#this was the closest i have come to saying fuck it and skipping one
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January OTP Prompts
Literally had crawled into bed to go to sleep when I realized I forgot about todays prompt. Then I had to get up and get my laptop back out and write it. But we did it! Here she is. Prepare to be underwhelmed (I was so focused on finishing up the Ducklings chapter that this totally slipped my mind!)
22. Walking through the park
“I love you,” said Matty, giving George’s hand a squeeze as they made their way through the park. He felt like he was living out some kind of romance movie montage, holding hands with his partner, the sun shining down on them as the flowers began to bloom around him. He took a sip of the coffee he held in the hand not intertwined with George’s and smiled. He never thought that he would be here. He had never even let himself even hope and dream for it, not wanting to be let down, having spent his teenage years desperate for love, but feeling undeserving of it. He didn’t let himself think about the way he sometimes hadn’t even thought he’d make it to twenty eight, let alone thirty five.
“I love you,” said George, putting emphasis on the word and squeezing his hand back, flashing Matty his own crooked smile. He held tight to Mayhem’s leash, the dog trotting happily beside him before pausing to sniff at a patch of grass. George and Matty stopped as well, letting him sniff to his heart’s content. They weren’t in any kind of rush, they didn’t have anywhere to be. The entire day was just for them to exist, enjoying each other's orbit.
“Your dog is so cute!” said a girl walking towards them, she looked to be somewhere in her late teens and early twenties. Matty couldn’t help but wonder when people that age started looking so young.
“Thanks,” said George, smiling back at her. “He’s a menace.”
“No,” said Matty, unable to help himself. “He’s Mayhem.”
Mayhem looked up at the sound of his name, fixing Matty with his dark gaze. George snorted in amusement at Matty’s bad joke. The girl looked between them, confused.
“His name is Mayhem,” George explained, “and he lives up to it.”
Matty opened his mouth to explain that he was actually named for the Norwegian metal band, but thought better of it, choosing to lean into George’s side instead.
“Can I pet him?” she asked.
George nodded, “yes of course, he’s very friendly, probably too friendly if we’re being honest,” George said with a chuckle. The girl bent down, and gave Mayhem a pat on the top of his head.
“Thank you so much,” she said, giving them both a smile. “Have a great rest of your day!”
“Thank you,” said Matty, “you as well.”
George gave a slight tug on Mayhem’s leash, encouraging him to start walking again as they continued their way across the park. Matty let go of George’s hand to take a few steps to the side and throw away his now empty take away coffee cup, his phone buzzing in his pocket as he did so.
“You two are disgusting,” sent Adam in their group chat and Matty frowned, before clicking on the link he had included and breaking into laughter.
“Hey George,” he said, returning to the path, “that girl knew who we were.”
“What?” George asked and Matty shoved his phone into George’s face, still chuckling. There was a photo, taken from an interesting angle as if the photographer was trying to be discreet, their hands intertwined, Matty’s head resting against George’s shoulder.
@ 75fan99 Just met Matty and George. I managed to play it cool AND they let me pet Mayhem #bestdayever #evenifMattymadeadadjoke
“That was a pretty bad joke,” George said, bumping Matty’s hip with his own.
Matty huffed, “yeah well, you love me anyway.”
George smiled, leaning down to kiss his cheek, “that I do.”
Day: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21
#allylikethecat#January OTP prompts#prompt fill#prompt fills#matty fic#gatty#keep it kind#this was the closest i have come to saying fuck it and skipping one#but i got it together#and here she is#thank you again for being so lovely about these
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nobody understands how you did it.
how you managed to swept him off his feet, breaking the walls he had built pieces by pieces, how the fuck did you get him to be comfortable with you? to be open with you? and only with you.
‘never seen him this happy or loose in a long time, lass. what’s your trick, eh?’ the captain pulls a joke, making the rest of the team laugh. ‘i think I speak for everyone when i say, he never brings a girl out. let alone introducing her to us.’
that one is true. years of being friends with ghost, the captain nor his closest friend ‘soap’ has ever seen him out on a date. they encouraged him though, since there have been so many women tried their ways to get close with the big guy, yet none of them succeed.
the masked men would often just shrug them off and give one hard cold answer. they would back away immediately
“guess i just have my ways” is what you always say. even soap couldn’t register how it happened. he couldn’t figure it out himself, he knows the lad way longer than you do.
they don’t believe you. because there is no way in hell that all you did was to bat your lashes, show him your adorable giggle and he was in. there’s gotta be more to it.
so what is it about you that draws him close? what is it about you that makes ghost’s eyes light up each time you step into the room? what is it about you that makes ghost’s heart skip a beat every time he talks to you?
certainly not because how you’re so patient in getting to know with him, right? not because how you trace his scars ever so lightly and call them pretty every single time he’s doubtful about himself. not because how you console him with ‘I’ve got you, baby’ each night a nightmare comes back to haunt him while rubbing his back soothingly. not because how you shower him with soft, gentle kisses to remind him that your love for him is bigger than anyone could have offered. not because how you understand why he can’t say the three letter words to you, just yet. still, you stick around.
definitely not, right? there’s no way. he’s simon ghost riley. no one or nothing could ever be good enough to make this man come out of his shell. it’s impossible, right? you’ll need a miracle for that.
“love?” you hear a voice calls, along with the sound of keys being tossed into a ceramic bowl. heavy boots thumping against the marble floor,
you step out of the kitchen. long hair tied up into a messy updo, clear frame glasses perched on the bridge of your nose. dressed in one of his favorite sleeping gown as your eyes locked with his brown ones. the balaclava still attached to mask his handsome face.
scarred lips stretch into a smile the moment his beautiful fiancé emerges from the kitchen.
he drops his bag onto the floor, pulling the mask off of him slowly. revealing his disheveled blond hair as he takes slow steps towards you.
“hi, baby” your voice brings him home. no soul could ever take away from him. he longs for that angelic tone each time he gets deployed. three or six months without listening to you speak to him is just insanity.
he’d rather lose his hearing entirely than not having to hear you at all.
he’s quick to embrace you in his arms. your face hiding in the crook of his neck, inhaling that signature scent of his that you had missed, dearly.
“what are you making?” he mumbles into the crown of your hair, giving it a peck before pulling away slightly to take a good look at you. “it smells good”
“your favorite” you kiss his chin, causing his cheeks to redden at the affection. “i even bought those lumpias down the 112th street. i know how much you love them. pretzels bites from the deli for snacks aaand, black pepper beef with rice for your dinner. sounds good?”
simon leans against the doorway as he watches you plate everything. rambling about everything. his smile widens even more at your domestic antics. the way you talk with your hands as you mention another annoying co-worker that keeps bugging you and the way you roll your eyes when a splash of gravy spill from the plate.
truly is a sight.
“why are you looking at me like that?” your lips raise into a curious smile, finger moving a dark lock that sticks into your forehead,
he gives you a small shrug. gaze not leaving you neither does his smile.
“you’re just so beautiful”
something so simple yet it makes your stomach fills with butterflies.
you chew on your lower lip to prevent you from smiling too much, but a hint of blush is dusting your cheeks betrays you.
“come, papi… don’t want the food to get cold now, do we?” you change the subject while you nod your head towards the empty seat across. “eat with me”
the two of you sit there while making a small talk. stealing glances every second. feeding each other’s food. soft laughs fall upon both of your mouths when one make a terrible joke.
something you’d see when two people are in love. c
so yes, the answer to that question. it is possible. because you made it possible. you made it possible for him to love again. even if he had to start all over. you made it possible for him to be vulnerable. you gave him a purpose the moment he thought things were looking bad for him.
he found a solace within your existence.
only you made it possible to bring the simon in him.
vbecause you. are his home
#simon riley x reader#simon riley fluff#simon riley x female reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley
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FIRE WALK - one shot
joel miller x f!reader
pairing: au, no outbreak!joel x f!reader
rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni
word count: 6.5k
summary: a chance encounter at a motel has you crossing paths with a stranger in a blue t-shirt.
content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), very brief references to past non-con encounters (not with joel, no details just shitty men in general), soft!joel, alcohol, mentions of family trauma and ab*se, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (f + m receiving), A Scene With a Belt™, slight mentions of reader's clothing but no physical descriptions otherwise, love as consumption and women as fruit
a/n: this was a brain-worm of a one shot, so i had to press pause on AHFE and get it out. consider it a dirty love letter to strangers with stories in shitty motels. and i have to give the biggest thank-you to @iamskyereads for stepping in and offering to be my beta reader in the final hour. she was so unbelievably thorough and thoughtful and kind. i owe you big.
New-age boogeymen hang two-way mirrors and jiggle motel door handles with broken hangers.
That’s what the news says.
August licks an unforgiving line of heat up your back, and cutoff denim and halter tops do nothing but give the sun more skin to burn.
It’s sweltering, brutal as an Arizona summer is, and The Palms Motel promises a pool and a mini bar on their dirty marquee. You’ll take what you can get, can’t really afford to be picky with fifty dollars in your pocket, but at least maybe you’ll live like royalty tonight.
Some guy you met — Tom, Tim, Jim, whoever — pulls his convertible up to the front office. Your knees knock together over the speed bump, cartilage kissing bone.
It’s the closest you’ve ever come close to a chauffeur, but the chauffeur you see in movies doesn’t usually take liberties with trying to work his grease-speckled mechanic hand up the passenger’s shirt.
You met him at a gas station in Tucson, thumbing your way from northern Texas to put as much distance between you and your whiskey-breathed dad as you could. He’d torn your clothes apart at the seams with his eyes when he spotted you in the parking lot, swimming in blood-infested waters with sharp, sharp teeth.
There was no plan, no directions penned and cities circled on a folded map, just glass in your hair and a final straw.
He asked if you could buy him some booze — revoked license, baby, y’know how that goes — and you shouldn’t have, but when he flashed a leather wallet thick with cash, you knew you’d be stupid not to.
You hid behind a shelf inside the gas station while he idled in the parking lot and plucked a fifty from the wad, stuffing it deep in your bag. You grabbed some shitty malt-something from a fridge along with a 6-pack, flashing the slack-jawed cashier a wink.
He didn’t try to hide the eye contact with your tits, but neither do most men. Sometimes you milk it in your favor, sometimes it just makes your lunch rise to the back of your throat.
And when you’re by yourself, it’s hot iron, ready to strike. A doe in their headlights, a buck with a nice rack. Skipping through the center of their bullseye.
You bought a little palm-sized bottle for yourself and tucked it safely next to the stolen cash in the abyss of your purse. These tiny cons got you by, made power surge deep in your belly. It made loneliness feel worth it, knowing you had an upper hand to lean on if you were ever in a bind.
He bitched about inflation when you came out with less than was reasonable for the amount you spent, and you just shrugged. Not your cash, not your problem.
You bartered for a ride to the nearest motel, and now Tom-Tim-Jim is asking you over the purr of the engine if you need company for the night.
If you were feeling a little more you, you might’ve taken him up on it. Maybe he would’ve even paid for the room, maybe he wouldn’t get angry like your dad does. Maybe he’d be able to fuck you without hitting you.
You’re good at diffusing the temper in most men, can touch them in ways that make them grit their teeth, can be a good girl and go fetch.
But you’re not in the mood to bend, to give someone’s son — someone’s husband with a tan line around their ring finger — a place to wipe their shoes on. You don’t feel like wiping their dirt, your mascara from your eyes and saying thank you while they zip up their pants.
And you sure as fuck don’t fancy being on a milk carton.
“I’m alright, sugar. Thanks for the ride,” you say, dipping your chin to peer over your sunglasses. “I know where to find you, don’t worry.”
Yeah fuckin’ right.
He doesn’t try to conceal his disappointment, just sucks his teeth and squeezes at the exposed skin of your thigh. His way of saying goodbye to something he could’ve dripped sweat on, came in too early. You think your flesh might rot off in chunks.
You open the door and swing your legs out in a way that’s a little too eager.
Tom-Tim-Jim waves solemnly with two fingers up and two bent, and then he’s gone in an aggressive rev.
The motel might’ve been a kitschy dream in its heyday. It’s not a total dump; more of a vintage skeleton of washed-out pink and umbrellas that’ve been ripped by weather and overuse. There are a million faded emblems of cartoonish palm trees. It’s almost endearing how tragic it is.
You can tell that it was popular and swarming with tourists at one time — there are dusty, water-stained pamphlets lining the wall next to the front desk that brag Named one of Arizona’s top destinations in 1996!
A mounted fan whirs and oscillates, but it might as well be someone blowing hot breath down your neck.
There’s a tired woman holding down the fort at the desk with a name tag that claims Brenda, and she looks surprised to see you. You figure most customers are stopping in for a night’s rest on the way to somewhere more important, their final destination. But you don’t look like you have anywhere better to be.
“Hey, honey,” Brenda trickles, laced with an accent that’s more New Orleans than Arizona. “Need a room?”
“Yeah, just for the night,” you say, fishing out your wallet with confidence that doesn’t meet your eyes. “How much?”
“Forty-five a night, ‘less you wanna upgrade to the honeymoon suite.” She looks somewhere over your shoulder.
That’s nearly everything you have, but it sounds a lot like tomorrow’s problem. At least you’ll be safe tonight from the prowling stares of nighttime predators, and the leftover change will give you a decent vending machine dinner.
“Just a normal room’s fine,” you smile, sliding over the crumpled, stolen fifty.
Brenda types busily on the keyboard, asking for your name but nothing else. And when she hands you a plastic keycard, you finally relax your shoulders. Untangle the nerves in your lower back that are choking one another.
Room 17, it reads. Your oasis awaits!
You thank her, spin on your heel, and immediately bump chest to chest with something hard.
You’re eye level with a worn, cornflower blue t-shirt, ringed with a light stain of sweat at the collar. They’re grasping both of your arms to steady you, and you’re snagging the gaze of a tousled man with a bag slung over his shoulder.
“Watch where you’re goin’,” he murmurs, but it isn’t reprimanding or mean like you’re used to, just sickly sweet and Texan. Syrupy in a way that drips right down between your legs.
You don’t remember seeing anyone else in the lot when you’d pulled up. And the stealth of him entering soundlessly behind you sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, the clench of something that would be fear if it were any other stranger.
But he doesn’t look at you with intent to devour or to claim. Just eyes you like you’re anyone else. An equal. The bare minimum, but rare and shiny nonetheless.
“Sorry,” you breathe, and he’s releasing you a little too quickly for your liking. Leaving brands on the creases of where your forearms meet upper and elbow.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”
So you don’t.
You brush past him on the way out, a polite nod. And that’s that.
The heat is the kind that feels hotter, unbearable when paired with the shrill sing of cicadas. An endless buzzing that you think might be the sun sizzling on the concrete. If you stood in one place for too long, your flip flops might very well melt you in place.
Your room key clicks to unlock Room 17, and you push the door open to a heavy, humid space that smells vaguely of mold. You’re so grateful for the privacy that you can’t even bring yourself to wrinkle your nose.
Flip flops discarded, your toes sink into shag carpet — a dirty luxury that makes you moan. It’s only been two days since you left home, fled home, but it beats sleeping with one eye open on a bus stop bench.
You up-end your leather bag, dumping all of its contents onto the bed. Cigarettes, some loose film canisters, your toothbrush, a lighter. There wasn’t much time to pack, nothing worth bringing, and the less, the better. Nothing to weigh you down if you had to dip at a moment’s notice.
It takes you only a couple minutes and a light sheen of sweat to realize that the A/C is busted. Smothered, you try to crack open a window in the bathroom, but it’s no cooler than the hell you’re standing in.
When you let Brenda know, she just shrugs with an apologetic kind of half-smile.
“Most of ‘em are out these days, honey,” she says, and you decide then that it’s a small price to pay. “We got someone comin’ to look at it next week.”
You shoot her a smile, figure that she’s had enough rotten backtalk in her day. You scoop a set of flamingo-themed matches from the bowl on the counter and turn around, only to see a familiar blue shirt waiting his turn.
His eyes try not to roam, but he’s giving you a nod and stepping up without hesitation, asking Brenda for extra towels.
The way that she titters and blushes, you’d think he’d asked if he could spit in her mouth.
It irritates you, and you can’t say why.
The door chimes behind you as it closes, and you linger, striking a match and lighting a cigarette. When he emerges, a stack of towels so high it’s hitting his chin, you step in stride on the walk back. Tracing his footsteps, catching up with his shadow.
“You followin’ me?” you quip, a cigarette dangling from your mouth. The cherry ignites on every breath, smoke erupting in tendrils that hug each word.
He answers with a laugh, turns and squints back at you with one eye. Almost as if he was expecting you to ask.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Could say the same to you.”
You stop in front of 17, hand over your brow to shield from the sun that’s winding its way down, getting ready to tuck itself in for the night. There’s nothing that touches your tongue that doesn’t sound exactly like a fuck yes. So you don’t say anything.
“Enjoy your sauna,” he chuckles over his shoulder, passing you with his towels on the way to Room 20.
—
Led Zeppelin filters out through the radio, half-static, half-electric. Your legs are crossed in the air behind you, and you’re posted up face down on the bed, kicking along to the beat while you flip through whatever Cosmopolitan someone left behind in a drawer.
Someone raps a few times on the door, and if it’s a repairman, they’re getting their fucking dick sucked.
You army-roll off the flowery duvet, abandoning a how-to on finding your g-spot, and you peer through the peephole.
Your breath hitches on a soft swear.
When you open the door, you see Blue T-Shirt standing there, skin creasing around his eyes slyly. An unopened beer hangs and swings from his restless fingers. He offers it up wordlessly, the butt of it pointed at you.
It’s ice-cold and slippery to the touch, erupting goosebumps on your forearm. Saliva coats your tongue, and you don’t think it’s the thirst for alcohol, but maybe the tall drink of water.
“Um… thanks?”
“Figured you’d either be dead by now or parched,” he says smugly, and it’s velvet to your ears.
“Oh. Yeah, thanks. I got the fan to work at least,” you mutter, jerking your thumb vaguely behind you.
“Listen, uh —”
He’s rubbing the nape of his neck, and you catch the way the network of muscles flex from his elbow to the seam of his armpit. He looks like he’s in pain, struggling with the fit of a puzzle piece into something rough and jagged.
Something he shouldn’t be trying but has to see it through, exhaust it until it’s definite one way or the other.
You just squint, sucking in the corner of your lip between your teeth. You nearly grin, but it’s much more fun to watch than to connect the dots for him.
“A/C works in my room, so ‘f you wanted to… y’know,” he trails off, not even sure in his own offer. “No pressure. It’s hot as hell outside, don’t want you t’get heat stroke ‘f I can help it.”
This kind of approval you like. This kind that sizzles girl-honey between your legs, winning it from a man that’s playing to earn, not to cheat.
“I try not to make a habit out of going into motel rooms of guys I don’t know the names of,” you harp sweetly. But it might as well be a done-deal.
“D’you make a habit outta accepting beers from ‘em?”
You smile. Typically, yes.
“Joel.”
His hand shoots out, strong and suggestive. Fingers like alligator teeth that’ll grip you, hold you under until you thrash.
And you pluck your cigarettes and gifted liquor bottle from the bed, arms full when you carry them down to Joel’s room.
—
You’re sprawled on the full-size bed next to his, head propped up on hand propped up on elbow.
You’ve been trading your little fist of bourbon back and forth, swapping stories in the same way. Somehow, you fall into it easy like old friends, and it’s nice to follow someone’s lead instead of keeping one step, three, seven steps ahead. Arm outstretched to the door knob, feet ready to break into a run at the change in tone, blackening of pupils.
Without meaning to, you’ve wordlessly agreed that the person in possession of the bottle has the proverbial mic, and they swig to help with details and theatrics. It’s counter-productive in flow, but it makes you laugh when Joel exaggerates the story he’s telling on purpose, reaching out to pass it back and suddenly yanking it back, remembering a shade of gray or a funny expression.
Your knuckles keep zapping each other, brushing a little longer than the time before. There’s no numbness to consensual touch.
Joel’s mid-40s. From Texas, like you. He came to visit his daughter Sarah at college, says she’s growin’ up too fast, doesn’t need her old man anymore. It’s a thrill to see someone talk about their own flesh with love, admiration for who she is and who she’s becoming. You find yourself leaning in, enraptured that there are no IOUs or fine-print that you know to come with a parent’s love.
Mentions of his stubborn brother Tommy who he works with and who just can’t stop getting into trouble. The unspoken guilt that maybe he could be the one to keep him out of jail if he tried harder. It doesn’t work that way, and you tell him so.
You tell him about your dad when he asks about your life, your story, and you don’t know why you do but maybe you know exactly why. No one ever gets close enough to ask, so it comes leaking out of the corners of your mouth.
You’ve never told anyone, not even your diary, not even the guidance counselor who slipped a note to your fifth grade teacher and pulled you out of class. Shaky fingers, shaky limbs when they asked if they could roll up your sleeves just to see and you said no.
Crying because you knew your dad wouldn’t let you go back. Not to school, not to your friends.
You omit the nitty-gritty details, but Joel gets the gist. Swigs his share of the liquor a little too angrily with tight lips. Not like your dad does, but you don’t miss the irony of it all.
He holds anger for you, on behalf of you. It simmers as he listens to you in patient silence, coming to a boil at the bad parts when he gets up and starts walking lines in the shitty carpet. Pretending to look outside in interest at his truck parked at the end of the lot, but gripping the curtains until you can see every expanse of bone in his hand.
You don’t need this from him. It’s a hurt you’ve wedged between the pages of a book and doused in flames of acceptance long ago. But it spreads from your toes to your ears, the burn of someone feeling like this. For someone like you.
He finally settles down in an armchair by the window, a funny corduroy thing that would probably light up under a blacklight on one of those crime shows. Legs parted, a warm stare on the way you take up space on the bed. Facing him comfortably, your vision buzzing around the edges. A loose smile shared as if this room was meant for the two of you all along.
“So, what’s your plan?” Joel’s humming, his words getting lost in an echo of the bottle neck.
You don’t have one. Can’t have one when you have nowhere to go but gone.
It stretches on and on between you — a mouth opened and closed too many times on possibilities. If you admit to it, you end up with pity or an upper hand dealt to a stranger. You can’t afford to owe anyone a favor, nor can you front the cost of needing one.
But you’re so tired.
“Dunno. I’ll figure it out.”
“You got enough time for that?”
And you know what he means. Enough time in the motel, enough time before you’re a thief at wit’s end, doing anything for survival. He doesn’t need to ask to know you don’t have a destination, some relative waiting for you in a California dream.
You’ve excused yourself to the bathroom, soft radio bleeding in under the door, arms braced on the sink, all glossy eyes.
You want him, bad. But he won’t make the first move, won’t take advantage of what isn’t his and what others before him took without asking. You’re a pawn, entitled to the first move. The rejection would kill you, but not knowing would be worse.
He could hold you soft, give you something to think about when tomorrow rips you both in opposite directions.
When you pull open the door, Joel’s frozen in mid-stride towards you, like he’s just made up his mind about something.
He straightens but he’s still. Afraid of moving too fast, saying too much, scaring you into flight. Out of the unlocked cage of his room — something he did on purpose, because he doesn’t expect anything from you and wants you to know he doesn’t.
You meet him in his dusty shag quicksand. You take his wrist in your hand, kiss the thrum of life in the dip where veins meet palm. An offering.
Joel looks like he’s in pain, like what you’re doing is excruciating and thorny. The front of his jeans strains. He’s searching you for any hesitation, any obligation because he did something kind. He knows what currency you feel the need to pay in, and this isn’t that.
“Please,” you whisper simply. And he nods, accepting, succumbing.
There’s a careful meeting of lips, wanting to do it the right way, in the right order. When you push your tongue in, used to the pace of animals, he just holds your face and slows you down. It’s languid, his mouth showing you what sweet and gentle can taste like. Your tongues take their time, and your hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt, all ribbed muscle with a sprinkling of hair.
He shudders against the lightness of your feather-fingers.
Joel’s hands are peeling your shirt off, his thumbs resting to press against pillowy hips. He’s not letting your lips go, something like impatience stirring in you.
Doesn’t he want to fuck you hard? Fuck you fast and selfish?
Isn’t there a catch?
He’s taking his shirt off now, up and over. Carved by Michaelangelo, thrown up on a ceiling in a library book you read once. You’re touching him in reverence, but not letting yourself learn too much of him.
His eyes are molten. Joel walks you back to the edge of the bed, scratchy quilt tickling your thighs when you fall back on it. You start to pose yourself, angles that make you look more desirable, pliable. But he’s not paying attention to that, just unbuttoning your shorts, kissing the jut of every curve and permeating down to the bone, punching out a soft groan when he slides the denim off and sees the shining ambrosia that’s waiting.
He’s kneeling, tugging you down to meet his waiting mouth. And you’re just breathless, flinching when he pulls you apart, guiding your legs over his shoulders and wasting no time devouring you. Your legs, his bib.
Joel’s tongue flicks through the shell of you, teasing you in alternates of quick and slow, starving and full. It feels like a slice of heaven.
You pitch out a tangled gasp, hands instinctively moving to knot in his hair. Anything to hold onto, a different kind of grounding.
“So wet f’me,” he vibrates lowly into you, all husk. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet.”
He sinks a middle finger into you, and you’re keening, hips canting and unable to stay glued to the mattress. You feel him smile against your cunt, just pressing his forearm across your lower half to keep you still.
Joel’s twisting and working into you, onto you, and you’re so fucking close from just this — a tiptoeing to the edge that grows longer, more erratic in stride. He sucks your clit — pulsing sensitive, so swollen — into his mouth and grazes it with the tip of his tongue just so. Baring his incisors and closing around you in a delicious scrape like a Venus flytrap taking its meal.
You think you see God behind the flutter of your eyes.
You’re close enough to warn him, to rasp it out in the symphony of moans. His free hand reaches up to roll your peaked nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and he stretches you with an added ring finger. You’re writhing. Possessed.
He’s watching you through thick lashes. Letting your heels dig into his shoulders as the drenched sounds of you fill the room.
“Joel, please — I’m gonna —”
“C’mon, pretty girl,” he just murmurs.
You feel that little pull at your navel.
And you’re tipping in a freefall, seeing stars. You clench down around his fingers, fingers that are still pumping against that spongy spot deep inside you. Your arousal gushes, wet and sticky against the scrape of his beard. He laps you up, the sight making heat creep up your chest and wrap around your neck.
When he lifts his head, he’s high on it. Pupils dilated like tiny, round moons. Your orgasm glistens on him, smeared over lips and chin. The fur of a peach peeled back far enough to sink teeth into.
It’s fucking filthy.
Joel places open-mouthed kisses from your hip up to the center of your breasts, a trail of your orgasm shiny on your skin in perfect, sloppy Os. His breath meets your throat where he nips at you, and you don’t have time to drag in a breath before you’re tasting the saltiness of yourself on his tongue.
Your fingers fumble on his belt, practiced with years of releasing the tension on the metal prongs, the slithering sound whooshing from the loops of pants. You’re good at it, like you used to be good at gymnastics until your mom stopped getting out of bed to drive you.
There was always a little gold for contorting your body.
He detaches from you unwillingly, putting all of his weight on his knees and shins as he straddles the space of your thighs.
You’re pulling yourself up in a sitting position, pushing denim and boxers down past his hips. Letting his cock spring free, the head a dark pink and beaded with precum. You swipe the flat of your tongue against it, peeking up at him while you soak up the taste of it.
When you push the length of him into your mouth, ridged hard with veins, Joel tips his head back, chin to the ceiling. He groans something brutish yet helpless, cradling the back of your head. You’re seated in the driver’s seat, all control.
It’s new, different.
But then he’s moving his hips back, pulling himself from your mouth, wiping the saliva from your chin with a steady thumb.
“Don’t need t’do that,” Joel whispers hoarsely. “Not ‘f you don’t want to.”
Confused, you knit your brows. He laughs darkly, shaking his head.
“Didn’t mean it like that, it’s — it feels fuckin’ good,” he says, awestruck. “Would just rather make you feel good instead.”
Oh.
He doesn’t wait for an answer or a negotiation. The rest of his clothes pool on the floor in a pile, and he’s climbing back over you, an anchor or a buoy in a storm.
He lines himself up at the seam of you, puffy and so wet from before, nudging the tip of his cock at your warm center. A thumb coaxing the bud at the apex of you in lazy circles.
Joel’s sliding in slowly by each inch, filling you full until there’s nothing left and his patch of hair prickles the pearl of your clit. All you can do is whine and tense around him.
He’s resting tentative hands on either side of your face, indenting the weak mattress with handprints. He groans, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give in when you try to rock against him.
“This alright?”
You’ve forgotten how to do anything, hoping that digging your fingertips into his forearms is communication enough.
“I’m gonna need a yes, baby.”
You feel around in the dark for the tether back to your body, and it jerks you like a marionette, giving him a nod.
“Yes. Fuck.”
That’s enough. He’s rewarding you with a roll of his hips, and you feel like you’re on fire. It’s a stuttering, painfully slow pace at first, his mouth so close to your ear that every grunt is amplified. But it evolves into something eager, unsatiated, snapping up into you with a relentless sort of fucking.
He’s hitting that place so deep within you, letting you unravel and grow hoarse from the moans tearing their way up your throat. That pressure is roiling, the kind that you get only when you touch yourself but intensified by a million.
It just feels so right, because there’s nothing to prove.
You’re ships passing in the night, strangers making a pit-stop on the way to nowhere. There’s no backstory, no history to make mention of. No shame in the morning when he inevitably rolls over and pretends to be asleep, and you scrub off the smell of him with your provided travel-size shampoo.
It’s not love, but it might be the closest you ever get.
The glow of him above you, a deity with his face screwed in agony. Chasing after you when he feels the tightening of your cunt, the easy glide of every thrust that tells him you’re close.
Then, you’re snapping like a rubber band. Gushing in a dripping mess that trickles to where your ass meets thigh. Crying without tears, overstimulated but blissful. Joel is quick to follow, like he’s been waiting his turn.
He’s trembling, emptying inside you in a warm flood. Groaning low and beautiful, gripping your hips to keep you flush to him.
When pulls out, tearing himself away, he’s slinging an arm over his eyes on the pillow beside yours. One hand on your leg to make sure you don’t go anywhere.
“So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him mutter.
At some point you drift off, his arm draped over you. You open a bleary eye to a neon 2:49AM that casts a halo over the nightstand. Joel’s tucked you in, the thin duvet snug up to your shoulder. He’s not snoring but not not snoring, just breath getting caught in his throat in a satisfied, well-spent way.
It’s all too much, too pure to be real.
Before you let yourself change your mind, you slink out from under the warmth of your generous stranger. You step in your shorts one foot at a time, tugging them up gelatin legs too springy from coiling and uncoiling.
You promise yourself that you’ll take just one mental picture as a keepsake, and it’s this. A sleepy Joel who will be well on his way to a second cup of coffee on the way out of Arizona, maybe even nursing a little headache behind his right eye. And he’ll remember an apparition of some girl he fucked in a motel. The touristy thing to do, a sight to see.
He might even tell Tommy, say you were a crazy little thing with too much baggage, but it was fun to stay up past his bedtime.
You don’t mean to do it, really you don’t, but you flip through his wallet that lays innocently on top of the TV.
If you take a little something, that’ll turn this into another one of your stories that you tell your kids born from a loveless marriage somewhere in the crevices of a future from now. It won’t pull on the tendons of your heart.
And it won’t mean anything. You won’t let it.
—
The next morning, there’s a soft knock at the door, and it’s probably housekeeping kicking you out for overstaying your welcome. Time to turn down the bed for the next lost soul. You imagine Joel’s long gone, hopped in his truck and back to a reality you’ll never meet him in.
Your fingers are slow to gather up your purse, and you’re shoving your toothbrush in from its place on the sink.
“I’ll be out in a second!” you yell in a voice that reeks of years of diner-flavored customer service.
More persistent knocking that borders on pounding. It shakes the chain in the deadbolt.
You’re yanking open the door, and there’s Joel, white shirt and jeans. And it isn’t that cushion of admiration from last night, no greeting with a chaste kiss on the cheek.
Just a wolf coming to claim his continental breakfast.
Fuck.
You try to shut the door, suddenly too ashamed of what you’ve done, and to someone undeserving. Someone that showed you kindness, empathy.
But his boot catches the door before it can close, and he’s inside, slicing through the space between you. It’s not quite anger, but it’s shadowy. Sardonic.
Your shoulder blades kiss the cheap wallpaper.
“You’re real funny, y’know that?” he starts, and he’s smiling but not really.
Shrinking small, so small that maybe you’ll disappear.
There’s a tick of silence. His thumb skates to your collarbone and then to the hollow at the base of your throat. He wants to squeeze but he doesn’t, his fingers wrapping loosely around the column to fix you there. Heat creeps up the back of your neck into your hairline.
The instinct to flinch bubbles up against your joints, but you can’t bring yourself to.
“Y’think you can fuck me,” he muses, disgustingly deadpan, “‘n steal from me.”
Dread weighs heavy like lead in your stomach. You can’t stop yourself from shaking your head, still playing dumb.
He bristles at that, thunderous. You both know it’s a lie; you’re a hundred dollars richer than you were last night. His fingers briefly flex around you in a way that you’ve seen before, and horror hits a fever pitch in you.
Tears prick your eyes, and you’re putting your palms on his chest and shoving, but he doesn’t give. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, and all that.
It’s not so much the blaring punctuation in a sentence, the ticking of dynamite ready to blow. He’s confronting you with proximity, with your own dishonesty. Wanting to shake you and tell you that it doesn’t have to be this way.
Joel just leans in closer, almost grazing noses. You try to breathe around the lump of panic.
“The hell’s the matter with you?”
It’s disbelief, it’s hurt. In the same way, it’s understanding, incredulous. It’s him stepping back and loosening the hold around your neck like no one’s ever done; it’s softening and imploring.
He’s shoving his hands in his pockets, guilty and recoiling. Sorry he could even make himself look like one of them — a forced penance in the flesh.
There’s no answer that can justify what you did. Nothing simple about nothing personal. But truly… that’s all it was. A pie wafting steam on an open windowsill. Something to make you feel better about the void he’d leave.
“‘F you needed money, you coulda just asked.”
He’s disappointed, desperate. In a tone that really says, I would’ve done anything you wanted.
A dam inside you gives, crumbling deep at the foundation and knocking the walls down around you. Words don’t come, but you shove your hand in blind into your bag, pulling out the loose bill and extending it.
Joel sees the regretful offering and your heart with x-ray vision. That you think of yourself as a doll, less valuable without her box. Used without tags. Free to a good home.
He shakes his head, the softness of a keep it barely peeking out of his mouth.
You’re skinning yourself raw, wanting another way out but having none. With half a mind to say that the next night could come with fangs.
You feel the stab of relief, and shame. So much shame.
Like a soothsayer, he foresees the coldness of a bench, the shrinking of you into the safety of an alley.
You drop to your knees in exaltation, thinking you know what’ll fix this. You can’t see through the watercolor blur of your tears, but you touch his belt with fingers that are cold to the tips.
But Joel knows what you’re doing, shaking his head no no no.
He won’t let you do it like this. He drags you up gently by the elbows. Pulls you into his chest, says stop stop stop. Kisses your hair, then your lips. You cry until he can taste the tears, until the front of his shirt is damp.
“I’m sorry,” you rasp out roughly. “I’m so sorry.”
He tells you to never say sorry to him again.
—
Joel pays for a room for two more nights, but only one — his with the working A/C.
You move your toothbrush and your bag over to Room 20.
You go to the pool, swimming laps around him in a tank top and your cherry-embroidered underwear, squealing and splashing in a flail when he swims underneath your legs and stands up to hold you on his tan shoulders.
Sunscreen streaks greasy on your stomach when you lay out together on the loungers after. Joel likes a cat-nap with his face under a towel, grumpy and tired from the sun. But he never snaps at you, never gets impatient when you ask too many questions while he’s dozing off.
You learn the pinched expression he makes just before he comes. That his right palm has hundreds of lines you can see best by lamplight. He misses the noise of Sarah in his house, of sharing the coffee pot with someone. He doesn’t like the small piling of toast crumbs left only by him on the kitchen table.
He learns that you apologize for wet, clean hair on his pillowcase, for laughing too loud. Things that don’t need a sorry. A collection of oversaturated manners that might take time to unlearn, but he promises to teach you.
He learns that you approach an orgasm with tentative toes in cold water, almost unbelieving that sex can give, give, give instead of take, take, take. He learns that you like the meeting of eyes when he’s buried between your legs, pushing your thighs apart to keep from suffocating. That when he does let you get on your knees for him, you know just the spot to caress with your tongue on the underside of his cock.
Joel’s belt is snaked under your stomach, across your hips, fists intertwined in the leather as he pulls you back, slams himself forward. It bites and creates indents in your flesh, and you don’t care. He gives you marks to love, to admire in your reflection, never ones that are ugly. Never ones out of hate over spilled milk.
There’s a dirty slap of skin, growing louder, competing with your moans. Your nails are tearing into the cheap sheets, and Joel’s so close but won’t come until he coaxes another out of you. A grand total of at least four by now, but you’ve lost count.
At long last, you splinter around him. Pitching off the cliff in a cry. Joel’s leaning — his chest, your back — and spilling deep, holding onto you for dear life. You hear him whimper in a strangle. Big, tough game that’s been taken down with an arrow in his chest.
Hot tears are flowing out of you, stuttering sobs close to follow, and Joel pulls out slowly. Seems to know why. And he rolls you over, into him, hand careful in slow strokes against your hair.
You’ve never been good at goodbyes. Maybe that’s what this is.
Men like to say that women like you are insane, too analytical, too tear-streaked, too conscious of the way they look when they sleep. Because waking up with your mouth open, a drying corner of drool threatening your cheek is too human, not pretty.
Sometimes women like you are dead, rotting pomegranate flesh. Long forgotten in decay on the ground when the weight became too heavy to hold yourself up. And those men pick up your seeds and shove them squelching back into places where they don’t fit.
The winters come bitter and harsh, but you’re always reborn in the spring. And without fail, you grow back fiercely into a tree reminiscent of Eden, low-hanging apples plucked and bruised and bitten into once and spit out in tart disgust.
Women like you choke men like this with your pits, strangle them with vines, poison them with berries. They can consume, but so can you.
But then, in the ripe, cool shade of summer, you’ll have a visitor like Joel that will come with a basket and a blanket and they’ll stay and read books beneath you. They’ll enjoy your fruit, you’ll drip from their mouth and dry tacky like flypaper, and they won’t be able to imagine a day before you.
They’ll collect all the pieces of you on a Tuesday morning and give you change to get a Coke after checkout. They’ll tuck you into the front seat of their truck, let you put your feet up on the dash, hand protective and calm on your thigh while the other steers you both back to Texas. A new home without shouting and bottles thrown.
And they’ll stay through every season.
#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us smut#the last of us au#joel miller x you#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller#tlou fanfiction#fire walk#my writing#joel miller one shot#motherofagony
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Joel fucks/fingers/dry humps/etc. reader under a blanket during movie night in Jackson. I don’t care what they do as long as Joel comes. I like thinking about Joel coming 😈
Movie night (in public)
850 | Joel x f!Reader
you're in luck, this has been on my mind. we can pick up after she gets him all horny before the movie in Jackson. masterlist
WARNINGS: 18+ HJ, sex, and cockwarming in public, mild dubcon, cum eating
--------------------------------------+++
You and Joel go home for a quickie before the outdoor movie night. He has you pinned on the couch with your hand down his pants when you hear a knock at the front door, then it unlocks. You scoot out from under Joel to sit upright while he buckles his belt and Tommy yells, "Y’all comin’?”
“Ehhh I dunno about tonight. This one’s tired,” Joel says and squeezes your knee affectionately. There’s a good reason he’s not standing up.
“Bring a blanket,” Tommy says. “Joel’s a good pillow, nice and soft.”
“Hey now,” Joel says. Tommy just stands there waiting. Joel sighs. “Alright, grab a blanket, let's go.”
You go get a quilt and a big blanket. When you come back down in a flowy dress, the look on Joel’s face says he knows exactly why. He goes to the bathroom before y'all leave and comes out without a belt.
You set up in the darkest corner of the lawn behind everyone else. Joel sits on the quilt wiith his knees bent and you get in between them, resting your head back on his chest with the blanket draped over both of you while people continue to arrive to the event. He wraps his arms around you, and scoots his hard-on into you. He gathers the skirt of your dress out of the way and strokes your inner thigh. When he reaches your outer lips he growls “bad girl” into your neck, although he's not surprised you skipped the panties. Two thick fingers drag along your dripping seam and his hardness swells into you.
He nibbles at your neck and his fingers circle your clit. He could get you off this way and no one would know, but what you really want is his cock. You want him to come in public. It turns you on so much to think about, and he’s never let you do it. It’s always him making you come while he stays totally composed and in control.
You reach back and wedge a hand between your bodies, palming him over his jeans. He breathes deeply and doesn’t stop you. You unbutton his jeans. Then you reach outside the blanket for his backpack and put it behind him like a pillow. “I’m tired, can I Iay on you?”
“Sure, baby.”
You get on your side in the crook of his arm with your head on his shoulder, your hand on his chest, and hook your leg over his closest leg. Then your hand drifts down under the blanket, unzips him, and reaches in to relieve his stiff, aching cock. "Tengo ganas," (I want it) you whisper as you stroke him. He clenches his jaw and looks conflicted.
"I don't think so, baby."
You slowly rotate yourself on top of him anyway. His hard cock is between his shirt and yours, below your belly button. "No one's watching," you whisper.
You move your dress and slowly get higher up on him, straddling him in a koala hug and you throb against him. He inhales sharply when his cock feels your dripping seam.
"Solamente la punta" (just the tip) you beg barely audibly as you drag yourself along his member.
"Kinda cold. Wanna sit still?"
You've done this before and know what he means. You can't pass up the chance to have him inside you.
You drag your wet pussy up his cock again then nestle it at your entrance. He lifts his hips into you and you begin to sink onto him, managing not to gasp at the delicious stretch. His big hands brace on your hips and help you down. He lifts his hips again, pulls you down, and you have to suppress a moan as he bottoms out.
He grunts ever so softly. "Don't move," he says.
You lie there with him inside you, resting your head in the crook of his neck, while he watches the movie. Your hips want to move, but you manage to stay still.
He occasionally twitches and barely moves his hips. You want to get him off and try to slide off him, but his hands still you and he says "where you goin'?" You stay.
When his twitching becomes more frequent, he finally lets you slide off his cock. You get back on your side, bring your leg over his, rest your head on his chest, and stroke him. You keep his cock as close to his body as possible to not make it obvious. It doesn't take long before he reaches down and lifts up his shirt. He takes a deep breath, then pulses in your hand. There's a barely audible grunt, but it's the quietest you've ever heard him.
He buries his mouth in the crown of your head as he finishes coming onto his lower belly and your fist, then his whole body relaxes. You lick his cum off your hand then use two fingers to gather as much of it as you can off his skin. You swallow that, too. He kisses you on the head and you actually do fall asleep as you watch the rest of the movie.
-
If you like this one I recommend Speakeasy and Picnic Table.
All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea. @evyiione
#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller fic#joel miller#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal smut#toxicanonymity ☠️#in public#pedro pascal#joel miller x you#horny!joel
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Being Minsung’s “housewife”
Headcannons + a little drabble
Warnings: all the filth, idol!au (skip the last four • paragraphs if you don’t like that), the slightest bit of fluff, aftercare, a little praise, degradation, mentions of overstimulation, crying, possessive Minsung, double penetration, master kink, breeding, phone sex I think that’s it?
-
Now the normal duties of a housewife includes cleaning the house, preparing dinner for your husband(s) when they get home.
While you do clean and make dinner, Minho’s and Jisung’s version of a housewife is a bit different.
Their version of a housewife is coming home to cute little kitten already prepped and leashed for her masters.
It doesn’t matter to them what you’re doing or what time they come home or what time they’re horny, you’re being woken up or bent over and fuck until they’re satisfied.
Can’t take anymore? Well, you’re going to.
You’re getting fucked until you cry, can’t walk, simply pass out from pleasure only to get woken up by Minho switching places with Jisung, or all of the above.
To them, you’re there to be stuffed full and bred by them. But don’t worry, you’ll be treated like a princess afterwards for being such a good girl.
Besides aftercare, they take you shopping, whether that is to buy clothes, accessories, games, it doesn’t matter, swipe that card, baby.
While they’re mean in bed 90% of the time, they do have moments where one subs with you or both sub for you, or everyone is in the mood for soft, subby sex.
On more extreme nights, at least one of you is pushing through exhaustion to make sure your lovers are satisfied before worrying about yourself.
No matter what sex is like that day, aftercare is always 100%. Depending on the sex, you three would take warm baths together, massages, takeout or a meal prepared for you, simple cuddling or all the above.
God forbid you make them jealous. You’d be bent over the closest surface, if not the floor, no hole would be left unused.
They’d get possessive. Now, thats expected, but it gets so much worse when they’re jealous.
“You stupid slut, can’t you see you’re ours?”
“You are our whore, our cumdump, our wife”
“What happened to our good girl? The one that obeys her masters, not the one that sluts her pussy out to everything with a pulse.”
You are theirs and theirs alone.
While they love touring, preforming for their fans, they miss you so much. They call everyday, “I love you”’s and “how’d your day go?” is passed around.
Some nights, after performing, the adrenaline still runs high. They call you, forcing you to watch Minho abuse Han’s poor hole while you touch yourself, if you’re allowed to at all. During these nights, you’re always surprised the hotel didn’t kick them out with how loud your quokka-like lover is.
One of their favorite parts of tour ending is coming home to you. They had missed their wife even though you called everyday, at least long enough so say “I love you.”
Another part they love is how tight you had gotten after months of not having their big cocks stretch you out.
Minho tsks as he fingers swipe through your folds, "wet already, what a greedy whore." He delivers a slap to your cunt, making you squeal.
Jisung pushed his tip into you from behind, "fuck and she's still so tight."
Minho lifts you up, your legs wrapping around him, his cock prodding at your entrance.
Minho nods at Jisung. You feel Jisungs tip against your entrance, next to his husbands.
"W-wait, what are you doing?"
"Stretching you out," Minho pushes into you, Jisung following after.

-
Taglist: @binnies-minsung-fanclub @lyramundana
#minsung x reader#minsung smut#lee minho x reader#lee minho smut#minsung#han jisung x reader#han jisung smut#han jisung hard thoughts#lee minho hard thoughts#stray kids hard thoughts#stray kids smut
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old gold ☆ shinichiro won’t give you a chance ‘cause he doesn’t want you to waste your youth.. but he and his friends have never shared the same values.
takeomi akashi x female!reader x wakasa imaushi
3.7k words. | read on ao3. | minors dni.
cw/tw : spit roast, fingering, unprotected sex/creampie, exhibitionism (heard not seen), pet names, praise, light degradation, slight burn play, age gaps, reader wears a skirt, corruption kink.
“you look so pretty in an apron.”
shinichiro glares playfully at you out of the corner of his eyes, a smile creeping up on his face before he shakes his head.
“you know how they’ll talk to me if i burn this.”
you put on a fake pout, swinging your feet from where you’re sitting on the countertop watching as he finishes preparing dinner for the swarm of young men that were piled in the living room.
“it’s not like you’ve never burned anything before.”
he sucks his teeth at that, a small smile still lingering on his lips. you know you didn’t have much time left alone with him, that mikey would come around the corner looking for you with that chilling expression like he always does when you’ve snuck off to flirt it up with his big brother.
“and they don’t let me live it down until i cook for them agai—“
“shinichiro, let’s get married.” you cut him off and he just laughs. it’s like a broken record the way he brushes you off, treating you as if you have some school kid crush on him. like you’re not someone of legal drinking age with a fully developed brain. “i’m not a little girl.”
“i know you’re not.” he sighs through his nose, eyes leaving the stove top to look over at you and your feet still against the wooden cabinet door. “but you have so much time left to do whatever it is you want.”
“what i want to do is you.”
“you need to have fun.” he raises his eyebrows, he speaks the words softly but you know the intent behind them is firm. “you’re a beautiful girl, you’ve got the world in your palm. don’t let a relationship while you’re young tie you down.”
you want to open your mouth to answer but before you get the chance, you’re interrupted by the sound of mitsuya swinging himself around the corner. “smiley’s in here talkin’ shit about you not finishing the tournament.”
“i’m coming.” you quickly reply, hoping he’ll go away, but he doesn’t. you hop off the counter to follow after him, chewing at the inside of your cheek in frustration.
“two years.” you hear shinichiro speak from behind you and you spin on your heels. “in two years, if you’ve had all the fun you can handle and still want to get married, i’ll be here.”
there’s a smile on your face before you realize it’s there. “you’ll wait for me?”
“i don’t have anything else to do.” he shrugs and you don’t comment on how he doesn’t come off nearly as cool as he probably thought. “just workin’ at the shop.”
you nod, ignoring the calls of your name from the other room. “and cooking meals for us,” you add on, taking another step towards the living room before calling from behind the wall. “like what you’re burning right now.”
“shit—” you wish you could’ve seen his eyes go wide, and you nearly go back to fawn, until another call of your name rings off the walls and your already thin patience dissolves.
“i’m fucking coming!”
/ / /
“is it even unlocked?” you huff, irritated by the summer night’s heat as you walk in front of your two closest friends towards the all too familiar bike shop.
“should be, he said he’s hanging out with his old friends.” mikey answers.
“you should not be saying that.” draken laughs, and you know it’s meant as a shot at you.
“i only have a thing for shin’, not all old men.” you tsk.
“didn’t you tell inupi that he didn’t meet your age requirement?” draken teases but mikey is far from amused.
“my brother is not old, you—“ the shorter one starts.
“oh, it’s open.” you cut him off as you swing the door and to avoid his annoyed expression you rush inside. “shin’!” you sing, practically skipping through the bike shop looking for the man in question.
“slow down!” draken chides from behind you, muttering something about you knocking something over.
“why do you get to be the first one to say hi? he’s my brother.” mikey adds on and all you can do is laugh as you enter the hallway to the office near the back where the light shines under the door.
“‘cause he likes my face better than yours,” you swing the door open, sticking your tongue out at mikey. “obviously.”
it takes you a full minute to process who it is in front of you when you finally look and once you do, your jaw all but drops. through all the time you’ve spent as mikey’s friend, all the years you’ve followed shinichiro around, you’ve only caught glances of the old higher ups from the first generation of the black dragons. and aren’t they a sight to see.
shinichiro pulls you from whatever thoughts were forming as you eyed the other older men with a greeting.
“mikey messed up something on his bike.” you blurt, biting your lip to keep anything else from leaving your mouth. you point with your thumb towards the boys who have come to stand behind you, only to have the one you named slap it down.
“she did it, not me.”
you scoff at his lie, elbowing him to earn a nudge that sends you stumbling forward.
“i’ll look at it.” shinichiro pushes himself from where he’d been leaning against the desk, looking over to his white haired friend. “benkei, come pull the garage open?”
you watch him cross the room with hearts in your eyes, leaning into the door so your shoulder is pressed flat against it. you catch sight of his silver chain glinting in the low light, his black shirt only making it more prominent. you start to back out of his way alongside mikey, but the blonde doesn’t allow you to pass the door frame.
“you’re not gonna talk about how hot my brother is the whole time,” he pushes you back in the room, turning away and telling you from down the hall to, ‘go sit down.’
“my friends don’t bite.” shin’ smiles a promise and it comforts you slightly, especially when you catch his scent as he passes by—but not enough to turn around and face them. not until the door closes in your face and you can feel the burn of stares on your back.
“we really don’t bite,” is spoken from the couch following the sound of a lighter flickering.
“okay,” is all you manage back, awkwardly. you avoid looking at them in favor of staring at the spot where shinichiro had been leaning as you approach it.
“you shin’s girl?” makes you giggle as you hop up on the cold wood, thankful for the contrast to the warmth of your skin. but you still bite your lips, looking up at them as you debate how to reply.
maybe the whole first generation of black dragons were attractive, you think. surely draken couldn’t have been right about you just having a thing for older men. your eyes drag from the long-haired man with the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen to the more rugged one with a unique dye job of his own. you surely knew their names… somewhere in your mind.
“nah,” is what you settle on, shrugging. “not yet.”
the longer haired one says your name like something about your response made something click for him. “he said somethin’ about you before.”
you nod slowly, curiosity suddenly eating at you but like always, you’re interrupted before you can pry.
“been havin’ fun?” the one you’re starting to realise is akashi asks another question, and you only shake your head. maybe shinichiro told them about your deal. they were some of his oldest friends, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to believe. “you smoke?”
“oh no, not tobacco.” you shake your head, wrinkling your nose at the memory of how it’d tasted when you’d taken a hit from hanma shuji’s cigar months back.
“c’mon,” he calls you to the couch with a wave of his hand, watching intently as you hesitate, looking towards the closed door. shinichiro wouldn’t leave you with them if they would hurt you. slowly, you make your way to stand in front of him. he leans his head against his shoulder to blow the smoke away from your face when you stop, giving you a view of his defined jaw and that scar running down his cheek.
“one hit won’t hurt.” he looks back at you and holds the cigarette up for you to grab. with shaking fingers, you take it from his fingers. you can practically taste the smoke off of his scent alone. he reeks like a chainsmoker but somehow it’s not enough to make you repulsed.
“you’re such a pretty lil’ thing,” he mutters, leaning forward and reaching out with rough fingers to skim up the side of your thigh as you take a short drag. “it’d be a shame not to show you a good time while we got ya.” your face burns at the touch, and whatever expression you make from the unexpected words mixed with the sting of nicotine hitting your chest makes him chuckle. “that’s if you can handle it.”
you cough out the smoke, quickly moving the cigarette away from where it pollutes your air. “i can handle a lot,” you say coolly, grimacing at the aftertaste. “cigarette smoke just isn’t on that list.”
he chuckles and reaches to grab the cigarette from your hold. or so you thought, his hand instead wraps around your wrist, pulling you down gently to straddle his lap.
despite his gentle guiding, you manage to be clumsy enough that ashes are dropped on the top of your thigh— the burning cherry falling with it making you suck in a sharp breath, hand twisting into his shirt and eyes fluttering shut all the same. he hums and apologizes under his breath, adjusting you on his thighs as he reaches around you to the coffee table for his lighter— his chest pressing up against yours and free arm wrapping around the small of your back to secure you in the process.
“‘ll be more careful with ya, promise.” his stubble brushes against your neck as he leans back against the cushions, fingers fumbling against the plastic and the other trying to be delicate not to break the paper. you’re not sure where the confidence comes from, but you grab the lighter from his hold and flicker the flame for him, not once breaking eye contact as he places the butt back between his lips and leans in to catch the fire. your hand falls after the flame dies, watching him take a drag as your own breath gets caught in your throat when his free hand starts to dance up the side of your body.
once he finishes inhaling, he licks his lips and you feel something heat in the pit of your stomach at the sight—shinichiro wants you to experience being young and wild, surely he wouldn’t be mad if it was with his friends. smoke is blown across your face and before you have a moment to react, the hand at your side wraps around your jaw and holds it, but doesn’t pull you forward—you move on your own.
you press your lips into his and the taste of his tongue makes you whine before you adjust to it, your hands moving from where they’d fallen limp to wrap around his neck. the hold on your face disappears and then you feel the same rough palm gliding under your skirt, squeezing at the soft give of your ass. his mouth moves from your own, down to your neck where you shiver at the way he seems to find all your most sensitive spots with ease, sucking and licking at them. you’re so lost in the feeling that you don’t even notice when he moves his hand again, not until his thumb is pressing at your clit through your panties making you let out a soft whisper of a curse and you’re bucking your hips into his touch.
so caught up in how akashi consumes your senses, it takes far too long to recognize the other man’s hand— the man you’d completely forgot was still lingering in the room—is tugging at the end of your skirt.
“c’mere.” imaushi speaks low, his gaze dragging from your chest back up to your eyes before trying again to beckon you over with a nod of his head and even as akashi pulls from where he’d likely been putting marks into your skin, you hesitate. “it’ll be fun.” he finally convinces you and with akashi’s help, you’re crawling off his lap only to realize with a flushed face that you’re now stuck between them on your hands and knees.
the long-haired man’s hands are much softer in comparison to those trailing along the backside of your thighs. imaushi wraps his hand under your jaw the same way akashi had done, and you realize that he also waits for you to close the gap between the two of you on your own. low eyes glancing between yours and your likely swollen lips until you reach to connect with his.
his lips are softer than akashi’s, you note, his tongue sweeter. he moans lightly as you suck on the muscle, his grasp loosening in favor of wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you in closer. behind you, akashi thumbs over your slit, pressing the wet fabric deeper into your folds with each pass. you’re sure you make a noise when he starts to circle at your clit, one that imaushi mimics tauntingly before he pulls your shirt up, using the hand not pinning you to him to slide under your bra and tweak at your nipples.
one of akashi’s hands work your underwear to the side, a low “shit, baby” falls from his mouth and he mimics his same movements, teasing your clit and entrance until you’re making an even bigger mess for him, the sound of him gliding through your slit obvious in the otherwise quiet room. the need to have them do something— anything else becomes overbearing.
“stop teasing,” nearly comes out as a whisper when you pull from the kiss. but you know they both hear you because imaushi looks past you to where his friend is sitting and they both laugh shortly at your expense.
“not teasin’, pretty.” the man infront of you turns his hold so his thumb is under the side of your jaw, the rest of his fingers wrapper around your throat. “we don’t rush things like the little boys you run ‘round with.”
and as to prove his point, akashi pushes a single finger into you, taking his time to press it against your softest wall that he didn’t have to guess to find. if not for it being held up, you’re sure your jaw would drop as the high whine vibrates through your throat. another is added and you’ve lost a sense of where you are, your eyes roll back and you’re pushing your hips to try and force his pace but the hand that you know is holding his still lit cigarette grabs the fat of your ass, holding you in place for him to fuck his fingers into you how he sees fit.
you can hear the sound of imaushi undoing his pants below you but you don’t register why until he brings his mouth to your ear. “spit on it for me, princess.”
obediently, you do, moving with shaking arms to pucker your lips and drop spit onto the head of his cock. when akashi adds the third finger, your arms completely give out and imaushi’s hold isn’t as strong as you’d thought because you fall right onto his lap. you can’t complain, not with the pleasure coiling in your stomach, added with the sight of him pumping his length with your spit coating him.
“how you feelin’, lil’ baby?” the words float from the other end of the couch.
“s’good, ‘kashi, fuck.” he curls his fingers and pushes them deeper than before on your last word making you squeal.
“takeomi,” he huffs and you feel the weight by your feet shift. you’re sure you’d be able to pick up the sound of him unzipping his own pants but imaushi’s hand distracts you with a guiding push towards his now fully hard cock.
you’re granted the sight of his lean abdomen when he slides his own shirt up away from where his dick rests against it. “‘nd call me waka, yeah?”
you mumble out an, “‘kay, waka,” but it’s swallowed by the gasp you make when akashi presses the thick head of himself against your entrance. “‘omi, ‘omi fuck—“ he’s easily bigger than anyone you’ve taken, in girth at least.
“s’wet.” he sucks in a breath as he pushes in slowly, holding your skirt out of his way as he pulls back after every inch he sinks in to ease himself into you. “this for us old men, little thing?”
you moan a sweet ‘mhm’ though your face burns in embarrassment. you force yourself onto your forearms and wrap your lips around imaushi’s cock, the taste of salt diminishing the thought. later you’d think about how pretty his dick was, from the pink of the tip to the veins running along the shaft— veins that you now tongue at while you take more into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and moaning around him when akashi pushes even more of his thick cock into you and you’re starting to wish you would’ve taken the extra prep he’d been trying to do.
“what a mouth.” is grunted from above you and you wouldn’t believe the deepness in his tone if you weren’t hearing it for yourself. akashi chuckles shortly from where he’s kneeled when he feels you clench around him at what one can hardly call praise.
it’s when he finally bottoms out that his ashes fall on your skin once again, this time on your ass and you choke around the tip hitting your throat when the cherry burns you yet again, making you jump from where your hips were pressed to his.
“dirty girl.” akashi shakes his head knowingly at the way you tighten around him again. “‘nd i was so worried ‘bout hurtin’ you.”
“she like that?” imaushi asks with the most amusement you’ve heard from him tonight, which is still closer to none. but you don’t hear if he gets an answer because akashi winds his hips back and starts fucking into you— the pace isn’t brutal, but is far faster than the one he’d used while fingering you.
you try to bob your head but it’s no use when you’re forced down onto imaushi with each push of the clothed thighs behind you until you can’t breathe anymore and you have to pop off of him. your head falls back on his thigh and your nails come to dig into the fabric of his dark jeans.
“you’re good,” imaushi coo’s, grabbing your hand from his lap and using it to jerk himself off as your eyes flutter. “just be good ‘nd feel good for us.”
it’s all too much, the ecstasy they give you that you’ve never even brought yourself to, how they’re fucking you out farther than you’ve ever been, all while still treating you like glass. it makes your head spin, tears welling in your eyes as the knot in your stomach winds so tight it’s starting to fray.
“‘m close, s’close—fuck, fuck—“ you try to reach beneath you with your free hand, but akashi bats it away.
“c’mon baby, don’t insult me like that.” one of his rough hands reaches around your hip, pinching and rolling your clit between his fingers and sends you tumbling over the edge.
all you see is white as the hot static flows through your limbs, the curses escaping both the older men lost over the sound of your own broken moans. their names mix together, whined softly like a prayer repeated again and again as akashi fucks you through your high, groaning as his grip tightens into your plush skin at the way your pussy pulses around him.
“feel so damn good,” his own voice sounds worn and you let out a whimper. “‘gonna take it for me?”
you only have a clue at what he could mean but you nod and babble out ‘yes’ and ’please’ before you truly give it any thought. his speed picks up, but somehow still as gentle as he shove his cock so deep its painful and paints your walls white. it sends your eyes rolling back again just from the sensation.
“shiiiit— put your tongue out f’me, princess.”
it’s a heart racing sight to see how imaushi stares at you with parted lips, chest heaving as he throbs in your palm. you loll your tongue out just as he asked and he nearly instantly shoots his load on it with a silent moan, one that only becomes audible when you lick at his slit before swallowing what coats your tongue.
you’re floating as you’re straightened up by sturdy hands, a different set of hands massage soothingly at your thigh when you’re back upright.
“keep tryin’ with shin’.” akashi scoots to closer, letting you fall and lean into his side, one heavy arm resting along the back of the couch as the other put his nearly gone cigarette back between his lips. “he’s bound to give in.”
“”nd if not, just put it on him.” imuashi squeezes the fat of your thigh as he adds on. “he won’t be able to say no.”
all you can do is smile dumbly and nod. you’re so close to drifting off after such an orgasm and the way they speak so lowly from either side of you nearly lulls you to sleep. the only other thing you can remember before you fall into unconsciousness is the music playing from inside the shop— you wonder how long it’s be on, and why it’s so loud.
you miss shinichiro who finally comes back into the room after keeping everyone out of the hallway after he’d caught sound of your moans. miss the small rise of the corner of his mouth when he sees you all tuckered out and disheveled, the way you snuggle into akashi’s chest and push your leg into imaushi’s hand when he stops massaging at it for even a second.
“she have fun?” he asks his friends as he passes behind where you’re sat, palm falling to rub the top of your head.
“‘course she did,” imaushi answers.
“don’t get stingy when you finally put a ring on it.” akashi blows his smoke opposite of you. “even married women should have fun.”
feedback + reblogs are appreciated <3.
[repost from an old blog]
#tokyo revengers smut#tokyo revengers x reader#wakasa smut#wakasa x reader#takeomi akashi x reader#takeomi akashi smut#tokrev smut#wakasa x you#tokyo revengers x you#takeomi smut#takeomi x you#tokyo revengers fic
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Lovers Rock | Eddie Munson x Chubby! Reader
Summary: Eddie really likes reader, reader really likes Eddie, will they, won’t they? Loosely based on the TV Girl song, brief misunderstandings, brief mentions of masturbation, suggestive undertones. (Had this in the drafts for a while.)
Eddie had never felt more jealous of Steve than he did right now.
He had you, a cute, chunky little bunny practically hanging off of his arm and couldn’t be asked to give you a shred of attention?
Not that you seem particularly bothered, you’re too busy looking around. For what, he doesn’t know, but you somehow make just standing there sexy.
Eddie had been in love with you for as long as he could remember. He’s always had a thing for plump girls and you ticked all his boxes. You liked DnD, you didn’t judge his music taste even if some weren’t your favorite. And you were hot as fuck.
He remembers the first time he jacked off to the thought of you. He couldn’t look you in the eye for a week, and it didn’t help that for the past few months, you seemed to have put more of an effort in your appearance. (i.e. Eddie’s never seen you show so much skin and he’s fighting the urge to paint every inch in his cum.)
Nevertheless, he makes his way over to you both and he feels his heart skip when your eyes light up at the sight of him. “Hey, Munson.” You beam at him, and just like that, you made coming to this shitty party worthwhile. He smirks at you before pulling you into a hug, lips kissing your ear as he whispers, “Good to see you again, princess.” You feel a shiver run down your spine, his words making their way to your core. You’d had a few drinks and shared a joint with Steve on your way here so you were feeling nice and loose.
You shift your grip from Steve’s arm to Eddie’s, effectively trapping him in your ironclad grip. “Wanna get outta here, this shit sucks.” You mutter into his ear. “What about Steve?” You shrug off his concerns, eager to spend time alone with him. “We got a ride here, plus he said he might stay tonight.” Eddie nods in understanding before guiding you both out of the party. You make it to his van and after a few tries, you’re both out of there.
— —
Eddie put on his and your favorite mix, you both screaming lyrics at the top of your lungs. After a while, Eddie stops and just stares at you though, taking you in. It’s rare he gets to see you so carefree and the sight just makes him fall in love with you all the more.
Why did you have to be into Steve?
He’d never burden you with his feelings, but fuck there were some times it became too much to bear. Times he wanted to just say “fuck it” and tell you how he felt, but he knew it wouldn’t be fair to you, and that he’d rather suffer in silence than never have you at all.
You were stuck though.
Steve swore up and down that Eddie was into you and honestly, you thought so too. It was why you had put so much more effort into your appearance. Wearing shorter skirts, lower cut tops. Jeans that hugged the curve of your ass, blouses that showed the cute pudge of your tummy. You thought you were being flirty, always asking to listen to his music, touching his arm at any given chance, you were honestly doing your best here. You figured that this would be your best opportunity to just be upfront with him. So when you pulled into his uncle’s trailer park, you decided to lay it all out.
“Eddie, do you like me?” He looks at you confused as he turns off the engine. “What kind of question is that? Of course I like you. You’re one of my closest friends.” He looks at you with sincerity. You’d think it was sweet if that was what you wanted to hear. “Why are you asking that?” Eddie questions. You shake your head, turning in your seat to face him. “It’s just, I like you a lot Eddie and Steve said you might have a crush on me? I don’t know, maybe he was mistaken-” You’re cut off by Eddie abruptly grabbing your hands, his face almost surprised. “I did- I do! I just, I thought you were into Steve so…” He trails off at the sound of your chuckling. He feels his stomach drop at the sound and is about to pull away when he feels you holding on to him.
“Sorry,” You giggle, wiping a fake tear from your eye at the thought. “It’s just, what ever gave you that idea?” You ask. He looks sheepish as he relays his reasoning, “Well I noticed you kind of started dressing up more recently and you hang around us a lot more often than before. So I just thought…” He trails off again. You feel a snicker but hold back as you hear Eddie sigh in frustration. “Sorry for laughing, it’s just, I thought I was being super obvious with my feelings for you, but now I see it was having the opposite effect.” You sigh. Eddie looks at you, confusion written all over his face. “I was doing all of that for you. I was hoping that it’d push you to ask me out, but instead it just made you think I want… Steve.” You shudder in disgust. It coaxes a laugh out of Eddie and you’re sure you’d do anything to keep that smile on his face.
“So you’re saying, you’re into me?” He asks for clarification. You nod, a sweet smile making its way to your chubby cheeks. “And you’re into me?” You mimic. He nods before cupping your face with both hands. He looks you in the eyes, a silent question and you answer by leaning in, pressing your plump lips against his. It’s a sweet, clumsy first kiss, lips molding into each other. You feel the coldness of his rings against your warm cheeks and it somehow makes the kiss feel even better.
You part after the need for air becomes necessary, resting your foreheads against each other. “Thank God we sorted that out. I thought I’d have to walk around in nothing but a Hellfire club shirt before you’d say anything.” You chuckle at the thought. But Eddie starts to picture it and he’s not laughing.
“Hey, um, d’ya think I could see that right now?”
#x chubby reader#chubby reader#eddie munson x chubby reader#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x black!reader#x black reader#stranger things x chubby reader#stranger things x reader#x reader#stranger things x black!reader
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Can't Let You Go
Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader
Summary: When you and Jake broke up, it hurt both of you more than you could handle. Now, after three months of barely seeing or speaking to one another, Jake walks in on the surprise of seeing you in a wedding dress, and it brings past memories and ruined dreams to the surface.
Notes/Warnings: it's a fluffy ending (despite how the summary makes it sound). maybe a bit angsty . There might be cursing. Jake smokes a cigarette. Bradley and Nat are together for this, but there's not much focus on it (sorry to those who find that unappealing).
Words: 1800
-----
What’s the worst that could happen?
That one question was how your bride-to-be best friend got you to squeeze yourself into a wedding dress. You’d protested, heavily, but the last thing you wanted was to snuff out her excitement. So you appeased her with a nod and a false smile and shuffled into a dressing room to do as she'd begged.
What compelled you to select a gown you actually liked was beyond you. You hadn’t wanted to try one on, too afraid of the emotional toll that had the possibility of rearing its ugly head, and yet you didn’t just grab the closest dress off of the nearest rack. You roamed the store until you discovered the one that made your heart skip a beat. A dress that caused your breath to catch as you imagined yourself walking down an aisle, to him.
As you looked yourself up and down, you felt the tears sprouting for the dream that never came to fruition. You couldn’t tear your eyes away until Nat shouted, “You have to come out. That's kind of the whole point, Hon.” So you did, stepping up onto the low pedestal.
Her eyes widened, her fingers moving to cover her lips. She stared for a long moment. “Oh my God,” she said with a sweet smile, “You look perfect.”
“Nat,” you sighed, “come on.”
“You do!”
“Thank you, but this is—” Silly, you were going to say. But the jingle of the boutique door's bell interrupted you.
From her seat on the suede couch, Nat’s eyes shot over your shoulder. Her face paled. A muttered ‘Fuck’ met your ears in the voice of her fiance.
With your brow pinched in confusion, you turned, the dress swishing at your feet with your sharp twist.
Two pairs of eyes were glued to you. One set—a rich, dark brown—was alight with shock; the other—mossy green and all too familiar—was filled to the brink with pain.
“Jake…” you tried, but he was out the door.
You found your hand reaching out the slightest in the direction he'd gone. As if you could graze your fingers over the fabric of his shirt and tighten it within your palm to pull him back to you.
After absorbing the moment, you hurriedly stepped off the pedestal and rushed into the changing room to strip yourself of the dress.
“You didn’t tell me she was coming to your fitting,” you heard Bradley attempt to whisper.
“Well, you didn’t tell me you were bringing Jake along to pick me up,” Nat countered. You could practically see the irritation on her face, her arms crossed in defense and foot tapping loudly against the tile.
“He didn’t want to be alone. Today marks three months since they—”
Nat shushed him as you pulled back the curtain, reclothed in your jeans and t-shirt. “Hon,” she started, taking a step toward you, “I’m so sorry. I had no idea he was coming.”
“I know. It’s ok,” you assured her before flicking your eyes to Bradley. “Which way did he go?”
“Right,” he didn’t hesitate to say, and you nodded.
“Thank you.”
—--
The boutique stood alone on the street, nothing flanking it and thankfully making it evident with one quick glance that Jake, had he attempted to make a run for it, wouldn’t be able to get far. You didn’t see him, so there was only one other option.
When you rounded the building, you found him leaning against the brick wall, his head tilted slightly upward, his eyes closed, as he blew out a breath of smoke. The cigarette trapped between his fingers wiggled from his shaking hand.
Sensing your presence, like he’d always managed to do, he said, “Please tell me you didn’t get engaged three months after we broke up.”
You walked up to his side and copied his stance. “Of course not.” When he didn’t follow up with more, you continued. “I thought you quit.”
Jake finally opened his eyes to glance down at the cigarette. “I quit for you,” he said before taking another drag.
You felt your heart squeeze in your chest.
You’d always worried about him, long before you even got together. His job, his emotions, his habits. His job you couldn’t change, but his emotions and the habits that came with them, you could help. You’d been there for him, and he for you. Yet, it didn't occur to you that he would find himself revisiting past obstacles without you by his side. It should’ve. You should’ve pushed through any discomfort or awkwardness between you to be there for him. You should have been better.
“Jake…”
He released another stream of smoke, the quiet act somehow effectively cutting you off. “I’m not back on ‘em. Just one here or there…” he flicked his index finger to knock off the ashes, “to calm me down.”
Beats passed. How many, you couldn’t say. All you knew was that not so much silence had filled the bubble around the two of you since you were left spent and hurt after the blow up of ending your relationship. Though, in truth, you hadn’t been near each other enough in the past few months for the possibility of that situation to present itself.
“I didn’t expect to see you,” he suddenly said, “and the dress kind of…threw me.”
“Nat made me.”
With a snort, he said, “Figures.”
More agonizing silence dragged painful memories to the surface. The tears, the shouts, the pleading and apologies from the day that continued to haunt you.
“Jake.”
He hummed.
“I think we need to find a way to exist in the same space. It’s too difficult to try to work around one another when it comes to our friends and the places we frequent in town. I understand that you don’t want to be with me, but—”
“Me?” he snapped, head whipping in your direction. The blaze in his eyes seared the shock in yours, yet his tone maintained a calmness that, when accompanying his words, felt more eerie than anything. “I don’t want to be with you? You’re the one who ended us. You told me you were leaving, and then you didn’t even go.”
Your head fell and you began to pick at your fingernail. “Would you have preferred I left?”
“I would’ve preferred if you stayed my girlfriend.”
Looking up, you asked, “What changed your mind?”
A flash zipped across the green of his irises. “What are you talking about?”
“A week after we broke up, I chose not to go,” you said. “I wanted to be with you more than I wanted that job. I went to your house to tell you, but you weren’t there, so I went to the bar.” A hard swallow at another memory failed to relieve the aching lump in your throat. “I found you kissing some woman and I realized you’d already moved on.”
Jake took careful breaths—one too many for your liking—before letting out a soft chuckle. It held no humor. He shook his head.
"I didn't move on."
"Jake, I saw you."
"She kissed me," he said. "I told her it wasn't going to happen, then went home and drank myself stupid trying not to think of you." His eyes tore away from yours to stare ahead. And with a pinched brow, he shook his head once again as he tossed the remaining nub of the cigarette into a nearby trash can. "I did not succeed, I should add. So, no, I didn't move on. I can't even imagine trying."
You were overwhelmed with an array of emotions, each of them warring, mixing chaotically. Waves of relief crashed into the shame lingering from the day you fought. They churned with the pain you'd yet to let go of after seeing someone else kissing the man you love. There was a tick of embarrassment from the, now very clear, misunderstanding between you. But it was the cautious joy that overpowered it all.
"You still love me?" You said softly.
A low laugh rumbled in his chest.
"That's funny?"
"No, baby, I just—" he paused then brushed his fingers through his hair. "I don't know. I never thought I'd have to answer a question like that."
Your lips parted, ready to ask why such a simple question from you was practically stumping him, but he was one step ahead.
"I was always trying to prove how much I love you. Every single day I made sure of it. And I'd hoped I showed it well enough that you'd never need to ask," he said. A light shrug of his shoulders—barely noticeable, yet far from nonchalant—followed. "But here we are."
Without a thought to stop yourself, you reached up to cup his cheek, drawing his eyes back to yours.
"Jake, I didn't question it. I knew you loved me," you swore. "But I ruined things, and feelings can change."
As if understanding your immediate uncertainty that bloomed from your sudden touch, Jake wrapped his fingers around your wrist before you could dare to withdraw it back to your side.
"Not mine," he said. Then quieter: "Never mine."
The fresh rawness of his stare, of his tense brow, and softly parted lips, broke your heart. He looked ready to fall to his knees and weep at your feet. He looked how you had felt for months. Like standing, breathing, putting one foot in front of the other, was not easily done. Since you’d left him, nothing had been natural. Nothing came easy. Living life was a chore. And seeing Jake release it all in front of you with his desperation and devastation clear as day, allowed you to do the same.
Your palm fell to his chest. Jake brushed an escaped tear from the corner of your mouth, then rested his forehead against yours.
"It's ok," he whispered. "It's gonna be ok."
"I still love you," you said between sniffles.
With a heavy exhale, his whole body eased out of its rigidity. "I love you, too."
"Would…” you started but paused, unsure if your question would be your final strike. But you couldn’t stop the pounding in your heart, nor deny the need you had for Jake. So, despite the shake in your voice, you pressed on. “Would you take me back?"
Your eyes were closed, but you could sense his smile. Then he said:
"Baby, I never let you go."
---
A/N: it's been a minute since I posted any writing here. Sorry about that. But I'm working my way along my list and hopefully, you guys liked this :)
Tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi
#jake seresin#jake seresin x reader#jake hangman seresin#top gun maverick#jake seresin fic#jake hangman seresin x reader#top gun#jake hangman seresin fic#top gun hangman#jake hangman seresin x y/n#jake seresin fluff#tgm#tgm fic#tgm fanfiction#top gun maverick fic#jake seresin fanfiction#jake seresin imagine#jake seresin fanfic#jake seresin x you
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PLEASE PLEASE do a kate martin fic where the reader is her ex and they cannot stay away from each other. like “uh oh” by tate mcrae PLEASE
・❥・- favorite bad decision
summary: you see kate at a practice after the two of you split
warnings: nfsw mdni. 18+ as fawk! but the smut is kinda short sozzzz
rpf. don’t read it if you don’t feel comfortable
a/n: i’m negl all my kate fics are fluffy cause i cannot see myself writing smut. (but i try to deliver so this sucks cuz i got a lil uncomfy) 😭 also i’m sorry for lacking on my writing im so stressed w all these exams im taking and some family problems. this also might go off track cause i wrote this half asleep 😕 didn’t know how to end this one too
stars are the skips :)
it’s been 5 months. 5 stupid months since that relationship you refused to let go ended. you couldn’t believe it either when your girlfriend suddenly said “we need to breakup.”. she never told you why, despite the multiple calls and texts you sent when she left the morning after that were begging for her to come back or at least explain why she felt that way.
you felt like absolute shit.
it was a long relationship, your longest one too. it was the fact you believed it would last forever. you wished for it to last when you saw those repeated numbers and whenever a star dotted across the sky. you believed in those silly little things, but you only believed in them for this stupid 1.5 year period.
everything felt like it had been going your way during those times. you felt alive again after meeting kate. she was the definition of a literal ball of sunshine when it came to you. constantly bringing you to her basketball games, showing you off to her friends and teammates, introducing you to her family. things were great. the feeling was refreshing, especially after being in probably the worst relationship of your life.
a guy played you behind your back so many times and you were unable to figure out yourself. the second you did, you didn’t even know why or what to do. you struggled with school from the thought of never finding out what he thought was weird about you or why he even considered doing that in the first place. you treated him like he was the best boyfriend in the world!
then kate had dug you out of a hole you thought you’d never have the guts or the fucking courage to get out of.
“there’s nothing wrong with you trying to get your mind off of it y’know.” jada says. shes been helping you cope with this thing even though her and kate are the closest people ever. she’d never tell a single soul anything you always talk to her about. “coming to our last game in carver won’t be that bad!”
“yeah, not so bad until i see kate! you know how i feel about her, jades. it hurts.” you murmur and swipe the back of your hand against your face. there’s a painful feeling at the bottom of your stomach and it makes your skin crawl uncomfortably. “i’m not going and there’s nothing you can do to change my mind.”
jada’s face contorts into a half smile when she hears the way you talk about the whole shebang. she knows you that still can’t let it go, and she wishes so badly that you could let kate go. “right.” she breathes out and grinds her teeth together. “you don’t need to come.”
but you do anyways.
you sat there at court side awkwardly, watching the hawkeyes train before their final home game. you only saw caitlin, hannah, gabbie, syd, and kylie. jada was sitting next to you and cheering on her teammates. thankfully, you didn’t spot kate anywhere close or on the court at all.
until you fucking did.
kate walked in through the tunnel and dropped her gym bag on the floor, a loud thud echoing through the arena. she had her hair up in that same stupid braid, that same stupid smirk on her face, and that same stupid look in her eyes. you hated her so fucking much and you hated the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about her no matter how hard you tried to.
that churn in the stomach made you feel like you had level 1000 cramps, but it was just that feeling you got when you felt absolutely sick to the core. sick because you didn’t know what, or how to feel after seeing kate again. it was the shitty feeling of not knowing why she even chose to leave you in the first place. it was the feeling of frustration when you saw her smile again. the feeling of confusion rushing back to you. you felt like a small child getting yelled at when she broke up with you, it was when nothing made sense at all to you. when you didn’t get the answer you wanted after multiple tries of begging for it.
you didn’t understand it, and you still don’t.
“you alright?” jada snaps you out of whatever the hell you were thinking about and you jump slightly, eyes diverting away from kate. “yeah, why wouldn’t i be?” you huff and smile with your teeth out. your body starts to grow numb and you feel as if you can’t breathe as well as you normally would, which jada notices. she grabs your shoulders tightly and places her palm on the side of your face to move your head towards hers. she knows you’re staring at kate. “you’re not fine.”
thanks captain obvious.
“yeah, obviously not!!!” you blurt out way too loud. it makes everything and everyone around you stop. the sound of the balls dribbling against the floor and the continuous chatter around you just stops. everything is silent and you know that its because of you. your face flushes at the embarrassment you feel and you step off onto the court, walking towards the exit. the sound of footsteps follow you and you don’t even have the guts to turn around. it seriously feels like you’re about to get completely flamed for acting out at a clear statement about what you felt.
but it’s not jada. or caitlin. it’s fucking kate.
a wave of anger and bitterness rushes through you like no other, and you can’t tell whether to be upset or nervous about this little interaction. you still love kate and you know that. “you like to yell, huh?” she chuckles and pushes your shoulder lightly. when her hand touches you, you don’t move away and just let her do it.
“lighten up, will ya?” kate’s lips curl up into the damn smirk again and she looks at you with those eyes. the eyes that she knows you can’t say no to, the eyes that got you hooked in the first place. “i missed when you acted up like that, to be honest.”
you’ve missed her touch so badly, but you just can’t admit it.
there’s a lot of things you acknowledge in life. things that you know. you know whats right and wrong when it comes to decisions and when it comes to certain things like seeing people you know you aren’t supposed to.
but you know that this is right. it always has been.
promises are always broken too, and this was one you swore you’d never break. it was hard, especially because kate was the hottest fucking person on the planet. saying ‘no’ to her was practically impossible. she asked you to come over after the game and you happily complied. which was a horrible idea.
“you’re such a fuckin’… asshole.” you whine out and let out a bated breath. your body shivers when kate’s fingers run up and down underneath your shirt and when her breath hits your sopping core. she’s in between your legs and eating you out like a madwoman. your head falls back into her pillows, fingers gripping tight at the roots of her hair and the bedsheets on the side of your body. “am i?” she mumbles, sending vibrations through your body that you haven’t felt in months.
that feeling is so good. and you know it. you missed it when kate acted up too. seeing her all tough on the court made something reignite in your stomach again, and it exploded when you saw her in the locker rooms. you literally dragged her out of there while she was in the middle of a conversation with addi and into your car. you couldn’t even wait before your lips were eagerly on hers and her hands were roaming in all the right places.
“yeah, you are. you fucking bitch…..” your voice goes up an octave the moment kate licks a stripe up your pussy and starts leaving hickeys around your thighs and stomach. “i tried ignoring you when i saw you at the club last week. all i wanted to do was jump into your arms and kiss your face off.” you admit awkwardly and let out a quiet cry the moment your stomach turns into knots. you’re close and she can feel it, her head diving down again while you absentmindedly hump at her face.
“shit!” you whimper and prop your head up, watching kate lap up every last drop of your cum. “i got you, baby,” she breathes out heavily onto your stomach. her breath is warm and she presses her cheek up against it when she feels your legs shake. her thumb rubs your sides and she looks up at you, rising up slightly and keeping herself steady with her hands. yours grabbing at her shoulders. when she keeps herself up you can feel her arms bulging underneath her shirt and she leans in. “mmf.. that’s my girl.”
her tongue swirls around yours, making you taste yourself all the way before the moment turns over quickly. “mhm..” you hum and slide your hands down her arms to get a feel again. the second you pull away, kate’s eyes go from feral to soft. she leans back and searches around on her floor, picking up your undergarments and sliding them on for you. “it’s okay.” she smiles and moves her head towards you. kate rests her head on your chest, chin in between and her arms around your stomach while your fingers cup her face.
you’re never gonna be able to stop forgiving her if she keeps doing this to you. and you know it.
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könig w a reader who is much smaller than him but has ATTITUDE like she's a girl boss and könig is just 🧍🏻♂️
a/n: HE ORDERED WITHOUT PICKLES love these ones
open requestsss
tw: marriage omg, husband/wife, gentle giant/short demon, fem reader, she's LOUD. Swearing bc this girl has her attitude sorry, yelling, könig being like ''sorry she's kinda... haha''. not my first lenguage sorry BE NICE ILY
—Hey, hey. Wait your turn, man, the hell you doing? We've been here waiting for hours— Y/N heard a soldier saying. Oh damn, they were skipping turns on the queue again.
Y/N was a nurse who was trying, to work and check every single guy out there. But someone was doing some mess.
—Hey, Y/N, would you please...?— one of the nurses asked her, but she didn't even let him finish and she took off her gloves without hesitation.
—Hell yeah, these big ass idiots are messing with my temple again— ''temple'' ment the poorly made nursery that barely kept on it's feet.
She walked off the nursery to see the queue being interrupted by a guy that was taking another... way much taller... wait a second.
Ah, shit. That was König.
—Hey! Hey, you, big insufferable toddler! Let that man go or I'll cancel your date!
Y/N yelled while she walked quickly to that place. König stared at her while she got closer to them both, without really moving. He just made a slight effort to keep himself quiet and without any move. Waiting for that tiny piece of anger to come there.
—You yell at him, girl! My feet are hurting like shit for standing here for, like, hours. And this guy wants to skip the fucking que-
—He's not hurt, you dumbass, don't you have eyes?— Y/N said, and the closest soldiers were honestly looking at her with some amusement on their faces, since she was deffending the biggest man from the middle heighted one. When she was...
—Yeah shortie, that's pretty much making it way wor-
Y/N tried to punch him, but König hold her faster by her waist and took two steps back to avoid her kicking the hurted guy. While this happened, she yelled and swore at him.
—The hell you doing, man? Let the nurse get him— another guy said. And König denied with his head quickly.
—My wife doesn't really appreciate any comments about her height. She can come out as...
She suddenly shutted down her voice.
—What did you say, babe?
—Uh... I said ''my wife doesn't...''-
Y/N pointed to König's face making some effort to it. Which all the closest soldiers listened closely, specially the guy who tried to hold Y/N's husband back before.
—Heard that? This is my husband. And he's big and he can really beat your ass, hear me? Do not disrespect my man again, understood?— she said, pointing at her ring and showing her hand off at his face.
—Eh...?
—Understood?! Made myself fucking clear?!
The guy looked at König's eyes, and the man in question avoided the eye contact to look at the mad woman on his arms. He looked at the man for a tiny bit to nod softly, indicating him to quit and shut up.
—Y-yes, ma'am...
—Good!
She took the big man's hand once he left her to conduct themselves into the nursery. And König felt very proud to the fact that everyone looked at his wife. She was lovely, after all.
#könig#könig x reader#könig cod#könig mw2#könig call of duty#cod mw2#cod mwii#cod modern warfare#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#cod x reader#cod#my writting#my writing#writeblr#writing
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The unconventional marriage between Yugo and Amalia. (an analysis)
Before I jump into it, I��m going to first talk about my personal thoughts on this moment:
💖💖💖❤️🔥❤️❤️🔥💕💕❤️💖💖❤️❤️❤️WE WON, WE GOT FED OMG THEY’RE SO CUTE TOGETHER, KISS MORE‼️‼️‼️‼️I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT MY WHOLE LIFE I’VE WATCHED YOU GUYS GROW UP FUCK‼️‼️‼️❤️🔥❤️🔥✨✨❤️🔥💖💖❤️🔥😭❤️❤️💕😭😭😭😭😭✨💖✨🥰🥰✨💖✨❤️🔥
Now that we got that out of my system, let’s begin explaining what happened.
The scene starts with Yugo and Amalia, holding a bouquet of flowers, walking side by side together.
At first, I thought she was carrying the flowers for Armand’s grave but it turns out that they were both walking together TO THEIR WEDDING.
(now that I think about it, it actually makes sense that Amalia won’t be carrying flowers for Armand’s tree grave cuz like…she’s a sadida. Giving flowers to another sadida, especially a DEAD ONE sounds very disrespectful lol)
I’m guessing there was a slight time skip between the necrome war and the wedding because we can see Armand’s tree, which had been just a bud in Amalia’s hands during the fight, look like it grew up a bit underneath his parents’ tree shades.
Once the two walk up to the altar, they stand side by side and hold hands while facing the others who have come for them. We can see the Percedal family with Poo, Cleophee with Black Ink and Elaine, Dathura, Renate and Canar (Amalia’s two closest servants), Alibert with Grougal, Chibi, Adamaï, and Ruel. As well as Kerubim and Atcham (Joris doesn’t seem to be there though or maybe he’s just too short that we can’t see him 😭😭).
Not to mention that we can also see the elite eliatropes standing in the back and the sadidas too!
However, as soon as the two face the crowd together, Yugo decides to teleport him and Amalia away from the ceremony, causing the people to gasp at that sudden choice.
This was obviously not a planned decision that had been added to the occasion which is why even Amalia had been caught off guard by the act.
But once she takes a second to realize her surroundings, she knows she shouldn’t be afraid and so, she simply smiles back at Yugo knowing it’s just the two of them now, way up high in the skies.
They hold onto each other without the need to say anything, knowing full well that the other is just as happy to be together like this. To feel like for once, in a speck of a minute, there’s no danger to fight. There’s no big evil they need to defeat, no psychopath trying to eradicate the gods for vengeance, no big demon coming to have some fun, and no lost soul trying to live like in the old days.
They can finally enjoy the moment they’ve been waiting for so long, after so many challenges, unspoken words that needed to be said but couldn’t be told, and the many foes they faced.
For once, it’s just them up in the skies.
And that’s when they truly kiss without any regrets or doubts. They’re not thinking about anything else.
They can just think about themselves for now.
Here they are omg!! My babies are finally together!! 😩❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️❤️❤️❤️💖💖💖
Can you believe that? It’s been a lot more than six years that we’ve been waiting for this very moment and here they are finally married and happy to be with each other like this!! 😭😭
I actually DID NOT expect to see these two getting married in the last episode but I’m so glad I did cuz my heart literally jumped out of its place and made me choke on my soda (i chose pineapple flavor for some reason).
Now that we’ve got our feelings out of the way, it’s time we analyze this wedding scene much more closely.
At first glance, Yugo and Amalia’s wedding was very sweet and beautiful, something that was deserved for the two after being apart and filled with problems on their respective sides.
It’s so sweet in fact that it stands out from any other weddings we’ve seen in Wakfu (yes, even the attempted one with Count Harebourg and Amalia) but I’ll use Dally and Eva’s wedding as the main example.
Usually, when there’s a marriage in the World of Twelve, we’ve seen the white dresses and suits, and especially the glowing happy vibes that the wedding is giving. We’ve seen it with Dally and Eva’s wedding back in the OVAs.
Evangelyne was wearing a white dress while Dally was wearing a good suit that properly dressed him up completely. They had the Sadida ruler, King Oakheart, acting as the priest in charge of the wedding. They then exchanged their wedding rings and waited for the king to end the ceremony so they could seal it with a kiss.
That is what you call a proper wedding, a classic one to be more specific.
So when we compare their marriage with Yugo and Amalia’s, one can’t help but distinguish the differences in what happened during their ceremony.
And boy is it different.
First detail we can notice is the clothing. Amalia may be wearing the royal white cape but that is just what Armand wore. So the cape cannot count as classic clothing for the wedding because it is a common piece of clothing that the Sadida ruler(s) wear while on the job. It may not look very clear at first but if you zoom in on what Amalia is wearing, she seems to have put on the same usual clothing we see her wear at all times except that it now has the white color and the leaf is green, the color symbolizing how a new age came and the kingdom now has proper rulers.
We can technically say that Amalia’s choice of clothing for the wedding would be somewhat acceptable but since she has only changed the color of the same clothes she wears every day, we cannot count this as classic wedding attire.
As for Yugo, his clothes are much easier to declare that they are not fit to be worn for a proper wedding. He’s been wearing his hood and combat suit this whole time and even on this special day, he hasn’t taken them off.
It’s clear to say that these two did not respect the clothing rule for their own wedding.
Second detail we can notice are the rings. Usually, lovers often use wedding rings to symbolize their union as well as their commitment to one another. Dally and Eva perfectly demonstrated that rule by exchanging their rings with each other (despite how they’re actually brass knuckle rings but that still counts since that’s the iop way for ya lol).
Notice how neither Yugo nor Amalia has a ring for each other. Instead, they hold hands, symbolizing the union they have made between their people.
Third detail we can notice, there’s no priest. Unlike Dally and Eva who had the king for that, Yugo and Amalia did not choose anyone to begin the ceremony. They simply addressed their union by themselves.
Fourth detail we can notice is the audience. Compared to Dally and Eva’s wedding, the audience for Yugo and Amalia mainly consists of their friends and family. The others are the elite eliatropes and some sadidas.
Because of those stark differences, it’s clear to see that the ambiance in Yugo and Amalia’s wedding is far calmer and more private compared to Dally and Eva’s which is more public and much louder.
So now that we’ve got all the points that differentiate these two marriages, we’ve only got one question left:
Why are they different in the first place?
Dally and Eva are not royals and yet they seem to have filled all the boxes for having a perfect-looking wedding.
How did Yugo and Amalia, a god-king and a princess, manage to get a much simpler and calmer wedding compared to these two?
This wasn’t a coincidence. This wedding looks much smaller than what Dally and Eva had. According to Armand’s tree grave, which seemed to have grown up a bit, this suggests that Yugo and Amalia did have the time to prepare a bit more for their wedding but they simply chose not to.
In the special episodes, just right before Dally and Eva’s wedding had even been planned, Eva had specifically stated that no one bothers Dally for a week which implies that after that week of rest, these two must’ve gotten help from the sadidas to organize this whole event for them.
This means that Yugo and Amalia could’ve done the same thing and asked for something just as good, or better since they’re royals after all. But compared to Dally and Eva, they definitely had more time to ask since we know that trees don’t grow fast (I’m talking about Armand’s tree grave) and yet, it feels like they’ve just kept it simple.
But why?
My take on the matter is this:
Because Yugo and Amalia are not supposed to have a normal relationship. Therefore, everything they do usually strays away from anything remotely expected of them to have in a relationship.
For god’s sake, Yugo literally teleported him and Amalia AWAY FROM EVERYONE DURING WHAT SEEMED LIKE THE MIDDLE OF THE CEREMONY.
Their public wedding was specifically a political one. Which is why it would explain the lack of rings.
It was a happy political wedding however since Yugo and Amalia do harbor feelings for each other (suppressed feelings that they are now free to let out of course). But that’s when Yugo completely surprises Amalia, along with the others, when he brings her up in the skies, taking her away from everyone.
That sly dummy wanted her all to himself.
The wedding was so unconventional and they knew it. But they did not care. As long as they are together, they’ll be fine. After waiting for so long and finally having each other, properly planning their wedding doesn't seem as important anymore.
That’s why the ceremony was so different compared to the Percedals.
Note: Eva and Dally’s marriage was such a classic that Eva even had to wait for Dally to propose to her when she could’ve just been the one to initiate the first move. She even knew that Dally had been planning on asking for her hand and she deliberately waited. The only thing that isn’t considered classic in their marriage was getting children before the wedding lol
#wakfu#ankama#krosmoz#wakfu yugo#wakfu amalia sheran sharm#wakfu amalia#amalia sheran sharm#wakfu yumalia#yumalia#wakfu yugo x amalia#yugo x amalia#wakfu season 4#wakfu s4#wakfu analysis#wakfu analyses
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Hazbin Hotel episode 5 is a rushed mess.
May just make this a continual thing where I review the episodes from here on out.
-Right off the bat, the pacing for this episode is probably the worst out of all other episodes so far. Things just begin abruptly (Lucifer's first song with Al for instance), no build up, 5 months have passed in only 5 episodes of barely any progress or focus on Charlie as a character, a random character that didn't need to be introduced but was anyway ruined the flow further, and this stupid ass rivalry all on the basis of who's the "better dad" is legit the most random conflict of any conflict so far. That will get a point all on its own along with some of the other things mentioned. The pacing left no real breathing room aside from 2 moments: Al's rise to power and Husk n Al's convo. I wanna say the second song would be a 3rd but it just resolves an issue that was present for seemingly years and pulled a "Stolas" with having a song or sob story as an excuse for the lack of effort to reach out and be a better dad. Lazy writing and pacing overall.
-5 months....5 months have passed with barely anything revolving around helping sinners or trust built around the main cast SHOWN ON SCREEN. We are told important information opposed to witnessing the progress itself. This is not only lazy but extremely jarring cause it feels as though episodes were skipped and bonds feel unearned. They get easily resolved in what feels like seconds, and we're just supposed to....deal with it. Angel and Husk barely interact throughout this episode, which, after the crazy ride they had, with the knowledge of a SEVERAL MONTHS passing by as well, you'd think Angel would be shown to be more chatty with him....which he doesn't. Nothing crazy, just small bits of them interacting and enjoying each other's company. Nah. We get that next episode, and even THAT'S lacking. I'll tackle that in a separate post. But yeah, 5 months, and we have yet to see the other guests' views and how it has changed for the better or the process of them realizing WHY they would go for redemption. How that has affected them. Nothing of note has come about from any of these. No other sinners have joined. No other demons seem interested in Charlie's Hotel. Nothing. We are told things have been done, yet it feels like we are still at the starting line, or well, a foot away from it and miles away from the finish.
- Lucifer is a joke. I don't mind me a goofy threat, it adds a charm to them but also shows that they take so little seriously due to their immense power....not Lucifer. No, that guy just....is a joke. Dude is in his mansion making fucking toy ducks for some reason and just has depression (show said it outright, not even depression is spared from "tell don't show")
He does literally nothing, doesn't seem to WANT to do anything, and no one respects the guy. Nearly all in the Hotel lack fear, intimidation, or admiration for the guy (Pentious is the only one who seems to exhibit admiration of some kind). The closest we got is being uncomfortable. That's it. Then there's his scuffle with Alastor. Tell me why he feels the need to argue with this sucka again? Cause last I checked, Alastor is a mere overlord, and Lucifer is The Devil. Wtf is this randomass rivalry that just...S T A R T S? Why does Lucifer get intimidated or moved by Al? It makes no sense. Lucifer has been alive far longer than humanity itself, but nah this random fuck who looks like he robbed a blood bank got him weeping insecurities? I'm supposed to take this sad excuse of a character seriously? How many of these carbon copy characters will Viv make until I finally end my suffering???
-Wtf is Alastor's deal? Why is he so pressed and annoyed? One moment he is as cool and collected as a cucumber and showing only SLIGHT annoyance (Vox and His song), then he goes to meetings and speaks with people far older, far more experienced, and/or far stronger than he show no interest and he gets pissy? How insecure is he that people not caring where he's gone or thinking his ideas are wack is what leads to his eye twitching and him throwing a random ass cuss. Seriously, THAT'S what got him to swear? That his idea for the hotel's name is stupid? BFFR! You can not be serious right now, THAT'S what gets him going? You'd think with how witty and chill he was in the pilot, he would find a quick and a effective smart-ass comeback, not essentially bitch at The Devil. This makes Alastor look like a thin-skinned wannabe, too cause these minor ass comebacks are why he has lost his edge along with some randomass song number?? And at the end of the day, Al just couldn't be damned anymore to even care by the end of the episode, he doesn't speak with Lucifer or give any stank looks, doesn't speak with Charlie, does NOTHING pertaining to the issues prior, nah, he just stands there and watches after telling Mimzy to go away. Some say he did this to simply piss Lucifer off, but that doesn't make sense (not saying it ain't true, just saying if it is, it's nonsensical). First off, if that were the case, why was he annoyed even BEFORE seeing the guy?
If he only wanted to get a rise, why is HE getting angry? Trolls usually don't care enough to be this pissed. Second, wtf would he even gain from doing this? What to help push Lucifer to be a better father to Charlie, request by Lilith to Al so that Lucifer can get his act together?? If so, that's the LAZIEST shit I have ever heard. Lucifer is such a joke, he needed a SINNER to get him back on track....
Regardless, this whole father shit by Al comes out of nowhere and ruins the goddamn flow of the episode. Prior to it all, Al has shown NO interest in anyone and has done jack shit. Wtf does he even do? He's done ONE thing so far and that was help for the commercial. Alastor has shown to be completely useless as of now.
-Charlie, why is she treated as tho she isn't a grown ass woman? She's babied to hell and back and despite being the daughter of Lucifer, hasn't shown any of her abilities to help the hotel. So Lucifer can summon shit but not her? Is she that useless? Also, gotta love how she never asks her dad about the Valentino situation to help Angel out. Man...what a great ass friend. She also doesn't find it weird that Al is just suddenly...babying her? She has zero awareness of everything, I guess, which is getting annoying now. You're over 200 years of age (went to high school in the 1800s according to what her comic was about, but guess that's retconned based on what happens in the following episode).
So she doesn't use her abilities to tidy up the place, she doesn't act her damn age, she doesn't do anything to help her sexually assaulted friend. What a damn joke, just like her dad.
-Mimzy shouldn't have been in an episode about Lucifer. Plain and simple. Her character should have been introduced in one of the earlier episodes. Not during fucking this. And we got a repeat of the pilot with Alastor's backstory retold. So they're down to retell his rise to power but not to make at least a proper recap of the events that happened prior? Key word....PROPER.
-Husk caring about Mimzy bringing trouble is actually fucking stupid. Because of the lack of proper build up to him now finding more reason to like the Hotel, it feels forced that he would be worried about what danger Mimzy brought. And on top of that, yeah...ALASTOR IS RIGHT THERE. You know who else is there? LUCIFER. I get it, Lucifer stood by and watched as the Hotel was being swatted, but he also sang a song about providing what Charlie asked for, meaning if she had asked her dad, he woukd be down to help, so WHY TF IS HE WORRIED???? Also , is Charlie just INCAPABLE of fighting for herself?? "She doesn'twanna hurt sinners-" so she had no defensive abilities??? What???? Also, that's a damn lie, she fought Katie Killjoy on live Tv. Are no other damn people capable of protecting the Hotel??? Why did Al need to step in for that? They were just LOAN SHARKS.
Anyway, the scene where Husk is probing Alastor about Mimzy and treating him as a pet is decently paced and the tone was pretty neat, sucks that this feels like their way of showing that Husk is also under a leash like Angel rather than him being treated as a joke, which btw...horrid way to compare the two. Wanna know why? One is subjected to an onslaught of sexual assault whether he was pushing Val's buttons or not, and forced to be assaulted by various men around him, passed around like a thing. The other is Husk, who legit disrespected Alastor and had to push at him to get such humiliation and terror, and guess what....Al still ended up pushing Mimzy away after she did end up bringing trouble, so he did essentially listen to Husk in his own distant way. This is the ONLY TIME we see Al be downright mean to Husk and probably the only time. Angel has been subjected to nothing but horrid assault after assault no matter the situation. So I better not see anyone say, "SEE LOOK, THEY'RE BOTH ABUSED" stfu. Nothing about their situations are even remotely similar. Just cause the chains are the same doesn't mean the users are. EDIT: Ima say this before people act like I excuse this. No, I am not excusing Alastor's actions. I am pointing out what happened on screen. Husk mocked Alastor, Alastor retaliated out of anger(much like how Angel retaliated at Husk in ep 4 after Husk kept arguing and mocking him) by pulling out the chains to shut him up. He didn't even hit Husk. Again, I'm not excusing it, just pointing out how vastly different Husk and Angel's situations are and how one overlord reacts compared to the other....who is a straight-up rapist.
-Both the songs are mid/ok but pulled down by the awful storytelling....shame. I at first was not fond of Lucifer's voice.....it's ok now, I guess. Idk. I'm still not really feeling it, though.
Episode sucked ass
Pacing was all over the place
ALASTOR AND LUCIFER ARE PISS BABIES
#hazbin hotel criticism#hazbin hotel critical#hazbin critical#hazbin critique#Hazbin Hotel episode 5#vivziepop critical#vivziepop criticism
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My Clever Girl
Word count: 1.3k
Genre: Fluff.
Pairing: Kang Taehyun x reader
Summary: You're smart and pretty, and you just got your masters degree. (ft. TXT and BTS)
Warnings / Contains: Language; suggestive.
A/N: very self indulgent lmao <3
They say a girl can't have both brains and beauty; that you can only choose one. From a young age, you were determined to prove the world wrong. And that's exactly what you did.
Sitting at your desk, working your dream job, you open your newly received email. Your heart jumps at the subject: Examination Results.
You had worked so so hard for this. Endless days and nights spent poring over textbooks and screens and notebooks. Sleepless nights and early mornings. Sacrifices and postponements, going so far as to even reduce the time spent with your incredibly loving and supportive boyfriend, Kang Taehyun. All for this - your Masters degree.
As you hover your cursor over the email, you remember Taehyun's life motto: "Hard work will never betray you." He would always tell you that whenever you felt overwhelmed, and it always worked. Not for the last time does it work now too as you click open the email.
A scream erupts from the room, causing your coworkers to jump and find the source. Aka: you.
"Y/n, what the hell? Are you okay?!"
You look at your now assembled coworkers with tears in your eyes.
"...I GOT MY MASTERS!!" you squeak jumping up and down.
"Shut the fuck up!!"
You're so grateful to have such wonderful, supportive coworkers and your heart swells as the 4 assembled in the room engulf you into an excited group hug, everyone bouncing up and down and narrowly avoiding treading on each other's toes.
"What's happening here?" your boss walks in, an amused expression on his face.
"Y/n got her Masters!!!" says the coworker closest to you.
Your boss laughs and claps his hands. "Congratulations, Y/n! We knew you could do it!" he says, giving you a hug.
You bow down to everyone, thanking them profusely with sparkles in your eyes....and some tears.
"You've worked hard enough," says your boss. "Take the rest of the day off. We'll be sure to celebrate you tomorrow with a work dinner, how does that sound everyone?" He flashes a wholesome smile.
God, you're so blessed to be surrounded by such amazing people.
Everyone cheers at the thought of celebrating, and you hug everyone goodbye as you practically skip out of the building.
In the car, you pull out your phone and dial Taehyun. He's currently at dance practice, so you doubt he'll answer but you try anyway.
"Y/n? Hey. Everything okay?" Taehyun asks softly.
Somehow, you smile even wider at your boyfriend's voice.
"Hi, baby! Yeah, everything is great! I actually have something to tell you...I got off work early so I was hoping I can come around now? I'll wait 'til you guys finish practice, don't worry. Then maybe we can grab lunch?"
You can practically hear the smile in Taehyun's voice. "Yeah, of course, baby. The guys have been asking when they'll see you next. You don't have to wait by the way...do you want to come watch us?"
"I'd love to! And tell the guys I miss them. Especially my Gyu-bear! I'll see you guys soon."
Taehyun laughs and you just know he's rolling his eyes at the affectionate nickname you've given Beomgyu.
"Yeah, yeah. Drive safe. I love you. And I'm not telling Beomgyu hyung that," he teases.
"Don't worry, I'll do it for you," you laugh. "I love you."
You put the car into drive and make your way over.
*
As you walk into the practice room, you're taken by surprise. Not just because your boyfriend and his members are sitting on the floor talking instead of dancing, but because BTS themselves are amongst them. This would have freaked you out, except for the fact that you met them once. It was fun...and surprisingly natural. As shy as you were, they were so normal and humble and funny that you immediately fell in with them. All heads turned to you as they heard the door open. Not used to this amount of attention on you, your face burns as you softly say hi.
"Sorry, am I interrupting something?" You look at Namjoon and then to your boyfriend. "I didn't know you guys would be here, I'm so sorry."
They chuckle at that and J-Hope is the one to answer.
"Don't worry about it! It's okay. We came in by surprise." He laughs after glancing at the txt members and their red ears.
"Come join us. Y/n, right? It's good to see you again," says Jimin.
You smile and walk towards them. Taehyun stands up and gives you a quick hug, feeling more shy than usual what with his seniors around. He still holds your fingers though as you find a seat.
A bunch of how-are-yous are exchanged and you all quickly fall into conversation. It's funny and natural and you appreciate the way they include you in their discussions, even if it's about idol life. The members of BTS catch up with you since the last time you met, and you update them on your life, seeing as how they're genuinely interested in it.
"She's been studying really hard lately, so we haven't seen her much," Yeonjun pouts.
"Oh? What are you studying?" V asks.
"Same field, I'm just going for my Masters."
"Smart and pretty," says Jungkook quietly as the rest laugh. You blush and look away.
"You can't make another man's girl blush like that, Kook!" Jin shouts playfully.
You cover your face and shake your head, laughing. "No no, it's not that. It's just....I'm a big fan of Jungkook....he's sort of....my bias....so I'm really nervous right now," you admit, slightly embarrassed but finding humour in this.
Various screams erupt inside the room. Jungkook's ears go red and the members manhandle him playfully.
"I thought it was me!" says V, acting offended.
"We should have taken that bet," Suga laughs.
"There was a bet?" Taehyun asks, already knowing about your innocent crush on your BTS bias.
"After we first met her," Namjoon explains, "we were trying to figure out whether she was an army or not and who her bias would be. Most of us thought V. Except Jin hyung, he thought himself."
Everyone laughs even more at that. You don't know what's redder - your face or Jungkook's ears.
The laughter and teasing eventually subsides and Taehyun asks, "You're getting your results soon, right jagi?"
You giggle at the timing. "About that...." you say.
His big brown boba eyes widen just a little at the insinuation. "You got it?! When?!"
"What'd you get?!" Hyuka shouts.
Yeonjun and Soobin stand up, knowing how hard you've been working for this. Even the members of BTS look invested.
You laugh and say to Taehyun, "I was going to tell you over lunch but...I got my results this morning and.......I've officially earned my Masters!" you say with the widest smile.
Once again, screams erupt from the room. You feel sorry for everyone else in the building. Everything happens in a blur. Taehyun picks you up and spins you around, placing you down and kissing you deeply despite his seniors presence. This causes a bunch of "woo"s and "eww"s and before you can even register, Beomgyu picks you up and for some reason runs across the room and back while shouting, making everyone laugh. Your face turns red for the nth time that day. You get congratulated by everyone and do a lot of bowing and hand shaking and hugging.
"At least someone is good in school," jokes Suga. "Good job."
Things eventually calm down and you find yourself more comfortable and more integrated with these idols than ever expected. Conversations continue until eventually the idol life must go on. Taking this as your cue to leave, you bid a sweet goodbye to everyone and hold Taehyun's hand as he walks you to the door. Just as you're about to say goodbye, he hugs you.
"I'm really proud of you, baby. You know that? My clever girl."
You blush and he plants a kiss on your cheek. Before he can pull back, he whispers in your ear, "When I come home, I'm going to show you what a good girl you've been, mmh? My jagiya..."
You unconsciously bite your lip and dip your head so nobody sees your expression. "Okay."
You turn to leave, but not before hearing the boys comment on your flustered expression and Taehyun's suspiciously reddening ears.
#txt x reader#kang taehyun#kang taehyun x reader#txt fluff#txt smut#kang taehyun fluff#kang taehyun smut
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In short, I thought about it most of the night and made some notes on my phone.
I'm still translating part 3, but while I'm on vacation and have enough free time, I want to write headcannons.
specifically the jealous Leon. He is almost forty and his girlfriend is just over twenty. Don't get me wrong. I share moderate jealousy and excessive jealousy. For me, these are different things, so "WARNING! if you don't like reading this, just skip this post.
You have an absolutely healthy relationship (as far as possible with Leon's psyche). You don't give him any reason to doubt your loyalty to him.
He considers himself too "old" for all these hangouts, preferring to spend time in peace and stability after a long mission, but you are a young girl who wants to have fun with friends from time to time (among which there are guys).
Leon has nothing against your entertainment and does not interfere with communication with others. Although, some selfish part of him wants you to spend more time with him, but he won't talk about it out loud.
Of course, he understands that others may like you too. You see, Leon still doesn't understand what you saw in him when you could date someone of your peers. It all started as a silly joke, and then you both wanted more from communicating with each other. And it's not just about sex.
You took care of Leon when you stayed at his place overnight, and in the morning you made breakfast with coffee, asking if you brewed it too hard. And while Leon is having breakfast, you always kiss him on the back of the head. Something that Ada or anyone else has never done.
After that, the cute attentions from you mean too much to Leon. He is a bit old-fashioned and will probably ask for official consent if you want to be in a relationship with him, despite his frequent absence and age difference.
“Do I need to sign some kind of agreement? Like, yes, I agree on all points to become your girlfriend? Signature and today's date?“ - You laugh with Leon, adjusting the shirt you stole from him in the morning when he says that he does not have such a paper and an oral agreement will be enough.
Leon will in no way publicly cover his personal life because of his work. Putting you in potential danger is not what he wants at all. Yes, he is happy to spend time with you, but if someone asks him about your relationship, he will say that there is nothing serious about it. Just a girl who agreed to spend the night with him. And only the closest (and there are almost no such people at all, so the circle narrows down to Claire, Helena and, perhaps, then Hannigan) will know about his real attitude towards you.
He also likes to take care of you. In general, he will gladly take a shower with you, soaping his head with shampoo after which he makes funny hairstyles so that he can laugh with you about it later.
He takes care of you if you have a painful period / you have a cold / just not in the mood. To show reciprocal care for a partner is a joy to him.
He won't show any signs of jealousy until you tell him that the main character of the movie/series is too gorgeous and you wouldn't mind marrying him.
Of course it's a joke. He understands it himself, but it hurt him unpleasantly.
It will never go to the point of absurdity. It's just that Leon doesn't quite like it when he accidentally sees you in correspondence with a friend discussing some cute actor/model/singer or other public personality admiring his beauty and charisma.
"Come on, he's not that good!" - in the end, he can't stand it when he's already in bed with you.
“Who?" - You ask innocently, stupidly blinking your eyes and looking straight at Leon.
“That guy from the movie. You can't do this trick in real life, it's a fucking special effect. And anyway, you don't like him, but the one he plays. I doubt he's ever held a real gun in his life.”
After that, Leon will lie down on the other side, leaving you completely perplexed.
It's stupid to be jealous of the handsome guy from the movie, he knows it himself. He just thinks that his age can still become an obstacle to your relationship, especially when he is often not at home and he is so much attached to you.
However, if some brat decides to start flirting with you thinking that "a lonely young girl needs company" Leon will immediately appear out of nowhere grabbing you by the waist and taking you with him.
At the same time, he will send a scathing look to the man.
Sometimes Leon can be very sarcastic towards you, but then he himself will feel guilty for it.
I think the longer he is in a stable relationship, the stronger his love for his partner becomes, and he doesn't care how much younger you are!
He loves you, and the thought that you might leave him for someone else bothers him. Therefore, sometimes Leon takes flirting with guys with hostility.
He is not one of those who will make a scandal out of the blue, but most likely will hold an explanatory conversation with you at home.
He just wants to make sure that your relationship with him is not a fun game for you.
Maybe he just took a friendly conversation like that, but you don't consider a conversation with a friend to be flirting.
It will be done professionally and unnoticeably (until morning), but Leon will leave you noticeable marks. How were you supposed to know that a sweet kiss on your neck would turn into a hickey?
Pretty hard to hide if it's summer or spring outside.
But Leon doesn't regret judging by his smug grin.
You're his woman. Of course you have complete freedom of action, but that asshole will know that you have someone and there is nothing to bother with an invitation to a date.
#leon kennedy#leon x reader#leon s kennedy#leon scott kennedy#Leon#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon s kennedy x reader#resident evil x reader#re#resident evil headcanons#headcanon#leon kennedy headcanons#reader
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people do not understand how hard it was on the women in the camp and why they act the way they do and I’m tired of them getting hated on
Sadie Adler is allowed to be upset. she lost her husband, her home, everything, and has to adapt to the life of an outlaw all while still grieving and healing. she also has to share the same living space with the man who burned her house down to the ground and threatened to kill her. and even aside from Micah, she still isn’t treated all that fairly, being expected to do the more feminine chores around camp instead of being able to go out and hunt and rob. and she’s taken into the gang while it’s deteriorating so things just continue to go downhill and she loses one of the few friends she had made along the way at the very end.
Abigail Marston is allowed to be upset. she was a working girl at a very young age and was taken into a gang where her only real purpose at the time was to satisfy some of their sexual needs. and then she gets pregnant with Jack and her entire situation becomes more permanent. but then the father of her son ran away for a year and she was still surrounded by people who thought highly of him, she still had to do some sort of work either inside or out of camp, and I really think Susan was the only woman in camp who would know anything about pregnancy even if she had never been pregnant so the birth of Jack (and probably most of the pregnancy) was probably overlooked by most of the men excluding the ones like Hosea, Arthur, and Dutch. and then for John to return and claim that Jack isn’t his can only lead for her to have more emotional turmoil. and she couldn’t just leave the gang, she had nowhere to run to, a son to take care of, no job, and also a very limited amount of freedom. the gang moved a lot, the gang got into trouble a lot, there was always the fear that something would go horribly wrong and they’d loose a handful of people or that the law would finally show up. or that something would somehow happen to her son. we can see in the game how protective she is over him and how she’s still trying to get John to believe he’s his son. there’s also one interaction in the game where we hear Susan saying she should get back into the field of prostitution just to get some more money. one of the characters we see her closest to is Hosea, he’s a friend to her and had been the one to step up as a role-model for Jack and has spent more time with him in a day than John has in a month, so in chapter three when Hosea dies, it doesn’t get any easier for Abigail. AND HER SON LITERALLY GETS FUCKING KIDNAPPED???? she didn’t know if she’d ever even see her son again, and she does not owe John any kind of ‘thank you’ for rescuing their son. and we see the game where the gang is falling apart, characters die, people are tense and anxious, money is seemingly short no matter how much you donate, and her and her son are in what seems to be a situation they can’t escape from. I do not know every single thing she’s been through and have probably skipped over some details, but Abigail has not had the best experience in the gang.
Molly O’Shea is allowed to be upset. I already talked about her some here, but some people (@river-of-wine , @sweetybees , @dazednstoned) added things in the tags. Molly is promised a life of excitement and adventure from before the beginning of the game by Dutch, he isolates her early on so he’s really the only person she has a connection with in the gang, making her dependent on him. people in the gang and in REAL LIFE TOO are more often than not on Dutch’s side when it comes to Molly. as soon as we start chapter three Dutch becomes bored of her, already seeking out some other woman inside or out of the gang to rope into his life and his gang. so as literally any normal woman would feel, she is upset. she has no support group in the gang because of her isolation early on and the fact that most of the other women in the gang don’t care for her because she never had to do the work that they had to because Dutch made sure she would t have to. she has pent up emotions that lead to “outbursts” which only annoys the other gang members and causes her to isolate herself even more. Molly was a victim. she was not a bitch, she was not asking for too much, she was not undermining the situation, she just wanted Dutch to do the bare minimum for her.
being a woman in a gang in a world run by men was not easy. there are hundreds of other women in fiction and real life that have lived through these experiences, and the women in the VdL gang have it better than most cases, but they still don’t have it good. and this isn’t even to mention about how the world outside of the gang treated women (especially prostitutes and immigrants) at the time. a majority of the women in the VdL gang didn’t come to a good end, Abigail suffered throughout the gang, Molly and Annabelle got shot because of Dutch, Susan was Dutch’s ex and definitely suffered from his manipulation, I don’t really know about Bessie because she died of an illness and Hosea most likely treated her amazingly but she probably also went through some ordeals. the only women of the gang who really got out of the gang safe were Tilly and Mary-Beth.
Mary Linton is another thing, she does not deserve hate for leaving Arthur to live a better life, she did the smart thing by not marrying and running away with him because who knows what could’ve happened to her. I do not appreciate how she used Arthur’s emotions against him in the game and think that that is why she is a bit of a bad person, but she lived a better life than she ever would have if she was an official member of the gang. she got out before she was ever even in.
I can’t stop you from not liking characters, I’m not the biggest fan of Sadie but I can understand the hardships that all of these women went through.
#rdr2#abigail roberts#abigail marston#molly o’shea#sadie adler#woah#this is really long#anyways feeling analytical or something idk
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heyy so hear me out obsessed ghostface Sam...
But I Love You!
Words: 2.1k
Pairing: Ghostface!Samantha Carpenter x Fem!Reader
Synopsis: Sam would do everything in her power to make sure that you remain hers no matter who she has to stab in the way.
Warnings: (18+), killing, violence, manipulation, cussing, suggestive themes, unhinged Sam(?), confusing ending, not proofread (i had a long day and i'm tired). lmk if I missed any.
The italics in the first few scenes with reader & sam are Sam's inner dialogue/thoughts. This doesn't follow the scream timeline. Here, Sam never left Woodsboro, Tara's still in school, and Sam became Ghostface.
not my gif. || masterlist || previous work
—
It started with an attraction or in simpler terms, a crush - the foundation of all things relationship related.
You turned up to her workplace by chance, caught up in the middle of the storm. It was common sense to stop driving and find a secure place to stay for the meantime. The diner Sam worked at was the closest. That’s how you found yourself acting as the cloud that would pour water on a certain place. Your day had been terrible. You were late to work, customers were more irate today than the previous days, and you forgot to bring your umbrella before leaving. Clothes soaking wet and droplets of water pouring on the floor, Sam was bound to notice you.
At first, her blood boiled. After all, she’d have to be the one to clean up this mess. But when she took a glance at you, her heart skipped a beat. The makeup on your face was smudged, your hair a tangled mess, but damn, “You look beautiful.” Sam whispered.
Your head snapped up, noticing someone else’s presence in the room for the first time. “What?”
“I said, ‘how can I help you?’” Sam silently cursed herself for slipping up.
You don’t notice the lie. “I’m looking for a place to stay for an hour or so. Just until the rain calms down. And maybe food?” The woman has an unreadable expression on her face. “Don’t worry, I have money, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
The woman smiles kindly, “Oh, I wasn’t thinking that.”
“Oh? What were you thinking, then?”
“That you might need a change of clothes.” Sam gestures to your outfit.
“You’re probably right.” You say, “Sadly, I don’t have anything else to change into.”
Sam bites her lip, weighing out her options. “We have a spare uniform in the back.” She relents.
“That’s kind of you, but wouldn’t your boss be mad?”
Ugh. Roger.
“Don’t worry, I’ll deal with him. The only thing you should focus on right now is making sure you don’t get sick.” Sam walks to the room that says ‘staff only’ and comes back less than a minute later to hand you the clothes. “Here. You can change to the bathroom over there.” She points to the lavatory.
“Thank you so much. You’re an angel.” You say, taking your time to go to the bathroom to avoid slipping.
Once Sam hears the door close, she looks to your car parked outside. She can’t let you leave. Not yet.
She grabs her umbrella hidden under the counter and makes her way outside, making sure the bathroom door is still closed before popping the hood of the car open, removing the rotor piece. “Nice and easy.” Sam mumbles, pocketing the piece. She rushes back in the diner, hoping to be there before you can question her whereabouts.
You exit the lavatory wearing the uniform given to you by the kind stranger.
It fits her perfectly. “All good?” Sam asks, handing you a towel.
“Yes, yes. I can’t thank you enough. Not many people would go out of their way to help a stranger.” You shiver, putting the towel around you like a cloak.
“I’m just doing my job, ma’am.”
“Please. Call me Y/n.”
“You have a pretty name.” She says.
“Not as pretty as yours. . . Samantha.” You squint your eyes to read the name on the tag of her blouse.
Sam’s brows furrow, “How did you know my name?”
“It’s on your tag.” You point out.
Sam laughs, like, really laughs. The laugh-at-your-crush’s-jokes-even-if-you-don’t-find-it-funny kind of laugh. What is happening? “Fuck. Sorry. I’m not used to pretty girls complimenting me.”
“Somehow, I find that hard to believe.” You take a seat at one of the stools near the counter, smirking, “You must have dozens of women and/or men lining up at your door. With that face and kind heart, anyone could swoon.”
“Nope. Trust me. There’s no one.”
“More chances for me.” You do a fist bump in the air, not caring how stupid you looked. “Yes!”
You see Sam’s eyes widen as she tries to look away.
She’ll be the death of me.
-
As predicted, your car wouldn’t start. Sam gladly offered you a ride to your apartment, where she then asked for your number. You had no hesitation and gave it, thinking her intentions were pure. And they were.
Mostly.
-
That was eleven months ago.
You and Sam are together now and the crush bloomed into something more.
She was the perfect girlfriend. Good-hearted, gentle, caring. You thought you had hit the jackpot until the cracks in your relationship began to show themselves.
At first, it was the little things you noticed whenever you were together in public. Sam always had an arm around you. It didn’t matter if it was your waist or your shoulders or locking your arms together. She wanted to make sure the world knew that you were hers, which was fine. She wasn’t ashamed of you. Though, whenever someone looks at you too long or if they flirt with you despite Sam being there, her grip on your body tightens a little, but not too much to the point where it hurts.
The more time you spent with Sam, the more your friends started to get worried. It’s not healthy, they said. She’s keeping you from seeing us!, they argued. As soon as you shared their worries to Sam, she took effort in dispelling your doubts, telling you that your friends were envious of what you have and that it was normal to spend more time with your girlfriend than your friends, added by reassurance that there was nothing to worry about.
You chalked it off as Sam trying to look out for you.
After all, she is your girlfriend.
Then, there was that moment at a party.
It was a gathering for work. A room full of rich snobs and picture perfect careers. You couldn’t stand it, but your attendance was required. The only upside was that the company allowed you to bring a plus one. Naturally, you asked Sam and she said yes.
Even though you were elated that she agreed to go with you, you didn’t consider the possibility of not being able to talk to her much throughout the night because of strangers chatting you up. Some of them had the intention of asking you out. Though, upon seeing Sam’s deathly stare, they backed off. All but one.
The guy, Michael (tall, brunette, green eyes), would not stop leering at you with a mischievous grin. You felt sick to your stomach, uncomfortable by the way he looked at you, but not being able to do anything about it since he wasn’t actively trying to pursue you. Still, it disgusted you.
Sam’s hold on your waist remains, her jaw clenching, a clear sign that she was getting antsy. “Can we leave?”
You nod, “Yes. They’ve all seen me already, I think. We can finally go.” Despite the looks given to you by Michael, you tried your best to not let it dampen your mood, smiling at your girlfriend.
“Good. Come on.” Sam says, leading you to her car without so much as a smile.
“Hey, Sam, are you okay?” You make her look at you, holding her face in your hand.
Her gaze softens, “Yes, I am. Don’t worry about me. Are you okay?”
“Other than the way his eyes made me feel, I’m fine. I’ll probably forget about it when we watch a movie when we arrive back home.” You assure.
“Who says we’re watching a movie?” Sam’s lips quirk upwards, hands wrapping around your waist as she pulls you to her while your arms move to her shoulders.
“Well, what do you have in mind, Miss Carpenter?”
She gives you a peck on the lips. “It’s better if I show you.”
You ran inside the car in a hurry to get back to your apartment and let Sam do the things she wants to you, the awful looks by Michael replaced by the desire pooling in you when your lover teasingly runs a hand between your thighs.
Again, it was fine. Everything was as it should be. Perfect.
But what came after? Not so much.
-
After you fell asleep, Sam carefully shuffled out of bed. She grabbed her dark cloak and Ghostface mask from the closet, running her fingers over the outlines of the eyes, sighing in relief. It felt good to pick up the mask again. Lately, she hasn’t been going out in the streets as much, having you to thank for that. As luck would have it, you gave her a mission (although inadvertently) at the same time the urge to kill became intolerable.
The job was easily done. Sam found Michael still at the party, waiting for the right moment. Michael went out the house, going for the alley since the bathroom was occupied. That’s when Sam made her move. Michael did not fight back, the alcohol in his veins dampening his ability to form coherent thoughts (assuming that he is better sober than he is drunk). Behind her mask, Sam was bursting with glee. Oh, how she missed it. There was nothing to compare to the feeling of excitement as you witness someone bleed out before you and the satisfaction that comes with it -- well, maybe nothing except you, her girl.
Sam opens the door to her room, anticipating your body still on the bed, sound asleep, but to her shock, you’re situated on the couch, both eyes on the bloodied mask in her hands.
“Sam, why is there blood on that?” Deep down, you knew the answer. You want to hear the confirmation first before you do anything that could potentially put your life in danger.
“I-it’s paint, baby. Tara’s got an art project for school. I-”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. I’m not five. I know blood when I see it! That is blood!” You point out, frustrated. “And what kind of excuse is an art project?! My neighbor’s cat could make a better excuse.”
“Baby,” Sam’s tone is dangerously low as she stalks closer towards you. “I did it for for you -- for us. The way he was looking at you… I didn’t like it one bit, so I removed his eyes.”
You get up from your seat, going to the farthest corner in the room away from Sam. She does a gesture to signal that she’ll go towards you and you put a hand up in warning. “Stay the fuck away from me! You’re mad!”
“Oh, please. Don’t we all go a little mad sometimes?” She retorted, ignoring your protests.
You flinch from her touch when she touches the side of your face with crimson colored hands. “You’re sick, Sam. I’m calling the cops.”
“But I love you!” Sam yells, her voice breaking at the end. “Can’t you see? I did it for you.”
“You keep saying that, but do you really mean it? ‘Cause if you did this for me, you wouldn’t have done it in the first place.” You spat, punching her abdomen, followed by a kick to the stomach.
Sam doubles over, giving you an opportunity to run, to call the cops, to do something. “Honey, please. Let’s talk about this! I’m sorry, okay? You know how much I love you. Please stop this. You’re hurting me.”
“I am?” You question in dubiety. Sam is clutching her stomach, tears pouring like a water fountain. That’s the moment it hits you. “I am.” Letting your guard down, you run to Sam, clinging to her like a lifeline, your last chance. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
She shushes you, “Hey, it’s okay, I know.” You close your eyes shut as she presses a kiss to your temple. “I love you so much.”
You let her pull you in an embrace, holding your body tightly. How you love her so. You bury your face in the crook of her neck, saying those three words back. She did what was best for the both of you. Nothing can harm you ever again so long as you stay by her side.
“My perfect girl.” Sam whispers. “Do you trust me?”
There was no getting out of this. You’re in it for the long run now. “Trust is a tough thing to come by these days.” You sport a grin against her neck that vanishes quickly, for you don’t want Sam to recognize it. She thinks she has you wrapped around her finger, but she doesn’t know the truth of it. It may be like a game for her, but not for you.
It’s not game over.
Not yet.
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