the time to squeeze out as much of the water as he could. He stopped himself as he realized what he was doing. He was primping for Eddie. A wanted fugitive who couldn’t care less what Steve’s hair looked like. He tried not primp when he got dressed. But he still managed to put on his nicest polo and tightest jeans, anyway. He did try to de-slut himself by adding the white undershirt.

Which of course made the polo tighter and thereby defeating the purpose. Steve just shrugged. Max was waiting for him and changing now would only waste time he really didn’t have.

****

Eddie was not having a good time. He was hungry and hunted and more than a little haunted. Sleep was fitful at best. He just hoped he wasn’t screaming in his sleep. That would have really brought him unwanted attention.

He tried find ways to entertain himself. Because if seeing Chrissy die like that didn’t make him crazy, being alone with nothing to do was going to drive him the rest of the way there.

He finally resorted to tossing bottle tabs, coins, and other small items into a cup to see how many he could get in.

Eddie was losing.

Suddenly there was the crunch of tires on gravel and he was on his feet in an instant. He grabbed his broken bottle and peeked out the window. He couldn’t see the vehicle that pulled up. Was it the cops? Someone else?

The door to the boathouse burst open and Eddie was sure his heart burst with it.

There standing in the doorway looking more than a little sheepish were his rescuers. Dustin, Robin, Max, and Steve bringing up the rear. Steve gave a little hand wave and he forced himself to breath normally again. He glared at them to know that what they did was a little fucked up.

They explained everything to him as simply as possible. Steve actually was kind and walked him through each new piece of information to make sure he understood.

Afterwards when they were getting ready to leave again, Eddie pulled Robin aside.

“Um...” he said rocking back on his heels, hands on his back, “so you’re running with Steve Harrington now?”

Robin opened her mouth the say something mean, but she knew what he was really asking. “Yeah, monsters and monstrous humans tend to make for great social glue.”

“And he knows...” he said trailing off. “He knows?”

She knew what he was trying desperately not to say. Did Steve know she was gayer than a May pole? She nodded. “Yeah. I know what he was like in high school, but he’s not like that anymore.”

Eddie nodded. “It’s just wild you know.”

“Having King Steve as your soulmate?” she asked tilting her head to the side.

He let out a shuddering breath and pressed his together. He closed his eyes and then opened them slowly. “How do you even deal with that?”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

Eddie frowned. “You haven’t found your soulmate yet?” It was just surprising. Yeah, Steve and him hadn’t found each other until their late teens/early twenties. But that was rare.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Oh no, I know who she is. Pretty sure she knows it’s me, as well, but she has decided that fellow band geek Robin Buckley just isn’t her flavor or such shit.”

His frown deepened. “It’s Vickie Cameron, isn’t it?”

Robin cocked her head to the side. “How did you know that?”

He opened his mouth and closed a couple of times before he said, “Look, the safest place to deal...” he gave her a pointed look warning her to keep her mouth shut.

She mimed zipping it closed.

“Is behind the community center next the swimming pool,” he explained. “I’d deal, use some of the money to cool off in the summer because my trailer ain’t great when it comes to not being as hot as the devil’s tit.”

Robin wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

“The point is I saw her soulmark,” Eddie growled. “It’s a trumpet. On her shoulder. Right where I’m guessing there’s a clarinet on yours.” He nodded toward her. “What is she, homophobic or some shit?”

She shrugged. “Who the fuck knows. She doesn’t treat me badly and sometimes I even think she’s flirting with me, but she has a boyfriend who’s in college so...”

Eddie winced. “That sucks.”

Robin scoffed. “About as bad as learning your soulmate is your antithesis or whatever in the middle of another apocalypse.”

He could only agree, but they were getting off the topic at hand. “Has Steve said anything to you about being my soulmate?”

She sighed. “Only that it fucking sucked learning about it with a bottle pressed to his throat.”

Eddie sighed, too. “Look, I wouldn’t have done anything. I was scared and alone and jocks hate me. Like I thought Jason has sent him, okay?”

Robin blinked. “Oh because of the basketball thing?”

Eddie nodded.

“I guess that makes sense,” she said. “But he really fell from grace when Billy smashed in his head. He’s just this lovable goof with a heart of gold.”

She paused for a second.

“Like I think he always was.” She patted his shoulder and went to join the others.

Steve told the others to go out to the car and jogged back to Eddie.

“It’s too dangerous to move you right now,” Steve murmured. “But we’ll try to stay on the walkies, okay?”

Eddie nodded. “Just don’t forget I’m here, man.”

Steve gripped Eddie’s arms. “We won’t, but we have to find out what’s going on and we’re going to be spread pretty thin. I wish there was another way to do this.”

Eddie let out a long breath, not quite a sigh. “I’ll try, man. If you guys are right about all this shit, I’m really scared. Plus with the town thinking it was me...”

“We’ll figure it out,” Steve promised.

Eddie nodded again and settled down to wait it all out. At least he had food and drink, which was more than he had before.

****

All this running around looking for clues was shit on Steve’s nerves. He was close to screaming. He had almost taken Lucas’s head off when the kid came tearing around a blind corner at night in the high school they had just broken into.

And Robin was doing that thing she always does when faced with a pretty girl, flirt. Which considering said pretty girl was not only Steve’s ex, but already soulmated? Yeah, Steve was sure his breaking point was going to hit sooner rather than later.

It came when Max started rising in the air like some fucked up messiah. Because he could tell something was wrong he was able to get ahold of Robin and Nancy who told them about the music and Lucas was able to find her favorite song on her Walkman and play it for her, she didn’t get Vecna’ed or whatever the hell it was the kids were calling it.

Once she was safe he sat down on the ground hard and buried his head in his hands. He fought to breathe, barely making it through the gasps of sobs that were torn out of him.

How can they fight something that could take anyone of them at anytime? How is he supposed to protect the people he loves most from an unseen force?

He had to keep it together. For Max because she was the victim here. For Lucas because he almost had to watch his soulmate get ripped from him. For Eddie who was frightened beyond the pale. He had to be the strong one.

And then he felt warm arms around him.

“She’s safe now,” Dustin murmured. “We got to her in time because of you. That was scary as hell, but it would have been worse if you had listened to Lucas and me. A lot worse.”

Steve lifted his head and nodded. “Thanks, bud.”

Dustin helped him stand. “We have to get everyone together.”

Steve nodded. “I just wish there was to include Eddie without telegraphing to the asshats in town where he is.”

Dustin grimaced. “Yeah, but there isn’t.” He looked at Steve a moment. “How are you doing? I don’t think I’ve seen you like this before.”

Steve showed him his soulmark. It was black and angry.

“Why does it look like that?” Dustin nearly screamed.

Lucas and Max came running and they looked down at Steve’s mark, too.

“Shit,” Max hissed. “That’s not good. Why didn’t you tell anyone you and Eddie were true soulmates?”

Lucas and Dustin looked at her in shock.

“A what now?” Lucas asked, looking back and forth at Steve and Max in confusion.

“True mates,” Dustin said slowly in disbelief. “I’ve only read about those. They’re super rare.”

“It means,” Max hissed, “that Steve can’t be separated from his soulmate for long otherwise he gets super sick.”

“But only after they touch each other’s marks,” Dustin finished. “Why did you that? Why did you touch each other’s marks if that was going to happen?”

Steve huffed. “Because Dustin, you don’t know you’re true mates until after you touch.”

“Oh,” Lucas and Dustin said together.

“This is bad, Steve,” Max huffed ignoring the boys. “You have to get back to Eddie.”

Steve shook his head. “I can last a little bit longer. You’re in danger, Max. That’s more important than me.”

“But what about Eddie?” Dustin asked. “Won’t he get sick, too?”

Steve threw back his head and groaned. “I can’t take care of everyone at once. Plus, if I keep going back to the boathouse someone will see and come to check it out. That would do far more harm to Eddie than being a stupid true mate to someone like me.”

Dustin and Lucas glanced at each other and then each held out their hand to Steve. He took each of their hands and allowed the two boys to haul him to his feet.

“How close do you think you have to be to stop it from burning?” Dustin asked Max.

Max shrugged. “My mom and Neil aren’t truemates so I don’t know for sure. But a hell of a lot closer than cemetery to the lake.”

Dustin nodded. “Would Skull Rock be close enough?”

“Or even just driving past the lake might work,” Lucas suggested.

Steve hugged them both. “I’ll visit him tomorrow, we just need to get everyone else together to discuss what happened to Max.”

They all nodded.

****

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Epilogue

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child @oxidantdreamboat @mogami13 @samsoble @xandriumbat @ellietheasexylibrarian @lololol-1234 @y4r3luv @disrespectedgoatman

#stranger things #my writing #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #soulmate au #alternate season 4 #byler #lumax #jancy #dustin/suzie #robin/vickie

[nayeonie99]

J-Line / Girls Night

"Okay, never have I ever...". Momo started and thought about what she's going to ask.

Momo, Sana and Mina were having a sleepover in their dorm tonight, because the rest of the girls were out. They were currently playing never have I ever, and they all were pretty tipsy already.

"Hurry". Mina whined and leaned her head against Sana's shoulder. They were sitting on the floor with some empty Soju bottles laying around as well. All three of them had this drunk-ish, hazed gaze and pink tinted cheeks already.

"Okay, never have I ever had a make out session with a girl". Momo asked and both Mina and Sana took a sip of their drinks. Momo looked at them with an amused expression.

"Okay, I'm not surprised Sana did. But you Mina?".

Mina blushed and looked down.

"I mean, you don't know what you like until you try it out, right?". Mina said with her cute, small voice.

To say Sana and Momo were shocked was an understatement.

"Wow, I-". Momo started but couldn't find the right words.

"Same". Sana said and looked at her.

"What about you though? You didn't drink". Mina asked Momo.

"....". Momo slowly grabbed her drink to take a sip as well.

"How come we know everything about each other except this?". Sana asked.

"Well, I guess I was scared that you guys would think I'm gross and distance yourself from me". Mina said.

"Yeah same". Momo hummed.

"To be honest, I'm gayer than gay". Sana confessed.

"Same". Momo and Mina said at the same time. They busted out laughing and then slowly calmed down.

"Soo...who did you made out with?". Momo asked with a smirk.

"Tzuyu". Sana said.

"Chaeyoung". Mina said and Momo and Sana rolled with their eyes, not surprised at all that Mina did it with Chaeyoung.

"What about you Momo-chan?".

"Dahyun...". She nervously confessed.

"No. Fucking. Way". Sana gasped.

"Dahyun? As in our Dahyun? The church girl Dahyun?". Mina asked with wide eyes. Momo nodded her head and took a big sip of her drink.

"Holy shit". Mina breathed out.

"I'm shocked". Sana said and leaned herself back on the palms of her hands.

"Same". Momo and Mina both said.

"Did you like it?". Momo asked.

Mina and Sana both blushed and nodded their heads.

"Me too". Momo said and slid her palms up and down her thighs.

"What about Sex?". Mina suddenly asked.

Moma and Sana looked at her with big eyes.

"D-Don't look at me like that". Mina blushed.

"What do you mean Mina-chan?". Sana asked.

"Did you ever had Sex with a girl?".

"I did". Momo said.

"Me too". Mina responded.

Both eyes turned to Sana suddenly.

"I also did. How did it feel? You know since you both have...". Sana said and pointed at their crotches.

"So fucking good". Momo rasped out.

Sana's cheeks turned pink again and she had to press her legs together.

"Yeah, fucking a girl is the best feeling ever". Mina breathed out.

"Would you fuck me?". Sana jokingly asked and smirked at them.

She looked up and Momo was looking at her with an expression Sana has never seen on her face before.

"Yes". Momo rasped out and looked right into Sana's eyes when she answered.

"Yes me too". Mina said next to her.

The atmosphere felt completely different now. Sana's body felt hot and needy.

"What about you Sana-chan? Would you let me fuck you?". Momo asked bluntly and crawled slowly closer to Sana and Mina.

"I-I...". Sana nervously stuttered out.

"What about Mina?".

Sana let out a quiet gasp when she felt Mina's hand slowly sliding over the inside of her right thigh.

"Yes, both of you".

Momo smirked at her and Sana swallowed nervously.

"Well, how about we do exactly that?".

"D-Do what?". Sana asked with a shaky voice. Momo came so close that their noses were touching.

"Fuck you". Momo breathed out and her eyes looked almost sinister-ish, they were completely dark and hazed. A dangerous smirk formed on Mina's lips when Momo and her had brief eye contact.

Sana's heart felt like it's gonna jump out of her chest any second.

"What do you say Minari?". Momo asked her and started to slowly kiss from Sana's jaw down to her neck.

"Do you even need an answer?". Mina said and turned Sana's head to the side, so she could press their lips together.

Mina's lips felt so soft against Sana's plump ones. Sana gasped against her lips when Momo cupped her breasts through her tight shirt.

"You both look so hot right now". Momo rasped out.

"Her lips taste so sweet". Mina hummed.

Sana felt a hand turn her head to the other side and felt different lips onto hers. Momo kissed her with so much desire. Her tongue entered Sana's mouth and she bit her bottom lip. When air became a problem they pulled away.

"Fuck you were right. This is so hot". Mina said.

"I'm so hard already". Momo said and stroked her bulge over her shorts.

"Wanna take care of it Sana?". She asked her with a smirk.

"Mhm". Sana hummed and bit her lip. Momo got up and sat down on the bed.

"Get here. Both of you". She said and patted the sides next to her. Mina and Sana sat down next to her and Mina's hand grabbed Sana's, to place it down on Momo's bulge. Sana slowly began to stroke it and Momo let out shaky breaths.

"Is that good?". Sana asked and looked at her.

"Yeah, it's perfect". Momo said and leaned back on her forearms.

"Take off your clothes". Momo rasped out.

Mina and Sana did what Momo asked them to do and stripped down. Momo also took off her clothes, so they were all naked now.

Sana's eyes darted down to their cocks.

"Do you like what you see Sana-chan?". Momo asked and Sana just nodded her head and grabbed both of their dicks in her hands. They were both so hard for her already. She started to slowly pump up and down.

"Damn, you look so sexy right now". Mina huffed out.

Sana bit her lip and looked up at them. The way they were staring down at her with so much lust lingering in their eyes made her so wet.

"Get your ass up the bed". Momo said and spanked her while Sana crawled up the bed. Mina slid under Sana, so Sana was hovering above her with her ass sticking up.

"Damn, look at this pretty pussy. So wet for us already". Momo hummed and parted Sana's folds with her thumbs.

"I can't wait to feel you clench around my cock baby". Mina whispered in Sana's ear, which made her shiver.

"Please". Sana whimpered.

"Please what?". Momo asked and let her tip run up and down Sana's slick pussy.

"Just do something, anything, but please just do something. I can't take it anymore".

"Mmm you're hot when you beg". Mina said and slid her hands down Sana's back to trace it with her nails slowly.

"Come on Momo, don't tease her anymore. Give her a reward for being such a good girl". Mina said with a smirk on her lips.

Without a warning Momo instantly pushed her tongue completely inside of Sana.

"Holy sh-". Sana moaned out and bit onto her bottom lip to keep her voice down.

"Don't bite that pretty lip of yours. We want to hear your moans baby". Mina said and made Sana release her bottom lip with her thumb.

Momo sucked Sana's clit in her mouth and Sana's legs began to tremble already.

"Oh my god, fuck". Sana breathed out and clenched her hands in Mina's hair. Momo's tongue swirled around her clit and then she pushed two fingers inside of her.

"Mmm yes". The pace of Momo's fingers picked up and she added her thumb to stroke her clit.

"Ohh fuck, I'm gonna cum". Sana cried out.

"Yeah, cum for us baby". Mina rasped out and sucked on Sana's neck. With that, it took only a few more seconds and Sana reached her first climax of the night.

"Come here". Mina whispered and made a 'come here' motion with her finger. Sana crawled her body completely up and hovered her pussy over Mina's lips.

Mina's hands gripped Sana's hips and then she started to eat Sana out like she hasn't eaten for a week.

"Holy shit, fuck". Sana squealed and clenched her hands onto the headboard of the bed.

"Doesn't she taste amazing?". Momo breathed in Sana's ear and pressed her naked chest against Sana's back.

Mina hummed, which made Sana's pussy vibrate.

"Wanna taste yourself baby?". Momo asked and turned Sana's head to the side with her finger. Momo slid her tongue slowly over Sana's bottom lip and then parted her lips completely with her tongue.

The taste of her cum filled Sana's mouth and it was amazing.

"Mina, that's enough. I can't wait any longer". Momo rasped out and pulled Sana down from Mina.

"On all fours princess".

Sana positioned herself the way Momo wanted her to, and then she felt Momo's tip slide through her folds again.

"Holy shit, so fucking wet".

"Momo hurry, please". Sana begged.

Without any warning Momo slammed completely inside of her. Sana's eyes rolled to the back of her head and her hands clenched into the sheets.

"Oh fuck". She breathed out.

"Shit, she's so tight, I love it".

"Mina, come here. I want to suck your cock". Sana said and you could literally hear Mina's smirk forming on her lips.

"Oh with pleasure". Mina held out her dick in front of Sana's face and she sucked her completely in.

"Damn". Mina groaned out and grabbed the back of Sana's head.

Momo's hands grabbed Sana's hips, so she could thrust even deeper inside of her. The thrusts made Sana deepthroat Mina completely.

"Fuck, Sana you're so hot". Mina moaned and threw her head back.

"Yeah, definitely". Momo moaned when Sana clenched around her cock after Mina said that. Momo picked up the pace even more, so their skin was slapping together.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum". Mina moaned and then released her cum inside of Sana's mouth. Sana swallowed Mina's semen completely and then gave her a naughty smirk, which Mina returned.

"Bad girl". Mina breathed out and caressed Sana's cheek with her thumb.

"Only for you". Sana winked at her and bit her lip. Sana's eyebrows clenched together and then she reached her second climax.

Soon after Momo followed and shot her cum all over Sana's ass, coating Sana's pale skin with her sticky juice. Sana laid down on her back and tried to calm down her breathing.

"My turn". Mina said and pushed Momo away eagerly.

"Chill Minari". Momo smirked and kneeled down next to Sana.

"What a sight". Mina hummed and slowly leaned down to kiss Sana.

"You're so sexy, you have no idea". Mina whispered in Sana's ear and then sucked Sana's nipples into her mouth, making Sana's hips jerk up.

"Mina, please". Sana cried out and positioned Mina's tip against her pussy.

"Hmm looks like someone's eager?". Mina grinned and Momo smirked at them, while she was watching everything.

"Mhm". Sana hummed and smirked at Mina. She smirked back and entered Sana with one hard thrust.

"Mmm yes". Sana groaned and threw her head back.

"Fuck, Momo she's dripping". Mina moaned.

"I know right". Momo breathed out and pumped her cock with her hand. Sana removed Momo's hand and replaced it with her own. Sana's other hand slid down her stomach and her fingers started to rub her clit.

"Fuck, you're so perfect". Mina moaned and slid her thumb over Sana's bottom lip, which she sucked into her mouth.

"Mmm yes". Mina breathed out and then pinned Sana's hips down against the mattress to fuck her even harder.

The headboard was hitting the wall already and the room was filled with moans and groans.

"I'm gonna cum baby. Where do you want it?". Momo asked and grabbed her cock into her hand.

"I don't care". Sana breathed out while Mina kept fucking into her at a hard and fast pace.

With that said, Sana felt warm liquid dripping down onto her titts. After a few more thrusts of Mina pounding into her, they both reached their high.

They were all clearly out of breath and fell down on the bed.

"When are the girls coming back?". Momo asked and rested her head on her palm while she looked down at Sana.

"I don't know, maybe in like 4 or 5 hours. Why?".

"Because we definitely have to do this again". Momo smirked and Sana blushed while she looked down with a smile on her lips.

"Yeah 100%". Mina said and wrapped her arm around Sana's waist.

"You're really addicting, you know?". Momo whispered in Sana's ear and came closer.

Sana's whole body shivered.

"So are you both...". She admitted shyly.

"Good to know". Momo said and they both had to smirk.

"Let's rest for now". Mina said and pulled the cover over the three of them.

Both of them cuddled up to Sana's side and were out like a light as soon they were in the right position.

Sana was left staring at the ceiling with her two naked best friends clinging onto her. She kissed both of their foreheads before she closed her own eyes, to let sleep take over her body.

#twice smut #twice momo #twice sana #twice mina #twice #kpop #g!p #threes0me

[shin-meddlesome-hero]

Some notes on Char’s Counterattack while it’s still fresh in my brain and right before I watch video-essays about how I didn’t understand the movie. (With spoilers)

For starters, it was as gay as promised. I’ve seen the Charmuro scuffle scene like a million times and it turned out to actually be gayer in context. For me, this is the aftermath of a very bitter and harsh divorce. The thing is already unsalvageable. They still try to talk it out every time they’re near each other, but Amuro is about to give up on Char completely (if he hasn’t, already). He even tells Lalah that he doesn’t want to be with that guy for all eternity as newtype ghosts, that’s how done he’s with Char.

As with Char, it feels that we needed another anime season or at least a couple of OVA’s to explain how he got there. I know that it had something to do with how disillusioned he was by the events at the end of Zeta, but the movie feels like it needed to give more context about him. It’s very clear that his ideals take a back seat in favor of his real motivations. He just wants to get back at the universe. Would trowing a meteor and freezing Earth actually help Earth’s restoration and humanity’s evolution? Did he stop to think that by doing such thing he’ll get Sayla and Kamille killed? Or was he too far gone to care about anyone that isn’t Lalah and maybe Amuro?

This may be unintentional but it’s amusing that the first part of Quess Paraya’s arc looks like a teen girl’s power fantasy: she meets Amuro, she gets adopted by Char, she happens to be the most special Newtype who becomes an ace pilot in a few days, there’s two boys after her, Char entrusts her to act on special missions and she even gets to kill her lousy dad. Under this framework it makes sense that she acts so selfishly all the time. Of course this later takes a dark turn when she starts feeling all the horrors of war and eventually gets killed by one of the older women she antagonized. Despite her not being a nice person at all, she was only a kid who was affected by her family situation and desperately needed a father figure. Amuro was honest enough to realize that he couldn’t fulfill that need (and he didn’t have to), on the other hand, Char admits that he took advantage of her and used her as a machine. He would’ve never done that to Kamille, that’s how low he’s fallen.

Finally, Char’s last words were about how Lalah Sune could’ve been a mother to him, showing that at the end he was unable to get over both his mother’s and Lalah’s death, which is very tragic from a man that most of the time came out as Larger than Life. However, none of this justifies his actions. Char’s Counterattack was the last piece in the puzzle that is Char Aznable, and after watching it, all I can conclude is that he’s kind of a loser, isn’t he?

(Yes, I’m aware that it’s way more complicated than that, there’s still much to say about how he projected on Amuro and the nature of his relationships with other characters of the franchise among other topics like Amuro’s growth and Hathaway’s arc, but these are just preliminary thoughts. I may do a more thoughtful review once I write more about Zeta and ZZ. Also those video essays about how I Don’t Understand Char are still on my to-watch list, my perspective could change after getting through all that).

#char's counterattack #char aznable #amuro ray #quess paraya #gundam #gundamblogging

[fyeahbachisagi]

Blue Lock anime on BachiSagi + How the anime ended up redefining Bachira’s ego in Episode 22

I’ve been thinking a lot about how the anime removed Bachira’s iconic gay line in Episode 22. After the initial anger, I’ve calmed down and thought about how it couldn’t be as simple as removing the gay. After all, Studio 8Bit has been adding extra gay in the First Selection arc. The Come Steal Me scene was also gayer than in the manga. And although Isagi’s feelings for Bachira were toned down in the first cour, they’ve also been emphasizing it in the second cour (example).

I then noticed a pattern. The Blue Lock anime is playing with contrast in portraying Bachira and Isagi’s relationship.

Prior to Bachira’s awakening, we see his feelings for Isagi emphasized a lot. The anime would even add scenes that weren’t there in the manga. It could be a very minor thing like 2 seconds of Bachira staring at Isagi, or a big thing like replacing Igaguri in his interactions with Isagi (example 1, example 2).

The same is true for Isagi’s feelings for Bachira, but in reverse. Prior to the Come Steal Me scene, the anime removed some of Isagi’s minor interactions with Bachira.

I’m no animator, so I don’t really understand the purpose of this approach. Perhaps 8Bit thought that by increasing the contrast of their feelings before and after emotional turning points would make it more obvious to the viewer?

The Come Steal Me scene is a clear emotional turning point for Isagi. It’s basically Isagi thinking, “Shit, I love him.”

I remember how caught off guard I was when I reading that part in the manga when Isagi said “I felt like I just lost something important…” I had to go back some chapters to find “proof” of Isagi’s feelings. [I don’t know how it is for people who first experienced that scene through the anime, though. Please tell me your thoughts in this poll. Not putting the poll in this post coz then I won’t be able to edit this later…]

Isagi’s feelings are very subtle, so the anime removing what was already barely there just felt like a disservice. And although they’ve been kinda making up for it by executing all the Isagi-to-Bachira moments after this very well, it doesn’t feel enough.

Now, for Bachira… This is difficult because his emotional turning point isn’t as clear-cut as Isagi’s. The anime, however, decided on this scene:

And I absolutely hate this decision.

Because in the manga, the lines were actually a declaration of what exactly Bachira’s voice/ego is. And that ego is: “I’ll win if it kills me and take back Isagi!”

They even cropped out Isagi’s face in the anime to make it solely about Bachira...

This was such a big BachiSagi moment. Bachira is explicitly telling us here that he will win so he can stay by Isagi’s side. And it’s not exactly him striving just for Isagi, either. It’s more like a reference to Isagi’s words to Reo before: “Don’t be the one who gets chosen. Be the one who gets to choose.”

And before this scene in the anime, they even added this part:

Bachira reaching out for Isagi, but only to draw it back...

Such a big disservice there… Bachira’s awakening was complex. He’s saying goodbye to Isagi not only because he wants to be strong enough to stay in Blue Lock, but also because he wants to keep him, even if they can no longer be friends. In a way, it’s a self-sacrificial act. Literally, “I don’t care if I’ll be sad as long as I can stay by his side!”

Adding that underwater hand thing on top of the changed lines turned Bachira’s awakening arc from being deeply rooted in love to one of mere individuality. The anime has completely missed the point...

There are 2 more episodes left, and the next one has another crucial BachiSagi moment. Let’s see how 8Bit wraps up their relationship before I give my final verdict.

#blue lock #bachisagi #bachira meguru #isagi yoichi #blue lock meta #bachisagi meta #blue lock anime #blue lock anime meta #episode 22 #miyamiwu.meta #miyamiwu.src

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading update: july 2023

I don't have a cool and witty opening for this one. I read a fuck of a lot of books this month and I want to tell you about them LET'S GO

Black Water Sister (Zen Cho, 2021) - Black Water Sister has a very fun premise: a closeted lesbian and unemployed recent graduate moves back to Malaysia with her parents and is already having a bad enough time when she starts hearing the voice of her dead grandmother, who turns out to have been deeply involved in supernatural organized crime. our hapless protagonist becomes a medium against her will, and has to navigate to world of Malaysian spirits and superstition to lay her grandma to rest. unfortunately the actual style of the story wasn't more me; although definitely adult fiction, the prose is breezy in a way I affiliate strongly with YA, which is not to my personal taste but is still so hashtag valid. if you're one of the countless people trying to make that jump from YA to adult fiction and you like queer urban fantasy then Black Water Sister might be a great fit for you, although I should provide a warning for a pretty surprisingly graphic near-rape in the book's climax that really took me by surprise in a story that's otherwise pretty zany in its violence.

The Bride Test (Helen Hoang, 2019) - I think I said last month that Alexis Hall's A Lady for a Duke was the best so far of the romance-novel-every-month scheme I'm trying to pull off this year. the Bride Test has pretty swiftly displaced it; have I finally discovered the really good romance novels? (worry not; I know what I'm reading for August and my hopes are. low.) our two protagonists, Mỹ/Esme (her chosen American/English name) and Khai, are both genuinely charming and are pretty strong characters independent of each other, which cannot be said for A Lot of romance protags. despite the absolute insanity of how they met (yes, Khai's mother went to Vietnam and offered, uneducated a poor single mother a tourist visa in exchange for trying to seduce her autistic son. yes, that's shady. don't think about it too hard) and Esme waiting until WAY too late in the game to reveal the existence of HER LIVING HUMAN CHILD, I liked this book a lot. it's silly and heartfelt and I had fun; what else do you need? 5/5 eggplant emojis.

Giovanni's Room (James Baldwin, 1956) - there's probably nothing I can say about Giovanni's Room that I could say that someone smarter and gayer hasn't already said, but god. it really is breathtaking. I so often see this book talked about as a gay tragedy, and honestly that feels like almost too glib of a description. it's a really meticulous dissection of white male masculinity and the claustrophobic constraints there of, and our narrator's claustrophobic fear of divesting himself from the power that he's entitled to by virtue of being a white American man perceived as a heterosexual. this man would rather live in repressed misery for his entire life than risk being like those effeminate faggots at the gay club, but spoiler alert! being miserable doesn't make you better than your fellow fags; it just means you're miserable AND a fag. sharp and painful and so so so smart. also I'm going to summon @zaricats because I was supposed to tell you what I thought about this book. oops!

Lone Women (Victor LaValle, 2023) - okay so listen. did I just say Black Water Sister wasn't really for me because of the simplistic prose? yes. did I really enjoy the very sparse, straightforward style of Lone Women? also yes. leave me alone, I contain contradictions. anyway, Lone Women is a ripping piece of historical fiction spliced with supernatural secrets, based on LaValle's research into 19th century Black women homesteaders who made their lives in Montana. LaValle opens on a scene of irresistible intrigue - Adelaide Henry, lone woman, sets out for Montana with a mysteriously heavy trunk after burning down her family's California farm with her parents' mutilated corpses inside. and boy, does it escalate from there! it's a story about isolation and community and the people who are failed by so-called close knit small towns, and the ways in which vulnerable people band together to protect one another. it also makes the compelling point that maybe, just maybe, the real monsters were your local transphobe and her husband's lynch mob all along.

Black Disability Politics (Sami Schalk, 2022) - what a cool book! Schalk's argument begins with the idea that Black disability politics are distinct from predominantly white mainstream disability politics, and are therefore often overlooked in conversation, activism, and academia. Schalk analyzes the historical work of the Black Panthers and the National Black Women's Health Project to showcase what she describes as Black disability politics in action. in Schalk's conception, Black disability politics take a much more holistic approach to disability, conceptualizing as just one form (and, frequently, as a result of) of oppression tangled up with a myriad of others that cannot be meaningfully addressed when they're treated as separate issues. the book concludes in interviews with contemporary Black disability activists and organizers that shed light on ways in which the wider movement is often unwelcoming to folks of color, and an exhortation from Schalk for readers to continue the conversation well beyond the confines of the book. in a killer show of praxis, the entire book has been made available to read in PDF form, and I strongly recommend giving it a look!

The River of Silver (S.A. Chakraborty, 2022) - mentally I am kicking myself a little for waiting so long to read this continuation of my beloved Daevabad trilogy, because it did take me a minute to get back into the swing and mythology of the world and that did make me feel unpleasantly like I wasn't appreciating these character-focused short stories as much as I could be. but even having said that - man! fuck I love the world of Daevabad, and I adore these characters so much. getting to see them again, even briefly, was a delight, and I am once again congratulating Nahri and Ali on being the invention of heterosexual romance. (also, on a related note, but I ADORE the way Chakraborty writes her characters having crushes. they crush SO hard and it's very sweet. these books are such big drama all the way down.)

Men We Reaped (Jesmyn Ward, 2013) - an absolute powerhouse of a memoir, and devastating the whole way down. in Men We Reaped Ward attempts to make sense of a series of tragedies that befell her community when five young Black men - beginning with Ward's younger brother - died between 2000 and 2004. the word 'unflinching' is hopelessly played out, but it's difficult to figure out how to describe the head-on way Ward explores each young man's life and ultimate end and her own upbringing. the men in Ward's history - her brother, the friends she lost, her father and other male relatives - are never idealized; their demons, miseries, infidelities, addictions, and violence are placed on full display. but Ward is also insistent on displaying these men with dignity, compassion, empathy; showing them at their best and, most importantly, as men who were loved and deserved better than the violence that poverty and racism wrought on them. it's a furious memoir, one that will leave you mourning too.

Nimona (ND Stevenson, 2015) - did I only read this so I can make more informed complaints if/when I end up watching the netflix movie with my wife? YES. but listen, it wasn't JUST petty hater behavior. Nimona is just really good, and I think I got a lot more out of it this time around that I did when I first read it years ago. this comic is wild and unfettered and so spectacularly weird; I wish more things felt the way Nimona does. I also with more things starred small girls begging to kill cops and stage a violent overthrow of the government, that rules hard. also man I love Ballister, he's SUCH a good protagonist. he's curmudgeonly, he's deeply principled, he's held a grudge for years, he's paternal, he's even gay. what a guy!

#reading updates

[deathzgf]

( almost ) ALL MY AMREV + FREV WIPS ( 12 october - 5 november 2023 ) ! ! ! ! !

WARNING : long ass post jFDSFLKJSLF ( will all be under the cut )

NOTE : not everything is here ! a lot of my amrev + frev drawings are doodles ive done in class ( which i cant find ) + i Do Not Like a lot of them + Tumblr only allows so many images T___T

ah yes . . . the doodle that started it all . . . my good omens sona in the french revolution ! except i had no idea what i was doing at ALL and had no historical context ! which i now do have and it makes me ENRAGED for how good omens handled that era . . . why are they in the bastille in 1793 . . . ANYWAYS ! YEAH !

aaand because of that doodle , i researched frev fashion ! and guess what ! that robespierre fashion video came up ! wooo robespierre ! and then this was the first fucking thing i drew of him i cant . I WAS TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HOW THE FUCK HE MISSED SO BAD + HOW THE BULLET WOULD LOOK

BECAUSE after that i drew this ! pookie ! ! !

first saint just drawing . i was listening to angel with a shotgun on loop . . . and i thought . . . angel with a guillotine . . . get it cuz hes . hes angel of the terror . and . and . a

i dont have any explanation for this

i hate this . but first robespierre AND saint just drawing wahoo

first frev oc except the hair on that one drawing is red because i went back and changed it cuz i made their name Jules Le Roux and . You know . Red hair . yeah

jules and calixte ! ! ! calixte is @toastytrusty ' s oc and my sweet sweet little baby i love them dearly

. . . saint just doodle i forgor to come back to

JULES AND CALIXTE LORE

miku binder robespierre

saint just painting robespierres nails because :3

WE INTO THE AMREV NOW WOOO . anyways me when ive married and icarus and hes flown too close to the sun lol ( his wings are meant to be burning letters btw . yeah )

jules , calixte , and leonard interaction ! ! ! ! !

which didnt go well

this turned out gayer than intended i genuinely dont know what happened here

i wanted to continue this so bad but i fucking forgot about it but Uhhh uhhhhh uhhh

you know those vamp ! robespierre and vamp hunter ! saint just aus ? yeah

PLEASE STOP SAYING IT LOOKS LIKE A DICK IVE NEVER DRAWN A VIOLIN BEFORE PLEASE LEAVE HIM ALONE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE . anyways he playsss theee violinnn he tucks it right underr hisss chinnnnn

winning the idgaf war . unbothered . living his best life

theres a storytime for this drawing but ill save that for later . john adams ( 2008 ) scene redraw but instead of jefferson grabbing adams elbow its his waist except it looks awful and i need to redo it soo baddd

vamp ! robespierre and saint just ( ? ? ? i guess vamp hunter ! saint just cuz thats usually what goes with vamp ! robespierre but idk man ) . they were meant to be on like some moonlit picnic or some shit but then class ended and i forgor about this

donald trump , alexander hamilton , and thomas jefferson . need i say more ?

the ORIGINAL toxic doomed yaoi ( hamburr )

burr . boobies :3

that one scene from saint just et la forces des choses BUT AGAIN this turned out gayer than intended . why do they keep doing this

hey girl i think theres something wrong with your leg

semi modern band ! gay trio . . . thing . . . ? girl idk . but i gave up

making jules a proper ref ! who cheered !

AAAND THATS IT !

let me know if . you want me to finish any of these because otherwise theyre probably going to rot in my gallery HELP

#frev #amrev #art #artists on tumblr #wip #art wip #frev art #amrev art #oc #oc art #good omens #good omens art #technically #cuz the first one was my good omens sona #robespierre #saint just #hamilton #historical hamilton #musical hamilton #jefferson #historical jefferson #1776 jefferson #1776 adams #hes there #hes not refined but hes there #john adams #like the 2008 show #trump #cant believe im tagging that #burr

[starlightsearches]

soooo how would you feel about possibly writing about Robin and Steve tag teaming us? 👀 Robin said she and Steve should “combine” because they would essentially make one function human being together and idk about you but I would love to suck his d while she eats my p.

Her Best Friend's Girl

“don’t cover you’re face, i want to see you”

AN: Hoooooooooooooly fuck friend, I know this has taken me so long, but I still remember when I got this one because I fucking choked so hard during my zoom class that I had to turn off my camera. Anyways, I adjusted the prompt a little bit because I'm a selfish little bitch but I hope you still like it.

Robin Buckley x Femme! Reader x Steve Harrington

Warnings: Drug use and underage drinking, Steve's girlfriend! reader, Robin experiences homophobia, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), a wee bit of a daddy kink, reader's got some pillow princess vibes, it’s so long (for me at least, it’s like 6K). I started writing this in between volume 1 and volume 2 so it kind of takes place in an imaginary world where volume 2 had a good ending.

Robin's never felt like this before.

Besides a few sips of somebody's parents' wine at a band sleepover (and whatever the Russian's injected her with), Robin's stayed straight-laced and sober her entire high school career. But after the past few weeks, she couldn't argue with Steve when he told her they both deserved a fucking break.

The view from Steve's car is hazy, the lazy afternoon sun filtering through the smoke from his lips as he passes her the joint between two fingers. There's a Bowie song playing quietly through the speakers, but in her current state, Robin can't pick out the lyrics from the melody.

Her lungs have relaxed enough that she doesn't cough on the exhale anymore, letting the golden-warm smoke inside and breathing it out with a giggle.

"I just don't, like, get it though," she says, turning toward her best friend with a sigh, "like how do you even know what to do."

In the back of her mind, there's a little alarm going off, quietly reminding her that normally sex was an off-limits topic with Steve, although that feels like a silly barrier now. As much as she hated to admit it, Steve had the kind of experience she was severely lacking.

"It's like," he says, twisting in his seat—swaying a little— "it's like, it's different with every girl, you know? Like, with my girl—"

Robin groans, rolling her head back against the upholstery. Steve had only been dating you for a couple of weeks, but it was definitely his new favorite topic. Well, my girl and I went to see that new David Bowie movie . . . My girl was telling me about this thing she was reading . . . you know, my girl would love that.

And it's not like Robin doesn't like you. She likes you a lot—actually—and she likes seeing how happy Steve is when you're around. She can't even find it in herself to make gagging noises when you guys are cuddled together on the couch, or let out a snide comment any of the times she's relegated to the back seat so Steve can drive with his hand on your thigh.

Robin just wishes she didn't have to hear about you all the time.

"As I was saying," Steve continues, shooting her a tempered glare for the interruption, "with my girl, she likes it when I—"

He does a complicated movement with the hand not holding the joint, and then shakes his fingers, like they're not listening. "No, it's more like—"

Robin watches the wiggling of his fingers, grimacing. Maybe she's gayer than she thought, but it doesn't look like it would feel very good at all.

Steve frowns at his own hand, and then brushes the confusion away with a puff of smoke. "It's too hard to describe. It'd be easier if I just showed you."

"Ewwww. Steve!"

Robin slaps him hard enough that he almost drops the joint, but even her disgust is tempered by the high—punctuated by a deep, throaty laugh.

"Gross, no. Not like that—" Steve's laughing too, falling over until his hair brushes her shoulder. "No, god no. I meant, you know, on my girl."

He shrugs, like it's totally not a big deal. Like he hadn't suggested something insane.

Sweat collects underneath her palms, pressed tight against her jeans, and she rubs her hands rhythmically back and forth over the rough denim, letting the texture soothe her.

"Wait . . . seriously?"

And, okay. Robin thought you were hot. A total babe, really, but not in the obvious way, nothing flashy—no hey, look at me features. It was understated, the kind of beauty you really had to look at and know to appreciate.

Robin had been looking at her best friend's girl more than she should have.

"I mean, yeah." Steve drums his hands on the steering wheel, and Robin wonders if he's even totally here right now, or if this conversation will fade in a few hours along with the smoke, "I'd have to ask her first, obviously, but after I told her about you—"

"Hold on,"—a sinking fear forms a pit in her stomach, swallowing some of the buzz—"told her what about me?"

Steve's eyes go wide, and he puts on a dismissive tone that Robin can see through immediately. "You know, that you like . . . girls."

"Steve!" Robin shouts, and she hits him again, but harder this time, "You cannot just out me to every girl you talk to."

He just rubs at his arm, big eyes looking hurt. "Hey, she's not just some girl! And, for the record, I was just telling her that there was no reason for her to worry about us—you know, 'platonic with a capital P' or whatever—and I may have let it slip that you, you know, were definitely uninterested in, uh, boys."

"Steve." Robin threads her fingers through her roots and tugs, but not even the sting can pull her out of this spiral.

"Listen! I just didn't want her to get jealous, you know, since we spend so much time together. Or think she couldn't trust me."

That piques her interest. "Was she jealous?"

"No, but I was trying to be proactive," —he stubs out the joint, dropping it in the cup holder to save for later, a harsh hand combing through his hair— "anyway, the point of all that is after I told her she told me that she actually likes girls, too."

Holy shit.

"Wait, what?" Robin's a mess of emotions, but two are at the forefront: an uneasy jealousy—because of course Steve would find the only other queer girl in the whole fucking state before she did—and a deep and abiding want in the pit of her stomach.

"Yup," —he pops the p at the end— "and she told me that she thinks you're pretty cute."

"Oh."

Pretty cute. Steve's watching her too closely, and Robin's skin feels sheer and sparkling, like he can see inside her head, can see how much she likes the idea, and how bad she wants to hear you say it yourself.

Her hands on your waist, tasting the cherry lip gloss you always wear, hearing you sigh those words again again again.

Pretty. Cute.

Robin interlaces her shaking fingers, stroking one thumb over the edge of the other, fizzing nerves around her heart. "I mean, do you think it would be . . . okay?"

"I'd have to ask her, like I said, but if she's down . . ."

He's staring at her, but Robin can't meet his gaze just yet, watching the rhythmic waves of Lover's Lake catch the light.

Steve sighs, putting a hand on her shoulder. When Robin finally looks at him, she's surprised to find so much warmth and understanding in his deep brown eyes.

"Listen, Munson told me about some party happening on the edge of town tonight—a bunch of freaks will be there, for sure—probably nobody we know. I'll talk to her about it before hand, and," —he gestures, like he's ushering her through an open door— "we'll see what happens."

Tramping through the muggy air, Robin locates the party by sound and—unfortunately—by smell, the soft green scent of the forest disappearing into something heavy and dirtier. Weed and cigarettes, bonfire smoke and beer, body odor and sex.

She looks at Steve as the heavy metal screech reaches them and he just rolls his eyes, taking a few more loping steps forward until the pyre at the middle of the clearing is visible through the trees.

Robin nudges him on the shoulder. "She said she's going to meet us here, right?"

Steve nods, scanning the crowd with his eyes from the edge of the party. Robin does the same, and there are no familiar faces, just like he'd said—a bunch of freaks. She tugs at the end of her t-shirt, craning her neck, but you're nowhere to be seen.

"Have you thought about, you know, what we talked about, uh, any more?" Steve's mumbled question reaches her over the music.

A fist of panic clenches tightly in the center of Robin's stomach, talking about you again now that she's sober. It strikes her that Steve is just nervous, rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck while he waits for her reply.

"Yeah, no, definitely,"—Robin's thought about it all day . . . a few different times, "and you're absolutely positive it's okay?"

"She said she wanted to," Steve says, "and I'm good if you're good."

Robin can't help the way her voice squeaks. "Yeah, no, I'm good. I'm definitely good."

"Steve!"

Robin turns to the sound of your voice—even if it's not her name you're calling—and her heart starts to race.

You're dressed casually, which puts her at ease, although she can't understand how you can make a t-shirt and a denim jacket look so undeniably cool, smiling wide as you approach.

Steve is on you as soon as you're within his reach, wrapping you in his arms, wasting no time before pulling you into an almost grossly-affectionate kiss.

Normally this was the point when Robin would look away. It's not that PDA bothered her so much; it was just that—while you didn't seem to care who was around when Steve stuck his tongue down your throat—Robin had always assumed that you probably didn't want an invested audience. And she could never tell how her looking would be interpreted, especially by perceptive little shits like Dustin.

But Dustin isn't here right now, and so Robin watches Steve's cupped hand stroke along your jaw, watches your wet, pink tongue slip into his mouth just before you bite down on his swollen bottom lip.

She hasn't parsed through the feelings that it gives her before you've pulled back.

"Hey, Robin!"

You've got her in your grip, arms around her waist until she's pressed up against all of you, warm skin and tits and perfume that makes her head spin.

You lean back, but only half way, hips still connected—the shape of you tangible through her jeans—smiling wide. "You want a drink?"

Robin doesn't want a drink, but the idea of having something to do with her hands appeals to her. "Uh, yeah, sure."

You glance over you shoulder, catching Steve's eye. "Why don't you go find us something, please?"

Steve just smiles, walking off with a raise of his eyebrows and a two-fingered salute in Robin's direction. You're not even looking at him, stroking your palms over Robin's wrists, intertwining your fingers.

"You're like fucking ice, babe. Let's go stand by the fire."

You weave expertly though the party, leading Robin by the hand. The fire's huge—stacked high with pallets and cardboard boxes and branches like thick, charred arms reaching towards the sky. It warms her skin like the sun never set, just got small and decided to join a party in the middle of nowhere, Indiana.

You're still touching her, leaning in close so you can whisper right up against her ear.

"I hope you don't mind that Steve told me about you."

"No, it's fine," every breath she takes is hot and full of smoke, but that's not why her lungs are burning, "I was totally fine with it, obviously. I mean it's not like it's a big deal or anything—"

The tip of your finger traces up over the back of her arm, across her neck, and anything else she could have or should have said is miles out of orbit. Robin shivers as you secure a few loose hairs behind her ear.

"Can I kiss you?" you ask, studying her with fire-lit eyes.

Robin's adrenaline spikes as she glances around, skin crawling, searching for the familiar burn of a disapproving glare. "Here?"

You take her chin in your hand, turning her back to you. "Nobody's looking."

But that's not true. With a glance over your shoulder, Robin can see that people are looking, and—even stranger—none of them seem to care that there are two girls standing this close, staring at each others lips.

"Yeah. Okay."

You've got soft hands and soft eyes and a soft smile, fingers laced at the back of Robin's neck as you pull her in closer, catching the edge of her mouth against your own.

Robin leans in, kissing you back, her lips parting—from shock, and from need—tasting that cherry lip gloss and beer and your hot, soft mouth.

Robin's kissed boys before. Or at least, she's been kissed by boys before, twice exactly—back when she was young and afraid and had no idea how to say no. And it always left her with a sick feeling in her stomach after, tossing and turning as she tried to fall asleep later that night, tears leaking into her pillow because it didn't feel the way she knew it was supposed to, and what if that meant she was broken?

The first time she kissed a girl was different. Cast party after the school play her freshman year—Robin had only been in the ensemble but Nicky Kramer was the leading lady, a little loud and ditzy but the kind of pretty that got her heart racing, and the voice of a goddamn angel.

They'd been playing spin-the-bottle with a little self-awareness, giggling more about how stupid it was to play a game for middle-schoolers than the chaste (or sometimes not-so chaste) kisses between friends. When Robin spun, she'd been so sure she imagined the tip of the prop coke bottle pointing directly at Nicky—a fever dream where she got what she wanted.

"You have to spin again," someone called out, "it landed on a girl."

She knows now that Nicky wanted the attention—wanted to do something that would shock and impress, even if it was at Robin's expense—but she still can't shake the image of her in that big, white wedding dress that somebody's mom donated for the final act, shuffling across the backstage on her knees until they brushed against her own.

The racing of Robin's heart was the final confirmation to what she had already known—she was different. She wanted this. And for five glorious seconds, she had it.

Then Nicky had fallen back with a dramatic squeal, wiping at her lips with both silk-gloved hands, screaming eww while the others laughed and Robin tried to hold back tears.

After that, she'd been certain that she'd never want to kiss someone who wanted to kiss her back.

So maybe she's a little aggressive, taking your face in both her hands, pressing her lips hard enough to yours that it must hurt, but that doesn't matter because it gets you to part your lips, and now Robin can feel your breath in her mouth, taste the air from your lungs. Your slick, silky tongue slides across her own, and her knees shake, threatening to buckle at the feeling. Your lips shine with her spit when you pull away.

"Woah."

Steve is back, staring wide-eyed, the two red solo cups in his hands slipping from his grip, practically forgotten.

"Thanks babe," you peck him on the cheek, taking one of the cups in his hand before it drops and passing it to Robin. "I'm gonna find something to smoke. Be right back."

Robin watches Steve—waiting for him to say something about this being a bad idea—but he just laughs, knocking the plastic edge of his cup against her own.

"Yeah, okay—take it easy there, tiger. The night is still young."

And it goes on like that, hours passing by in emptied cups of beer and joints rolled by Eddie's slim, talented fingers shrinking into ash. You stay sandwiched between Robin and Steve, kisses shared evenly, his mouth buried against your neck while you peck at Robin's lips, your hands at her waist and it feels even better than she thought it might. She can hear your whisper in her bones.

"Wanna get out of here?"

Steve drives. You join Robin in the back seat, straddling her hips, her back pressed hard against the leather seats as she mouths at your neck, occasionally catching flashes of street lights and Steve's eyes in the rear view.

"You're really good at this," you whisper, knees squeezing her hips as Steve pulls the car to a stop.

"Oh, wow. Really?"

You laugh at her disbelieving tone, brushing some hair from her eyes. "Yeah."

Steve helps you from the car. You're steady on your feet, walking up the long driveway to Steve's unlit front porch. Robin feels wired, clenching an unclenching her hands into fists—testing to make sure she's still real while Steve gets the door.

His room is still dark when Robin reaches it, slatted moonlight drawing lines across his bedspread. You're spread out across the top leaning back on your elbows, ankles crossed, posed like a pinup girl in a magazine ad.

"So," you ask, shooting her a wink, "how do you want me?"

Robin's looking for guidance, but Steve's giving her free reign. Leaning up against his dresser, he just watches, hands pressed deep inside his pockets. "It's up to you, dude."

"You could- you could take your top off . . . I mean, if that's okay?"

"Whatever you want," you just smile, patting the bed beside you, "wanna help me?"

Robin sits on the mattress beside you, trying not to think about all the time Steve's undressed you in this same place. Help must mean do it for me, because you're kissing her again, guiding one hand to the hem of your t-shirt.

Robin's fingers are cold, but you don't seem to mind, a little sigh on your lips at the way they brush up against your rib cage, over the band of your bra.

You have to pull away to fit your head through the neck hole, and then Robin's stuck with your still-warm top balled up in her hands and her eyes on your tits.

"Oh. Wow."

You press your arms in tighter against your chest, exaggerating the line of cleavage for her benefit. Robin gasps at the way you start to spill from the lace cups, at the slightest hint of perky nipple she can see past the fabric.

"And—and the bra?"

You reach for the clasp, shimmying one strap forward, and then the other.

"Holy shit."

She's trying not to be a creep, but Robin already knows she's never gonna stop staring at your tits. Not when she knows that they look just as good as she thought they might without all those clothes covering them up, not when she's watching your nipples pebble up in the chill air.

"Right?"

Robin jumps; she hadn't felt Steve climb onto the mattress beside her, watching you with the same admiration. He nods towards your chest. "You can touch her, if you want."

Yeah, she wants. You lean toward her open palm until skin meets skin, her hand chill against the warm weight of your breast, squeezing a little until she can hear your slow breaths grow faster.

Robin's always suspected that Steve had been over-hyping certain aspects of sex, (nothing could be that good) but titties definitely deserved more credit than he'd given them.

Steve is watching, hungry-eyed, slapping his palms against his jeans until he can't resist any longer.

"Try this," he tells her, as he leans forward, fingers pinching at the nipple on your other breast. Robin's about to shove him off before she sees how you react, the tense muscles in your neck and the thick swallow that makes way for a breath so weighted its almost a moan.

"Yeah, okay," she quickly agrees, focusing her attention on the dark bud, mimicking Steve's movements, pinching and rolling it between her thumb and forefinger, ghosting the pad of her thumb over the tip.

And the sound you make this time is a moan.

"Use your mouth."

The throaty command comes from you, as you slide your body closer. Robin doesn't need to be told twice, dipping her head down until she can wrap her lips around where she'd just had her fingers.

Your skin is soft on her tongue, pillowing against her lips as she slowly sucks on the swollen bud. You press up against her mouth, fingers curling in her hair. She can feel your heartbeat fluttering against her cheek.

"God, just like that."

Steve pulls his hand back when he sees Robin coming for your other breast, cupping it in her palm before she kisses her way around the center, her fingers tugging at your other nipple, spreading her spit across your skin.

"Fuck, Robin," —she feels like she's dying when you say her name like that— "don't stop."

She won't. Dying with a pair of titties in her mouth seems like the only good way to go.

Steve is moving beside her; a big hand sneaking over your waist, down past the band of your jeans until it's swallowed between your thighs.

"That feel good, baby?"

Steve's voice is deep—raspier than Robin's ever heard it—and she feels the shape of him over her, kissing down along your jaw as you bump your hips up into his hand.

There's the wet sound of your mouth on his, and heavy breaths broken by your hum of agreement. The button of your pants slides from its place with a shining whisper between Steve's clever fingers.

"Let's get these off, yeah?"

Robin pulls back, watching as Steve slips your shorts down your hips, revealing the soft blue cotton you wear underneath, edged with lace and decorated with a sweet little bow.

Steve strokes his thumb across the top of your panties, just beneath the shadowed curve of your stomach, his hand planted at your hip.

His eyes are big and wide and totally fixed on this small point of contact, on the way your hips shift in anticipation against his sheets.

He looks up at you through heavy lashes. "Can I show Robin how to make you feel good?"

You nod, and he slips the fabric down, exposing the patch of curls between your legs. Robin's totally mesmerized, a little gasp on her lips when your thighs part and she can see the shiny, plush stretch of your pussy.

"Why don't you get these wet for me?"

Steve holds out two of his fingers, and you catch them between your lips, bobbing a little to until spit soaks the corners of your mouth. You take them almost all the way to the hilt, only gagging a little when Steve curls them at the back of your throat. There's moonlight caught in the tears at the corners of your eyes.

"Such a good girl."

Robin's not sure if it's those words that make you whine, or the gentle prodding of Steve's fingers, stroking smoothly up and down your lips until they're puffy and slick.

The tip of his middle finger slips just inside your entrance; Robin watches the way you open for him, the way your stomach goes tight, eyes wide with adoration. He pumps his hand slowly, growing wetter and shinier each time he pulls it out, squishy sounds echoing from your cunt when he finally reaches the hilt.

"You wanna start slow," Steve says, narrating his movements for Robin, although both of them can't seem to look away from your slowly leaking pussy, "start with one finger, then work your way up to two."

He takes his own advice, sliding a second finger in past your lips. Your back arches, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. Robin's whole body feels like static, like a TV screen gone fuzzy.

"Tell her how it feels," Steve commands, and you whimper, falling back on your elbows.

"So good, daddy. Don't stop."

Robin's eyes flash, mouth puckered in delighted surprise, and for a second she forgets there's a fucking naked woman in the room, watching Steve's cheeks turn ruddy.

Daddy? She mouths the word, eyebrows raised. Steve ignores her, focusing all his attention on the place where his fingers meet your cunt.

"This is the clit," he says quickly, brushing his thumb over the apex of your pussy.

"I know where the clit is, Steve," Robin snaps, momentarily distracted from the whole daddy thing. Whatever—she'd bring it up later.

"You wanna be gentle here, too, 'cause you can always go harder if they ask, but it ruins the mood if you hurt them."

His other hand snakes over from the place it had been resting on your thigh. "Once you've worked up to it though, pinching at it really drives her wild."

He traps your clit between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the little bud, and your steady moans are growing louder until Robin can't hear anything else besides her own heartbeat in her ears.

"Gonna cum," you tell Steve, clutching at your own breasts, fingers playing expertly with your nipples, still sticky with Robin's spit.

Robin's frozen in place, hands curled into tight fists and plunged deep into Steve's mattress. Her lungs have gone shallow, and it's impossible to take enough air in, watching you cum around Steve's fingers.

Fuck.

Steve wastes no time slipping his hand from between your thighs, sucking the taste of you from his skin, like it's totally not even a big deal. Like he does this all the time.

He probably does.

He must not notice that Robin's only a few seconds away from combusting, or she's better at hiding than she gives herself credit for.

"You wanna try?" he asks casually, hand stroking up and down your inner thigh while you twitch against the sheets.

Robin's almost too stunned to speak. "Are- are you sure that's okay?"

Steve just shrugs. "Of course. She'll be looser after the first one, so the second will come easier. Or you know," —he grins— "however many she wants."

God, is this the fucking Twilight Zone? Robin's got a little more than a fifty percent success rate making herself cum, and Steve's been out here giving you multiple orgasms a night.

How had it taken him so long to find a girlfriend?

He let's Robin ponder that question, leaning down over you, one big hand poised at your waist as he kisses you sweetly. Your breathing is steady again, chest done heaving, but sweat still shines across your skin and down your stomach—remnants of the way he'd been making you feel.

"Do you want Robin to make you cum?" he whispers, strands of his hair falling into your face from the way he's laying over you, brushing against your forehead as you nod.

You stare at her with the biggest, wettest eyes she’s ever seen, another needy whine on your lips.

As if she could say no to that.

Robin shifts onto the sheets, parting your legs around her waist and situating herself as close as she can stand to your bare pussy. Steve's moved across from her on the other side, your head cradled in his lap.

He brushes a few stray hairs out of your face, pets a gentle hand down your shoulder. The look in his eyes seems to ask Robin if she's ready, and she nods, feeling anything but.

The salty tang of her fingers melts across her tongue; she'd have let you wet them, the same way you'd done for Steve, but she's trying to keep her focus. And that's the kind of distraction she doesn't need right now.

Robin wonders how all of your skin is so soft when she rests a tentative hand on your hip. She wonders if all girls have bodies that would dent this beautifully under her hand, or if that's just one more thing that makes you special.

She strokes lower, brushing the patch of hair between your thighs. If she wants to hear anymore of the noises you make, she'll have to hold her breath.

Her first finger slips between your lips, just brushing the wet opening of your cunt, and she swallows hard, trying and failing to catalogue all of the things she notices: the burn of your skin and the slippery wetness and little fluttering contractions.

"Keep going," Steve urges.

As Robin slips her first finger inside, she has a feeling she must be doing this wrong. There's none of the confidence she'd seen in Steve's movements—all tentative and shaky where he had been self-assured. His fingers are bigger than hers, each of his thrusts smoother and deeper.

But still, you clench around her and there's no denying it, a soft sigh on your lips when she brushes the pad of her pointer finger up against the soft front wall, curling just like Steve had told her to.

Your hips twitch on the bed, skin denting against her hand.

"God, Robin, don't stop."

That spurs her on, tentatively brushing her thumb against your swollen, red clit until you moan. It's not like how Steve had done it—not hard and confident and rough—but she's doing the job and you're reacting to her, desperate for her touch and that makes the confidence in her belly burn.

"Could I," —god, just saying the words have her sweating, and she hopes you won't notice how wet her palm is where she's holding your hip, "can I taste you?"

She'd been thinking about the idea all day. Hand shoved under the waistband of her jeans, she'd thought about burying her face between your thighs, about circling her tongue around your clit until you sobbed and begged her for more.

Robin's shoulders sink without her thinking about, hips shifting until she's at eye-level with your juicy cunt, watching it stain the bedspread a darker blue with each thrust of her fingers.

Her eyes meet yours past the swell of your stomach, past Steve's hands kneading each of your tits, chest rising and falling with the heaving breaths you take.

"Yeah," you nod wide-eyed, licking your lips. Robin's never seen you shy like this, quiet with want as your hands twist into the sheets.

She bends her head down, smelling sweat and skin and leftover traces of campfire, pressing a kiss to the junction between your stomach and your thigh, trailing lower, growing bolder. Your skin squishes perfectly between her lips and the nip of her teeth, her nose buried in the coarse hair of your cunt.

Her tongue just breaches her lips, stealing the salt from your skin before pressing deeper, stroking against your swollen bud. She familiarizes herself with the shape of it, circles it with her tongue. The muscles in her hand grow sore when she tries to keep you still.

"Uh uh, baby," —she hears Steve's voice past the crush of your thighs, and she glances up, watching as he peels your wrists away from your face— "you gotta let me see you. I wanna see how good Robin is making you feel."

Steve pins your hands to the sheets, and Robin goes molten, uncontainable, as you squirm against both her hold and Steve's, absolutely overwhelmed by the pleasure of their attention.

She latches onto your cunt with renewed vigor, sucking deeply at your clit, pumping her fingers in and out of you until you've soaked her hand and you can't stay still when she’s touching you, just like she'd hoped.

"Tell Robin how good she's doing, baby, " Steve's low voice commands, and Robin's in flames at your high, keening praise.

"So good, fuck, Robin. Gonna make me cum- gonna cum."

She can feel it. Feels you trembling around her, the tight anticipation in every facet of your skin, and her own hips rut against the sheets because making you feel good makes her feel good.

You cum on her fingers with a gush and a throaty moan, curling around her until her head is cradled in your lap.

Her breathing is almost as shaky as yours.

"Was- was that good?" she asks. There's laughter on your lips when you pull her in for a kiss.

She's vaguely aware that Steve's climbed off the bed when the mattress springs up without his weight, feels the brush of the t-shirt he tosses in your direction.

You pull the fabric over your top until it kisses your thighs, and Robin can't help but be fascinated by the domestic intimacy she's seeing—watching Steve brush his teeth with the bathroom door, how you bring him his glasses from the bedside table without being asked.

"Are you gonna stay the night?" you ask before drying your face in a towel.

She shifts, sitting on her hands. "Would that be . . . okay?"

And she's looking at Steve now because sharing his girlfriend might be one thing but sharing his bed could be another.

He just shrugs, grabbing another t-shirt from his closet, and a pair of sweats.

"You should stay," he tells her, tossing the clothes in her direction, "then I don't have to drive you home."

You peek around Steve, a playful smile on your face when you jump beside her on the bed. "If you stay, you can use my tits as a pillow."

And that's all the convincing she needs.

#robin buckley x reader x steve harrington #robin buckley fanfiction #robin buckley smut #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington smut #minors dni #my writing #requests #steve harrington x reader #robin buckley x reader #steve harrington x you #robin buckley x you

[woodsdyke]

in a shot, i'd swap my body for a body of water worry the cliff side top as a wave crashing over i'd lower the world in a flood, or better yet i'd cause a drought if I was a rip tide, i wouldn't take you out

been slowly picking at this throughout the month, took forever because i was in the process of moving. had a lot of fun with it tho. aveline and johan, really awful as fiancés but great vengeful gay besties. make them regret everything they did to hurt you. go girlies. fuck up their day

(white wasn't customary for weddings in the 18th century but consider: it was for the vibe. ty)

some additional info about these two under the cut because i think about them sooooo much

(tl;dr what if u were two traumatized gay people who had to get married but instead you did crimes that would get you executed by the state, found each other again, now gayer and happier, and became besties who bond over how fucked up your life was and how cool it’d be if the people who hurt you got what they deserved. Wouldn’t that be neat?)

TW discussions of abuse (inc. of children)

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.

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Aveline Montclair and Johan Groeneveld both grew up as aristocrats, and have always been godawful at it in new, exciting ways. Aveline is aggressive, stubborn, and prone to lashing out, and her family is unable to find a suitor for her because she’s now stabbed two of them in the hand with a fork (deserved, maybe overkill). Johan is an incredibly reluctant admiral of the dutch royal navy, a kind-hearted, captivatingly anxious man who would much rather be doing a nice artist residency in the countryside right about now.

Their families have a very long history, so ultimately they decide to just marry the two of them off to each other and be done with it. ‘won’t this be an absolute disaster and cause inevitable chaos’ probably. they don’t care.

Their engagement is short-lived but miserable; Aveline despises Johan for taking away the last scrap of freedom she had and trapping her in a life she hates (despite knowing that Johan really didn’t have a say in any of this). Johan resents her because he’s just trying to make the best of a bad situation, while she’s hellbent in making them both miserable.

(we won’t unpack how they both expected unhappiness from the start because the thought of marrying each other made them both feel sick – besties, you are gay. You’ll get there. It’s ok)

To skim over a Lot of things, Aveline runs off with pirates, Johan makes a series of mistakes that lead to him defecting from the navy and going on the run because he knows what will happen if the royal navy finds him. Despite all odds, they run into each other again. It’s a disaster, at first, until they realize some time apart has made a difference, and most importantly helped them realize they’re more alike than they thought. They’re a couple of scared, hurt kids, forced to grow up too fast, who want someone, something to pay for what was done to them. they spent years of their lives at each other’s throats and never stopped to think that maybe there was a bigger enemy to challenge that wasn’t each other.

Turns out when your every move isn’t controlled by your abusers, you can actually make decisions for yourself, and can decide not to ruin your own and someone else’s life over misplaced blame and defensive anger.

turns out if both of you are so intensely repulsed by the thought of being in a heterosexual marriage with anyone, let alone each other, maybe you are gay

and during all of it, they knew. The last thing anyone in the Montclair or Groeneveld families wanted was for Johan and Aveline to realize they’re better friends than enemies. Aveline’s mean, she wants blood on her hands, and Johan has the quiet, relaxed cunning that’s frightening in an angrier man and straight up dangerous in him. They’re a threat as a pair, ironically enough for the people who set them up to tear each other apart so they wouldn’t have to deal with them or acknowledge how badly they fucked up their kids.

Aveline wants to tear into her problems with her teeth. Johan is tired of being fearfully obedient and wants everyone to know it.

things aren’t fully right between them, not really, and won’t be for a very long time – too much history, too much of a lifetime of abuse at the hands of the same people – but things are good between them. one of those once-in-a-lifetime kinds of friendships. Regardless of the outcome, having someone to get angry with, to mourn the loss of a childhood with, to voice those thoughts kept close to their chest on the ways they hope those who hurt them will pay, it’s healing, and right now, they need each other (they always did).

And no matter what happens, if Aveline ever gets the revenge she dreams of, if Johan can have a life well-lived, in spite of being told he was always destined to fail, there’s one thing that won’t change:

Aveline is an only child, Johan is the only surviving Groeneveld son. There’s power in knowing the Montclair and Groeneveld bloodlines end with them.

#art #digital art #oc art #original characters #ocs #pirate ocs #oc: aveline montclair #oc: johan groeneveld #draws #illustration #digital illustration #artists on tumblr #digital artist #procreate #ipad art #procreate art #do NOT get it twisted!!!! these are platonic besties who used to be in a deeply toxic engagement #aveline is a huge lesbian and johan is a huge men enjoyer #tw blood #ok done with tags now. thanks for looking. bye

[crystallizabethine]

Dance With You: A Lavashipping Oneshot

Happy White Day!!! I had Cole/Kai A pairing for the @ninjago-valentine-exchange event!

Summary: Kai and Cole go to an LGBT dance and are cute together. Also Kai hasn't told Nya they're dating...

(2,531 words)

“Hey Kai guess what!”

Kai looked up from his phone as Cole came over and plopped down next to him on the couch. His boyfriend’s eyes were bright and he looked very pleased about something.

“What?”

Cole thrust two slips of paper towards Kai, “There's a LGBT+ dance happening at Laughy's Karaoke Bar tonight, and I got us tickets!”

Kai took the tickets from Cole and examined them. They were thicker than he thought they’d be. A glittery overlay shimmered over their surfaces as Kai read the words Admit One: Pride Prom! Food! Drink! Fun! 7:00-Midnight (ID required for alcoholic beverages)

Kai rubbed his thumb over the smooth, shiny slips, doubt in the back of his mind. “Cole, this is… really sweet of you, but you do know I don't know how to dance, right?”

“That's okay, I can teach you some moves! Besides, there's no one right way to dance, you just got to feel the music and let yourself move with it.” Cole let his arms wiggle around as he said that, and Kai smiled despite his initial qualms. Cole was just too adorable to resist.

“If you say so,” Kai answered, then immediately followed up with “Oh shoot, what should I wear?”

“I don't think it really matters,” Cole replied. “I mean it is a pride event, so, something gay?”

“Alright, Kai, something gay, something gay… something…gay…” Kai stared at the jumble of shirts on his unmade bed. So far all he’d found were some t-shirts, old ninja ghis from past seasons, and a sweater vest that he was pretty sure was actualy Zane’s. Despite that possibly being the gayest piece of clothing in the room, Kai didn’t even consider it. It was a bit too dorky for his taste.

Kai sighed and rubbed his chin in thought. Cole had said that dressing fancy wasn’t a requirement, but he’d forgotten one small thing about dating Kai: He was dating Kai, and Kai didn’t go anywhere looking only half his best. Kai turned back to the messy bed, rubbing his hands together, “Let’s do this!”

“Do what?”

Kai’s hands produced a sudden startled spark of flame, and he felt his insides shift as he whirled around to see Nya in the doorway, one hand on her hip, looking at him in curiosity.

“Oh, uhm, nothing! It’s nothing!” He started gathering up the shirts while still maintaining eye contact with his sister, “Just getting rid of some old shirts! Gonna revamp my wardrobe. Can’t have Jay owning more nice outfits than me, amiright?” Kai hoped his unsuspicious smile didn’t look as fake as it felt.

Nya puffed at some stray bangs that had fallen over her eye, “Are you going clothes shopping with Cole then? He mentioned you two were going out later.”

Oh he did, did he? Kai nodded, “Yeahp! Gonna drop off our old clothes at a thrift store, shop around, hit the arcade—bro stuff.”

“Ok, have fun! Jay and I are going out later too, so maybe we’ll run into each other!”

I highly doubt that.

Before Nya could say anything else, Jay’s voice rang out from across the hall, “Nya, have you seen my Miku binder?”

“Did you leave it in my room?”

Before Kai could question why Jay’s binder would be in her room, Nya had disappeared, leaving him alone with his sorry pile of unfancy clothes.

Kai picked up a red hoodie he hadn’t noticed before. The fabric sported a scaley flowery pattern, and there were flame designs going up the back and down the arms. Kai held it up to himself. “Welp, it could be gayer, but it’s the best we got.” Kai pulled the hoodie over his head and checked himself out in the mirror. He looked more cozy than fancy, but Cole was always telling him how cuddly he looked anyways so he supposed it wasn’t the end of the world. Though now that he looked closer at the pattern, he was reminded of one of Nya’s outfits, which gave him an idea…

“I can’t believe you stole Nya’s clothes!”

“Ah—hey, no, I borrowed them. Bor-rowed. There’s a difference, babe.” Kai checked his reflection in the rearview mirror of Cole’s car to make sure his eyeliner hadn’t smudged. It hadn’t and Kai winked at himself, grinning. “What do you think, Cole, Do I look pretty enough for you?”

Cole kept his eyes on the road, “I already told you you look amazing, but yes, Kai,” he stole a quick glance before looking ahead again, “Who knew a boob window would look so good on you?”

“I know!” Kai answered, “And she just had it in the back of her closet! I’ve never even seen her wear it before!” They paused at a stoplight. Daylight was nearly gone by now and the red glowed pleasantly on everything.

“You know,” Cole hesitated, “She probably would’ve given it to you if you’d asked.”

It was Kai’s turn to look ahead. His boyfriend was right, of course Nya would have. But she also would’ve wanted to know what he was dressing up for, and that… He sighed; he just wasn’t ready to tell her. He wanted to. He wanted to tell her everything about him and Cole, about how much he loved him, about the special times they spent together. But any time he imagined telling her there was a weight in his stomach that wouldn’t leave.

The strong warmth of Cole’s hand on his pulled him out of his thoughts. Cole squeezed gently, “It’s gonna be okay, Kai. Whenever you’re ready to tell her, she’ll understand.”

Kai smiled softly and held onto his hand the rest of the drive.

A giant rainbow banner hung above the entrance to Laughy’s, and balloons floated on either side of the doors. The music could be heard from outside and Kai hoped it wouldn’t be too loud in there.

“Fun fact, I’ve never been to a prom before,” Kai said after Cole had turned in their tickets.”

“And I’ve never been to one with a guy before!” Cole replied, eyes shining with excitement.

“Wait, really? Handsome guy like you?”

Cole shrugged, “I wouldn’t have gone at all if Dad hadn’t made me. He’d say that ‘no son of mine will miss an opportunity to outshine potential dance competitors under my watch!’”

"Pfft" Kai knew that Cole’s dad was trying to be better, but stories like these made him lowkey want to fight him.

“Him expecting me to go with girls didn’t help either.”

Kai winced in sympathy. Not there was anything wrong with girls, girls were amazing, cool, and pretty! But it must have sucked for Cole if he’d wanted to ask cute boys out instead.

Inside, the music was even louder, and the bar was decked out in sparkly streamers and colorful, rotating neon lights. There were people in different outfits standing around, dancing, and getting food from the bar. Kai saw Dareth serving drinks and vibing to the music when there was no one to be served. Near where Kai and Cole had entered, there was a photo setup with a cute background and a table to the side that was filled with silly trinkets and accessories to be used as props.

Kai tugged his boyfriend towards it excitedly, “Come on!” Once they were over there, Kai pulled out his phone to take some selfies of them. His breath hitched in surprise when Cole kissed his cheek for one of them., and Kai poked him in the ribs in the spot he knew was ticklish in response. This made Cole squeak at a higher pitch than either of them were expecting, and they both cracked up. Kai then remembered the props and grabbed some fancy glasses. Cole donned a hat that looked like a rotisserie chicken and handed Kai a sign that said “I can't dance” in a silly rainbow font.

After many, many more silly pictures, they turned their attention to the dance floor where a dozen or so couples were throwing it down to upbeat disco music. Cole looked at Kai excitedly and pulled him onto the floor.

Kai was elated to finally be there, but the music was extremely loud and pounded in his ears uncomfortably and he worried that he wouldn't be able to do this after all.

No, you can do this. This is really important to him.

However, the pounding in his skull needed to stop. “Hey Cole, could we move a little further away from the speaker?”

“What?” Cole asked over the noise.

Kai pulled him closer and repeated himself.

“Oh yeah sure!” Kai guided him as far away from the speakers as he could while still keeping them in the dance area.

Once they’d established their place in the room, Cole immediately started busting out moves. Compared to him, Kai felt stiff and awkward. He was still vibing with the music, but he couldn't help feeling eyes watching him from all around.

Don't focus on that, he told himself, focus on Cole. Focus on us. This is our night; it shouldn't matter what others think.

He found himself captivated by the way Cole danced. He did it so naturally, letting his body move to the beat and letting the music flow through him. It reminded Kai of how he looked when he was connecting with his powers, except more elegant and fluid. Cole was one with himself and his movements, and he was beautiful. Kai imagined that it was just the two of them there, and felt himself loosen up significantly.

“Feel the music and let yourself move with it.” Cole’s voice echoed in Kai’s head and he closed his eyes, leting himelf get lost to the current song’s beat.

His eyes flung open again when Cole suddenly decided to grab his hands and spin him around like a top and dip him. Kai found himself supended inches from the ground as his boyfriend’s golden brown eyes stared into his own.

Kai grinned, “Hello there!”

“Pfft, you’re a dork,” Cole responded with a small laugh as he pulled Kai back up to a standing position and held him close.

Kai’s heart melted at how cute Cole looked when he laughed, and he had half a mind to kiss that smile of his. Their faces were already so close… Cole seemed to have the same idea, because his eyes fluttered shut and he and leaned in, his lips parted slightly. Kai was about to meet him halfway, but right before he closed his eyes, he caught sight of two familiar figures entering the bar.

“Cole, there’s a problem,” He whisper yelled, feeling panic claw at his insides.

Cole looked at him in concern, “What, does my breath smell or something?”

“No, Nya and Jay are here!”

“What?” Cole glanced past Kai and his eyes widened in recognition.

Kai squeezed Cole’s hand, “What do we do?”

“Welp, face the music, I guess, cause Jay is waving at us.”

“WHAT?”

Kai’s mind was racing. He had to leave; he couldn’t let Nya see him. He wasn’t ready—oh my gosh they were coming this way…

“…and I mean now that I think about it, if they’re here at a pride event then there’s really nothing to worry about, right?” Kai barely heard Cole’s attempts to reassure him, because he’d locked eyes with Nya, who was giving him an unreadable look. Kai gulped, those looks were always the most worrisome with her.

Jay waved again as they got closer, “Hey, Kai! Cole! Didn’t expect to see you here!”

“Jay, bro!” Cole replied, and fist bumped him. Nya eyed Kai intentionally as their respective boyfriends continued talking, and Kai followed her to a quieter part of the bar, bracing himself for whatever his sister was about to say.

Nya looked him dead in the face, “Why haven’t you told us you two were together? Why didn't you tell me? I'm your sister. We’re supposed to tell each other stuff like this!”

“I dunno,” Kai mumbled, not making eye contact, “I guess I was worried you’d be upset for some reason.”

“Where did you get that stupid idea?” Nya asked, indignantly. “I’ve known you and Cole have been dating for months now, and you are perfect for each other! I’ve been waiting for you to tell me, but apparently you don’t trust me enough! Again, I'm your sister! I support you no matter what.” Nya pulled her brother into a hug, “I want you to be happy, Kai, you deserve it, especially after all we’ve been through. And I’m here for you if you ever need to talk about this stuff.”

Kai felt a bit of moisture in his eyes and returned the hug, holding onto Nya tightly. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. You really are the best sister, you know that?” He whispered.

“Oh, I know it.”

Kai snorted in amusement and Nya let go first. Kai then remembered, “I am confused though, why are you and Jay here? Aren't you straight couple?”

Nya looked at him funnily, “Jay is trans man Kai. It's an LGB-T prom, not just a gay prom.”

Kai slapped his hand against his forehead, “I don't know why I keep forgetting that. You are totally right!”

“Also, if you ever steal my clothes without my permission again, I will bust out your baby pictures to show Cole.”

“Oh no, anything but that!” Kai responded, half-jokingly, “but noted.”

A more calming, romantic song began to play, and Kai was suddenly pulled away from Nya and found himself face to face with Cole, who put a hand on his waist and began guiding him through simple dance steps. They swayed from side to side, gazing into each other's eyes. Cole was smiling at him with the cutest look of adoration on his face.

“What are you smiling at?” Kai asked him with a raised eyebrow and a curious smirk.

“Just about how gorgeous you are,” Cole answered.

Kai felt his face flush and he sputtered, “Yeah? Well, you are... really… rockin’?” Kai winced at how lame that sounded, but it just made Cole laugh.

“Oh my gosh that sounds like something Jay would say.” He snorted.

Kai looked Cole in the eyes, “Come on, give me a break. I’m used to being the one saying the smooth pick up lines, not the one getting them said to me!”

“You’re adorable. Hey, how’d it go with Nya?”

“She said she figured it out months ago.”

Cole chuckled, “Of course she did, can’t hide anything from her.”

Kai looked over at his sister—who was totally stealing the spotlight with Jay as they did their special dance routine—and smiled, “She also said we’re perfect for each other.”

“Damn right we are!” Cole pressed a kiss to Kai’s temple, “I love you so much, Kai!”

Kai knew that he would never get tired of hearing Cole say that to him. He pressed his forehead against Cole’s and replied, “I love you too, more than anything.” Then Kai kissed him on the dance floor, surrounded by people just like him, finally unafraid of what anyone would say.

Thank you for reading!!

The art I based the fic on was made by the talented @ninjapolis and can be found HERE.

The A03 version of this fic can be found HERE.

#ninjago valentine exchange #ninjago oneshot #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago fluff #kai x cole #cole x kai #lavashipping #ninjago lavashipping #hallo i'm here i'm queer i've fallen down the lavashipping hole and don't mind it here #ninjago cole #ninjago kai #ninjago nya #ninjago jay #trans jay #gay cole #bi kai #buncha fruit ninjas lmao

[jeanmoreaux]

literally yes to all i could not fall asleep either 😭

i think what's so bRILLIANT about tsc (besides, like, everything) is that nora seemed really nervous that her vision for the story and characters would get swallowed by the HCs the fans have been cooking for years, and while that still could happen in book 2, i felt like while i was reading it her vision was my vision - like i am positive we as fans have influenced her story and maybe jerejean won't turn into anything (i'll eat my arm fr) but that bitch at the very least was like "okay sure fine i'll give you mutual attraction" "i'll give you jerejean friendship and intimacy even if i may not give you sex or romance (just yet)"

and i think the other thing i was so overjoyed about was that even though the og AFTG is definitely (clearly) very queer, nora really stepped up and took it to a whole new level in this one with both the representation and just the overall tone - that like not only are a lot (all????) of the trojans open and together and so incredibly gay, but they're shaping the story and jean and making it less shameful to be gay in exy. like og aftg spent a lot of time being like "don't be gay! this is bad! you can't do this!" and while jean still harbors that (for his own fucked up reasons i'm gonna kms) it's obvious that the tone for this book is so much brighter and gayer.

and! the parallels between neil's story and jean's!!! like obviously we could write essays on that topic alone but in conjunction with that point i just made - seeing the similarities between the house taking in jean and the foxes taking in neil (his lack of possessions, their protectiveness, their attempts to normalize him, their creation of a safe space for him) literally made me want to gouge my eyes out it was so beautiful and sweet and fun and QUEER. like aftg always had aroace undertones and such a huge part of the aro/ace experience is friendship and queer friendship at that and so to get to see this kind of found family play out AGAIN but in a slightly different way with a whole group of gays who are out and proud and happy is just......everything

like it's not that i was *worried* persay because i do trust nora but you never know what you're gonna get with spin-off sequels and this fandom is like a rabid dog and so for her to bravely return to this world after years is amazing in itself but to do it in a way that is.......dare i say.......almost......better than the original.......it blows my mind. and it makes me appreciate the original series in new ways now that we'll have more info on the ravens and all of their bullshit. like i literally am sitting here being like....so....series reread tn queen????

if i wasn't insane before (i was) then i sure as hell am now

~

also. can we talk about jeremy's cheesy af dialogue that makes me squeal? thinking about him saying hecka with his full chest....i love that man

holding hands 🤝✨ felt alive yet so dead once i was done.

also what a glorious ask. i can co-sign all of this and i don’t think i have anything to say that adds value to your points. you’re so right.

nora is so brave for letting us back into that world. because as much as i love and adore this fandom’s passion, it can be intense is a quite negative way at times. so yes, nothing but respect for nora coming back and giving us Her version of the story. the small nods to us (blond jeremy, frosted tips, the cardboard dog etc.) were so very endearing. and i don’t want her to betray her integrity just for the sake of fanservice. i trust her to deliver a great story, even when some of the things i might want to happen will not end up being anything (e.g. jerejean). nora’s vision will feel right because whatever she decides to do and wherever she decides to take this story i know will make sense. it’s very funny to me that you mentioned how you think tsc might be better than the original because i had the same thought. i am hesitant to really settle on it one way or the other yet; mainly because i tend to get very excited about new, shiny things, but also because we don’t have book 2 yet and i think to really Know i have to consider the story as a whole. but you can definitely see that nora improved as a writer in general (which ofc makes sense.)

i fear this will remain THEE aftg year for me. i am already tempted to reread. i don’t think i’ll know a moment of peace from this story in the foreseeable future but i am not gonna complain i’ll just lean into it and indulge.

~

godddd i expected to love jeremy but i didn’t expect to fall for him this hard. several time i caught myself studying his way of engaging with people and made some mental notes. he’s so special to me. i think once we get his backstory it will get even worse. and he does offer a very different perspective and attitude that’s so very refreshing while still being in tune with what we are used to.

#looove this message with all my heart <3 #thank you so much for sharing all these thoughts!!! #tsc #tsc spoilers #mish reads tsc

[aprincessofthevoid]

But What Happens To You? Natan Fluff

Legit wrote this almost a decade ago and decided to clean it up just a lil to repost because I got locked out the old account it was on lmao.

Characters are from Satan and Me by @thisiskindagross and honestly I'm cackling at the fact my obsessed ass basically got their characters pretty dead on for how the story has since progressed.

Don't ask me to read over this fic again tho even if there are mistakes. it's honestly cringe as fuck and disgustingly adorable like i felt like I was intruding LMAO.

Also made me realize I'm gayer than I thought cus the times I use to write wayyyy more slash fiction I NEVER went into this much detail describing the men involved but there are PARAGRAPHS just describing how cute Natalie is here... anyway. Fluffy, cuddly makeout sesh while Satan and Natalie wait for the end of the world to come.

Word Count: 6502

Rating: T? (Some swearing, lil depressy Satan thoughts?)

Fluff n Kisses, Hurt Comfort? Idk man typical grumpy sunshine bullshit n they smooch xx

Nutshell: Natalie comes home acting stranger than usual, and when Satan pushes her to just spit it the fuck out already, things don't quite go as he expected, so he attempts to comfort her but he’s REALLY bad at it...

Natalie shoved open the front door with a harsh slam as it connected with the wall, tossing her school bag down at her feet. Satan could hear her frustrated huffing as she struggled to pull off her knee height brown boots, and her sigh of relief when she finally freed herself. Natalie headed further into the living room and draped her jacket over the back of the navy blue armchair opposite to the love seat that ‘Stanley’ was currently sprawled out on.

Satan spared a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, before turning his attention back to the television to the generic soap opera that had been playing in a marathon for the majority of the day. He hated to admit he was almost invested, waiting to see if the main protagonist's secret and of course evil twin, was going to walk in on their fathers brother that was having an affair with their mother. The mother who had kept her locked up all her life, hidden away from the rest of the family, or if the two lovers would manage to part just before the girl barged in with the revolver she had hidden under her dress, slipped into the band of her thigh high stockings.

           Eventually, she moved towards the couch, plopping down on the floor in front of it without a word. For the better part of the next two episodes she stayed silent, but it wasn't until the third was almost finished that he really began to take notice of how strange she was acting. Her silence was unsettling, and the way she had begun to nervously rake her fingers through the ends of her hair, was sending small twinges of pain in his own head. All the signs that she had something big on her mind, and that meant he had to care now too, because there was no escape from her aggravating twitching. If the issue wasn’t addressed it wouldn’t be long before the girl's head exploded from thinking too much.

“Girl just spit it the fuck out already, before you make both of us fucking bald” He spat, letting out an agitated huff. He snapped his head in her direction, already annoyed by the anticipation of whatever bullshit explanation was going to come out of her mouth. He noticed his sudden break in the silence had made her jump and she quickly dropped her hands to her lap, balling them into tight fists atop her knees. She spared a nervous glance towards him before snapping her head back down, staring into her lap as she spoke

“Oh, um, no, ha ha, nothing wrong! Just, ya know, schools a draaaggg, heh…” She punctuated her words with a dismissive wave of a hand, before returning it to her lap. He waited still, not convinced there wasn't more to this. But his hard gaze to the side of her head was not enough to intimidate the truth out of her, she sat in silence, wringing her fingers so hard he could feel the pressure in his own hands. Finally, with a loud groan he flipped upright fully, roughly grabbing her wrists to make her stop. 

“Can you fucking stop already?!” He shouted, causing Natalie’s head to jerk up to look at him with a start, the fear and panic in her expression stunned him momentarily causing his face scrunched up in frustration. What in the hell was her problem? He was sure they were well past her thinking he was going to cause her physical harm, so why was she so damn jumpy? Natalie tried but failed to force a smile that came out of a grimace, as she weakly attempted to pull her wrist out of his grasp. In reality any attempts to get away were pointless if he wanted to keep her somewhere even in his smaller form as Stanly, and she knew it too so why the hell was she still trying to wiggle out of his grasp? 

After a few more attempts at getting him to release her she gave up with a defeated sigh, her hand hanging limply between them, the silence felt suffocating. Satan really didn’t understand her, not in the least, one minute she was all happy go lucky smiling in the face of death while running straight into the impending doom cloud of the apocalypse. Probably riding a fucking rainbow unicorn with cotton candy sunshine powers, and now she was sat in front of him, acting like any NORMAL human should at the dawn of the end of the world… Which ironically was very much out of the ordinary for her.

“Seriously kid, you aren’t yourself right now, so what’s your problem?” Natalie took in a shaky breath, and Satan could feel her chewing on the inside of her cheek as she tried to find the proper words before she spoke.

“I just, I’m worried, is all… about… all this junk that’s going on, with Michael… all these crazy monsters that want me dead and to steal your powers… what dad is gonna think when he finds out the truth…” Her voice lowered in volume as she spoke, and he had to lean in slightly to make out the words. But he understood her worry for her father, the poor old man already thought he was losing it, especially after seeing a glimpse of his long dead wife, during the possible deal with Michael over Natalie’s soul. It was just a matter of time before the guy finally put it together and figured out he was the Devil who now owned his daughter's soul. 

He figured Natalie had known from the start that things wouldn’t be easy to keep their contract a secret for long, and although he was still confused as to why she chose now to begin collapsing under the pressure, he gave her credit for lasting as long as she did.

“Really kid, that's your problem? You didn’t honestly think you could hide the apocalypse of all things, from your father forever, did you?” He couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped him, it was honestly hilarious to think the girl planned on hiding the end of the world from her old man, he may be a little dense at times but he wasn't a complete idiot. Satan was genuinely curious how she planned on pulling this off, because no amount of sweet talk and lies could cover up this mess, regardless of their contract, the apocalypse was coming; for everyone, ‘for her’. 

His last thought was a sobering one, and his amused grin faltered slightly at the reminder, especially now that he knew Natalie, actually knew her, and had realized how strong she was both when they met and even now, ‘but not strong enough…’. Natalie had stayed silent, and he tilted his head to catch a glimpse of her face but she turned away ever so slightly, staring blankly across the room to avoid his gaze. Her breathing was shakey and he could now see that her entire body was almost vibrating in an attempt to keep herself together.

“Natalie?” His voice had come out quieter than he intended, Satan never said her name, it was a conscious choice to not use it In the beginning, he had mainly done it simply because it had annoyed her, just so she would feel the need to remind him that she had a name. For once there was no thought behind it, his genuine concern had seeped out in a barely audible whisper, and he could feel her unease after he spoke, a twisting of something awful in his stomach that made him want to be sick. His throat tightened and a heavy pressure built up in his head… and that was the moment he heard it, a small, muffled sound, the tiny sob that came along with the next words she spoke.

“…I’m worried about what will happen to you… if Michael wins… if the demons get locked away in hell… where do you go when you die?” Her voice cracked as she spoke, and the silence after was suffocating. It filled the room around them both, but he didn't have an answer for her. Everything was becoming too much, he was both too warm and too cold, disconnected, empty, smothered by the words and the implication of them bouncing around in his head… She was just too soft, too sweet, too close. 

He couldn’t handle it, couldn’t stand the thought of someone caring so much about him because it was always a lie ‘she’s safe’, he corrupted anything he touched with his filth ‘you can’t taint her’. There was no way this small human girl could honestly care, or should care rather, about what happens to the literal devil after the apocalypse ’but she does care let her be there for you’, this time he physically shook his head to get rid of the thoughts dropping her wrist like it burned him. From past experience he knew not to be so trusting and before he truly had the chance to think about his words, they came out far harsher than intended.

           "Where the fuck did that come from? And why do you even care? It’s not like it’s going to matter anyway because you’re too stubborn to break this contract. You’re going to die right along with me so there's no reason to be worrying about my ass when were both fucking screwed” The bark of laughter that followed his words was loud and bitter, he got up and angrily stomped towards the hall and heading upstairs by himself to calm down. Seeing her cry over his inescapable fate just made him feel more guilty, and that pissed him off, why the fuck did he feel guilty? But the only quiet escape he has was her room, because there was no way she would let him leave the house alone and he needed to get the fuck away from her before he resorted to smashing whatever he could grab to blow off steam. That of course would probably just end in another trip to church as punishment… And honestly, with how he felt right now, he probably deserved the pain and discomfort that would bring him.

As he rounded the corner he paused, just out of her sight, as her muffled sniffling had now turned to open sobs in the quiet house. He felt stuck, staring intently at the worn out red rug under him as he flexed his toes and felt the fibres shift under his feet, attempting to swallow around the newly forming lump in his throat with little success. He mentally kicked himself for yelling at her, especially at a time like this. Although he enjoyed other people’s pain and despair he didn’t enjoy hers, and seriously that really pissed him off. Gripping the door frame with a clawed hand, he dug deep gouges into the soft wood, and with a low snarl he turned around and stomped back out into the Living Room.

           Natalie had looked up just as Satan stopped in front of her. Seeing her red and puffy eyes with likes of makeup tear tracks streaking down her flushed face made him feel nauseous. She began to open her mouth again, likely to question what he wanted and why he was back, but before she could say anything that might make him second guess things, Satan grabbed onto her arm and pulled her up. He dragged her towards the stairs, and in her current distraught state she weakly protested, sniffing in an attempt to stop more tears from falling as she weakly tried to pull her arm from his grasp, despite him barely holding on she stood no chance of escaping. 

He dragged her all the way up the stairs, down the hallway and pushed her into her room, only letting go long enough to slam the door behind him, which caused all random papers and photos the girl had stuck to her door to fly off, scattering all over the floor. Satan shifted into what Natalie had referred to as his ‘drug dealer’ form, turning around to face her once again. She stood there with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her typical annoyingly extroverted, bubbly self, had been replaced with something he had only momentarily seen a few times before.

The times when she had brought him to visit her mother’s grave were the main ones, or the small handful of times some of his insults had gotten under her skin. The time Michael had brought her mothers soul to her in an attempt to forcefully break her contract with him was another one Satan could never forgive him for. It was that small flinch, the momentary silence before she would laugh and brush him off, the momentary anger she felt only seemed to make her feel guilty, and he would get this odd look in her eyes. It just wasn’t her… He shook away his thoughts, needing to focus on his current fuck up that was in need of fixing.

“Sit down” He gestured to the bed as he spoke, attempting to keep his voice as monotone as he could, it was a simple request she would hopefully be able to follow, even in her current state. She barely lifted her head, only glancing up at him through her lashes before quickly looking away. Satan could see her face was less red but her cheeks still looked damp, his hands twitched reflexively at the sight, and he had to resist the urge to wipe them away, a dull itch spreading across his palms. His whole body tensed, hands balled into tight fists at his sides to keep himself from doing something embarrassing.

Satan glanced around her room, at all the pictures, art and collectables she had lined along the walls and piled onto her bookshelf. Looking for some sort of distraction, anything that would help to shove the thoughts back down into wherever the fuck they came from with little luck. Natalie also didn't move immediately, but just as Satan thought he might lose his last bit of restraint, she slowly turned to walk towards the bed, gingerly sitting herself down on the very edge. She finally looked directly at him for the first time since she arrived home, waiting for further directions. 

He inhaled sharply, blowing the air back out through his nose as he moved towards her, stopping near the top of her bed. Leaning over he pulled down the pile of old blankets until there was enough room for her to climb into, before standing up once again, choosing to stare across the room again rather than look at her. He settled on her dresser mirror, which was surrounded by pictures and postcards both new and old, following along the line of photos, his eyes on a picture of the two of them, wedged into the upper corner. It was one that she had made him take on her birthday, a rare occurrence where he wasn’t sporting his signature frown, which appeared in almost all the other pictures she had of him. 

It was almost surreal to see his own face looking so normal and happy… he quickly looked away again, choosing instead to stare at the floor, yet another failed attempt to clear his mind of the thoughts that had been bombarding him recently. Thankfully the kid understood the silent request a little quicker this time, and she carefully climbed over the mound of blankets and pulled the layers up over her legs. Once she had gotten settled fully he sat himself down on the edge of the bed with his back to her, neither of them saying a word for a long moment. It wasn’t until he heard her quiet sniffing resume, as if she was going to cry again. 

At that his head whipped around to face her, once again Natalie avoided looking at him, with her head bent down and chin pressed against her chest. Satan didn’t know why the sight bothered him so much, it shouldn’t be getting to him at all he had seen plenty of humans cry. The literal devil shouldn’t care this much especially not about a human girl being upset ‘but you do care’. That stupid fucking voice in the back of his head was whispering to him again, it wasn’t the same as those voices, not even close, those would scream and bombard him with a constant flow of disgustingly twisted words, words he use to think was the honest truth. Which was sometimes more painful than the things the souls trapped in eternal damnation use to say about him. 

No, this calm little voice seemed to speak up at all the wrong times for a completely different reason, an ever optimistic back seat driver, this girl must really be working her way under his skin and he hated it! ‘That’s a lie’. Cursing under his breath, once again being called out by his own budding conscience, he tilted his head down, to get a better look at her face and she glanced up ever so slightly, a quiet humourless laugh escaping her lips.

“Yeah I know I’m a baby” She muttered, toying with the fraying edge of her quilt.

“I didn’t say anything.'' He really hadn’t, although he didn't really think about how out of character his actions would look to her. Satan shouldn't be surprise she thought he was basically just torturing himself by pretending to give a fuck about her emotional well being, because in the beginning that's what he did. But the longer he was forced to interact with her due to their contract, the urge to constantly insult her had dwindled and he had actually grown quite fond of her. He was finding it increasingly more difficult to deny the things that quiet, happy little voice kept saying to him.

“You don’t have to say it…” She spoke in a muffled whisper as she sniffed again and rubbed a hand across her face in frustration as the tears that continued to fall down her face. With how pathetic her voice had sounded, Satan honestly had to fight back a snort, she really did know him so well, that even when he was making the conscious effort to not be a prick she knew what his initial reaction would be (and to be fair she was being a bit of a baby but he wasn’t gonna tell her that… not yet anyway).

Shuffling further up the bed, he turned himself until he was seated next to her, leaning against the headboard, which caused her to eye him wearily. But he couldn't or rather, wouldn't look directly at her, if he did he probably wouldn't be able to go through with this, and the struggle to resist not running away and hiding was already quite the fight. Pulling up one of her pillows he propped it upright against the wall next to his torso, the only other movement he made was to stretch his arm out, still not looking directly at her.

Satan could barely see her reaction out of the corner of his eye, she had stopped crying at least but now appeared utterly confused, her nose scrunched up, mouth downturned in a small pout. Swallowing thickly, he once again appeared to be very interested in something on the other side of the room, there was no way he could let himself back out now or she would never let him live it down. Natalie pushed herself back against the oversized pillow ever so slowly, until her back finally came in contact with his arm. He couldn’t help but notice how soft her hair was, the sweet fruit and floral smell of her shampoo and perfume made his head feel fuzzy. 

Satan was pressed tightly into the wall behind him and he could feel his shoulder blades grinding against it as he shifted, finding it difficult to relax enough to find a comfortable position without disturbing Natalie. When he noticed her wearily mirroring his anxious posture next to him he shuffled slightly down the bed so he was slouching into the pillows behind him more comfortably, forcibly lowering shoulders so arm laid more naturally against the back of the pillow despite still feeling so tense, his hand loosely hung down over her shoulder gently grazing her arm. 

She continued to wiggle and shift around awkwardly, seemingly trying to avoid touching anything except the arm he had draped behind her. Eventually he had enough of her endless squirming and with an annoyed scoff he gripped her shoulder and pulled her into his side. She let out a shrill startled squeak as she was suddenly pulled into his side, he could feel her turn her head to look up at him, her hair tickling his arm where it was wrapped tightly around her. Satan felt his face grow hot as he avoided her gaze. It took everything in him to resist turning towards her, to continue ignoring how soft she felt pressed against him, her breath against his neck while she stared up at him patiently. He couldn't think about how trusting she was, or the calming smell of her perfume.NO he had to fight against those thoughts… for the sake of his own sanity. 

Thankfully it didn’t take long for the kid to realise she probably wasn’t getting any explanation and rather than trying to make him talk like she normally would, she shuffled slightly, adjusting herself until she was more comfortably pressed against his side, pulling her knees up to rest against his legs. Natalie laid her head down on his chest, lifting the arm that wasn’t trapped between them and hesitantly resting it against his ribs, tucked under her chin. Satan had to consciously remind himself to take slow steadying breaths to calm himself. As much as the girl got on his nerves at times, she had been through quite a bit since they’d met. He hadn’t really been helping lessen her stress levels, so despite his usual no touching rule he owed this to her.

Using his free hand, he carefully pulled the quilt up over them until it reached her neck, draping it over her shoulders and his arm that was wrapped around her. Satan had not been paying attention to how long it had been, but they stayed there long enough he began to notice the light from her bedroom window fading. By now she had seemingly calmed down the tension having left her shoulders, he finally took the chance to glance down at her to find she was fast asleep. Snoring lightly, Satan noticed a few pieces of her hair had slipped down over her face, and he paused for a moment before lifting his hand to gently brush them behind her ear, fingers lingering on the skin of her cheek for a short moment. He gently brushed his thumb over her tear stained face, before pulling back and resting his arm across his stomach. 

“You’re something else kid…” She really was the biggest mystery to him, because who in their right mind would feel content to fall asleep curled up next to the literal personification of hell itself?. Right from the beginning her initial fear of meeting him had faded rather quickly, and she fell into the role of his contractor. In the beginning Satan felt she took her job just a little too seriously, but the longer he was with her the more he saw she was a great help for himself. If only because she gave him no other options, she saw right through him and all his bullshit, honestly she was the only person that even bothered to find out more about him, to truly know him as something other than the king of hell. 

As much as he hated to admit it, her scrutiny was both comforting and horrifying. The more she pushed his buttons or she forced herself into his personal space out of genuine concern, the more she broke down the barricades that he had built up over the centuries… The less he minded what she saw, which had shocked him to his core initially to realize that maybe he wanted her to see more of him. Darkness, hatred, and self loathing was all he saw when forced to look within, but somehow Natalie had found good, somehow she saw a light in him that he couldn't yet, and she was determined to make him see it too someday. He honestly began to wonder if the light she saw was her own, if she had given him a small piece of herself, buried it in his chest to scare away the shadows, sacrificing some of her happiness to help his stubborn ass heal. With a weary sigh, he couldn’t help but voice his thoughts out loud.

“You may be a major pain in my ass Natalie, but ya know, I’m glad it was you I got stuck with” It was thee truth, he couldn’t help it. This girl made him feel things he thought he had long since forgotten, was a natural thing with her, and there was no way around it. 

“Not that I haven’t considered smothering you in your sleep, because I have, but I never did… I couldn’t bring myself to actually hurt you… Even hurting your feelings makes me feel bad sometimes. How’d that happen?” He trailed off, not really sure how to explain what she had done to him. Glancing down he watched her face as she slept, she looked so calm, all the stress from the looming apocalypse had disappeared from her features. Her cheek was pressed against his chest pushing her lips out into a little pout, Satan found himself focusing on her lips just a little too long, before quickly turning his eyes away, kicking himself for being a creep while she slept next to him.

He instead focused on the hand she had resting on his chest. She really was tiny compared to him, her hands were small and delicate, but he also knew she could throw a good punch when she needed too. She was strong for a human, not so much in the physical sense, but her will, and it was something he admired about her; even if her sassy nature pissed him off every so often, it pissed Michael off more. He couldn’t help the small smirk that came to his face at the thought, Michael was extremely annoyed with the fact that from the beginning, Natalie preferred Satan, and anybody else for that matter, over him.

“I know I’m an asshole, it’s in my nature, but I hope you know I don’t really hate you, not completely anyway. But you are kind of a bitch at times, and being tied to a teenager still isn’t at the top of my list of favourite things… but you’re not, completely horrible”

He felt Natalie shift slightly, and tensed at the movement, and before he could really react, Natalie sat up and faced him. He was frozen in place, as they watched each other, and then the kid did something that really threw him off. Using the hand between them as leverage, she leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, lingering there for a few seconds before pulling away and laying her head back on his chest, pressing against his side more firmly.

“I love you too ya big marshmallow” He coughed and sputtered for a moment before falling silent, his entire body felt heavy, and the tightness in his chest made it hard to breath. Looking down at her again, all he could see was the top of her head. He couldn’t help how his voice shook as he attempted to speak

“Natalie?” She lifted her head up towards him, a faint look of confusion on her face, her hair flopped over in her face once again. And that was it. As much as he would tease her about it, she really was quite pretty. Not in the supermodel sense, she was no Cleopatra that’s for sure. But her soul, she was so bright, even from his view; and he couldn’t help but wish he could see what Raphael could. But he wouldn’t ever have a true complaint about the parts he could see… with that, he couldn’t take it any longer

“I…” His words wouldn’t come out, and as Natalie looked more and more worried, there was only one way he could tell her what he was trying to say; he hesitantly lifted the hand that had been resting on his stomach to move her hair out of her face, brushing his knuckles against her cheek, before gently lifting her chin up towards him. Quickly leaned down he pressed his lips to hers, no thought or plan to it, his resolve had finally caved and he was acting on pure impulse by this point.

Her reaction was to be expected as she went completely still sucking in a sharp breath at the contact, though to his surprise she didn’t pull away immediately. He manoeuvred his hand to rest at the nape of her neck, gently supporting her head as he softly pressed into her more firmly. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, afraid to face the rejection that was inevitably coming once he retreated, only staying in place a few moments longer, savouring the soft warmth of her lips, the taste of her peach flavoured gloss, of what would likely be their first, and last kiss. Pulling away ever so slightly, he rested his forehead against hers, feeling her light panting breath flutter against his lips which sent a shiver down his spine and he inhaled shakily.

Neither one dared move, the silence once again felt smothering, Natalies soft breathing was almost drowned out by the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his head and he wished for an easy escape, to run away like he always had before. But there was no escaping this time, what he had done wasn’t something that could be easily forgiven and would be even harder to forget. He waited for her anger, for her to slap him and demand an explanation, for her to send him to spend the night on the roof outside, all of which he would deserve. He wasn’t expecting the light touch of Natalie’s free hand lightly cupping the side of his face, or the gentle stroking of  her thumb across his cheekbone. He didn't expect her shuddering breath against his lips or the small trembling in her hand that spread through her body, it was hard to focus on anything else with just how god damn warm she was pressed against him. But the one thing he really wasn’t expecting, was the tentative brush of her lips on his own.

He froze, body tensing at the contact as his thoughts began to race, scrambling to process the fact she had kissed him back, ‘she is kissing you back’. Satan felt the soft quirk of her smile against his lips and it was just enough to snap him out of his daze. His arm around her shoulder had moved to her waist pulling her further up his torso and holding her tightly. The hand at the nape of her neck tightened as he returned her shy kiss a little more firmly, barely pulling away with a short gasp before pressing back into her with more urgency.

The hand that was softly stroking his face had since moved to the back of his neck, as she raked her fingers through his hair. Satan couldn’t help the shiver accompanied by a low growl let out against the girl’s lips as her nails scraped against his skin, and this reaction seemed to give her a little more confidence. She pried her other arm from between them, wrapping it around his neck gripping onto his opposite shoulder for support. He could feel her heartbeat racing where she was pressed against his chest, hard and fast, her breath a heavy panting into his mouth each time their lips parted ever so slightly; and he was no better. He was losing his composure, he could feel as his teeth began to sharpen of their own accord, as his horns just barely sprouted out his forehead, taking every ounce of willpower to not lose control. 

He finally managed to tear himself away from her lips with a deep groan, opening his eyes to look at the girl that both ripped him apart and held him together. Natalies was studying his face carefully, the green of her eyes was almost completely swallowed up by her pupils. Neither one dared move for father knows how long, until Satan finally took the initiative, sitting up he loosened his grip on her slightly leaning into her, and Natalie followed his lead, allowing him to lay her down across the head of the bed. Hovered over her, propped up on his elbows either side of her face, he couldn't help but to admire her below him. The soft red of her hair framed her flushed face perfectly, her big doe eyes staring up at him so eager and trusting, made his whole body feel hot. 

Her mouth parted slightly, her chest heaving with every panting breath she took, and her lips were still red and swollen from his relentless assault. He was enjoying his perfect view, taking in her flustered state, what he had done to her. But apparently he was taking just a little too long for Natalie's liking, as she snapped him away from his thoughts when she gripped the collar of his dress shirt pulling him down to meet her lips once again, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. He really didn’t deserve her, in no way, shape or form, she was so fragile compared to him, as most humans were. Her soft tender frame and calm demeanour, her open affection, her mortality… A stark contrast to his tall ridgid muscle, fabricated to make him more intimidating, full of anger and hatred for these humans who cursed him to eternal damnation. He didn't deserve her and she certainly didn’t deserve him, she didn't deserve his anger, the danger of the apocalypse, none of it. Everything about them screamed that the two didn’t fit together, but right now, by some crazy miracle they seemed to slot together perfectly.

She must have sensed his wandering thoughts, as he felt a gentle scrape of her teeth against his bottom lip. He instinctually returned the gesture by biting down on her own lip with more pressure, digging his fangs into the soft flesh, greedily swallowing up her surprised squeak as he held back the urge to dig his claws into her bed spread. Everything still felt too warm, but he couldn’t bare the thought of being separated from her even for a moment. Cradling her head in his hands, he pried himself away from her lips to pepper kisses all over her face as she; the corners of her mouth and along her cheeks, her forehead down her nose. Before slowly and softly, pressing small, deliberate kisses down the side of her face, until he met with her jawline, panting heavily against her neck, waiting. Watching her face for a sign, anything to tell him this was alright, as much as he was desperate to touch the rest of her, the last thing he wanted was for her to feel pressured. He wouldn’t dare do any more than what she would allow him.

She squirmed under his weight, anticipating his next move, but when he didn’t advance she finally opened her eyes to look back at him. The sun having long set Satan couldn't be sure how long they had been there, hell even if the sun came up he’s not sure he would have even noticed right now. Eventually Natalie was the one to break the silence, her voice came out with a slight tremble. 

“So um… What now? Y-you know a lot more… about this stuff than I do…” She chewed the skin on the inside of her cheek as she spoke, and he could feel the sensation in his own. Despite the electric feel in the air and the position he had her in, it wasn’t as much a sensual thing as it was an adorable one. The grin that spread across his face as he dropped his head down letting out a deep rough laugh against her neck, seemed to confuse her for a second, but he could see the small twitch in the corner of her mouth. A smile eventually spread to her own face, and with a soft giggle she leaned in to press a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth before dropping her head back down. Satan ran his fingers through her hair, watching the strands fall lightly to the bed as he played with the softly curled locks. Her eyes drooped closed slightly at his actions, a small hum of approval escaping her lips.

“You should probably get some sleep, kid. You look like you need it” With that, he gently wedged an arm underneath her, lifting her back up to a sitting position. With the motion, her grip on his neck tightened again, and in her half asleep state she refused to let go of him as he tried to tuck her into bed properly.

“Noooo, stay. with me…please?” came her mumbled reply against his neck.

“I’m not going anywhere kid… now come on you need to go to sleep” He struggled to manoeuvre himself so he could lay down, which proved more difficult when she still wouldn’t let go of him. After a few failed attempts, he huffed and gently pried her arms from around her neck. He would not admit that the small groans of disapproval she made were adorable, even though they were... Eventually Satan managed to get them both better situated, laying down he pulled her against him and she buried her face in his chest while he rested his chin on the top of her head. It wasn’t long at all before she seemed as if she had fallen asleep, breathing softly against him, as he gently stroked up and down her back.

“Goodnight Natalie.” a whisper against her hairline, not really meant for her to hear. He didn't use her name often but realised after tonight, he really might have to start. Honestly he was starting to get used to the idea. 

“Goodnight Satan” Her small tired reply came as a barely audible whisper, and he gave her one final squeeze as he placed a final kiss to her forehead before closing his own eyes. Even if he couldn’t sleep, he could still enjoy the peace her presence brought him.

#monster lover #monster bf #cute #fluff #satan #satanandme #satan and me #Natalie McAllister #cringe #thisiskindagross #Orange plum #old fic #natan #satanxnatalie #my writing #aprincessofthevoid writes #words #romance #angels #demons #fallen ones #lol

[knchins]

Double Dipper - Gojo S. & Getou S.

Summary:  After seeing the way his best friend looks at you, Getou Suguru decides to put your relationship to the test. A little indulgence never hurt anyone, right?

Pairing: Getou x Reader x Gojo; Some Getou x Gojo

Reader Type: AFAB - Gender Neutral

Rating: E+

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: No curses AU, established relationship, dubcon, yandere behavior, consensual drug use (ecstasy), cuckolding, cheating (kind of?), a lil degradation, restraints/bondage, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, oral sex (M receiving), unsafe sex, creampie, overstimulation, some begging ig, some not so great aftercare

Notes: I'm not sorry for how gay this gets at the end. Tempted to write an even gayer part two.

No one knew Gojo Satoru better than Getou. After over a decade of friendship, his mannerisms, expressions, and habits all had been ingrained into Suguru’s mind. There was nothing Gojo couldn’t say or do that surprised him. At least, that was what he had always told himself. 

You and Getou had gotten together about a year ago. It started as a one-night stand that turned into something more permanent. Dating was the word you had used but Suguru had felt that it was something deeper than that. He found himself never wanting to be apart from you. He always looked forward to seeing you day after day and missed you on the nights you weren’t warming his bed. 

Getou Suguru wasn’t just in love. He was obsessed. 

About a month ago, he noticed a change in his best friend’s behavior. His crystal blue eyes would hang on your form just a little too long or the dazzling smile he flashed at you was too similar to the ones he made at future conquests. Getou wasn’t a jealous man by nature but that didn’t mean that he didn’t find himself holding you a little tighter, a little closer, and for a little longer. 

He didn’t act on his intuition until the three of you were drinking together, home after a night on the town visiting different clubs and bars. He couldn’t deny the way you looked back at Gojo, as if he was good enough for you to devour. Gojo had been laying it on strong all night. His hands had even wandered over your frame a few times while Getou allowed the two of you to dance. 

Your skin was hot from the alcohol and maybe the little something your boyfriend had slipped to you. He told you it would make you feel good, don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe, had been his exact words when he placed the small pill on your tongue. It was identical to the one he had given to his best friend, the one who was concealing half a hardon with careful placement of his legs. 

Every brush of Gojo’s fingertips on your skin had you feeling like you were on the edge of reality. Your mouth watered for him, pussy clenched any time he slurred your name, and while your hand rested on his thigh, you finally connected eyes with your boyfriend who looked rather pleased with himself. 

Getou stood, moving to stand in front of you. He bent down as Gojo watched with hazy vision. Gojo wasn’t the only person he knew like the back of his head. He knew you just as well despite not knowing you for nearly as long. “You want to fuck him don’t you?” Getou asked with a smile on his face despite the bitterness in his underlying tone. “You can’t keep your hands off him, can you, pet?” 

A laugh vibrated in your chest, light and giggly as you tried to form a thought sober enough to defend yourself. That was ridiculous . You found Gojo obnoxious and pompous. He thought he was the best at everything and even though his midnight flings claimed he was a god in bed, you knew that no one could best Suguru. 

That’s ridiculous is what you wanted to say. That’s what you thought your brain had told your mouth to utter. “I want to fuck both of you,” is what came out, much to the horror that was trapped inside the tiny piece of you that was coherent. 

Gojo let out a low laugh, his erection growing as Getou looked between to two of you with mock surprise. “I know you want to fuck her, Satoru.” He said pointedly and Gojo didn’t deny it. He simply shrugged in response. “Get up, both of you.” 

The two of you stood and you found your knees shaking beneath you as your boyfriend rested a large hand on the small of your back. “What a greedy little slut you are,” He hissed into your ear and you could feel your underwear dampening with your slick. “You want two cocks? You think you deserve that?” 

Words were trapped in your throat as he led you into his bedroom, Gojo in tow and already stripping off his clothes. Getou grabbed your wrist, pulling out the restraints that were anchored beneath his mattress and locking both wrists into them, one on either side of the bed. “Since you want to be a whore, I’ll treat you like one.” 

“Suguru,” Your voice came out as pathetic and whiney. Your thighs were rubbing together, desperate for friction. You wanted to be scared by his harsh tone, by the insults he was hurling at you, but instead, it only made you more aroused. Excitement ran up your spine as he used a pocket knife to cut off your clothes. You found yourself naked in front of the greedy eyes of Gojo who had only seen glimpsed of your nude body before. 

Getou took a seat in a nearby chair, leaning back as he watched Gojo take off his boxer briefs. He admired his friend’s rock-hard cock as it slapped against his stomach and dribbled precum in anticipation. A part of him wanted to ask Getou what he was thinking and if he was really okay with this. But his inhibitions were utterly gone, the sight of having you tied up just for him was making him become absolutely feral. 

He pumped himself a few times, his dick feeling heavy in his hand. The bed dipped down under his weight as he crawled on top of you. Wet sloppy kisses were placed on your lips, your jaw, your neck, anywhere he could possibly reach without moving positions. He sucked bruises into your skin, wanting to leave something for you to remember him by as this could be a once-in-a-lifetime chance to fuck his best friend’s partner. 

You squirmed, each brush of Gojo’s lips making you jerk. You tried to pull away. The restraints held you firmly in place, and you almost regretted ever gifting them to Getou for your anniversary. Your eyes could hardly focus, bouncing from one man to the other. Your boyfriend’s face was cold and calculating, something you’d never seen from him before. Somewhere a hazy thought drifted by that he might be upset with you, but it was hard to concentrate on it when there was another man sucking on your chest with enough force to leave dark marks. 

“‘Toru,” Your voice was wispy, buried beneath your tiny whimpers and his groans. “Too rough,” A pained cry made its way out of your mouth as he bit down on the swell of your breast to leave two rows of marks that resembled his perfect teeth. 

Gojo didn’t really care if he was being too rough or not. His thoughts weren’t on you and your pleasure, they were only focused on his own. He wasn’t normally so selfish in bed but right now, under the weight of the ecstasy his best friend had given him, he was too far gone to care if you were enjoying it or not. This was, after all, what Getou had wanted. He wanted Gojo to use and abuse you just so your eyes would never stray from him again. 

A moan passed your lips as his thumb came to rub slow, deliberate circles around your clit. His mouth pulled away from your body long enough to watch the strained expression on your face. You were trying so hard not to enjoy it, trying to keep the moans from tumbling out as Gojo ran two fingers along the slick folds of your sex. 

“Does she always get this wet so easily, Suguru?” Gojo taunted, his words half-slurred as Getou merely grinned in response. It was not a warm smile, but rather something more wicked and sinister. 

You felt like you were burning under the heat coming off of Gojo’s body. The air in the room was thick with the smell of arousal. The stuffiness made it more difficult for you to breathe and you found yourself torn between wanting to be plowed by the two closest men in your life and running away to get some fresh air. 

His two digits traced the outside of your twitching hole before diving in, curling slightly as he searched for that one spot that would make you scream for him. Your hips bucked when he pressed against a patch of tissue that felt a little more spongy than the rest. “That’s it,” Gojo practically hissed out as a look of sheer desperation crossed your face. “Tell me you want me.” 

It was an order. His hand was still, fingers knuckle deep as you wiggled your hips in any way you could to get yourself off. You saw sparks when his thumb slightly brushed against your clit and the sensation felt so intense that you found yourself becoming overwhelmed.

 “I want you,” You stammered, your voice still breathy and light. Your eyes were glued on his, unable to look away from the mesmerizing pattern of blues in his irises. “‘Toru, please,” you didn’t recognize the voice as your own. It wasn’t like you wanted to cheat on your boyfriend, but the drug-induced haze made it hard to see through your own lust. 

Besides Suguru was feeling more than pleased with himself as he watched closely. His cock was hard in his leather pants, the discomfort felt more like a punishment for having ever trusted the two of you. “Please what?” He probed, knowing what the answer would be as your eyes rolled back as Gojo gently rubbed your clit again. 

“Please fuck me!” Your voice went up and octave as he began to move his fingers at a fast pace, his thumb meeting your clit every time it was within reach. Moans mixed with incoherent begging began to echo in the room as your hips met his rhythm to maximize your pleasure. Gojo was stroking himself in his free hand, the edges of his vision blurring as he tried to focus on your gorgeous face. Knowing you were becoming undone by him instead of your boyfriend was the hottest thing he had ever seen. 

You were cumming within minutes, though it felt more like hours. Time was slowing, bending, and reality felt like it was fraying as the first wave of endorphins crashed down and swept over you. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt like you were drowning in the sensations alight all over your body. The dampness of the sheets, the heat of your skin, the ache of want as Gojo pulled out his fingers and held them out to Suguru to show him a job well-done. 

Getou grabbed Gojo’s wrist and unceremoniously took his fingers into his mouth. He sucked, tongue rolling over them to taste your cum as Gojo’s cock pulsated in his own hand. Getou pulled away, looking pleased by Gojo’s reaction, a faint blush present on the tops of his cheeks and nose. Suguru sat back once more, satisfied by what he had done. 

Gojo turned back to you. He watched your chest heave with heavy breaths, head still spinning from the intensity of your orgasm. He grabbed your legs and forced you into a mating press position, his large hands on the backs of your thighs as his tip met your entrance. 

You blinked lazily, mind blank until you felt something push into you without any sort of warning. Gojo’s slender but long cock glided into your wet pussy with ease. Suddenly you tightened, some small form of clarity coming to you as you realized what was happening. A piece of you wanted to stop it, the piece that loved Suguru with every ounce of your being. However, the drug-induced haze took back over as Gojo buried himself to the hilt. A perfect fit. 

Gojo groaned at how you clenched around him, your body shaking as you whimpered at the intrusion. Still overstimulated from your last orgasm, you attempted to twist your form in order to force him out. He merely pressed your knees to your chest even harder to keep you still, growling something at you that you didn’t quite catch. 

He snapped his hips into you with as much force as he could muster, not caring if he bruised your poor cervix as he bullied you into further submission. Each thrust ran a bolt of electricity up your spine. Tiny shocks of pain melted into pleasure as you cried out with each thrust, his balls smacking your ass in time with your mewls.��

Getou sat, mesmerized by the visual in front of him. He stood, finally freeing his aching cock from his pants. He pumped his hand over his length, groaning as he found Gojo was staring at him. “You want me to want you too?” He said in a low tease, making his best friend curse, though his movements never faltered. 

Gojo tilted his head back as he increased his pace, his hips moving more fluidly now instead of choppy like before. A knot was winding tightly in the pit of your stomach, the tension growing stronger with each thrust. Getou moved onto the bed, his flushed tip now in your face as you opened your mouth obediently for him. 

He put his tip against your tongue before guiding it to the back of your throat. Your lips wrapped around him as you sucked hard, your tongue moving against him in quick flicks. It was hard to concentrate enough on doing both, but Getou didn’t care how well you could suck him off. He was ready to fuck your throat, not looking for a simple blowjob. 

He grabbed the back of your head, keeping it anchored in place as he pulled out before thrusting back in. Drool spilled out around his dick, slipping to soak his balls and the pillowcase beneath you. Gojo couldn’t keep his eyes off Getou, who seemed to be in control of the both of you. It occurred to Satoru that he had orchestrated this entire thing, from suggesting the three of them go out, to the drugs, to putting you in restraints. Everything had been calculated and thought out carefully. 

Getou’s Cheshire grin was on Gojo now. He grabbed him by the sweaty chin and brought him in for a deep kiss. Your eyes widened, clenching around Gojo again as he slowed down slightly before picking back up at his brutal pace, the knot inside of you finally snapped. Your moans were muffled by the mouthful of your boyfriend’s dick. The same boyfriend had his tongue down another man’s throat. Somehow it seemed like he was getting even one way or another. 

Gojo pulled out of Suguru’s gasp, a line of spit connecting their lips as he shuddered through his own orgasm. Hot semen released inside of you and Gojo continued to move for a few more thrusts before pulling out and sitting back on his knees. Getou increased the pace of his own hips, choking you until tears were welling in your eyes, looking down at you with warm eyes once more and cooing kind words until he came into your mouth. 

You swallowed as he pulled out and he used a thumb to wipe a tear away. “Good job, pet.” He murmured as he released you from your bindings. Satoru lay down in the bed next to you, Suguru joining you on the other side. Your mind was still reeling, still moving a hundred miles per hour as you took deep, heaving breaths. 

Your head moved from one side to the other, looking at Gojo with half-lidded eyes before turning to face Getou. You felt arms wrap around you from behind and a face plant inside between your shoulders as Suguru kissed your forehead. “Don’t worry,” He said, reading your expression clearly, “There will be a round two.”

#getou x reader #getou x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #getou suguru smut #getou suguru #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #suguru geto x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #gojo imagine #gojo x gender neutral reader #getou x gojo #getou x y/n #gojo x y/n #satosugu #gojou satoru x you

[doomsday-dj]

Omg so glad you had a good writing day! Sending all the good vibes for more 🙏 this is actually the anon from before, I just thought I’d let you know that I have started the show and I’m only three eps in but oh my GOD it’s even gayer than I thought ??? Jane skipping out on dinner with that man to go to the morgue and have wine with Maura…. Jane not believing the man when he said how good she looked and asking Maura…. She will only ever seek Maura’s approval thank you. Also it’s now my headcanon that Jane makes extra peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches just for maura, but maybe she’s too shy to admit that and pretends she just didn’t want her own ??? I’m still getting to grips with their characters haha

Having, actually! It's still going. And thanks! Not sure which anon from before you are, because I think there's been a few lately, but welcome back. :) The first few episodes are such a goddamn goldmine. Like they're just a blast. Obviously the pilot is just volley after volley of the gayest shit, the nose setting, the climbing into bed together, but let's not forget that Jane Rizzoli says "guess it's a chick thing" when Dean turns down some tuna, and I would like to know exactly how the writers meant that, if not homosexually (and crassly). And then in the next couple episodes you get softball, you get Jane's incredible reaction to being called a skinny, greaseball, dyke detective, you get your first glimpse of the profoundly lesbian way Jane drinks beer, you get Maura asking if Joe Grant is sexy "in a male sort of way."

Honestly, it's a delight. It's too bad the show becomes such a slog later on because man, it's so fun at first, even without a payoff. I'm glad you're enjoying it (and very cute headcanon about the fluffernutters).

#ask doomsday #rizzoli and isles