Can we talk about why Pedro Pascal is actually truly fucking hot?
Like yeah, he's objectively attractive. He's funny. He's a fantastic fucking actor. He's unproblematic. He loves his family.
But what really makes him truly fucking attractive is his advocacy for human rights, trans rights, womxns rights, LGBTQ+ rights, climate change, black rights.
some people think writers are so eloquent and good with words, but the reality is that we can sit there with our fingers on the keyboard going, “what’s the word for non-sunlight lighting? Like, fake lighting?” and for ten minutes, all our brain will supply is “unofficial”, and we know that’s not the right word, but it’s the only word we can come up with…until finally it’s like our face got smashed into a brick wall and we remember the word we want is “artificial”.
So I made two templates for the Wicked Games series - and I just want to say I was able to find the images on Pinterest so as a creator I want to note that all credit is given to the artists who made the initial imagery found in these story covers.
ALSO...
fyi I know I promised an update awhile ago and I appreciate everyone's patience on me getting the material uploaded -- i'm trying to get chapters uploaded asap but i've been super busy with work and personal stuff. thankfully the writer's block i faced with this has lifted so i've been able to plug away more and more.
as an heads up i'm actually going to update some of the previous chapters as well - this has to to do with the grand scheme of things that i have thought out for this story's ending and future chapters.
thank you to all those who have been reading and enjoying my wicked games series so far. i know its been a minute since i’ve updated it and i wanted to put out a quick post to let you know new chapters should be dropped soon.
unfortunately, i’ve been super swamped with work and managing some personal stuff in my life that just made it impossible for to have the time or creative energy to focus on it and put out something i was proud of for the series. when writers block hits - it hits hard, and wicked games was victim of it this time. i’ve been writing bits here and there, but always go back and make edits (honestly my own worst critic).
that being said, i know s2 will be dropping for jjk on 6/6 or around that time so i’m pushing myself to get new chapters out around that time in honor of its release. thank you all again for the patience!
Note: Joel Miller (AU) drabble. Pure fluff and some sexual tension. No real NFSW warnings. Written with female voice/reader in mind.
DBF!Joel Miller/Former Neighbor. Eludes to age gap (reader is in early twenties, Joel in his early-mid 40s). Circa 2005 - No Outbreak.
Joel Miller - your dad’s best friend and your childhood neighbor - is at your own apartment helping you put the place together. Your dad was there earlier, but left due to a work emergency leaving you with the gruff older man. You’re used to his personality and he your own and you each ebb and flow with relative ease. It’s comfortable and familiar - that is if you ignore the butterflies he gives you in the pit of your stomach as you watch his broad back work and muscles strain under his fitted old t-shirt in the Texas summer heat as he puts together your desk.
The windows are open in the small building, box fan blowing in the corner and music playing from your stereo. Condensation forms on the beers sitting on the counter and you quickly avert your appraising gaze from him when he moves to stand up. You turn away, busying yourself by unpacking the box sitting on the sofa behind you.
He makes a comment and you respond back with “mmm?”, curiously looking over your shoulder in his direction - as if you hadn’t been watching him for the past few minutes. His head is tilt back, exposing his tanned and slightly scruffy neck as he takes a drink of the beer. You involuntarily bite your lip as you watch his Adams apple bob from the action.
“Said I’m done with the desk Peach,” he repeats once he finishes drinking, using the nickname he had affectionately given you. “What else you need help with?”
You swallow as he takes in your appearance, his eyes scanning your face and the flushed appearance on your cheeks and neck. “You okay?” He follows up with.
No. “Yes,” you lie. “Just hot.” And he’s not helping.
He nods in agreement and you watch as he grabs the end of his shirt, pulling it up and exposing his softly toned stomach as he wipes some of his sweat from his forehead. Fuck. Your thighs pull together at the sight. The shirt falls back down as he’s suddenly brushing by you and his scent wafts by your nostrils, consuming you for a moment.
“AC still broken?” He asks, stopping in front of the machine as he inspects it.
“Uh, yeah,” you reply as you clear your throat. “Put a work order in. Should be fixing it soon.”
He hums in response. “Let me have a look at it.”
“Joel, thanks but I’m sure-“ you begin to deny his offer, as much as your appreciate it. He had been helping you most of his day and while you loved watching him work, you were sure he had other things he needed to get done.
“No problem Peach,” he quickly interjects, shoulders rolling as he inspects the broken device.
“Really? I mean I’m sure you need to get back home for Sarah.”
“She’s staying at Tommy’s for the weekend,” he replies. “And we’re in a heat wave, darlin’.” You blush from the term of endearment. He glances back at you. “Let me fix your AC.” You concede and nod.
He turns back to the machine and you, after watching him a second longer, return to your own tasks. You each continue on like this for the next hour - sometimes talking with one another about something: he asks how college was going, you ask him about work, the conversation ebbs into movies and books. He occasionally stands, stretching his limbs or drinking more of his beer. You drink your own and try to covertly watch his muscles flex.
He manages to fix the AC as the day fades into evening and your putting away some dishware. He shuts the windows as it kicks into life, the space starting to become cooler.
“All done,” he notes as he approaches the kitchen. He notices you struggling to put away a vase. “Let me help you with that Peach.” Before you can object he is behind you and you can feel his chest grazing your back as his arms stretch above your own. His hand slides over your own as he easily moves the dish into the cabinet. You feel color rise to your face, a small squeak pushes past your lips.
If he heard it he ignores it, instead: “Sure you want that up there?”
“I rarely use it,” you manage to reply softly.
He hovers behind you a second longer as you try to control the beating of your own heart. Another second later and he finally steps away, leaning against your kitchen counter as he finishes his beer. “That’s a damn shame.”
You turn your back to him as you reach for your own forgotten beer on the island. “Why’s that?” You ask.
“Pretty girl like you deserves flowers.”
He says it easily, smoothly and you nearly drop your beer. You recover with a dry laugh as you turn to face him. There’s no way he’s flirting with you. To him, your probably still the teenage girl he caught sneaking back home after attending a college party and getting plastered, tripping in his backyard as you stumbled over a piece of his lawn furniture.
“I’ll be sure to tell that to my next date.”
He smirks at your teasing tone, watches as you drink your own beer. Your stomach growls then and you suddenly realize you haven’t really ate much all day. He eyes you, smirk still pulling at his lips.
“How about I repay your hard work with pizza?” You ask, glancing up at him.
“Sounds good darlin.”
-
The pizza comes and you find yourself curled on the sofa beside Joel, scarfing down your third slice. You stomach is beginning to feel full, the grease and carbs of the pizza seemingly pairing well with the alcohol in your system as cool air permeates throughout your small apartment.
When you finish the slice you lean into the sofa, stretching your legs out until they touch Joel’s leg. He wordlessly moves them into his lap, allowing you to fully stretch them. It’s an action you’ve done countless times with him since knowing him. Now it’s feels different when you consider your own crush on the man. You think the booze is helping you loosen up a bit though, as the nerves you felt earlier don’t feel as edged and sharp.
You slip into an easy conversation again talking about your lives. You ask him about Sarah and Tommy, he shares some details. Sarah misses you - you make a remark about babysitting her again although she’s come to the age (14) when she doesn’t need a sitter. Joel says they’d like the visit. You catch the way he says “them” instead of “her”. Your heart races a little faster. Okay maybe the nerves are still there.
You eye the clock on your microwave. It’s getting late - almost 9. Joel still had an hour and half drive home. You go to note this, but suddenly the track changes on your music. You realize suddenly that the disc you had put in before the pizza arrived (a burned album from a friend) also held some explicit music you played when you were hooking up.
Your fucking sex playlist was on the disc.
Your scramble to move, but Joel’s large hands are resting on your leg where your ankles cross, thumb drawing absentminded circles into the skin. Again, you doubt it was intentional on his part but your skin is burning from the action, face flushing, butterflies hammering in the depths of the stomach.
Grind On Me by Pretty Ricky fills the silence in the room.
You swallow. It’s embarrassing and you pray he doesn’t pick up on the music. Or that if he does he doesn’t tease you or ask you about it. You doubt he listened to this type of music anyways - classic rock, country, and oldies was all you ever heard playing from his radio. You play with your hands and turn your head to the side as Pretty Ricky continues to play.
“You like this kind of stuff Peach?” His gravely voice suddenly breaks into the room. You dare a peek in his direction and realize he’s watching you. It sounds accusatory - probably because he isn’t a fan of it - but also curious. Most of the music you had been listening to while he was at your place was rock or 90s grunge.
His gaze feels heavy on you and you manage to give a small shrug.
“It’s okay. I don’t listen to it often. Only really when-”
You manage to stop yourself in time before finishing that thought. Your slight buzz, the heat from the day, the greasy food, him - it had worn you down to loose lips.
You look away, can feel his gaze on the side of your profile. His thumbs digs a little deeper into the flesh of your leg.
“You gonna finish that thought?”
“Nope.” You say it quickly - probably to quickly. And Joel’s not an idiot. He can hear the lyrics and can probably safely discern where your voice was initially taking you.
Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything.
“It’s getting late,” you announce.
He hums in agreement, squeezes your leg one final time before he moves your legs off of him. You miss his warmth.
You follow Joel to your front door.
“Thanks again, for everything.”
“Anytime, Peach.”
Like you’ve always done in the past, you lean up to give him a hug. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into him as well. Familiar, comfortable - but then something more.
You both linger in the embrace - a second longer. Your breathing him in and again your slipping into the beautiful haze the food and the booze and the heat and that Joel himself has given you. You finally pull away from one another just as the song comes to a close.
He turns to leave, hand on the doorknob before he stops, glancing back at you with a glint to his eye.
“Y’know there’s better music to fuck too.”
Your mouth falls open at his words just as he leaves, face flushing a deep red.
-
Extra:
On the way home Joel flips through the radio station, his thoughts burning with the thought of you. His window is rolled all the way down, the warm night air keeping sobering him up.
Your reaction to his words keep playing in his mind, over and over and over again. Your cute blush, the way your mouth fell open. The sight of you in your shorts and tank top as you fought the heat throughout the day.
He knows he’s fucked for thinking it - to be attracted to you when he was your father’s best friend - that he was nearly twice your age.
He lets out an exasperated sigh, knowing he’s playing with fire.
He continues to mindlessly channel surf until it catches his ear.
Grind On Me is playing on some channel. He stays on the channel.
When she had awoken the next morning in the early afternoon, Satoru had still been buried in the sheets, his head somehow having made its way tucked underneath a pillow where he snored softly.
He laid on his toned stomach, one his arms draped over her tummy where she carefully pulled it aside before slipping out of the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. She reemerged moments later, a small robe covering her naked frame, her gaze falling on her lover as she slipped back onto the bed and pulled her legs to her chest, leaning her head onto her knees.
He stirred shortly after, shifting in the bed until he was on his back and looking up at her with groggy eyes and his white locks in a gorgeous mess.
“Hey,” she said softly, knowing he hated the mornings.
“Hey,” he greeted back as he leaned towards her and kissed her leg. She had blushed from the intimate action, moving to comb a hand through his hair. He closed his eyes again, savoring the sensation as a content groan left his lips and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Then:
I think I love you…
His heart hammered at the memory and he found himself forcing himself to pull away from her touch as he stood, moving to put on his clothes. She bit her lip, watched him move across the space as she drew back into herself, suddenly unsure if she had done something wrong. Normally the morning-afters began lazy and soft. A slow intimacy that always ended with the both of them returning to their respected lives. This felt rushed, forced.
You don’t have to say it back. I just want you to know…
“I need to get back to the school,” he says the words when he dares a glance in her direction, noticing her confusion and rejection. He feels his heart break and swallows, pulling his shirt over his head as he scans the room for his bandage. Where the fuck did he throw it?
She nods, accepting his half-truth for now. He can tell she’s still doubtful, but she’s slipping out of the bed then as she seems to know what he is looking for. She approaches him with the white cloth in her hand, having been tossed in the foyer of the suite where he had stumbled in with her the night before. Where he had gone down on her in the hallway.
“Here,” she presents them to him and he’s careful when he grabs the bandage from her hand.
“Thanks,” he nods, beginning to wrap the cloth around his eyes. It's then he allows himself to actually look at her, the protection of his eyes being covered guarding his gaze from her. His six eyes allows to see her, even with the barrier. She’s looking at her feet, arms crossed over her chest and digging into her cleavage, pushing it up. He feels the natural pull towards her, craves the familiarity of her touch and their usual rituals following a night like they had previously. But her words keep ringing in his ears now that it's the next day, now that he isn’t allowing himself the same luxury as last night where he instead buried himself in her.
Satoru Gojo was the most powerful man alive. Probably the bravest (or maybe that was just his arrogance). He could have anything he wanted, do anything he wanted.
And he wanted her - loved her. But in his line of work she could be his weakness, his downfall, but more importantly, she could get hurt or worse. He remembers his own past - his former peers and friends when he was student, having long since passed away or left.
You're loved…
He swallows audibly again and does what he does best as he plasters a smirk on his face. He puts on a show.
She’s suddenly startled when she feels his lips brush her cheek and she glances up, her sad eyes now surprised.
“I had fun,” he smiles, his words saccharine yet genuine. It's familiar in the sense it's the same words he used when they first hooked up, when they thought it was going to only be a one time thing. It's the same words he’s used with other women.
“You had fun,” she says slowly, almost as a question. She isn’t used to this type of send-off, despite being aware of his antics.
Her brows furrowed and he finds it adorable. Without realizing it he repeats her actions from the night before, tracing her nose and cheekbone before his palm settles on her jaw. The action seems to confuse her more, but like him, she melts into the touch.
When he realizes his mistake he doesn’t move his hand, feels his own cheeks and ears burning, but he’s allowing himself to be greedy for a few seconds longer.
“I’ll call you,” he promises, and these words are familiar to her. They’re often how they end their reunions and he always does call or text.
His heart races as he remembers the scar along her body. The way she held him by the window last night. The noticeable love bites that are forming along her exposed skin now. Guilt seeps into his bones when he realizes his promise is a lie this time.
If she realizes it she doesn’t say anything, just another small smile that doesn’t quite seem to reach her eyes like it did when he saw her when they first woke up.
“Okay.”
He kisses her forehead, lingering a second longer where he cradles her face before pulling away entirely. Her eyes are closed as he moves past her, out the door, and finally, out of the hotel.
—
A month had passed since the night in the hotel, tangled up in sheets where she had announced she’d loved him. They’d spent the rest of the night kissing and exploring one another's bodies until finally exhaustion had seeped into their bones and they had fallen asleep in one another's arms.
She never received a call or a text from him since he had left that next day. She could sense the empty promise even then, but a part of her still held out hope. Convinced herself that after her proclamation that he just needed a minute to think. That even though he hadn’t said it, he’d felt it too and what they were doing would become something more.
Perhaps that was why this hurt even more so now - having been both cold yet tender that morning at the hotel. Wrapping himself in her after she told him her feelings then leaving things unfinished. She figured after everything she deserved the respect of a closed chapter in his life, not whatever the hell this was.
She ran a hand through her hair, pushing the strands that had fallen in front of her eyes out of her face and tucking them behind her ear as a heavy sigh escaped from her. Her heart was broken, but life kept moving and so she did too. She needed to stop thinking about him and thinking about the what-ifs or what she could’ve done differently, when in the end she didn’t regret the bravery of admitting her feelings and of helping him realize he wasn’t just some tools for others to use.
She leaned over and ran the rag across the table top before she stood back to attention, moving to the glass door as she flipped the “open” sign to “close”. It was dark out, nearly 9:30 pm at night with the remaining customers finally having left a few minutes prior and the usually lively street had become all but vacant. She was looking forward to getting home, curling under her covers and letting herself escape into her dreams. Lately, it was when she felt most at ease. She went to click the lock in place when she saw it: movement outside, in the shadows. Non-human in shape.
She swallowed, clicking it shut and making her way towards the back where her items were gathered. Maybe if she just ignored it.
Ever since the accident she was able to see curses. She didn’t know why it occurred, she assumed it was maybe the trauma of the whole thing. Oftentimes when she saw them they didn’t bother her. This felt different though. Ominous. She hummed to herself, trying to shift her thoughts as she gathered her belongings. The cafe was clean enough, she thought.
She slipped into her jacket and threw her bag over her shoulder, leaving through the back exit and locking up as she quickly moved towards the train station, waiting on a bunch under a dim light.
She stayed like that, waiting, for several minutes in silence. The eerie sensation was still there, creeping up on her. She twiddled her thumbs, ignoring the gnawing feeling of looking over shoulder.
She startled when a voice cut through the air and she looked up, realizing a man was looking down at her, motioning to the seat beside her where her purse was.
“Can I sit here?”
Recovering from her surprise, she nodded and moved the bag into her lap as he sat beside her. He eyed her for a minute before looking ahead as well.
“Sorry I scared you.”
She moved the bag closer to her chest. “‘S okay,” she replied, a shy smile pulling at her lips. More silence passed as they both waited for the train. He mindlessly flipped through his phone and she picked at her nailpolish nervously.
She dared a peek over her shoulder, her sense of unease still present as she became worried for the stranger beside her. She couldn’t see it, but she felt it. Watching. Waiting. She quickly snapped her head forward.
He looked over his shoulder as well, eyebrows knitting together as he looked in the direction.
“You alright?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she lied. Then: “Long day.”
“Tell me about it,” he sighed, stretching before extending his legs in front of him.
Just then the train began to pull up and she stood. She looked back when she realized he remained seated.
“Waiting on someone,” he answered for her, easing her confusion. The doors slid open and few bodies returning from late shifts began to mill out and return to their homes. She nodded before turning away.
“Thanks for the company,” he called out as she began to move forward and she glanced back at him one last time. “Name’s Geto, by the way.”
She glanced over his shoulder, looking for that sensation that ran down her spine but not seeing it. She finally met his gaze after a moment of hesitation, smiling as she gave her own name. “It was nice meeting you,” she replied politely before stepping into the protective metal box of the train.
He watched the train leave, moving his hand as the curse spirit lurking in the shadows was quickly diminished before pulling out a small container of hand sanitizer as the polite smile on his face fell into a grimace.
“Telling myself, “I won’t go there”. Oh, but I know that I won’t care. Tryna wash away all the blood I’ve spilt. This lust is burden that we both share, two sinners can’t atone from a lone prayer. Souls tied, intertwined by our pride and guilt... Oh, I love it and hate it at the same time. You and I drink the poison from the same vine.” -- Daylight, David Kushner
Summary: They were supposed to share their lives together - but not like this. Not as enemies when they had been lovers and friends, each others’ solace in an otherwise traumatizing life. Now opposites of the same coin, the shadow and the light. Even worse was she wasn’t the only one left behind, the only one sealed in such a fate.
She found comfort in her friends and in their shared misery, of the known truth that one day one of them would have to stop him. Time began to heal old wounds, until one day that familiar face returned to her and she found her world turned upside down once more as her life, her students life, and the world was put in the crosshair. [sorry I’m shit at summaries]
Status: Not Complete
Warnings: Angst, trauma, smut, toxic!Suguru, slightlytoxic!Satoru, possessive behavior, jealousy, violence, mature themes, trauma-bonding, anxiety, use of drugs and alcohol, dark!Suguru,
Format: Use of female pronouns and wrote in more of a style of (f)reader.
Author’s Note: 18+ material below in some chapters. Please read at your own discretion.
Parts
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
