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rockalillygirl · 4 months

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Mamma mia here we go again…

So I have more thoughts because apparently there’s no bottom to the murderbot mindhole I’ve fallen down.

(Spoiler warning- minor stuff from several of the books, pls check tags etc.)

I’ve been reading a lot of things recently exploring Murderbot as an unreliable narrator, which I think is a cool result of System Collapse (because we all know our beloved MB is going through it in this one). There’s also been some interesting related discussion of MB’s distrust of and sometimes biased assessment/treatment of other constructs and bots.

And I’ve been reading a lot about CombatUnits! And I want to talk about them!!

Main thoughts can be summarized as follows:

We don’t see a lot about CombatUnits in the books, and I think what we do see from MB’s pov encourages the reader to view them as less sympathetic than other constructs.

I’m very skeptical of this portrayal for reasons.

The existence of CombatUnits makes me fucking sad and I have a lot of feelings about them!

I got introduced to the idea of MB as an unreliable narrator in a post by onironic It analyzes how in SC, MB seems to distrust Three to a somewhat unreasonable degree, and how it sometimes infantilizes Three or treats it the way human clients have treated it in the past. The post is Amazing and goes into way more detail, so pls go read it (link below):

https://www.tumblr.com/onironic/736245031246135296?source=share

So these ideas were floating around in my brain when I read an article Martha Wells recently published in f(r)iction magazine titled “Bodily Autonomy in the Murderbot Diaries”. I’ll link the article here:

(Rn the only way to access the article is to subscribe to the magazine or buy an e-copy of the specific issue which is $12)

In the article, Wells states that MB displaced its fear of being forced to have sex with humans onto the ComfortUnit in Artificial Condition. I think it’s reasonable to assume that MB also does this with other constructs. With Three, I think it’s more that MB is afraid if what it knows Three is capable of, or (as onironic suggests in their post and I agree with) some jealousy that Three seems more like what humans want/expect a rogue SecUnit to be.

But I want to explore how this can be applied to CombatUnits, specifically.

We don’t learn a lot about them in the books. One appears for a single scene in Exit Strategy, and that’s it. What little else we know comes from MB’s thoughts on them sprinkled throughout the series. To my knowledge, no other character even mentions them (which raises interesting questions about how widely-known their existence is outside of high-level corporate military circles).

When MB does talk about CombatUnits in the early books, it’s as a kind of boogeyman figure (the real “murderbots” that even Murderbot is afraid of). And then when one does show up in ES, it’s fucking terrifying! There’s a collective “oh shit” moment as both MB and the reader realize what it’s up against. Very quickly what we expect to be a normal battle turns into MB running for its life, desperately throwing up hacks as the CombatUnit slices through them just as fast. We and MB know that it wouldn’t have survived the encounter if its humans hadn’t helped it escape. So the CombatUnit really feels like a cut above the other enemies in the series.

And what struck me reading that scene was how the CombatUnit acts like the caricature of an “evil robot” that MB has taught us to question. It seems single-mindedly focused on violence and achieving its objective, and it speaks in what I’d call a “Terminator-esque” manner: telling MB to “Surrender” (like that’s ever worked) and responds to MB’s offer to hack its governor module with “I want to kill you” (ES, pp 99-100).

(Big tangent: Am I the only one who sees parallels between this and how Tlacey forces the ComfortUnit to speak to MB in AC? She makes it suggest they “kill all the humans” because that’s how she thinks constructs talk to each other (AC, pp 132-4). And MB picks up on it immediately. So why is that kind of talk inherently less suspicious coming from a CombatUnit than a ComfortUnit? My headcanon is that I’m not convinced the CombatUnit was speaking for itself. What if a human controller was making it say things they thought would be intimidating? Idk maybe I’ve been reading too many fics where CombatUnits are usually deployed with a human handler. There could be plenty of reasons why the CombatUnit would’ve talked like that. I’m just suspicious.)

(Also, disclaimer: I want to clarify before I go on that I firmly believe that even though MB seems to be afraid of CombatUnits and thinks they’re assholes, it would still advocate for them to have autonomy. I’m not trying to say that either MB or Wells sees CombatUnits as less worthy of personhood or freedom- because I feel the concept that “everything deserves autonomy” is very much at the heart of the series.)

So it’s clear from all of this that MB is scared of CombatUnits and distrusts them for a lot of reasons. I read another breathtaking post by @grammarpedant that gives a ton of examples of this throughout the books and has some great theories on why MB might feel this way. I’ll summarize the ones here that inspired me the most, but pls go read the original post for the full context:

https://www.tumblr.com/grammarpedant/703920247856562177?source=share

OP explains that SecUnits and CombatUnits are pretty much diametrically opposed because of their conflicting functions: Security safeguards humans, while Combat kills them. Of course these functions aren’t rigid- MB has implied that it’s been forced to be violent towards humans before, and I’m sure that extracting/guarding important assets could be a part of a CombatUnit's function. But it makes sense that MB would try to distance itself from being considered a CombatUnit, using its ideas about them to validate the parts of its own function that it likes (protecting people). OP gives what I think is the clearest example of this, which is the moment in Fugitive Telemetry when MB contrasts its plan to sneak aboard a hostile ship and rescue some refugees with what it calls a “CombatUnit” plan, which would presumably involve a lot more murder (FT, p 92).

This reminds me again of what Wells said in the f(r)iction article, that on some level MB is frightened by the idea that it could have been made a ComfortUnit (friction, p 44). I think the idea that it could’ve been a CombatUnit scares it too, and that’s why it keeps distinguishing itself and its function from them. But I think it’s important to point out, that in the above example from FT, even MB admits that the murder-y plan it contrasts with its own would be one made by humans for CombatUnits. So again we see that we just can’t know much about the authentic nature of CombatUnits, or any constructs with intact governor modules, because they don’t have freedom of expression. MB does suggest that CombatUnits may have some more autonomy when it comes to things like hacking and combat which are a part of their normal function. But how free can those choices be when the threat of the governor module still hangs over them?

I think it could be easy to fall into the trap of seeing CombatUnits as somehow more complicit in the systems of violence in the mbd universe. But I think that’s because we often make a false association between violence and empowerment, when even in our world that’s not always the case. But, critically, this can’t be the case for CombatUnits because they’re enslaved in the same way SecUnits and ComfortUnits are (though the intricacies are different).

There was another moment in the f(r)iction article that I found really chilling. Wells states that there’s a correlation between SecUnits that are forced to kill humans and ones that go rogue (friction, p 45). It’s a disturbing thought on its own, but I couldn’t help wondering then how many CombatUnits try to hack their governor modules? And what horrible lengths would humans go to to stop them? I refuse to believe that a CombatUnit’s core programming would make it less effected by the harm its forced to perpetrate. That might be because I’m very anti-deterministic on all fronts, but I just don’t buy it.

I’m not entirely sure why I feel so strongly about this. Of course, I find the situation of all constructs in mbd deeply upsetting. But the more I think about CombatUnits, the more heartbreaking their existence seems to me. There’s a very poignant moment in AC when MB compares ART’s function to its own to explain why there are things it doesn’t like about being a SecUnit (AC, p 33). In that scene, MB is able to identify some parts of its function that it does like, but I have a hard time believing a CombatUnit would be able to do the same. I’m not trying to say that SecUnits have it better (they don’t) (the situation of each type of construct is horrible in it’s own unique way). It’s just that I find the idea of construct made only for violence and killing really fucking depressing. I can’t even begin to imagine the horror of their day-to-day existence.

@grammarpedant made another point in their post that I think raises a TON of important questions not only about CombatUnits, but about how to approach the idea of “function” when it comes to machine intelligence in general. They explain that, in a perfect version of the mbd universe, there wouldn’t be an obvious place for CombatUnits the way there could be for SecUnits and ComfortUnits who wanted to retain their original functions. A better world would inherently be a less violent one, so where does that leave CombatUnits? Would they abandon their function entirely, or would they find a way to change it into something new?

I’ve been having a lot of fun imagining what a free CombatUnit would be like. But in some ways it’s been more difficult than I expected. I’ve heard Wells say in multiple interviews that one of her goals in writing Murderbot was to challenge people to empathize with someone they normally wouldn’t, and I find CombatUnits challenging in exactly that way. Sometimes I wonder if I would’ve felt differently about these books if MB had been a CombatUnit instead of a SecUnit. Would I have felt such an immediate connection to MB if its primary function before hacking its governor module had been killing humans, or if it didn’t have relatable hobbies like watching media? Or if it didn’t have a human face for the explicit purpose of making people like me more comfortable? I’m not sure that I would have.

Reading SC has got me interested in exploring the types of people that humans (or even MB itself) would struggle to accept. So CombatUnits are one of these and possible alien-intelligences are another. All this is merely a small sampling of the thoughts that have been swirling around in my brain-soup! So if anyone is interested in watching me fumble my way through these concepts in more detail, I may be posting “something” in the very near future!

Would really appreciate anyone else’s thoughts about all of THIS^^^^ It’s been my obsession over the holidays and helping me cope with family stress and flying anxiety.

#murderbot diaries #murderbot meta #artificial condition #exit strategy #fugitive telemetry #system collapse #murderbot spoilers #combat unit #FEELINGS #i blink and then it's 2000 words later #jesus christ

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thewordypeach · 11 months

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Cream

Cream (Milk)

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader word count: 2.9k warnings: 18+, NSFW!!!!, smut! smut! smut!, no use of y/n, unprotected p in v = creampie, oral, titty sucking and titty fucking, (lactation kink), implied breeding kink, squirting, etc. summary: Joel needs his thirst quenched, and only one thing in this world can do it - author's note: ummm … so this sequel had me questioning my life choices. like i do not know what possessed me to take it this far lol so you better blow it up like you did with ‘Milk’ 🤭 anyways, i hope you like it <3 xoxo the wordy peach

It begins with: “You’ll never guess what they’re playing at movie night,”

You look at Joel, a single eyebrow raised. Joel wolfishly grins, his brown eyes sparkling, “Austin Powers and the Spy Who Shagged Me,”

He watches as your eyebrows knit together in confusion. Joel can’t believe you don’t remember the conversation from last week, the one that had you confessing to him that you felt like one of those fembots from the aforementioned movie. He steps closer, head dipping to your ear, whispering: “Machine gun titties,”

That’s all it takes for you to remember. And it has your cheeks flushing pink. Sheepishly, you smile at him. But, of course, the cock block herself pipes up: “The spy who what?”

Ellie, you spunky little shithead. You love her to death. You never want her to grow up. But lately, she’s been ruining your alone time with Joel. You know she just wants to be a part of the family, and she is. It never even crossed your mind to think otherwise. She’s the daughter you never had. Sometimes you wish she’d just go and make friends that aren’t you or Joel.

You look at Joel, waiting for him to answer. But Joel is expectantly gazing at you. A playful smirk ghosts across his lips. He thinks it’s your duty to explain the birds, the bees, and everything between them to Ellie. Of course, she knows most of it. But she questions absolutely everything. Just yesterday, you had the unfortunate experience of explaining anal to her; Joel walked out of the house when she asked and didn’t return until later.

You poke a finger into Joel’s chest, hissing at him, “It’s your turn,”

His face goes slack before he gives you a sullen look. He pouts those luscious lips of his, “But darlin'….”

“Don't darlin' me, mister. You owe me for yesterday,”

Joel continues to pout but eventually relents. He turns to Ellie with a face void of any emotion: “It’s a classic movie from the 2000s,”

“Yeah, but what does shagged mean?” Ellie asks. Her eyes look between you and Joel, waiting for an answer. Joel grows uncomfortable. He’s never been one to talk about this kind of stuff.

“Yeah, Joel. What does shagged mean?” You ask.

“It- it… it means…” Joel stutters and stumbles over the words. His face is turning pink. He looks flustered as he searches for the right thing to say. You’re enjoying him floundering around. In one great, big breath, Joel spills out: “It’s a British slang term for intercourse,”

Ellie blinks at him several times as she repeats what Joel just said to her. She starts chuckling, “Shagged means sex?!” Ellie turns into a mess of laughter. She’s clutching her sides. It’s not that funny. But you like watching her have fun. It brings back the innocence and reminds you of childhood. You were young when the movie came out, and the world was ravaged by fungus a few years after. So you cherish this moment of hilarity. You rub your tummy and smile at how much fun you will have raising this new baby with Joel and Ellie -

You don’t make it to movie night because you’re busy with the nursery, and the thought of walking all the way to town hall makes you cringe. You don’t like going anywhere unless it is essential. You make Joel and Ellie do everything for you. There are still some things you do yourself.

You insist Joel and Ellie go. Ellie doesn’t fight it (she’s so excited to watch a piece of history), but Joel grumbles about it. He wants to stay and help. By helping, Joel means he wants to milk you. He can’t stop helping you, and it’s the only thing on his mind - Joel swears he even dreams about it now. However, there hasn’t been a single moment for him to help you. Tommy has Joel doing everything and anything, and between his brother and Ellie, Joel hasn’t had time for his new hobby.

So, after he drops Ellie off at the movie (making sure that she is settled and making sure that Tommy will bring her home after), Joel leaves and makes his way back to you. He wants to spend every free minute with you, but more importantly, this is the perfect opportunity to do what he’s been dreaming of without any interruptions. Joel needs his thirst quenched, and only one thing in this world can do it -

You hear him before you see him, and then you feel him. His arms wrap around your body, and he presses his chest into your back. You sink into the warmth, eyes closing and throat humming. His hands briefly touch your stomach before they find their rightful place. Joel cups your tits, placing each of them into his hands, and marvels at the heaviness. So full of his special cream.

“They’ve gotten bigger, haven’t they?” Joel murmurs. His cock is already hard and straining inside his pants. Hell, on the walk home, the prospect of milking you had him almost cumming right then and there.

“They’re definitely heavier,” Joel adds as he squeezes them. He notices you aren’t wearing a bra, and with one simple motion, he has his shirt on the floor (the only one that fits you). You’re facing him now, chest and belly exposed. The sight of you has him losing it. Joel feels happy and excited, and everything in between that. Joel can’t believe that you're his, and he’s yours. Nor can he believe his eyes because your tits are definitely bigger, and your nipples are already dewy with that milky nectar he loves so much.

Joel groans, latches his mouth onto your right side, and starts suckling like a starved man. Your nipple is already stiff and responsive, and you feel the sensation of milk rushing through to meet your partner’s greedy tongue. His hand expertly kneads the pillowy flesh, expressing even more of the sweet cream that has him hard as a rock. Joel starts to breathe deeper and sucks harder, causing you to moan.

Your fingers comb through Joel’s hair, and you hold him there because the pleasure of having Joel drain your tits is undeniable; in fact, the more Joel sucks and licks your nipple, the more your arousal grows. You have to remind him, “Joel…. We have less than ninety minutes -”

He grunts in response and moves his mouth to the other side he’s been neglecting. The feeling is indescribable, and you relish it. The relief Joel is giving you is insurmountable. But it also has you growing impatient with him. Your core is aching for his cock, and your hands travel over his body. You feel his muscles, thick and robust, beneath the plaid shirt. You need him now.

“Joel,” Your hand drops to the bulge in his jeans, and you gently rub it with purpose. The friction makes Joel groan, finally lifting his head from your tits. His eyes are filled with a dazy lustiness that makes you fumble with your words. Still, it doesn’t matter because Joel is suddenly pressing his lips against yours and kissing you with an ardour that makes you forget everything you are about to say.

You taste the substance that has Joel acting ravenous. It reminds you of cereal milk because it’s so sweet. You part from his lips, whispering, “Can I taste you now?”

He doesn’t have time to answer because you’re already lowering yourself to your knees, planting them on the ground in front of Joel. With one hand, you pop open the buttons of his jeans and pull down the zipper. Roughly, you tug at the opening and watch as his thick, luscious cock springs free from its confines. At the sight of it, you lick your lips. Your fingers wrap around his length and slide over his stiffness. The movement makes Joel shiver, and when your lips finally touch his cock, a groan escapes from his throat.

Joel has been so concerned about making you feel good that he forgot to consider himself. Suddenly, you thrust him inside your mouth while twisting your hand down his cock. He quickly fills your mouth, and his hand grasps your hair in hopes of controlling you. However, he’s fine with letting you have your way right now. It’s been a while since you had the opportunity to please him; Joel loves how the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, and you’re so adept at sucking him off that his length doesn’t make you gag anymore -

Expertly, you glide your mouth from the hilt to the tip of Joel’s cock, coating it in your saliva. Joel’s eyes nearly roll into his head because it feels so fucking good. It’s the only thing he can tell you because he’s almost lost his mind from the bliss of your mouth sheathing his cock. You don’t stop until Joel gasps for air and asks you to stop.

“Babe, babe, babe,” His voice is husky, and he roughly pulls on your hair. You gasp and gaze up at him with a thick string of spit connecting your lips to his cock. Joel quivers at the sight and has to remember what he will say. You wait patiently. Obediently.

Breathlessly, he asks, “Do you want me to fuck you here? Or…”

Without skipping a beat, you reply, “Here,”

Joel doesn’t need to be told twice and is quick to shed his jeans before he starts to help you. You lean forward onto the palm of your hands and watch as Joel goes behind and begins to slide off the sweatpants you’re always wearing. Not that Joel minds. He knows it’s the only thing that fits you because you remind him every damn day. Once the sweatpants are off, he tosses them to the side and stares lovingly at your ass. It’s so round and perky and panty-less. He’s genuinely surprised, and it makes him smile.

He caresses your fleshy cheeks, asking, “Is this for me?”

Joel can’t see your face but can tell you are blushing. Sheepishly, you admit, “As soon as you left, I took them off - for easy access,”

“Oh, darlin’,” He swoons, “You’re so sweet to think of me,”

Joel pries your sweet cheeks apart and buries his face, his tongue immediately swirling around your puckered asshole. Mewls spill forth from your mouth, and you wiggle your hips, trying to splay them apart because your body needs more. Joel’s tongue slithers down, lapping the juice practically pouring out of your needy, swollen cunt. He licks and sucks with wild abandon, groaning at your deliciousness. He doesn’t stop until you are begging him, “Joel, fuck me. Fuck me with your big cock, please. Oh god, fuck me, already!”

He removes his mouth from your exterior and replaces it with his cock. He rubs and rubs his bulbous crown between your molten wetness, gliding it back and forth until it’s coated with your slickness. When he thinks it’s enough, he pushes into your tight cunt. At first, your channel is resistant. But slowly, your velvety walls happily start devouring Joel’s cock until his entire length basks in the warmth.

You are gasping at the sensation of being stretched out. It’s almost too much in this position, and a small rock of Joel’s hips gives way to your first orgasm. Your vision swirls as a wave of ecstasy comes crashing through. Your fingers grip the carpet as your cunt swells and clenches his cock. Your back arches as you cry out, “Fuck, Joel,”

Immediately, he stops, thinking he has hurt you or the baby. Panic-stricken, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“N-n-nothing,” You stutter out, attempting to catch your breath. Your lungs greedily suck in the air, saturated with the smell of sex. You tell him, “You made me cum,”

“Already?” He murmurs and devilishly thinks about the five times he made you cum last week. Joel rocks his hips again, and you whimper at the movement. At a glacial pace, Joel pulls out before sliding back in and burying his cock to the hilt. You’re gripping the carpet and moaning like crazy. He’s sure the neighbours can hear you, which drives Joel forward. He wants them to know how good he is at fucking you.

Joel grabs your hips, nails sinking into the fleshy bits, and plows in and out of your pussy. He’s pulling all the way out and pushing all the way in, ensuring you feel every inch of his girthy length. Your body is rocking beneath his, tits swaying like udders. You reach between your legs to touch your clit. It’s pulsating and yearning to be touched. You gingerly circle it, knowing a light touch is enough to send you over the edge. And you’re right because, within seconds, your second orgasm is rolling through.

You wail, “Joel, Joel, Joel,” but Joel doesn’t stop this time. He continues to youthfully spear your pussy and watches as your creamy juices coat his cock. Vigorously, you rub your clit because a third orgasm is imminent. Your back arches and your hips are high in the air, and Joel stops, pulling out completely, to watch as your pussy trembles with another orgasm. Your thighs are dripping with your juices, and his name still spills out of your mouth. Repeatedly.

His hand squeezes your hip, “Mmm, darlin’. That’s your third one - should we slow down? Don’t want to hurt -”

“Need more,” You interrupt him, “Need to cum more, Joel,”

Joel shakes his head, “Darlin’,'' He knows you aren’t thinking straight, driven to recklessness because of the pure ecstasy that has raptured your body. You turn over, laying on your back. You splay your legs apart, and your pussy glistens in the light. It’s so swollen, so puffy. Your hand is back, and your fingers are working your clit. But from this angle, it’s a little more challenging because of your protruding belly. And it’s making you frustrated. Especially because Joel is just watching, not helping.

“Joel,” You growl, “Fuck me,”

A single eyebrow of his shoots up, and you begrudgingly mutter, “Please,”

Much to your surprise, Joel moves. However, instead, he hovers above your chest and settles his cock in the valley of your tits. His hands squeeze them, and the milk for his unborn child sprays out, sprinkling across your chest and hitting his cock. At first, Joel goes slow, his cock passing between your tits. It’s a different kind of friction and holy hell… it feels good. His cock, slippery with your juices and milk, has him gliding through your breasts with ease. He grips harder and fucks your tits faster, rocking his hips back and forth.

As he slips in and out, he milks your bountiful breasts in the process. He does it until you are soaked. He’s breathing hard, and his balls are tightening. He’s close, so fucking close. But he doesn’t want to finish like this because he knows you want more orgasms, and who is he to deny his pregnant partner? You have been carrying his baby for months, and it hasn’t been easy. And Joel knows that once the baby is born, you won’t be able to have sex for weeks. Not until you’re healed. So, why not let you live a little?

He pulls his cock out of your cleavage and moves his face to yours, kissing you passionately. His tongue swirls and mingles with yours before he shifts down. Joel latches his mouth around your nipple and practically inhales a gulp of cream into his mouth. He doesn’t swallow and comes back up, kissing you again. Messily, Joel washes your mouth with your milk. It’s sweet and warm, and it’s fucking kinky as hell. It has you moaning into Joel’s mouth. He moans back, letting you know he loves every moment of it too.

As he continues to kiss you, Joel reaches down and takes his cock, sliding it over your puffy and sensitive lips before pressing it into your velvet channel. Your body welcomes him, and your mouth drops, gasping as you effortlessly fit his entire length . Once more, Joel explores your warm depths with a vigorous youthfulness. His flesh is clapping yours over and over until you are yelling his name over and over. Your hands are gripping his forearms, nails digging into his skin.

“Mmm, Joel, mmm, Joel, gonna cum, Joel, mmm - fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your eyes roll back, and an unwavering fourth climax raptures your body. A euphoric release rolls across your body, and you undulate beneath Joel. He watches as your belly quivers, and he feels your cunt trying to expel him, and when he does finally pull out, a massive bolt of liquid escapes - he realizes you’re squirting. Something he’s only heard rumours about. He’s astonished by the amount of liquid that is coming out and by how long your orgasm is lasting.

Meanwhile, you are gasping for air, lungs greedily gulping it down. You have no idea what happened; all you know is it’s a big wet mess down there. You’re gazing at Joel, cock-drunk. Orgasm-drunk. Your brain is buzzing with satisfaction. Your fixation on cumming has been satiated. However, your partner is still rock hard. He still needs to cum, and he’s more eager than ever before. He shoves his cock back in, and the molten wetness has his cock quivering as his climax punches through, pushing him over the edge.

He doesn't warn you. He doesn’t have to - the damage is done. You’re reaping what he sowed. Joel shoots his seed as far into you as possible with a single thrust. His hands touch your belly, caressing the soft skin, and he pushes his cock even deeper, where he empties the rest of his balls. When he pulls out, his cum mixed with yours oozes out from your crease and pools onto the carpet beneath you.

You dare to smile up at him, murmuring: “Thank you, Daddy,”

#joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #thewordypeach #joel miller smut #the last of us #tlof smut #freaks only <3 #the wordy peach #thewordypeachwrites #wpw

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undercoverpena · 9 months

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vi. the place where I want to be

javier peña x f!reader | chapter six of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: fluff. flirting. making out. alludes to smut. sinful thoughts. continuous romcom vibes. an: javi and reader, sitting on a bed... ;) wordcount: 3.5k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

Javi traces his bottom lip with the tip of his thumb, allowing himself the chance to let his eyes roll up and down you.

Taking it in that you’re real.

“Or should I say hola?”

He smirks, laughing and dropping his hand from his mouth. “You can say hola, hermosa. If you want.”

Dipping your head, he watches you take a breath before you lift your eyes to meet his again. All beautiful, shining—practically fucking sparkling.

“I knew you’d be fucking handsome.”

“I knew you’d be beautiful.”

Letting his eyes carve around you, he creates an outline before he spends the time shading it in. Unable to tear his eyes from you, the way everything around you seems a fraction brighter, even if he knew that could be so.

All he knows is every inch of you is more perfect than the version he had in his head.

Then, you blink, dipping your chin before you shift your weight onto another leg. Your fingers playing with your sleeve, something on your mind, puzzle pieces from the little sighs he knows down the phone, marrying with the mannerisms he now gets to see.

“I know the customary thing is to hug, but….”

Smiling, he eyes you up. “But, what?”

“I really wanna kiss you.”

Fuck. Me too. That’s all he thinks, hand resting on his hip as he watches you try to appear confident—embrace how your words fell from your lips as though it didn't take all of your strength to confess them.

“You should buy a person a coffee before kissing them.”

Snorting, he watches your brows rise, an expression falling across your face that makes him want to laugh. “Don’t think you’re a stranger, Javi. I came to the sound of your voice four nights ago.”

He licks his lips, your snark dripping with honey.

It makes it easy to slide a hand around your waist, bringing you flush with him. “I guess I did promise you the feel of my lips.”

"You did."

It's dizzying, the way you gaze at him. More so when you slowly place your wrists on his shoulders, fingers tantalisingly close to the hair at the base of his neck.

It's why he allows you a moment, a chance to push him away—to reconsider. But, you don’t seem to want to take it, one hand sliding down his chest, fingers toying with the fabric of his open shirt—staring at him. All he can do is watch your pupils being swallowed by something he wants to see in more detail later. More privately.

“Kiss me, baby," you whisper.

In the back of his throat, he buries a groan. Gently slanting his lips over yours, tasting it—mint and lipgloss—as his fingers slide under your cheek and jaw. Holding you, feeling you. Taking every bit of self-control not to pick you up and take you to his truck.

Instead, he just allows the pads of his touch to paint a pattern across your skin. Taking note of the way your mouth moves with his, widening, allowing him to swipe his tongue across your bottom lip, feeling your whimper echo down his throat.

And he doesn’t want to stop, not ever.

Not as you grip his forearm, frame pinned to his as though it’s a crime the two of you have ever been apart.

He supposes it is. An offence he's ever been without you before now. Even if he has you now.

Your lips fall from his in a way that you know you both must, too. Lashes fluttering open, blinding him in pure gold and sunshine, all full of longing, your eyes almost shaped like hearts staring back at him.

“Let’s get you checked in, ay.”

Nodding, you bite your lip. His hand releases you, before reaching around you, taking the handle of your suitcase—somehow surprised at how heavy it is.

“What you got in here?”

It's instant, the way you wrap your arms around yourself, your lips twist into a grin. "I wasn’t sure what to pack.”

“Mierda, querida. How long are you staying for? Una semana o un mes.”

Narrowing your eyes, your fingers jab at him playfully. “Hilarious. Una semana.”

Raising his brow, you stick out the tip of your tongue. But what takes him by surprise is the way your fingers slide around his other wrist. Your eyes shimmering with hope and insecurity, and instantly, he knows.

Smiling, almost instinctively so. It graces the lower half of his face before his mind catches up to the fact, his fingers sliding between yours—fitting so perfectly, flawlessly so.

He blames it for why he kisses your forehead, capturing how your face shifts into a blend of the sun and a smile.

“C’mon, charmer, show me your ride.”

Javi offers to take you to a restaurant, but you insist on something smaller—a diner, a cafe.

“Some place I can get something greasy and not be judged.”

He notices in the truck, that you tap your fingers when it goes silent. Head turned, eyes staring out at the passing city as he drives the two of you to the hotel, fingers playing an imaginary piano on your knee.

A part of him wants to reach over, smooth his hand over—calm you. Rid you of your nerves. Until he realises, he’s doing the same on the steering wheel.

The hotel reception area is small, to the point he finds his front pressed against your back. If you mind, you say nothing, occasionally shooting him a smirk over your shoulder as you check in for both his and your rooms.

“You’ve got broad shoulders,” you say when the elevator doors close.

Biting the inside of his mouth, he clutches the handle of his suitcase. “Y’been admiring, have ya?”

You only offer one word, and a smirk: “Maybe.” The elevator binging, the doors opening, you sliding out with your suitcase in toe as you glance over your shoulder at him as you go to freshen up.

His mind doesn’t stop racing until the moment he shuts his own door behind him. The pulsing electricity of you being so close running through his nerves.

You were here: all real and beautiful.

Hand tugging out his phone, he's barely thinking as he fires it off. His reckoning comes several seconds later as he changes his shirt.

she’s beautiful, murphy Wrong number, baby. But thank you.

"Shit."

He stares at it, your reply. His mind imagining, constructing the expression you'd have been wearing—it makes him smile.

she’s beautiful, murphy

And she’s got you using grammar. She’s a keeper.

fuck you

Glad you’re alive and that’s she what you imagined. Connie told me to tell you she can come with you next time you visit Miami.

I’ll keep it in mind

You told him you’d meet him at his truck.

A sight he found almost short-circuited him when he spotted you leaning against it, sporting a tee and jeans, with shades hiding your eyes.

Unsure how to greet you again, choosing instead to open the car door for you, watching as you slide your sunglasses down your nose, keeping your eyes on him until you got in.

Each time you peer at him like that, he swears he sees something twinkling, shimmering, in your eyes. A thing he wanted to keep hold of forever. See it always—never be apart from it.

The thought rises and falls in his head, a brief thing he considers, but doesn't allow himself to overthink. It's the first day. Still, plenty of time for him to say the wrong thing.

Do the wrong thing.

Peña it.

Don’t want to fuck this up.

It's a phrase the two of you keep saying. Both of you pepper it into conversation and texts here and there since the moment you agreed.

Something which had been sitting in his truck with him until he saw you outside the airport, and now it's slowly fading to nothing as the two of you head to a place he’d heard was good.

It's nothing fancy. All plastic menus and fluorescent light, but you beam at him as the two of you choose a booth in the back. Your eyes begin scanning the menu before he even picks his up. Too busy allowing himself another moment to note your nose scrunch and the way your eyes widen when you read something.

Drinks are ordered, and food is too, before a comfortable silence falls over the two of you until the drinks arrive. He mirrors you when you lean back, shifting his hips as his knee nudges yours.

“Did you get hold of your dad?”

Smiling, he rests his forearms on the table—watching you stir the spoon around your coffee. Something you’ve been doing for a solid minute, having not put anything in it that even needs mixing.

“I did. He’s good.”

Nodding, you smile, eyes dropping back to the menu.

Another silence falls, still a comfortable one. One that he imagines people have together when they’ve been dating for a while.

It doesn't need to be filled, but it permits a moment for the other to stare at the person across from them.

To admire them. To appreciate them. Both things he's doing plenty.

Each second he's granted, it makes it harder not to slide around to your side of the booth and place his thigh close to yours. His body screams, practically calling out to you, both because he wants to soothe any lingering anxiousness and also to be as close to you as he humanly can be.

A feeling that makes him massage the bridge of his nose—

“Is this weird?”

He eyes you, dropping his hand, wrapping it around the cheap porcelain mug before bringing it to his lips. “Being in front of you or the situation?”

You scrunch your nose. “Both?”

Shaking his head, he takes a sip before placing it back down. “Not for me.”

You look at the table, shifting in the booth seat. A smile, one that feels secretive—that you’re trying to hold back. “Not for me either.”

He almost grins, almost.

Like you, he keeps holding portions of it back so it doesn’t fully illuminate over his face. Instead, he stretches his hand across the table, passing the sauces and salt before your hand finds his—fingers, so perfectly, slotting between his.

“It feels… right.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, “it does.”

He rolls his lips, free hand stroking at the hair above his lip as he takes you in. How you watch him, how you sound exactly as you do in your text messages—that it all adds up.

From the little quirks, the nose scrunch, the brow, the way you smile. Each piece fills in the puzzle, forming a mural he never wants to tear down.

“You talk quicker than you text,” you smirk.

“Ay, hermosa.”

Laughing, you tighten your fingers around his. “Kinda glad I’m here for a few days. I don’t want to have to wait fifteen minutes for a reply each time.”

“You’re pushing it.”

“I do that.”

He snorts, lips sliding up one side of his face. “Good job, I like it.”

He sees it then, the way that you shift when you’re embarrassed. Eyes dropping, lips pinching into a smile as you wiggle, shifting in the booth.

“You got much you have to do tomorrow?”

Shaking your head, you look up—leaning back into the booth, tips of your fingers just in reach. “Not really. I have to speak to the sales manager—go through their reports, and then I have a meeting with someone from imports.”

You must notice his expression, the way his brows have slid into his hairline.

Smirking, you roll your eyes. “It sounds fancier than it is, former DEA. But, once I've done a handover, then I’m all yours for the rest of the week.”

He points at himself. “All mine?”

Nodding, he watches as your teeth bite your lip. “If you want?”

Leaning onto the table, his fingers find the tips of yours. “‘Course I do.”

Javi echoes your sentiment about not rushing things. Until you’re on his bed.

Lay flat on your stomach, eyes staring down at the black and white squares both of you are yet to fill in.

He hadn’t even thought about the crossword, not even as you split off from him in the grocery store—both having separate missions to collect supplies for a night watching something on whatever channel they had in either of their rooms.

So when you had met him at the checkout, placing down chips, sweets and a book, he arched his brow.

“Turn it over."

The assistant is barely awake, never mind paying attention to them waiting, still stacking the same stand they were when they walked in. So as he does turn it over, flicking his gaze down, Javi instantly sees the noticeable black and white squares and thick words written across it: CROSSWORD.

“Thought we could keep up your tradition.”

It’s nothing. Not really.

Entirely a small thing, but it makes him move, hand wrapping around the back of your neck as he crashes his lips to yours. Doing so with a sea of gratitude and appreciation, heart doubling, thumping heavy and hard against his ribs. Hoping his mouth is articulating the sentiment as you smile against him.

It should scare him, terrify him to his bones at how much he feels so soon.

Because you thought of him, of this. This little thing he did that you now do together.

That’s how you both ended up on his plush hotel bed, half the squares filled in—the easier clues picked off and written in a black biro you’d found in your bag.

If he had thought you were impressive over text, watching your brain churn in person was something else. Your eyes flick to the side as you think, falling back to the clue, occasionally meeting him—stealing the breath from his lungs—

“37 is thatsthewayitis.”

Each time you guess a clue, he finds he does the same thing. He raises his brow, watches you smirk, and then studies as you begin to etch each letter into the paper. The only noticeable change is how comfortable you slowly get and how much smugger you are.

The voice he knows from the phone calls coming out more easily, your hands fidgeting less—body relaxing close to his

“You think you’re gonna get involved at any point, Peña?”

Nudging you, he smirks, glancing from your eyes to your lips. “You’re last naming me now? Fine. 38 down, stepup.”

Handing him the pen, he takes it with a smirk, etching the word in as he finds your eyes still warming his skin.

“63 across is Eddie,” you add, tapping the page as you move closer, shoulder brushing his. “And 52 is eerie.”

“You, baby, are impressive.”

Waiting until he’s written them in, he hears you swallow. The hotel duvet rustles as you move onto your side, arm reaching across, closing the book on his hand.

For a moment, he just lets you drown him in your gaze—swallowing him whole, pulling him under. Unsure why he isn’t closing the gap, why he isn’t marrying his lips to yours—

“So are you, charmer.”

Drinking you in, he releases the pen between the pages—leaning towards you. Nerves building, momentary panic that he could have misread this, until you begin to meet him halfway.

Then he’s kissing you for the billionth time today. The two of you moving together more seamlessly, all gentle and tender. Slowly placing his hands around your side, feeling you shift and move until you're under him, hands around his neck—leg hooked over his hip.

Words similar to you’re perfect, almost murmur from him as the book falls to the floor with a thud. Them being replaced by words such as, you’re so pretty, prettier than he could have ever imagined, but you gasp against his mouth.

An array of other things are almost being kissed against your skin when you begin undoing the buttons of his shirt, brushing knuckles and skin against him. He thanks you by running his mouth against your jaw, tongue drawing lines as you whimper his name—his jeans getting impossibly tight as he lets it grow messy.

Until he remembers—

I don’t want to fuck this up.

Pausing, he lets out a breath. Eyes closing.

Your nervous voice down the phone. Your little explanation. The fact you told him you like him.

Your fingers brush against his scalp, scared to open his eyes and see something other than want or adoration in your eyes.

I want you. He wants to say. More than he can find the words.

But he wants to earn you.

“Querida…” Tell me what to do.

“I know.”

It leaves your lips full of sadness, a sorrow tinged and wrapped around the words like a vine.

Tracing your cheek with his nose, he lets himself enjoy the feel of your fingers in his hair. The way you twirl a strand around a finger before you slowly let them fall from his neck. Slowly, he opens his eyes, finding you watching him, studying him—wondering if you’re committing him to memory in the same way he is with you.

His thumb digs into your hip, fingers tightening around you. “You have work early, too.”

“I do.”

Begrudgingly, he slides off you, hand moving to his jeans conspicuously, shifting himself as he does—watching you glance at him as you stand from the bed.

Shifting on the spot, he watches as you grin, smoothing down your clothes. “You’ll see me tomorrow, right?”

“I will.”

Closing the gap to him, you lift up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks... y'know, for picking me up.”

“Anytime.”

Licking your lips, you sigh softly. It graces the air, more than shoving into it. “Goodnight, Javi.”

Two words he’s so used to hearing down a bad phone line, he never realised how heavenly they’d be in person. For a moment, it makes him too stunned to think, never mind say anything.

Just watching as you glance back as you open the door of his room, waving lightly, barely able to spit the same sentiment to you before it clicks back into place.

As soon as he’s alone, his palms find his eyes.

Instantly, the world gets a little dimmer, his heart descending a fraction in his chest.

Turning on the spot—memories of moments ago, the collection of them he’s been mounting up since that first ever text, sitting around him. All of it vibrating, shaking in fury and disappointment that he let you go.

All of them blend, dropping like paint splotches onto a canvas as it paints a photo of you. Of the two of you.

It captures the look in your eyes when you see him at the airport, the warmth he felt sitting across from you, talking about families and childhoods—

What is he fuckin' doing?

Something he can’t even answer, something he’s not even sure about because he shouldn’t have let you walk out. Shouldn't have let you leave tonight ever considering that by lying with him, you could fuck this up.

It rises in him, how he shouldn't have let you get to the hallway, never mind to your room. Because how can either of you fuck up something that feels this right—that feels more right than he’s felt in his gut in a long time.

Fingers running through his hair, Javi’s feet move, forgoing his boots as he grabs the room key from the desk. He practically yanks open his hotel door, key shoved between his teeth as his hands move to his buttons, beginning to do them up—just in case. Wanting to be presentable when he stands at your door, when he tries to find the words to say.

While your room is only down the hall, it feels like forever until he’s outside your door.

Focused on scrambling words together, Javi shoves the key into his jean pocket, hand hovering over the door, all set to knock.

Only to find it vanishes from his knuckles.

And you’re standing there. All golden. The back of you is all illuminated by a lamp in your room as the hallway light splays across your features.

The way you look at him dries his throat, steals his words. Especially when it's a softer expression like this one, no teasing words and just a simple stare.

You look every bit ethereal and unreal—more like something he concocted in his mind, than made of skin and bone.

Even if he just saw you moments ago, had you under him moments before that—Javi is still tempted to pinch himself, the entire day feeling like a fucking dream.

“I…” you begin.

But he knows. “We’re not going to fuck this up, are we, cariño?”

You smile, swallowing. “No. We’re not.”

“Good, girl.”

It’s instant. Like it’s scripted, rather than entirely by chance.

You melt into him as he muffles his name against his lips. Reminding him that this is real, you’re real.

The earlier worries of rushing things fade to black, vanishing, turning all to dust as he manoeuvres you inside your room. Kicking it shut, feeling your fingers wrestling with the same buttons he’s just tried to fasten—a gasp escaping when your spine finds a wall.

“If you want to stop—”

Shaking your head, your hand holds his chin. Staring into him, scorching your thoughts into him. “I was coming to find you. Just now, when you…”

“Came to find you?”

Nodding, you bite your lip. Look every bit sinful, beautiful and fucking everything.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

Your fingers brush his cheek, that mischievous glint in your eye he’s caught occasionally across the diner table. “Show me how pretty you think I am, baby.”

an: the next scene on friday is spicy. if you'd prefer to skip it, I'll see you on Tuesday.

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zepskies · 6 months

Text

Code Red

Pairing: Boaz Priestly x Female Reader

Summary: When you call him for help, Priestly realizes that he finally has the relationship of his dreams.

AN: So I didn’t think I’d ever write for this character, but it was prompted by a lovely anon and encouraged by my friend @thatonewriter15! I hope you enjoy. ❤️

Song Inspo: “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. “I’ve found a love…”

Word Count: 1,500 Tags/Warnings: Period talk, suggestiveness, mega fluff

He was in the zone.

Four six-inch double buffalo chicken clubs with banana peppers on whole wheat bread (gross, but he wasn’t the one eating ‘em), two spicy Italians, and a tuna on rye.

Priestly wrapped them up with practiced precision and slid them down the line to Piper, Mission Impossible-style. She smiled at his antics and took them and brought them over to Tish at the register.

Priestly had another turkey and provolone on his docket, hold the mayo, when his cell buzzed in his pocket. Today he actually did have pockets. As in, he was wearing joggers, boots, and a graphic tee that said: NO TEQUILA, NO ENTRY.

He swiveled his phone in his hand like a drummer with a drumstick. He smiled when he saw your name flashing across the screen, and he answered it.

“Hey, Beautiful. What’s up?” he asked.

“Boaz, I need you,” you said. To his ears, your voice was sultry, and a bit strained.

He perked up with raised eyebrows.

“What’s holding up the turkey and cheese?” Piper asked.

Boaz held up a finger to the blonde and tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder. His hands busied themselves with the next sandwich order, but he was all too attentive to your every word.

“Oh yeah?” he replied to you. His smile deepened. “Well, that’s convenient. Because I’m craving some of you, baby.”

You gave a breathy chuckle. “Normally I’d take you up on that, but no. I need you. As in, I really need you to do something for me.”

Priestly arched a brow. His brain was already filling up with ideas of how he could best help you. He mentally took an inventory of the “tools” in your nightstand drawer, and which ones he could best use to his advantage when he—

“Uhh, well, I got about one more hour in my shift,” he said, lowering his voice, even as it deepened a notch. “But if Jen covers me, I can be outta here in half the time.”

“Oh my God, good,” you gasped. “I’m in so much fucking pain, you have no idea.”

Priestly blinked, and any thoughts of kinky fun times came to a screeching halt. Concern took over when he realized that the strain in your voice wasn’t from the sexy kind of need.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quickly.

“I’m out of Midol, my uterus is rioting like it’s a Vietnam War protest, and…oh yeah, I need more tampons too,” you said. “But I legitimately cannot move from this couch.”

Priestly couldn’t help but smile in amusement.

“Ech, I hear ya. Are we in a Code Green, Code Yellow, or Code Red situation?”

Jen glanced over at him from where she was mopping the floor, and she gave him a questioning look.

What’s wrong? she mouthed.

“Code Red, definitely,” you answered with a sigh.

Priestly grimaced in sympathy. He mouthed back to Jen, Code Red.

She nodded in female understanding, and raised a hand that said, Say no more.

“Okay, yeah,” Priestly replied to you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You released a sigh of relief. “And if you want to throw in a Snickers, I wouldn’t hate it.”

He chuckled at that one.

“You got it,” he said. “I’ll be home in T minus an hour, give or take.”

You groaned. “Can’t you just steal a DeLorean or something?”

“You know, I could, but that would mean I’d be going back further into the past before you even needed to call me, and I’d still probably be making sandwiches since I’ve been working here since damn near 2000 B.C. But you know what, they should really call that movie Back to the Present, since they don’t actually go to the future until—”

“Okay,” you had to laugh, even though it was edged with discomfort. “I’ll see you later.”

At the supermarket, after his shift at Beach City Grill, Priestly had most of the supplies he needed for a successful mission. All he was missing was his old enemy on Aisle 2.

Once again, he faced a wall of tampons. All bright colored boxes and numbers and sizes…

Okay, not Code Green, so not the slender ones that might as well be match sticks. Not Yellow, so no to Regular…ah! Here we are. Super Plus.

AKA: Code Red. Complete with leak guard, no latex. He grabbed the blue box and threw it into his basket of essentials, including no less than three assorted chocolate bars and a pint of Ben & Jerrys. He knew his girl, and you liked your Half-Baked ice cream with chocolate chip cookie dough and brownie pieces.

He brought over his haul to the checkout line. Sure enough, Gerry, one of the locals, was finally old enough to buy a case of beer by himself. He glanced at the blue box Priestly was taking out onto the conveyor belt and smirked.

“No slender regulars this time?” Gerry remarked.

Priestly’s smile was tight. “No, Gerald. Slenders are for pussies.”

“Literally,” the blonde beanpole snorted. “What, your girlfriend got a heavy flow this month?”

Priestly rolled his eyes, and his mouth pressed in a line. The word flow still kind of grated on him like nails on a chalkboard, but what irked him more was this guy imagining any part of your intimate parts.

“All right, my girl’s flow is none of your business,” he said. “Once you hit puberty and grow your first pubes, you’ll understand.”

Gerry floundered while Priestly continued on to make his purchases. Even the cashier was smiling, trying not to laugh as he silently gave Priestly his props for a burn well made. Priestly shot the guy a nod and a smile before he left with his spoils.

“Honey, I’m hoooome,” Priestly sing-songed.

He stepped through the door with his keys still jangling in his hand. He was trying to balance the big bag of groceries while closing the door to the apartment he shared with you.

Your head perked up from the living room couch, and your hand slowly curled up, beckoning him over. Priestly obliged you. He peered over the side of the couch and smiled at the way you were all curled up under a throw blanket, already in your pajamas, while FRIENDS reruns played on the TV.

“Finally,” you said with a tired smile. But not the kind of finally that just meant you were impatient for the goods he carried. The kind of finally that also meant you were happy to see him.

He laid a comforting hand on your head, leaned down, and pressed a kiss above your brow. You held him there by the collar of his shirt, prompting him to kiss you for real. Your hand moved up his tattooed neck and your nails gave the back of his head a little scratch, careful not to disrupt the blue mohawk.

He reluctantly pulled away from your lips, just enough to try and gauge how you were feeling.

“How’re you holdin’ up?” he asked.

“Like a beach umbrella in a hurricane,” you replied wryly. “You got the stuff?”

Priestly held the grocery bag tucked under his arm like it was a drug deal.

“Oh, I got the stuff, if you got the money,” he said.

You nodded, and your small smile turned mischievous. “I got your money, Big Man.”

With your hand delicately hooked behind his neck and the other gliding up his arm, he didn’t realize he was falling into a trap.

You tugged his arm hard enough to try and get him to fall over the back of the couch.

“Hey!” he yelped. Yet he also laughed while you tried your best to pull him overboard.

He had to toss the bag of groceries to the floor next to you, but he managed to get over and onto the couch without crushing you. He probably smelled like old sandwich and mayonnaise, but you didn’t seem to care.

You just helped him settle in behind you, with your back to his chest. This was the only way you’d find comfort for your lower back. It had been aching since you woke up this morning.

You grabbed his closest hand and guided it under your overlarge sleep shirt, then under the waistband of your panties. You laid his warm hand flat against your cramping lower belly.

Priestly pressed a kiss behind your ear and tucked his arm underneath your head. He felt the rise and fall of your sigh as you leaned back against him, and his smile softened.

“You’re gonna fall asleep without digging into your treasure trove,” he teased. “I even got your favorite ice cream.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder in interest.

“Half-Baked?” you asked.

“Yep, for extra brownie points. Eh? See what I did there?”

Your body shook with a quiet laugh. You reached your hand back to touch his bearded cheek this time. Your fingers toyed with his many earrings.

“Did you know that you’re my favorite human?” you said. “Like, ever?”

He smiled against your neck. “Could’a sworn I was your third favorite, behind Ben and Jerry.”

“Nope, just you,” you said, snuggling back further into his warmth. “Thank you, baby.”

Priestly realized then that he’d found it.

He’d really, honest to God found the life he didn’t think he’d get, with a woman who didn’t want him to change; who just wanted him to be here.

Though he smirked when you reached for the bag and dug out the pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

You giggled. “Shut up.”

AN: Priestly was such a fun character lol. I rewatched 10 Inch Hero this past week and this was the first thing I thought to write! If you liked this, let me know! (And if you want more Priestly.) 😘

Read the Prequel!

If you liked Code Red, read the start of their story:

▶️ The Miracle Man

Priestly Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

(Lovelies from my "Everything" tag list. If you want to be tagged on Priestly stuff specifically, check out the Tag List link in my bio.)

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog

@globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989

#Code Red #10 Inch Hero #Boaz Priestly #Boaz Priestly x reader #Boaz Priestly x female reader #Boaz Priestly x you #jensen ackles characters #jensen ackles #Priestly x reader #Priestly x you #Priestly #Priestly x female reader #zepskies writes

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czascornertfs · 3 months

Text

In Another Place, In Another Time (1)

Jack had a habit of wandering off into the library in his off time. A man in his mid-twenties, he liked gazing upon the rows of shelves. Not for books, but to simply revel in fond memories of the past. As a teenager in the 2000s, he used to bring with him his old Nokia phone and simply message other people, free from the judgmental eyes of his peers and teachers. But today was different. On the horizon lay an intimidating activity about the different countries of the world. A "simple" geography quiz where the teacher would pick a city from a different country and the student's would have to answer interesting facts about it, without repetition. This week's country: Russia. "Why on Earth did I choose World History...", he thought to himself, rubbing his eyes in general upset.

Quickly finding a spot to read some books, he brushed up on Russia's many different cities, from Vladivostok, to Irkutsk, to the far northern reaches of Murmansk. Each fact slowly blending together however, causing him to become slightly panicked. "Dammit! I can't remember sh*t!", he angrily mumbled to himself.

As he was to return a book to move onto another one, he spotted something strange. In the far back of the shelf lay what he thought was a strange black covering of some sort. Pulling it out, he breathed back in surprise: it was a Nokia 8210. Not the exact one he had but, the same model nonetheless. "The hell..." Jack thought to himself, pressing the selection key to turn it on. Almost immediately, he found his surroundings blur into an incoherent mess, as his eyesight became weaker and weaker, before everything became black. No longer than a few seconds later, he blinked. He found himself in an unfamiliar bathroom, staring at his phone on the toilet. Panic rushed in, as he quickly exited the bathroom. "What the FUCK just happened to me?!" he thought. As he swung open the doors of his stall, he locked eyes with a stranger. Approaching it to ask for help, the man in front of him did as well, with the exact same expression. He stopped in his tracks. With shaking hands, he lifted his Nokia as the man in front of him did the same. A flash. This was a mirror. That man was him.

"Ч-что…" (Wh-what...) He covered his mouth. Russian. He was a Russian man. In some Russian bathroom. Wearing Russian clothes. In Russia. The thought circled over and over in his head as he stepped back. "Что, черт возьми, со мной случилось?!" (What the fuck happened to me?!) He screamed again, clutching his throat as a deeper voice vibrated within him, the Russian words flowing out like a rushing river. He quickly went through his pockets and found his driver's license.

Name: Alexandr Mishin Date of Birth: 24 December 1976

He quickly pocketed it. Checking his Nokia, he found something even stranger and frankly, more terrifying. The date was listed as 8 April 2000. That would make him 24, the same age he was before everything changed. "П-подожди. Я ВЕРНУЛСЯ В 2000-е?!" (W-wait, I'M BACK IN THE 2000'S?!) He screamed. Almost immediately, a wave of discomfort hit his head, as his vision became blurrier before quickly going back to normal. In that span of time he suddenly remembered everything about his new life. How he was born in Moscow before moving to the city of Norilsk way in the north of Siberia. He remembered how he dropped out of school fairly early, and was not considered to be the smartest tool in the shed. He remembered how he worked out almost everyday, not giving a damn about fickle matters like math, reading, nor world history. He was still literate enough to read and understand basic signs, words, and sentences, but something like акклиматизация (acclimatization) took a few minutes before the meaning popped into his head. He was still gay, but now he had to ever-so-slightly hide it when among his peers, who were currently in mandatory military service. He remembered how he had managed to bribe the officer's to avoid it, still being gifted a camouflage-patterned uniform which he wore almost everywhere to pretend he already finished his service. Slowly stepping up and rubbing his forehead, he looked down once more at his muscular frame, rubbing his sensitive nipples and running his hands along his head. "О боже… Я так чертовски возбужден…" (Oh god...I'm so FUCKING horny...). Pulling his pants down and leaning down a wall, he pulled up his cock and began stroking it. With each successive stroke, the panic from his head gradually formed into uncontrollable pleasure. His mind swirled with thoughts of fucking muscular Russian men, as he touched himself all over his body. His lips, nose, eyes, ears, were perfectly proportioned. His hair, while shaved, was so exciting and fun to rub his hands over. His muscles were all so supple, and so sensitive when touched, as was his ass and cock. And his cock was long, standing proud at a whopping seven inches long and being the width of half his wrist.

He tugged and tugged, his mind becoming even foggier as he got closer to the edge. And then it happened. Ropes of hot steaming cum raced down his shaft as it splattered across the bathroom floor. His breath was still shaky from the ongoing orgasm, as his cock quivered. With each rope of cum, it seemed as though something from his past became blurrier. Sure, he knew who he was and what he was doing, but he started to forget what year it had even happened. Images of more-modern smartphones, new fast-food items, and even some celebrities he used to love and became a fan of.

"…Перенесли на десять лет назад? Нет, нет... наверное, восемь лет... может быть, шесть? " (...Was I transported back ten years? No, no... probably eight years... maybe six?) He thought to himself as the years started blurring together.

"...w...v....vat'ever...." He said in an accented English, slightly limited and dumbed down by this point, before hurriedly fixing his clothes and leaving the bathroom. The cum stayed behind on the cold floor tiles. He was back in 2000, the dawn of the new millennium, and he was excited to relive it, even though he was in another place, in another time. His cock stirred in his pants, and he knew exactly how he would live this new life.

#male transformation #male tf #inanotherplaceinanothertime #nationality tf #time travel tf

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ragingbookdragon · 8 months

Text

If You Ever Loved Me, Have Mercy

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Word Count: 1.5K Warnings: Sad...?

Author's Note: :') not me self-projecting -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Ghost didn’t really understand her. He did, but there were times when she acted awfully funny whenever he’d do something for her. Like bouquets. Now, Simon “Ghost” Riley never grew up with a father who gave his mother flowers, and he was going to be the link in the chain that broke, because he’d be damned if he didn’t show his appreciation for his lover. Except every time he gave her a bouquet of flowers, she smiled like her face was going to split in half, and she thanked him profusely for it, holding it to her chest like it was the rarest thing in the world.

Other times, he tried to pay for things, and she refused vehemently, saying she could cover it, and part of Ghost wanted to feel like his manhood was being disrespected because he was supposed to pay for her, but the other part understood she was a grown adult who was independent.

It was a quiet night in his apartment, and she’d finally managed to get Ghost to sit down and relax on the couch while she cooked dinner for them. He occasionally watched her from the kitchen, unable to help the small grin on his face as she danced around and sang to old 2000’s Kesha songs.

About fifteen minutes later, the music shut off, and she appeared with two bowls of steaming food that had his stomach gurgling. “Hungry?” she teased, handing him a bowl with more than a good helping.

“Starved,” he replied, looking at it. “What’d you make, love?”

She shifted slightly and grinned at the nickname, another thing he found endearing about her. “Goulash.”

“Never had it,” he said, already sticking the spoon in his mouth, only to open his mouth and “Hafhashhath.”

“It’s hot, Simon,” she deadpanned. “I just pulled it out of the skillet.”

His eyes watered as she passed him a glass of water and he nodded a thanks. She curled up with her own bowl next to him, her knees brushing his thigh; quietly, she blew on her spoon before eating. They ate in silence, other than the couple times Ghost complimented her cooking.

It was only after, when she was taking their bowls that he asked, “Love, can we talk about something?” She froze, a look of something he could only describe as panic on her face. “Love?”

She recovered and smiled at him. “Yeah, let me put this in the dishwasher.”

As she hurried into the kitchen, Ghost watched in silence as a multitude of emotions crossed in her eyes, the biggest being anxiety and hurt.

Coming back, she sat down on the couch, this time, a good few inches from him and he looked at her for a moment. “You alright, love?”

“Mhm,” she lied, nodding her head, and he noticed that her eyes were on the couch cushion.

“Love, can you look at me?” She did so and he smiled slightly, reaching up to brush his knuckles against her cheek. “There’s my pretty, poppy,” he murmured, and her eyes flooded with tears, shocking him. “What’s wrong?”

She swallowed a lump the size of her fist in her throat, making a gesture with her hand as if it were going to help her speak. “I—” she shut her mouth, eyes closing as tears dripped down her cheeks, and Ghost shifted, reaching up to wipe her face.

“Love, whatever’s going on, you can tell me.” He tilted her chin up and she opened her eyes, gazing at him. “What’s got you in a mess?”

Eyelashes dampened with tears, she blinked a few times and asked quietly, “Are you going to stop seeing me?”

Ghost paused, brows furrowing in confusion. “Beg pardon?”

“You said you wanted to talk about something,” she replied, voice still a murmur. “I assume you don’t want to keep seeing me.”

He was still entirely confused. “I don’t even know where to start with how you got to this point.” He took her hand. “Love, why would I want to stop seeing you?”

She frowned. “I’ve…never been in a committed relationship.”

This shocked him, but suddenly, everything about her reactions and how she seemed so excited all the time with him made sense.

“When people find out that I’ve never had one…” her lips pulled downwards in an expression he never wanted to see her make again; she looked so heartbroken. “They make excuses and stop seeing me. One guy told me,” tears filled her eyes again and she laughed pitifully. “He said, ‘I’m not going to teach you everything. I’m not your parent.’” Her eyes met his. “I stopped dating after that…until I met you. I was scared to even try. But you, Simon, you…you’re the best thing that’s ever stepped into my life.”

“Love,” he started and she reached forward, taking his hand.

“Give me a chance, please,” she begged. “I’ve been reading and watching videos about relationships. Simon, you won’t have to teach me anything. I swear, I can learn, and I have been. I can—”

“Love,” he interrupted, and she appeared crestfallen, pulling her hand away.

“Simon,” she whispered. “If you’re gonna break my heart, just break it and please make this fast.” Her eyes met his. “If any part of you cares, just have mercy.”

Ghost reached over and grabbed the meat of her hip, pulling her into his lap where she refused to look at him, until he took her chin in his hand like he had earlier and made her look at him. “Love,” he said, and she met his eyes. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Huh?”

Ghost brushed his thumb over her lips. “I’ve spent my entire life being afraid to love someone because I didn’t want to turn into my dad. And then, six months ago, you ran smack into me, and I couldn’t believe that there was someone who wanted to be with me.” He gazed at her. “I’m as fucked up as they come, poppy, and you still want to be with me.”

“Of course, I do,” she whispered. “I…I love you, Simon.”

His eyes lit up as he smiled and leaned forward, nuzzling her nose. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Simon.”

“One more time.”

“I love you, Simon,” she confessed, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You make me happy. And I’m so lucky to have you.”

“As you should, I don’t like most people,” he joked and she snorted, causing him to smile. “And she smiles!”

She looked down, playing with one of his sweatshirt strings. “So…you like me?”

“I love you,” he answered, and her eyes went wide, mouth snapping shut. “Poppy, I love you more than the world. I think about you all the time. I feel…I feel like I have a reason to live again. For you.” Tears flooded her vision and he chuckled lowly. “You cry an awful lot, love.”

“Stop teasing me,” she sniffled. “I’m new to this.” As if she remembered suddenly, she looked up. “You’re okay with me being inexperienced in…like everything?”

“Just means we get to learn together,” he replied and ran his hand over her cheek. “Besides, I don’t plan on letting another man having you ever again.”

Her face felt hot, and she looked suddenly flustered. “That sounds like a serious long-term commitment, Simon.”

His chest rumbled with a grunt. “Listen well, love,” he started, hand lowering to poke at the center of her chest. “That’s mine, and I’m not letting it go. Ever.”

She placed her hand on his chest. “Does that mean that this one is mine too?”

“Every cold inch.”

Her eyes lit up with a gentle sort of happiness and she murmured, “Your heart isn’t cold, Simon. It’s very warm. And…gentle.” She looked at him. “My gentle giant.”

He hummed with a small smirk and tapped her cheek. “Don’t let anyone know. I’ve a reputation to uphold.”

“Okay, big guy,” she retorted and curled into him, head tucked under his chin.

After a moment, she kept squirming and he asked, “You alright?”

She paused, then blurted out, “I have a boyfriend. I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”

“You’re also gonna sleep in a bed with your boyfriend. So, two firsts in one night.”

She jerked away, eyes wide. “I can’t sleep with you!”

Ghost’s brows furrowed and he inquired, “You wanna take the couch then?”

“Wait, what?”

He thumped her forehead. “Mind out of the gutter, love.”

Her eyes narrowed in a glare, and she griped, “You did that on purpose.”

“Maybe,” he teased, and she harrumphed, turning her head.

“Rude. So mean to tease your girlfriend.”

He tickled her side a little until she laughed. “Not my fault she’s easy to tease.”

“You’re so mean.”

“Hmmm…how can I ever make it up to you?” he asked, and she turned, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Carry me to bed and hold me all night?” she paused. “And maybe give me a shirt to borrow?”

“I get to see you in my clothes?” Ghost grinned, picking her up as she yelped from shock. “That’s an affirmative.”

Her laughter peeled through the hallway as he carried her to the bedroom with enthusiasm.

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madrain230 · 2 months

Text

THE SACRIFICE: Children of the Moon | JJK (2)

Pairing: Jungkook x f. OC

Genre: Dark Romance

Rating: 18+ (nsfw)

Summary: In the Kingdom of Oltira, a special ritual takes place once a year at the beginning of autumn. Mothers are living in fear for the fate of their offspring. Each day and night, each woman prays for the birth of a male child-a son-because once her vulnerable unborn arrives its existence to the world and is a female-a daughter-not even the most heartfelt pleading can save the unfortunate fate that may be death of her dear child.

Warnings: strong bloody violence, explicit language, disturbing behavior, sensitivity, death, animalistic tendency, triggering topics, mature situations-themes, etc. It may also touch some sensitive subjects.

note: I don't own any of the images. please note that all images and copyrights belong to their original owners. no copyright infringement intended.

- CHAPTER 2 -

A sparrow's song's melodic echo began to appear repeatedly in the silent atmosphere. After hearing the tune of bliss, several other animals joined the harmony and allowed a metaphorical entrance into the glory of the sunrise.

There were different colors of red and pink occurring in the sky, which made it a beautiful and relaxing scenery for multiple eyes to watch.

Although the captivating shadow of sunrise over the summit of the forest ceased its soothing colors, minutes later, daylight soon arrived at each perimeter of Oltira's domain.

Another day began once again.

In each household, most children opened their eyes with a motivation, which was to join the cheerful giggles of their friends. Every mother felt a smile on her face when she opened the door, and her impatient children rushed out of the house in delightful laughter.

Along with their owners, steeds, and mules began to appear in the streets with necessary objects—mostly fabrics and edible sustenance—upon their muscular bodies. Men and women began to voice their determination, their audible sentences constantly repeating a specific worth of their object for sale.

It was, thankfully, an active day for the people that were living in such an area.

Nevertheless, it was a wonder for many if the day was going to fade away with happy beliefs.

It was, however, as if nature itself were responding when an enraged rumble echoed its appearance from far away.

Some people immediately looked at the sky with thought, others looked at it with worry, and most decided not to allow their brains to be disturbed by such a simple matter.

Suddenly, in fast and fierce motions, a man with youthful facial characteristics appeared in the surroundings.

Such an appearance became the main focus of attention for the various stares that were present in the location.

When the man nearly fell upon and came face-to-face with a moving horse, everyone became frightened with fear. Naturally, the animal behaved with its instincts, which was to be expected.

It all happened in the blink of an eye as the startled animal forced its massive weight to stand and raise in the air its two front hoofs, its height becoming twice in size while its animalistic sound echoed in panic.

Then, dread reached everyone's gut when the young man fell on his backside in front of the shire horse, which weighed 2000 pounds (907.18 kg) in muscle capacity.

The owner of the steed immediately acted on time and quickly pulled the double reins with effective strength, forcing the animal's head to shift and successfully land its raised hooves away from the man.

“Hoy! Easy!”, the owner spoke out in a hushing tone to his spooked friend while caressing the gray fur.

Then his eyes hardened and narrowed into slits as his attention shifted to the young fellow.

“You almost crashed to death, son! This route is full of people! You shouldn't be running like that!”, The man almost shouted, revealing his anger through words, but all was finished off in vain when a rumble appeared from the atmosphere.

The young man immediately turned his attention to the sky, and his eyes widened in realization as dread pierced through his heart.

With astonished eyes, the spectators could only watch as the man whose body was on the ground stood up and began to run.

Within seconds, the young man's shadow disappeared into the crowd.

“Isn't he Smith's son? Something must have happened for him to behave in that manner ... ”, a man decided to utter deep in thought while approaching the owner and his horse. However, all he gained was silence from the man beside him, and the only sound that was able to prevail in the atmosphere was the sound of an enraged sky.

In a calm yet determined tone, a voice belonging to a man suddenly echoed its existence.

“Wait, let me help you. That seems to be very heavy!”

Upon hearing the words disappear, a surprised gasp appeared in their absence.

Annora's whole attention veered toward the man whose body stood beside her own. As soon as her eyes fell on his face, a beautiful smile greeted her. Instantly recognizing the familiar face, a warmth captured her heart, and before she could open her mouth to talk, after also offering a small smile, astonishment was soon visible in her facial characteristics.

Annora's unspoken words became a long-lost memory when the heavyweight she was holding up was stolen by the arms of the man beside her.

“Arnold! No, you don't have to help me carry this; I can manage.”

“Where to? Eric?”

Arnold didn't look behind him when he asked the question. Annora's eyebrows furrowed a little, clearly somehow annoyed by being interrupted, but then loosened up when a brief chuckle echoed.

Then a statement with the meaning of irony was spoken.

“Walk, Arnold. As if you haven't figured it out already.”

Arnold didn't have to veer around to look at the person who spoke. Immediately recognizing the man's voice, he repositioned the heavy sack on his right shoulder with a gesture, and then his upper lip curled up in a quick appearance.

When the conversation between the two men concluded in a state of silence, Annora was unable to maintain her curiosity and subsequently glanced at one of the men.

As expected, Annora's sight caught a pair of eyes that looked at her with a meaningful gaze that she deeply understood.

She halted all the movements of her body.

The breath she took was an indication to the man behind her that she wanted to discuss it. However, Annora was unable to express her feelings because her presence was ignored.

The sight of her brother ignoring her while walking past her provoked an almost annoyed feeling to come to the surface of her heart. Although it vanished within a few seconds as Eric spun and closed a green eye in her direction, the smirk on his face resembled that of a child's playful disposition.

Annora's eyes lit up, and she cracked a little smile as she accelerated her pace to reach the two tall figures.

It is encouraging to see that he still has that childish behavior.

“Are you planning to stay for dinner? There is enough food on the table to feed one more person.”

Eric looked at Arnold and waited for him to answer. His shoulders were still firmly anchored to the heavyweight of two sacks.

“No, thank you.” Arnold's eyes appeared for a second with a spark of regret. Nonetheless, he swiftly attempted to conceal his emotions by transferring the substantial sack containing potatoes onto another. After thoroughly rubbing both of his hands to remove the dust and dirt, he redirected his attention towards speaking. “I express my gratitude for the invitation, but I must go home.”

Eric nodded and Arnold offered a modest smile as his gaze remained fixed on Annora for a brief period of duration.

“See you around, Annora.”

“I have concerns about it, but even a dumb person can understand the importance of the stares he gives you.”

As he concluded his previous statement, Eric looked at Arnold's faraway figure.

“That man cares for you, Annora.”

A silence surrounded the siblings.

Annora's bottom lip was caught between her teeth, and the beating of her heart became trapped in emotions of distress. Despite the realization that her brother was aware of the emotional circumstances between her and Arnold, she had not anticipated that Eric would be capable of expressing them in such a manner.

Eric was seeking an explanation, but Annora was unwilling to speak at that moment. The reality of her brother's words terrified her and hoped to escape from it.

It is, however, impossible to escape reality...

Annora took a deep breath but was unable to articulate her thoughts when, with a sudden force, the door of the house in her view suddenly swung open.

“Why are you sitting outside the door? Come in quickly, both of you! You will get sick in this kind of weather.”

Upon the sudden appearance of their mother, both son and daughter remained silent for a brief period, but swiftly proceeded towards the open wooden door.

It was evident that their conversation was in a pause.

However, Annora was cognizant of her brother's implied gaze upon her and was aware that she would have to respond to his questions someday in the future.

Upon Annora's entrance through the wooden entrance, the initial odor that struck her was the familiar aroma of freshly picked tomatoes.

She turned her head to the left and immediately observed the ceramic cooking pot, which was suspended above the smoky flames of a small fire.

“What are we having for dinner—Oh! Tomato soup?”

Eric's entire demeanor exuded curiosity when he approached the flames and gazed upon the flaming pot.

“It smells delicious! My dear mother, you know how to capture a man's heart!”

Eric's cheerful voice resembled his facial expression as he gazed upon his mother, whose expression did not convey any indication of her emotions from his words. She merely approached him, holding a total of four wooden bowls in her hands.

“You should wash your hands from the dirt they have and sit down at the dinner table—”

“Yeah, yeah … Understood. Only compliments from your husband are accepted!” Despite his mother's scandalous expression, Eric continued his dramatic talking. “However, I believe you can accept this simple flower from this poor man. If you don't, his poor heart will hurt!”

Annora watched the interaction between her brother and mother with amusement.

She observed as Marianne, her mother, attempted to contain her smile as she accepted the flower from her son, who was kneeling. However, she was unsuccessful in her efforts when Eric stood up and uttered a loud shout of “Yes!” while he kissed her cheek.

Her mother shook her head at her son's childish behavior but the smile never left her face as she turned to her task of serving the dinner once again.

“Are you troubling your mother again?”

Immediately, the attention shifted towards the tall man who entered through the door, as his imposing voice pierced the silence that had prevailed after the amusing conversation between mother and son.

“You know I could never, father.”

Eric responded as he left his mother's side and approached his sister at the table. “Okay, just a bit…”, he whispered as he sat in a chair, causing laughter throughout the house.

“Your son is giving me flowers these days,” Marianne spoke, though she paused and turned to point a knowing glance at the man towards the door. “I am just curious as to who's been teaching him this advice of sweet-talking and flowers.”

The man, named Andrew, declared himself guilty and chuckled as he kissed his wife on the cheek and then sat on the opposite side of his son at the table.

Andrew exhaled, and looked towards Annora, revealing a smile brimming with warmth.

“How are you doing today, Sweetheart?”

Annora's broad smile was enough for her father to comprehend the answer for her well-being.

When dinner was served, a calm atmosphere prevailed among the family, while minor conversations began to occur.

“I suppose you were in the barn when we arrived?”

Before answering Eric, Andrew swallowed a big spoonful of tomato soup from his bowl. “Yes, I needed to check on the animals. They were acting restless this morning after the thunders.”

“It seems that they consistently exhibit unnatural behavior during this particular time of the year, do they?”

Even though it was a question, Eric's words were better called a statement, for everyone at the table knew that such thoughts would conclude in a conversation with an only end.

“It's like they understand that—”

“Enough!”

“…”

Marianne's voice enveloped the entire household in a chilling silence.

Annora observed her mother with concern.

Her mother's amber eyes were ablaze with anger and frustration, lips drawn in tightly. The appearance of such rigor was a persona that she did not embrace unless it was necessary.

“Marianne—”

“I know, Andrew. I know…”

Marianne took a deep breath and turned her gaze away from Eric. “I'm… I'll be back in a minute. You all keep eating.”

Annora could only watch with deep sorrow as her mother rose from her seat, concealing half of her expression with a hand, and hurriedly fled into the narrow corridor leading to the bedrooms. Once again, silence prevailed within the walls, however, it was swiftly dissipated when a fist was firmly pressed against the table.

Both the brother and sister looked at their father.

“Why did you feel the need to speak about this matter, son? You know how sensitive your mother is about—”

“But I'm not? You are badly mistaken, father. Do you think I am enjoying discussing this? Of course not! But we cannot pretend every single time that it's not—”

“I know that, Eric! But we have to—Do it for your sister!”

The shouting abruptly stopped and Annora felt sorrow grip her heart. She did not need to glance up to observe that both men individuals, namely her brother and father, were now focusing on her.

Despite the overwhelming pressure of their stares, Annora stared intently at the nearly empty bowl of her meal. She was aware that if she were to glance at them at least once, the initial reaction she might likely face would be a mixture of feelings of sympathy and sorrow.

Annora closed her eyes for a moment and then, with a clenched jaw, stood up from her chair and approached the one window near the door.

The ominous gray hue of the clouds was almost impossible to ignore when she looked outside.

Annora wanted to laugh.

She wanted to laugh because her family, as well as many others, wanted to forget that once a year, another tragedy was just waiting to unfold.

But how can someone forget something that seems impossible? Especially when nature itself is presenting reality with its presence.

Another rumbling echoed its existence from the sky, and Annora exhaled deeply.

For every thunder, she was able to see, Annora's thoughts kept repeating the names.

Names from so many tragedies that even the older generations could remember.

One of the tragedies was called Charlotte, a woman in her thirties.

Another was called Amelia, a young child.

An old one was called Isabel, an infant …

Lucia, Adelina, Aria, Clare, Olivia, Sarah, and many others—Dead … A sacrifice.

Annora looked beside her and found her older brother staring at her with concern.

“I'm alright, Eric.”, she blurted, and her brother took a deep breath before answering.

“I know … It's just—”

A faint cry from a church bell echoed for a single time in the distance.

Annora looked outside the window with startled eyes.

Life became a blur of uncertainty.

The creaking of a chair being pushed resonated against the concrete ground, and soon enough, Annora felt a large hand firmly touching her shoulder.

The second chime of a church bell signaled once again its existence.

Gloomy darkness devoured Annora's sanity, and her pulsating heart which was bursting with peace crumbled to a rhythm by chains of fear.

She was unable to speak … It was as if she had a knot in her throat …

Within her, the only words of a voice became endless prayer and pleading.

A deadly third clang chimed from the church's bell.

Annora's eyes were glimmering with fear when she looked at her brother, who was still standing beside her with one of his hands firmly resting on her shoulder.

His green eyes collided with her own, and then … Chaos.

#angst #bts fanfic #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts #jungkook x original character #dark romance #bts werewolf au #historical #werewolf jungkook #jeon jeongguk

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paperdoll201 · 5 months

Text

Jordan Teaches Marie to Drive (pt. 2)

2000 ish words

“Baby,” Jordan felt a tap on their shoulder.

“Jordan? Wake up,” Marie’s hushed voice whispered into their ear.

"What?" Jordan grumbled, irked by the interruption. They turned away, pulling the covers closer.

Marie undeterred, promptly yanked the blanker from their body, tossing it aside,

“What the fuck Marie,” they sat up glaring daggers at Marie’s face. “Do you have any idea what fucking time it is? It’s way too early for this shit Marie,” they closed their eyes trying to find sleep again.

"It's 12:32 pm, Jordan," Marie checked her phone, staring at them with an amused expression. "I don’t think you know what time it is," she smirked.

Jordan could only look at Marie blinking a couple times. Oh shit they thought. “Well fuck me then,” they muttered to themselves, stretching their arms above their head, putting a shirt on and shifting into their female form.

“Later,” Marie quipped. “Right now, we’re gonna grab something to eat and go driving!” Marie exclaimed, a little too perky for Jordan this early in the morn- err afternoon.

“And why are we doing that?” Jordan asked, heading over to their bathroom to splash cold water on their face. They looked at themselves in the mirror. They looked at their reflection, grimacing. "I look like shit. Melatonin – never again."

“Jordan, you told me that you’d finally take me on the highway today,” Marie walked over to join them in the bathroom, resting her head on their shoulder. “You look like shit, by the way,” she pinched their cheek and leaned against their doorframe.

Jordan looked over to Marie, rolling their eyes. “You’re too kind,” they responded sarcasm dripping from their mouth.

Marie laughed walking away to sit on their bed, scrolling through her phone as she waits for them to finish getting ready.

“Join me?” Jordan wiggled their eyebrows suggestively gesturing at the shower. Marie looked up at them shaking her head no.

“Boo you,”

“I already took one Jordan,” Marie laughed softly. “Maybe next time you’d wake up a bit earlier,” Marie stuck her tongue out at them, returning to her phone.

“Can I at least get a kiss for all of my good deeds?’ Jordan pouted at Marie, their playful expression hinting at a hidden agenda.

Marie couldn't help but melt at their cuteness. She leaned in, their lips meeting in a tender kiss that lingered longer than either of them expected. As they pulled away, Marie caught Jordan's eyes roaming suggestively over her body.

"No, Jordan," Marie said, her voice firm yet laced with amusement, "that wasn't a confirmation for me joining you in the shower."

Jordan sent a dramatic groan her way before finally hopping in the shower.

*******************

“"Alright, Marie, we're coming up to the highway. Just check your mirrors and speed up gradually to match the flow of traffic. Look for a safe gap, then merge into the lane," Jordan explained calmly. “You’re not gonna go on the left lane yet alright? Just chill in the right lane and we’ll get right off at the next exit,” Jordan looked at her with a smile.

"I'm kind of nervous," Marie confessed, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

Jordan nodded in understanding. “I mean, you could always just fucking go for it. Fuck yielding to the other cars and make your move,” they looked at her semi-seriously.

“Seriously? Not helpful Jordan,” Marie sighed, nudging the car forward as the traffic light shifted to green.

Okay. I can do this Marie encouraged herself as she began to take the exit to join the other racing cars on the highway. Marie's heart pounded like a drum as she steered Jordan’s Jeep onto the highway, the roar of engines and the whoosh of wind filling her senses. The other cars seemed to whiz by in a blur, so much speed it was dizzying. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles turning white, trying to maintain her composure amidst the chaos that is the highway.

Jordan, sensing her anxiety, offered a reassuring hand to her thigh. "Deep breaths, Marie," they reminded her, their voice a steady anchor in the storm of emotions. "You've got this." Marie inhaled deeply, the scent of Jordan's familiar perfume grounding her. She exhaled slowly, feeling the tension in her shoulders at ease. With a newfound determination, she focused on the road ahead, her eyes scanning for a safe gap to merge into. However, Marie's intense focus on finding a safe merge spot caused her speed to plummet from 55 mph to a slow speed of 37 mph.

"You're slowing down babe," Jordan noticed, urgently trying the grasp Marie’s attention.

Jordan's voice pierced through Marie's concentration, a jolt of reality that snapped her back to the present. She glanced down at the speedometer, the alarmingly low number staring back at her. "Oh crap," she muttered, her foot instinctively pressing the accelerator.

The car lurched forward, the sudden burst of speed sending Marie's heart racing again. She had been so focused on trying to find a spot to merge that she hadn't realized how much she had slowed down.

"Easy there, Marie," Jordan cautioned, their voice laced with concern. "Don't let the pressure get to you. Just focus on maintaining a steady speed baby.” They knew Marie could do it, but that didn’t stop them from gripping the side of the door in nervousness.

Seeing an opening, Marie maintained her speed, her car inching closer to the highway traffic. She checked her mirrors again, and with a final surge of courage, she merged into the lane. The car beside her honked in protest, the sound spooking her. Fuck she didn’t check her blindspots. She looked to her left, seeing the car that honked at her zooming off, giving her the finger as they passed her. “Sorry!” she called out, her voice barely audible above the roar of the engine.

“Fuck that guy. Did they not see the bright ass, fluorescent green Student Driver sticker?” Jordan remarked from their perch in the passenger seat, their voice laced with a hint of exasperation.

Still, Marie found herself instinctively slowing down, her car inching along. The cars behind her honked in protest, drivers growing increasingly frustrated with her timid pace.

"Marie," Jordan interjected, their voice laced with concern, "you need to pick up the pace. We're gonna get pulled over if you keep moving so slow."

Marie nodded sheepishly, her foot tentatively pressing down on the accelerator. The car surged forward as Marie's eyes widened as she saw her speed increase rapidly, her heart pounding in her chest. She was going too fast, much too fast for her comfort level.

"Marie!" Jordan exclaimed, their voice laced with alarm, “Fuck, slow down! You're going to get us killed! You’re going 95 in a fucking 55!”

How the fuck did she manage to speed up that fast?

Marie's foot slammed on the brakes, the car lurching forward like a startled beast. The tires screeched, the smell of burning rubber filling the air. Jordan lunged forward, their hand instinctively reaching for the wheel. They grabbed it just in time, their fingers tightening around the leather as they wrestled control of the car from Marie's panicked grasp.

Jordan pressed the emergency lights, and they skillfully maneuvered the car onto the shoulder of the highway. The car finally halting near the guardrail.

Marie's body sagged against the seat, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum. She had never experienced such fear, such a sense of impending doom. Marie was sure she saw the pearly white gates for a second. She looked over at Jordan, their calm demeanor was a stark contrast to her own panic.

“Okay,” Jordan began. “How about I drive us back?”

“Good idea,” Marie responded quickly, already hopping out of the driver's seat to sit in the passenger. She glanced back at the highway, her heart still pounding in her chest.

*******

The car ride back to campus was cloaked in an uneasy silence. Marie's mind was a whirlwind of emotions, a mix of relief, gratitude, and a lingering sense of fear. She couldn't help but replay the events of the day, the way her hands had trembled on the steering wheel, the panic that had gripped her as the car sped towards disaster.

Jordan, on the other hand, radiated a calm that surrounded their nonchalance. Their gaze was fixed on the road ahead, one hand steady on the wheel, the other rubbing circles high up Marie’s thigh. Their mind seemingly preoccupied with the task at hand. Marie was jealous, of not only their driving skills but with how easily they handled the situation. She can only be thankful that Jordan was there next to her.

Finally, as the campus came into view, Jordan broke the silence. "Marie," they began, their voice laced with concern, “you okay?"

Marie broke the silence. “I’m never fucking driving again,” her voice barely a whisper, hugging herself tightly.

“Mar, that was your first time on the highway,” Jordan began, their voice gentle. “I mean, you drove like shit but-“

“Thanks,” Marie scoffed interrupting them while stepping out the car in anger.

“Sorry, sorry!” Jordan quickly got out the car, stopping Marie from walking away. “Sorry,” they repeated one more time voice genuine and remorseful. “It’s gonna take practice babe but I know you can do it!” They continued. “Especially as me as your teacher!” They boasted. “Okay?” Jordan held her eyes. “We can try again tomorrow bright and early how about that?” Jordan grabbed Marie’s hands hopeful.

“Nope, no, no, no, no, no. I need a fucking break from driving,” Marie declared firmly.

“Babe, you need to learn eventually,” Jordan rolled their eyes at her.

Marie flashed a mischievous smile. "Well, not right now, then. I don't mind being your passenger princess for a while longer."

"God that's hot," Jordan let out a low groan, rubbing a hand over their now flushed face. They switched into their male form and with no hesitation, Jordan swept Marie into their arms, securing her tightly around their waist while fully sprinting to the dorms.

“We’re gonna do what I wanted to do to you this morning,” Jordan grinned widely, kissing her cheek (still actively running mind you)

“Oh my god,” Marie laughed in their arms.

After what Marie believed to be thirty seconds of Jordan running (how the hell were they that fast), Jordan had Marie pushed up against her dorm wall, kissing and reaching for her everywhere. Marie brought their lips back up, bringing them into a searing kiss. They moaned into each other lips.

“Open the door Moreau,” Jordan nipped her ear, arms wrapped around her waist. Marie turned towards the dorm door, opening it slightly and pulling Jordan inside. The two started taking off the other’s clothes, walking in sync towards Marie’s bed. Jordan swiftly picked Marie up, laying her gently on her bed, reached behind Marie, unclipping her bra. Their hands were all over each other; touching and kissing. As Jordan moved down to her chest, Marie’s door swung wide open.

“She said she’s gonna be with Jordan all day so we’re in the clear-oh.” The door creaked open, revealing a flustered Emma and an equally confused Sam.

“Shit!” Marie exclaimed, her hands instinctively covering her chest as she pulled Jordan closer, shielding them from the intrusive eyes.

"What are you doing here?!" Emma asked, her voice laced with panic as she covered her eyes. "You said you'd be gone all day!" she whined, turning around with Sam to give the couple some privacy as they hurriedly dressed.

"We finished early," Marie explained hastily, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“Fuck,” Jordan groaned. “Can’t even have sex in peace. God, am I being punished?” they groaned in an even louder tone.

“You literally have a dorm to yourself, why the fuck are you guys here?!” Emma complained her eyes still fixed on the door.

“You can turn around now, we’re decent,” Jordan sighed.

Emma turned, pointing directly at Jordan. "Cool," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "And I say this with love; fuck off and go to your dorm."

Marie and Jordan exchanged a quick glance, their silence speaking volumes. Without another word, they shuffled out of the shared dorm and headed towards Jordan's room, their footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.

“So, is the mood ruined? If not, I still want you to sit on my face,” Jordan looked at Marie hopeful.

“Jesus Jordan,”

#gen v #limoreau #limoreau fic #jordan li x marie moreau #marie moreau #jordan li #jordanmarie #marie moreau x jordan li #surprise marie cant drive

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dragcnbreak · 5 months

Text

crazy for this boy

Ness is taken aback by a pretty man entering the diner and maybe moves a bit too fast with him.

Also cross-posted on AO3!

◞♡࿐

Ness was gay, which is a fact that is pretty much as old as time itself. Even with the year being 2000 and living in the state of Utah, he didn’t much try to hide it. That may have been the main reason why he was staring at the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his life. Ness worked at a dinner called Sparky’s and he does meet a lot of pretty men who catch his eye but none quite like this one.

The man had the most intense hazel eyes, matted hair that was still somehow cute, and a gorgeous chiseled jaw with an endearing five o’clock shadow. Ness pouted internally when he saw him sit at a table that he wasn’t waiting. So before his coworker, Tara, could approach, he began to bribe her for the table. She gave him a knowing glance, letting him have it.

“Hi. Welcome to Sparky’s, sugar! What can I get you started with?” Ness rolled up to the table with confidence. It’s only when the man blushes that he realizes he let a pet name slip. “U-um, just a… water is fine.” Ness peered down at the stuttering man, smiling at the name tag on him reading “Mike”.

“Gotcha, Mike! Anything else? Lunch is the most important meal of the day after all.” Mike frowned at that. “Is it really lunchtime already? Damn it.” The sentences cause Ness to frown too. “Is everything okay?” He can’t help but ask, wanting to know more about the guy in front of him. “It’s none of your business.” Mike shook his head.

“I’ll be right back.” Ness says, an idea forming. He reported to his manager, Clyde, and explained that he would be going on his break now. Clyde nodded and Ness grabbed two waters on his way back out, one for Mike and one for him. The mentioned is taken aback when Ness comes and sits with him.

“I’m on my break so don’t worry,” Ness sipped his water, “but spill. You seem like you’ve got something worrying you and I want to help.” Mike furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t even know you… Ness.” He said, glancing at the other’s name tag. “So?” Ness kept the conversation going, ignoring how his heart fluttered when Mike said his name.

Mike just sighed softly, drinking his water as well. “I guess… Um, I just can’t find a babysitter for my little sister for tonight. My usual one is sick and I really need to go to work.” Mike explained while he stirred his drink with his straw. “I can watch her!” Ness almost yelled, nearly spilling his own water.

The shorter blinked owlishly. “Seriously? Again, I don’t even know you.” He let go of his drink, staring at Ness, who just waved his hand. “The name’s Ness. And now you know me!” He smiled brightly, making Mike want to reciprocate it. “I’m free tonight and you need a sitter. I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything like that. Just a guy who wants to help a pretty boy like yourself.” Ness reached over the table, clasping Mike’s hand and looking into his eyes. The words and actions caused them both to blush and Ness quickly moved his hand away.

Mike sighed again, reaching back to scratch his neck. “I… I guess? I get paid tomorrow so I can pay you then. Just don’t hurt my sister or I’ll make you regret it.” Mike threatened Ness but all Ness saw was an adorably angry puppy. But he filed away that thought for later and nodded. “Don’t worry about paying me! This’ll just be my good deed for the day.” He reasoned.

The other didn’t argue, figuring it would be a losing battle to try to. Instead, Mike grabbed a napkin and a pen he kept in his work uniform. “Here’s my address and my um, my phone number.” He stuttered over his words, writing said things on the napkin.

Ness gave him a kind smile. “What time should I be over tonight?” Mike thought it over for a second. “7 works for me.” Ness nodded. “And 7 works for me too. My break should be about over but I’ll see you then, pretty boy.” Ness grabbed the napkin with one hand and the other took Mike’s hand again. Confidence filled him as he reached down and kissed the hand he held. Mike watched, flustered, as Ness then stood up and walked away.

◞♡࿐

Ness turned up to the Schmidt’s house 10 minutes shy of seven o’clock. He was a bit nervous about meeting Abby for the first time and babysitting her so he tried to channel some of the confidence earlier.

But then he knocked on the door and Mike answered it shirtless and his attempts were thrown out the window. The shorter must have just gotten out the shower the way his hair was wet and a towel was wrapped around his waist. “Sorry about… this.” He motions to his chest. “Shower. Um, I told Abby about you. She might be shy…” Mike talked more than he ever had before and here Ness was, spacing out and practically drooling at the sight of Mike.

“Ness!” The mentioned blinked a few times, returning to the world of the living. “Y-yes!” He nearly shouted. “Are you okay?” Mike asked with furrowed brows. “Of course! Why do you ask?” Mike frowned. “You’re bleeding.” He pointed to his nose, indicating where the blood was coming from. Ness swiped a finger under his nose. He copied Mike’s frown when he saw blood on the finger.

“Let me get dressed and I’ll help you before I go to work. Don’t get blood on the floor!” The shirtless man left the room, his little sister taking his place. She stared at him knowingly and suddenly, Ness wanted to die right there and then.

#mine #my fanfics #text #fnaf movie #Mike schmidt #ness #ness the waiter #securitywaiter #dreamtheory #mike schmidt x ness #mike schmidt x ness the waiter #fnaf #five nights at freddy’s movie #five nights at freddy's

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cheerycherrycandy-resurrected · 3 months

Text

Ghoulette Appreciation Week 6

Week 6: Murder Ghoulettes and self-care

Aurora wakes up thirsty. Cumulus taking Aurora out on her first hunt, followed by a tiny bit of self-care with Cirrus afterwards.

Rating: M Content: murder ghoulettes, kinda vampire au, blood/violence/murder Words: 1270

In my mind Aurora is a huge Twilight-girlie, so you can't tell me she doesn't try and recreate Bella's first hunt to cope with learning what her topside diet includes...

Read below or on AO3! where this almost got named "good soup"

Aurora wakes up thirsty. She’s been topside for a few months by now, and while she’s mostly on top of this strangely fragile Vessel’s needs, she’s never felt a thirst quite like this. Her mouth feels drier than it does after a band rehearsal without water, like her throat is burning.

She delicately untangles herself from the arms of the ghoulettes around her and makes her way to the kitchen to get a drink. Grabbing the largest glass she can find, she fills it and gulps it down, immediately refilling it. Nothing. In fact her thirst seems to be worse than ever. Too cold some instinct screams at her. She puts the glass in the microwave, and takes another sip of the gently steaming liquid. Wrong. Aurora lets out a small growl which reverberates around the darkened kitchen, mocking her in her frustration. The lights flicker to life as Cirrus joins her in the kitchen, yawning widely.

“What’cha doing, Rory? ‘S too early to be up yet.”

Aurora turns to her with frantic eyes, gesturing to the half full glass of warm water, “I’m so thirsty Cir, but water just makes it worse!”

Cirrus seemed to wake up fully at that, blinking sleep from her quickly darkening eyes. “Ah. I thought you were overdue a feed. Lus is going on a trip soon, she’ll take you later.”

A feed? What sort of trip? Aurora rakes her fingers through her hair in frustration at Cirrus’s cryptic behaviour. With a tilt of her head at Aurora's confusion, Cirrus turns abruptly to head back to the dorms.

“Come on, you'll want to be sitting down for this.”

Aurora took the news well. Almost too well. Instead of the abject horror most ghouls displayed at having to hunt in their weak humanoid forms to survive topside, she seemed almost excited at the prospect.

"So we're like vampires up here?” There was a disconcerting gleam to her eyes. "That's so cool!”

Cirrus and Cumulus shared a glance. Oh dear. They recalled Aurora's current obsession with 2000s chick-flicks. She watched Twilight last week. Cumulus nodded sheepishly; at least this reaction was better than the hysterics from Sunny.

“Sure thing Starburst, just like Vampires.” Cumulus didn't specify that she meant the non-glittery-variety. “Go get changed, we'll head out this morning before the boys decide to join us. Rain always makes such a mess.”

Aurora practically skipped across the hall to her room.

"Good luck with that.” Cirrus remarked to Cumulus, “I'll have a hot bath ready when you get back.”

“Thanks love.” Cumulus rolled her eyes good-naturedly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I'll bring the little bloodsucker back in once piece.”

“I'm ready!” chirps Aurora from the doorway. She's met with stunned silence for a second.

"Sweetie,” Cirrus starts hesitantly, “What are you wearing?”

A short while later, once Aurora has been convinced that while yes, she definitely can wear that tiny silk dress, she really does have to put proper shoes on, Cumulus leads the way to the edge of the forest surrounding the Abbey. As she does, she makes a mental note of other movies to blacklist.

The pair trek through miles and miles of forest, well beyond the invisible perimeter wards of the Abbey. There is an agreement with the Clergy that although ghouls definitely need to feed, they should do so as far from the Abbey as possible, and not in the same region too often. After her initial excitement, Aurora now feels her mouth getting drier and drier with each step.

After what feels like hours, Cumulus stops, sniffing the air around them and smiling.

“Alright Rory, you're good to go.”

"What do I do?” Aurora asks uncertainly. The air here felt thick, and held the same allure as the waft of Mountain's freshly baked bread did.

“Oh you'll see,” Cumulus smirks, "just follow your nose.”

Aurora took a deep sniff before instinctually dropping into a hunting crouch. The scent was stronger down here, sticking to the leaves underfoot. She slinks through the trees, tracking the captivating smell until the air around them is rich with it. A gust of wind blows it even stronger in their direction, and she takes off running in the direction of the mouthwatering aroma. The branches around her tear at the flimsy satin of her dress and Cumulus has to laugh internally at the destruction: what did she expect?

The deer hunter Aurora has tracked never stood a chance. Before he could even link the sounds of branches snapping with danger, the small ghoulette is on top of him, his gun still raised in the direction of a spooked deer that is now bolting away.

She rips and tears at his flesh with vicious fangs and claws, carving through bone and sinew, and devouring blood, viscera, organs. The rush of warmth on her tongue and the sweet, metallic tang finally satiates her unholy thirst. As Aurora begins to return to herself from the red haze of the hunt, Cumulus looks on proudly, with feral eyes of her own. There is blood smeared around Aurora's mouth, her entirely ridiculous dress is hanging onto her by threads, more rip than fabric, and Cumulus can't help but marvel at her terrifying beauty.

She helps Aurora maneuverer the remains of the hunter's lifeless body deeper into the trees. By the time he is found, likely months later, his ghoulish mutilations will be indistinguishable from those caused by a wild animal. Possibly the ghouls will see talk of a bear attack in the newspapers the Siblings of the Abbey read.

Aurora’s thirst may be satisfied but Cumulus’s is only baited, so the pair move on. It isn’t done to share one’s prey with another ghoul if they are not mated, so Cumulus will find another victim, she always does. Sometimes they even come willingly, hypnotised by her unfathomable beauty in the depths of the unforgiving forest.

Eventually returning to the Abbey, Aurora find that the less feral she feels, the more she realises how deeply uncomfortable she is; cold and sticky, covered in mud, blood, and Satan only knows what else. Cumulus tempts her to keep moving quickly, despite the tiredness that is setting back into her bones, by telling her how Cirrus won't be able to resist her after a hunt. She’ll run them a warm bath, meticulously clean her claws for her, and take care of her in every way she knows. Cumulus tells Aurora how she's in for it now, as she looks every inch the terrifying hellbeast that she is.

They enter the ghoul wing with their hair everywhere, wild nests full of twigs and leaves. They are careful to avoid the common areas of the Abbey looking like this. All the ghouls, no matter how reckless they are when hunting, know better that to give any indication to the Siblings of Sin that this side of them exists.

“How'd the little vampire do?” Cirrus asks Cumulus when they tumble into her room, jumping up to begin picking detritus out of her Mate's hair and usher them both towards the cloud of sweet-smelling steam emanating from the bathroom.

Aurora is doing great: she’s preening just inside the door, feigning nonchalance as she picks blood out from under her claws. The dress maybe didn’t survive as well as she expected, the liquid silk slip hanging off her small frame in tatters. She shoots out a delicate tongue to lap up a spot of blood on her arm, her high-pitched purr reverberating around the room with self-satisfaction.

Cumulus smirks, “Oh, she’s gonna be just fine up here Riri.”

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paradiqms · 1 year

Text

(4) to you, 2000 years from now.

hongjoong x fem!reader.

tags: angst, captain!hongjoong, royalty!reader, betrayals, misunderstandings, mentions of death, cruelty, fluff here n there, fantasy setting, strangers to lovers to enemies to..?

summary: after the death of your parents and near fall of your kingdom, you have no choice but to leave your first love in order to keep the kingdom in balance with you as the new ruler. years later, you see a familiar face - but instead of being in your arms, he's kneeling in front of the guillotine.

word count: 5,6k

currently, four out of ?

previous.

“you’re growing pretty fond of her, aren’t you?” hongjoong snaps his head up from the piece of paper he’s currently scribbling on to face the person who had spoken up. he’s met with a tall man, leaning against the doorframe of his cramped room, adorning a face that’s similar to his own.

“oh, beomjoong hyung,” the light haired boy breathes out with a small smile on his lips as he greets his older brother. “i didn’t see you there.”

“uh huh,” beomjoong scoffs lightly at his younger brother before inviting himself into the room. “that’s because you’re too busy writing about your little girlfriend again.”

hongjoong feels his face burn up at the older man’s words, which elicits a cheeky laugh from the latter. as much as he wanted to refute, beomjoong is actually correct about one thing – he is writing about you, like how he does every day without fail.

“she’s not my girlfriend.” hongjoong mumbles under his breath as he keeps his head hanging low to avoid his brother’s teasing gaze, which only makes the redness of his cheeks flare up until the tips of his ears.

“not yet, you mean.” beomjoong grins widely at his brother’s reaction before grabbing one of the many papers stacked up on hongjoong’s work table, holding the piece of parchment above his head as the young sibling tries to snatch it back.

“wow, you really outdid yourself with this one. who knew you’d be such a sap?” the older sibling laughs as he reads the poem written down on the paper despite hongjoong cursing at him.

“give it back, you’re gonna crumple it!” hongjoong groans, eye twitching at the way beomjoong is basically gripping onto his paper as if his life depended on it. he was planning to paste that one on his wall tonight after he reads it to you during your nightly visit, but he can’t do that if it’s all ugly and wrinkled by the hands of his brother.

after several attempts, the hongjoong finally gets his own hands on the paper and he immediately tries to straighten it out, but he frowns once he realizes it’s beyond repair at this point. beomjoong merely laughs at the dejected face his younger brother is making, which makes hongjoong frown even deeper, but there’s a playful hint behind it rather than genuine distress.

“did you come here just to ruin my work or what?” the light haired boy huffs. beomjoong shrugs his shoulders a little before dragging over a nearby chair to sit himself next to his younger brother by his work table, eyes wandering around the room. particularly, the pieces of paper pasted on the walls.

“joong-ah.” beomjoong says, a clear change in his tone compared to the playful one just moments ago. the younger one blinks, feeling the aura shift in the air around him, and he frowns. his brother is rarely this serious – and if he’s is, that means something’s up.

“yeah?” hongjoong replies reluctantly as he sits down next to his older sibling.

“… what are you doing?” beomjoong sighs, and hongjoong feels his heart drop. “i know you like this girl, and i understand, you’ve made quite a connection with her.”

seeing his brother tense up and lower his gaze, beomjoong can only sigh as he places a comforting hand over hongjoong’s shoulder.

“but you need to remember why we came here in the first place.” the older sibling continues. “once mother and father have succeeded, we have to leave. there’s no staying for us in this kingdom. save yourself from the heartbreak, won’t you?”

hongjoong can only grit his teeth from the words that fall from his brother’s mouth. they all carry the truth, there’s not a single doubt, and that’s why he hates it. the fact that he had met you, and even fell in love with you, under possibly the worst circumstances ever makes him clench his fists at how unfair it feels.

he’s not supposed to stay, hongjoong has been reminded of this ever since he arrived to this kingdom. for him and his family, there’s no such thing as a place they can call ‘home’, for they have moved from one kingdom to another for as long as hongjoong can remember in search of something that almost seems impossible to find at this point. all these years, he has been great at avoiding unnecessary attachment to anyone and anything, he was never the type to even reminisce much on the previous lands that he has found himself in before. they were insignificant to him, only mere specks in his journey.

but then you came crashing into his life – well, it was him who crashed into yours, he supposes. he remembers the way he bumped into you that day in the town square, making you fall backwards. he remembers the twinkle in your eyes when you looked up at him as he offered to help you back on your feet, the shine of the sun in the sky making you look like one of the ethereal beings that hongjoong had read about only in books. not only were you as beautiful as the meadow flowers that hongjoong would pick up and press into his books, you were also kind, incredibly so, as you helped him out of certain death even when you had just met him.

so, hearing his brother say that he’s only leading himself into heartbreak, hongjoong can’t help but protest.

“no,” the light haired boy says, ignoring the way beomjoong’s eyes widen. “i’m sorry, hyung, but you don’t understand. i’ve made more than just ‘quite’ a connection with her, i– she means everything to me. i know we can’t stay here forever, but that’s exactly why i can’t let her go just yet. i want to spend all of my remaining days here with her, even when i’ll end up heartbroken.”

hongjoong avoids his brother’s gaze, because he knows there’s disappointment in his eyes, but he can’t bring himself to care anymore.

“she’s worth it, hyung. she’s worth every heartbreak, every tear i’ll spill for her once we part. i know i won’t regret it, not when it’s her.”

beomjoong’s eyes soften at his younger brother’s words. he thinks it’s the first time that he has seen hongjoong so passionate about his relationship with someone, after all these years of pushing everyone away even before a single connection had the chance to form. he frowns deeply as he knows that his brother will definitely face the heartbreak of a lifetime once he parts from you, but as his younger sibling returns his gaze with one that’s showing no signs of backing up, beomjoong can only sigh in defeat.

“alright then, joong.” the older of the pair concedes, much to hongjoong’s surprise. “i don’t think i can convince you any further, can i? always so stubborn.”

at his brother’s words, hongjoong smiles softly.

“thanks, hyung.” he says, voice trembling only slightly. “i appreciate it.”

“whatever, kid.” beomjoong stands up from his seat before placing a hand on top of his brother’s head to ruffle up his hair despite the grumpy protests. “maybe introduce me to her some time, yeah?”

hopefully, hongjoong thinks, hopefully he will get the chance to introduce you to his brother. as well as his parents, if fate is kind enough to allow it.

but alas, fate has never once been on hongjoong’s side. and it never will be.

fate, the heavens, destiny, hell maybe even the gods – they’ve all banded together to make a fool out of hongjoong, to build him up with the greatest creation they made out of stardust and the shines of sunlight, only to tear him down with the same creation.

it was you all along. hongjoong was too blinded by the light that you emitted to see the dark lies that you’ve been feeding him all this time. he feels choked in the middle of the sea of people that have gathered within the execution grounds, his heart aching so much as if sorrow is sinking it’s sharp claws into his chest, threatening to dig into him and tear out the one thing that’s keeping him alive.

he can’t even hear his own cries anymore as he watches three figures line up towards the guillotine, faces that resemble his own covered with dirty sacks. the first person is forced onto his knees to kneel in front of the guillotine, and when the sack is removed, the angered screams of the crowd turn into background noise, as hongjoong can only focus on the quiet apology that falls from the person’s lips.

“joong-ah,” beomjoong whispers, a weak smile on his face. “you know what to do. i’m sorry.”

hongjoong turns away. the shrill sound of the blade coming down rings in his head, followed by the sick cheers of the people around him, and he can only bring himself to lift his head up and stare at the person who started it all.

to see your familiar face, clear from any emotions as you stand next to a king who orders for the execution of his family, it almost makes him laugh. to think that you, the person who hongjoong wanted to spend his life with, would be the one to ruin it with the calmest look on your face that he once admired under the moonlight. this was the first time he had seen you in weeks after he gave you all the love he could from a heart that he knew you would break one day, but not like this – why, hongjoong cries, why would you do this?

when you finally turn you head to look at him, he feels nothing but anger.

“joong?” you call out for him, a sweetness clinging onto your voice as you use the name that his brother would call him with.

“don’t,” hongjoong sobs as he grits his teeth, reddened eyes staring into yours that hold nothing but emptiness. “don’t call me that.”

but you don’t listen to the weeps of a man who you’ve destroyed in every way possible.

you call out for him again and again, repeating the same name that only makes hongjoong’s heart break further. his head throbs as it’s filled with the sound of your voice, a ringing in his ears that makes him feel like there’s blood dripping out and an ache in his throat as he begs for you to stop.

“joong,” you repeat, as if the cries of your first love mean nothing to you. “hongjoong, hey, wake up. hongjoong. hongjoong!”

“hongjoong, capt, wake up!”

the sound of a dagger being unsheathed echoes through the dark and quiet room as hongjoong presses the blade he keeps under his pillow against the throat of the person who’s standing next to his bed. he hears a small whimper, and it takes a few blinks of his weirdly moist eyes to finally adjust themselves in the darkness to recognize who’s in front of him.

“…wooyoung?” hongjoong whispers, quickly putting away his dagger. “what are you doing here?”

“ugh, i should’ve made san wake you up instead.” the red haired man grimaces as he rubs over the front of his neck where hongjoong’s blade was pressed on, making the captain snort lightly.

“anyway,” wooyoung continues, shifting slightly on his feet. “there’s, uh… a little problem with the queen.”

hongjoong hums, ignoring the dull ache that’s starting to crawl into his chest once again at the mere mention of you.

“don’t bother me if it’s just a ‘little’ problem.” the captain groans as he sits himself properly on the edge of his messy bed, combing a hand through his dark hair. he catches the way wooyoung is playing with his fingers nervously by his peripheral vision.

“yeah, about that…” the younger of the two mumbles. “okay, it’s not actually ‘little’. she’s refusing to eat or even talk to us ever since she woke up, like, three days ago? and she’s not going to unless she speaks with the captain.”

a scoff that he’s unable to suppress escapes from hongjoong’s lips once wooyoung is done talking. to be truthful, he’s been avoiding you as much as he can ever since he ordered his crew to bring you on his ship. it’s a cowardly thing to do, he’s quite aware, but a piece of him isn’t ready to face you again.

“alright,” hongjoong brings himself to sigh out after a moment. “i’ll be there in a moment.”

“aye, captain!” wooyoung puts on a dorky smile on his face before making his way out of hongjoong’s private quarters, closing the door behind him.

once the red haired boy is out of his personal space, hongjoong drags a calloused hand over his face, cringing to himself when he feels the wetness on his cheeks. he stands up from the comfort of his bed to walk over to his dresser, staring at himself in the mirror.

his eyes are puffy and red from sleep (at least that’s what he’s convinced himself to be the reason) and the skin of his face is as pale as the sheets he was resting under. as he looks at his reflection, he can’t help but be reminded of the one who shares the same features but slightly sharper and more mature than his own.

before hongjoong can be pulled down into another spiral of sorrow, he turns away to walk out of his room and towards the crew’s quarters.

“your majesty, please calm down–” wooyoung’s voice reaches hongjoong’s ears when he’s halfway down the wooden stairs that lead towards the lower part of the ship, and he raises a curious eyebrow. “the captain will be here shortly, just stop squirming– ow! she bit me!”

“don’t touch me, you filthy pirate.” hongjoong stops in his track for a moment when he hears you speak up. for a moment, he’s considering going back up to his room and let seonghwa handle the situation instead, but he straightens himself up and puts on the best face he can manage in your presence before descending further down the stairs.

he’s met with a rather comical scene of wooyoung crouching on the floor, cradling his left hand to his chest while san rubs his friend’s back soothingly. the taller of the duo notices hongjoong’s presence, and a quick smile appears on his lips.

“good morning, captain!” san waves with his free hand. “wooyoung was trying to feed her majesty over there since she hasn’t eaten anything for the past three days, but she refused and bit him.”

“i see.” is all that hongjoong can manage to say out loud as he feels your heavy gaze on him. he can see you from the corner of his eye, an arm stretched above your head due to your hand still being cuffed onto the pillar, just like how he left you several days ago. he can feel your eyes staring holes onto him, particularly the band on his arm.

captain’s armband, an obvious little piece of garment that clings onto the sleeve of his coat. he hadn’t worn it when he was away from the ship during his few days in the dirty cells under the palace that was under your rule, and when he put it back on again, it felt like coming home. but right now, the black band feels like it’s burning through the fabric of his clothes and searing his skin.

the crew’s quarters are uncomfortably quiet, save for the occasional creaks of wood and sloshing of water against the sides of the ship. hongjoong’s eyes are empty as he gazes forward, away from you, his mind reeling with all the possible outcomes that might arise from the current interaction.

he’s expecting for you to curse at him, to yell at him with all the anger you could store in your body when you finally realize what he’s become just like how you did back in the dungeons. the memory squeezes hongjoong’s chest, and he makes the decision to finally turn to you with fire that he sparked up himself swirling in his eyes.

“look who’s finally awake.” he says, his voice no higher than a whisper as if he’s untrusting of himself to speak any louder, fearing that his tone might falter. “took you some time, your highness.”

as he’s slowly approaching you, your gaze doesn’t move from the armband.

“cat got your tongue?” hongjoong scoffs, stopping himself once he’s standing right in front of you. “my crew told me you wanted to speak to the captain, so here i am. you better start talking before i lose my patience.”

you don’t respond. instead, you shift your attention from the armband and towards hongjoong’s face, your eyes searching for his own.

“you’re alive…” the man hears you breathe out, and he feels lightheaded. there’s a softness in your gaze as you look up at him from the hammock you’re sitting on, and it almost makes him falter.

almost.

“of course i’m alive.” hongjoong scoffs as he steps back from you. he feels that if he were to spend another second being too close in your presence, he might give in to you, especially when you almost sound like you’re relieved to see him. “your sorry excuse of royal guards wouldn’t be able to kill me even if they tried.”

you’re quiet again for a moment, suffocating hongjoong with your silence as he feels his heart race in his chest, and he notices a subtle change in your expression before you’re scowling at him.

“you’re a pirate now,” you hiss, eyes flickering towards the band that wraps itself around hongjoong’s arm before continuing. “not just a mere pirate, but a captain? hongjoong, what–”

“you are not fit to speak my name.” the man warns, poison in his tone that seeps into your veins and almost brings your heart to a stop.

hongjoong ignores the look on your face, one that carries your obvious heartbreak from his words. he straightens his back and tilts his head slightly higher to look down on you before speaking again.

“you might be a queen, but this is my ship, and i am captain. you’re only allowed to address me as such. if i hear you speak my name one more time, i won’t hesitate to cut your tongue off.”

your eyes widen once the man before you finishes speaking, and you can only afford to stare at him. you search his face for any signs of bluffing, maybe even softness, or absolutely anything that could get you to believe that the gentle poet you used to know is somewhere in there, but you find nothing. the man, or captain, returns your stare with one of his own, eyes void of any vulnerability with not a speck of the innocence you used to associate him with, and you frown.

your dear poet is, without a doubt, truly gone. all that’s left is a husk of the man you used to love, standing before you with hatred in his eyes that were once your favorite to gaze into under the moonlight.

“fine,” you breathe out, conceding into the man as you can’t bring yourself to fight back anymore. “i see how it is. it’s not like i know you anymore, anyway.”

hongjoong blinks. the ache in his chest never left ever since he came to see you, but it’s beginning to grow and mess with his head as he takes in your words.

fine, hongjoong thinks to himself. if that’s how you’re playing, then so be it.

“don’t flatter yourself,” the captain scoffs. “you never truly knew me in the first place.”

lies. you were the only one who understood me.

ignoring the screaming of protests in his own head, the dark haired man watches with a stony face as you struggle to reply to him. he watches as your lips twist into a disheartened frown, the corner of your eyes prickling with tears, and suddenly, hongjoong can’t look at you anymore.

“if you’ve got nothing more to say,” he turns around, facing his back to you. “then i’ll be leaving. all you ever do is waste my time.”

lies! i would spend all of my remaining time on this damn earth with you.

“wooyoung, san,” the captain calls out for the duo who were merely standing in the corner while he was conversing with you, and they immediately straighten up when referred to. “let’s go.”

the two boys respond with a quiet ‘yes, captain’ before tailing behind the shorter male towards the main deck. wooyoung spares a quick glance to you, and he can’t stop the pity from growing in his chest as he watches you sob on the hammock you’ve been placed on, muffling your cries with your free hand.

once they’re all back on the main deck, hongjoong turns towards the two boys.

“i’m assigning her to the two of you,” the captain speaks. “make sure she doesn’t die. force her to eat, for all i care. we need her once we’ve arrived at the next kingdom.”

without another word, he walks away from the duo and goes back into his private quarters, the harsh slam of the wooden door making the two boys flinch slightly.

that night, the entire ship is silent, save for the gentle sobs that can be heard from the crew’s quarters and the sound of glass shattering from the captain’s room.

seonghwa has known hongjoong longer than the rest of the crew. as the captain’s right-hand man and trusted friend, he’s responsible for taking over the other man’s work whenever he’s unavailable to. it’s his duty, one that he has been faithful to for the past six years.

this time, however, seonghwa is not sure how much longer he can fill in for hongjoong while the latter merely locks himself in his private quarters, day and night. he hasn’t seen the shorter man for god knows how long while they’re on their way to the next destination, and it’s beginning to get on his nerves.

“captain,” seonghwa knocks on the wooden door that leads to the captain’s quarters, leaning in slightly. “i’m coming in. i’m not taking no as an answer.”

when the blond haired man receives nothing from behind the door, he takes it as a sign of approval to push the door open and enter the private quarters.

the spacious room is dark, as it always has been, with only a few streams of sunlight escaping through the curtains that flow with the ocean breeze from the open windows. despite the darkness, seonghwa’s sharp eyes need not long to adjust themselves, and he can easily make out the absolute mess within the captain’s room.

bits of shattered glass litter the floor alongside multiple empty liquor bottles, some standing tall while others roll along the wooden panels. sheets of paper, once stacked nicely on the captain’s work table, are now in disarray and some even torn into small pieces.

the sight makes seonghwa’s eye twitch. but what almost infuriates him even further is when he notices the familiar stature of his captain, simply sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing the same clothes he had worn the last time seonghwa saw him outside his quarters several days ago. his hair is unkempt, sticking upwards in several directions, and the blond pirate can make out the greasiness of the black locks even as he stands quite far from the captain.

the room is quiet when both of the two men decide not to speak up for a moment.

“if you’re here to patronize me,” hongjoong breaks the silent, a slight hoarse sticking onto his voice. “i won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your head.”

“with your current condition?” seonghwa scoffs as he walks closer to the captain’s bed, the heels of his shoes clicking against the wooden flooring. “i doubt you can even lift your weapon.”

hongjoong reaches an arm out to stop seonghwa from coming any closer, the palm of his hand pressed against the latter’s stomach.

“don’t,” he scowls, head kept down. “i’m gross.”

“we’re pirates,” seonghwa manages to breathe out a gentle laugh. “we’re supposed to be gross.”

hongjoong can only scowl further before letting his arm fall back onto the mattress. without wasting any of their time, seonghwa casually seats himself next to the other man, the soft mattress sinking under his weight before he begins talking.

“how much longer are you going to do this to yourself, hongjoong?” he speaks, making sure his voice remains gentle but firm enough to knock some sense into the latter. “we’ve barely seen you these days, and you’re our captain, for god’s sake. if this is about the girl then–”

“don’t.” hongjoong hisses. seonghwa catches the way his fists curl up tightly. “don’t mention her to me.”

“and yet you were the one who wanted her onboard.” seonghwa rebuts, earning himself a hard glare from the other male. “do you see the problem? honestly, it’s almost childish from the way you’re ignoring your duties over a mere girl.”

“she–” hongjoong stutters over his words, pursing his lips as if he’s in thought to choose the right words. “she’s… not a mere girl. that’s the problem.”

over his friend’s words, seonghwa’s previously firm gaze softens up. he can hear the sorrow dripping from hongjoong’s voice that sounds like he’s been crying for days on end, and as much as it saddens him, it mostly surprises him more. in all the years he has known the other man, he’s never seen him shed tears like this over someone.

perhaps isolating himself in his private quarters could be justified, seonghwa thinks.

“i see.” the blond pirate mumbles. “you two must have quite the history, huh?”

“quite,” hongjoong manages to bring himself to scoff at his friend’s words. “i’d rather not talk about it, though.”

seonghwa nods, expressing his understanding on the pain of reminiscing memories with someone you’ve grown apart from. although, the older man thinks, simply grown apart might not be enough to explain the situation between hongjoong and the mysterious queen. the last time he had seen the latter seem so lost and broken, eyes swollen and red from all the tears he had shed, was the day they first met six years ago.

looking at the condition his friend is currently in and comparing it to the memory of their first meeting, seonghwa can only summarize that both occasions all come down to you.

to think that a simple girl could break down a man as strong and stone-hearted as hongjoong is now, making him look like the younger and more vulnerable version of himself six years ago, seonghwa can’t help but have his interest piqued.

so, after he offers a few more comforting words to his captain and exiting his private room, he heads directly to the crew’s quarters.

“seonghwa hyung!” a familiar voice stops the blond pirate from descending down the stairs that lead to the crew’s quarters, and he turns around to see a tuft of bright red hair.

“did captain say anything?” wooyoung questions, a curious glint in his eyes. “i saw you go into his room and now you’re going to visit miss royal down there, right?”

seonghwa blinks. wooyoung is known to have a loose lip among the crew, his chatterbox of a mouth paired with his never-ending curiosity almost always causing unnecessary headaches for everyone onboard. he’s more than useful during missions with his ability to get any information he wants from people, but said ability isn’t as appreciated when he uses it to dig the latest gossip amongst the crew.

“captain didn’t say much,” seonghwa straightens himself up. “but yes, i am going to pay a visit to the girl. it would be nice if you don’t eavesdrop, wooyoung.”

the younger one merely whines after being rejected, but he’s quick to regain his composure when he notices the stern look on the right-hand man’s face.

“fine, fine.” wooyoung huffs. “but be careful around her, she bites!”

seonghwa waves the latter off and tells him to go resume his own duties, to which he responds with a playful salute before walking away. the blond pirate continues his steps down the stairs, and he’s met with the sight of you, swinging gently on one of the hammocks with an arm stretched above your head due to being cuffed to the pillar.

as if startled by his presence, you quickly turn your head to the unfamiliar face that you’re unacquainted with. you were expecting, and honestly hoping, that it was wooyoung – since the red haired boy was the only one who showed an ounce of kindness to you during your stay these several days despite being the one who knocked you out in the first place.

to see someone who you haven’t met before makes your heart hammer nervously in your chest.

“hi,” the stranger speaks to you, a slight husk to his voice. “so you’re the one who’s causing all the trouble for our captain, huh?”

seonghwa watches with mild amusement when he notices the way your previously alarmed expression quickly turns to that of displeasure, your eyebrows arching downwards.

“screw your captain.” you spit out. “if anything, he’s the one who caused trouble for me. i didn’t asked to be brought onto his damn ship.”

“oh, but you have to be of some sort of importance to him if that’s so.” there’s an upward curl on the man’s lips that looks like a mischievous smirk, and it almost makes you sick.

“hell if i know,” you scowl. “from the way he spoke to me the other day, i’d say he sees me as nothing but a waste of time.”

the words that fall from your own lips stings into your chest, especially when you’re referring to him. if you were to tell your younger self that your first love would view you as a waste of time, she would’ve laughed at you.

“captain just needs some time to soften up,” seonghwa shrugs before stepping closer to you, making you instinctively inch backwards as much as you can while being seated on a hammock that’s swinging back and forth from the movement of the ship. “especially considering the history you two share.”

you feel the words you’d wish to spit out get choked in your throat, and you tilt your head downwards to avoid the gaze of the man who’s standing in front of you.

“i share no history with that captain of yours,” you mumble. “not anymore. he’s not the person i used to know.”

seonghwa merely hums, but his mind wanders endlessly. he leans closer to you, ignoring the way you’re grimacing up at him from your spot on the hammock as you lean backwards as much as you can to keep a proper distance between yourself and him, but he ignores you.

a clicking sound reaches your ears, and for the first time since you’ve arrived on the ship, you can move your arm.

“what–” you stutter, immediately massaging your shoulder the moment your arm falls free from the cuffs to ease the ache that’s been bothering you for days. “what– how did you– why did you do that?”

“one at a time, your majesty.” seonghwa chuckles as he takes a step back, tucking the handcuffs that once chained you to the pillar into his pocket. “stole the keys from the captain’s room, he was too busy sulking to notice.”

the sound of silver keys jingling against each other reaches your ears as they hang from the man’s slender fingers while he swings them around, as if to emphasize his statement.

“and as for why,” he continues. “we’ll be arriving at our next destination shortly. i want you to follow me once we’re there.”

you snap your head upwards to look at the blond pirate, the obvious bewilderment on your face making him stifle back an amused chuckle.

“however, don’t even think of escaping. just because i unchained you doesn’t mean i will hesitate to chain you again if you misbehave.”

“…fine.” you give in, ignoring the way the pirate offers you a praise for your obedience that reminds you of someone with a similar way of speaking back in your kingdom. at the reminder of him, you unconsciously rub your ring finger to play with the golden band, only for your heart to drop when you’re met with bare skin.

you catch a glint of light reflecting off a shiny surface from the pirate’s hands, and only now do you notice the way he’s rolling your ring across his fingers, a cheeky smile on his lips that only elicits a disgruntled scowl on your own.

“i’ll be taking my leave now,” the man announces, ignoring your demands of returning your ring. “i’ll be taking this as a gift for freeing you.”

“you sly bastard.” the insult leaves your lips in a low mumble as you glare at the pirate while he walks away from you. just as he places his foot on the first step of the stairs that lead towards the main deck, he turns to you once again.

“my name is seonghwa, by the way.” he informs. “make sure you remember that in your pretty little head.”

as the pirate, seonghwa, walks up the stairs and leaves you alone in the crew’s quarters once again, you can’t help but heave a heavy sigh before leaning back onto the hammock, allowing yourself to be swayed left and right as you stare at the ceiling.

for some reason, while you rub your fingers against the skin where your ring used to be placed over, you can’t help but feel like a sense of burden has been lifted.

next.

taglist: @atinytinaa @crimson-mia @catwhisk @lelaleleb

#hongjoong x reader #hongjoong angst #hongjoong fic #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez angst #ateez x you #hongjoong x you #okay this was a little rushed and messy #hope you all still like it though mwah #seonghwa.. *side eye*

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always-andromeda · 1 year

Note

Can I request La Belle Fluer Sauvage for Klitz & AFAB reader,, Where the reader’s been hearing people on campus saying horrible things about her looks so after she breaks down in front of Klitz one night, he decides to show her how much he loves her body 🥺

Author’s Note | ahahahaaaaa, this was one hell of a piece to write. I tried to keep the description of the readers body very vague so that anyone could apply themselves here. but like lmao, this movie takes place in the early 2000s where fuckin heroin chic was a thing and you could literally be completely average sized and still called fat?? so like, it all works out in the end lol.

Warnings | smut (MDNI), oral (female receiving), some light overstimulation, Klitzy gets a liiiittle pussy drunk oop, the description of reader's body is kept vague but folks at the beginning are disparaging and call her a cow ;-; (so if this is triggering to you, maybe consider skipping this one; take care of yourselves, my loves), that's all I can think of!

The second you feel his hand graze your lower back and his lips meeting yours, you feel guilty. It's a touch that you should be familiar with by now. The sensations are the same; a chill runs up your spine and a hum begins to swell in your throat. But the emotion that wells up in your eyes makes you twitch with frustration.

Clenching your knuckles, you wait to just melt into it; for everything to come together perfectly and suddenly make sense. Because you don't like associating Klitz with these worries. He's not your problem, not really. But the longer he lingers the more you remember the sound of those girls snickering.

You remember passing by them in the lunchroom, remember the way they tried their best to look sneaky as they stared in your direction. The part you remember most are the words. They've played on a loop and bounced around the inside of your skull like a screensaver all day ever since you heard them.

"God, what a heifer. Does she really need that much food on her tray?"

"She might not need it, but you know cows, they love to graze."

Then came the stifled cackles as you walked away as quickly as you possibly could away from their table. Body moving on autopilot, you went directly towards the lunch table the tripod had unofficially claimed as their own. Only this time, you didn't meet the greetings of any of the boys as you sat down. You couldn't even bring yourself to eat any of the lunch you'd taken.

Part of you wishes that Klitz had just ignored your silence. But he's never been that kind of boyfriend. Even if he has no clue what to do, he's always worried about you, especially when you don't respond to him placing a hand on your knee under the table.

Not wanting to embarrass you in front of his friends, he figures that he'll ask later. He figures that maybe math class is getting you down again or maybe you didn't get enough sleep. And he figured that the second he kissed you in his bedroom when you both got back to his house, you'd respond then.

But you make none of the happy little sounds he's used to. No contented sigh as his lips attach to your pulse point on your neck. You can tell he's trying so hard to get you hooked, but the only thing that is snagging are your own insecurities.

"Klitzy, stop," you blurt out suddenly and sit up properly, scooching away from him until you're practically on the edge of his bed. He stays rooted in place, watching as you pull your knees up, minimizing yourself as much as you possibly can, it seems.

Klitz doesn't dare to move a muscle when he questions you, "What did I do?"

Your gaze is glued to the plaid pattern of his rumpled comforter. Blinking fast, you answer, "You didn't do anything."

He has a hard time taking the answer at face value. "Okay..." he utters slowly, waiting for something more to leave your mouth.

That's when you swallow thickly and explain, "I just...I don't like my body right now. And if I don't like it, I'm not going to expect you to like it either."

"Oh–" that catches him off guard. He chews on his lip, bites into the flesh so hard that he flinches slightly. Klitz is all too familiar with those days. Because he knows what he looks like. He's well aware that he's not built like the guys at school are. And some days he's proud that he isn't one of those mindless meatheads. But especially in the days before he had you, he often had those same days of complete self loathing.

Those days were soothed by your soft voice calling him handsome, your fingers running up and down his arm, and your lips marking up his chest and throat with smears of glittery lip gloss and hickies alike. All of those things he'd once found to be detestable...he could grow into them.

Klitz tries again, "Do you think I'm ugly?"

Finally, you look at him, worry flooding your wide eyes, "No! Never! I promise you, I'm just–"

"Then why would I find you ugly?"

"Huh?" your brow raises.

"Listen, I might think that I'm ugly sometimes...but you don't. I feel the same way. Even if you think you're ugly...that doesn't stop me from thinking that you're the prettiest girl in the entire world."

Your eyes fall to your legs again as you smile slightly. "Agree to disagree then, I guess." you say with semi-amusement.

Klitz is careful with how he closes the space between you both. He slides forward a bit more, the mattress shifting as he gets closer. "That doesn't sound like a fair compromise," he teases.

"Then what's your idea of a fair compromise?"

"How about I try a little convincing first? You haven't even let me plead my case," his lips are inches away from yours again, hungry to prove their resolve on your skin.

You bide your time before his mouth hits their destination. "What's your case again?"

His breath warms your skin and makes goosebumps flourish all around your shoulders. "I think that you're the prettiest girl–" he kisses you chastely. "–in the entire world."

You chuckle playfully. "Okay, proceed," rolling your eyes, you want to be surprised how quickly he can sway you. How simply the sight of his eager smile as he gets between your legs makes your stomach flutter with elation. Klitz's nimble fingers make quick work of the button and zipper on your jeans and you giggle as you raise your hips to help him pull them down.

Momentarily, you curse yourself for not wearing anything special underneath them. Yet Klitz doesn't even seem to notice or care that these aren't some delicate lace panties. He still pulls them off with the same delicacy as if they were. And something about that makes you want to sob. But you push that down as he reaches for one of the pillows leaned against his headboard and places it right underneath you, getting you at a better angle for his mouth.

His dimples show as he kisses your thighs. Regardless of the texture and appearance of your flesh, they are ever present and betray all of his enthusiasm for his current position. But that smile is soon replaced as his lips part to let out shaky breath.

"Can I see you?" he asks tentatively, licking his lips nervously. "Please, baby?"

Watching his pupils dilate to the size of saucers as you spread your legs slowly, you can't help but laugh a little. It's absurd. It's absurd how often you forget about this feeling and absurd how quickly he fuels your fire with simple gasp. And it's absolutely fucking absurd that you feel that damn sob rising up your throat again. It's as if he was looking at you for the first time all over again. Maybe that's the benefit of his inexperience. With no one else to compare you to, he couldn't possibly be disappointed, right?

"Fuck," the single word comes out with the force of a freight train, like it was just waiting somewhere deep in his chest. It's something carnal and full of worship as licks a stripe up the center of your cunt, parting your folds and getting a taste of the musky arousal beginning to pool between your legs.

The second it hits his tongue he curses again, breathier this time. As much as he wants to take his time, as soon as he's gotten that little bit, he's keen to dive back in completely.

Without another thought into the action, Klitz plunges his tongue into your hole, desperately fucking you with it. His nose nuzzles against your mound and his hair flips wildly as he buries his face into your more and more like you're some sort of non-renewable resource. Like if he doesn't get his fill now, you'll run out of that sweet, tangy nectar that he so loves. And if the guttural groans and moans are anything to judge, you start to believe that he's truly been wanting this for a while.

That want only deepens as his arms hook around your thighs and raise you just slightly from the pillow, getting you closer. And that's when you finally make the contented sounds he likes to hear; the high pitched curses as you pull at your own nipples and the sharp gasps with every bump of his nose against your clit. You're so flushed, so swollen, and so ripe for him. And so close, so quickly.

He's everything you need and more, pleading his case as if he were mere moments away from a death sentence. As if you believing those ideas that you weren't worth any of this would actually kill him. That's how fervently he embraces you; all of you. Like if he didn't love your whole being with his entire being, he wouldn't even be himself.

The thought pushes you over the edge, sends you careening into a climax that practically makes your eyes roll back into your head. You finally let out that sob you'd been holding back. And the relief of it all fills your bones with warmth, even through the startling tinge of overstimulation as Klitz continues on, so lost in your cunt, that he'd barely even realized that you'd finished on his face.

You gasp, "Klitzy, too much!" and push back on his shoulders. Once he pulls away from the intense entanglement, you see his hazel green eyes are dazed behind his fogged up oval lenses and the bottom half of his thin face is covered in you.

He blinks hard a few times and wonders aloud with confusion, "Wait, you came?"

All you can do is throw your head back on the pillow and chuckle to yourself. God, part of you is glad that the rest of your peers are too stupid and superficial to see how attractive he is. Because you can't imagine any of the big, bulky, popular guys at your school being nearly as persistent and passionate as he is.

Klitz flops over beside you, bringing himself to you until he can look you in the eyes again. One of his hands reaches forward to brush some of your disheveled hair back behind your ear.

He whispers, "So...did I convince you?"

"I'm not sure," you joke. "I think I'm gonna need convincing on a regular basis now."

"I can always do that. I was captain of the debate team during sophomore year." Klitz replies matter of factly.

You can't even bring yourself to cringe at the little quip. Because you could never find him unappealing. So instead you smile coyly and giggle, letting him pepper your face with little kisses even though his lips are still wet from you.

"Don't worry," he says, "As long as you need me to, I'll keep trying to convince you."

#strange trails milestone✨#paul dano #danonation #danocel #the girl next door #timothy klitz #timothy klitz x reader #timothy klitz x you #timothy klitz x y/n #klitz x reader #klitz x you #klitz x y/n #timothy klitz smut #klitz smut #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

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logical-grave · 1 year

Text

𝔽𝕠𝕣𝕓𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟 𝕗𝕣𝕦𝕚𝕥 ℂ𝕙. 𝟙

|| Pairing || - Dilf!Andy Barber x Reader

|| Warnings || - None so far hehe. Actually, andy barber is a warning himself. Very fluffy and slow burn-ish? Reader is 20 and Andy is early fifties 😀 so yea, but of an age difference. This is in first person too.

|| Summary || - It’s the summer before junior year of college and your neighbor can’t seem to keep his hands off you.

|| A/N || - IM BAAAACCCKK AAAHHH ahem sorry. I literally started writing in this acc and then dipped and now I'm getting back Into it hehe, I cant help myself. But yayyty this is the first chapter of my first series and I'm so excited omg omg

|| Word Count || - 2.8k

There was a light breeze that turned the tip of my nose cold, enough to tickle the hair on my face that removed me from an enticing trance. Six, seven months, maybe since the new family moved in known as the barbers. They had a past, I'm sure of it but who the hell am I to bring it to the present? I mean, for whatever reason they moved here, it was to escape and though marathon wasn't paradise on earth, it cut close.

The for sale sign on their clean-cut lawn lasted as long as a blink, the listing to our left being sold as soon as it was on the market and that sparked many eyes to center on it. But that lasted a week and only that before the barbers deemed this villa to be their retreat in the cruel world that surrounded them. No one knew who they were or what happened that caused them to move from the chilly climate of Boston to the humid one of the Florida keys. But they're here and they've piqued my interest.

“Honey, are you dressed?” it was a voice, one aged yet high pitched, belonging to my stepmother Rose. She was nice, she liked my father enough to stick around when he had arrogant outbursts but those weren't introduced to her until he was engaged to her. She was tall, slim, and at the age where all her veins were prominent against her skin but she pulled you in with stories of where she seemed to live another life. It made me wonder how she ended up here, with my father, and taking all his shit when those stories she told could live on.

Maybe that's where I came in. to pass her stories onto me and do my best to make my own. “You're 20, you have so much ahead of you.” Those were her words, ones she repeated to me many times as if she wished to tell herself that at my age. Either way, it was too late to feel bad for her but she was right. I'm only 20 and I, like her, would like to tell stories to young women that reflect me at this age.

“Coming,” I called through the door and backed away from my bedroom window, shutting it after myself. There was already an ache on my shoulder from the weight of the bag I prepared for a day on the sandbar, an extra bathing suit, an extra set of clothing, sunscreen, a hat, and a book to indulge me later on. I twisted the handle that opened to the narrow hallway of the beach house my father bought in 2000 and he's been accustomed to renting out to families that escaped the north and decided my summer before junior year of college was a good time to put it to use.

Rose stood in the kitchen, hunched over sandwiches she made to keep our stomachs from rumbling in the dead center of the sea. She also packed salt and vinegar chips, my favorite which she made a point to always have on hand when I craved a snack. Not a word left my mouth as I stepped past her to the patio, watching as my father used the freshwater hose to clean the inside of the boat. “Hey, sweetheart, hand me the cooler would you?” My father asked, his arms outstretched and his eyes switched from my own to the cooler on my left. A nod from my head prompted me to grab the handles on either side of the blue cooler, lifting it and straining slightly as I heard the movement of ice inside of it. “Jeez,” I said, lifting it above my hips in an attempt to hand it to him easier and he removed it from my grasp without much effort. A huff left my lips as I trained my gaze over the docks that lined all the beach houses, a weird way to set up a neighborhood if you didn’t own a boat.

“Where’s rose?” My father asked and I removed my bag from my shoulder, sighing in relief at the loss of weight off my shoulder as he placed it in the storage compartment at the front of the boat. “She’s inside getting the food. I’ll start locking up.” I spoke, unsure if what I said processed through his head since he was the type to act as if he was at times and I wasn't certain if that included now or not. My hand reached for the keys that hung above the outdoor freezer, usually used to store bait and fish. He flaked and gutted which made the keys in my hand smell. It also wasn't the best idea to have the keys in such an open space but surprisingly crime was low here and the worry about intruders was not a common one. “Don't lock up, yet. We’re still waiting for the barbers.”

My body tensed at the name, the step I was about to take to the side entrance contracted my muscles and a wave of numbness pushed through me. I tightened my grip on the keys in my hand, surely making a mark in a jagged manner due to the shape. “The barbers, father?” I cringed at myself for a moment, knowing I reserved the endearment for when I was conflicted and looked to him for some false sense of security but what does he know?

“Yeah, they’re joining us but they should be here already.” He looked to his right, their house tall and prominent in his view but the windows or doors showed signs of life. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, a sound I didn’t want to be accustomed to yet the familiarity of it started to push that wave of numbness again. Torn in two, my mind attempted to look for the decision of if I should go inside and dread meeting them until Rose was with me or turn on my heel and give them a blinding grin.

I don’t know why I was scared to meet them, maybe the small anxiety of having to make conversation or the itching curiosity of why they were even here needing to be answered but a conclusion was made for me. “Sweetheart, come say hi.” my father's deafening voice rang behind me and I gulped the lump in my throat that formed without my notice. I dangled the keys in my hand, allowing them to jangle and I pulled back my shoulders to straighten my posture. My mind made quick laps to gather whatever information I already knew about them and all I could sum up was Mr. Barber is a defense attorney, Mrs.barber was a teacher, and their son was six years my junior. Great, prepubescent, and raging hormones.

I turned around, a grin on my face as I looked over the new faces and almost made a sharp intake at first glance. one thing is for certain, striking looks ran through the family. I picked up my feet, stalking towards them with hesitant steps and a vague idea of how to even approach them. “This is my daughter.” my father introduced my presence, the weight of all their eyes on me as I held my hand out towards Jacob who stood the closest to me, and shook his hand. I held back a grimace, feeling the clamminess of his palm and comparing the difference between his and his mother's that felt like a plush felt.

I shook Mr. Barber's hand, the contrast between ours; his calloused and rough, mine delicate and chaste. “Nice to meet you, Darling.” He smiled, his blue eyes piercing into my own as his large hand enveloped mine, a charm from the small action emitting from him. There was a palpitation in my chest at the pet name he gave me in such a short amount of time of knowing him, telling me he was an affectionate man, one that didn’t have many boundaries. “Nice to meet you as well.”

The loud shut of the side door caught my attention, Rose exited the house and struggled a bit to balance a platter and a large bag. Feeling a slight of pity, I walked up to the patio and grabbed the bag, the familiar heavyweight back on my shoulder making me pout. We neared the dock once more and Rose introduced herself to the barbers as we all piled into the boat. “Thank you,” I muttered to Mr. Barber as he held my hand to assist in my descent into the shallow boat, taking my seat at the front to pull in the ropes that hooked us from drifting away.

Jacob made himself comfortable next to me and I smiled warmly at him. “So, what school do you go to?” he yelled over the growling engines that cut through the water and I shook my head. “I don't go to school until I reach the fall.” I shrugged with my sentence and he nodded, vaguely keeping his interest in me. I held back an eye roll and looked over my shoulder toward the back of the boat. Mr. Barber leaned into Mrs. Barber's ear, a joke he made causing her to laugh and hide in the crook of his neck.

His eyes met mine, only for a moment at least, as he tilted his head. I blinked before turning around and facing the front of the boat once more. Our destination was already in sight because there were a few other boats anchored in comfortable positions, drifting slowly from the waves we made in tow. The loud growl of the boat engines began to stutter to a stop, finally being able to speak to one another without yelling at the top of our lungs.

“Think you can toss the anchor?” I hear my father call over his shoulder to Mr. Barber, watching as he chuckled dryly at him. “You insult me.” Mr. Barber stood, slipping past me on his way to the tip of the boat, opening the compartment where the anchor is stored, and held it just over his shoulder. My eyes trailed the hand he had holding the anchor, moving down towards his bicep which bulged due to the weight, the veins in his forearm presenting themselves just under his skin. Subconsciously, I crossed my legs and turned away as I heard the splash of the anchor hitting the water.

Mr. Barber opened the storage compartment, reaching for the red-striped bag that Laurie had brought with her. “Here, honey.” He smiled at her as she now stood beside me, Jacob and I standing together as I grabbed my bag. Making my way towards the back of the boat, I removed my ragged shirt that has seen better days, and my shorts that were now tighter than I’d like after the half rack of ribs I consumed last night. I stuffed my clothes into my bag, placing it inside the bait well before hanging my legs over the side of the boat and jumping in.

The water was perfectly warm due to the piercing sun shining over it. I sunk into the salt water just under my chin before turning onto my back, enjoying the laxity of floating above the waves. “Beautiful day, huh?” Mr. Barber's voice interrupted my serenity and I stood on my feet, blocking the sun out of my eyes to obtain a better look at him. “Mhmm.” I nodded, looking at the ripples of his torso, the structure of his muscles is something he’s surely worked for and still maintained at his age.

“How old are you?” He asked and I looked at him curiously. “Turned 20 a couple of months ago,” I answered, my fingers each dipping into the ocean that surrounded me, and watched as the small droplets fell from the tips. “Fun age. Getting drunk, knocking out on the couch of your friend's dorm. The good old days.” He smiled, reminiscing his younger years as he ran his hands through his hair. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t drink.” I commented, ready to swim back onto the boat for some light reading.

“I get it. You’re a good girl.”

I looked at him and his eyes were dark, the blue of his eyes now a thin ring around his pupils. A logical reaction to his words has yet to cross my mind as I stared at him blankly. “Sweetie, come here!” Laurie called for him and I watched as he took two steps back before turning and walking back toward the boat.

Ignoring what he said, I continued to drift yet his words seemed to tattoo themselves onto the side of my brain.

—-~—-

I pulled the back of the sundress down, the length not exactly keeping me modest. It was navy with bundles of pink and white flowers printed onto it, the build of the dress wrapping my waist in a flattering manner. After the sandbar the day prior, the barbers kindly invited us to dinner, an outing on their dime. For a scarce small town, it still had its fair share of restaurants that had forks on the left and knives on the right and to place napkins on your lap.

“It’s under the name Barber, a reservation for six at 8:30.” Mr. Barber greeted the host with a smile and he scrolled through the large tablet before him as he nodded his head, confirming the reservation. “Right this way, please.” The host piled 6 menus in his arms, leading us through the restaurant. The ambiance was nice, dim but just enough light to maintain the aesthetic they’re going for. The white cloth of the tables was soft and crisp as if they just arrived from the dryer and we all took our seats.

I took notice to my left, watching as Mr. Barber claimed the seat there and rose to my right, all of us looking around the room in awe as we took in the others who dined as well. “What a nice place.” My father commented as he straightened his button-up. I nodded along, placing the aforementioned napkin in my lap, and took a sip of the water the waiter came and served us. “It’s gorgeous here, Andy. We can’t thank you enough.” Rose smiled, looking past me at Mr. Barber and I followed her eyes. For a moment, I saw his eyes flicker from my thighs to Rose, clearing his throat as he smiled at her. “Truly, it’s my pleasure.”

“So how’s it been at the office with George? I imagine he simply couldn’t sit still and do his homework.” Rose jokes, placing her hand on my father's arm. I let out a small breath, realizing now that the night would mostly be filled with questions made for the adults, telling me that I am now sided with the likes of Jacob. I looked over at him, seeing his face slightly illuminated, most likely by a gaming device just under the table.

“Office talk is the last thing I want to speak about at the table, honey. Did we tell you? Italy is absolutely beautiful this time of year…” My father continued and I drowned him out as he began to recall our first outing to Europe back in 2017 yet I couldn’t be bothered to listen to him rave about the beer and women there once more.

Then, a small gasp left my lips. The feeling of a large warm hand grazing the side of my left leg caught me off guard, almost making me tip the glass of water in my hand. My eyes turned to Mr. Barber who gave me a small smirk, his hand tucked behind my knee as his fingers smoothed over my skin. I swallowed the lump in my throat, the room surrounding me suddenly feeling smaller and hotter.

“Have you considered studying abroad, sweetheart?” Laurie said, looking over at me. I stared blankly at her for a moment before clearing my throat as I conjured up an answer. “Possibly, but for now I like where I’m at.” I gave her a weak smile as his hand trailed further up the side of my thigh, the tips of his fingers playing with the seam of my dress which I cursed at the short length. My hand stopped his own before he could progress, digging my fingers into his skin as a motion to stop but it seemed to urge him more. “That’s a nice dress, darling. Compliments you well. Doesn’t it?” Mr. Barber smiled kindly as if he secretly wasn’t making a move on his office partner's daughter under the dinner table. “Yes, you look gorgeous.” Laurie agreed and I couldn’t help the blush that crept onto my cheeks, more likely due to the hand that was causing my skin to feel as if it was on fire.

“Thank you.” I uncross my legs, dropping them both on the seat under me and tucking my napkin under the side of my thigh, sneaking small glances at Mr. Barber as a waiter introduced himself to take our orders

#andy barber #andy barber x reader #Andy barber smut #Andy barber angst #andy barber x female reader #dilf!andy barber x reader #dilf!andy barber #andy barber x 20yr! reader #Chris Evans characters

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zepskies · 6 months

Text

Assistant Hottie

Pairing: Jason Teague x F. Reader (implied Jason T. x Lana Lang)

Summary: Jason Teague, Assistant Football Coach, meets you in the faculty break lounge at Smallville High. He tries to kick you out, thinking you’re a student. Technically, you are. Turns out, you both go to the same university.

AN: So I know it’s about 20 years late, but I’ve been wanting to write some Jason Teague for a while now. There’s a very dated reference to iPods (remember this show was circa early 2000s).

Word Count: 2,600 Tags/Warnings: Implied love triangle (quadrangle?), fluff, tinge of angst, and a meet cute.

“Hey, Coach T!”

Jason turns his head, shooting Clark Kent a smile that’s just a little bit forced. He slows down in the busy hallway so the younger man can catch up.

Clark’s friends, Chloe Sullivan and Lana Lang keep walking, though the brunette glances his way. Her hazel eyes catch his.

But Jason focuses on Clark, who’s coming at him with all six feet and three inches of farm boy earnestness.

Jason has City Boy Charm in his arsenal.

“What’s up, man?”

Clark smiles. “Real quick, just wanted to ask you about the drills we’re running today…”

Eighth period is about to start, meaning just another hour until school ends, and another day of practice begins on the football field. Clark takes all five minutes between classes to ask his questions about how he can better move the ball, his throwing technique, how to better communicate on plays with the rest of the guys.

As always, Jason gives Clark the best advice he has to offer. Even a few months into this job, he’s still feeling a bit of imposter syndrome. He’s only a couple of years older than the guys he’s coaching, and Clark is looking at him like he’s got all the answers.

Newsflash, champ. I don’t. Jason smiles though.

Because Clark is something else. He’s a starting quarterback of a game he’s never played before in his life. Head Coach Quigley thought it was steroids at first, but Jason had a gut feeling about the guy.

“He’s not a cheater,” he’d told Quigley. The other man had scoffed, rubbing his chin.

“Okay, Teague. If you think so,” he said. “…Make him piss in a cup anyway.”

Since then, Clark hasn’t given Jason a reason to doubt him, at least on the field.

No, his reasons for still being wary of Clark are more…personal.

“All right, we’ll workshop the rest later on the field,” Jason says, as the starting bell rings. “You’re gonna be late for class.”

“Okay, see ya later.” Clark nods and holds up a hand in goodbye. To tell the truth, Jason is a little relieved to see him go.

Instead of heading to his office, he makes a pitstop at the faculty break lounge for a cup of coffee. He could use a little pick-me-up, even if it is from a watery K-cup.

When he pushes open the door, he’s greeted by the familiar smell of stale roasted hazelnut and microwaved fish. Along with the wall-to-wall countertop and refrigerator down the end, there’s a small round table fitted with just three chairs.

Uh oh, he thinks.

You’re sitting there with a pair of earbuds in, nodding to your music while you make notes with a red pen. The contents of your messenger bag are half-strewn across the table, displaying a couple of notebooks and binders, different colored highlighters, pens, and a post-it pad.

Your back is facing him, so he has to walk around the table to get your attention. He hesitates, before he taps your shoulder. He’s never had to do this before, and he’s actually a bit nervous.

“Hey there,” he says. His lips quirk when you jolt a little. You stare up at him with wide eyes and the top of your pen resting against your lower lip.

“Uh…” You remove your ear buds and hit pause on your iPod.

“Did you get lost on the way to study hall, or you just here for the coffee?” Jason gestures to the Keurig machine on the counter. “Hate to break it to you, but that stuff’s not exactly quality joe.”

You blinked at him. “What? Um…I mean yeah, the coffee’s ass. But it is free, I guess.”

Jason tries to reign in his smile. He cards a hand through his blonde hair and taps his free hand on the table.

“Uh, are you ditching class or something?” he asks. “If it’s history, I get it. Snooze fest.”

He makes a flatlining motion with his hand. Your brows knit together in confusion…but then you brighten.

“Oh, I’m not a student,” you laugh. “But good on you for trying to lay down the law, Coach Teague.”

Now it’s Jason’s turn to be confused. “How did you know—”

You point with your red pen, over to the yellow patch emblazoned on his red polo that says: Crows Football and Assistant Coach.

“Pretty sure you’re the one the cheerleaders are calling Assistant Hottie,” you say. Your gaze is wry and a hint playful.

He lets himself smile, albeit with some embarrassment. He points at you.

“And you’re…”

“Part-time teacher’s aid,” you reply. Your hands make a frame around the stack of papers in front of you, that Jason now realizes you’re grading.

Great. His face warms a bit.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, and points to the coffee maker. “Let me just mind my business.”

He doesn’t know it, but you subtly watch him with a small smile while he goes about said business. The Keurig eventually spits out more roasted hazelnut into his Styrofoam cup.

With his prize in hand, he means to leave you in peace to head for his office, but your voice stops him.

“You can sit if you want. I need a break anyway.”

Jason can admit, at least to himself, that he’s curious. (About you.) He goes over to the table and sits down across from you. His eyes unconsciously dart over the splayed contents of your bag, and you don’t miss it.

“Sorry,” you say, as you try to reign in the mess and corral things back into your bag. “I’m kind of an organized chaos kind of girl.”

“No worries. I dabble in that philosophy myself,” he says with a grin. “I’m Jason, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” you reply, giving him your name in return.

You like his smile. His long fingers are wrapped around the steaming cup. Meanwhile, the afternoon sun is pouring in from the windows behind him. It shines golden on his hair and broad shoulders, and makes his green eyes look warm.

Those eyes glance down and focus on a familiar badge sticking out of your bag. His brows furrow.

“No way. You go to Kansas A&M?” he asks. “So do I.”

You blink at him. “What, you’re still in college?”

He laughs and leans back in his chair, blowing out a breath.

“Okay, wow! A bit rude," he says. "Just how old do you think I am?”

You bite your lip in embarrassment.

“Second thought, don’t answer that,” he quips.

“I’m sorry,” you say, through a bit of laughter. “I guess we’re both reading each other wrong today.”

Jason shakes his head and crosses his arms.

“No, no. It’s fine,” he says airily. “Lest I be any more presumptuous, can I ask what year you’re in? Major?”

You concede with a nod, but you’re still smiling too hard.

“Secondary Education. Junior year,” you say. Jason’s brows raise with his grin still in place.

“Okay, a future teacher on our hands.” He leans forward. “As it turns out, I’m actually a sophomore.”

A year below you. You bury your reddened face in your hands, though a giggle still bubbles up.

He doesn’t let you stew in your misery for long though.

“Eh, it’s okay. Don’t feel too bad,” he says. You hear the smile in his voice, and you peek out at him from between your fingers. “I’m technically a year behind. Transferred from another school so I could take this job.”

Once again, your eyes widen as your hands fall away from your face.

“Oh, yeah? I assume you play football, but I’ve never seen you on the team…”

Jason’s smile turns playfully cocky.

“I don’t play anymore, but I’ll have you know, I was on track for the NFL.”

Yeah, for about a minute, comes a dull reminder in his brain.

You rest your chin in your hand as you meet his smile. “Okay. You definitely have the face of a guy who almost went pro.”

Your voice lowers at the end there, impersonating every “dude bro” you’ve ever met who thought he could throw a ball across a field.

“I’m serious.” Jason laughs, but then his eyes dim a bit. “I played for Metropolis U. Tore my rotator cuff, and uh…that’s it. Scrubbed. Had to start over.”

You dim along with him. “That sucks ass. I’m sorry.”

He snorts, almost spilling his coffee. “You’ve certainly got a way with words.”

“But you feel better for me calling you old, don’t you?” Your pen taps on your lip, and his eyes are drawn to the gesture.

He also notices your eyes, the shape of your face, the shade of your hair, the black Fleetwood Mac shirt (with a ripped V hinting at cleavage). It doesn’t exactly scream T.A., but you’re pretty.

Beautiful, really.

He tries not to notice that too much.

“Maybe a little,” he allows. He smiles behind a sip of his drink. It’s getting cold, as he forgets to actually drink it.

“My parents sent me to college to be a lawyer,” you confess. It perks his interest with raised brows. “Like my mom, and my uncle, and his father before him, and so on.”

Jason’s smile is back. You consider that a small triumph.

“I sat in one class. Intro to Business Law.” You shudder at the memory. “Jason, I wanted to bludgeon myself with the textbook. And it wouldn’t have taken long. That thing was the size of a Dostoyevsky novel.”

Jason laughs, even though he doesn’t know who Dostoyevsky is. It does unearth a distant memory of his 12th grade English class (he barely passed that one).

“So, I decided to disappoint them,” you say ruefully.

That, he understands all too well. He raises a finger at you. “Hey, a teacher’s respectable. But I happen to be an expert at disappointed parents, so you’re in good company.”

You smile, small but genuine. Jason counts that as a win.

“What’s your major now?” you ask.

“Sports medicine,” he replies, but you both hear the lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

Your head tilts, and your eyes soften. Not with pity, he thinks. Maybe with understanding.

“You could find something else you’re actually passionate about,” you say.

Jason bites the inside of his lip, sets his cup back on the table.

“Sure,” he says.

His lackluster answer is telling, and he can’t even think of a joke to inject into this moment to lighten the mood. (He even disappoints himself there.)

“Look, I get it,” you say at last. “You probably ate, slept, breathed that game. Like that’s what you were put on this earth to do. And I know you must’ve been good. Because the fact that this school hired you while you’re still in college is amazing.”

He meets your gaze steadily.

Your smile brightens. “But I’m sure football’s not all there is to you.”

That touches him. Warms him even, though he’s reluctant to let it.

“We just met, and you’re already sure about that?” he remarks.

You shrug, gesturing at his cup. “Well, I’m sure that you probably have crappy taste in coffee. I’m broke as hell, and even I don’t drink from a Keurig.”

Jason laughs. If you only knew that he’d spent his summer in Paris, sampling some of the best restaurants and cafés in the world without even looking at the bill…until his dad cut him off. Needless to say, he’s had to refine his tastes.

“What kind of teacher do you want to be?” he asks, instead of getting to all that.

Your brow arches. “You mean what subject?”

“Yeah. What, like physics or something?”

“Ew. God, no!”

“What’s wrong with physics?”

“Too much math. I’m shit at that shit,” you reply.

“Okay. No to the sciences.” He laughs and rubs his chin, squinting at you. “Let me see if I can guess.”

You gesture widely. Go ahead.

“Not economics, I’m thinking. Too close to business,” he teases.

“Business law,” you correct. “But you’re actually right about that.”

“Hmm, history?”

“It's interesting, but it’s also rigged,” you say. “Only the victors in society get to dictate what gets remembered. Just look at Columbus Day. What a sham that is.”

Jason allows that with a nod and a smile. “All right, what then? Algebra? Geometry?”

“That’s math, remember?” you reply, with furrowed brows. “Besides, I don’t like mixing letters and numbers. It’s not sanitary.”

He chortles at that. You’re a little ridiculous, but he kind of likes that.

“Okay, how about English?” he says.

Your gaze flicks up to his. A small, growing smile.

“What makes you say that?” you ask.

“Process of elimination?” he says. His smile curves. He saw your little reaction. “But I don’t know. I get the feeling you’re a hell of a lot smarter than me. The way you’re talking, all quick as a whip… Like I said, you’ve got a way with words.”

You laugh a little. “Oh, do I?”

Jason’s brows raise expectantly as he leans back in his seat again.

Well, then? that move says. “Am I right?”

Your head tilts, and you answer the unspoken challenge in his eyes. You raise a finger and pull out one of your notebooks and you take up your red pen. You tap the top of it on your lip, in what seems to be your habit, and you begin to write on a clean piece of paper.

Your hand moves with purpose on each word. Jason watches you in curiosity. Though when you realize he’s staring hard at your paper, your free hand forms a wall against his probing eyes.

“No cheating,” you reproach.

He scoffs, but he waits for you to finish.

Finally, you tear off the piece of notebook paper, fold it up neatly, and you slide it over to him.

“What, are we passing notes now?” Jason can’t help but joke, even as he opens the little gift. “I thought we weren’t in class, Professor.”

You shake your head. “Just read it.”

He starts to, and his smile grows. He glances back up at you. “You wrote me a poem?”

“Just a little haiku.” You gesture at him to keep reading while you start to pack up your things. The alarm bell just tolled for the end of class, and you have another job to get to.

Jason’s eyes lower back down to the looping scrawl of your handwriting. His smile deepens into a smirk.

Assistant Hottie

You flatter me, see through me

Smarter than he thinks.

He stares at your words for a while. He rereads the last line a few times.

By the time he looks back up, your bag is packed and you’re standing, ready to go. You smile at him.

“See you on campus,” you say. “I also work at the Writing Center, if you ever need a spruce up on your essays.”

“Can I get you to rewrite my history paper?” he teases.

“Make an appointment,” you counter, still with that smile. “And we’ll see.”

You leave the faculty lounge, and Jason feels a suspicious jolt in his heart.

Something he immediately feels guilty about.

Because the real reason he came back to Kansas is to continue his summer fling with Lana Lang, a senior at Smallville High.

Well, to him, it’s not a fling. He used to think it was as close to love as he’s ever been. Recently though, he’s been getting the sense that she’s still hung up on her not quite ex, Clark Kent.

That’s not even the most complicated part.

She’s 18, and Jason’s barely 20, but their relationship could still one day be the reason he loses his job…

And maybe, any chance he might have of being friends with someone like you.

AN: Lol no shade to my sciences, history, and math people! Just creating a character. Let me know what you think! 😉

And if you liked this...

Read the Sequel!

Check out "Miss Professor" to continue reading. ❤️

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@charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @mrsjenniferwinchester @jc-winchester @fromcaintodean @deanbrainrotwritings @jackles010378 @akshi8278 @rachiem4-blog @waters-2567 @jessjad @sweettimelady @iprobablyshipit91 @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @lokigirl666 @xiphoidbones

#Assistant Hottie #Jason Teague #jason teague x reader #jason teague x female reader #jason teague x you #jason teague fics #smallville #jensen ackles characters #jensen ackles #lana lang #smallville clark kent #clark kent #zepskies writes

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warningsine · 14 days

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Now that we’ve gotten to the end of Girls5eva season three, there’s just 6 much we’ve seen the girl group sing about: the hotness of boys in space, UTIs, knee surgery. But in the quest to be famous 5eva, one song has to be No. 1. Using a highly scientific process known as “listening to my own taste,” I ranked the output of Girls5eva thus far, focusing both on whether the songs are good as stand-alone songs and whether they are actually funny. For the sake of clarity, I stuck to the music available on the show’s official cast recordings, which does leave off several gems we only hear for a few seconds onscreen. (Why didn’t we get a studio version of Dawn’s song where she uses every possible definition of the word “set”? This is a question I can only yell fruitlessly at the screen and hope for a response.) Until then, we will make do with this list of the excellent Girls5eva material that is available on a music-streaming service near you.

32) “U Ready?” A filler song that is itself a joke about filler songs, you have to admire the number of ways the Girls5eva writers have the group stall for time. The delivery is very funny, and we get all the girls (including Ashley Park) doing their best ready-for-MTV voices to confirm they are, indeed, “in the house” and “ready.” However, the concept is better as an elaborate joke than a song, per se. Best line: “If you’re ready, could you say ‘ready’? Because you could be ‘in the house’ and not ‘ready.’”

31) “Home Alone Doorknob” This is barely a song, but man, it’s a funny metaphor for what happens to your clitoris when you get horny. Best line: “It’s gonna get sexy, so watch out, Joe Pesci!”

30) “The Splingee” Another exercise in specific girl-group humor, Girls5eva describes how to do a “dope” dance move that is supposedly taking the world by storm. It involves whipping your hair, doing figure eights with your waist, blinking with two eyes, and getting all shy like you want to cry. The instructions end with the note that “the only thing left to do is repeat it two more times to make one complete splingee.” Honestly, it sounds like a home workout I should try. Best line: “Grind up on a ghost, then shake it out.”

29) “Who U Know” A solo performance by Jeremiah Craft’s Lil Stinker (who later gets canceled and rebrands as a country act), this is a send-up of name-dropping rap singles, with Stinker just listing everyone he knows, from his mom to his friend’s mom to Alfre Woodard. Best line: “From Zendaya to Zen-die-a!”

28) “No Strings” Gloria spends season three trying to hook up with every type of woman, but realizes that she’s a romantic after all. Here, she’s trying to embrace a no-strings-attached dynamic through a nonsensical folk tune that’s about a couple chasing the moon in an airplane powered by love. Best line: “A morning that never came until the coroner said to the wizard ‘time of death,’ the same.”

27) “Line Up” ”This is the song that launches Girls5eva’s comeback, since Lil Stinker samples “Famous 5eva” on it. We’ll get to their original hit later on, but the Stinker side of it is pretty generic as a placeholder for the kind of song that might sample something from the early 2000s. Best line: “I know you wanna light up, forever 5eva enough.”

26) “Thinking About Myself” One of Dawn’s stabs at songwriting early in season two, this is a fairly direct ballad about self-involvement. It does have some great zealous grandstanding vocals from Renée Elise Goldsberry, though. Best line: “Crying harder than anyone at a funeral for a great-uncle I barely knew.”

25) “Space Boys” In the chronicles of Girls5eva’s adventures in dating, here we have them going on an interstellar boy-kissing mission. Sadly they don’t have a TARS to keep them company, but after checking every planet they can (including “the stars”) they find some space boys (“more exotic than a waiter from France!”). On the show, the song accompanies some flashbacks to a young Gloria trying to avoid making out with actual boys, but solely as music, it’s just a low-key sci-fi jam. Best line: “We found a planet full of girls, but we left!”

24) “Later” An empowerment song in the genre of “Brave,” sung of course by Sara Bareilles, but about procrastination. The drum and piano orchestrations are so inspiring it’s easy to ignore that the message is that you really don’t need to do anything right now. Best line: “Now’s the not the right time, let’s aim for next year when we’ll have no fear, maybe by then the problems got solved by themselves all on their own.”

23) “Boyz Next Door (Puber-Dude)” To match the queasy sexualization of the Girls5eva, this number offers up the chance to objectify the just-recently pubescent members of Boyz Next Door, who have become the “hottest boys in the cul-de-sac” with a “Backstreet’s Back”–style anthem of their own. Who could resist their thin little mustaches, awkward growth spurts, and bland conversation? Best line: “Floppy hair, greasy brow, Adam’s apple going pow-pow-pow.”

22) “Sweet’N Low Daddy” Another vault track: In season three, the adult members of Girls5eva are pretty embarrassed by the message of their old hit about the benefits of dating an older man, but man, it’s pretty catchy, so you can understand why Cat Cohen’s character took it as gospel. Their ideal daddy has parents you never need to meet because they died during Nixon, and, of course, the song ends with the crucial question: “Real talk, when are you going to die?” Best line: “Don’t need to graduate, because we’re elder bait!”

21) “Can’t Wait 2 Wait” Back in the day, Busy Phillips’s Summer and Andrew Rannells’s Kev collabed on this break-out Christian-pop single about the joys of not having sex yet. Its fun hook and a peppy atmosphere bely the sheer grossness of the overall message. Best line: “Premarital urges aren’t itches to be scratched, so look up medical oddities until those feelings pass.”

20) “Daughter Hero” Renée Elise Goldsberry gets to do a groovy ’90s ballad with Wickie in celebration of her own generosity to her mother, never mind the fact that she comes from a solidly upper-middle-class family. She buys her mom a house, a house that’s significantly less nice than the one she already has! Best line: “Daughter hero, like if Jesus had a sister!”

19) “New York City Moms” An obvious sequel to “New York Lonely Boy” (more on that below), this song brings on Ingrid Michaelson(!) to perform an ode to the women of the city who have chosen to wait to have kids. A celebration of the moms who have “bumps poking out of Eileen Fisher” and are “judged by their husband’s out-of-town sister,” the Girls5eva writers can riff endlessly on very niche New York micro-communities, and bless them for that. Best line: “Spent their 20s in a disco, still younger than moms in San Francisco.”

18) “Summer Brings the Fall” Kev’s best attempt at a torch song involves an increasingly convoluted series of attempts at wordplay that I can’t help but respect. It starts out with “thought you were for ev, thought you were for Kev, you were like whatev, now I pray to heav … for strength” and just gets more forced from there. Best line: “Thought I was your male, cause you’re my holy grail.”

17) “Is There a Me?” Season three brought Busy Philipps a short but sweet bit of soul-searching in which Summer questions if she has any identity of her own, or if her personality has just been a series of attempts to please guys. Points for Philipps showing off some vocal training, deductions for the amount of Netflix cross-marketing involved. Best line: “Do I even like The Witcher, or is it just to please a mister? And what is The Witcher? I watched 40 minutes and I’m still not sure!”

16) “Inside My Sweater” Girls5eva’s music industry gets awfully specific with its parody of a Harry Styles–type sensitive boy hounded by mobs of fans named Gray Holland, played by Gossip Girl alum Thomas Doherty (he also played a similar role on the late, lamented High Fidelity Hulu reboot). As far as sound-alikes go, this Harry–slash–Shawn Mendes low-key bob is eerily accurate but also somehow a successful earworm, especially in the way Doherty refuses to ever pronounce the “r” in “sweater.” Best line: “Come dance and cook and make sweet love with me, inside my sweater!”

15) “Welcome to Now” Doherty’s soft-boy star Gray Holland returns, against his own will, in a pop hit constructed by his label “because Clause 46B, Paragraph Q of the artist’s contract grants the company use of postmortem generative voice cloning.” It’s the funnier of the two Gray Holland songs, and the beat’s so sensual you may miss that it quickly becomes an ad for the deals available at Best Buy. Best line: “Best Buy, Best Buy, Gray Holland loves Best Buy. Tablets, projectors, and more. You’re the best, bye!”

14) “Larry’s Song” The girls get their Taylor’s Version moment with this kiss off to their former manager that references many of the show’s recurring jokes about the indignities of early aughts fame, including him promising a steak knife to whoever seduces Carson Daly. The twist by the end is that they’ve finally gotten some financial and personal control, and thus, “everything we do belongs to us.” Best line: “Only let us eat crab, cause you can’t get fat from food that’s so damn hard to get at.”

13) “At the Beep” No, you’re tearing up thinking about a fictional character who died in an infinity-pool accident. In this episode, Gloria finally gives up on her conspiracy theories about Ashley’s death and accepts that she might really be gone. (I do wonder if Ashley Park would’ve been available for a longer run in season two if Emily in Paris hadn’t gotten so big.) This results in a somber number where girls say good-bye to Ashley through her still-active (because Gloria has been paying) answering-machine service. Best line: “It should have been me.” “I did a lot of cocaine, so much cocaine.”

12) “Get It Off Your Chest” In a moment of confession and healing in season three, the women of Girls5eva share their darker secrets with each other and their audience. The result is a series of tightly written jokes from the show’s writing staff: Wickie only likes people who “like me,” “but be careful, if you like me too much, it has the opposite effect and I find you desperate,” Gloria doesn’t trust stand-up comics who are too in shape, Summer hasn’t listened to a voice-mail since 2015, and finally, Dawn delivers my favorite … Best line: “Every year when my son’s school sends out the class list with parents’ names, the first thing I do is Google them to see what they paid for their apartments.”

11) “Momentum” Starting off season two, the girls have got momentum, yeah, um, it’s their moment (bless you, Jeff Richmond) with a song that’s relatively straightforward within the Girls5eva canon but is also a solid earworm. I have to respect that groovy baseline, too. Best line: “Unstoppable, this unst-unst ain’t toppable.”

10) “Tap Into Your (Fort) Worth” A canny marketing move: The girls of 5Eva plot a way to secure a captive audience by writing a song about an American city nobody else has written a song about. The result is a clever ode to Dallas’s overlooked sister, declaring that “cow town is a wild town with a walkable downtown” and trumpeting the fact that the Trinity River is, in some places, now actually swimmable. It’s enough to make you want to consider booking a flight to DFW, maybe just as a connection, but still. Best line: “Some say Omaha Zoo is second-best, but that’s a lie because their red panda is always inside. It’s never out on the tree, yeah!”

9) “I’m Afraid (Dawn’s Song of Fears)” Sometimes you just have to let Sara Bareilles loose with a piano and sing like she’s performing “Gravity.” Here, Dawn’s attempt to write a song on her own ends with her just listing things she’s afraid of, from the fact that she might thrive under Scientology to her fear that she’ll text a pic of her vagina to her dad. There’s something very funny to me about the way Bareilles says “my hummus is fungus” and I have to own that. Best line: “I’m afraid that the second I leave town I’ll get a UTI. Why can’t they sell those pills over the counter? I don’t need a doctor, I know exactly what it is.”

8) “Yesternights” Finally, a full taste of Wickie’s solo album, a work absolutely choked by melisma and sung impeccably by Renée Elise Goldsberry. It’s, as she sings, “gorgeous and sensual” and also “life fancy,” and also “dancing, yearning.” You could probably slip it on a sex playlist and nobody would notice, and frankly, we need an eight-minute version. Best line: “But tonight, there is no night or tomorrow night / Or any future night / ’Cause you’re only in my yesternight of nights.”

7) “The Medium Time” Sara Bareilles wrote the Girls5eva’s season-three finale hit song, which is about being inspired not to aim for immense fame, but a reasonable, medium level of attention. Bareilles is so good at selling the earnest, heartfelt feeling behind the song that you may forget that the wise man who told her this advice, in the universe of the show, was actually Richard Kind. Best line: “The middle is the riddle of it all, and the medium time is just fine for now.”

6) “Dream Girlfriends” The satire of Girls5eva cuts deepest here, in this song from their original run about all the ways they’d be willing to debase themselves to appeal to men. The list includes the fact that their dads are dead, that their moms are overtired so there’ll be no pushback, that they want to watch you play darts and love watching stand-up (but not by women). “Dream Girlfriends” cuts both ways, managing to make the men it’s supposed to appeal to sound pathetic as well. The girls are short so they don’t know you’re bald! Best line: “Tell me again why Tarantino’s a genius.”

5) “Bend Not Break” Near the end of season two, the women of Girls5eva realize their best song is actually about Gloria’s knee surgery. Metaphorically, it’s really about how they have to learn to compromise and acknowledge each other’s weaknesses to support their success, but there is also literally a joke about how she uses a cane. Anyway, it’s got a groove that’s hard to shake and does really make you want to dance (carefully, in a way that doesn’t risk further knee injury). Best line: “We got our secret weapon already, and it’s got eight legs, four smiles, and a cane.”

4) “Famous 5eva” Perhaps the best theme song in the vast universe of television today, here Girls5eva embraces the joys of counting by promising they’ll be famous 5eva — ’cuz 4eva’s too short. Those synths have an addictive crunch, and there’s something about the way they describe the series of cars they’re driving in (first a Lexus, then a Mercedes and then a Maserati) that’s gleefully ridiculous. The show has to make you believe the girls really are talented, and that there’s something joyful about watching them perform. This does both. Best line: “We’re Girls5eva, could we get a high SIX?”

3) “B.P.E.” Put your hands together for a “We Are the Champions”–style celebration of big pussy energy. Girl5eva’s absurdist answer to “WAP” celebrates their “Vitamin P” with some gospel-choir-esque harmonies. And the remix, which outdoes the original, adds in some church bells to heighten the energy. It will make you tap into whatever B.P.E. you have of your own. Best line: “Square feet, I’m going for miles, upgrade, taking up the aisles, open up those classified files from the Department of Treasury.”

2) “New York Lonely Boy” The best of the Girls5eva songs in terms of straight joke-writing, “New York Lonely Boy” applies a Simon and Garfunkel sensibility to the tales of hyperarticulate soft boys who know too much about mixing plaids and the dangers of restaurants on the corner (they just try too hard). Its comedy is sort of tangential from Girls5eva’s overall focus on the music industry, but it’s so perfectly realized that it doesn’t matter. Any show that can deliver such a specific encapsulation of a type — to the extent that I now think of various former St. Anne’s students who’ve became indie celebrities (okay, just Lucas Hedges) as New York Lonely Boys — deserves to run forever. Best line: “His playground is the lobby, has a palate for wasabi.”

1) “Four Stars” If “Famous 5eva” had to establish Girls5eva as it was, then “Four Stars” has to do the work of making you believe the second iteration of the group has come into its own. It does this delightfully well, with an anthem about embracing your imperfections that includes plenty of tossed-off jokes from each of the band members. (I’m particularly fond of “women are an ocean of secrets!”) Plus there’s something great about the harmonies of everyone singing “four stars” together. I have put this on exercise playlists, and it works! Best line: “The best things in life are free, that’s why rich people never carry wallets.”

#girls5eva

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idyllicdeco · 2 years

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High- CBG

MDI

Genre: smut

Pairing: Beomgyux afab! Reader

Word count:~ 2000

Warning ⚠️: smoking? I’m not sure what else

Not proofread- might delete later because I hate it

You took the joint out of Beomgyus hand and placed it between your lips inhaling the smoke and keeping it in your lungs a few seconds more before exhaling it back in his face, laughing at his reaction. You and Gyu haven't been friends for that long, getting high was the only thing that brought you close enough to spend time with each other alone. You enjoyed his company and his taste in music and it would also be a lie if you said you didn't find him attractive.

"Yeah, but I like yours better". You tease and wink at him making him scoff. The atmosphere was comfortable making you sink into the couch. The few puffs you took already were clouding your mind, making it all fuzzy forgetting everything about your mundane life. It always had the same effect on you, relaxing you and making things around you move slower getting rid of all the anxiety and stress. You open your eyes after a specifically long blink only to be greeted by your friends eyes only a few inches away. The sudden closeness made you flinch slightly. Both his hands were rested on the backrest of the couch, prompting himself, trapping you in between his arms.

" Ha ha Gyu, now stop playing. I'm too high for this". You say trying to sound confident but sound just a bit unsure by your words. Beomgyu leans closer to your year breathing heavily.

"If you wanted to taste my lips you could've just asked, no need to steal my blunt". You skip a breath not sure how you're supposed to reply to his sudden teasing. Meanwhile he gives you back your space, plopping beside you on the couch, wrapping his fingers around your wrist moving your hand with the joint to his lips inhaling the smoke. You were still stunned, that was visible to anyone and even he did give you back your personal space his fingers around your wrist or his knee touching yours made your skin feel hot.

"Oh?" You barely took notice to his exclamation, turning your attention back on his face. His eyes were open wide in surprise while moving his face back close to yours. "This is an interesting turn of events, isn't it?".

You attempt to clear your voice and move look anywhere but at the boy in front of you, preoccupying yourself with the burning blunt in your hand. "Shut up Gyu, I told you, I'm took high to bicker with you".

"Who said anything of fighting?" His voice was soft and slow, he was now getting closer, making you shift. You back was now resting on the armchair while your friend was crawling over you until he was mostly on top of you. "Do I look good like this?". The smirk on his face made you scoff at his arrogance making you a bit more comfortable, remembering he is still the silly clumsy and arrogant boy you knew, even in the situation you found yourself in. You find the courage to talk back to him even though your burning skin and throbbing clit combined with the smoke made you not think rationally. Your hand reaches his chin, holding it up and tugging it even closer to you. "Looking for validation? You look high Gyu, you should go to sleep". You manage to bite back your amusement trying to look as serious as possible making Beomgyu pout a little. You'd expect him to stop playing by now and start tickling you or start a pillow fight but instead his hand goes under your shirt tracing over your ticklish skin making you squirm from time to time.

"C'mon Y/N, don't be like that...hm?" His eyes were big and glossy but also full of light and lust making you visibly gulp. This position, him on top of you, his hand tracing invisible shapes onto your sensitive burning skin, your hand holding his head close to yours, his puppy eyes looking into yours as if asking for permission. Everything felt like a dream, all resulting from you both being heigh, blurry mind and lots of tension. You were needy and you couldn't deny it anymore, the wetness in your underwear making you uncomfortable. Without another thought you lean in and leave a quick and soft peck on Beomgyus lips before leaning back to see his reaction. You don't get a second to process what you just did because you find Gyus lips smashed back onto yours with more force and passion. The kiss is sloppy and gets messy quickly, not being able to get enough of each other's warmth. Your hands find their way to his hair tugging at the soft locks lightly making your friend whimper into the kiss. The sound made you clench around nothing, responding to a moan in response.

You break the kiss of first, not being able to breath properly. You take a few second to take in the sight of him. Swollen lips, breathing heavily looking at you through lidded eyes, as a result from him smoking. He grabs your thighs, his head now moving lower until his cheek is pressed against you inner thigh, looking at you with pleading eyes.

"You look good like that" you let out a breathy compliment making him smile sweetly at you.

"I'll make you feel good, I promise". He was asking for your consent, trying to prove himself worthy to please you, his plead making you almost feel sorry but for sure making you hornier than you were ten second ago so you give him a small nod making him quiver in excitement.

His long fingers start moving along your folds, over the material of your shorts that soon got soaked in your arousal. Once his fingers moved high enough to touch your throbbing clit you throw your head back, grinding your hips into his hand.

"Fuck". Poor Gyu was growing harder, only being able to rock his hips against the couch to release some of that frustration. He looked so pretty, all desperate to make you feel good while trying not to lose himself. His hands gently caress your hips and then legs while slowly taking your shorts and underwear off trying to do it in a sensual manner but not being able to hide his excitement.

“You’re not going to break me, I promise. You can go faster” His eyes rise from your sensitive spot to your eyes while having the most innocent look you ever saw on his face, the words following setting your brain and line of thoughts on fire.

“Oh but that’s exactly what I’m trying to do”. Before you could even regain trust in your voice you immediately lose it again, moaning instead of forming words at the sudden stimulation of your clit. Beomgyus fingers were circling around your clit while his face was back to snuggling your thighs, kissing and sucking on them leaving violent purple marks on them, the pain making you whimper uncontrollably.

“H-hurts. Don’t do that”. You felt like you were running with a high fever, the warmth in your cheeks making you dizzy”

“Pretty… you’re leaking though”. He wasn’t wrong, you could feel leaking onto the couch, him calling you out like that only raising the embarrassment you felt, making you hide your face with your hands.

“Oh…You don’t like to watch me? That makes me a bit sad”. His tone shifted this time, it was a bit more condescending, like he was planning to make you beg for him for a change and he didn’t waste another second before gathering enough arousal with his fingers and pushing them deep inside of you, his mouth now resuming where his fingers left, stimulating your clit. His fingers were long and slender, making you feel him deep inside of you, your lips leaving a yelp from surprise. His fingers would curl inside of you, pushing in and out with quick movements while he started alternating between sucking your clit and circling it with his tongue. You could feel yourself clench around his fingers while your hips started trusting against him searching for release. Your hands find their way to his hair again, using them to bone his head to the rithm you want, making him giggle.

“Aw.. you’re finally looking at me? Am I doing good?” You nod quickly making him smirk but you knew he was waiting for something more from you. His fingers were still working inside of you, pushing into your gspot in a teasing way making tears fall down your eyes but his tongue never returned to your clit.

“P-Please Gyu, make me cum hm? You made me fell so good, don’t you want me to cum for you?”. Now he was satisfied. He resumed his earlier position, his tongue abusing your clit while his fingers regained the speed and started trusting over and over again against you sweet spot making you legs shiver, forcing Gyu to use his free hand to keep your tighs apart while slowly massaging one. “Ahh- Gyu it… it feels weird. I think I’m coming I-“ before you were even able to finish your sentence, the boy between your legs bites your clit softly sending you over the edge, making you cum while your legs shake uncontrollably. Your high took longer than usual, the orgasm feeling more violent than anything you’ve ever experienced. Only when you looked back down at Beomgyu through your hazy eyes did you realise you squirted all over him and the couch. Before you could even apologise you look at your friend that was now staring at the mess he made of you with wide eyes. You could even say he was proud of himself. You could see his tip leaking making a mess out of his sweats. You chuckle at the dumbfounded boy and somehow find the strength to guide his face to yours to kiss him in order to bring him back to reality. “Want help with that?”. After a few seconds and a bit of hesitation from him he confessed in a low tone. “I uhm… finished while eating you out”. Not to say that you were the one who borrowed his dumbfounded expression feeling unsure what just happened here. Let’s just blame it on being high.

#fanfic #txt smut #txt beomgyu #choi beomgyu #smut #txt yeonjun #txt scenarios #txt huening kai #txt soobin #txt taehyun #txt x reader #txt fluff #afab reader #beomgyu smut

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