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upsidedownwithsteve · 4 months

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Steve Harrington x fem!reader [3.4K] request from anon: what about Steve teaching reader how to really kiss? Like she’s only ever had bad ones before?

“Sloppy?” Steve grimaced, smiling through your word choice despite the disappointment he felt for you.

You shrugged, nose crinkled as you remembered. “Yeah. Wet, y’know? And not like— it was just too much…tongue.”

There was a silence, a sad kind that filled the room. Steve wasn’t sure what to say. You kind of regretted telling the boy. So you sighed and shrugged it off again, biting the head off of red Sour Patch Kid.

“Maybe I just don’t like making out,” you sounded defeated and Steve hated it, frowning as he watched you chew your candy mournfully, your back pressed to the side of his unmade bed. “That’s normal, right? Like, some people just don’t like things like that and—”

“Hey, hey,” Steve knocked his foot against yours, legs stretched out across his bedroom floor. The pack of playing cards had been abandoned beside some unopened twizzlers and Steve’s can of cherry soda. “Look, of course that’s normal. And— and if that’s how you feel, that’s totally okay, alright?”

The boy hesitated, worried his bottom lip between his teeth and wondered if he should keep talking. You watched him, brows raised expectantly.

“I just think—” Steve cleared his throat, his pointer finger dragging patterned across his carpet. He shrugged, all faux nonchalance. He didn’t want to sound like a creep, not to his best friend. Not to you. “I just think that maybe you’ve not had a good kiss, y’know?”

You didn’t answer, not right away. And Steve didn’t try and backtrack, or explain himself, he just waited, watching you think. His bedroom window was open, the sounds of the early evening slipping through. Someone’s backyard pool filter, their sprinklers out the front, the quiet spin of a kids bike going down the sidewalk.

You didn’t look at Steve when you finally asked, “well, what is a good kiss?”

You felt stupid, asking such a thing at your age but maybe you’d grown up picking all the wrong kinds of guys. Impatient boys, greedy boys, selfish boys. Boys who turned into men who didn’t have the time of day to take it slow with a girl like you. Boys who thought they were men, who used too much teeth and tongue and pressure and tasted like cheap party beer and the leftover smoke of their cigarette.

Guys who got too handsy too quick, guys who didn’t care that when they pulled away from your lips, you swiped the back of your hand over your mouth and tried not to frown.

Steve shifted a little, cheeks turning pink as his eyes found yours. “Well,” he gestured at you, awkward. His gaze settled on your lips before he blinked and looked away. “I mean, it helps when you really like the person, y’know? The uh, the chemistry of it all.”

You swallowed, throat feeling tight, chest feeling too warm. You remember Nancy talking about those kinds of feelings when she first kissed Jonathan, a dopey, soft smile on her lips as she recounted it, telling you of the buzz under her skin, the flips that her stomach did when he leaned in to meet her, eyes closing.

“Sure,” you agreed. You don’t think you’d ever felt that way about the boys you had kissed. “Right.”

“But I guess you’re supposed to take your time with it? I mean, at first, when you’re getting to know someone.” Steve smiled, soft, reassuring. His knee knocked yours. “You find out what they like.”

“What they like?” You asked, voice cracking a little. You didn’t know where to look, what to do with your hands. You picked up a green sour patch and bit its leg. “What does that mean?”

Steve looked bashful, miles apart from the boy you’d know in high school, with a girl on his arm in the hallways, a different one in his lap at a party that weekend.

“I’d, uh, I mean— person A would go slow with person B, right? They’d start soft. Gentle, I guess? You gotta— they’d have to figure out how the other person likes to be kissed. Not everyone shoves their tongue down your throat, y’know.”

You huffed out a laugh but it sounded weak, too breathy. You wanted the boy to keep talking, you wanted to watch his pink cheeks and his pretty eyes dart across your face, like he was searching for something.

You wondered if he’d find it.

“Not everyone?” You whispered.

“No,” Steve shook his head, his smile wry. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and he was closer now, closer than before and you could smell his cologne, the cherry soda fizz that hung in the air along with Mr Jackson’s freshly mown grass. “No, no, not everyone. I’d give the girl a peck at first, yeah? Just something PG-13. Then, when she relaxes and you know, she moves closer, kisses me back, I’d—”

Steve broke off, blinking like he was getting rid of something hazy. He’d been looking at you as he spoke, words coming too easy, the air between you both warm despite the setting sun. He licked his lips, suddenly nervous, awkward again, a bashful thing that made him suddenly even more endearing than you thought he ever could be.

“You’d what, Steve?” You blinked, feeling warm, wondering if the boy could tell. You didn’t know what to do so you moved, leaning forward until you could fold your legs underneath yourself and your thigh bumped Steve’s shin. “You’d what?”

Steve’s eyes searched yours, his gaze falling to your lips and back again. You thought he found it then, that thing he seemed to be looking for. Because he cleared his throat and let one hand fall to the carpet between you, his fingers brushing over your socked toes and you almost jumped at the contact.

The silence was too loud now.

“I could show you, if you wanted.”

Someone’s lawn mower started up a few yards over, white noise buzzing in the distance as you tried to take in what Steve had just said. He was watching you, head tilted to the side, cheeks still rosy and when you looked at him carefully, you could see the barely concealed panic in his brown eyes.

He pressed his lips together and tried to smile, tight and nervous and he was picking at the carpet, fingers fidgeting as you sat there dumbly. You heard the shake in his voice when he tried to say, “I am—,” he choked on his words, panicked. “—so, so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Steve,” you stopped the boy with a hand on his shin, your warm palm against the denim. “We’re friends, right?”

The word seemed to burn on your tongue, like it tasted like a lie, like it was as dangerous as one. You waited, breath held, wondering if you wanted Steve to agree or not.

“Yeah,” he nodded, suddenly so serious. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course we are.” He worried at his bottom lip again, looking at your own. “Best friends.”

You nodded, tongue feeling too big for your mouth to speak. Words felt clumsy, your skin too warm. Buzzing. Fizzing. You weren’t sure if it was you or the air.

“Show me.”

You thought Steve would maybe hesitate, maybe he’d back out or shout, ‘got you!’ like those prank shows Dustin liked to watch. You thought he’d maybe lay down some rules, maybe he’d tell you how this didn’t mean anything and really, he was only doing his sad friend a favour.

He didn’t do any of that. In fact he didn’t say anything else at all. Steve just let out a breath and nodded once, almost to himself before he let his hand curl around the back of your calf and he tugged, gentle.

He lifted his chin, a casual ‘c’mere’ that had your heart thundering and you wondered if this confidence, this way of acting so sure of himself, was how he got all the girls.

A quiet sort of assertiveness that made your stomach flip inside out.

You unfurled yourself from your sitting position, shuffling to your knees as you moved across Steve’s bedroom floor, bare shins burning against the carpet. You leaned back on your heels, brought yourself down to Steve’s level where he sat against his wall, legs stretched out before him.

He didn’t warn you when he brought his hand to your face, fingers cupping your cheek and his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth and you were suddenly left wondering when Steve’s hands had gotten so big. You’d watched him grow, from a middle school kid to king Steve the senior. You’d seen the new muscles, the height, the hair. You’d never noticed his hands before but now they were on you, it’s all you could think about.

Dizzy. You felt dizzy.

“Okay?” Was all he asked, voice softer and quieter now he was so much closer.

You nodded, face too warm and licking across your bottom lip like a reflex. You weren’t sure where to look. Or where to put your hands. Most kisses you’d shared had happened in the crowds at parties or in the front seat of a boy’s car after a date. You usually lay your palms on their shoulders, holding on and wondering if every boy took these opportunities to grope your ass like a pile of dough.

“We can stop,” Steve told you. He looked nervous and if anything, it made you feel more anxious than ever. “Whenever you want, ‘kay?”

You nodded again, unable to really speak, too scared that your voice would crack or something equally stupid would happen. And maybe Steve knew this, maybe he knew you so much better than you ever thought he would, because he smiled and nodded too.

“Okay,” he announced, quiet and soft and he was moving closer, noses bumping, his eyes fluttering shut. “Here goes.”

“Wait.”

Steve paused, gaze back on your own and he looked concerned, he looked worried and before he could ask you what was wrong you were sucking in a panicked breath and asking: “what if I’m the bad kisser?”

“What?” Steve let out a laugh, breathy and disbelieving and he was still so close, his hand on your jaw and his thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the apple of your cheek. He was shaking his head, smiling, looking too pretty and suddenly this seemed like a monumental thing, something gargantuan. “No, there’s no way.”

You squirmed on the floor, shifting further and then closer and Steve loosened his hold on you but you didn’t go anywhere. You just blinked at him, pained with worry. “How could you know?”

Steve paused as he thought and you wondered if he had an answer, if he was going to say something truthful or he was simply thinking of something sweet to say to placate you. Instead, he looked into your eyes and seemed to search for that… thing, again.

I— I just—” Steve didn’t say anything, he didn’t give you an explanation or a reason.

He simply pressed his lips to yours.

It was chaste and sweet and entirely innocent, lips closed and nothing close to scandalous. But then he parted from you just a breath, looking at you from heavy lidded eyes, watching you from beneath his lashes. And when you didn’t move, you didn’t panic, Steve leaned in again, kissing you the same way until he nudged your chin up with his hand and his lips slotted between your own.

He moved slowly, carefully, with a practised ease that made your toes curl and it was still sweet, it made your tummy warm and your head spin and Steve’s lips were soft, tasting like cherry soda and sugar.

You caught up after a beat or two, your hand that wasn’t braced on the floor reaching up to cling to where you could reach. Your fingers found the collar of Steve’s t-shirt, fisting the soft material and doing everything to make sure he didn’t move away. You moved with him, lips meeting and parting over and over until Steve sucked in a breath and tilted his head to the other side, pressing closer, a little deeper.

After another soft peck, he pulled away, eyes still closed and his thumb on your chin as he whispered, voice hoarse. “See? Nothin’ to worry about.” He brushed your hair behind your ear, pressed his fingers under your jaw. “And now, a guy should be testing the waters, right?”

“They should?” You whispered back. Your eyes were still closed too, your fingers sneaking up past Steve’s collar to stroke at the skin at the base of his throat, experimental, adventurous. “How’d they do that?”

You were sure you felt the boy smile, sensed it. A warm breath across your lips as he moved closer again. “Like this—”

Another kiss, the same as before, once, twice and then Steve was parting his mouth over your own and letting the tip of his tongue lick over your bottom lip. It was a fleeting touch, a zap, a buzz, a tingle down your spine and you gasped without thinking about it, lips parting for the boy and you followed suit, tongue moving past Steve’s lips to meet his own.

He groaned then, a vibration against you, his hand skating back from your cheek to thread into your hair and he let his tongue move over your own, lips clicking every time they parted. It was slower than you’d been kissed before, something sensual about it despite being sat on your best friend’s bedroom floor and it made your insides somersault, the skin where Steve slouched burning.

“Told you,” he murmured, breath heavy as he spoke. “Nothing to worry about,” he repeated and when you finally opened your eyes to look at him, face blazing with heat, Steve was looking at you like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Mhmm,” you agreed, barely listening, eyes still on the boy’s mouth, fingering the collar of his shirt, not ready to let go yet. “You must be a good teacher, or something.”

Steve looked distracted, Adam’s apple bobbing, gaze on your lips too. You weren’t sure he had stopped looking at them. “Yeah, yeah. Or something.” He swallowed, throat tight. “Do you wanna stop? Or—?”

“No,” you said, maybe too quickly. “Do you?”

“God, no,” Steve agreed just as fast. “You can keep going— just— what do you want…?”

Steve’s words died on his lips as you moved suddenly, rising to your knees only to push Steve back to the wall. His hands fell to his sides, hovering in mid air as he stared, watching as you swung a leg over his knees and sat carefully on his lap. You were cautious, more on his thighs that closer to anything else but you tried to breathe evenly as you took in the position.

“Okay?” You asked him, voice caught sticky in your throat with nerves but Steve nodded, head bobbing hurriedly. You sucked in a breath, smoothing your hands over Steve’s shoulders before you did as he had, smoothing them up the sides of his neck and holding his jaw carefully. “What do I do now?”

‘Whatever you want,’ Steve wanted to beg. But apparently this was a lesson of sorts and he had something to teach you. So he cleared his throat to make sure his voice wouldn’t crack and held your hips, hands gentle and polite. “You, uh, you find out what I like.”

You nails scratched at the back of his neck, unconsciously. You licked your lips. “How do I do that?”

Steve’s hands flexed on your hips, climbing to your waist, holding you a little tighter. Something seemed to shift then, his eyes lighting up. He looked like he was ready to fight, like you’d asked him if he were up for a challenge. It made you grin.

“Kiss me.”

So you did.

You did as Steve had at the start, kissing him soft and slow and chaste, pulling away before he could catch you, teasing, nose bumping his and breaths mixing, cherry soda to fizzy candy. And just before Steve was about to groan, frustrated, you shifted closer, chest pressed to his and you parted your lips, catching his bottom lip between your own.

It was a greedier kiss and Steve let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thunk, opening his mouth for you, nails digging into your sides when you licked over his tongue, exploratory, gentle. You felt him nod, the tip of his nose smushed to your cheek and you smiled, amused at his praise.

“Like that?” You asked, breathless, barley parting from him to speak.

“Yeah, like that,” Steve agreed, sounding just as wrecked. “Keep going, please.”

He didn’t have to ask again. Fuck, he didn’t even have to ask as nicely as he did because you were back on him in a heartbeat, kissing your best friend like you didn’t want him to remember anyone else.

“Slower,” he whispered, muttering instructions against your mouth and you didn’t feel scolded, you didn’t feel embarrassed you just followed Steve’s instructions, pulling back slightly to kiss him softer, lips moving with his slower, slower, slower.

You heard him groan, felt his chest rumble and his hands squeeze at you in silent praise and you knew then he liked it like that, liked to be teased. You nosed at his cheek, did as he had done and pushed your thumb under his jaw to bring his mouth up to yours, his head tipping back, back, back. You pecked over his cheeks then, over the bridge of his nose and at the corner of his lips until he was panting, waiting for you.

“Yeah?” Was all you asked.

“Yeah,” he hummed, feeling like he was vibrating. He let his eyes shutter closed, waiting for your next touch. “Yeah.”

You felt bolder, brazen, pushing your lips back to Steve’s and when you pulled away this time, you nipped at the boy’s bottom lip, pulling at it gently with your teeth and until it popped softly back into place and Steve swore, he cursed, he grunted and his hips shifted under yours.

“You like that,” you noted with a smile and it wasn’t a question.

Steve didn’t speak, he couldn’t. Instead he stared up at you and nodded, dazed, throat bobbing as he swallowed tightly and tried to get himself under control.

You moved into each other again without discussion, an unconscious need that didn’t need a conversation. Your hands went to his hair, holding onto the messy ends at the nape of his neck as his travelled the expanse of your back, fingertips lifting the hem of your shirt every downstroke, his skin on yours. It was enough for you to make soft noises against him, nudging closer and Steve helped, his hands pulling at your waist until your chest pressed against his and were seated over his crotch.

You felt him then, hard and pressed underneath his jeans and it made you kiss him like you had something to prove, mouths moving together, open and panting, tongues touching teasingly, teeth grazing against lips to try and make the other moan louder.

And when Steve’s garage door opened, a groaning, grating sound below his window, it was an interruption that told you both his father had arrived home.

You slid from his lap, chest heaving and eyes heavy on Steve’s pink cheeks. His lips were shiny from your work, his hands leaving your waist at the very last second, your butt hitting his carpet rather ungracefully as you backed away, suddenly so aware of the line that had been crossed.

You were burning still, an ache between your legs that hadn’t quite been satisfied and your lips buzzed from Steve’s kisses, the slow, careful way he’d pressed his to your own. He’d paid attention, you realised, picked up on every noise you made, every shift against him, the way you kissed him back eagerly when he did something you liked. And you’d done the same, taking in his gasps and sighs, stomach flipping when his hips bucked and his chest moved a little quicker than before.

Your fingers touched your bottom lip before you pressed the back of your hand to it, as if to hide the evidence. Steve was still staring at you, panting, doing nothing to hide the obvious bulge in his jeans.

And when his front door opened and closed and you could hear his fathers footsteps lead into his office, Steve stayed quiet. Only when the sound of the door clicking shut filled the silent house did he smile, boyish and all charm.

“See?” He reminded you, cheeks still burning. His hair was a mess from where you’d pulled on it. He looked rumpled, undone at the seams. “Told you, you weren’t a bad kisser.”

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iznsfw · 4 months

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Reputation, Or Whatever That Is

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 12 - Jang Wonyoung

IVE's Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader Smut

7,063 words

Categories | daddy kink, brat!Wonyoung, squirting, blowjob, please appreciate Wonyoung's power bottom capabilities

Sorry, Yena is coming out sometime but I wanted to finally write something timely. JANG WONYOUNG WHAT THE FUCKKKKK.

Please bear with the religious metaphors, I have Catholic guilt and Wonyoung reignites it. I'm not sorry for all the other fucked up shit here I'm just ooga boogaing because what the FUCK

It’s a little brighter today than usual. The sun surely knows what's about to happen upon its rising. It has no plans of telling you beforehand, so you’re forced to find out yourself.

You open Instagram, which is insane because you never bother to look at pictures—much less edited, filtered ones made for meaningless impressions. Your blissful ignorance of online concepts is what would make your fans hate you if they had space in their deluded hearts to. Or maybe that’s your age talking.

But today, clicking on that app is what you do, and that already should have been a sign that something’s not right. The usual run of your universe has gone off course. Who could have made that so?

Coffee. The black stillness that’s pure of sweetness and sugar. That’s supposed to keep everything normal. You sip on it as you scroll through clickbait, fan accounts, edits—

Then you wish you never took that hot gulp at all.

Wonyoung.

It’s all because of her.

She stands there from behind your screen, silky hair tangled in those lithe long fingers. She’s looking at the camera like she wants whoever took the time to click on her profile to come over and fuck her right now. Man or woman, poor or rich—it doesn’t matter. What ought to matter though is the fact that she doesn’t have someone’s hands slipped around her waist and pulling her close.

You shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

Usually, she’s dressed in knitted pink coats and miniskirts; looking fashionable but modest, modest but unplain. That’s what everyone loves about Jang Wonyoung: she’s prim, sweet, and the daughter of the nation.

Now, she’s the ideal girl to take right home and have your wicked way with. Yes, you’d feel guilty since she’s so young, just the little age of nineteen. Still, that doesn’t mean you’d have any regrets. She’s the kind of girl you can’t get away from. You’ll always come back for more.

You’d hate to be so upfront, but there’s no other way to interpret it.

There’s that fucking denim bra hugging her tiny chest, stitched up so high that her abs are on full display. That little pinch of a waist curves so perfectly right up to her wide hips that invite and invite and invite—

Remember to exhale.

So, yeah. That’s how Wonyoung ruined your day, and you barely had your morning coffee.

A text message from your boss appears. You nearly miss it because of how you’re staring all ogle-eyed at the tempting girl on your screen. Before you even click it, you already know what you ought to do.

hey, it reads, you need to—

—go to Wonyoung, and for such a scandalous photo, she’s chosen a remote but classy hotel only the biggest stars know of to shoot it.

There’s no going back when you drive like you’re running from the law when you’ll break one if you pull the wrong stunt with her. Your throat’s coiled with an unreleased breath that won’t go away unless you see her. It’s like traveling with the promise of meeting a goddess, and although you’re not religious anymore, you wear very, very close to rediscovering faith.

The hotel is grand—clear marble floors and shining chandeliers—and it’s no surprise. Wonyoung wouldn’t have things any other way. You know that when she’s come to your office to complain about her outfits and brands.

You go up to the desk with prepared evidence for what you’re going to say. “I’m an associate of your client miss Jang Wonyoung,” you say to the lady tapping away behind her computer, “and I’ve come to visit her.”

Associate? It’s more like mentor. You’re a veteran idol whose efforts inspire the rookies, therefore getting you the responsibility of looking out for Wonyoung. So, father figure, maybe? You wince at that.

She makes a polite sad look, still not removing her eyes from the screen. “I’m sorry, miss Jang doesn’t have—”

Slide your ID card on the counter.

She glances at it, stiffens, then looks up at you. There’s only one of you in the entire South Korea, and although the 1x1 traces back to when you were a bit more youthful, it’s not hard to put two and two together.

She apologizes quickly and offers you an elevator ride exclusive for VVIPs. Smile. It’s been a while since your last return to music, but everyone knows you here. Everyone knows your power.

Wonyoung’s place is the first room on the twelfth floor, a flinching irony.

Knock. You rap your knuckles three times for good luck and charm, because you’ll need it with her. Jang Wonyoung is everything save an easy girl. You remember the many times she refused to give up a debate on how she’s managed, how she’s styled, how she’s treated. She wants things to go her way only.

“Wonyoung,” you call out. Fidget with the handle of the door that refuses to budge. “It’s me.”

Knock a little more. There’s no eye behind the peekhole or a soft “come in.” You receive only the unlocking of the furnished knob and a welcome that makes you wish this could go the way your morals would want it to go.

The door opens you to a gorgeous suite that’s the supreme of all room tiers. This is the kind that only the richest of the rich are able to attain. Big as a house with a soft carpeted ground, there’s a queen-sized bed before a wide window of the city. Picture frames commissioned by the wealthy hang from the painted walls. All for the fucking aesthetic.

Even you, a star who paved the way for the Korean entertainment industry itself, aren’t used to this type of wealth.

Find her sitting on the ledge of the window frame. Wonyoung has her hands resting on the sides of the window frame. She doesn’t try at least a stance at nonchalance—no admiring stare at the beautiful view, no worried gaze at her clean fingernails. Her interest is you standing before her like you’re afraid to touch her. She might be right, but it’s not like you’d ever have it in you to admit that.

Even you, a man lusted over by girls and women all over the world, aren’t used to this kind of woman—the kind that eats away at you.

“Wonyoung.” Inside, you feel like the weakest man in the world.

She has this smarmy, confident smile on her perfect lips that tells you that it’s no surprise that you’ve come all the way here for her. No surprise at all. She expected it. Anticipated it, if you will.

Don’t mistake the coquettish float of her lashes for theatrics. No, Jang Wonyoung’s just naturally someone you’d want to fuck, no matter the politics of it. “Yes?”

Her voice is also just that pretty. That’s a large part of why it’s so hard to act professional in front of her when she’s your mentee. Even more so by the fact you’re someone she’s looked up to for the majority of her trainee years, which is already something that would make people’s brows lift.

“Wonyoung.” You let your shoulders rest. “Why are you still dressed like that?”

You know all the dialogue that passes around the general public. Oh, Jang Wonyoung’s so gorgeous! Jang Wonyoung’s even more beautiful in real life! You hate to say you can’t disagree. She’s deadlier in person; her body’s there before the glass like she’s waiting for someone to give in to temptation. That coy simper can ruin careers. It can ruin yours.

To think it all could be gone because of a nineteen-year-old celebrity with a tiny waist and legs you’d love to have around your head.

“Why are you still dressed like someone from the eighties?” Wonyoung taps her chin, then grins. She’s figured it all out. “Oh wait, you are.”

You’re not taking insults from someone who’s below you in experienced years and power. Unluckily, she’s not taking advice from someone above her or below her.

The step you take towards her, towards the little star seated comfortably waiting for you, feels like a sin.

“You’re incredibly unprofessional for a girl who’s worked her way up here,” you note. Cross your arms and give her a reprimanding look.

Wonyoung’s immune to nasty looks, too. She’s been doing this since she was a child. If someone gave her a glare that read all too well of a career assassination, she’d wink the bullet away sweetly. “Hm,” she says contemplatively, “I don’t think you get to say that, honestly.”

Your laugh is blunt and sarcastic. Unbelievable. Wonyoung’s the kindest girl according to the people who work for her, so why is she a rebel in your hands? It doesn’t make sense.

“Look here, we—”

You take three steps closer to her. You’ll keep your little rituals and superstitions to keep yourself grounded. Without them, you’d go insane.

Then without her having to do anything, she comes nearer, like a doomsday foretold by a ticking clock. Who knows? That clock could be a bomb, and that bomb would set off if you dare to touch her with a trembling fingertip. You’d leave the scene injured. And eventually, you’d die the moment they try to help you, because the deed’s been done.

“Oh, I’m looking, alright,” she chirps. She’s doing what you’ve held yourself back from doing: letting her eyes wander. “And I really, really like what I see.”

You’re someone several awards her senior, and you’re still quite intimidated by her at this moment. She’s so sweet yet so honest—she won’t make up a lie to make you feel better and she won’t hide the truth to make you comfortable. Refuse the truth her eyes locked on your crotch tell. You won’t accept it. It’s not right.

“I’m serious.” Approaching her makes you want to go on your knees and beg the lord for a little saving. Do it anyway. No one will rescue you. That’s what the industry taught you. “You’ve made it all the way up here. All by yourself. There’s gotta be something. What are you throwing it all away for?”

She laughs. Funniest thing she’s ever heard. “I’m not. How am I throwing it all away?”

“Those posts,” you hiss. Doesn’t she get it?

Before she could ask you what you’re talking about, you whip out your phone. Click on the app icon. It instantly shows you the opened tab containing Wonyoung’s recent Instagram posts. Look at her, wrapped in nothing, not even those curtains—giving the camera bedroom eyes when girls her age shouldn’t be shooting them at anyone or be aware of how to.

It’s already massed a million likes in under an hour. But you know what people who turn on anyone easily will say, and what they say could blot Wonyoung’s bright future by a lot. A million people around the world have caught sight of the abs she’s worked hard for, her toned back, and just about everything. A loud minority with frisky influences can sabotage her whole reputation.

“These posts,” you continue, shoving the screen into the poor girl’s face, “can take away everything you’ve worked for. All that fame, all that money, you can’t brag about them after this.”

Wonyoung looks on innocently. She stares at the screen with uninterested eyes, then switches them back on you. She looks like such a good girl in that second, with her hands seated beside her and that face so full of sparkling perfection.

Deception can’t lead you away.

“So, what’s it gonna be, Wonyoung?”

Long silence that builds up your frustration. Finally, she clicks her tongue. Gives you a shrug of her thin shoulders.

“You liked it.”

“What?”

She points to your phone. “You liked my post,” she repeats. “It says so right there.”

What the hell is she talking about?

You look at the device you’re brandishing. For a while, you can’t find out what she’s referring to. You can never take a liking to her posts, although if they switch on something you didn’t know you can feel. You’d die before—

The heart.

Wait.

The heart button below her set of pictures is filled with red.

Your heart pumps faster, a button pushed and played.

Fuck.

You turn to her and open your mouth. No sensible words come out. You swear you didn’t tap twice on her update or take it to a private setting. How did it happen? Worse, even if you say that to her, she’d take it as a pathetic lie.

Wonyoung giggles. It’s a tinkly sound that’s adorable, but you’ve long realized that being cute is not all there is to her. She rises slowly, sets her palms over your blazer-clad arms, and gives you an empathetic face. It’s so condescending that you want to dissolve.

“I know what men like you are all about,” she tells you. She speaks with a sultriness that makes you feel warm and has bumps appearing in masses across your skin.

She smiles. Her eyes disappear into crescent moons and the dimple appears on her cheek. You’re done for.

“Come on,” Wonyoung continues, squeezing your forearms. “Here you are, a big old man known for being a good singer or whatever. You’re so popular that the first thing that pops up on Naver is your face. Everything goes right for you, doesn’t it?”

You have no idea where she’s going with this. You’re afraid to even ask. Your teeth grit as her massages grow stronger, harder.

Something else is, too.

“Then, of course, you see me.”

Her hand. It’s curling around your wrist and bringing your fingers right around that flawless waist. She closes them there tightly.

It’s so bad that it’s good. You want to keep touching her, maybe slip your gliding fingers down her jeans. Oh, you shouldn’t. You can’t.

“You see me, and you get all hot and bothered. And what’s so funny is I’m not even doing anything. I’m just being myself, you know. Being young and rich… a beautiful girl…” Wonyoung is unbuttoning your shirt and you don’t realize it. “You can’t understand how I’m allowed to be this hot when you can’t even fuck me with a normal conscience.”

It’s all so wrong. You want to shake her by the shoulders and tell her to shut up. But if Medusa has her eyes, Wonyoung has her lips to turn you to stone. They keep opening elegantly to speak the filthiest, most fucked up shit, and you can’t deny anything.

Her eyes are creased with knowing pride. Her youth doesn’t rescue her from being so messed in the head already. Those thoughts don’t go along with such a pretty face.

“That’s why you like to get rough with me. You tell me to watch how I speak, watch how I act. You tell me to stop talking to you like you’re no one. You tell me that I’m such a little brat. But you only do that so you can get to control me. That’s your most fucked up dream, right?”

Her mouth is the tiniest space away from your chin.

You’re another word away from saving yourself a spot in damnation.

Her finger that scratches a flaw on your blazer beckons you to the fire. “You’re not breaking the law or anything,” says Wonyoung, “so why not break me instead, daddy?”

That’s a deal sealed with a rough kiss.

You grab her cruelly and cover her lips with yours. They’re more amazing than you imagined, soft and competent with how she pushes in deeper, depriving herself of the air she needs the most just to get what she needs just a bit more:

You.

Your tongues collide and clash, striving to get the most taste. She pulls your blazer off (because fuck professionalism, right?) while she kisses you with a hunger that’s equally mental and physical. It’s not like she’d bruise up if you didn’t get your hands on her yet it’s close to that.

And, in your case, it’s not like you’re breaking any law. She’s nineteen, not anywhere under the limits you’d kill others and yourself for touching. Nonetheless, you’re much older—by age, she could be your daughter; by career, she’s your junior; by power, you’re much stronger.

So, it’s still so wrong.

Can’t be when Wonyoung’s fist, firm around your cock, feels so right.

Can’t be when she lands on the edge of the bed with her lips parted in delight as she watches your dick stiffen under her service.

“There you go, daddy,” she coos, smirking. “Just get all hard for me, then you can stuff that big thing up in my pussy.”

Her thumb toys with your cockhead. You purse your lips to hold back a groan. Let go of it anyway when her smooth, closed palm rubs your sensitive flesh. She cups your balls lovingly before gliding her teasing fingertips under your length, right up to your tip. The girl knows how to do this; she’s good at more things other than MCing and performing.

Wonyoung hones this skill with firmer pumps, giving you the handjob of a lifetime. Her long fingers are just made to handle dick. Each stroke is perfection that holds and pulls and slides. You’re leaking so much already.

So you turn into the driver of the hate train, the press that loves getting her bad angles and the articles that slash up her name:

Blame it all on her.

Because you have here a girl, young and pretty and confident, so of course you have to scrape off your sins and nail them all on her, like a quivering hand to wood.

“You think you’re getting it that easily?” you say. Your moan is squeezed in your throat. “Baby, you’re not even close to it.”

Wonyoung smirks. It’s that self-assured, elegant smile that tells you that won’t work on her. She might be a rookie, but she knows how to play the game.

She tightens her grip painfully. That’s what you get for trying to one her up. Do that to anyone, just not Jang Wonyoung. Your cry goes unheard as she yanks you rather than jerks you off. Spits on your head for good measure. Wonyoung’s eyes make a connection with your soul and says, Yep, that’s what I’d do if you weren’t my senior. In fact, I’d do it regardless. I’d choke and spit and leave you to die, because a pretty Samaritan is better than a good one.

“You’re really out of touch, daddy.”

With Wonyoung slathering her drool all over you, you’re forced to teeter on the line between heaven and hell. It burns yet the offer of pleasure leaves you sated.

“You think I’m like the pretty girls out there? Other girls might have broken down and begged you to come back.”

Your rod is subjected to a brief torrid kiss, then a smile as the wicked girl looks up at you.

She laughs, gives you this smile full of haught and womanly power. “Too bad I’m Jang Wonyoung,” she says, her last words before taking you in.

Yes, it’s too bad she’s Jang Wonyoung. It’s too bad she’s not the other girls who’d kneel for a burning touch of stars like you. She wouldn’t be holding control over you with the power of her lips if she had sanity in that pretty head.

Her plump tiers wrap around you and seize everything, encasing it in softness and wetness. Her tongue, the one she uses as a killer expression for her selfies and Instagram updates, kills you all the same with how it swirls around your skin and tastes you. Trying to pretend the girl wasn’t a pro at this like she is with everything else is useless. She’ll keep proving you wrong and overpowering you.

The whole of your shaft is sucked in, then, when her cute nose is pressed directly to your stomach, she lets out a hummed laugh. You shudder—as much as it makes you feel good, fear grips your muscles and makes them limp. She’s loving how wrong everything is, and you’re not sure if you like it.

Her jaw slacks, and then Wonyoung’s swallowing you like you’re water. Can’t be water when you’re this solid in her throat. You let out a shivering groan. You can picture the bulge in Wonyoung’s neck and it’s the last thing you’d count on turning you on, but they did tell you to expect the unexpected.

Her saliva becomes excessive, resulting in some dribbles down her chin that help her work her mouth on you. Wonyoung’s drool sheens you entirely and she keeps adding more. On the occasion she pushes her face into your stomach, your cock gets wetter. She does, too.

“Fuck.” Cussing won’t help deter the onslaught of pleasure. You’re unsalvageable. Say it anyway. You babble meaningless, slurred words and not one gets to Wonyoung. All she can hear is the sound of your quivering moans and her mouth taking you all in.

She becomes less of an idol, less of the elegant princess for the cameras, and instead a fleshlight. However, she reminds you that it isn’t that way with a fierce sneer that stays on at all times. She’s not your girl—she’s Jang Wonyoung, and you’re already incredibly lucky that she chose to go down on you.

All that beautiful hair isn’t of any purpose if you don’t get to touch it, to gather it in a ponytail, to pull on it. Your fingers creep into her brown locks not only to give it a little meaning but also for sanity.

That isn’t a thing in Wonyoung’s world. She pulls your hand off and slaps it on your side. “No,” she says with a shake of her head. “Daddy can’t touch me, not when he’s pretending that he’s hot shit.”

Her nails bury themselves in your hips. Oh, the manicured talons of a gorgeous monster. Oh, the pain that runs through your sides. Should you run before she devours you? Too late for that.

“Wonyoung,” you breathe, and then ask, genuinely: “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She’s so proper and serene on her shows that not even her most desperate fan would think she’s a terror. They don’t know she’s a girl who likes older, weaker men who’d ruin her if she hasn’t the pretty face and attractively black heart to do them the favor instead.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You’d respond if you knew the answer.

Wonyoung rubs her thumb under your dick, sending little sparks aflying. “Why’d you kiss me earlier?” Her lipstick decorates it as a kinder girl would to your face. “Why didn’t you grab my hair and tell me to be a good girl? Why didn’t you leave? It’s not my fault you want to fuck me.”

All these words of destruction and your cock remains standing. It’s a staunch reminder to her that you can say whatever you want and the hard evidence remains. You want to fuck Wonyoung. You want to do it to a rookie who’d turn the story around on you if it ever came out. You want to fuck her so bad it’s borderline pitiable.

“I’m just giving you what you want, daddy.” Her fingers caress your sides. “Trust me, I could be a very good girl if I wanted to.”

You almost didn’t believe that until Wonyoung started to suck you off again.

Her lips stroke you effortlessly as if this were her pastime. That’s your most accurate guess, because this seamless performance—the one of her mouth working on you with the impression that this whole thing is nothing to her—can’t be a natural gift. The combination of dripping saliva and her soft lips is lethal.

It’s unbelievable how she manages to find all your tender spots. She preys on them, licking and licking until you’re very sure you were going to blow all over her. But you can’t give her that satisfaction.

You’re very close to doing so though. She’s perfectly sloppy and rough. You glare at her when she lightly teases her teeth on your girth. She winks at you in response. She leaves you breathless in so many ways.

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, god—” you whine. It’s so hard to adapt to the girl sitting there with that innocent face and wild mouth that doesn’t dare give up on you.

Her expressions on camera are always poised. Off camera, there’s this one she flashes you as she shoves her face into your stomach that looks downright evil. Although she’s already fucking you with her throat, Wonyoung partners it with strong suction that’s sure to drain you.

“Yes, daddy?” She doesn’t pant when she goes up for air, replacing her sucking with her long fingers.

“I’m really close,” you admit. It’s obvious from your shaking legs.

Sounds of returned wet suction start to increase. Criticism and compliments prod Wonyoung on. How else would she improve in her idol life? In blowing you? In devouring you?

You realize you’re fitting the cliché. There’s you, an idol whose name is uttered on the daily by both young and old fans, igniting a scandal in the making by fucking a girl beneath you in everything. There’s this expensive suite where stars go for a little precious privacy to do what they want. There’s the two of you doing exactly what you desire: fucking each other. There’s the classic maneater trope with how it’s more like Wonyoung fucking you—she fucks you with her face, fucks you in the head, fucks with your righteousness. Well, fuck.

Wonyoung drools so much that you’re invited to a sea the moment your head pushes past her tongue again. It’s slicker, sloppier, and so much sexier because she’s so completely devoted to your cock. Her hypnotizing eyes trap you and so does her body, tight and tiny—that tummy is flatter than a board and only thin panties hide what her long legs lead to from the bottom.

The only time she stops sucking you is when she darts her tongue side to side with an unhinged pace on your sensitive tip. “Good. Cum in my throat.”

“Shit, god, I can’t—”

Wonyoung attacks you again, and there, in her warm orifice, your plentiful orgasm spends itself. Her throat welcomes you tightly every time. Her hot restricted breaths fan your groin and evokes more semen that spills with no care.

Your hands ball into fists. Although you’re hot and shaking, you can’t touch her. Why are you following her rules when it should be the other way around? It’s a reversal of roles, a Stockholm’s Syndrome of some sorts whose victim is your cock never wanting to leave from the predatory embrace of Wonyoung’s puckered kiss.

Of course, after she gathers all of your cum in the pool of her mouth, she swallows.

She really could be a good girl.

“Awh.” Wonyoung pouts mockingly. “Daddy, are you crying?”

Touch your face. To your horror, she’s right. The electricity and shock of her continuous blowjob results in a few tears on your cheeks. You haven’t done that in years. Wonyoung is the first one to make you cry like this.

You flush. What more to hide your weakness than anger? “Wonyoung,” you start, then you realize you don’t know what to say, “I—you—”

She smiles. You aren’t going anywhere.

She shoves you to the bed. You’ve reached rock bottom in spite of the softness of the quality pillows. You’ll scrape your way out if not for Wonyoung finishing the job by keeping you there assisted by her legs. They close around you with not even a courtesy false promise of an escape. No negotiation, no coaxes.

Wonyoung is sitting on your crotch but not on your dick, which is a problem. Which is a solution. Her hands are pinned to your chest while you try not to meet her eyes. It’s a losing game when your runaway glances are met by her grinding hips, silky thighs, and the hard, flexing abs of a perfection of a midriff.

Her fingers tug on the waistband of her panties before slowly slipping them off. Her pink pussy clear of blemish or hair comes in contact with your length. Up and down she goes, her dancing hips always seeking for more friction. You understand their need because you share the same—Wonyoung’s splayed lips on your member feel heavenly. It’s kind of disappointing that she might as well have climbed her way out of hell.

If she did, she’s the prettiest little devil you’ve ever seen.

“Ohhh, don’t you get it?” Wonyoung asks. She moves so smoothly, you nearly forget she’s humping you rather than dancing. Her soft moan brings you back. It’s the first time you’ve heard it, and you’re melting; it sounds so seductive and innocent in the same breath.

You know her. She knows you. So it’s clear: Jang Wonyoung can be anything—supermodel, actress, dancer—but she cannot ever be innocent.

Her gorgeous voice is silky when it twists into moans and gasps. Looking down at your crotches meeting and swaying is a better show than end-of-the-year performances. The blowjob and commanding you around must have turned her on by a lot—her flesh is hot and wanton with juices as it slides up and down you.

“You’re not going anywhere, daddy!” Wonyoung giggles. She kisses your nose, then your chest until her lipstick marks you. You burn up with feverish lust after each peck. “Daddy is only Wonyoung’s. And I knew your perfect cock would be mine when I posted those pics. I know men like daddy would do anything for me.”

“Wonyoung.” Breathe again, because you’ll need to after this, so why not do it now? “Why are you doing this?”

You thought her flirtatiousness in your office was just her coyness coming out to play. She’d rest her chin on your desk, suck a red lollipop on some days, maybe run her fingertips over your knuckles. Day in and out, she plays the same game. You didn’t know it would reach this level.

“Because I want to mess you up, daddy,” Wonyoung says. Her tongue swipes at the cavern of your mouth right until she nibbles at your lower lip. Her lipstick peppers your face. “I want to fuck my daddy up so bad he’ll never go a day without thinking of me.”

Swallow. The friction of your sexes is driving you crazy and close to the edge. All the same, you don’t want to make a fool of yourself cumming early for Wonyoung.

What happened to your dynamics? Your relationship? There wasn’t a romantic one, but it was always you holding the reins professionally and her just being an insistent passenger. Now she’s wrapping that rein around your neck and claiming you for her own. Looks like you have control everywhere excluding the bed.

“That’s it?” you ask. Shut your eyes—just seeing her grind on you with her utterly wet cunt can make you bust. “Your career doesn’t matter to you?”

“I could say the same thing to you.” Wonyoung lifts herself up and flashes that wicked smile again. “But I want to feel this in me before you wimp out.”

You and Wonyoung fall down a bottomless hole of consequence and wrongs but Wonyoung makes sure to bottom out the first time she sits on your dick. She engulfs you whole and traps you there with her soaked, grippy walls that slide all the way down.

You’d say her pussy has a vise grip, holding onto you like all goes wrong if it didn’t, except you think it has the grip of a vice. Need for her juices that coat you replaces the need for alcohol. Even if you get out of this suite alive, (which is a low possibility), you can see yourself always coming back for more. You could be addicted to anything—smoking, eating, cheating—but it just so happened your vice is Wonyoung.

“Daddy!” she yelps, and from there you can’t count the times she slams her cute butt down your thighs. “Oh my god, daddy!”

Her dainty, cute yells make you throb inside her. Perhaps it’s the kittenish quality of it that turns you on so much. She sounds so appealing, so fucking ruinable that it’s surprising to see that she’s doing the ruining here. Her expression in bed is more animated than the ones she makes onstage—her nearly closed eyes look upwards while her mouth falls open.

The squeeze of her tight, wet cunt renders your knees weak. It’s a good thing you’re lying down. Wonyoung makes sure you stay that way by penetrating herself with you over and over again. Her being barely a weight on you doesn’t stop you from lying there uselessly. You know better by now not to challenge her, not when each time you enter her vagina is better than the last. Her pussy is slippery and tight, proving to be the smallest and the best fit for your shaft simultaneously. Her hole is too tight and too good.

“Is this all for me, daddy? Huh?” Wonyoung circles her hips, making you moan, then continues her up-and-down movements. “You’re so hard, you naughty daddy. I know you got a b-boner when you looked at my posts. Now I’m giving you another one.”

You always thought of Wonyoung as justifiably confident yet arrogant. She told you once at your desk that she doesn’t deserve a stylist who only has a four-star rating. She lamented about the lack of competence of her staff preparing her comeback stage. All those you turned down to give the topics of her complaints the benefit of the doubt, but you know she’s right. She doesn’t deserve less when she’s better than the best. She doesn’t deserve less when she knows her place: a royal throne. So you can’t deny that she’s too hot to handle, undiscriminating to you whose connections always have impossibly beautiful women somewhere in there.

She’s so hot that her small breasts bouncing from behind that denim bra and tube top looks appealing. She’s so hot that the heat between her legs grows wetter. She’s so hot that when her soft ass crashes down on you again, you don’t find it a repetitive bore.

She’s so hot that you’d let the slim, tall girl use you until dusk turns to dawn, even if the curtains behind her are drawn apart and the secret cameras get to snap a photo.

“Shit, Wonyoung,” you say, your core squeezing. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“I bet you’ve thought about this, daddy. You thought that one night, I’ll be so bad that you could book us a whole hotel and fuck me in all the rooms, just like this one. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes, fuck yes.”

“You wanted to open my legs and use my little pussy all day long, huh? Until I’m yours to throw around and do whatever?”

“Y-yes.” Nod. Your face twists—she shouldn’t speak when she’s fucking you because all the filth she says makes you want to blow inside her already. It’s the kind of truth that arouses rather than hurts.

Wonyoung’s riding switches to a rapid intensity that makes you yell. She lets you in so deep to the point that her butt cheeks touch your heavy balls. She’ll drain them for sure; the pace she sets is terrifyingly quick. It seems that she becomes tighter after each bounce, and it’s not helping you hold out at all.

Watch the wildness in Wonyoung’s eyes become animalistic. It makes you all the more certain now of one solid fact: there is something seriously wrong with Jang Wonyoung.

She smirks. “Well, you got it wrong. I’m not all yours, daddy.” She leans down, resting her palms on your shoulders. “You are all mine.”

Her hands might as well be a chained collar waiting to close around your neck. Her devilish simper is supposed to scare you, not turn you on. Somehow, it does both.

She flicks back her hair as she sits up again. Through it all, her riding doesn’t stop. “This cock?” she asks before slamming her pussy down it with a different kind of ferociousness. Cry out but she shuts you up with a furious kiss. “It’s gonna be my dirty secret. I’ll always go to daddy after my schedules so I can make him cum—over and over again.”

To think that a young girl like her has you at her beck and call is laughable, but there’s no laughing now. As you stare at Wonyoung’s fluid body and her hair bouncing beautifully, you realize she actually can have you for herself. It only took one Instagram post to lure you to her. She sees you’re falling deeper and deeper for her.

She didn’t exactly tell you how to escape.

“You gonna cum, daddy? Is my perfect pussy milking you?”

You can do nothing except nod.

“Of course, I can feel you throbbing, i-it’s making me lose it,” gasps Wonyoung. Her whines are making you lose it yourself. “Let’s cum together, okay? You can only cum when you feel Wonyoung squirt all over your massive cock.”

She squeezes tighter on top of you when she reaches down to rub her clit. She’s in search of any kind of stimulation: the slap of her ass on your thighs, the upward shoves of your erection, the pulse of her clit. Her moans increase in their whiny girlishness. Their tender vulnerability makes you think she should be the one underneath your body though you’re aware that’s never going to happen. Wonyoung belongs on top, just the same with her name in first place in the list of brand reputation rankings, browser searches, followers.

Once upon a time, you took charge over her. You managed her lessons, her videos, her behind-the-scenes duties. Funny how it’s the opposite now, wherein she jounces on you freely with the domineering message of caution: don’t cum until she does.

And god, is she making that hard. Everything about her is so attractive, from the bounce of her hair to her midriff showing your entering cock to her pretty pink pussy clutching you. What gets you, however, is her face—everyone loves looking at that face. Today, you’re under an aphrodisiac for it: you’re in love with the roll of her eyes as she rides you, the pink on her cheeks, the part of her lips.

“Fuck yes! Ugh, daddy, you feel so good inside me…” Wonyoung’s core clenches and slides your penis along its textured, sensitive walls. Her gasp is straight out of fantasies. “You’re balls deep, see? Look how your meat’s filling me. My pussy’s going to be so sore after this.” She chuckles. “Wait, who says we’re stopping?”

You shudder. You’re getting very close. Your earlier orgasm still has its effects on you. You’re afraid you’re going to do something you shouldn’t under her bedroom law. She’ll imprison you with her thighs and waterboard you with all the girl cum she promised until you confess that she’s the best fuck you ever had.

“Daddy’s going to cum so hard he’s probably going to breed me. Then I’ll, oh, I’ll feel it inside my tummy and it’s going to be a scandal. Wouldn’t you like that? Getting to knock up Jang Wonyoung? I can hear you moaning. I think you really like that. I think that’s why you’re thrusting up in me. You want to be a real daddy and make your baby girl a mommy. That’s so fucked up, you know that, right? You shouldn’t be having sex with me, let alone breeding me. But you’re a fucking weak old man, so of course you like that.”

You’re burning up. They’re the signs of what’s to come. If her confident words inspire her young fans, her monologues of lust make you feel like you’re the worst person in the world. Of course, the boner is part of the effect.

You groan. “Wonyoung, baby girl, please—”

“Oh god, daddy, I’m going to cum!” she squeals. Her emotions control her and tell her to go harder, bounce harder, squeeze harder. She’s pushing past her limits. “Agh, agh, you’re cumming, too, right? Cum for me. You’ll be—fuck, my daddy’s going to make me cum! I’m squirting all over his cock!”

She slams herself down roughly and repeatedly till your lower body’s flooded with her cum. You can’t take it anymore. It feels like dying because you swear you can see stars in the ceiling, stars of lust in her eyes. La petite mort. How poetic, since Wonyoung’s screaming still sounds as beautiful as her singing and speaking.

Her shouts are close to breaking the windows’ glass. Anyone can figure out what’s happening without the destruction of the pane—the curtains are wide open, letting the world see the youngest icon of the new generation pumping herself onto her co-worker.

You wonder if there’s actually poor watchers out there seeing you cream Wonyoung’s princess pussy, grab her ass to guide her, and kiss her when she leans down.

Wonyoung tastes the best when she’s squirting.

Consequences always catch up no matter what. You can hide under a cloak, in another country, underneath the earth in a secluded bunker and all that won’t help. You’ll be stuck dealing with the outcome, thorns from a rose you thought was too pretty to have some.

That’s the first thing you remember when you wake up, wrapped in the bed sheets and by Wonyoung’s arms. Someone’s calling you. Bad news: it’s your boss—the ringtone itself sounds angry, too.

“Hello?” you ask. You can’t help the grogginess of your morning voice, try as you may. If your boss didn’t know what happened, he can perfectly guess from the exhaustion riddling your greeting.

“You dumb little shit.” You can feel the spittle of your boss’ insult from miles away, cities away, screens away. “You’re lucky I’m friends with the fucking CEO.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t give me that. Some janitor saw you from the wing. I needed to hear it from you: did you fuck Jang Wonyoung?”

Unexpectedly, a veiny hand you remember holding something else grabs your phone. Wonyoung leans against your shoulder wearing nothing as she holds the phone to her ear.

“Why?” she quips, loud and clear. “Wouldn’t you?”

1K notes · View notes

deadghosy · 3 months

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THIS DUO AS READERS X HAZBIN HOTEL GANG

prompt: two gen z twins fall into the grasp of hell and the hotel crew as they cause such an entertaining impression.

These two cause so much trouble in one go. Like literally you guys plopped into hell just causing chaos as the pink twin started to set hospitals and buildings on fire as the green twin was just scamming sinners😭.

The twins died looking like their favorite colors, green and pink as the smart one was green and the slight dumb one was wearing pink. The twins even have matching bracelets that have the other’s color. They also died as Gen z’s.

Oddly enough, the pink twin can go into the wrath and pride ring as the green twin and can stay in the pride ring and go into the envy ring.

You two can’t even BE LEFT ALONE HOLY SHIT- LITERALLY CHARLIE HAD YOU TAKE CHARGE IN THE HOTEL ONLY FOR THE BAR TO BE BURNT DOWN AND A HOLE IN THE WALL 😭😭

Alastor found the green twin amusing as they are very quick and smart. Hell they were the one to figure out that Alastor was in a leash when they first met him. So alastor made it his goal to try to trap the green! reader. He also found the pink one amusing, but they were just a nuisance at times

Pink reader and Angel dust is such a funny duo as he seems to look after you since you aren’t good at taking care of your own self which is sad but at least someone cares for you.

“You’re not ascending to godhood. You’re just dehydrated….” “OUT OF MY WAY GAYBOY!” *few minutes later* the pink twin was breathing heavy on the floor. “Hopital..”

I feel like Lucifer would definitely try to adopt the twins as he find them adorable. Like Lucifer had most definitely made a pink and green duck with a magnet that makes the two ducks hold feathers.😭💗

Niffy love the twins equally as they like to hang around with the hotel maid as she shows them how to clean.

Sir Pentious find you two amazing as literally green! Reader overthinks a lot but pink! Reader doesn’t think and just acts head on. So he gets green! Reader to help with his building as pink! Reader just decorates.

The egg boiz love hanging out with the twins as they just walk around and cause havoc inside the hotel and to residents.

Headcannon on pink! Reader knowing how to use and gun and accidentally shooting themselves only to regenerate themselves as everyone panics except their own twin.

I imagine Cherri trying to bring the twins to a club and the green one is like “if you’re bring us, prepare for shit to go down.” And Cherri didn’t believe it until the club is ablaze as pink! Reader just smiled with their sharp teeth showing with their twin beside them having a tired face like. “I told you so.” Cherri’s face was so traumatized at how you did it.

Vaggie most definitely has some rules for you, even a bed time for pink as they are so adhd core 💀 so she need to drain their energy before they set anyone on fire.

It was a dark hellish night as the green twin walked into their shared room for the big dinner. “Hey just double checking, you cleared your calendar for dinner tomorrow night with the staff right? I’m dying to go to that new place like I can’t-” the green twin stops seeing their own twin spacing out. “Oh sorry, dinner, tomorrow, me.” “YAYYY” the pink reader starts to clap excitedly

Husk hates pink! Reader as they are so damn energetic and have no filter. Yeah husk has no filter as well, but pink! Reader has the worst filter ever to the point husk wants to duct tape their mouth.

STOP IMAGINE PINK! READER DRIVING LIKE SPONGEBOB AS GREEN! READER IS READING OFF A MAP SO CALMLY😭😭

“IM DRIVIN THIS HOOEEE” pink yells as green just calmly looks up and point to an exit turn as pink swerves the car as if this shit was Tokyo drift.

The combat the twins is so strange but destructive, like literally green’s combat is martial arts and poison as pink is street fighting but also just weapons like guns and bombs.

The Vee’s fucking hate the twins with a passion as those two are just bad luck for them.

lol I can see pink just bursting into the Vee’s tower on accident as green just waves at the three overlords.

Velvette finds the twins worthy of being models for her, but the thing is when she finally got the twins to meet her. They both accidentally ruined her studio as there was fire on the floor and curtains. HELL EVEN THE FIRE IS ON FIRE?! HOW TF-

Vox had found green amusing at how smart you are with calculations. He thought he could trick you with his hypnotizing power, but nah you poked that bitch’s eyes. He yelled falling to the floor just screaming at green being a bitch and a whole lot of degrading words.

Valentino likes pink..for some reason . It’s because you are pink like Angel dust… but like then his admiration fell so quick when you glitter bombed his whole porn studio.

Pink! Reader was arguing with Vox as green! Reader has a needle ready to drain blood from the tv overlord. “Fuck you, YOU BITCH” “ya mama.” “YA MAMA, with cha bald headed ass.” “Ahh you mad.”

Yeah pink has a restraining order from the Vee’s as green just gets a warning 😭

Pink is a pyro maniac as green is a mad scientist type shit. 🦆

Yeah so the twins lore is that they were in a bad household with a mom who was a stay at home mom and an alcoholic dad that cheats. The parents were very verbal and physically abusive. So the twins only had their self.

I can imagine that green! reader had told pink! Reader a joke and was going to tell another resident only for the pink twin to fuck it up cause they found it so funny.

“Did you know, that 1981 was the year that-” “AAAAaaaAAAAaaAA-”

Tbh green is the reason why Alastor is sometimes scared to talk to them about his plans. Like green would stare at Alastor and Alastor would just sped walk away. 😭😭

The twins troupe is also “calm friend x chaotic friend” cause of course it fits them but really green is also a psycho in a making

Green was the type of kid to burn ants and dissect frogs and animals. As pink also burnt ants but thrown rocks at houses and cars. But they most definitely burnt old houses and thrown hot honey buns at people 😭

“I FEEEL LIKE A FEM QUEEN! I FEEL LIKE FEM QUEEN! I FEEL SO CUNTY!” Is how pink! Reader felt when Angel dust did their makeup as they watched RuPaul‘s drag race series.

Imagine the sibling fights just being so chaotic as they literally have to wear a “get along” shirt lmao 😭

The two siblings literally was playing rock paper scissors when all of a sudden a bomb was heard off in the distance making green immediately looks at pink who just nervously laughs and runs off.

There was a time when pink awakened their hell powers on a Thursday as green was so confused. “Pinkie, how are you doing that?” The green reader says pushing their glasses to their face seeing their twin floating. “I-I-I- I don’t know broccoli, I’m scared.” “Well come down.” “I can’t. I-I-I- I can’t. Get help.” The pink twin says to the green twin as they are floating to the ceiling.

Yeah Lucifer had to take them down as he put a spell on pink! Reader for it to never happen again.

Below the cut I show I imagine then personally💗

Their personalities:

Green! Reader- calm, secretly crazy inside, smart, protective, over thinking, sometimes snappy, just wants to be loved.

Pink! Reader- cunty😘, crazy, starve touched, hyperactive, not focused much, under thinking, destructive.

Their appearance:

Green! Reader- looks like a teen and an adult. Has straight hair with glasses. Possibly have a mole by their cheek or lip but definitely has freckles. They are skinny but curvy as they don’t gain weight much.

Pink! Reader- looks like a young adult and a teen at the same time. Has curly hair with glasses but eye sight isn’t as bad. Has a mole by their eye and has freckled skin. They are slight chubby but more on the thicc side with the right thickness in their body.

Their specific pronouns:

Green! Reader- any, but people usually call them a he/him & she/her

Pink! Reader- she/they and them/her.

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artemisthewh0re · 10 months

Text

Hear You

Miguel O'hara x Black reader

Warnings: smut, riding , semi-public, dom!Miguel, semi established relationship

A/N: Feel free to correct the Spanish in the comments if it's wrong and I'll edit the post! I tried using Spanishdict but I'm still not sure if it's right.

"Ay cariño, that hurts," Miguel hisses through his teeth.

"How are you a superhero and still a baby?" You mock as you lean over Miguel, gently patting his wound with alcohol. Miguel's face is covered in small cuts and bruises from his most recent scuffle with the Vulture. His biggest wound is a gash on the side of his head probably caused by the Vulture absolutely beating his ass in the fight.

"You're being rough," Miguel says matter-of-factly. You purse your lips together as you clean the last of the blood with a cotton round and wrap the side of his head with gauze. Miguel looks like a doll that a little kid covered in bandages as he sits in the med bay. My Little Pony band-aids are scattered across his face and chest and hot pink gauze wraps around his body.

His eyes stare intently at your face like he's trying to study. A braid falls from behind your ear and he pushes it back into place with little hesitation. Your brain stutters, unable to compute that gesture. Miguel's smirk tells you that he got the reaction he was looking for.

“¡Qué bonita!” you say, taking a step back to break the tension. “Lyla, can you get a picture of this?”

“No!” Miguel yells but Lyla has already popped up and snapped a pic.

“Aww Miguel you look adorable! Should we add a filter?” Lyla asks you. She pulls up the image and starts scrolling through filters before settling on bunny ears. In the photo Miguel looks enraged with his fangs out and his eyes glowing a dangerous red color, however the addition of the bunny ears makes him look at least fifty percent less intimidating.

“That one’s perfect. Make sure to text that to me, I don’t want to ever forget this moment.” You give a wink to Lyla.

“I hate both of you,” Miguel huffs, looking at the photo. Your phone chimes alerting you that Lyla sent the photo.

“As much as I would like to stay and wallow in your misery, I have to get back to my top secret projects.” Lyla disappears as quickly as she had come.

“Well it appears my work is done, so I should probably make my way out of here too," you say, packing up your first-aid kit. Your attempt to leave is quickly thwarted by Miguel grabbing your wrist. "What?"

"Stay," Miguel says flatly. His gaze wanders from your eyes to your curvy frame, undressing you in his thoughts. Miguel brings your hand to his mouth and slowly begins to kiss your knuckles.

"Miguel, we can't do this here," you say, quickly looking around the med bay. The glass windows show that no one is outside but that doesn't ease any of your fears.

"I can do whatever I want whenever I want. This is my HQ, remember?" Miguel grabs your hips to pull you closer. His hands run alongside your body eagerly trying to feel every part of you.

"Miguel," you whisper against his forehead. Your fingers entangle themselves in his black curls as you press yourself closer to him.

"Silencio mi amor. You don't want everyone to hear, do you?" Miguel teases. Warmth spreads through your body as Miguel places kisses on every part of your exposed skin.

Subtle moans escape your lips when Miguel nips at your breasts leaving small indents and bruises. His fangs are sharp but gentle as he sucks your skin between them. Your body moves on its own as you push yourself onto Miguel's lap. His hardening bulge greets your clothed pussy with delight.

"Te necesito, mi amor. Te necesito tanto," Miguel whispers against your skin. His hands hungrily pull at your pants until they hit the linoleum floor. Your body shivers at the sudden coolness touching your thighs. The lace underwear you're wearing is damp with your arousal and sweat.

"Miguel, please," you beg. Miguel slowly slides his finger down your aching cunt, stopping at your swollen clit. Thick fingers circle around the nub with gentle touches. More slick forms in your panties as his fingers move faster.

"You like that, Mami? So fucking wet for me," Miguel smiles against your collarbone.

"Fuck yes, baby. I want more," you moan.

"More? What else do you want, Mami? Use your words," Miguel teases.

"I want you inside of me, baby. I want it so bad," you mumble. Your hands desperately pull off the rest of Miguel's spider suit, releasing his aching cock from the fabric. It seems impossibly large on your hands but you don't hesitate to insert it into you.

Miguel guides your hips up and down as you ride him. His cock fills you with ease, your slick allowing him to stretch you out with minimal pain. Your hand flies to your mouth in a desperate attempt to conceal any moans.

"I don't think so, cariño," Miguel pulls your fingers from your mouth, "I want to hear you."

"But what about everyone else?"

"I want them to hear too. Want them to know you're all mine," Miguel whispers. His teeth press into your breasts leaving a trail of indents along the way. A soft moan escapes your lips and you grip Miguel's shoulders for support.

A knot builds in your abdomen as your hips move faster and faster. Miguel's body jerks and twitches at the feeling of your pussy clenching around him.

"Just like that Mami, you feel so good," Miguel grunts, his fingers desperately holding onto your love handles. "So fucking good, Mami."

"Shit Miguel, keep talking like that and I'll come in a second."

"That's the plan," Miguel smirks. He pushes his cock further inside you until his tip near your cervix. A tear rolls down your cheek as the slight pain but the pleasure overpowers it. The sound of skin slapping radiates through the room and you fear that someone will walk past the window as you get your organs rearranged by your boss. His thrusts make you fully unable to silence your moans. Slick runs down Miguel's cock, further lubricating your entrance.

"Mi-i-i," your brain can't even form a proper sentence as your body gets fucked out of its mind. Your legs start to shake as your body gets closer to an orgasm.

"I know Mami, I know. You're almost there." Miguel glides his hand back down to your swollen clit and harshly rubs circles against it. Your breath hitches and your body tenses before your organs crashes into you. You let out a semi-muffled screech before your body relaxed in Miguel's arm.

"Fuck," you say breathlessly. Your head lolls onto Miguel's shoulder, but his thrusts don't stop.

"I'm almost there cariño," he says through gritted teeth. His grip on you tightens and he sinks deep into your cunt to come inside you. Miguel lets out heavy breaths as he finishes. His come seeps back down onto his length, showing just how much he filled you with.

"Jesus Miguel, how am I supposed to clean all this up?" You whine looking down at the mess between your thighs.

"I have an idea," Miguel says with a devilish grin.

Your eyes roll, already knowing that the med bay will look like a hurricane ran through it by the time Miguel is done with you.

Taglist

@hatterripper31

@aiyaaayei

@vipersecret-blog

@kelly-fushiguro345

@anoaievans

@lilvampirina

@vaexox

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thestoryofusstan · 3 months

Note

💿💿🙏✨

Harry supports director!yn as she becomes the first woman to make a billion dollar movie for ‘Barbie’.

this is actually such a cute ask omg… also i got a bit carried away so she’s a bit long😭

—

you were dressed in a hot pink silk gown, with shoes equally as bright. you probably would have not worn something so.. eye-killing, if everybody else in your— harry’s, technically, but your name would be on the lease soon, house.

you were young for your field. twenty six— but still.. young. you’d made the biggest movie of the summer, and now.. ever. the barbie movie, starring margot robbie and ryan gosling. (and yes, you did shed a few tears before you met them. so what?)

when you found out through a very excited text from your mom that barbie was the first woman-directed movie to make a billion dollars, you broke down sobbing. harry, who was in bed next to you, held you and insisted you have a party to celebrate.

hence, house full of pink. most of them were cast members— you’d already chatted with margot for quite a while, but some of them were family and friends.

you could see harry’s sister, gemma, through the sea of people, but no harry.

an arm slowly comes to rest on your shoulder, and before you can panic, a familiar scent filters through your nose. harry’s perfume.

you turn to him with a grin, “hey, you. i was just lookin’ for you.”

he matches your expression, “i was puttin’ together some last minute things.”

you met harry before his live on tour show in london. you were on the way, and then your car broke down, and you sobbed on the side of the road until someone pulled up next to you and asked if you needed a lift. it was harry, and as mortified as you were, you still accepted and even met with him the next day.

you’d been dating for about five years, at this point.

“what things?”

“this,” he states, grabbing a champgne glass and a knife with a grin.

before you can question him, he clinks the knife and glass against each other until he has the whole rooms attention.

“as you all.. hopefully know, we are here to celebrate my amazing girlfriend, and the cast and crew, of making the first billion-dollar movie directed by a woman.”

you blush as everyone applauds.

“y/n, you are such a talented, amazing, gorgeous woman, and i cannot wait to see what other amazing films you make. i am incredibly lucky and thankful to call you my girlfriend. i could not think of anyone more deserving of this. i love you.”

you could nearly cry as he finishes his speech with a light peck on your lips.

“but as much as i love calling you my girlfriend..” he passes off the champagne and knife to someone as he lowers down. your jaw drops, already knowing what he’s doing. “i would love it even more if i could call you my wife.”

everyone in the room screams, gasps, and cheers. you cover your mouth with a hand as tears fill your waterline.

harry pulls out a velvet case and opens it, revealing a dainty diamond ring— he knew you hated over-the-top ones.

not trusting your words, you start nodding as the tears begin to spill.

“yeah?” he asks with a smile.

“yes! oh, my god! you’re fucking— yes!”

he stands up and pulls you into a kiss, and when he pulls away, he turns back to the room, “my fiancée is the first woman to make a billion dollar film!”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry fic #harry #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #director!yn #harry styles x director!reader

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pinktom · 6 months

Note

What do you think pink about tomarry content creators getting abusive tomione asks suddenly? First obsidian, then I saw one more account getting and now seminar arts. Is it only one person doing all this?

Btw my jaw dropped with your no filter answer where you said that whenever harry comes the chemistry between to marry best tomione 🤣. I would love to hear more of your no filter thoughts

I have no doubt those asks were sent by trolls. I, however, am simply a hater—I see an opportunity to hate, justified or not, I pounce. x]

In ascending order, here are the reasons I think Tomione sucks.

PS: If you know this post is gonna piss you off and press "Keep Reading" anyway - that is entirely on you. Send me anon hate and I'll assume you're a masochist who wants me to spank your pert, round hinie and call you a naughty, naughty girl.

“Book nerd loves book nerd uwu” trope does not fit Tom Riddle, and I find it obnoxious.

Like I touched on when I was first sipping on that haterade, Tom Riddle values usefulness. By this logic, you could easily contrive up a scenario in which he wants to use Hermione’s skills for whatever reason.

However, the route that is usually taken in Tomione is that Tom is … impressed … by her intellect. A woman… who is… smart? He’s intrigued. 😏 He’s never once met a smart woman in his life before. And certainly not one so independent and feisty. She doesn’t swoon over him like the other girls do (eye roll).

I never got the impression anywhere in canon that Tom Riddle cared much about intellectual pursuits beyond those which were immediately useful to his goals, so for the very basis of a relationship to be his interest in her brains – to me, it’s tedious and off-base.

And also icky honestly lkjdflkj. Hermione’s two crushes are on a couple of stinky smelly boys (Krum, Ron), where the hell do you go off acting like she wants some mysterious, twisted dark boy? I’m offended.

Absolutely zero chemistry; once Harry steps in, it’s game over

Because these characters lack any common ground, shared values, or compelling circumstances that tether them together, there is zero chemistry. You can try to fabricate those things with a little bit of crack!cocaine, but then you’re forced to contrive a lot of additional personality traits and circumstances that diverge them from their canon selves. (Which yes, you can do, but it only works if you’re gonna do something really interesting.)

As much as people like to har har about how canon doesn’t matter, here’s the truth: yes, it does. Our communities only exist because we’re referencing shared source material. However much you can bend characters around, everyone knows each character has an essence that just “feels like them” on a deeper human level.

As such, we all know Tom Riddle and Harry Potter are intrinsically connected to each other. In Tomione this presents a conundrum. I could cite dozens of fics, but I’ll stick to two very well-written ones I enjoyed.

In one of them, Tom was a criminal and Harry was a detective on his tail; no matter how many times Tom fingered Hermione, he was always more entangled with Harry, because the stakes and intensity between them were so much grander. Same thing with the other fic but amplified by the Horcrux bond. At their very first encounter, when Tom and Harry laid eyes on each other, they both immediately felt an arresting connection, with distrust and intrigue. Hermione instantly paled in comparison in both stories.

It’s just like the moment Harry steps into the frame, you see how transparent and superficial the “commonalities” between Tom and Hermione ever are. Books and cleverness - oh but Harry, there are more important things! Like being spiritually linked! And sharing unique and intimate traumas in common!

Heterosexual Tom is truly disgusting to read about

Look–it’s a matter of taste. We’re all products of our environments. For me, no amount of feminism or fantasy can overrule everything I’ve seen and experienced in my life. ( ಠ_ಠ )

I don’t enjoy reading about women in relationships with men who are controlling, violent, and selfish. Even the way Voldemort treats Bellatrix in canon always makes me wince, because I see it like this … here’s this girl who grew up proud; who was beautiful, rich, extremely gifted and powerful; and she turns into this horrible sniveling creature. Say it ain't so! I wish she'd killed him when he broke her ass out of Azkaban.

But back on the topic of Tomione specifically — I think there’s another layer to it, which is the greasy self-insertion aspect which makes me uncomfortably aware of how much the author’s ginie is tingling at the idea of Tom Riddle lifting a brow and saying, “Is that so, Miss Granger?” while she scowls and tells him to fuck off !!!

It’s of course not the self-insertion in itself that’s icky. It’s more just that the type of person who wants to self-insert into that particular heterosexual scenario is, uhh, too basic for me and my big powerful fujo brain.

And I guess that's gets me to the very core of why I find Tomione basic, trifling, and underwhelming.

Tom Riddle is allowed no faults whatsoever in Tomione

Oh, sure. He’s controlling. He’s mean. He grabs her wrist and says, “What were you doing talking to Malfoy?” 😠

But so... ? Tom Riddle is a deeply embarrassing, mentally unwell trainwreck of a person. He's so much grosser than that. Yet you do not get that feeling at all in most Tomione fics. His worst character traits are often there but they’re made to seem sexy and flattering at all times.

I’m not saying your run-of-the-mill Tomarry fic doesn’t suffer this fatal flaw too—but when it comes down to it, Tomione doesn’t allow for his unsexy fallibility, period. Because the sexiness of the ship really depends on heteronormative romantic tropes and fantasies, which tend to be quite rigid and narrow.

And I understand and empathize with why this is; just look at Reddit, so many women in heterosexual relationships already must put up with mortifying, embarrassing, and unhygienic things (y’all know which posts I mean 🙁).

That’s just not what I’m here for. I love Tom Riddle because he’s a superficial narcissistic lunatic with no self-awareness and emotionally stunted outlook.

I don’t want to hear how he terrified the orphans if I’m not gonna hear about how he pissed the bed and got his bare ass whipped by a mean, toothless matron for chatting in sermon. I don’t care to see him bossing around those wimps at Hogwarts if there’s not at least one student who looks at “ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE” written in blood and feels tummy-churning secondhand embarrassment.

#tom #server #asks #offensive content #anti tomione #shipping wars

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iisasarcasticlittleshite · 1 year

Text

(Mildly suggestive towards the end)

Kenma groaned as he died yet again, barely ten minutes after the last time he died.

He hates speed runs, they never fail to stress him out. He hasn't done one in over a year for that exact reason, but ever since he made the mistake of streaming Bloodborne, people have been begging him to speed run it.

A glance at his chat shows flows of messages in support, telling him to just keep trying or pouring in all sorts of strategies, Kenma wants to just ignore all of them and end the damn stream.

'Babe, you good?'

He looks up, how had he missed (Y/N) coming in?

His girlfriend arches a brow at his probably dishevelled state, eyes darting to the screen in silent question.

Kenma can't help but smile at her protective nature. (Y/N) is an absolute sweetheart, most of the time, the rest of it, she's got one hell of a protective streak, and it shows whenever she hears about internet trolls.

'I'm good baby...come here?'

Her expression eases to a small smile as he pats his thigh, sitting back in his chair to make room for her to slide into his lap.

(Y/N) doesn't hesitate, settling across his thighs and sparing chat a small wave as they explode with messages.

»WELCOME TO THE STREAM, MRS KODZUKEN!«

»Our lady has graced us with her presence! We have been blessed«

»Mrs is lookin' fine today!«

Kenma made a point of ignoring them, pressing a kiss to her cheek as she took in the game in front of him. "You're playing bloodborne again?"

"Yeah, they kept demanding I speed run it, it's driving me nuts."

(Y/N) made a face at him. "You hate speed runs."

"I sure do."

Kenma kissed her cheek again, resisting the urge to bury his face in her neck on stream. They haven't talked about PDA on camera yet, she's only just started making appearances on his streams in this way, as opposed to just being a mysterious hand or voice sneaking into his room to give him food.

His community has been welcoming of her, apart from the occasional weirdo that got promptly blocked, but he's not willing to push her too far too soon.

(Y/N) reached for the controller. "Want me to play for a while?"

Kenma nodded, allowing himself to nuzzle gently into her hair. It's something she's been doing on and off ever since they moved in together. If he's getting overwhelmed on stream, she'll take up the controller and keep chat busy while he recharges a little.

She's not necessarily incredible at games, but it keeps chat busy- or so he thought.

"Just get through the game as fast as possible without dying, right?"

"Right...you make it sound do easy."

"It isn't." (Y/N) drawled, staring a new game, and moving with a purpose.

Before his very eyes, (Y/N) tore through the first half of the game with a purpose. She knew exactly what she wanted to develop, where to get what she needed, it was mad!

Chat is exploding with hype as his sweet partner sits in his lap, and absolutely shreds a speed run that's been driving him nuts all day!

Kenma watched the clock, gaping as she started the final battle after less than forty minutes, idly talking to chat as she did it!

Once she was done, she put the controller down, sheepishly realising what she'd just done as she turned to ger boyfriend.

"...oops?"

Kenma felt like a fish out of water, mouth agape, his thoughts tumbling out without filter.

"That is the hottest thing anyone's ever done."

(Y/N) giggled, sheepishly hiding her face from the camera. She looks so innocent, but Kenma knows better.

He knows, because her ass is pressed to his hard-on.

Her eyes are alight with mischief, cheeks dusted pink, the very picture of a girl who's got no idea what she just did. An act, of course.

(Y/N)'s no ditsy pushover, and the subtle way she adjusts herself in his lap says everything. He's been in here too long.

Without much warning, Kenma ends the stream without much of a goodbye, and scoops his lover into his arms, gaming chair rolling backward as (Y/N) giggles, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Finally, thought you'd never get the hint!" (Y/N) huffed, wrapping her legs around his waist, pressing herself closer as she brushed kisses to his pale neck. "I missed you all day!"

"Did you?" Kenma purred, palming the soft skin of her ass and thighs under the loose shorts she likes to wear around the house, wearing those pretty marks on her thighs with pride. "How can I make up for it, pretty girl?"

"I can think of a few ways..." (Y/N) purred, smiling as he carried her into the bedroom, gently pressing her onto the bed, sheets crumpling around her. "Come here and I'll show you, handsome."

#kenma x reader #kenma kuzome #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu imagines

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moonybug444 · 10 months

Text

toxic!boyfriend connie who does not care!! even starts shit in front of his lil siblings :((

sunny n martin call you sissy🥹🥹n they call connie bubba!! tw both reader nd connie are lowkey abusive | name-calling | really toxic | reader may or may not be a cheater kinda left it at that.

you’re holding sunny’s tiny hand and adding the finally touches to her hello kitty themed nails, listening to her babble on nd on about this ‘cute boy from school’ n how her ‘hairs getting longer by the day’ n how shes just so excited to go shopping with you again.

you don’t mind though, in fact you love it. you’re glad she can pour her little heart out to you every once in a while when you come over. i mean she needs it, she’s technically always around boys. connie’s always got his friends over, n little martin—if not following connie around everywhere like a little puppy he’s at her hip yapping her ear off abt monster trucks and how he can do 3 pushups in a row now and as proud of him as she is, that’s definitely not what she wants to talk about.

she’s got a sparkle in her eye when you give her a cheery, ‘all done, girlfriend!’ and kiss her button nose.

she really does love you so much. she hates how mean connie can be to you sometimes.

no matter how much you try and hide it, she sees right past you. always giving you love filled hug.

connie’s walking in his little sisters room a beat later, little martin right by his side with his wolf plushy in hand. chubby cheeks dusting pink when he sees you. he’s just too darn cute. connies looking down at you n sunny sitting crisscross apple sauce on her frog shaped carpet with little nail stickers n gems scattered around.

“there you are,” he runs his hand over his tanned face, “been tryna keep ‘er all to yourself huh, sunny?” sunny giggles loud at that, popping up cheerfully n stomping over to connie.

“look what sissy did to my nails bubba!” she waves them in his face, cheeks clubbing up even more when she sees him look down at the nails, going into weird big brother mode.

hes grabbing her under her armpits and twirling her in the hair screaming that now shes ‘of the hello kitty royal family’ shes smiling impossibly wider and laughs along with martin and you.

you love how connie’s siblings excepted you almost immediately. moving from first name basis to the occasional nickname and then the sissy title fairly quick.

love how sunny’s always the first one to greet you when you step in their cozy home dragging you along, trying to spend all her time with you.

love how martin is always so much of a ‘gentleman’ to you—connie says you’re his first crush. you cant help but smile at that. ‘he’s always blabbing about you,’ connie’s mocks his baby brothers high pitch voice. ‘when’s sissy comin over connie, i wanna show her my new toy.’ and ‘m’movin away…gonna live with sissy!’

that should be enough for connie. enough for him to stop the name calling around them and the random arguements. turn on his filter at least a little!! but nope doesn’t matter when or where, when connie springer has something to get off his chest.

he’s gonna get it off n not think twice abt it.

>_<

connies laughing. laughing at you. it’s not genuine at all, he’s just trying to tick you off but it sure is working. you feel your face burning with every cackle that leaves his pink lips. acrylic nails digging into the cute mini skirt you've got on out of embarrassment.

he’s been going at it for some time now. you were upset because in the middle of chilling in the living room on the couch with sunny n martin—ponyo replaying on the tv for the nth time, he snuck up behind you, watching you scroll on depop looking at some new bikinis for a second before swiping it right outta your hand.

thinking it was just connie being silly, you ask for it back with a pretty grin on your face and a faux pout on your shiny plump lips.

but why does he look so mean? whys he chastising you for wanting your phone back? whys he embarrassing you and implying that you're a cheater in-front of his baby siblings?

because connie was bored.

‘why ya want it back so bad?’ he’s taking the hand not holding your phone and rubbing over his shabby overgrown buzz, putting on a huge smile for you before making a show of dropping it meanly. ‘got shit to hide?’

of course you don’t! you’re a lot of things but a cheater is certainty not on of them. and you tell him that.

he doesn’t listen though. pushes you down by the shoulders harshly when you try to reach up for your device and tells you ‘and stay down.’ like your some kinda dog or somethin. that’s the stuff that brings tears to your eyes.

>_<

hes not laughing as much anymore now. just letting out little giggles and trying to catch his breath. “you’re a crybaby. over a fucking joke. seriously are you—”

you keep reminding yourself that sunny n martin are watching. that you’re already a sobbing mess and you don’t need to embarrass yourself further in front of them. but all that goes out the window when hearing connie’s boisterous laugh grow louder.

“s’not about that connie! hic you-you dont fucking respect me…!” it’s true he doesn’t. you can tell he’s not even really listening to you right now, scrolling through the insta messages on your phone.

“not a fuckin cheater huh? what’s up with all the boys in your phone then huh slut?” he’s ducking the marc jacobs bag you throw at him just barely. there’s more tears pooling at your lash line. “don’ call me names you stupid asshole!” you're stomping over to him to do..something! you don't know yet, just know you wanna hurt him.

it takes a while for you to calm. connie has to hold you down after you’ve thrown half the shit in his living room at him n delivered one harsh slap to his face and scratching him up a bit. he’s calling you all sorts of names in the process. ‘slut, dumb-bitch, whore’ names that had sunny covering her little brother’s ears. it doesn’t help.

little martin’s brows are furrowed when his little sister jumps at a loud crash—its connie pushing you into the freshly restocked dishwasher, he looks up at his big sister, a pout on her lips and her little fists clenched and tucked to her sides.

connie tells them not to call anyone bad words. and if they do they’re reserved only for bad people. so martins confused.

“s’wrong sunny, big sissy’s not bad.”

>_<

you’re in connie’s room now, sitting on his bed watching him watch you. you look down.

you’ve calmed down but your still crying. connie’s wiping at your face and cooing at you. you feel your nails tighten in your skirt. he still has your phone—satisfied with the mini insta check he did—he placed it in the band of his boxers for now, he’ll check it better later. right now he needs to pacify his baby.

“s’just n-n-not fair hic connie..you take- hic take mine whenever, but hic m’not even allowed yours..” you’re nervous more than you should be, slowly looking up at his handsome face preparing for the worst. he’s already looking down, pulling you further in his lap. making sure to press a few kisses to your forehead.

“dont you ever do some shit like that in front of my siblings again,” he’s huffs, completely disregarding what you said. you wince when he’s tightening his grip on your hips and snarling at you, getting real close to your face, “all because you wanna be a fucking drama queen, you ruin the whole fucking day.”

you’re mad at him, so mad you cant help but start crying. again. you’re telling him how you didnt ruin the whole day..but your brains tellin you otherwise. theres snot coming down your nose when you tell him sorry and how you’ll never make a fuss about it again.

youre getting up heading to sunny and martin who are sitting in the kitchen, waiting for you n connie to come out the room holding hands like always.

but it’s just you with dried tears and a soft pout on your face. you’re bending down in front of them and they’re immediately pulling you into a calming hug.

>_<

you’re sleeping soundly in connie’s bed, pretty french toes peaking out of the big dark blue comforter draped over you. connie took a shower with you after completing ponyo again with sunny and little martin. you felt sleepy so he took you to his room and kissed you goodnight, promising your phone would be next to you when you woke up.

>_<

connie’s in the kitchen fridge door wide open with nothing but his plaid blue pj pants, drinking some of that good flavored coffee creamer n scratching the toned abs on his tummy, fully expecting everyone to be sound asleep. so he’s confused when he hears tiny feet running up to him followed by painless stomping on his sock clad foot. he looks down. oh, his baby brother.

he’s angry. little fist bunching up around his wolf plushy. trying to look as intimidating as possible.

“connies mean!” hes got tears in his eyes just thinking about it, “made sissy cry, s’not like a gentleman at all,” he puffs out. says ‘gentleman’ like ‘ganndleman’ and connie cannot take him fucking serious.

“alright,” he says it with a huff. lifting his wounded baby brother right off the ground, nd on his hip watching him thrash around. trying his best to hurt connie. “quit it.”

it doesn’t take long for the big boy facade to drop when connie’s rubbing his back and turning on ‘ponyo’ yet again. s’really the only movie he’ll watch. they’re chilling on the couch while martins’ sucking his thumb staring up at connie. connie’s used to his baby brothers weird habits. like staring at him 24/7 and gravitating towards connie every time he’s working out.

plopping his butt down on his brothers back when he sees him get in a push-up position.

“bubba why’d ya call sissy all those mean names,” he’s popping his fingers out his mouth, “said s’only for-for mean people..sissy’s not mean. sissy’s nice.” connie’s ruffling his head.

“s’cuz bubbas’ dumb sometimes.” he’s taking a breath. choosing his words carefully. “y’know i make mistakes too. (name) forgives me though so—”

“papa says that you learn from mistakes—”

“i have learned marty—” connie feels his brows getting pulled up.

“why do ya keep doin em them silly!” martins giggling at his brother. he doesn’t know how it’s possible—making the same mistake not once or twice but more time than he can count and still not catching up.

and connie doesn’t either.

#toxic!connie #aot connie #connie x reader #connie springer #connie springer aot #tw toxic relationship #tw toxicity #toxic!reader #was looking at pictures of sunny n martin n omg #theyre so cute #🥹🥹🥹

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katiapostsss · 3 months

Text

. . 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 sam monroe

. . .

🎬//

ˢʸⁿᵒᵖˢⁱˢ : ⁱ ᵍᵘᵉˢˢ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵉⁿᵍˡⁱˢʰ ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ

ʷᵉʳᵉ ʷᵒʳᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵃˢˢˡᵉ ⁱ

ʷᵉⁿᵗ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ.

ᶜ ʰ ᵃ ʳ ᵃ ᶜ ᵗ ᵉ ʳ ˢ :

ˢᵃᵐ ᵐᵒⁿʳᵒᵉ x

ᵍⁿ! ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

warnings! : swearing

mentions of sex

request here (hope u like it ❤️)

〰️

in the week you had been going to your new school, all you had managed to acquire were some classic high-school bullies with bleach-blond hair and flaky mascara, and a newfound hatred for learning.

sure, academics always sort of annoyed you. there were times it frustrated you to the point of tears, exhaustion, everything the average student went through, but 7 days of california education and you felt you could throw yourself off a cliff and not think twice about it. especially when it came to your peers.

of course, you knew probably more than anyone else that dressing the way you dressed would always get you the number-one topic in gossip for maybe a month or two in a new school. people really seemed to love discussing and nit-picking at your band shirts and baggy jeans, your fishnets, your darkly-painted waterline and eyes and the black dye streaked through with pink of your hair, your layered necklaces, pierced ears and face... basically your whole existence. it was something you'd experienced every time you moved. but here, it was so much worse.

before, it was snarky remarks in shabby hallways on your way to class or in the gym while you warmed up with a few of your friends. now, it was direct bullying. it was back-handed compliments from the same girls every guy swooned over, or just verbal attacks. no filter, nothing. undeviating retorts made to push you to the edge. and it was working.

still, you did not dare do anything about it. you refused to let yourself even think about petty revenge or stupid karma. fighting your way through high-school would not get you into princeton or yale, and while you were smart, a history of hallway-brawls would only deter that. it was why you kept low, why you still tried even though giving up seemed like a much more tempting alternative.

and it was why you would give your all to the end-of-the-term test in english.

"y/n, dear." mrs. schulzter stepped in front of the door you were just about to walk through after your other classmates, blocking your way. you nearly groaned, already knowing what she was making you stay behind for. "about the exam— is monday a good day for you to take it?"

everyone in your ELA class was already done with it. your teacher had offered a week of going over it in class so that you'd be at least a bit ready. but no one can truly come to understand logical fallacies, rhetorical appeals, the elements of literature, and literary analysis in 4 classes. you were by no means ready. to say that to your english teacher would be an embarrassment, though.

"yes, of course!" you chirped in reply, studying the way her slick-back bun glistened in the light with too much hairgel. it wasn't that you hated her, no. in fact, she was your favorite teacher. almost all of your other professors gave you two days to study and offered sorry excuses for notes before you had to take their tests, so of course you were grateful. she also taught your favorite subject. you just hated the school she taught at.

you watched her steadily smile, then turning to her desk and rummaging through the contents of an already-open drawer. as if she had prepared for this exact conversation. you shifted on your feet, anxious, and nearly visibly gawked at the binder she emerged with. it was the width of perhaps two thumbs, so wide you briefly wondered if you'd even be able to push through it in a day. when she circled back to you, she almost seemed to read your face for the horror on it.

"it's not as bad as it looks. i promise." the weight of the binder when mrs. schulzter dumped it into your arms said otherwise. you almost doubled over against the effort.

"right," you rasped, suddenly uncomfortable. she pursed her lips, looking at you a moment, and then turning back to her desk and seating herself in the chair.

"i also recommend asking around for notes you can study off of. i'm sure there are many who are willing to help," she spoke as she grabbed some papers and began scrawling things you couldn't see from where you stood, wincing to remember the snarky remarks and comments you'd probably have to face again if you seriously wanted said notes.... but.

suddenly cheery, you perked up, grinning happily. "sure! thanks, mrs. schulzter." and you were out the door, leaving a busy english teacher in your wake.

---

through the hubbub of loitering people and intertwined voices, was sam monroe. it was stupid, honestly, the crush you'd acquired on him just by staring at the back of his head in ELA or watching him in your periphery during PE. 7 days, and you were smitten.

it wasn't just the fact that he had a similar style to your own, or the fact that he never bothered you. he was handsome. genuinely good-looking. of course, the way sam dressed was partly the reason you were so drawn to him—you hadn't seen many guys like him before—but his face was also set so perfectly, so symmetrically. how he didn't already have a girlfriend—don't ask how you knew that—you would never know.

the fact that you liked him was not the only reason you were seeking him out to ask for his english notes, though, but because you had no one else to go to. not really. everyone in your english class you didn't know too well or didn't want to know at all. you figured sam had gone through the same shit you had been through in the past week with the same people who had been bothering you, so you just assumed he'd be different.

gathering your thoughts, you slipped into that unbothered version of yourself you didn't quite know and gripped the binder, finally trekking the remaining distance between your two figures. up close... sam shut his locker, turning to walk the other way and making direct eye-contact with you.

"hi," you near-squeaked, squirming beneath his vision. "i was just wondering if you had the engli—"

and then, he pushed past you.

it was that quick. sam was there, and then he wasn't, easing away from you and into the crowd of students as if you were mere air particles before him. you gawked, mouth agape, throat constricting, eyes widening, frozen.

---

in math—your least favorite subject save for science—you had time to think. think about your interaction with sam—or lack thereof. think yourself into delusion. you dumbed it down to the possibility that he was just really really eager to get to his next class, or that he was having a bad day, or that—

then came lunch, which always racked your nerves. it wasn't just because of the embarrassment that you had to sit at the end of the table of the calculus club or that the food was shit, it was just the feeling of being so congested, stuck in a room full of students you had only known for a week and very little actually kind people. it was suffocating. but today...

earlier, you had been considering actually going up to brooke daliah and asking for her notes instead. you were desperate at that point. but then she had asked if you wanted to sit at her lunch table during passing period, and it seemed genuine, until her many friends had laughed into their hands or giggled openly. it was getting to be a joke, how much they cared.

it didn't really matter, though, because you wouldn't be sitting at their table anyways. hadn't even considered it. instead, you made a beeline towards the tables in the back.

sam was sitting with one of the few people you'd ever seen him around. liam. his friend, most likely. he dressed sort of similar to him, acted almost the same from what you gathered, save for the fact that he was significantly bolder. they were laughing together, and you almost paused in your tracks to savor that smile on sam's face. the same smile that dropped almost instantly when you stepped closer, letting him know you weren't staying by standing at the edge of the table.

"hi," you spoke, your voice much more confident than how you truly felt. liam straightened, looking between you two, though you kept your eyes on sam, who stared up at you with an expression that suggested he was surprised.

"yea?" he asked, his head cocking ever so slightly to the left. you gripped the tray so hard you were worried it'd break, rings occasionally clacking against the plastic.

"i was gonna ask in the morning if you have the notes for the english test i was supposed to take a week ago. i need to borrow some—"

"i don't." your cold and stark demeanor instantly dropped for a second, mouth opening and closing like a fish searching for air, except, you were searching for a reply. "threw them out a while ago." he shifted, seemingly... nervous.

"oh—.."

"can't ask anyone else?" liam cut in, and then laughed. laughed. your hands flexed against the tray as your eyes strayed from him to sam. "too shy or something?"

"excuse m—?"

"he's not gonna help you just because you wear fishnets and band shirts, darling. you know how weird that sounds? ask someone else if you're not the little weakling they say you are."

red. red clouded your vision. you almost forgot to gather any semblance of maturity to respond. that nickname, the way he spoke to you. like you were crazy for even considering it. you looked to sam, like maybe he'd help you out, but you were stupid for thinking that, too. because he just blinked... catching your eye again, something faltered in his own.

you could've just left there. but you were petty. so, you straightened further with the last of your dignity and bit back at liam. "y'know what? the only action you get is your own hand, and i've been able to gather that in 7 days, so i wouldn't be talking much if i were you. either way, to call me weak when you look like you'd pass out if you did get any action is just comical, liam. so really, stick to the drama kid regime." you had no idea what possessed you to say that by the time you were out the lunch doors and far from any english notes or stupidly handsome faces.

---

now, gathering your things from your locker shortly after school had ended, you had not just one math class, bored out of your mind to think, but a whole weekend. though, it didn't take 2 days alone to decide you hated sam monroe and his minion and you would for the rest of your life.

it might've been stupid, sure. you could see why getting so riled up over english notes would be dumb, but you truly liked him, truly thought him to be different. not only were you surprised when he didn't care much for you, but you got... angry. did he not understand? were you the weird girl they deemed you to be?

even though you hated your new school, you couldn't hate your mom for hauling you to california if it was because she wanted to be nearer to your grandparents after your father's death. you honestly believed her when she promised you'd actually be staying this time, too. but a part of you wanted to hate her. it was selfish and petty, you knew that. but in some strange way, it could make sense why.

shutting your locker door closed, you made to turn around and walk out of the school, eager for the coming weekend, but instead, you collided with a chest. you were already halfway through an absentminded apology when you realized who you had bumped into. sam stood in front of you, shifting on his feet. though you were quite tall for the average girl—5'8—he still managed to tower over you. your lips twisted into a scowl, eyes involuntarily rolling.

"oh. it's you. are you here to tell me i'm weak again? cause that's saying a lot if i could use you and your little minion as a pair of fucking skis," you bit out, staring daggers directly at him. for some reason—one you didn't want to think too much of—the look of pain on his face that faltered after one second made you want to take the words back, even though they had been building up in your throat since lunch. he tilted his head to the side, eyes falling to what he held in his extended hand. your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion for a moment, but you realized before he could even explain exactly what he was holding.

"i'm guessing that means you don't want the english notes?" you basically choked on air, your lips parted in shock, eyes blowing wide. heat clouded your face, so blaring and distracting you barely even remembered who you were in that moment, for you had just disrespected him when he was willing to help you with something you genuinely needed. something inside you shriveled up and died, and you guessed it was that newfound confidence that came with hatred. how you had managed to embarrass yourself three times in front of him in the span of one school day, you'd never understand.

"oh— uh—" you cleared your throat, straightening. "i didn't—"

"it's fine," he shrugged with one shoulder, shifting on his feet yet again. carefully, slowly, you grabbed the binder from his hands, your own shaking, and opened it up to make sure this wasn't some prank. he was being genuine, it seemed.

"you— you said you didn't have these." you met his eyes again, shutting the notes and tucking it under one arm. sam shoved his hands in his pockets, looking away. he seemed almost... nervous. the thought made you crumble in on yourself.

"yea, uhm— liam can be a bitch sometimes." he licked his lips free of dryness, and you hated yourself for studying that small movement, how your cheeks no doubt grew even redder than they already were. your knees were weak with loitering embarrassment.

"i've gathered," was your only response, your eyes straying away for a moment. he looked back at you once again.

"i just didn't want him thinking—"

you nodded, showing him he didn't have to continue what he was saying. it was quiet a moment, and so awkward you wanted nothing more than to disappear from his sight.

"uh— sorry about him, by the way," sam finally gave into the quiet, his hand rubbing at the nape of his neck. it was so strange, how nice he was being when he had just ignored you in the morning. the remembrance of that moment by his locker made you briefly consider asking him about it, but you only muttered a quick, "it's ok."

"uhm, thanks for these," you spoke a moment later, the only thing you could think to say that would cover up the silence. you held up the notes again and sam nodded. "i'll give these back on monday, when i have the test." you dropped them again, and he backed away.

"alright. good luck, it's harder than it looks." and he was gone.

---

the whole weekend was spent studying, studying some more, and then studying even more. sam's notes were a big help, as were the material mrs. schulzter gave you, which you barely even managed to push through. occasionally, little doodles or quotes would appear throughout his many pages of english work, all funny enough to draw a smile or a laugh out of you despite yourself.

your interaction with sam refused to leave your mind, no matter how much you burrowed yourself in words and books and more words. it was probably the most awkward moment of your life. you had quite literally dissed him and he had just handed you what would help you pass this test anyways. to say you felt bad was an understatement.

but as you stepped into the english classroom during free period on monday to finally take the test, almost every thought other than what you had studied so thoroughly left your mind.

sam wasn't lying. the test was horrible. it took almost all of the 1 hour you had to complete it, and even after turning it in, a sour taste was left in your mouth, accompanied by doubts and worries that you had failed.

the only advantage you had on your side was the fact that you had so fervently went over the material. other than that, you were on your own. upon stepping out of the classroom, nerves still racking your body, you made a plan to hand sam his notes back during passing period.

and so, as soon as the bell rang, announcing the last class of the day, you were beelining towards his locker. he never came. you waited only a few minutes, until you were almost certain you'd be late to PE if you waited any longer. at least there, you'd be able to see if sam came to school at all.

apparently, he hadn't. sitting atop the bleachers, you only managed to catch sight of liam, who's presence repulsed you beyond compare. when ms. cotter announced the third day of the volleyball unit, you sat especially close to him so she'd pair you two together. your plan worked, because soon enough, you were on one side of the net, standing beside him and a few other people you barely even knew.

"liam," you hissed, keeping your eyes on the ball that flew between the two teams. your ponytail swung as it bounced to you, quickly setting it over the net again. you didn't spare even a glance towards the boy beside you.

"what?" he panted, pivoting even when he didn't need to.

"where's sam?" you asked, watching the middle left beside you attempt to spike and only get blocked by the person across from you. you quickly bumped it back.

"why do you care," liam sneered, and upon looking quickly to him to see if he'd set the ball flying right at him, you realized he was staring intently in your direction. you smiled cruelly at him when it hit him directly in the forehead, making him stumble back.

"i need to give him back his english notes." his scowl was one of fury. you grabbed the ball that had rolled to your feet and passed it over to the other team so they could serve.

"he's watching over his brother. sick or somethin'," liam replied, rubbing at the red spot on his head. you hummed, getting back into position and bending your knees.

the game went on. eventually, your team lost, and you took the break that commenced as an opportunity to ask more about sam. you swiped up your water bottle from beside your backpack on the benches, seeking out liam once again and ambling over to him. he was seated on the floor, sipping from his own water.

"what's his address?" you demanded, stopping before him and leaning your weight onto one leg. liam's brown eyes narrowed when he glanced up at you, hands flexing against the plastic in his hands.

"whose, sam's?"

"no, the gym teacher's. yes, sam's." despite yourself, you slumped into a sit a good distance from him, your temple resting against the wall. he scowled, studying you for a moment and looking away.

"you're weird as hell, y'know that?" was his lame response. you huffed a humorless laugh, shaking your head and staring out at the playing teams.

"can't call me weird when you've been called weird yourself."

liam hummed an agreement, shrugging his shoulders. "okay, but why should i tell you, anyways?"

"because he needs his notes?" you scoffed.

"no, why should i tell you after what you said to me?" liam rolled his eyes, looking away. your heart stuttered in your chest. he had a point. what you had said to him at that lunch table... you shook your head.

"i won't regret what i said until you regret what you said."

finally, you felt his eyes bore into the side of your face, and you resisted the urge to squirm. silence rushed over the two of you, and when liam grunted and struggled to a stand, you briefly let defeat draw you into its arms.

but then, before he could make a move to walk away, he uttered sam's house number and street, and quickly shuffled to the other side of the room, getting ready for the next rotation. you lifted your head from where it rested on the wall, humming a surprise. after you had quite literally told him no one would ever love him enough to have sex with him, you doubted he would tell you, and then was left to wonder why he did. you knew you wouldn't if he came up to you and asked you where you're friend lived. but now, you had sam's address, and already, it was engraved into your mind.

---

"hi! is sam home?"

for this occasion, you had taken out your bridge, snake and eyebrow piercings, leaving only your earrings in, slicked your hair back into a ponytail, and dressed in a white, floral sundress you had found at the back of your older sister's closet. you had also gotten rid of the black eyeliner and the heavy glam, opting for simple mascara, blush, and concealer. it was so... unlike you. you knew his parents wouldn't be home, but you would feel out of place in his beautiful house if you had kept to your usual style. in your hands, you gripped his binder, anxiously toying with the feel.

the little boy in front of you—who you assumed was his brother—looked strangely at you. he didn't even utter a hello back, keeping his eyes on yours as he called out into the house.

"sam!" something inside you cringed as you pushed your wispy bangs out of your eyes and quickly straightened your back. "your girlfriend's here!"

the smile you were fighting to keep on your face instantly dropped. "oh— no— that's not— we're—"

"sam!!" the little boy yelled louder, making you shrivel in on yourself. you considered turning on your heel and bolting down the street, and you were so close to doing so, when footsteps sounded above his head, and sam appeared at the top of the stairs over his brother's shoulder. your face ignited with burning, hot red heat, eyes still wide with horror.

the boy cocked his head, squinting his eyes. he sniffled, the sound wet with sickness. "my mom says no girls are allowed in the house because the last time sam had one over, they made a ba—"

"okay, ryan." suddenly, sam was at his side, pushing him from the door and further from where you stood, choking on air at his words. "that's enough. go play with your trucks." happily, his brother—ryan—turned and ran down the hall, nearly tripping and falling.

"sorry— about him," sam rasped, grabbing the edge of the door and opening it wider. his dyed, blue-black hair glinted in the light. "that— that was a while ago..." you searched for breath as you nodded, eyes still blown wide.

"no— that's fine—" was what came out of your throat, even though you felt like throwing up your lunch then and there. he stared at you, taking you in as you recovered, racking your brain. you barely even registered the look in his eyes as they ran over your body, the sound of him clearing his throat being what pulled you from your embarrassment.

"uhm— come in." sam motioned for you to step inside, which you quickly shook your head at, eyes closing for a moment as you felt the heat slowly die from your cheeks.

"i'm— actually just here to—" you extended the hand holding his notes out, which his eyes automatically fell to, feet shifting below him. "—deliver this."

sam bit the inside of his lip, hesitantly reaching out to grab it from your hands. without something to squeeze on, your fingers shook as you rested your arms by your side again.

"oh, okay. thanks." silence. again. god, could this get any more awkward? pursing your lips, you nodded once, slowly backing away.

"yea, sure. i'll see ya around—"

"wait— how— how did you do on the test?" your feet paused below you, mind yelling at you to run away despite his attempts to keep you there. wait— he was attempting to keep you there? why else would he just randomly ask about your stupid english exam? he certainly didn't care what you got, right?

"uh— i don't know yet. mrs. schulzter said i'd get my grade back on wednesday, so i won't know until then." you pivoted back to fully face him once again, eyes on a stray rock at your feet.

"how do you... think— you did?" sam asked anyways, eyes assessing your closed body language. why was this so embarrassing?

"well... it was pretty hard— so maybe an A- or something." your shoulder lifted in a shrug, eyes finally meeting his despite yourself. "what— what did you get?"

"a B+," sam looked away, face scrunching in what you could only guess was embarrassment. you were briefly surprised, which made your heart sink in guilt.

"cool."

silence. your shoulders were hunched over, closing in on your chest. if he didn't realize you were getting increasingly uncomfortable, you didn't know what would.

"you uhm— look good today." sam shrugged, eyes only shortly meeting yours before straying away, and you were briefly grateful they had, because your face ignited once again in a flurry of heat and redness. "i've never really seen you without—"

"thank you— i just decided— y'know..."

"yea.."

more quiet.

"are you sure you don't wanna come in?" he finally asked, eyes meeting your down-turned face, still blooming with blush. "i just got the new limp bizkit ablum..."

how—? your eyes widened in surprise, head jerking up to meet his gaze, which was staring intently at you.

"how did you know i like limp bizkit?"

you watched his face contort into that of embarrassment and surprise, nose scrunching slightly. your heart squeezed in your chest. "i— uh— saw you with their shirt a couple days ago..."

you really, really didn't want to feed into your delusions— but now, he was giving you a reason to do so! he had remembered a band tee you had worn last thursday— there was absolutely no way he didn't feel.. nothing.

"oh— okay, then." quickly, sam stepped out of the way, allowing you into his house. upon stepping inside, you banished every invading thought from your mind and focused on the beauty of the area. it truly was really pretty. down the hall, you could vaguely hear ryan laughing and chatting with no one but himself. you were... you were in sam monroe's house. it was so.. strange. you felt out of place despite having altered almost everything about your usual style. like you just weren't made for extravagant buildings.

you turned back to sam, but he was already motioning for you to follow him up the steps. you quickly did, taking in every minor detail you knew you didn't need to. he led you through slim corridors, finally stopping at a door that was quite jacked up, dents all over it, handle slightly bent. sam pushed it open, allowing you inside. it was...

you gawked, eyes blowing wide even though his room was just as you imagined it to be. band posters varying from slipknot to papa roach to my chemical romance pasted on the walls, dark bedsheets, clothes strung across the floor that he aimlessly kicked at as you scanned the scenery. now, you were in sam monroe's room. that didn't even register, though, every ounce of trepidation or awkwardness leaving your body.

"woah— i like your room!" you grinned, shutting the door behind you. you barely even noticed his eyes, lit up upon seeing your awe.

"thanks," he spoke back, his face remaining neutral as he shuffled his feet. you ambled to his desk, which held records and vinyls and CDs you could barely even sift through. there was a CD left open on a folder in the center, and upon closing it, you realized it was said limp bizkit album. you gasped, scanning the tracks and the cover, flipping it over in your hands at least 5 times.

"i didn't think you—" you turned to him, holding it up, eyes still wide. almost immediately, a smile bloomed on his lips, and you forgot all about the band or the album or anything about music at all. he even laughed. laughed.

"you thought i was lying so i could get you to come in?" sam huffed, eyes crinkling with the coming of that grin. you smiled yourself, because it was so.. contagious. surprising.

"no— i just—" sam shook his head, piercings glinting in the light. "i—" you choked out, laughing as well. "i didn't mean it like that— i promise—"

"hope so." suddenly, he was walking up to you, then walking past you, flipping open his radio and motioning for you to put the CD in with that stupid grin still loitering on his lips.

you struggled to move your legs, somehow having been glued in place, but managed to trek the short distance and push it into the spinner. he shut the top and clicked the on button, and music blasted into the room. you hummed, sitting on his bed and closing your eyes as you listened in.

it was good. though... you expected no less from limp bizkit because... well, they were limp bizkit. everything they made you absolutely adored, and although you never felt any calling towards playing in bands or anything, they often made you seriously consider it. you imagined sam had already listened to it, even though your eyes were closed. at some point, you felt the mattress sink beside you, his knee slightly bumping against yours. it all felt like a fever dream, listening to one of your favorite band's newest album you had been searching relentlessly for with the guy you had liked for only 7 days... well, now 9.

occasionally, your head would bob to the beat, your brows furrowing in concentration. one song bled into another, and on what you guessed was the 4th song, sam's voice rang through the music.

"i don't think it's their best work—"

"what!" your eyes flew open, immediately meeting his. he pursed his lips, shrugging.

"i mean— c'mon. this one just doesn't compare to results may vary. the songs on there are too good.."

"are we listening to the same album�� or?.." he huffed a laugh, looking at his lap. "results may vary was good— but this shit is gonna change history!"

"results may vary already did—" sam countered, narrowing his eyes at you. you threw your arms out at your sides, giving him an incredulous look.

"this is fucking gold. gold cobra. gold. how do you not—" sam cocked his head, another smile enveloping his lips. "i mean— if you're not gonna appreciate all that limp bizkit quite obviously put into this album— then what's the point! they seriously did not disappoint, and as soon as i get the vinyl version, i will use it and i will never stop using it and listening to this so every time you come over— you'll learn to be grateful—"

"you're a nerd." he laughed, shaking his head. you paused in your words, brows knitting together as your eyes finally met his once again.

"i am not—"

"i've never seen anyone get so defensive over an album. you're a nerd." sam laughed again. and laughed. and laughed. you scrunched your nose in anger, shoving his arm and sending him a look.

"limp bizkit isn't a joke!" you countered. he only continued his laughing, and you couldn't help but smile, because god.. he was so pretty when he laughed. "i don't see what's funny."

"you're smiling too," he argued, cocking his head. you attempted at twisting your lips into a scowl, but your poker face was shit, and you ended up grinning even further.

"it— i..." you tried. failed. sam huffed a laugh, studying your face. somehow, he had leaned in so close you could make out light freckles dotting his cheeks. now seemed like the worst of times to ask, but you were growing bold, and your tongue moved according to its own agenda.

"why did you ignore me that morning?"

immediately, the mood in the room changed. sam sucked in a breath. you heard it, saw the way he gulped down air, his adam's apple bobbing. it made you swallow, too. something passed in his eyes, a look of uncomfortableness. when he looked away, staying quiet, you were sure you fucked up. certain. he wasn't gonna answer, and you would make yet another fool of yourself around him. embarrassment. it clouded your chest, weighed down your legs and your arms, killed what was left of your dignity as you watched him play with the rings on his fingers. you ruined it. you ruined the moment. the moment you had been dreaming about.

"oh my god— i'm so—"

"don't apologize. i'm sorry." hope gave your heart wings and ripped them off once he left you wondering exactly why. "i guess i was just.. nervous. and— i saw you— and i didn't know what to do, so i just.. left. i didn't want to embarrass myself or anything in case i did something stupid— or said something stupid. i didn't want to hurt you. i didn't mean it."

your eyes grew wide, a breath stuttering in your chest. "nervous?"

finally, he looked at you. finally, you asked.

"why— why were you—"

you were cut off before you could finish that sentence, his lips on yours so fast that you barely had time to register what was happening. this— your first kiss. it was so stupid. your first kiss ever. you had no idea what to do, or why he was doing it. alone in your room, late at night, you had fantasized about something like this happening, and now? you didn't know how to move your lips, or where to put your hands. you almost forgot to close your eyes, only remembering when his own fluttered shut. fluttered. your heart was throbbing in your chest. you could hear it in your ears, in the silence that commenced. could he hear it too? it lasted 3 seconds. you counted. after those 3 seconds ended, he pulled away until your noses just barely grazed each other. and stared.

you were freaking out. you were freaking out. one kiss, and you felt everything inside of you light on fire, warning you to get the fuck out of there. but you wanted more. sam stared, his breath fanning across your own. there was something so... so... you couldn't find the right word. the music in the background was barely even there anymore.

"y/n—"

and then you were up and bolting out the door.

---

sam was standing at his locker.

it was passing period. right after free block. you were suddenly back on that friday afternoon, gathering yourself to go ask him for stupid english notes, so nervous you were practically forcing air down your throat.

you had been ignoring him.

it wasn't because the kiss was bad. no. it was so great. it was better than you had ever imagined. you didn't even know why you left and completely avoided him up until 2 days later, now wednesday, but you had. perhaps it was because you feared he had somehow guessed at your inexperience. if you could tell he was definitely experienced himself, then who was to say he couldn't tell you weren't? it embarrassed you.

you were also terrified it'd leave to sex. you were too young. you had decided against it a while ago. it honestly scared you, losing your virginity to someone with the possibility of losing them. you knew... something in you knew, that if you said anything against it in that moment, he'd stop. but it still worried you.

since you had started avoiding him, he had tried coming up to you in class, after class, before class, on your way home, at your home... he even tried to stop you from leaving that fateful day in his room, but you had been doing a good job of ridding him from your life.

but, in those two days you had to think, you decided you did want him in your life. he would be the one who you'd lose your virginity to, if it came down to it. he'd be the one you'd call your first boyfriend.

steadying your breath, you walked up to sam. he was rummaging through his locker. you tapped on his shoulder.

when he turned around and met your eyes, his own lighting with what you knew was hope, everything you planned to say scattered and exited your mind like there was a fire exploding in your skull. maybe there was. quiet. he studied you, brows furrowed in confusion, face lit with happiness, but you couldn't bring yourself to explain why you had come up to him. so instead, you shoved the paper you were holding like a lifeline into his chest, his hands coming to quickly grab it, and turned on your heel, walking the other way.

sam contemplated going after you, but the page you had forced into his grip called to him. seeing you ignited hope he had since rid himself of. hope that you had decided to stop ignoring him. maybe— he wouldn't get excited over something that would probably not happen considering how fast you fled just now. so, he pulled the paper from his chest, eyes leaving your retreating figure and landing on the contents.

your english test. a 100%. an A+. written below the grade, in handwriting that fit your personality so well, were words that made that hope reignite. made him believe there was something. made him smile. 'i guess your english notes were worth the hassle i went through to get'.

i hope you like the plot i added to it cause idk how i feel abt it 😭

#sam monroe #life as a house #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #hayden christensen #hayden #fanfic #star wars #star wars anakin #fandom #awake 2007

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amywritesthings · 1 year

Text

SEEING YOU, SEEING ME. (1/7)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: After handling a life-or-death favor for Tess, you're in deep shit. Until she can make things right, she suggests you lay low at her place for the week. The issue? It's also Joel Miller's place, and you're pretty sure he hates you.

Warnings: Mentions of death and violence, Age gap/difference, Slow burn, Angry!Joel, Eventual Smut, Enemies to Fuckers, Before the events of TLOU 1.01

( Read on AO3 )

Next Chapter / Masterlist

CHAPTER ONE: THERE, EVERYWHERE

“Where are we going?”

The scoff from the woman stalking ahead tells you it's a stupid question to ask, if not already one too many.

Head down, hood up — in the cover of night, you have managed to slide in and out of alleyways unscathed and unseen. With every darkened hour, curfew gets that much more dangerous. Risky; the gallows are a recent addition to the zone to make an example out of deserters, rule breakers, and degenerates alike.

One false move, and it'll be two additional necks tomorrow morning.

None of this running around, however, is by your own doing: Tess Servopoulos is the thing that goes bump in the night. The smuggler that knows her way around the quarantine zone with little error.

The person that gets shit done around here.

You’re only by her side because you happened to be at the wrong place, wrong time — or, in her instance, the exact spot she needed in order for Tess herself to avoid that miniscule margin of error from increasing.

A lucky fuck-up, she calls it, except the concept of luck is all for her.

For you? It’s a matter of life and death — Fedra, the gallows, are only a drop in the bucket compared to having your fate at the hands of one Robert's underlings in a domino chain of petty fights and turf wars.

Tess swears on an eye for an eye: if she can clear your name and settle a deal, then no blood will have to be shed.

(A luck fuck-up, indeed.)

“You want to live?” she asks under her breath, a pace ahead. The hallway is empty at this time of night, wrapped tightly in militant fear. “Then you stay here.”

You shove your freezing hands in your pockets. “And where is here?”

“Just a place.”

“Yours?”

The woman finally halts at a door, glancing once at you as she fishes for her keys with an irritated boredom; a Tess classic.

“Did I say you could ask so many fucking questions?”

Bingo.

You were right: one too many.

With one quick shove of her shoulder, you’re met with a sea of earth tone pinks engulfed a low light hue. Sun-stained curtains billow against the open air. The dilapidated floral wallpaper brings an uncomfortable Deja vu of a not-so distant world that's still rapidly decaying. The furniture seems well kept, sturdy, with a dining table set and a half-sunken couch. Eerie is the sound of a soft seventies ballad crooning Looks Like We Made It by Barry Manilow from a static-filtered FM radio between the windows.

But someone is already there.

Hunched over the small, square table for two sits a broad-shouldered man with salt and pepper hair. His shoulders lurch protectively over what seems to be paper and pen. The back of the jean-clad torso tightens at the sound of Tess's boisterous entrance, and their chin turns at break-neck speed to assess the intrusion. The person's eyes do not meet yours, but your certainly meet his face.

Shit.

You know that scowl.

It never leaves his damn face.

Here, Tess has conveniently left unconfirmed, is not only her place but Joel Miller’s place. Joel Miller — the guy who will take any hardened zone job no one wants so long as no one speaks or looks his way. The person who, at the end of the day, wants to be handed what he’s owed and to be left the fuck alone.

It's the guy you have spent dozens of shifts working alongside, desperate to make rationed ends meet, without so much as an introduction or a hello.

And you're fairly certain he hates you.

While it's rumor that Joel hates everyone, it's the way he hits your shoulder as he passes by to pick up the next dead body that's festered a full-blown fabricated story like a virus in your mind. You swear his gaze hardens every time he shows up at six a.m. sharp, only to find you waiting at the dig site.

With intimidating urgency he stands, slamming the notepad closed with an open palm.

“What’s all this?” the southern drawl is unamused. Gruff.

Angry.

Tess doesn’t look at you when Joel steps once, twice, meeting her in the middle. “A favor.”

Joel’s eyes narrow a fraction of an inch. “We don’t do favors.”

“No, we don’t,” Tess confirms with an air of aloofness, “but she did one for me.”

“And that’s my problem, how?”

Tess looks him dead in the eye, unblinking. Joel stares back with the same intensity, nostrils flaring. Mentally they continue to argue while you stand at the mouth of the apartment. An unspoken language, fit for the two of them and leaving you clear out in the cold.

Regardless, you’re no fool. You're not a face he wants to see.

(Goddamnit, Tess.)

Joel relents, shifting his weight from one leg to another as he places his hands on his hips. The movement is followed by a hefty, exhausted sigh.

“So then what’s your plan? Since you're suddenly feeling all sorts of generous today, Tess."

Not an outright refusal. Not a threat to turn you in.

Just like that, your not-so-lucky day has turned around.

Tess nods her chin once in appreciation of this acceptance, only to gesture to you.

“Let her lay low.”

His fiery eyes flicker to you, finally, and your fingers instinctually tighten against the strap of your pack slung loosely over your shoulder.

“I assume you mean lay low here.”

“Yes.” Tess tenses, if only a little, as if to brace for the oncoming storm. “For a few days.”

His expression shifts instantly, brows knit tight to blink back at Tess. Joel starts with a bite, louder than before.

“A few—?”

“Days. Until I can sort shit out and make everything even.”

Joel pauses for a moment, taking a much needed breath to level the rage rolling off of him in waves. You shift your bag, attempting to make no noise. Prey meet predator; God forbid you provoke him.

Then he speaks between gritted teeth.

“That’s a big fucking ask, Tess.”

Tess nods, though it's a contrast softer this time around.

“You know I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important. I gotta make it right before shit hits the fan. You know how Robert gets.”

And he does know, it seems, by the way he backs off with a miniscule step. His shoe scuffs at the floor, creaking the wooden boards.

Joel lands his eyes on you for a second time. It's lessened in intensity, but it's unforgiving all the same.

You nervously shrug one shoulder, turning into a counterpoint. “If this… is an issue, I can just—”

“Go back out there until someone kills you?” Tess interrupts, craning her chin to watch you, too. “No. It’s just a few days. We can make this work.”

“And where will you be, during all this?” Joel asks, but it’s gentler this time. Worried, even if it’s laced with sarcasm.

Tess keeps her eyes on you as she fixes her coat. “Out, but safe. It’s better to do this shit at night sometimes, as stupid as that sounds.”

"You're right, it does sound mighty fucking stupid," Joel gripes in the midst of Tess crossing the threshold between the two of you towards the door.

You almost want to beg her to stay, just for the night, but you know it'll be for nothing.

"Besides," when Tess reaches the door, she turns her head and smirks at the older man, "you could use a friend that isn’t me every once in a while.”

Joel's face drops in time with the boot taking one step ahead.

“But we don’t—”

Tess doesn't wait.

The door closes behind her faster than Joel can finish his statement.

(We don’t do friends.)

Now it’s just you, the white noise from the radio, and Joel Miller in his apartment.

Great.

Dropping his chin to his chest, Joel emits a drawn out groan and shuts his eyes. Yours wander, uncomfortable with staring, until they land on a half-full glass of amber liquid on the table with two white circular tablets.

Oxy.

Oh.

When you blink back to him, however, he notices you noticing all of this — the room, what he’s been up to, what his vices are. No explanation is read on the tip of his tongue.

Instinctually your head shakes, gentle and non-threatening.

“We all cope with whatever we have, right?” you ask despite yourself. “Not gonna… try to steal your shit or anything.”

“Good,” Joel responds, gruff yet almost uncertain. After a beat passes, the man clears his throat and gestures to the emerald couch in the corner. “I’ll, uh… I only got one bed.”

The statement makes you squint, confused, before it hits you:

“Oh.”

“It’s a small apartment,” he reasons more like a hotheaded apology than anything else, but you wave your hands in front of you.

“No, no, it’s fine. I can take the couch. I don’t even mind the floor. I really don't care.”

“I don't give a shit either, but Tess’d have my head if she found out I was good with letting you sleep on the goddamn floor,” Joel laments, sulking back over to the kitchen table to pick up his whiskey glass. You remain standing where you are in the middle of this makeshift living room as he flops down on the couch, denim-covered knees spread apart. “You take the bed. Got mostly fresh sheets put on yesterday.”

You want to ask — are you sure — but decide it’s best not to make more waves in the tsunami you’ve brought to his doorstep this late Tuesday night. You nod wordlessly, not even sure if he’s looking, before shuffling towards the open floor bedroom.

A mattress sits stacked on top of cement blocks in a makeshift frame. At first you reach out towards the pale salmon-colored sheets, gingerly pressing down on the mattress to test its give.

The bed doesn’t move.

Safe, for now.

From here you cannot see him, but you can feel him. There is a very suffocating air about this apartment; a sense of displacement. This is not home, but neither is this quarantine zone. Some people could make it as such, but it appears Joel Miller is about as unwilling to get comfortable as you are.

“Goodnight,” he chimes out of the blue from the other room.

Your eyes widen, following the creaks of the couch as Joel situates himself on the other side of the wall — until the room goes silent.

You don’t say it back. Instead you slowly lower to the mattress that isn’t yours, afraid to contaminate his safe space with your germs. You sit with your back against the wall, fearful to touch the pillows that smell too much like a man you barely know.

For twenty minutes you wait at the left side edge, stirring in the silence, until incoherent mumbles fill the apartment.

It’s Joel, gone from the lull of an alcohol-induced slumber.

Author's Note: It's officially begun! Thank you so much for reading. This series is tied to my one shot reckless. Chapter Two is quickly on the horizon, so never you fret on the wait. As most of my works are, this is a slow burn. This will also not be the most lovey-dovey Joel, so I warn you all ahead of time. As always, comments and reblogs mean the world to me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support and enthusiasm over my first fic of 2023.

#joel miller x you #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller imagine #the last of us spoilers #tlou spoilers #pedro pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #seeing you seeing me #amywritesthings

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chansdimplesmile · 5 months

Text

BREEZED ALONG US

Pairing: Bang chan x yn

Genre: fluff, extreme cuteness

Word count: 1.6k words

This isy first fan fic I am writing😬😁 pls bare with me and let me know if u like it 🫶🫶

The evening breeze swayed your hair as you sat by the open window of your warm study room, facing the beach. The calm and smooth shades of the sunlight filtered itself on to your favorite novel, The Fault in Our Stars. Although you have read the book to the point, where you have already mugged up every scenario without leaving any possible detail, it always made your heart thump with excitement and pleasure.

You closed the book with a heavy sigh as you finished the last chapter of the book for the umpteenth time. Leaving the book on the table, you neared the window, admiring the sunset. The door creaked behind you, indicating that someone entered.

"Finally, You guys are exhausted from playing on the beach since afternoon." You teased jokingly, not even bothered to see who entered. "Uh-huh" he responded, as you faced him, "they are still by the beach." He placed the book you were reading to where it belonged and headed towards you.

"Why did you leave them then, I was just about to join you." Saying so you resumed what you were doing before he entered, rather flustered by what you saw.

It's not like you didn't see your boyfriend shirtless before... it's just... this time it... hits different. His perfectly sculpted face, with the plumpest lips you've ever seen. The beach tanned skin with a tint of pink on his cheeks, from all the exhaustive activities he did on the beach. The hours he spent vigorously working out in the gym with his friends were evidently visible when you saw his abs and the buff arms, and damn they were so tempting. Not to mention that the pearly drops of water dripping on his forehead from his yet to dry hair from the shower and the towel slung around his broad shoulders barely covering his chest, were not helping your state much either.

"Well is it wrong if I want to spend some 'us' time with my girlfriend?" His voice snapped you out of your fantasy. "And besides I highly doubt that you would have joined us there on the beach." He said in a matter-of-fact way.

You laughed at his last statement.

True that you were not someone who would enjoy beaches. Mostly because you hated the sand that piled up between your toes and got stuck on to your feet making it feel itchy, or was it because you hated being dragged into the salty waters. Well the reasons were many, but your best excuse was that you were not a great swimmer like your boyfriend.

"Beautiful view isn't it?" He whispered, standing behind you. His strong Australian accent sending shivers down your spine.

You looked up at him, only to find him smiling at you. Dimples prominently visible. You returned his gesture and said

"Indeed. But I've seen beautifuller things"

"Pfft... Beautifuller.... Is that even a term?..."

His laugh made your heart flutter. You would literally fight anyone and anything that could possibly be the reason for your boyfriend to stop this action of his.

Nevertheless you gave him a stern look "I don't follow dictionaries, I create my own vocab." You puffed your cheeks.

"OK. OK. Stop sulking" he chuckled, while pinching your cheeks.

"Now, will you please throw some lights on to what this 'beautifuller' thing is? Y/N." He asked, putting extra emphasis on the word he learned just moments ago.

A smirk crept on your face as you answered his query, "My boyfriend." You leaned back, making yourself comfortable on his chest, "My boyfriend is the most beautiful man in this world, both inside and out."

"Oh, yeah. Sure." He scoffed, taking it as a joke.

"BANG CHRISTOPHER CHAN." You raised your voice a bit, pulling away from his warmth. You glared at him straight into the eyes and continued "Just face it. I can literally click a random candid pic of yours, frame it in an exhibition and it would still get me enough money to last for, like, six to seven months - no wait... maybe even more. Yes, you are that beautiful. "

"Yeah, whatever you think, sweetie."

He placed his wet forehead on top of yours while you dried his hair using his towel.

You suddenly felt his hands snake around your waist and your body stiffned under his skin.

"I swear Chan, if you are planning to do that I won't hesitate to kick you right now."

This was definitely not the response he was expecting from you as he detached your foreheads with a rather quizzical and worried expression on his face.

"Do what?" He asked with a face that read WAY-TO-RUIN-THE-MOOD.

"Come on Chan." You rolled your eyes, as he buried his face in to your neck. "You know how much I hate tickles."

"Well, you see..." he spoke, not even bothering to change his position "I was not planning on doing anything, but... now that you mentioned it..." you could literally see him smirking even though his face was hidden.

"No. Please Chan. No. No. No. No. No."

You perked to the side as his fingers sent weird tickling sensations at your waist. You danced weirdly, as if you just saw a roach crawling on the floor, trying to free yourself from his surprisingly tight grip. Lucky for you that you plopped on the bed besides or else you would have crouched down on the floor, even bonking your head on one of the walls.

I mean, that's just a possibility.

Your stomach ached as Chan merciless tickled you. Your laughter resonated in the room as you started to find it hard to breathe.

"There." Chan said, satisfied by his act. "I guess, that's enough for now." He sat up, looking at your pathetic state recover from this torture.

"What do you mean 'for now', this is enough to last me a life time. I hate you." You free fell into the pillows of the bed, letting your head sink in them.

"I love you too, Y/N" he stated, making his way to your left.

A long sigh escaped your lips as you stared at the white ceiling above.

"I can't believe it. We'll be leaving tomorrow evening." You spoke, breaking the sweet silence that engulfed you two.

Chan hummed in agreement.

"Then, why did you not come and spend the day with us at the beach, huh." He stirred to his right to face you.

"And watch you guys have all the fun while I am seated under the umbrella. Nope. Thanks. I would rather love being locked in a room with tons of books. You don't know the struggles of being the only girl with eight idiots." You said, rather dramatically. "Not to mention that, Jisung and Felix can get handful at times when they are together."

You received a chuckle from the guy beside you.

"To be honest, it's not my fault that I am the only one who's dating a beautiful woman, and the fact that you preferred inviting all of them rather than some of your friends." He reasoned. "Come to think of it, why even bother to invite them, when it could have been just you and me?" He asked, pulling you closer into a hug.

"Well, that could have been done. But then this week would have been annoyingly silent without them." You mentioned the commotion causing group of seven young lads, or in Chan's terms 'my chaotic younger brothers', who accompanied you on this little week long trip of yours with your boyfriend.

"I know they are a mess, but they are the mess that makes you happy, and you happy makes me happy. And I kinda love them." You spoke, establishing the fact that you have grown used to the gang over the past three months of your relation with Chan and how much they meant to you.

"Not more than me, right?" He asked pulling you closer to him.

"Nope. Not more than you, cupcake." You assured, leaning towards him.

As if anticipated, he came forward sealing the gap between you into a soft kiss. What was supposed to be a light kiss on your lips soon turned into a heated make out session, which could have deepened into something even more passionate if it weren't for the constant knocking on the door.

Both Chan and you were quick with your actions. Chan went to receive the door while you randomly picked up the book from the bed, opening it to any page. The door opened only to reveal the second eldest from the group.

"Hyung, we are- Oh I did not know Y/n could read a book upside-down." Minho pointed out in your direction.

"Yeah, it's one of the many special abilities I have." You chuckled nervously, slowly correcting your mistake.

Minho simply smirked turning his attention back to his hyung. "Anyways, we are heading out for dinner; you both should get ready for it." He turned back to leave, only to stop midway. "And by the way you should wash your face Channie hyung, Y/n's lip balm is smudged all over your jawline." Saying so, Minho closed the door behind him.

You took a breath you have been holding for this long. Chan gave you a soft smile as he walked to reach the bed. But suddenly he halted in his track with eyes as wide as a disk. It was then that realization struck to both of you.

"He found out, didn't he? God! He is such a good observer."

"Yes Y/n he did. Brace up for the teasing we're getting today."

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psiroller · 15 days

Text

Stop Smoking, We Love You

I wrote a little thing based on @unkat's chilaios EMS AU, which has consumed my little pea brain. you don't need a whole lot of context though. 1k words, cw mentions of medical trauma, smoking, drugs. title comes from the car seat headrest song which makes me misty eyed thinking about my stupid boys.

Chilchuck relished the icy cold breeze on his sweaty face as he burst out into the rear parking lot of the hospital, the one for the employees that visitors still park in. He patted himself down until the sharp corner of a fresh pack of Newports hit his palm, and he remembered he’d been trying to use the inside pockets after he’d accidentally dropped a pack during a call and wasted thirteen bucks and tax before he’d even opened the damn thing. He was fortunate enough to have remembered his lighter, too; Senshi’s visiting family this weekend and he has no one else to bum a light from. He’d gotten in trouble the last time he asked a patient out of desperation.

He flicked his zippo and lit it in one smooth motion, a party trick that had long worn out its novelty and was just about to put it to the menthol-cool cigarette between his lips when two large hands entered his vision. One clapped the zippo shut and the other pinched the cig by the filter, tugging both out of Chilchuck’s grip.

“Yoink.”

“You mother fucker—”

Laios laughed as Chilchuck lunged after the precious nicotine clutched in his big hands, held just out of reach.

“This doesn’t look like twenty feet to me,” Laios grinned.

“I was going to hold it in until I reached the grass, fuck off, alright?”

“Then you won’t mind if I walk with you?”

Laios returned what he’d taken, and Chilchuck snatched it back. “Fine, fine, whatever. Come freeze your ass off with me.”

They crossed the parking lot, stepping carefully across black ice and hopping the curb to stand in the grass, a foot beyond the premises. Chilchuck made pointed eye contact with Laios as he stuck the cigarette between his lips and flicked the lighter open and shut, taking a long drag. He debated breathing it in Laios’ face, but decided to turn away. He blew a thin plume of smoke that caught on the brisk wind and whipped away. “Happy?”

“Not exactly,” Laios admitted. “You shouldn’t smoke, Chil.”

Chilchuck scowled. “Oh, here we go… listen, it’s my right to poison my body however I want. Just look at our patients.”

Laios fought a grim laugh and failed. “Hey, you asked.”

“What’s it matter to you anyway?” Chilchuck asked, slurred around the filter. He took another long drag and tapped out the ash into the frozen grass.

“As a medical professional, I prefer not to watch people die.”

Chilchuck released the smoke through his nose, rolling his eyes. “Preference doesn’t matter much to us, does it?”

“I guess not.”

Another long drag. He’d somehow blasted half the cigarette already. “You sound like my youngest,” Chilchuck breathed, with a fondly exasperated smile. Laios shifted around, his cheeks going pink in the cold. “She’s in the middle of some kind of health course and it’s got her all freaked out. ‘Daddy, don’t smoke those, they’ve got rat poison in ‘em!’” Chilchuck said, affecting a raspy falsetto. “It was kinda cute, but she was pretty upset,” he sighed. “She was crying. Must be a pretty heavy-handed program.”

“I had that growing up,” Laios said. "They had a cop come in and everything. Showed us pictures of tracheotomies.”

“Is that what they’re doing?” Chilchuck hissed. “She’s nine! She’s too young for that shit. I’m gonna complain to the PTA.”

“Hey, it kept me off. Do you want her on it?”

Chilchuck’s mouth drew into a long, thin line. “I guess not.”

They stood there, Chilchuck smoking, Laios doing fuck all with his hands in his pockets. Chilchuck wondered why he was out here at all if he hated cigarettes and smoking so much. It was biting cold, blustery, damp. It was a holiday weekend and there was only a matter of time before they got another Narcan call, he could be catching a nap before rush hour, but he was here.

“Does it help?” Laios asked. “With the stress, I mean.”

“Gives me an excuse to step out,” Chilchuck shrugged. “Gives me something to look forward to. Gives me a reason to breathe in and out for a few minutes that isn’t that dippy yoga shit.”

“Have you ever done it? That dippy yoga shit?”

“Hell no.”

“You want to try it? I can show you a few poses.”

Chilchuck choked on smoke, something he hadn’t done in twenty years. “You? Yoga?” The ass definition suddenly made a lot of sense.

“I don’t take classes, but you can learn a lot from YouTube videos.”

“Hm.” It had been the class aspect that turned him off the most. It felt somehow more embarrassing than just rocking up to the gym at three in the morning and dissociating on the treadmill for a few hours. “I’ll think about it.”

“I think it’d be fun,” Laios said, and Chilchuck almost believed him. “And it’s helped me, you know. After rough calls.”

Chilchuck sucked down the last of his cigarette and blew it upwards, a brief break in the wind allowing it to coil in upon itself in midair, minute particles glittering in the warm, flickering glow of the light post and simmering down in his lungs. He leaned down to smash the smoldering filter into the curb, putting the butt in his junk pocket to avoid being further nagged.

“Alright,” Chilchuck relented. “Why the hell not?”

Laios beamed at him. Chilchuck could think of a thousand reasons against meeting up with his boss to do anything that didn’t involve getting a beer, but looking at that self-satisfied grin gave him one very good reason in his favor. “It’s a date.”

“No it’s not!” Chilchuck squawked. Laios skipped away. Skipped. “It’s not a date, Laios!”

“See you then!”

“Nice HR violation!” Chilchuck screamed. “Mother fucker.” He muttered to himself, tapping his pack angrily against his palm and flipping up a lid for one more, just to spite him, and looked down at the neat rows of little paper cylinders, pristine and fresh.

Chilchuck crammed the box back into his pocket and trudged inside.

#dungeon meshi #chilaios #ficroller #idk what demon has possessed me but im having fun

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shehungthemoon · 5 months

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Just dumping my Ina Paha thoughts here. 🙃

First of all I did NOT know it was the 100th episode going into this, so i was very confused watching the montage at the end lol

I also had to click out and make sure I didn't click the wrong episode when the Pilot started playing at the beginning. When I heard Danny's voice on the phone instead of Hesse's I swear I got whiplash

It's filmed so well (bar where they reshot the pilot where Steve gets Danny on the phone instead of a dead dad, in which they literally forgot to put the same filter over the scene to make the stitching coherent) and I absolutely love the camera work they did with the white-room and the video projections. It felt very much a level above normal network television cinematography, especially the parts where Steve's going in and out of the hallucinations.

Steve finally FINALLY killing Wo-Fat was so cathartic, it should have happened ages ago but I'm willing to look past all the dumb ways he survived just to allow this incredible ending to his story.

Ina Paha gave me Kono doing... this. I owe Grace Park my whole life. Pls costuming department put her in hot pink again 💗

yes, it was a Steve episode. but Danny REALLY shone, first as the only resident Actual Detective figuring out what happened to Steve by the tire-tracks, rampaging through the compound steadily and efficiently and knocking people off without a pause, and then in Steve's mind shooting Hesse's kneecaps off?!?!?! That was CRAZY and probably not suppose to be as hot as it was and definitely made me want an ex-mobster AU immediately. Basically I have a competency kink and really like badass!danny shit 😊

Seeing Chin's long hair again made me swoon

My jaw dropped when I saw Jenna! I think it's really interesting that Steve still thinks of her so much, and I was surprised that she showed up in both the actual dreams and the montage. I definitely underestimated how much she impacted Steve's life, it seems, and I hate that we'll never hear him address that and we'll only know about it inadvertently like this.

(hand over the heart for how lori got like. one team shot. poor girlie.)

⭐I took the montage at the end as being flashbacks and memories that Steve was having as he left the compound. Looking at it through that lens certainly makes one unwell.

Obligatory squeal for Adam appearing just to save the day :))) look below to see the love of my life! :)))))) ⬇⬇⬇

Of course, the obligatory mcdanno bullet(s). It writes itself! The way Danny said Steve's name so small and broken when he found him. The way they look at each other on the ground, the pain their faces. I need an official apology statement from Scott and Alex for it. Can we talk about what flashes by during the montage at the end? (IMO it being Steve's memories.) So much Danny.

The first thing is Danny and Steve's first meeting. Jfc. The showrunners milk it SO MUCH and who's complaining

The big, rocking hug. The hands clasping underground. Gracie of course. And then Danny collapsing from the bioweapon, which to be honest I was NOT expecting to see at all--it felt like a genuinely strange choice to include in there and it really ONLY makes sense if you go along with all that being what Steve's remembering. Even then, I was surprised to see it, so basically this is Hawaii Five-Oh making mcdanno gayer than even I was wanting them to be. Steve still thinks about that? From so long ago? Even with so many other close calls in between then and now? Good fucking lord ok then loverboy that's WILD. Canon accepted ig this show is just pure whump.

Danny goes through all of this just days after losing his brother and killing Reyes. JFC can we please address that. I need a 30k introspection fic to let me into this man's mind rn.

The Wo Fat v.s. Steve fight at the end was INCREDIBLE. I would love to give the choreographer's hand a shake, it's some of the best work I've seen on television in a long time. It was impressive for a procedural like this. It was long and physical and you truly didn't know what the outcome was going to be; it everything that their built-up relationship deserved for a conclusion. It also happening with a Steve coming off of hours of torture and drugging was crazy (guess we finally know who would win a PVP if they were both at full strength!). That being said I was really impressed with Wo Fat's capabilities and physical prowess, I was not expecting it to be so even and close to the line. I actually jumped when Steve LIFTED him up into the lighting fixture. We do not talk about Steve's (Alex's???) raw upper-body strength enough.

Anyway. Electricity in the water play. The physicality hell that this gif below is ⬇. Fire extinguishers and loaded needles. Crazy martial arts. Chair and buckets (holy shit did y'all see the force with which Wo Fat SHOT that bucket?????) flying. All's fair. I loved it.

The shot going right through the forehead, clean. I don't know how to put into words why that's so monumental to me but it is.

The mystery bad lady was SO intriguing, I wish we got more from her... How does she know Wo Fat? Why was she entrusted with all that information on him and Steve and especially Doris? Absolutely where did she come from, what was her name? Why did I have a huge huge hot crush on her? All important questions. (Goes to show that h50 CAN give us some more genuine badass, not just there to date someone women characters, just explicitly choose not to. I'm holding out for Ellie to remain platonic so hard right now.)

Almost forgot Danny in that black Hawaiian shirt. Will be whimpering over that image forever. The whole episode I was trying to focus on the underlining betrayal mystery they were laying out but every time my brain started working too hard Scott with his stupid waist and those flower patterns just started flashing into my head

Again, are you seeing this:

I'm unwell and so so happy.

H50 you're a gem when you want to be.

#just a post for me really #h50 #ina paha #i like to imagine that after this danny and steve just curl up in a house with doors locked and shades shut for a week and cry on each othe #steve mcgarrett #mcdanno #hawaii five 0 #i've been going thru h50 chronologically very very slowly for years but have watched p much most of the show on reruns #but god am i so so glad that i just so happened to never catch this one. i'm so glad I watched it when it was suppose to be watched

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mc-lukanette · 7 months

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The world was so loud. It was still loud, and Luka had gotten tired of explaining to people when they asked what he meant just to look at him like he was crazy afterward.

The simple explanation was that Luka experienced the world through music. He saw potential melodies in his environment and people always gave off their own particular tune. The latter was what made his life difficult, given that he didn't have any control over whether or not he heard them. It was just something he had to adjust to.

But if there was one thing Luka hated, it was a fake person: someone who behaved one way but was another inside. He remembered when he started to dye his hair and paint his nails, back when people would say that they liked it but the song he would hear was filled with displeasure over his choice of appearance.

As such, he had few friends in life. There just weren't many people he could trust to be fully honest with him without him pointing out that they weren't.

Not having friends also meant that he had no reason not to attend events with his rock star mother, Anarka Couffaine, though he would've happily come to show his support and approval of her anyway despite the atmosphere. Events and parties like the one he'd shown up for that very day were often filled with detestable people only out for money and had zero interest in the actual well-being of any clients.

He did his best to filter them out.

"Luka," Anarka whispered, leaning down and wrapping an arm around him. With her other arm, she pointed to a man across the room dressed in white and pink, noting, "that's Bob Roth. Remember him?"

One listen of the man made Luka roll his eyes, though smiling at the memory. "He offered you a contract when I was little and you threw him overboard."

"Aye." She stood up, her toothy smirk putting even sharks to shame as she called out, "Roth! Gone swimmin' lately?"

Bob turned around to look, Luka grinning as well at the way his face paled upon seeing her. One could practically see the memories flooding his mind, his face turning red with a mixture of shame and anger as he stormed off.

Anarka sighed as if having just come out of meditative therapy, giving Luka a nudge. "You haven't lived until you've thrown a scallywag overboard."

She didn't give much advice even as a mom, but he considered that one was a keeper. He would've liked to have done it himself had he not been so small at the time.

"Nanarky!" another equally non-subtle voice called from afar. "Chased away Bob again?"

Luka turned along with his mother to see Jagged Stone approaching, and had to suppress a big smile. He'd always been a big fan of Jagged's music - pure and untouched by anyone but Jagged himself - and since Jagged and Anarka were friendly rivals, they often met up at events.

"Hey," Anarka commented as Jagged walked up to them, "it's the first mate of rock and roll!"

"First mate?!" Jagged recoiled, a hand to his chest in dramatic fashion. "I'm the captain of this ship!"

"Ha! I can play circles around ya." She leaned towards him, flicking at the Eiffel Tower glasses near the top of his head. "Nice glasses, by the way."

Luka chuckled. They made for a fun duet together as well.

At the mention of the new glasses, Jagged's demeanor changed entirely. He beamed, bringing them down to his eyes properly. "Right? Got a young up-and-coming designer to make 'em for me."

"Young unlike you, ya sea dog," Anarka quipped.

Jagged turned his head away while pretending not to have heard her, though the pout on his face was obvious. Snapping his fingers, he called out, "Hey, frockstar! C'mere and meet the background musician!"

"Why I oughta—"

Luka heard the melody before the footsteps, though it was still a stark contrast to the ones belonging to both Jagged and Anarka. A teenage girl - certainly no older than him - came to Jagged's side, peeking up at him with a smile before being promptly squished against his side.

"Hello," she said, somewhat strained until Jagged let her go and gave her an affirming pat on the shoulder. She shyly bowed her head to Anarka. "I'm—

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng!" Jagged interrupted, looking all too eager to talk about her. Luka raised a brow, impressed by the amount of pride bursting out of each note on his song. "She's gonna design my new album, Rock Giant!"

"W-wha—?!" Marinette stared up at Jagged with a look that implied she very much had not heard about that yet.

"Nice to meet ya, lass," Anarka greeted. "I'm Anarka Couffaine."

"Oh!" Marinette gaped at her. "I know exactly who you are! I'm a big fan!"

"That right?" she asked, and Luka could see the glint in her eyes that she was about to start up their rivalry again. Thankfully, introducing him took priority, so she opted instead to say, "Well, then y'should know that this is my son, Luka."

Their eyes locked for the first time. Luka didn't necessarily need eye contact to get a feel for a person, but it helped. He was intrigued: her song was an entire mix of emotions both positive and negative, none of which she seemed to be hiding. There was an extra spark of curiosity and awe in her at actually taking him in - likely because he was the son of someone she admired - though he supposed the normal thing to do would be to politely—

"Wow, you're so handsome!"

Luka felt his cheeks heat up, completely thrown off by the blunt comment. Anarka and Jagged, though equally stunned for a moment, suddenly looked incredibly invested in this. They glanced back and forth between the two, waiting to see what might happen next.

As he was formulating a proper response, Marinette's words caught up with her. Her face turned even redder than his and her tune was all over the place. She turned away and tried to make a break for the buffet table to hide underneath the tablecloth, only for Jagged to hurry after her and pull her back.

"Nanarky," he said with a mischievous tone, tilting his head down and lowering his glasses to look at her. "What do you say to a little music battle, just the two of us?"

Anarka reflected his look back at him. "In the middle of this namby-pamby party? ...You're on."

Then the two were off, true party crashers even when they're already invited, and simultaneously leaving him alone with Marinette.

"I-I'm so sorry," she whined, rubbing at her face in embarrassment. "It's just—it seems like I always say the first thing that's on my mind, and the first thing I noticed was that you have nice eyes?"

His blush wasn't going away, that was for sure.

"Uhm!" She flailed. "I mean, not that you have nice eyes—well you do, but I don't mean nice as in nice even if they are nice." She huffed at herself, pounding her fist against her palm and clearly seeking a specific word. "...Kind! You have kind eyes!"

"Thanks," Luka managed after taking a deep breath, Marinette having just been upgraded from intriguing to absolutely adorable in his mind. He ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it slightly. "You can be honest with me, Marinette. I won't think it's strange. It's better, actually."

"Better?" She stared like she thought he was the strange one. "...A-ah! I know, here!"

She opened the tote bag at her side and reached in, digging around until she found what she was looking for. She pulled out a CD and offered it to him, Jagged's signature prominent on the front.

"This is..." Luka gaped, taking it from her hands.

"One of Jagged's albums, signed by Jagged himself," Marinette stated proudly. "He said he'd personally sign any album I wanted, and of course I picked this. It's—"

"—the best one," he chimed in along with her, perking up at the sound of their voices speaking in unison.

She grinned, delighted. "Yes! You get it! I've asked every Jagged fan I know and none of them picked it!"

Luka, always one to return a gift, reached into his own bag and pulled out one of his mother's albums, also signed by her. He always kept at least one thing she'd signed in his bag as an extra - if private - show of support. "Here. It's—"

"—the best one!"

——

Naturally, they exchanged numbers soon after that, just before going on to watch the "rock battle" together. Luka had people he knew like his mother and Jagged Stone who spoke their minds without fear, but Marinette was a unique case. He couldn't quite put it into words - that's what he had his guitar for - but an attempt would incline him to say that it was a deceptively simple song upon first listen yet was so powerful as just to pour out of her when she opened her mouth. He could even see it in the way she moved, fidgeting and bouncing with energy while they'd listened to the energetic music.

She was also the first one to blurt out that she thought he was handsome and had kind eyes at their first meeting, so an unforgettable first impression if there were ever any. He was a little discouraged by the idea of texting her, where it wasn't as likely for her to just say whatever she was thinking. Still, he was fine waiting for her to warm up to him if need be.

Oh! You play guitar?

Guitar and violin, yeah.

I'd love to hear you play sometime! I'm free for you! I MEAN FREE TODAY!!

Luka let out a laugh. He didn't have to worry after all.

#queuekanette #lukaneventte: No Context November #Flower Arrangement Shipping #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette

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