#though i guess if this is anything someone else has probably said it better. oh well
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i think there might be something to be said about how arguably the three men who started the dance are all second sons. doomed to live in your older brother’s shadow forever so you devote yourself to him and make your own name through violence
#house of the dragon#hotd#otto hightower#daemon targeryan#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#otto might not be devoted to garmund per se but he is devoted to the family and if the lord is the embodiment of the family it fits#and making your name through violence like daemon with the gold cloaks and his war in the stepstones to the point of becoming the king there#aemond with his knightly training and his love for the deadly art but no love for the pageantry of it and spurning gallantry#and otto in marrying off his child daughter to the king he is of age with in the name of self-promotion and the family name#alas luke was too normal by way of having his own title so he had to die#and larys is both the same and a foil because he makes his name through violence - torture - but kills his family#but i suppose if the harrenhal curse can’t get you the normal way the cannibalism of your own line is as good a way as any#larys strong#also i’m not saying that ali and rhaenyra had no hand in it cuz like. it’s the princess and the queen bits in the name#though i guess if this is anything someone else has probably said it better. oh well
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Scatterbrain
Word count: 18k+
They say it takes a village to raise a child.
To raise a girl as fine as Jang Wonyoung, you’d probably need 3 whole villages.
Two of those three villages would be used to train the way she walks because it’s perfect: classy, poised, elegant. The other one would have to work on her outfits because god would she need those. Hopefully the village doesn’t operate a Shein style manufacturing line. She’d hate that.
Her face is the definition of “striking the gene pool lottery”, and so is the rest of her body. Lanky arms and legs; toned, slim tummy; big, bright eyes that glimmer under the flashing lights. Personally, you like her “you’re on camera” smile the most. She knows this, and she always makes it a point to shoot it your way as she struts towards you. She stops half way to get a flute of Champagne, make that two actually, then grabs another. Those long legs can cover one hell of a distance, and they bring her right to you in a matter of seconds.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she hands you the Champagne flute in her left hand, and the rings on it shine in the light, “cause it’s starting to feel like you’re just stalking me now.”
Of course, it’s the snarky remarks that open the conversation. Jang Wonyoung, airheaded as ever m’lady, and you sip on the Bubbly that she’s very nicely delivered to you. Wonyoung is, of course, a little bit of an airhead in your books (only because she believes that you’re always there for her, nothing else), and it’s never not hilarious to watch her draw her lips into a thin line. It’s not the first time she’s hearing this from you; it certainly won’t be the last. You can’t control where you’re posted to, but you know for a fact that you’ll see her again a couple months down the road.
Cause your meetings with Jang Wonyoung are through pure serendipity really, and you certainly will start calling it that after you read that one story. You know: the one where this guy cheats on his idol girlfriend, who he has a tense relationship with, with another idol that he happens to meet just about everywhere. There’s 0 communication between the two of you when these types of events come around, and neither of you know if either of you will be there or not. Actually, it’s just you really; neither of you know if you will be there.
“Here for Kwon Eunbi again? Or are you finding someone else?” This question of her’s is customary at this point. Never once has it been perfunctory.
“Well, I was actually here to try and catch an interview with Jo Yuri, but I guess you’ll do,” you reply. Wonyoung scoffs—so I’m second place then?—and you have to assuage her oh-so-damaged ego, “you’re making this inference on your own Princess. I never said anything remotely close to that.”
And it’s that smile on her face that makes you want to kiss her really. It’s gorgeous, it’s cute, it’s beautiful. She’s given you that damned smile so many times that you could probably draw it from memory, though you’d definitely butcher it. The dress is certainly doing it justice, and you watch it brush against the skin of her legs as she shifts her weight to the other foot. I’ve never been that good at inferences. You’re far better than me, Prince, and she’s playing with her hair: twirling and untwirling it around her finger. That ribbon atop her head… Her stylist certainly knows their stuff.
“Think I’ll win an award this year?” Her question draws you away from your thorough examination of her. You take a moment to think, and you have to say, it depends, but I think you could definitely get something in some category. She gives you this inscrutable look, and she’s chuckling to herself as she looks at the crowd and sips on her champagne. You can guess what she’s about to say next: quite the crowd today, huh? And you’d reply, “Don’t think that they’re all here for you”, and that would prompt her to shoot back with, “Then who are they here for? You?”.
But of course, when do things ever go according to plan?
“Have you thought about my offer?” she asks, and you’re caught off guard.
Cause here’s the history between you two: Middle school best friends, always kind of inseparable. She was the beauty queen, it girl, and she still is; you were the writer, head of the school magazine, and you’re pretty much writing for the rest of your life. Wherever you went with her, rumours followed—Are they dating? I think they’re just friends. Maybe she’s trying to be the front of the magazine?—but you never thought much of it. It was just a simple friendship to you, nothing more.
Then the kiss she gave you in high school changed it all.
It was a party, hosted by one of your mutual friends. She kissed you, and no, it wasn’t a Spin The Bottle forfeit, nor was it a dare of any sort; it was a sincere, tender kiss in the garden—unprompted, and away from any prying eyes and soft like silk chiffon. You have to admit, the sensation had your brain mired for a minute or so. But when you came back to your senses, you kissed her right back, and things got complicated after that.
No one knew of it; it was your little secret. Wonyoung became closer than ever, and next thing you know, she declares the two of you “exclusive” but not dating. It’s because her agency has that funky dating ban thing, and Wonyoung was desperate to find a loophole, albeit a little complex. Of course, you’re willing to stay “exclusive” with Wonyoung in secret, but you started to worry that it can’t stay this way for long after the two of you get out of high school.
But as fate would have it, your career paths meet at the crossroads, and now you see her every other month or so. You still text her when you can, and the “exclusive” relationship has sustained. Now that she’s an adult and she’s bringing in mad bucks for the agency, she’s informed you of some changes in her contact. From there, the offer was birthed, and you have left it unchecked for the past four months or so, “grey ticked” as she liked to call it.
“You haven’t texted in a while, thought you died,” she continues, leaning on her elbows against the table. “Thank god you’re alive, huh?”
You hoped that she’d just forget about it, but she’s more of a mnemonist than you give her credit for. An award show is the last place you expected to be caught off guard by Jang Wonyoung, but she’s definitely a master of surprise. I uh… I haven’t really thought about it, is a lie you tell her and yourself. She smiles enigmatically, downs the rest of her Champagne.
“Let’s talk about it tonight,” she touches your chest, and it’s soft like silk chiffon, “you know where to find me, Prince.”
She struts off to join the rest of her members, stops halfway to return her Champagne flute, then looks back at you over her shoulder to give you a small wave. You sip on your Champagne as the silk brushes against her skin.
It’s a heavy breath that leaves your mouth, and it’s the rest of the Champagne that goes in.
*
302.
Gold lettering, black plaque. It’s grand, pretty elegant. Suits her well.
Then the door opens.
In her bathrobe, Jang Wonyoung shoots her “you’re on camera” smile. You’re earlier than expected—she lets you in—Matter of fact, I thought you might not show at all.
And it’s a must to quip back, “thought you’d be asleep by now you big baby.”
When the door closes, it’s straight to work, and here’s how that normally goes: kissing, undressing, foreplay, then finally—fucking. Not that it has to follow that order or anything, but it’s the unspoken schedule that Wonyoung’s written up. God forbid anyone goes against what the princess is comfortable with, not that you’d ever try to either way. Your voice is barely a mumble past her lips—aren’t we supposed to talk about something?—and Wonyoung’s quick to dismiss any queries, “later. There’s always time for it later”.
So it’s the kiss that’s pulling you back into her. Her front teeth capture your bottom lip, pull, drags it back a little like she’s trying to unwrap you like a present. You hold her waist, and with gentle hands, you push her back against the wall. It’s not that you’re trying to get control or anything; you’re just attempting to give her something to work with, a place to rest as she starts to work on the buttons of your shirt.
“Are you already naked underneath that?” you whisper, though it’s more of a drawl than a whisper. In response, she momentarily stops with your buttons to slide a section of her bathrobe away, giving you a good look at a column of her naked, milky skin.
In short: Yes, she is very much naked under that robe.
“Don’t get distracted, my prince. Eyes up here.”
“You’re the one that made me look, princess.”
She’s evidently struggling with the last button of your shirt, and you have to let go of her for a moment to help her get it done. Then it’s off with the shirt, and she flings it against the door for convenience sake. Your belt’s next, and that’s taken care of before you can even say, let me undress you Princess. It does make her hesitate at the clasp of your trousers for a bit. Just for a bit.
“I’d like,” her fingers are moving again, and they’re awfully quick at unfastening your pants, “for you to unwrap me on the bed instead.”
How raunchy of her. Makes you want to try her on.
Your pants fall. Your hand slithers into the bathrobe. Her jaw drops. Wonyoung my darling, and your fingers have captured one of those perky breasts, the right one to be exact. How do you ever—it’s light pressure to the nipple for you; it’s mind melting for her—get away with being such a big slut? Look at you, I’m barely even squeezing here. You’d like to save that face she makes in a supercut of her other memorable faces: eyes wide, mouth agape and her chin tucked into her neck. Frame it up, take a step back, admire it. It’s the face of someone who’s pent up, the expression of a needy girl who’s been aching to get some dick. Maybe if you guys had met a little sooner, she wouldn’t be this sensitive. But now? A twist of your forefinger and thumb is all it takes to draw a cry out of her, a little more pressure is enough to rain hellfire upon her. What a crazy-hot mess she is; only god knows how to clean her up and get her sorted out.
Open mouth straight to your ear, Wonyoung lets out a breathy gasp. In your fingers, the stiff peak rolls between the pads—back, forth, back, forth: motions that make her weak in her knees. It’s with great effort that she pulls your face back to hers, captures you in her quivering lips. Elegance has long been thrown out the window by now, and it’s not going to be returning for quite some time, as if you ever need it at a time like this. She’s barely holding herself up at this point. Where did the prim proper Jang Wonyoung go?
The answer’s in her kiss—gone, dusted, she was here just a minute ago though. She’s grasping at whatever inch of your skin she can find, and her nails are definitely gonna be leaving marks on the sides of your neck. You let out a small, wry laugh as you silently observe her behaviour, watching her implore without speaking, badger without requesting. It’s an art form really, the form of expression for the horny and desperate and bratty. When her hands grip your face and her nails sink into your cheek, you pinch a little harder and relish the pleasant vibrations that are sent into your mouth as she gasps. Her palms press into your jaw, and they’d probably crush it if you press any harder. Her feet patter against the wood as she starts to direct you to the bed. You kick off your shoes together with your pants.
It’s definitely a sight to take in: Jang Wonyoung in a massive king size bed, a thin bathrobe being the only thing between you and that wonderful body being the bathrobe. Maybe if she wasn’t in this state she’s in, she’d gesture to you with a come hither motion, and invite you to remove the fabric from her body. Instead, she opts for a spine tingling mewl, and that’s your invitation to her body. It’s hardly an insinuation; the fact that she wants to be unwrapped like a present is undeniable, she used the word unwrap herself. The bunny knot holding the two pieces of fabric is symmetrical—has Wonyoung’s fingerprints all over it. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s watching you with a half-open mouth, maybe you’d compliment her on her efforts a little, maybe even call her “princess” a couple more times before you properly ruin her.
(But she’s already ruined, ruined by a mere bit of pressure to the nipple. What else can make her tick now?)
Her body is at your mercy and it, quite literally, jerks as you start to pull at the knot, undoing it centimetre by centimetre, millimetre by millimetre, inch by inch. You want to see how long she can watch for, how long she can witness herself be undressed in a painfully slow fashion. Needy as she is, she’s patient as she watches one end of the rope grow longer.
Longer.
“Do you want me to speed this up, baby?” The smirk on your face would earn you a pout from her if her nerves weren’t in a bundle at the given moment.
“W-Whatever you want,” she answers, and her voice is brimming with breathy arousal. How are you getting away with all this? She’d grab your wrist and pull by now if she wasn’t so damn needy right now.
You give a dry laugh. “Then I’ll keep at this then.”
Longer.
“Fuck. Just pull it all the way already.” She looks you right in the eye as she begs you to hurry, and now you can see the need brimming in those large, round eyes, the ones that stare back at you with soft intensity, if that’s even possible. She’s good at mixing emotions into her stare.
“I thought you said—”
“Just fucking do it!”
Slack.
And the knot comes undone, and together with it, the robe falls off to the sides of her body—it’s beautiful. Never have you taken so much pleasure in undressing her, but you sure-as-hell have taken this much time to admire that wonderful, slender frame. From your standing view over her, you get down to her level to get a better look at her. It’s all part of the game of course: the way you look her in the eye, the way you touch her jaw ever so slightly to turn it towards you. The kiss is sickly sweet, and she’s starting to taste more and more like that cherry lipstick you gave her when you saw her some time ago at another event. Into your mouth, she lets out a sonorous moan. Your fingertips brush along her skin, slither down from her collarbone to her cleavage—down to that flushed pink region between her equally flushed thighs. Almost instantly, the tip of your digits are coated in slick fluids, and you raise an eyebrow at the girl on the bed.
“I literally touched you.” It’s amusement permeating your voice more than anything. In the sheets, she squirms in the slightest, eyes locked on your fingers that rest against that dripping heat and breath caught in her throat. You know that if you were to shift your finger in the slightest, you’d trigger a chain reaction that you have no power over. Her legs would clamp, her abdomen would tense, her eyes would roll. In the midst of it all, she’d maybe scream, or maybe she’d moan; either way goes. As far as you’re concerned, she’s needy as fuck at the moment, and she’s not going to let anything stop her from cumming.
“Yea, well… I can be sensitive.” Her defence is hardly a solid one, more of a perfunctory reply. Her head’s far from able to formulate a quip to throw back at you; that ability went out the window together with classy Wonyoung. “Put them in.”
You go against her request, and your fingers start to skirt the edges of that swollen, pink slit of hers. A crime—you’re going against the princess’ wishes, but realistically speaking: she can hardly be called a princess at the moment, so why comply?
A portion of the bathrobe is still clinging on to her breast. You use your other hand to push it away, and the split second of contact makes her flinch. “Jesus. You’re so fucking turned-on right now,” you can’t help but muse, all while your fingers retrace te outline of her swollen lips. She’s shivering, she isn’t breathing quite right. “Do you want to moan, baby? Do you want to moan like a good little slut for me?”
And she fixes you with a glare. “F-Fuck you… Put them in.”
No “please” this time. Shame. If she were more polite, you would’ve obliged; now you’ll just have some more fun with her.
Your thumb finds the swollen nub, and a little brush is all you need to get her straining like a psycho in a straitjacket. What will I ever do with you Wonyoung?—and she’s getting wetter by the second—You look so pretty when you’re so needy, you know that?—why would you ever, for a second, think that she’d be as refined as the last time? She doesn’t play with herself when she needs to get off; she waits till she sees you again to get off on your cock, your fingers, your mouth. Sexting was off the table, she wants you to be physically there, driving her insane as she lets herself come undone.
“You know,” and you’re almost laughing as you watch her face twist even further, “that I could do this forever right? I could just lie here, tease you for as long as I want… Or maybe that’s what you want?
She’s messy, so fucking messy. Juices are starting to soak the bed—you can feel it as your fingertips round the bottom of her slit. Housekeeping would certainly question the spot, and the two of you wouldn’t be there to reply anyway. Her cheeks are flushed, the veins of her throat are popping. It takes a considerable amount of effort to stay this composed, but you know that she’s breaking more and more. With each round your fingers make, cracks start to form along that perfectly sculpted face. The fine lines on her forehead begin to show as her brows start to furrow. Strained sounds are coming from her throat as the urge to moan is slowly winning the battle against her will. She wants control, but she can’t have it when she’s a wet, hot mess next to you. She’s being bratty for the sake of it. Your fingers are your leverage against her. It’s killing her. It’s delighting you.
And just like fine China thrown against concrete, her will shatters.
“Please! Put them in!”
And your fingers stop just at the top of her pussy. It feels like a long minute, but she isn't about to take another second of this. Her thighs clamp against your arm. Her fingers wrap around your wrist in desperation. She begs again. And again. And again. And again, again, again. The bed starts to creak as you start to move your fingers down her lips, down to the very end of her cunt.
God is she dripping.
“Will you moan for me?” you drawl huskily. A finger, two, three rest themselves against her heat.
“Yes.” There’s barely any of her original self left in there. “Please just—”
The fingers breach her opening. She screams, a high-pitched, keening cry. The noise makes your cock strain in your boxers, and you have to grit your teeth as her inner walls wrap tightly around your intruding digits. A moment of stillness comes, a moment where she’s just breathing raggedly, struggling to process this pleasure that’s racking her body faster than she can comprehend. She’s a ticking time bomb of nerves; the slightest movement in this state could send her into perdition, and she’ll barrel past that point of no return faster than both of you can imagine. God, she’s sensitive. God, she’s a mess.
The chuckle that departs from your mouth is one of perverse pleasure. “Baby,” you whisper, right into her ear as she struggles to catch her breath. She squeezes her eyes shut, and you watch with a grin as her chest rises and falls. The grip on your wrist is a vice, knuckle-white and unrelenting. She’s begging you, with her eyes, to start moving, and you have to tell her, “I can’t start till you let go of me, baby.”
And it’s with reluctance that she slips her hand off your wrist, but that hand won’t stay empty for long. You guide it to her own breast, and with a soft whisper, you tell her to squeeze. She’s servile. She complies without protest. Her eyes slowly open themselves, and you relish the way they’re lust-glazed appearance looks under warm light while her breaths level themselves out. For a moment, there’s calm. For a moment, it’s tender.
Then your fingers start to move. All hell breaks loose.
Everything she did to calm herself quickly becomes futile; it becomes undone as her back arches in a way that catches your breath in your throat. Your fingers graze her walls, pressed into each other as they slowly draw in and out of her. And mind you: you’re going slow, slow enough to make her feel every bit of your fingers brush against her insides. But it’s enough to make her curse, enough to get her mewling like a damn kitten while her hips start to rock, rubbing her clit against the base of your palm. There’s no way to describe how needy she looks; her want is beyond words, and you’ve barely even started. Three fingers is the most you’ve ever put inside her. Clearly, it’s working wonders for her.
And now you yourself have to admit: you’ve wanted her for some time now. Since the last time you saw her, you’ve fantasised about that slim tummy twitching, about holding that snatched waist once more, about those long legs wrapped around your neck while your tongue and fingers turn her into a pliant plaything. For weeks, you’ve wanted nothing more than pulling Jang Wonyoung apart, reduce her into a withering mess wherever you guys are and get her screaming till she’s sore. You can’t even begin to describe what you’ve done with her in your dreams, nor can you ever convey how it feels to desire her as much as you have. So, you put all of it into action, sordid sentiments channelled into your fingers that are making those cute features twist and contort in perverse pleasure. She’s rambunctious, and her juices are quite literally soaking your hand, spilling the strongest sillage of lust all over the bed.
“Why do you always have to be so fucking messy?” You’re really just trying to see how much you can get away with at this point, though the answer seems to be: just about everything. Your fingers start moving faster. You love the way her cheeks are starting to flush even more. “Are you always this wet? Or is it just for me?”
The squelching is lewder than you can ever imagine. The sound of her slick, wet heat being breached by your fingers is enthralling. Add the sounds she’s making into that and you have the ultimate erotica audio that can bless mankind. She’s panting, she’s moaning, she’s whining—she’s doing it all really, and you’re just using your fingers. God knows how she’ll react once you’re inside of her, rock hard meat stretching her out instead of a few fingers fiddling around in warm walls.
But hey, the sounds she’s making are ever so erotic, and she’s definitely making your blood flow to all the right places. She feels out of place; you can’t put your finger on what’s wrong in this whole thing. It’s probably a small detail, something you’d overlook over the sight of her chest heaving as air shoots out and gets sucked back into her mouth, her whole body straining and convulsing against the bed while you get a thumb on her clit and rub at a languid tempo. Probably something miniscule, not worth mentioning because all your attention is focused on the look on her face (you want to mess up the makeup so badly it’s almost frustrating). And no, you’re not trying to make her cum in five seconds; she’s just really riled up—bundle of nerves and trigger happy. Probably hasn’t been treated this way in a while, probably hasn’t had three fingers twisting around, sliding in and out of that tight wet hole slow enough to make her feel every bit of skin against her walls; fast enough to make her combust if you were to speed up, in, like, forever.
“I–I…” She’s quite literally mewling, and the sharpness in her voice is so cutting that it makes an incision in a bag inside you that’s keeping all the perverse thoughts at bay. The thoughts are leaking out now, and it’s almost impossible to stuff them back in. You want her against the glass: tits against the window and ass in your hands while you pump and pump and pump into that slick tight hole; you want nothing more but to pick her up and have her lock her legs around you, tight frame flushed against you while you nail her against one of these walls that surround you; you want to unhinge that jaw and watch that pretty mouth—now parted to let the stream of moans flow—take your cock in and out between those kiss-swollen lips and watch the drool leak out the corners of her mouth. Shit. It’s killing you. Jang Wonyoung, dolled up. She’s killing you.
(No way in hell are thighs meant to be this hot, and lips are not supposed to look this delicious. Yet Jang Wonyoung somehow goes against every fucking norm, fights it naturally and effortlessly and wins like a seasoned warrior. So just for her case: her thighs can be this hot and flushed, and her lips can look this fucking appetising. You kiss her; it’s sloppy, it’s lewd, it’s hot and everything in between. Mark her neck, mark that row of skin above her right collarbone, mark her everywhere. Cusses are flying—god forbid her agency finds out about the things hse says while she’s getting fingered. She's making a mess out of herself. She’s making a mess out of you.
Fingers, just fingers and she’s already looking like this: hair fanned out, frazzled, looking like she just went through a car wash and yet somehow has her make-up intact. Fuck. You want to watch the mascara run, watch it streak while she tears up as she’s choking down cum and she’s struggling to take in air. Pretty little princess, messy and glacially being turned into some improper slut. It’s hard to not smirk while you ruin her with the same fingers you use to type articles about her—fingers that sing praises and can also make her moan enough to make her throat hoarse.)
The rhythm of your hand makes her body roll. Her toes–painted over, fresh manicure—curl into the sheets. Doe-like eyes stare back at you, plump red lips part to gasp your name, throat muscles strain trying to curse and moan at the same time. The fingers are gliding in and out and in and out and she’s begging you to not stop (like hell you ever would) in those choke up little sobs while she’s—
Oh fuck baby I can’t I can’t I can’t — Anything. I’ll do anything. Please just let me cum. I’m so fucking close baby. Please just let me fucking cum. I’ll be a good girl. I-I promise I’ll be a good fucking girl for you just… Fuck!
—blue screening on your fingers: lost in the sauce or whatever. Pliant plaything, docile doll. You’re certain she hasn’t gotten off in at least a month if the way she’s taking it is any sort of yardstick. She’s far beyond drenched, far beyond salvation and way off the deep end of the “needy” pool—drowning herself in her own sea of sighs and gasps and moans and loose phonics that slip out of her mouth. Ostinato of your fingers squelching in her cunt; half time rhythm of the creaky bed; melody of the chorus of Jang Wonyoung’s voice—music to your ears.
And there’s lots to unpack from the moment you locate that soft spot at the top of her pussy. There’s a lot of cussing, a lot of jolting, a fair amount of whining and your name is thrown somewhere in that mix. You find her lips, she kisses back, one of her hands grabs your arm, nails dig in and stay there. Flurry of actions, filthy language—fucking hell, someone stop her.
Bottom line: lots of action. You find it congenial to start from the part where it quite literally ends her world. Once your digits curled up into that sensitive patch of flesh, it was all over for her.
You can pinpoint the exact moment where the orgasm rips through her body, the exact moment where her muscles seized so perfectly that her back arches. The pulse around your fingers is strong, walls tight around your digits and your thumb gently rubbing on her clit while the pleasure rolls through her body, molten iron libido converting the feeling between her thighs to electricity that makes her short circuit. The moan is breathy if anyone’s asking, and the look on her face—twisted, perverse satisfaction: superimposing need and want—has a whole foot over the line of pornographic. Wires are fraying in her head, her vocal cords are strained, she’s ruining the sheets with her juices; you’re complicit in every damn part of this, and guilt is the last thing on your mind.
Then her back falls back flat against the mattress, and the sheets ripple as her body makes a dense thump against the bed, punctuating the sigh she releases into the air. Nerves are unbundling themselves. She’s sweaty and panting. Your fingers are beyond soaked.
“Messy,” you muse, slowly drawing your juice slicked fingers out of her cunt. You bring them to her mouth. She languidly tastes herself, sweat-darkened sheets hugging the muscles of her shoulders and lining her ribs. She looks so tiny in the bed if you looked over the fact that her legs were dangling over the edge of the mattress, and that’s easy to do once you lean in for a kiss.
(It’s not hard to slip your tongue into her mouth, and there’s barely any fight left in her as you roll her nipple between your index finger and thumb. The sweat-matted hair sticking to her forehead adds a nice touch to her face.)
“Such a good girl.” Your tone is warm as you praise her, and a hand moves to cup her cheek in an act of tenderness. Her eyelids flutter shut. She puts the weight of her face into your palm.
“Do I get my reward now?” she whispers, and it’s more of a plea than a question really. You take a moment, not to think, but to drag out the suspense for a little more before you give her an answer. You take guilty pleasure in knowing that you could keep her on tenterhooks for the whole night—the only thing stopping you is the throbbing of your cock in your boxers and the look of sheer need on her face. If you could: you’d drag this out a little longer, maybe tease her a little and call her more names. You still could do that, but you’d much rather fuck her instead.
“Where do you want it?” your thumbs hook into the waistband of your boxers and hook them down. Your cock springs free from its cottons confines, and Wonyoung’s eyes instantly dart to it. She may be a little obsessed with your cock, but only a little when she’s depraved (which is right now). Before you can even react, she has your shaft in her hand, lanky fingers wrapped around it and pumping it with considerate strokes.
“I want a big load in my ass.” she requests, far from innocent and banking more towards improper, which seems to be a pretty big theme of hers tonight. “I’ve been wanting to feel daddy’s hot load leaking out of my ass for a long time…” The strokes delivered to your length grow firmer and firmer by the second. “Please?”
The spikes of pleasure her small hand delivers to your system is really making it hard to say no at the given moment. Of course, she’s well aware of it, and she’s definitely feeling so damn smug right now. And so with a very clouded mind, you nod. She smiles smugly, unaware that you’re about to fuck that smug little smirk rig of her pretty face. Conveniently, she’s already on her back—it’ll make the process so much easier.
“I take it that the lube is in your bag?” You raise. She grins and nods.
Sure enough, you find it in the exact same place as it usually is: side pocket, right next to her lipstick. You toss it towards her and move around her, slip her ankles over her shoulders. She lies still, unmoving and obedient as her left calf goes past her head, then her right. You lean forward, and she gasps as she's almost bent her completely in half. She’s flexible; this position won’t bring any harm to her, but it is congenial to ruin her asshole and leave her sore for the next day or so, which is exactly what she wants, but probably not how she imagined herself getting it. She cracks open the lube, and with precision, squirts a generous amount of it on the tight ring of her ass, making eye contact with you all the while as the clear liquid gathers at the puckered ring of muscle. The tube is discarded to a side when she’s done, and she uses her hands to spread her asscheeks for you, inviting you to take your liberties with her hole.
“Come on Daddy,” she urges you. “Come fuck this ass,” she continues, her hands spreading her ass cheeks even wider as you start to line yourself up with the tight ring. “Wreck this fucking hole Daddy, I can fucking take it.”
To hear her say those words was almost enough to have you cum right there and then. You press the tip of your cock at the open, gaping hole of her ass, swirling it around the entrance, collecting more of the copious amounts of lube around it. She was generous with the amount of lube she dispensed; you're about to be generous with the strokes you're gonna make inside that ass.
(She yelps when you slide inside her ass. God does it feel so fucking divine.)
She is so tight and wet and hot that you think you could’ve cum with your first thrust inside her. Her pussy was tight and hot, but her ass was even tighter and even hotter. Even though your cock was slick with lube, it did close to nothing to keep the sheer tightness of her asshole from clenching around you like it was a really small glove. It wasn’t the first time you’ve been inside her ass, but it sure as hell felt like a novelty every single time you entered that tight ring of muscle. Fuck. The heat, the tightness—sublime. You think you could cum in a matter of seconds if you didn’t have self control.
“Go!’ she hisses, through the pain and discomfort. “Fuck me. Fuck my ass!”
You would have been happy to stay there, buried balls deep in Wonyoung’s ass, but her own words goad you into moving—slowly at first, but with a steadily increasing pace, you begin to fuck Wonyoung’s ass with long, slow strokes. She hisses—part glee, part discomfort—as your shaft starts to pump itself in and out of her ass. You draw yourself out till only the base of you tip remains inside of her, and then you thrust back in, hard, hard enough to make her yelp out in pained pleasure while she grits her teeth and watches your rock hard shaft fill her ass. It's a perverse show for her, and it brings you a sort of dark satisfaction in knowing that past all that discomfort she’s feeling, she loves the way your cock stretches her out and fills her defenceless little hole.
With her ankles over your shoulders, you’re practically spearing yourself vertically into her ass, fucking her deep and making her feel every inch of your throbbing meat inside of that hot, tight hole. Every penetration is punctuated by a deep, guttural groan from Wonyoung, sometimes a curse, or something along the lines of: fuck. So fucking full. You know for a fact that the pained sounds you hear now will turn into airy gaps of pleasure once she gets used to the discomfort, and that she’d probably be a mewling mess by the time you reach the stage where she can take you in and out of her ass with only pleasure in her system and no pain. For now, you’ll settle with the pace you have—slow, long strokes in and out of her ass while she squeezes her eyes to block out all sensations distracting her from enjoying the sensation of her ass being filled with cock. You have to admit that she’s doing a great job at it, and your praise vocalises itself in the rather harsh form of, “what a good little slut.”
(And here’s something interesting you noted: never once in this whole thing did she ask you to stop, nor did you ever think about stopping to let her adjust. If this was anyone else, you would have given them a moment to breathe upon entering, and you certainly would be checking on their wellbeing throughout it all.
Thing is—the two of you know her too well to know that you could only dream of stopping once you got started with her, and it could only end in two ways. 1) You cum in her. 2) You cum on her. Edge her and you’ll never get the end of it, you would know. The last time you pulled a stunt on her like that, she left you tied to a chair with a vibrator taped to your cock till you were begging and a cummy mess. It wasn’t pretty. She could dominate if she wanted to, but she preferred to be a manipulative brat instead.)
It’s not long before she’s desensitised to the pain, and your slow pace is not enough, no, not for Wonyoung. Next thing you know it, she hissing for you to go faster, fuck her harder—I told you to fuck my ass Daddy. Don’t hold back on me now—and deeper. She swears, all three languages that she knew strung together shabbily like they were put together on some shitty production line and thrown out at random—and while you made little sense of the sounds coming out of her filthy mouth you knew what they meant.
Harder. Faster. Rougher.
Then you fuck her ass. Hard and fast.
You almost surprised yourself with the liberties you were taking, drilling in and out of her butt with the same speed and depth that you would use with her mouth and pussy.
“Yes!” she shouts—a loud, full shout. “Yes! Fuck me like this! Pound me, fuck me until you cum in my slutty little ass!”
You grunt in reply, because it was all you could do. The faculties of human language have long since abandoned your grasp and ability, and nothing else exists in your mind except the thought of filling her tight, hothole with warm, white semen. Her eyes lock with yours and you only find that they’re full of need, nothing else (not like she’s capable of displaying any other emotion at the moment). The rest of you, every fibre of your being, was focused on pounding Wonyoung’s tight little hole as hard and fast as you possibly could. Her ankles bounce helplessly behind your head, her knees press into her shoulders and her breath is ragged; sweat drips off your forehead and onto her tits, and your hot breath mixes with hers as you struggle to keep yourself propped up with your arms.
In short: the two of you are sweaty and messy (one more so than the other. Take a pick, not sure if there’s a prize for guessing right), victims of lust and slaves to pleasure. You blame Wonyoung just because you can.
For a few delicious moments, there is absolutely nothing in the world aside from the tight hot sheath of flesh around your cock, the warm flesh of her legs against your shoulders and the strands of sweat-slick hair that fly just about everywhere, all topped with the lewd, filthy, obscene words spilling from Wonyoung’s mouth. For a few delicious moments, she feels nothing but the feeling of her tight hole being stretched and used by the cock that turns her face into a wrought outlet of pleasure while she lets filthy words and exclamations spill from her lips.
Try as you might, you couldn’t have it last forever. Not when you were already so turned on from watching her writhe and twitch under your fingers. Not when the sheer, pure pleasure overwhelming you was more than enough to cause you to cum at any moment.
And when she orgasms for the second time, her ass tightening exponentially around you—there is little you or anyone else could have done to stop the inevitable.
“I’m gonna cum in your ass, Wonyoung,” you hiss through gritted teeth, your lust and pleasure-addled brain on the edge of losing all comprehension.
“Cum with me! Fill me!”
And so you do it, burying yourself hilt deep inside the quivering woman’s asshole before filling it with the last of your cum, giving her every last drop you had left in your body, leaving rope after rope inside her sore, well-used, cum-filled asshole. You almost black out, and you quite literally have to dig your nails into the sheets while Wonyoung’s own orgasm takes over her body, making her twitch and her ass contract—milking every last bit of cum from your throbbing, twitching length till it was nothing but a dry, hard rod inside of her creamy asshole.
There’s silence that is punctuated by both of your ragged breaths. She looks at you, you look at her. And the two of you can’t help but chuckle at the mess you’ve made of each other. You want to remember the way her nose wrinkles as she teases you, “you fucking animal”, and you want, so badly, to burn the image of a sweaty, weary Jang Wonyoung, folded in half beneath you like she was a piece of origami paper, panting and gasping as a fresh load of cum spills out of her ass.
It takes energy, but you bend down and kiss her, letting her sweaty calves slide off your equally sweaty shoulders as you do. She’s satisfied, for now, and she pulls you down next to her on the hotel bed with one hand and gathers the cum leaking out of her ass with the other.
“Look at this,” she whispers, and your eyes train themselves on the pearlescent, sticky, slimy, fluids that run down from her fingertips slowly. “You made such a big mess inside my ass,” she chides before bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking your cum right off her fingers like it’s a delicacy. “Now I have to clean all of this up. You’re lucky I like the way your cum tastes.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Um… Ew?”
Wonyoung smirks and gently nudges you with her left foot.
“It’s okay,” she tells you, all smug and everything. “I know you love the way I taste too.”
*
In the dark, her small hand creeps around your torso and grasps yours.
“You’re awake, aren’t you?” She’s whispering right into your ear, and it’s a sensation you want to be able to hold on to for the rest of your life. “I know your eyes are open.” The feel of her small fingers rolling the knuckle of your index finger sticks itself in your head like a post-it. “ I can hear and feel you tossing, you know?”
Okay. No dodging.
The sheets stay still as your shoulders turn. You roll over, face her, and you really just want to capture the way the night lights paint her face: doe-like eyes reflecting glimmering pools of moonlight, warm yellow light painting her cute-yet-so-fucking-gorgeous face in a manner that not even Van Goh could copy, lips parted slightly as if in mid speak. She’s right there—you can kiss her if you really want to.
“Are you still mad at me?” She asks, tender with her tone. “I know that I fucked up, okay?” You can tell that she’s not even trying to look pitiful at the moment, but the way her face is sculpted really makes you want to just hold her to your chest and stroke her hair. Sincere are her words—heart heaved into her mouth. “I don’t blame you if you’re still mad. It’s your right. But… Just hear me out? Please?”
If you were mad, you wouldn’t have let her hold your hand the way she was now. If you were mad, you would’ve pretended to be fast asleep; ignore her pleas and just close your eyes and fall asleep. Alas, you can never stay mad at her for too long.
“I was… Never really angry, Wony.” Your tone is a lot softer than you would ever expect, but you know it’s because you probably needed this talk more than she did. “I... I’m sorry if it came across that way.”
And she studies you for a moment, lets the sound of your breathing fill the space as she furls her upper lip into her front teeth, and it’s a perfect moment for you to try and understand what’s happening in her head. She’s a complex creature really; understanding her is like finding a meaning that everyone can agree on when you look at abstract art.
Down below, you can still hear the cars moving through the street. Billboards and screens are still on, and from the window in your bedroom, multi-coloured lights filter into the room past the blinds like moonlight through bamboo leaves. The sheets you lie in are fresh, and they feel nice and smooth against your skin, and they smell like roses. The mattress creaks a little as Wonyoung shifts her weight, and you have to admit that you’re half-drunk on the scent of her shampoo.
“You must have been scared,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I got really emotional. I… I shouldn’t have walked out. I’m sorry.”
You didn’t know how to reply to that. Not now at least. Maybe it’ll come to you the next morning.
You give her a sweet smile. You hug her to your chest. You want to remember how she feels in your arms.
*
The gentle trickle of water down the arch of her spine is really something—a steady stream flowing down her back, running over the muscles of her shoulders, the curve of her breasts and fraying at her plump ass. You can’t remember the last time you showered with her, but you certainly remember the view being this good.
In the shower of room 302, Jang Wonyoung lets the warm water hit her skin from the rain shower nozzle. Her hair—wet and freshly shampooed (and conditioned)—sticks to her back. Creamy skin glistens, small beads of water affix themselves to random parts of her body, stay there for one or two seconds, then roll down in streaks, almost as if they too were admiring Wonyoung’s well-sculpted figure.
Slim fingers grasp locks of hair. She lifts and looks over her shoulder, the whisper of a grin on her face as she shoots a beckoning wink. “Are you gonna help me soap my back? Or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?”
“Don’t you have to, like, turn off the water first?” you ask, and you already know what she’s gonna say, but you just want to hear her say it. For memory sake.
“Mmmm.” Her humming as she ‘ponders’ reverberates in the shower, floating over the sound of water from the shower head falling to the floor like rain. “No… Adds to the atmosphere, don’t you think?”
Ah. There we go.
“Then could you at least step back?” you request. This shower is comically huge—long length, breadth about the same length as your arm span. In the space, she looks so tiny, but you know for a fact that she could probably walk to the other end of the shower in a stride. You’re not one to disregard the facts, but you do like to live with a bit of imagination.
Wonyoung chuckles, low and sonorous. She pushes her hair over her shoulder, then—painfully slowly—walks back till she’s out of the stream of water. Water wastage is the last thing on her mind. She stops when she feels your hands on her back, and she looks over her shoulder, expectant. You move your hands and the soap lathers as it’s spread. You start from the centre of her back, rubbing gently in the section where the muscles of her shoulders meet and working your way outwards and upward to her shoulders. Then it’s down from there, your palms moving in small circles and covering every inch of skin.
“You’re good at this,” she mutters, watching with intent as your hands start to trail to her lower back. “Maybe you should’ve been a masseuse instead of a writer.”
“Uh… Patronising much?” You chuckle, watching as her back muscles twitch a little when you apply gentle pressure. “The pay’s about the same,” the soap makes patterns across the area above her ass—spirals of foam that stick to her skin like styrofoam flowers. “The hours are probably the same… But I don’t think I can live on rubbing someone’s back really hard. I Think I’ll just save this service for you, but only for when we meet.”
Humored, Wonyoung offers a giggle, high pitched and cutting above the sound of water striking the floor tiles. She shifts her weight to her right foot, making her body slant a little. Her skin is soft under your palms. Your hands are going lower and lower, slowly spiralling towards the curve of her ass that’s literally just a centimetre away.
“You know…If you take up my offer, you can do this for me everyday.”
Your hands slow to a stop. You raise your head a little to find her searching for your gaze over her shoulder. “Oh?”
“Yea.” Her voice is low, like a mother trying to persuade her child to eat their vegetables. “Every night, we can be like this: you soaping my back, us chatting… Doesn’t it sound wonderful?”
Your lip furls behind your front teeth. “Yea… It really does.”
And in her gaze, you sense her sensing your apprehension. “What’s stopping you from taking it up then?”
(For context, here’s the deal proposed by her company: the two of you go public with the relationship, get clout for the company, and Starship will let you lead your lives together—no qualms, no disturbances. She can visit you whenever, live with you, appear outside together with you like it’s a regular Tuesday night; you get to date the girl you fell in love with all those years ago for real. Only issue: once you get the last stroke of your signature out on the contract, you practically agree to blurring the line between your private and public life. Press will be all over you like ants after you step on their nest, you probably won’t get to enjoy a cup of coffee in peace, everyone will suddenly want to curry favours with you… Was it worth the sacrifice?)
You find it hard to meet her eyes, and so your gaze affixes itself on your hands. It’s not like you don’t love her or anything, but your apprehension makes you feel like shit. It shouldn’t be this hard to say yes, yet the idea of selling your life of privacy to live a life with her makes you screech to a halt at the crossroads. Sometimes (in these moments), you wished that you didn’t always make decisions with your head and your heart.
As the shower continues to run, Wonyoung slowly turns around. One hand finds yours, the other gently takes you by the chin and raises your eyes up to her. She’s tall, and the two of you are staring eye to eye; same height, different trains of thought.
The hand on yours guides you to her breast. Eyes locked with yours, she lays your palm flat against her tit. The skin beneath your fingers is slippery, but it doesn’t remove any of the familiarity from the sensation. Then she squeezes, and the flesh spills out between your fingers like putty. She gasps—airy.
“Don’t you want me?” She whispers, and it’s raunchy more than anything. It isn’t aggressive, but it’s certainly blurring the line between demanding and caring. “Don’t you want to be able to fuck this pretty little pussy every night?”
She’s really far from home base. “Wony…”
“Don’t you love owning me?” She’s squeezing harder. Her knee twitches. Sopa’s spilling out of your fingers. You’re certain that you’re gonna mark her. She doesn’t care. “Don’t you want me all over you? Every night?”
“It’s not that Wonyoung.”
“Then what’s on your mind?” She’s not prodding for an answer, nor is she trying to demand a reason for your silence. She wants to understand you, to internalise what’s going on inside your head. You have no reason to lie.
“Will it all really be okay?” you ask sincerely. “My family, my life… Will… Will it all really be…”
She understands where you’re coming from (if the relieving of pressure around her own breast is any indication), and she’s starting to tune herself to the frequency of your worries. “If you’re wondering if you’re gonna be harassed—you won’t.”
“Yea but—”
“I promise you: I will do everything I can to make sure that you will be safe. You and your family–if so much as a finger is laid on any of you, I will quit.”
“Wonyo—”
“No one will intrude on you. You won’t have to live with the flashing lights. I give you my word: I will make sure that everyone who wants to invade your privacy will leave you alone. You and your family will all be left alone.”
If it’s possible for sincerity to ring clear, Jang Wonyoung has absolutely made it happen. Sweet like honey; she’s left you feeling like you had a spoonful of it. And just for good measure, she steps closer and repeats once more: “I promise.”
Considering that your hand was at the left side of her chest, this was really a “I swear. Hand to my heart” type of deal (whether it’s intended or not is purely up to your discretion).
And as you gaze into those eyes, you want to remember the way she gazes at you softly, gently, tenderly. If it weren’t for your hand on her tit, you would’ve considered this one of the more tender moments you’ve shared with her. Not that it’s not or anything… Just that it’s a little hard to call this a loving moment when you can literally feel her nipple poking into the flesh of your palm at all times of the conversation.
“Are you sure you won’t land yourself in trouble?” you ask her, and she’s quick to scoff.
“Of course. I make too much fucking money fo those higher up fuckers to not listen to me,” she reminds you.
Well… Then that settles about everything then.
“Okay,” you tell her. “Okay… I’ll do it.”
The corners of her lips play up in a smile. She leans in, kisses you—no tongue, closed mouth—and lets the hand keeping yours at her breast fall. Long arms wrap around your waist and she pulls you close, flushing her tight frame against your body. When lips part, she whispers a soft I love you, a sparkle in eyes that lingered for a moment.
But only for a moment.
Then—without you noticing—her hand snakes down and grips your rapidly hardening shaft, and she squeezes. This time, the line between demanding and caring is clear as day, and she’s chosen to play her ball to the court of demanding. With a gleam in her eye, she begins stroking with her closed fist, and she pumps your stiff length at a slow but steady rhythm, adding an occasional twisting motion to her wrist, corkscrewing her fingers around your cock, increasing the pleasurable shocks she was sending through your system with each pump of her hand. It was almost like she wasn’t the sweetest, loving girl in the whole world just two seconds ago.
“Jesus fucking…” You can’t even finish your sentence. Your teeth grit. Your fists clench. It’s hard to breathe. “Maybe… A little bit of a heads up next time?”
She smirks proudly, watching as you tilt your head back and let out a groan. “Where’s the fun in that?” And gently, she pushes against your chest, guides you to the wall. When your back presses against the cool tile, she presses herself against you. She leans in, hot breath on your skin, and then the feeling of her lips against your jaw almost makes you yelp. She kisses a path down your jaw, paves a way towards your neck to get cheeky: sucking, nibbling, licking the skin of your neck while she keeps the movement of her hands slow and considerate. The shower continues to run.
Do you know—she breaks contact with your skin for just a second—how fucking horny—her breath’s tickling your ear, sending shivers down your spine—you make me?—and she squeezes a little harder around your shaft, not enough for it to hurt, but enough to feel you throb in your hand and make you gulp a little. She starts going faster—jerking, fucking pumping your length in her closed fist, and it’s almost impossible to keep your eyes open; your eyelids flutter shut. Your head rests against the wall, a sigh slipping past your lips. It’s filthy really—down from the way she catches you off guard to the way she makes your skin sore after she’s done feasting. Almost every interaction with her in a private space is as X-rated as this; it’s hard not to get into a situation like this around her. You know: a situation where the two of you are naked and getting really touchy and actively trying to get each other as many times as humanly possible.
“Fuck yes baby…” you rasp, your nails starting to eat into your palms as she the sound of her hand sliding up and down your dick starts to cut above the steady stream of water. With each rise of her hand, the pad of her thumb plays with the head of your member, and when it sinks down, she twists her wrist in a screwing motion. Rinse and repeat; up and down and up and down and fuck. “You’re so fucking good at this.”
She hums in reply, and she has your earlobe between her teeth the next second, nicking you mischievously, sending small pricks of pain shooting through your system as she adjusts her grip on your cock without ever breaking her motion. Next thing you know, your tongue is inside your ear, and she’s leaning in so close that when you open your eyes, you’re practically looking over her shoulder, looking down the curve of her back that glistens with moisture and soap bubbles.
“I love this cock so fucking much,” she whispers, a bit of a hiss in her words as she takes the head of your cock between her forefinger and thumb and pinches lightly. “It stretches me out when I need it.” her fingers start to trail down your slipper shaft, letting the smoothness of her palm rub against your whole length, “fills me when I want it.” She’s milking the precum out of you, making you all leaky and squirmy as she starts pumping faster. “And it’s so fucking big that I can choke on it. You know how much I love being choked.”
She chooses that last bit to make eye contact with you, and she’s practically served you what she wants next on a silver platter. The next move is clear cut and simple; no words need be spoken. You were going to fuck her—and you mean properly fuck her—with a hand wrapped around that small throat. How you were gonna do it was still a mystery, but you figured that it’d slowly come to you, but it will definitely be related to the mirror and the sink outside and the mirror in front of it. At once, you reach over to the handle of the shower, and you turn it down to the handheld showerhead mode. Wonyoung bites her bottom lip, perverse glee painted all over her face as you use it to wash the soap off her back. She’s watching, waiting, probably drenched down there and aching to be stuffed full of cock.
She’s almost shaking with excitement as you finish washing all the soap off her body. You’d hardly consider her clean, but it won’t hurt to hop back into the shower again once you're done with her. The shower door swings open and you’re cupping her pussy, dripping wet while stumbling out with her, lips locked on hers and her hand on your cock as you push her against the sink of her hotel room. From the moment her mouth opens and let the moans pour out while you rub her clit to the moment her hand leaves your cock to cradle your face, she’s practically radiating need from the pores of her skin. You can’t help but playfully remark, “you’re such a fucking loser”, while your thumb thumps against her clit and sends pleasure tearing through her system. Weak in the knees, she holds on to you for support.
And the moans (those fucking hair-raising moans), they tumble out of those plump lips like marbles down a ramp, and they mix with the sound of your lips smacking against her skin as you start to leave a trail of kisses down her neck, doing to her what she did to you in the shower; you give her a taste of her own medicine, and the way she’s titling her head back to let you mark her freely makes it almost seem as if it’s the intended outcome of her actions. It’s like she knew that you would get back at her, and it wouldn’t come as a surprise if you ever find out that she gets off on knowing that she can manipulate you in her own bratty ways—get you wrapped around her finger and have you doing all the things she wants you to do without having to tell you. Not that you have something to gripe about it, but you’re just so amused (and that’s just one word to describe how you feel) by how she goes about her ways.
“Come on,” she manages to whisper, all while you’re busy sucking on the skin just below her collarbone till it’s sore. She has a lot of pride in her voice for someone who’s quite literally quivering. “You know you want to fuck me. Give me a good creampie again.”
You lift your head for a moment, and you take in the look of almost childlike excitement on her face as your hand finds its way to her throat. It’s perverse excitement, that lewd exhilaration of knowing that she was about to get what she wanted, and albeit a little messed up, it was pretty hot in its own way. When your fingers gently wrap themselves around her throat, you can feel every muscle in her body tense in anticipation, as if she didn’t get enough from the bedroom earlier.
“Up on the counter baby. Let me see how messy you are down there,” you whisper.
She knows what to do, and she has herself propped up on the counter and engaged in open mouth kissing. She doesn’t need you to tell her to spread her legs, and she definitely doesn’t need you to tell her how cute she sounds when your fingers slip inside of her, feeling around the mess you’ve made of her and coating your digits in her fluids. Your index and middle finger are slick with her juices when you retract them from inside her, and you can’t help but chuckle.
“Messy as ever,” you muse, making a show of sucking her juices clean off your fingers. She’s sweet and borderline tangy—a taste that you’re accustomed to, and you will never get tired of it. She’s biting down on her lower lip, the skin wrinkling under the pressure of her front teeth as she makes a sound that’s close to a purr.
“You made the mess.” She has her eyes locked on yours as you raise an eyebrow, prompting her to follow up after her first statement. Not that you didn’t know what was coming, but more that you wanted to gently coax it out of her, because it was so fucking hot to hear what she had to say next. “You clean it up.”
And you’re more than happy to oblige. She watches you with intent eyes as you sink down to your knees, waits with bated breath as you lower your face till the glistening, pink folds of her pussy are right in front of your face, flushed thighs around your ears. Her excitement is almost palpable, and you can hear the sharp inhale she takes when your palm finds its place on the inside of her left thigh, pushing gently to give you better access to her heat (you’re really just trying to drag out the tension if you were being completely honest with yourself). You lick your lips, lean forward till your mouth is hovering above her slit.
“You better moan for me this time,” you tell her, and you’re making sure to make your breath hit her slick as you speak. “You have such a wonderful voice. Put it to use.”
Praise mixed with the slight hint of authority—it’s enough to make her nod furiously and implore you with doe eyes to just get on with it. With a smirk, your lips find the swollen nub at the top of her entrance. You suck on it. Hard. And almost at once, her thighs clamp around your ears and her hand is on your head, like it’s some sort of natural instinct for her when you’re eating her out. Keeping to her word, she cries out—keening, whiny and ever so fucking bratty, and it’s the the holy grail of every wet dream. Nothing in the world could bring you more satisfaction than that shrill, airy cry she lets out when the pleasure ripples through her body, and you’re just getting started.
Your mouth opens and your tongue flattens itself against her folds, (She tastes so good. You want all of it, all of her) and you drag it up her folds, deliberately, painfully slow as you start to lick up that wet cunt. Her back arches; you can feel her struggling to keep a hold of your head; she throws her head back and lets out a gasp; her thighs clamp down a little harder around your head. The pleasure in her system builds up with the slow movement of your tongue, only rising and rising as you lick from the base of her slit to the mid section to the top. When the tip of your tongue flicks her clit, it's almost like an explosion, enough for her other hand to join its pair atop your head, enough to make her cry out in a perverse plea, “Daddy, please!”
(For the record: she’s wanted this from the moment you guys stepped into the shower. She’s willingly turned herself into some pliant little plaything, and she’s probably getting off so hard to it. Frankly, if she wanted to order you around, you’d be up to it, but this is what she prefers.)
And nothing else needs to be said really. You put your whole mouth on her—relishing the shiver that runs up from her thighs up to her body—and get right into making a wreck of her. You lick, you devour, you ravish her: working your mouth on her pussy, lapping up the juices that spill forth from flushed lips with broad, sharp strokes that make her body grow taut and her legs quiver. You tongue her clit, lick up sweet fluids, make her messy and needy and hot in all the right areas till she’s drilling her nails into the back of your scalp and pushing your face against her sweet slick. In half whispers, she tells you just how good you make her feel—oh Daddy I’m so fucking wet!—and you feel a dark part of yourself be fed by these lecherous words—Oh god oh fuck I’m gonna fucking cum if you keep… Fuck!—that leave her half-parted mouth and linger in the air, reminding you of just how wanton she is and how you’re the only person in the world she ever wants to fuck and be satisfied by. You’re hers; she’s yours—a relationship with Jang Wonyoung that any guy would kill for.
“Daddy—” she gaps, her voice a whole octave higher than it should be as her nails turn into claws at the back of your head. “Fuck I’m cumming. Daddy I’m cumming!”
The pulsing of her pusy against your tongue grows. You continue licking, lapping. One stroke, two strokes—three. She moans, blue screens. You hazard a look up.
Nothing else matters. Only: the sight of that back arching off the marble counter, her thighs around your head trembling and quaking as her hips roll and her mouth parts in a silent scream. You’re certain that there’s blood being drawn from the back of your head, but you're more certain that she’s got enough heat in her core to melt molten iron but a lack of breath that makes her gasp for air as you lick and lick and lick your way into her. You can feel her orgasm getting closer by the second, it’s in her breathing, and in the way her hips are practically thrusting her into your mouth.
And just like the bathrobe from earlier, she comes undone—falls apart and ceases to keep control of her body. She tenses, her thighs go rigid around your ears. Her breath is caught in her throat, her eyes are closed. You stop your work, admire the way she glows as her body twitches and her face twists. Pleasure rips its way through her muscles, her nerves—splits her very being in half as the orgasm rolls through her system. She’s beautiful, and she’s a messy work of art that you’ve created.
You rise to your feet as she winds down, and her hands leave your head to rest on the counter while her body struggles to process the aftermath of that orgasm. It’s not the first time she’s cum for the night, and it certainly won’t be the last. Her eyes open, and she instantly locs them on you as you brush back some of the hair that sticks to her sweat slicked face. You take her hand and give a gentle tug, and she slips off the counter obediently. You grip her jaw—tenderly but rough enough for her to like it—and tell her to turn around. Servile, she obeys, and in the reflection of the mirror, she watches as your hand snakes its way to her throat and grips it. You’re not squeezing, not yet.
“I’m gonna fuck this pretty little pussy now,” you drawl, gripping your shaft in your hand and slapping it against her slit. The contact makes her shudder, but she remains silent as you place a kiss on her cheek. “Your face is gonna be so pretty when I choke you and fill you.”
“Yes Daddy.” Her reply is a whisper, a borderline drawl that’s airy and raunchy and makes your hairs stand on their ends. She’s looking at you through the mirror, plump lips slightly parted and eyes glassy. “Own me. I’m yours, forever.”
And you’re all too happy to hear that from her.
You slip into her, hilt yourself inside her in one swift motion.
(Tight. Hot. Wet. So tight.)
She lets out a sigh, low and sonorous, harmonising with your own groan as you press her against the edge of the counter and make the fingers around her throat squeeze. The sound that leaves her throat is the sound of her sigh being truncated, and it delights that dark part of you. Being inside Wonyoung was otherworldly, as it always was, but here, in the bathroom of her hotel, on the night where you’ve agreed to seal a deal with her, she felt downright heavenly. She squeezes her walls around you, her body thankful for the sensation of being filled by cock, if the intense tightness and slick wetness were any indication; she looks over her shoulder and bites her bottom lip. And when she has your gaze, she mouths something.
Fill me.
The silence is deafening, but it’s all you need to hear.
When you withdraw your glistening shaft for the first time you relish in the feel of her walls gripping you, not wanting to release you—but just as quickly they welcome you back inside as you penetrate her again. Soon you are pumping in and out of her at a slow, steady pace, her soft gasps turning quickly into long, drawn out moans as she is fucked against the marble. Her hands steady her body against the counter, her back arched in a way that lets you get a wonderful top-down view of her breasts as they roll together with her body. It’s a concerted effort, but she makes it seem effortless.
“Be honest.” With the hand around her throat, her voice sounds a little hoarse. It’s hot. “Do you think about this, Daddy? About fucking me like a good little slut?”
“Wonyoung,” you reply, speaking through your gritted teeth. “You have no,” and you punctuate the sentence there with a deeper thrust into her tight slick, a thrust strong enough for her to let out a strained gasp. “fucking idea…”
(In the mirror, you watch as she curls her lips into her mouth and tilts her head back into your shoulder, like she’s submitting her whole being to you and letting you take liberties with her body. You take the invitation, and your free hand finds itself on one of her soft mounds and gives it a squeeze—rough but tender enough to elicit a low moan from her throat that makes your hand around it vibrate pleasantly.
At the given moment, she’s doing all she can to make herself a pretty little fuckdoll for you, doing her best to encourage you to treat her rough, treat her like you own her. She wants nothing more but to feel the rockhard meat penetrating her tight little cunt stretch her out and fill her the way she wants, all while she’s begging and pleading obsequiously while being obsessed with your cock. It’s a lot to take in for her for sure, but she gets off on it, and you get off on it too—the fact that she’s being all needy and pleading just so she can implicitly tell you to fuck her till she’s raw and can’t fucking walk the next morning. The fact that she’s actually in control while being such a bottom. Bratty manipulation.)
“Then fuck me Daddy,” she tells you, almost pleading. “Use this pretty little pussy. I want it. I fucking need it.”
With her invitation to do more with her body, you’re more than ready to do what you’ve intended to do from the very start. You increase your tempo, and before long you are truly fucking her, drilling in and out of the tight hot warmth of her body with quick, deep strokes. With each stroke you don’t pull out more than halfway—you concentrate instead on pumping hard and fast, getting as deep as you could inside her given your standing position. She takes it well, like she was made for this. In her world, this was what fucking looked like, and it was the only definition that she was going to live with and she’d take it to the grave. She indulges in the roughness, the almost animal-like way your cock fills her again and again and again, all while she encourages you with cries and moans and sighs that are music to your ears.
And a notion hits you: she’s going to make you fuck her till she’s the only thing you can possibly think about. She’s going to draw out every single primal urge within you, make you want her like she’s some form of drug and you’re the abuser, and then she’s going to get exactly what she wants—your cum in her pussy. You can’t let her win like that, you can’t. You can tell that to yourself now, but you’re not sure if you can remember it later, not when she practically reeks of the strongest possible sillage of sex.
Her pussy throbs around you, pulse strong and just a beat behind your thrusts as you thrust yourself in and out of her slick walls, filling her up and drawing yourself out before filling her up yet again. Pure filth spills from her mouth, expletives, sordid sighs and cries and any sound or word that comes to mind. She's a quivering and squirming mess, and from the mirror you enjoy the way she’s almost writhing in against the counter. Ample breasts bounce with each thrust that shocks her body, and it’s almost hypnotic if it weren’t for the fact that that pretty face was stealing the show. The face that was marvelled, the face that was the source of jealousy, the face that was on the face of so many magazines and posters and adored by millions, if not billions—scrunched up, improper and so fucking lewd that it looked like it belonged in a porno instead of an idols face, and you take pleasure in the fact that your cock is ruining the face of a princess, turning her dissolute and so fucking needy that she was as good as a fan begging her for an autograph. This side of her was reserved for you, and only you—her duality is reserved for your eyes only.
Her body is slick with sweat, rubbing against your own sweaty torso while her body rolls together with your thrusts. “Fuck—” you’re saying, but it comes out as more of a growl than anything given how hard yur teeth are clenching. Your fingers squeeze tighter around her throat. The slightly reduced airflow at her throat causes her pussy to clench even tighter around you—and the added tightness brings succulent pleasure to your mind that makes you think you’re going insane. You probably are at this rate. “This pussy. It’s so fucking good baby.”
Her reply is a strained gasp, but you get the gist of what she wants to say. She wants, so badly, to tell you how good your cock is making her feel, how well it fucks her, how well it fills her and stretches her and how it’s her favourite thing in the whole world. The squelch of your cock filling her pussy is loud, but not loud enough to drown out the smacking of skin against skin as you press more of your weight against her, pushing her a little more into the corner of the counter and a little more over the line of pathetic. She moans in response to your actions, and it’s telling you: fuck. Harder. It’s better when it hurts.
And you can feel her juices leaking down the back of her thighs, wetting your crotch and making the smack of skin against skin louder than ever, almost as if it was an announcement: I’m being fucked like a good little slut and I love it. She doesn’t know what she’s doing to you,and for clarity, it’s something along the lines of turning you absolutely feral with her moans and the divine tightness of her pussy that makes you want to cum on the spot. Okay,maybe she is cognizant of how crazy she makes you when you fuck her, but you barely have the capacity to think, let alone rationalise wether thai girl in your arms that your chocking and fucking feel smug in knowing that she’s driving you insane.
Oh and she loves it when you play with her tits. The way you fondle them is almost aggressive. Scratch that—it’s really fucking aggressive. You’re slapping her tits, leaving red marks all over the milky white skin and pinching and twisting the stiff nubs atop her breasts, all while she mewls and cries out in that strained voice that makes you throb even harder inside of her wet walls and makes you grit your teeth like your a dog waiting to chew on a bone.
“D-Daddy,” she pushes out, past the fingers that close her airways and past her groans and moans and sighs. “Harder.” And your thrusts are starting to cut her off, but she has more to say. When it comes out, each word that she spits out is punctuated by a thrust of cock into her pussy, and it’s the hottest thing you’ll ever hear.
Fuck.
You thrust deep inside her.
Me.
Your cock drives itself deep into her, slicking itself with her juices.
Harder.
And if words could linger in the air, hers certainly would.
You fuck her hard, and fast, and deep—hammering her into the counter, nailing her defenseless pussy with a pace that you would have thought was rough and callous were it not for the fact you knew this was exactly how she wanted it. All she can do is hang on, grasp onto the counter with a knuckle-white grip with her hands as you take your liberties with her body, fucking her as hard as you can, as deeply as she can take it. The cups on the counter shake, the toothbrush inside one of them shaking under the force. It’s loud, but you hear none of it. You hear only the sharp sighs of pleasure that leave Wonyoung’s lips, and the wet slap slap slap of your crotch as it hammers her cunt again and again and again, your cock drilling her, pounding her, making her yours if you weren’t already doing that.
It takes a little long, but the haze of lust parts for a moment for you to realise that you're getting closer and closer to getting what she wants out of you. While the thought of burying yourself inside of that quivering, pulsing pussy to let it milk every last drop of cum from you is ever so enticing, that small part of you that wants to own her pushes you to fight against the urges. Not that there’s any harm in giving her what she wants, but it’s just that you don’t want to reward her bratty, manipulative tactics. She knew for a fact that she could tie you up and ride you over and over till you were dry—she’d done it before. But instead, she’s chosen to fulfil her needs in a less direct manner, maybe for fun or maybe just because she felt like it.
“Yes,” Wonyoung hisses, spit flying into the mirror and her palms slipping on the counter. “Just like this Daddy.” And she’s making sure to make eye contact with you through the mirror, letting her eyes do most of the talking. If anyone’s curious, the look she gives you is saying, I’m your good little slut. Fuck me. Use me. Fill me. Please, and it's nothing short of hot and tethering far over the line of lewd. At this point, neither of you are in a state where you're capable of coherent thought, nor are you capable of thinking about anything else except each other’s bodies and the wet, lewd squelching of cock filling Wonyoung’s pussy. It goes on and on and on, a cycle of your hips hammering the back of her legs and your cock spearing deep into her cunt. She takes it so well, drinking you in hungrily, coiling around your shaft like a snake as if it was begging for you to stay in her forever. The sight is enough to make your balls tingle and your toes curl, and your hand around Wonyoung's throat tightens to the point where the only thing that can leave her lips is a groan as her airflow is reduced.
She’s tighter, hotter, wetter. Her pussy fits you like a glove, moulding around your cock as it pumps in and out of her at a pace that you had no idea you were capable of. The hand around her neck is nothing but an outlet of pleasure for you, and she’s loving it. “Such a good girl,” you mutter, watching from the mirror as her mouth slacks and opens while she’s being pumped full of cock. “You were made to take Daddy’s cock, weren’t you?”
Her equivalent of a yes is a sharp, strained groan—an amalgamation of phonics and whatever sounds the lack of air flowing to her throat permits her to make. She’s so fucking messy down there, and your cock is sliding in and out of her with ease, aided by her slick juices that coat your shaft and let it disappear and reappear from between her legs with ease. The motion is almost graceful if it weren’t for the fact that it was a sordid one, and you take a moment to admire the way your shaft glistens in the light of the bathroom while you fuck her the way she wants it: rough, hard and tethering over the edge of callous. If it weren’t for the hand around her throat, she’d be making herself hoarse with all the moaning she’d be doing.
And the hand around her throat is bringing her so much pleasure, if the way her pussy squeezes around you when you choke her is any indication. She wasn’t lying when she said she liked being choked. While she didn’t like gagging on your cock, she sure as hell loved it when your fingers clasped around the muscles and made her gasp. She liked the sensation of being deprived of air, be it when she was riding or when she has her kness buried into her shoulders and was being fucked into the bed like a slut. You were always afraid of hurting her, but when she shots you that look, the one that says, come on, you can do better, you know that she’s getting exactly what she wants, just the way she likes it. It was just a matter of how hard you squeeze around her throat before she either cums or passes out, though the latter has rarely happened before the former.
“Daddy!” she chokes, and you know exactly what she’s about to say next. So you release her throat from her grasp, bunch a lock of her hair in your closed fist and you pull back. Her eyes squeeze themselves shut. Her back arches deliciously, her voice now free to finish shat she’s aching to announce. “I’m fucking…”
You never expect her to finish her sentence. Wonyoung’s eyes open, and a gasp leaves her open lips. Her walls, already vice-like, tighten so hard around you that you think you might come there and then. You feel how close she is.
“Fucking cum for me, Wonyoung. Cum around my cock like a good little slut.”
Wonyoung does as she is told—and the quivering, trembling orgasm she experiences is almost frightening in the way it overwhelms her body, turning her into a wet, hot mess. Her pussy tightens and pulsates, her fingers claw against the marble counter, and her entire lower body shakes violently, as though she had lost control of her nerves and muscles. For a few beautiful seconds she is utterly overwhelmed by the sensations, until finally she slumps forward in your grasp, breathing heavily.
It's good. It's so good, but it's not quite enough to get you to your finish. Not yet.
(And if anyone’s asking: it’s not that the sex isn’t good. It’s mind blowing, amazing, and whatever word that can be used to describe “fucking incredible”. She’s hot, so tight and fucking soaked down there. You’re horny, throbbing and on the verge of filling her full of your seed. But you’ve said it before and you’ll say it again—you’re not rewarding bratty manipulation. As tempting as it would have been to simply pound her from behind until you gave her needy pussy the load of semen she so desperately wanted, you knew that there was something even better that you could do.)
You pull out of Wonyoung, your shaft glistening under the hotel light. Her eyes are wide with shock as you withdraw yourself from her body, pulling her away from the counter—but only enough to have her lean back against you and not stand up completely. Her mouth opens to say something, but she's interrupted when you turn her face to you and kiss her. She moans into your mouth, and you swallow it, your tongue slipping into her mouth and massaging her own, lapping at the roof of her mouth as her tongue swirled around your own. You bite her lower lip, and it's not rough, but enough to get her attention. When her eyes flutter open, you whisper, "I'm not finished."
She nods, and you relish the disappointment in her eyes. You turn her around, push down gently on her shoulders. She goes with the motion, and you're not sure if you can ever get over the image of Wonyoung on her knees with her pretty little face staring at you with anticipation. You think about fucking her face, letting your cock thrust into the back of her throat over and over and over till you finally bury yourself inside and cum down her throat, but that would just be a repeat telecast of every other night with her. Spice things up; give her the liberty of creativity with your cock.
And of course, Wonyoung perfectly understands what has to be done. You step up to her. She parts her lips and takes your cock right into her mouth. Grasping the base of your cock and pumping it with one hand while she gently cups and squeezes your balls with the other, Wonyoung quickly launches into a hard and fast blowjob, taking the top half of your cock in and out of her wet mouth with a rapid pace while her fingers work your shaft in a corkscrew motion, just like she did in the shower. The suction of her mouth is almost lethal, and the audacity she has to look up at you while she takes your cock in and out of her mouth is so exhilarating that it makes you weak in the knees. Your hand finds a clump of her sweaty hair, and you close your fingers around it, holding them in your fist. No, you weren’t going to push her head down onto your cock; you had to give her the space to work on her craft.
And of course, she exceeds every expectation out there. Your eyes shut involuntarily, your brain unable to handle any sensations beyond the wet, hot cavern of Wonyoung’s mouth sealed tightly around your shaft with tight, soft lips. With the first entry into her mouth her wet tongue is pressed tightly against the underside of your shaft, lathering it with her spit. With each subsequent entry her tongue becomes more adventurous, beginning with quick swipes left and right on your shaft with each entry and ending each exit with a swirl of the tip around the head of your cock. While she tastes herself on your cock, letting her juices mix with saliva, her hands work in perfect concert with her mouth, one joining her lips at your shaft and pumping up and down, a twisting motion to her wrist while her free hand works gently with your dangling balls, fondling them with considerate fingers. She plays with them softly yet hastily, her fingertips working their magic between the sacs with expert attention.
You are content to stand there with your eyes shut, simply enjoying the feel of your cock pumping in and out of her mouth at a fervent pace, but a small part of you knew that you had to see it happening in order to truly believe it was all real—and so with a not insignificant amount of self-control, you force eyes open to watch the spectacle unfolding between your legs. Black locks bob up and down frantically above your cock, doe-like eyes glazed with pure lust staring right up at you as her cheeks hollow and her jaw unhinges even more to accommodate your length.
It all becomes too much, and it hits you all at once—having her pump your shaft in the shower, eating her out then fucking her—and you quickly find yourself nearing that inevitable peak.
“Fuck, Wony—” is all you manage to say before your orgasm overtakes your world.
Wonyoung releases your cock from her mouth a split second before you erupt, shooting long, thick strands of hot semen all over her pretty little face. Her face glazes over in pleasure and you are all too happy to watch as strand after strand of cum lands on her cheeks, her pretty little nose, and finally her open mouth and jaw. You watch, through half-lidded eyes drunk with pleasure, as the thick streams of cum flow down her face, dripping onto her upper chest and those perfect breasts of hers. Her face is flushed and her mouth open, as though she herself was on the verge of orgasm (she probably was, and she was going to make it your problem as soon as she got your cum off her face).
You want to remember the way she wipes your cum off her face with the back of her hand, how she licks it all up like a cat licking its own paw before moving to clean the stray strands of cum off the tip and sides of your cock. You want to remember how she rises so gracefully even though she was a sweaty mess, and how she gently takes your hand and guides you back into the shower for another clean up.
And back under warm water, you want to remember how she kisses you, and how she whispers, “next time, I want that big load in my pussy.”
*
“What?”
And it’s hard to meet Wonyoung’s eyes as you set down the papers from the doctor. You can feel her confusion, her frustration, her rage from across the dining table in your apartment. It isn’t pretty. Nothing about this situation is.
“It’s a neurological disease,” you tell her, all while you’re looking at the MRI that’s in the middle of the table. You’re really just regurgitating what the doctor told you—it’s the only thing you have the capacity to do right now. “They ran their tests. They told me what I suspected. I’m losing my ability to read and write, to understand language. In 2 years—give or take —I won’t be able to express my thoughts. I’ll be spouting gibberish. What people say, what I see — on pages, street signs, everywhere — they’ll all be unintelligible to me.” She’s silent, and it unnerves you in every way possible. You haven’t even gotten to the worst part of it all. “My mental competence will deteriorate. I’ll have to live off a tube cause I’ll forget how to eat and drink. Dementia will follow shortly.”
Now would be a great time for her to say something, anything to break this silence. But she is silent, unmoving and reticent in her seat from across you. You have no choice but to gulp and deliver, in your personal opinion, the worst part of it all, “By the time I forget how to breathe I… I would’ve lost all my memories by then.”
She chooses the moment after the last word leaves your mouth to pick up the MRI scan and look at it.
“So… Everything we’ve built up till now will just… Disappear?” she whispers. She sounds hurt, scared and everything in between. You bite your lower lip.
“Yes.” There’s no point sugarcoating it, it’s inevitable anyway. Face it now, sulk later… You think that’s the best way to deal with this piece of news. You hope that the matter-of-fact tone of voice that you’ve chosen doesn't betray how frightened you are by the prospect of losing everything you know. “We can’t stop it. It’s in my genes.”
She sets down the scan, and when you look up, you see the tears flowing down her cheeks and it makes you want to cry as well.
She stands up, shoulders her handbag and walks towards the front door.
“Where are you—” you begin.
“I’m going somewhere else to think,” she interjects.
When she slams the door behind her, you feel like you’ve let her down in so many ways. There’s a burning in your chest that you can’t describe. The first hot tear rolls down your cheek, and you let the rest that well in your eyes flow down without resistance.
You don’t want to remember what it feels like to be helpless—the emptiness, the rage, the sadness, the confusion is all so overwhelming. But you figure that you’ll have to feel it again at some point down the road.
Might as well figure out how to cope with it now, when Wonyoung isn't there and you're all alone with your thoughts.
*
When you awaken later that night in your bed in the apartment, it takes you a few moments to determine whether the soft, slim body climbing atop you is real or part of some wonderful dream—but the familiar warmth of your girlfriend, and the soft, pleasant smell of her hair, convinces you that this was all real.
Wonyoung places soft kisses on your neck and jawline, before moving to your mouth and kissing your lips softly. You are still only half awake, but your senses and instincts take over, and you find your mouth welcoming her kiss and returning it with one of your own, your hands moving to either side of her hips and finding, to your surprise, that there was only bare skin there and no clothing.
“Wony…” you begin, as she deepens her kiss, her lips pressing more firmly against yours.
“Shhh,” she answers, “please. I need this. I need you, right now. Please.”
She’s suddenly reappeared after walking out on you, and you have yet to process the slew of emotions that have come your way. Part of you wants to stop her, to talk things out with her so that you could: a) figure out if she was still mad at you and; b) verify that she wasn’t drunk. But the part of you that formed the majority of your conscience knew that she needed comfort as much as you did, and that she needed something to assuage her and make her feel like everything would turn out alright. So you find yourself relaxing underneath her, letting her scent fill your nostrils as her tongue dances with yours.
She straddles you, and your hands begin to run up her naked body, up from her slim thighs to her chest where the ample mounds sat proudly, her nipples erect and stiff. She isn’t wearing any underwear, and your fingers brushing against the slick of her pussy is enough to verify that for you. She’s naked atop of you, kissing you like you just confessed your love to her or like you’re about to go on some mission and never return. It’s not lustful, but it’s full off passion and aims to soothe not stir.
She breaks the kiss. Her eyes flutter open. In the dark that is pierced by the street lights of the city, you want to remember the way her eyes glimmer and shimmer as she breathes heavily. There’s no alcohol on her breath, and from the way she’s cradling your face, you can infer that she’s not mad at you in the slightest.
“You okay?” she whispers, and her tone is soft and warm, like that time she spoke in the shower of her hotel about signing that contract with her company so that the two of you could officially start dating. It’s been some time after that, but you still hang on to the way her words made their way to your heart. “I didn’t mean to startle you if I did.”
You respond by nodding, and it’s enough to convey: I’m alright. You brush away the hair that falls in front of her eyes, and you really want to remember how silky smooth her hair feels in your hands.
“What are you doing?” you ask her, making sure to keep your tone as warm as her own. She blinks, goes silent for a moment, then answers, “I’m making amends.”
She holds your gaze, you hold hers. The staring contest ends when you gently pull her in for another kiss, and you want to remember how she softly moans into your mouth while her thumb, smooth and tender, caresses your cheek.
When the kiss breaks again, her hands snake their way down to your sweats. You assist her in removing your shorts—a very clumsy affair: tangled hands and arms and lots of chuckling. But your cock does finally spring out from your boxers, the ones that have been discarded in the corner of the bed, together with her clothes. When it’s all done, you have the pleasure of witnessing the sight of her slim frame straddling you once more, long legs surrounding you on either side of your thighs while she peppers kisses on your chest.
“I’m sorry I left you to deal with… Everything. Alone.” she begins, “I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that… I’m sorry. I hope you aren’t angry”
And from your lying position, you lift a hand to cup her cheek. “We can talk later.”
She gets the message, but bends down and kisses you nonetheless. You’d probably have trouble falling asleep later in the night, and she’d wake up and you’d have this same conversation again. You’d rather have it later than now, not when the wound is still fresh.
Wonyoung lets a soft smile play on her lips. You are slightly aware of her raising her hips, her right hand finding its way between your bodies to grasp your wet, erect shaft, and line it up with her entrance. She breaks the kiss for the third time that night, searches your eyes for approval to continue with this. Was it make up sex? You didn;t know if it was for sure, but it sure as hell felt like it. What you do no for certain is: you’d like to experience this now, and you want to etch this in your memory for as long as you can before it fades with the rest of your mind.
You give her the slightest of nods, and you feel the head of your cock press against her wet, tight opening. Slowly, carefully, Wonyoung lowers herself down onto your shaft, your cockhead parting her tight lips to impale her pussy. She gasps loudly as she impales herself fully, and she opens her eyes slightly to match your gaze. You brush stray locks of hair away to reveal her face fully, and you bring her mouth back to yours to kiss her deeply. As your tongues duel, she begins to raise her hips, drawing your shaft out of her body before lowering it once more, and soon she has found a soft, slow rhythm as she rides you, grinding her warm, tight body against yours.
She raises herself upright and lets her hands rest on top of your chest. You’d like to save that face she makes in a supercut of her other memorable faces: eyes closed, lips slightly parted and the wisp of a smile on her lips as she rocks her hips. From where you lie, you watch as Wonyoung takes you in and out of her body with soft grinding motions, riding you slowly, enjoying every entry and exit of your shaft as it fills her over and over in slow, tender strokes that make her shiver. You watch as your shaft appears for a split second or so before driving back into her, each disappearance accompanied by a soft spike of pleasure. As always, she’s letting moans and sighs and gasps tumble freely from half-parted lips as she takes you in and out of her slowly, rocking her hips with innate grace and elegance. All you do is let your hands rest on her thighs, moaning softly to encourage her as she rides you lovingly, tenderly, a far cry from what you’re used to when it comes down to sex with Jang Wonyoung.
Through the night, your cock glides in and out of that perfect pussy, elicits moans and gasp and sighs and cute little cusses when you hilt yourself deep inside of her and tug a little at her hair. Her hands were always active, sometimes caressing your chest, sometimes on your jaw, sometimes behind your head as she snaked an arm behind your head to keep you locked where you were just so she could sneak in a kiss. You came in her mouth, her ass, her pussy. She came on your fingers, your cock, your mouth. She cussed a lot, almost passed out once or twice. You cussed a lot two, and you caught her when she almost rolled off the bed (the two of you laughed for a minute about that situation before you ended up spooning on the floor, her leg in the air and your cock pumping in and out of her while she had your back to you and your face in her right hand).
Bottom line: it was wonderful, wonderful make up sex that ended with both of you sweaty and panting and wanting more from each other but you guys just don’t have that energy to keep going. It was a novelty for both of you, and you wanted to remember just how special she could make you feel, even in the impurest of acts.
*
The flash of the polaroid camera is almost blinding, but you power through and keep your eyes open. Like a child that’s seeing snow for the first time, Jang Wonyoung watches excitedly as the polaroid emerges from the slot in the camera, and she’s all too eager to grab it and lay it face down on the coffee table in your apartment.
“I thought you’re supposed to shake it?” you ask, watch as she fiddles with the camera for a little bit before she snaps a selfie with her newest purchase. She gives you a look that basically translates to, “uh, are you dumb?” and waits for the next polaroid to emerge from the slot before she launches into her lecture.
“Shaking the polaroid to make it develop faster is a myth,” the way she sounds so official and everything is so cute. You can’t help but smile a little as she sets the other polaroid down. “It shifts the pigments and blurs the photo, but an idiot like you would need a genius like me to tell that to you.”
The remark is clearly meant to be biting, but it’s nothing short of hilarious to you. “When did you become a camera nerd?”
“Ever since I got this,” she lifts the polaroid camera up and hits you with that you’re on camera smile. “Maybe I should do an ad for this brand. Increase their sales, you know?”
She leaves you to think on that and retrieves the first polaroid she took: a picture of you and her on the couch of your apartment. Not the grandest first photo, but hey, a memory is a memory, and you really are just focusing on cherishing those at the moment. As she leaves the couch to clip the polaroid onto the photo rack (a bunch of metal wires on a metal frame with wooden clips to hold photos) she just set up, you grab your journal next to you and flip it to the page you wrote on a few hours before. With your pen (that you now carry around just about everywhere with your journal), you scribble down a new part of today that you want to remember. It was her idea to journal down everything you wanted to remember.
The entry goes right under the one about Wonyoung’s new camera.
She looks so happy with that new camera. Bet she’s going to go back to the dorm and show it off to all of her members because she’s a fucking child. I hope that…
And you trail off in your writing, What you wanted to say was just on the tip of your tongue just a second ago. Why can’t you remember it? It was literally just in your head a minute ago…
No.
You shut the journal. It makes a soft yet substantial thud as the leather cover slaps against pages. You place your pen in your pocket, set the journal back down on the couch and stand up to walk towards your girlfriend, who is currently adjusting the angle that the wooden clip holds the polaroid at. She senses you walking up to her, steps aside and makes a space for you to watch her struggle. You would offer help, but you know that it removes half the fun for her when you do something for her.
She fiddles around a little more, makes a couple of grunting sounds under her breath, curses a little, and next thing you know, she exclaims, “tada!” while pointing at the first occupant of the photo rack. You roll your eyes, throw an arm over her shoulder and look at the slightly blurry photo within the white frame.
“With the camera,” she tells you, her tone soft and warm like… Like… Fuck. “I hope that we can help our memories live on. Sounds pretty deep huh?”
You can’t help but chuckle in agreement. You take a moment to stare at the two faces that occupy the space in the polaroid, and you hope to God that they will never, ever look foreign to you. It’s a futile prayer, you know, but a glass-half-full mentality is the best chance you have at not spiralling out of control.
Wonyoung lays her head on your shoulder, silent and all sentimental as she closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath. She lets out a shuddering sigh, and you know that she’s trying not to cry, cause in this situation she’s the one that will end up hurt at the end of it all. You’ll forget the pain of forgetting; she’ll remember the pain of being forgotten. It sucks, but it’s just the way it is. You hug her, hold her close and stroke her hair. You don’t want to forget what she means to you, what you mean to her.
How many more polaroids left till it all ceases to matter?
____________________
Hello! Hope you guys enjoyed this fic. I'm a bit rusty so this one might be a bit funny, but hopefully the style of storytelling I chose didn't fuck you up too bad. Non-linear storytelling will be the death of me. Also: I kinda didn't edit this one too much. My bad hehe.
This was really more of a PSA to cherish the ones you hold close to you, because you never know when they will just disappear. Love the people close to you, cherish them forever.
~Lots of love
Nichuuu
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Can you do Jax x reader who has a lot of insecurities about how they look and act in the real world and the digital one? And if not you can just ignore this 💕
Insecurities
warning(s): Jax (only slightly kidding), insecurities, mentioned dark humor to cope, minor bullying (Jax throws Zooble and Dangle under the bus on their appearance)
note(s): I'm quickly learning that just like Jax, I'd probably be an awful human being to seek comfort in.. at least words of comfort...
A/N: Realized more than halfway through writing that I wasn't sure if the request was separate hc's like knowing him before being yoinked into the digital hellscape and after or not... Feel free to toss another ask though and I can try some pre-digital hellscape hc's...however, I feel like they'd still be pretty similar to the post-digital hellscape reactions.
Jax is probably the last person to talk to when it comes to insecurities, real or digital
One time the topic of what everyone looked like before being sucked into the digital hellscape came up, but not everyone remembered, whether it was because they simply couldn’t remember or because they’d been there too long to remember
Jax’s response is never consistent. In one comment he’ll say he misses having long hair and was 5’4”, and the next comment is how he was actually bald and 5’10”
Now whether that’s him fuckin around or not is anybody’s guess
Currently, he’s got no real beef with his appearance, and he’s unapologetically himself digital or human. Now when it comes to you?
It can go a few different ways depending on how close the two of you are
Right out the gate, he’ll claim whatever toy-like appearance you’ve taken on can’t be any uglier than Zooble, which is like wow, harsh—they aren’t exactly easy on the eyes but that’s still a person with feelings…
He might even throw in a harsh comment about Gangle’s lack of a body, being ya know just ribbons… but hey! At least you have a body compared to her (Jax..that’s not helping..)
See what I said? Not the best person to go to with this sorta stuff
In the beginning, there’s always the gamble he might poke fun at your digital appearance and not really realize till later on that you were insecure about your appearance. (Whether it’s because someone else pointed it out or you flat-out told him.)
The closer the two of you get—friendship or romantic—he’s still an ass but once you’ve confronted him about your feelings and insecurities about your appearance, digital or human he knocks it off.
Nobody’s really voiced their complaints on what they ended up as here, at least not publically…
He’ll try to reassure you that you look fine, likely not understanding how deeply rooted something like insecurities can go and something like a “well I don’t think you’re ugly” isn’t gonna cut it.
Jax isn’t a sweet talker, or rather he doesn’t really sound all that genuine if he does, but he does try to put some emphasis that you really do look fine. (again, sweet but likely not helpful)
Now real world you? He wouldn’t know in the slightest, and while he could lie and say that the description you gave him wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, he’s not gonna do that to you (not that the appearance you gave him sounded ugly or anything).
Jax copes with dark humor and will without a doubt throw out some comment about how you won’t have to be insecure about your human appearance anymore because it’s unlikely any of you are getting out of here. (I’m sorry I’m laughing so hard because that would 15/10 make me laugh, dark humor is how I cope)
It’s not helpful (depending on the individual at least)
Oh! What about now you don’t have to worry about any acne or wrinkles?
Better? But is it really? Eh..
Overall he’s not particularly great at the whole reassurance about your appearance or how you act “I mean have you seen how some of the others act?” (Jax that’s not..helpful), but because you are someone important to him he’ll make the extra effort to listen to exactly what it is your insecure about and if you need him to reassure you he’ll do so
It might sound insincere but that’s just how he talks
On the off chance that you have a really bad day, it tugs at his heartstrings (yeah, he has those), he’ll pull you aside and give you little kisses over those places.
Insecure about something facial-wise? Face kisses.
You end up as a toy with too many legs and not enough fingers? Kisses (maybe not the legs though...)
When in doubt kisses and he’ll let you hug him or whatever, but breathe a word of this to the other’s and he’ll.. I dunno, prank you later or something. He'll have to workshop it.
Back to the act thing, I don’t personally know how someone would be insecure over that—but if you stim or anything of the sort Jax won’t really comment on it, but if someone else does? Poor them because they are about to get on the bunny’s bad side.
Gangle stims and as big of an asshole as Jax is, he’s never made fun of her for it.
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for the mini fic thing! 17 with Steve & Eddie? i love your drabbles!!
This is exceptionally late, and I'm slightly adjusting the prompt, but here you go!
17. "Things I wish you hadn't said"
"You know you gave me the nickname, right?" Eddie says.
He does that a lot, Steve has learned. Starts conversations in ways that sound like the middle of them. It's one thing among many he's noticed about Eddie, since March '86.
"What?" he says, half to make sure he heard him right, half because he's a little slow from the joint they've been passing back and forth.
"The Freak," Eddie explains. He says it like he's talking about the weather and takes another drag of the joint before he passes it back to Steve. "You regretted it right after you said it. Well, right after Carol shouted it loud enough for the whole cafeteria to hear. Could see it right on your face."
Steve remembers that day. His sophomore year, so Eddie's junior. Daniel McCain had gone up to Eddie, angry as anything about something Steve just had to know about.
He's glad he's not that guy anymore.
"Do you know why he came up to me? Danny?"
"No," Steve says. He interrupted that would-be conversation before he could hear any of it. He had to make himself the star of the show, all the time.
A sophomore, and already king.
He was such a prick.
He passes the joint back to Eddie without taking another drag.
"Do you remember my nose being broken?"
Steve has a flash of a memory, of a younger Eddie with hair curling just under his chin, bandages on his bruised face.
He nods.
"I kissed him the day before," Eddie says. He extinguishes the joint in favor of picking at his fingernails instead. "He didn't take too kindly to it."
Oh, shit.
"And you asked him what he had to talk to The Freak about."
For probably the hundredth time in his life, Steve hates the person he used to be. Because not only did he give Eddie the nickname that stuck with him all through the rest of his high school career, not only did he add insult to literal injury, but Steve couldn't even remember this particular cruelty in a sea of cruelties.
He wants to go back in time and shake that kid by the shoulders until his head's back on straight.
"I'm sorry. I wish I hadn't said that," he says, and it doesn't sound like nearly enough.
Eddie waves him off. "Can't go back. Besides, if you didn't say it, someone else would have. Probably me, to be honest."
Steve leans back, propping himself up on his elbows on Eddie's bed. He looks up at Eddie, sitting near his nightstand, cross-legged and still in a way that he never is when he's sober. The way he's backlit makes his hair seem like a gold halo, makes every stark detail of his silhouette stand out in a way that keeps Steve from looking away.
Not that he wants to.
He doesn't think that logic holds up. It's not worth thinking about "what-ifs," but he can't help it. He can't help the thought that if he had watched his mouth for once in his life, Eddie wouldn't have been tormented with that particular phrase.
Eddie doesn't seem to resent him for it, though. Robin always says that no one is as hard on Steve as he is, and this seems to line up with that.
Still.
"If you're not mad about it, then why-"
"I couldn't think of a better way to tell you I like boys," Eddie blurts.
Oh.
Steve has had plenty of people interested in him. He knows how to flirt back, even when they're as awkward as Eddie is, eyes burning a hole through his mattress.
It's not often that he's interested back. Really interested back.
Huh.
Guess I like men, he thinks to himself, and while thinking can wait for the morning, when he's sober, he knows that what he feels isn't going to fade along with the high.
And he knows exactly which moves to pull.
He sits up and moves a little closer to Eddie.
"Why do I need to know that?" he teases.
Eddie's head snaps up. He studies Steve's face with slightly reddened eyes, and when he finds, or doesn't find, what he's looking for, he relaxes. "Because I like you."
"You gonna do anything about it?"
"Yeah," Eddie says, leaning closer. "I'm gonna kiss you, and I hope you won't bre-"
Steve runs out of patience. He grabs Eddie's face with both hands and pulls him in.
It's a good kiss. Definitely not one worth punching over.
"You asshole!" Eddie laughs when they break apart. "You didn't let me finish my line!"
"Are you mad about it?"
"A little!"
"Too mad to kiss me again?"
Eddie pauses, grabs Steve's face, and kisses him fiercely.
Something tells Steve the answer to that last question is a resounding, "Not at all."
Prompts here.
#ria writes#asked and answered#andforthecoating#thanks for asking!!#steddie#steddie ficlet#steve harrington#eddie munson#cw drug use#st#st ficlet#stranger things#stranger things ficlet#fluff
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Copy and pasted
This was a request from @yourlocaltreesimp and @sketchyspook as a continuation of self aware sky!! This man has my heart and soul <3
we've got two skies trying to come to terms with each other while reader is stuck in the middle <33
Btw if ever there's a one shot you'd ever like a continuation of I'll always be happy to write it if you drop a request <3 seeing as that's how this came to be in full, I had no intention to carry on with sky otherwise
The first - second
[masterlist]
...
“And why do you look just like me?”
This is so different to what happened the first time, he’s less emotive with his face still rigged to the model the way he’s moving seems far more stiff like he’s fighting against the game.
The biggest difference though?
He’s petrified.And not of any one thing in particular every single thing is setting him off, from how my link is looking at him to even the feeling of his skin from what I can see. Link - the one on my side I mean - is hard to read, tensing up, gritting his teeth and looking at his other self like a threat.
“Why are you both just looking at me like that - what - I - I - please I can’t handle anyone else keeping me in the dark - no one seems to remember my name - my real name- I don’t… this is all so… so”
Even his crying sounds similar to link’s - my link’s - oh I’ll need to come up with nicknames for them both now otherwise there won’t be an end to the confusion. Anyway it sounds similar, but far more broken, almost as if he’s having an existential crisis during his breakdown which, to be fair, is probably what is happening. One of us needs to explain everything to him and with links reaction?
I think it’s going to be up to me.
With a quick glance at link telling him to stay out of this, moving to sit closer to the screen to talk to him face to face like a real person, all I have to do is hope that it goes well; that he doesn’t do anything rash.
“Link - I’ll explain whatever you want explained to you that I can with what I know, you just need to calm down enough to ask alright?”
That stopped the crying, his head jerkily moving so that his eyes can meet mine with each movement he makes becoming more fluid and natural. Each second that passes only seeming to bring him more alive all the while link behind me only seems to be getting more upset over it all.
“I - I - Yeah… I can calm down, th-ank you..?”
“[name], you can call me that if you want or whatever you’re comfortable with.”
“Ri-ight then feather, what’s happening - why are you watching me? And why - why does he look like me?”
Anomaly, I think that’ll suit him, didn’t take kindly to me being called a nickname so quickly but he’s the one who wanted to play the game so badly so he’s got to suck it up. Besides it’s not like he’s got to shatter someone's worldview, hopes and life, that falls on me. I can comfort anomaly later on, when this is cleared up.
“Link you, aren’t real. You’re the character the player controls to play through this game you’re in, we weren’t just watching you, he was controlling you.”
“...”
“As for why he looks like you? He is you, a version of you anyway.”
“One who managed to learn about it and get out on his own, guess that makes me your better self huh?”
Because that was the right thing to tell a version of yourself having a breakdown, he had the decency to at least look a little ashamed when I turned to look at him. Not that his remorse helps how replay seems to have gotten worse again, this time the sound of crying pairing with tears streaming down his digital face. Even if he isn’t the same link I’ve been living with, his tears still hurt far more than any wound.
“So none of it - nothing - I went through is real, I’m not real? This is all for nothing, Zelda's not, she isn’t real either, so she, I’ve been through so- You helped me through it all…”
“Link..?”
“He - I? - said he got out, I - so that means I can too right? You - You’re not going to put me through everything, through learning all of that and keep me trapped in here right? Please [name], feather, please don’t make me stay here.”
“So you can try to take the love I earned? [Name] you were right I should never have played it.”
Oh, he knows exactly the right way to word it to hurt replay as much as he possibly can, it’s like he feels some sickening joy at this version of himself sobbing his heart out and knowing he’s the cause of the pain. Replay’s face has nothing more than horror on it now, he’s more scared than earlier. Hopefully anomaly comes to his senses soon so he doesn’t traumatise him any more than he already has.
“Link, can you go getmy first aid kit and some extra bandages? I think they’re in the bathroom.”
“Wait dove you’re not planning to - right?”
“I didn’t leave you stuck and come on, love. I know you don’t actually hate him.”
“I - sure, for you though, no other reason.”
He didn’t fight me back at all, proving my own point that he most likely just feels threatened when he has no reason to be. Maybe replay staying with us will even be good for him, I know he’s been struggling adapting to being real and not having anyone who he can really relate to; replay being a version of himself in a very similar spot should really help.
“[name]... you told him not to play? W-were you scared of this - of me learning? Of me being an issue… is that why you told him not to?”
“It wasn’t about you coming to life persay, I said it as a joke about how he got out of the game. He broke something that was very expensive to replace and I was teasing him over it. I know he was just saying that to hurt you though, so don’t worry about it. I’m sure he’ll calm down if you give him some time.”
Arguably it feels more like I’m facetiming someone now, his movements are so life-like he’s just like a real person, just in time for him to show a shy smile. Was this what anomaly would’ve looked like if he wasn’t in such a rush to get out that he was on the verge of corrupting the data while he was still in it. It’s unnerving, but less so than when he shoved his hand through the screen without warning.
“Besides I think I have a way to prevent you from breaking anything hopefully, my boyfriend’s just getting it set up. It shouldn’t take long but seeing as we have a bit of time… is there anything else you wanted to ask or do you wanna talk for a bit?”
He seems flustered now, blushing red and everything, it’s kinda sweet more but does this me that he’s also.
Be real with yourself [name] what are the odds that the same guy fell for you twice. Those would probably be higher wouldn’t they now I think on it.
That look in his eye doesn’t make sense if he’s not as much as I hate to think it. It’s the same way anomaly looks at me, tamer yes but still has the same obsessive energy behind it, like he wants me to give him permission or he doesn’t understand why he feels like the way he does. Hopefully it won’t cause issues.
He seemed to back away a little when I felt arms wrap around my shoulders, clearly someone wasn’t as pleased with how he was looking at me, while the other doesn’t like not having my attention. A nip at my ear was all I needed to turn back to him.
“I hope you understand why I don’t like this, I love you far too much to consider losing you to another version of myself… but I did go and get the first aid kit like you asked. I don’t see why he needs it, can’t he just bring a potion with him or down a guardian potion beforehand?”
“Thanks love, I really appreciate it. You do have a point though, but still it’s better to prepare for the worst.”
“This isn't going to change anything between us, because I can’t lose you my player, just - just promise me that alright?”
“Of course link.”
Then the promise was sealed with a kiss to his cheek, tension leaving him instantly now that he knows his position as my partner isn’t at threat. Honestly it’s so cute how territorial he gets, nothing bad has ever happened and he’s the best partner you could ever want outside of that so really it’s not much of an issue. Other than that how many people can say their ‘fictional’ crush both reciprocates and gets possessive of them, it’s a very small number as far as I’m aware. Now all that’s left to do is for replay to break his way out.
Replay’s already tearing up again.
“So then me what do I have to do to get out, and - and to throw away my past.”
“Break the screen, put your hand up against it and break the glass. I’ll be honest though, it will hurt a lot.”
“So I should take a potion right, to make it hurt less?”
“I didn’t take one, but if you feel you’ll need it. Go ahead, it’ll only prove you’re less than me.”
That final insult seemed to make replay steel himself, gripping a potion in his hand staring at it like it was what threatened him instead.
He didn’t drink it though.
Instead he opted to take his shield and use the pointed base to break through, faster and arguably much smarter than my beloved anomaly did, reaching out afterwards to pull himself out leaving my tv in a broken pile yet again but replay himself was left relatively unharmed in comparison. Was link really that desparate to be with me before? I can’t say that I’m not flattered by that, I only wish he took his own health into consideration.
Now I’m simply stuck between the two of them staring at each other, I wonder how long it will take them to grow up and stop silently arguing.
#I won't lie if you want a long request written fast by me? any self aware boy.#I will write it within a day of starting it - it's an issue :]#linked universe x reader#yandere linked universe x reader#yandere linked universe#link x reader#lu sky#lu sky x reader#yandere link#yandere link x reader#yandere legend of zelda#self aware au#moss✦writes
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Princes Choice II
Pairing: Reader x Chris Evans
Warnings: None maybe just some minor tension
Summary: Everyone knows about the royal family the Evanses, especially their promiscuous son, Chris. Then one night they invite all the women, and their parents to a ball to make a major announcement that will change your life forever
✨Please do not copy and paste my work or steal it or take credit for it without my permission or else I will have you reported✨
Part 1
"Is there a guest room where I can stay?" Politely asking the queen as you stood in Chris's massive bedroom. "I just don't feel comfortable staying here just yet."
"Oh is something the matter?" She genuinely looked concerned that something happened between you and her son.
"No nothings wrong." Waving your hands back and forth relief flushed across her face. "It's just I would feel much better with my own room at least until I start getting to know him better."
"Of course we've prepared one for you just in case." She smiled warmly at you as she led you further down the hall. "If you'll follow me."
There were no way in hell that you were going to be staying in the same bed as him. He'd probably jump you first thing, and then say he was bored or make up some lame reason to break it off. Not doubting his natural talent for lying just to get what he wants.
Although his mother looked a tad disappointed when you made the comment you did. Almost like she expected you to just accept everything, and enjoy jumping in his bed. She was also probably just thrilled that he picked someone to marry anyway.
"Your here as a guest you know." She spoke as you looked over at her. "You can leave anytime you want."
"I guess I'm just still having a hard time believing that he picked me to be his wife." Her eyes remained straight ahead.
"I honestly didn't believe he would pick someone either." She admitted with a chuckle. "He was so against this at first, and when he knew we were serious he accepted things."
"Has he ever wanted to marry?" Timidly asking her as she looked over at you this time.
"Never. He's been against marriage ever since he was a young boy." Her words didn't comfort you, but the smile she gave you suggested he's changed.
"I hope this is more to your liking." Stepping into another large room this one feeling more warm and comforting.
"This is perfect." You smiled turning to face the queen. "Thank you so much."
"Chris is in his study right now, but he should be down by dinner time." She informed you even though you didn't ask.
"What time is dinner?"
"Dinner will be served by eight." Talking about food had your stomach grumbling.
"Should I wear anything specific?" Looking down at your jeans and shirt feeling like a slob compared to her.
"A dress would be appropriate." Nodding your head noticing your discomfort right away. "But you wear whatever feels comfortable to you."
"Thank you your majesty." Bowing your head down.
"Please call me Lisa."
"Thank you.. Lisa." You we're just glad she was sweet and kind, and not rude and cruel like some people said she was.
"Is there anything else I can get you?" She asked hands clasped in front of her.
"Oh no thank you I'm good." Bowing her head down to you.
"If you need anything at all please don't hesitate to let me know." Nodding back at her as she curtsied turning back around to walk back down the hall.
Plopping down on the bed the thick comforter cushioning your bottom as you looked around. Leaning back on the palms of your hands shaking your head back and forth not believing you were actually here. Wondering if maybe you were just dreaming this, and you couldn't find it in yourself to wake up.
Your mother bawled the whole time as you packed. Rolling your eyes as she told story after story of when you were little. She was more happy about this marriage then you were. Your father really didn't show too much expression, but he didn't dare to object to this marriage. Your mother would kill him.
Standing up you went over to your small bags of personal items figuring this was a good a time as any to start unpacking. This was going to be your new life now, and you might as well start accepting it. Plus you might be able to divorce him and then be done with him.
"Miss Y/L/N." A deep voice rang on the other side of the door catching your attention.
"Come in." Clearing your throat as you stood up a young man opening the door a tray in his hand.
"Sorry ma'am I was asked to bring some food to your room." His tone soft and gentle he was a good looking man.
"Oh okay thanks." Placing the tray on the table as you awkwardly stood there.
"You must be the lucky bride to be." He spoke as he stood by the door hands behind his back.
"Yep I'm the golden ticket winner." Jokingly answering which he thankfully found amusing.
"Not what you wanted huh?" His question caught you a little off guard not expecting someone like him to be talking to you like this.
"Well I'm not exactly fond of what you'd call an arranged marriage." Raising your fingers in an air quote motion.
"Yeah I wouldn't be happy if I had to marry him either." Raising your brows at him to explain further. "He's what you'd call a spoiled little boy who likes to play with his favorite toys."
"Doesn't surprise me." You scoffed realizing that night he talked to you was all a front. "I should have known he was that kind."
"That's usually how he does it. Sweet talks them, gets them into bed, and then once he's done with them he tosses them into the dirt."
"How do you know so much?" You asked him placing your hands on your hips.
"I've seen it way too many times." His tone sympathetic towards you with this information. “So many beautiful women hurt.”
"Great." Grumbling under your breath as he laughed.
"You'll be fine. The service here is great, and the food and wine is even better." He joked teasingly cracking a smile on your lips.
"Well keep the bottles of wine coming." Pointing a finger at him with a serious but playful look on your face.
"Will do ma'am." Nodding his hand at your request.
"Please call me Y/N." Waving your hand at him. "What's your name?"
"It's Sebastian Stan."
"Well its nice to meet you Sebastian." Smiling widely at him as he rubbed the back of his neck.
Staring at him for quick minute you took in such boyish qualities about this man. His eyes were soft and his skin looked smooth and warm. There was something about this man that had you feeling a sense of comfort. He seemed like he genuinely had a good heart, and wondered why you couldn't marry someone like him.
"How are you liking the castle?" He curiously asked just wanting to make small talk.
"It's a little overwhelming I gotta admit." You chuckled nervously. "I think I'm gonna need a map or something."
"The longer you stay the more familiar you'll become with the place." His words were an attempt to make you feel better. "Soon you'll know this place like the back of your hand."
"I don't know I have trouble with the backs of my hands sometimes." Cracking a lame joke but it earned you a soft chuckle.
"I should get back to my duties." Turning around to face the door. "Please let me know if you need anything."
Shutting the door behind him as you walked over to the silver tray covered in different little sandwiches and fruits. Thank god his mother caught on to how hungry you were otherwise you would have fainted before dinner.
Smacking your lips together as you devoured the sandwiches moaning at how good everything tasted. This was the best sandwich that you've ever tasted, and couldn't wait for dinner now. Wondering what kinds of delicious meals they would have prepared for you tonight.
Speaking of tonight you needed to figure out what you were going to wear. She told you to dress comfortably but you wanted to look like you belonged. Even if it wasn't exactly the ideal situation you were still living in a castle with the royal family.
Walking over to the book case with many shelves filled with books. Reading the different titles until something stood out to you. Landing on something interesting as you got into bed figuring make time go faster by reading until it was dinner time.
Looking at the clock you figured you might as well start looking for something to wear. Removing your shirt and bra tossing them in air, but not hearing them hit the ground. Shrugging it off as you walked over to the closet to find a dress. Hands on your hips as your eyes raked across the different clothes they already had packed.
"Now you just need to take your pants off." A deep voice startling you with a jump.
"What the fuck?" You screamed at the smirking man your arms covering your breasts.
"Don't stop dressing on my account." He actually dared to step closer to you making you back up into the dresser. "Not the first time I've seen a naked woman before."
"How long have you been standing there?" You asked him curiously.
"Not long enough apparently." His eyes trailing your figure then landing back on yours.
"Spy on a lot women do ya?" Your remark and tone condescending.
"I've never had the need to spy on women." He responded back truthfully. "I usually get what I want."
"God you're a pig." Scoffing at the man disliking the way he talked about women.
"You still need to take your pants off sweetheart." Looking down at your legs picturing what you looked like underneath.
"Get out." Nodding your head back towards the door but he just simply smiled back at you. "Now."
"That's no way to speak to your fiancé." Tsking like a parent scorning their child.
"Technically you've never asked me so." Feeling proud that you were right on this matter.
"Okay." Watching as he got down on one knee and you immediately started to panic.
"Well don't ask me now." Barking at him as he smiled at your reaction.
"Whatever you say sweetheart." Chuckling as he stood up with groan. "But you will become my wife."
"Yeah when hell freezes over." Grumbling under your breath but he heard it anyway.
"I can have that arranged for you if you'd like." He always had something to say back.
"Not surprised you're probably butt buddies with the devil himself." Sneering at him watching his smile slowly fading.
Not saying a word Chris stomped towards you until his chest was practically pressed up against you. Staring at you his nostrils flaring every time he inhaled. Your body was frozen to the ground unable to move. You could actually feel the heat radiating from his body.
Staring deep into his eyes as they slowly started to turn dark. He was trapping you like some helpless little animal. As much as you wanted to run away from him you couldn't find it in yourself to do that. As much as you wanted to smack him from trying to watch you change you couldn't.
His head leaning forward so his lips were barely touching the skin of your shoulder. Chris inhaling deeply to get a whiff of your scent moaning quietly his approval. You on the other hand were breathing heavily your chest heaving up and down. Your stomach was doing somersaults, and you were failing at trying to remain calm.
"If I were you I would stay on my good side." He whispered into your ear his breath hitting your skin making goosebumps appear.
"I didn't realize you had a good side." Blurting out before you could stop yourself his mouth barely touching you as he smirked loving how you didn't take his crap.
"That mouth is going to get you in trouble." Feeling his lips drag across the side of your neck to your shoulder leaving a tingling feeling on your skin.
You don't know what it was or what was happening, but you found yourself for a brief moment not wanting him to move. He smelled so good you wanted to just wrap your arms around him and hold on until your arms gave up. It was like he had you under some kind of spell and you couldn't snap out of it.
There was so much tension between you two you could cut it with a knife. Chris just wanting nothing more than to press his lips against yours. You needed to break free from this trance before something happened between you two.
"Can you please leave so I can finished getting changed?" Your voice cracked and you knew Chris could hear it, but you just hoped he wouldn't say anything.
"Well since you've asked nicely." Pushing himself away from you with restraint.
Turning around to walk back towards the door stopping with his hand on the ledge. His head facing you as he looked at you with almost a look of concern of worry. Scrunching your face as you choked back whether he should say something or not.
“I never told you this but you are absolutely positively gorgeous.” You almost rolled your eyes at his sweet and tender words.
“You probably have that line memorized saying it so many times.” Scoffing as you crossed your arms across your chest.
“True but I’ve never meant it before.” He smiled genuinely making it hard for you to not smile back. “There’s just something about you.”
His eyes didn’t wonder up and down your body like you expected him to. Instead they remained glued to yours. The corner of your lip twitching as you fought to smile at him or say anything back. You felt bad not responding, but you wanted him to know that you weren’t going to fall so easily for his games.
"If you meet Sebastian Stan please stay away." Moving your head back confused to what the meaning of his words meant.
"And why should I?" You bit back.
"Just please stay away from him he's not who you think he is." Was his last warning before he shut the door behind him. The hell did he mean by that.
#chris evans#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans smut#chris evans x reader#chris evans imagines#chris evans fic#chris evans series#chris evans imagine
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Recovery - Chapter 31
Eminem x Reader Fanfiction
Summary : Dinner with Reader's Dad ends up being a nightmare.
Tags : Angst - Comfort
MARSHALL’S POV
Y/N was pacing the room and her nerves were starting to rub off on him. Out of all the people he had ever met, she was the one whose stress was most communicative. With the energy she was giving, she could probably stress out the toughest, best-trained army negotiators. When she had told him that her father wanted to meet him, Marshall hadn’t freaked out. Being a Dad to someone his girlfriend’s age, he understood the idea of parents wanting to meet their children’s significant others. Sure, he hadn’t met a girlfriend’s family in a while, but he wasn’t too scared. The perspective of Y/N’s father being about his age made things less impressive. The way he saw it, it would just be a casual dinner and, worst comes to worst, he would have to state his intentions towards the man’s daughter : make her happy and support her. Not to toot his own horn, but he could think of worse boyfriends than him for anyone’s daughter. After all, he wasn’t a deadbeat, he had a job, money and he loved Y/N unconditionally. So he wasn’t too stressed out. At least, at the beginning. Because as they got closer to the fateful dinner, Y/N was starting to lose her grip.
Stop stressing out, babe, he chuckled. It’s going to be fine. Plus, I know how to make a good impression.
Sorry, she groaned. It’s just… You meeting my Dad, you know ? I can think of a thousand things that could go wrong.
It’ll be fine, he said softly. Plus, he knows what to expect, right ? The fact that you told him you’re dating me and that he is willing to meet me has to be a good sign.
Oh, he has no idea who you are, she said.
Is that a family thing ? He chuckled. Like a collective decision not to know too much about me before meeting me ?
No, I mean… I don’t know if he knows who Eminem is, actually, she said. He hates rap and hip-hop anyway. But as far as he knows, your name is Marshall and you’re american and… that’s about it.
He opened his eyes wide. He wasn’t expecting that. Not that he was counting on his fame to woo Y/N’s dad, but he thought that the man having an idea of who he was meeting would play in his favor. At least, there wouldn’t be an element of surprise. Better yet, he could have been surprised in a good way, upon discovering that his daughter was not dating an asshole, as it was a common misconception about him.
So he doesn’t know anything about my job, my age… ? Marshall asked.
Hum… No, she said sheepishly. I wasn’t too sure how to break it to him on the phone…
Ok, he sighed. I mean, it can still go well. Is there anything I should know about him ? Other than the fact he might despise what I do for a living ?
You could still word it differently ? She suggested. And say that you’re an entrepreneur in the music industry ? I mean, you own a studio…
Sure, he nervously chuckled. What else ? How do I make a good impression ?
Well he’s already pissed off that he has to come to us for dinner, she pointed out. So we might want to have wine ready.
It’s for his own good, he said. If we’re followed by the press, I’m not sure he would enjoy having paparazzi waiting outside of his place...
I know, she said. But I think we might want to make it up to him with food and wine. And other than that… Hum… Don’t be too American, I guess ?
What the fuck does that mean ? He asked.
Look, my dad can be a bit of a snob, sometimes. Judgy, too… He thinks all American people are over the top and flashy. So maybe no chains or massive jewelry and something with a button wouldn’t hurt, I guess.
Babe, oddly enough, I didn’t bring a shirt or a suit on tour with me, he pointed out with a smile. The best I can do is a sweater.
Sweater it is, then, she said. And you should wear a belt. Like, properly. No ass on display.
Alright, he chuckled. Though you usually like my ass on display…
And no jokes, too, she said sternly.
I’m not stupid, Y/N, he said. I’m not going to joke about our sex life in front of your father.
No, I mean… He doesn’t really do jokes. At all.
Now, he was definitely more stressed out and already bored. He already expected the culture shock, knowing that Europeans are a bit different from Americans on a few aspects. Thankfully, Y/N’s dad spoke English so that was one less thing to worry about. But regardless, it was shaping out to be incredibly boring. As far as he knew, her Dad was an accountant whose hobbies were literature and opera. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but he couldn’t really relate to him.
The plan was to have dinner delivered in their penthouse suite, since going to her dad’s place or the restaurant would be too complicated. The dining room area was welcoming and, apparently, formal enough. Too much for his own liking, but apparently, the man enjoyed things with structure. Her father was about to arrive when Y/N was getting ready. She was dressed in a little navy dress that looked quite conservative. She was pretty, as usual, but he was used to her sporting a more casual look. Not to mention that she spent most of the time in his clothes anyway.
I’m sorry, you didn’t mention that your Dad was a priest, he giggled. Why the fuck are you dressed like you’re going to church ?
He’s a little formal, she said in an annoyed tone.
He’s your father, he said. Why would he care what you wear to dinner ? It’s just us in the suite, you could be wearing PJs…
I told you, Marsh, he’s a little strict, she shrugged. You know, I only started dressing casually when I came to America. Before that, I would never be caught dead wearing leggings and a hoodie.
Fine, he chuckled. Are we ready now ?
I guess, she groaned. I just want to get it over with.
He pulled her in for a kiss. He wanted to get over it too, and focus on the bigger picture : in two days, he would fly back to Detroit while she packed her things before joining him and,
after that, the fun would begin. He would actually have her by his side and get to experience life with the woman he loved. The idea was making his heart swell with joy, as well as the fact that his daughters were really happy for them. When he asked for their blessings, a couple of nights ago, they were nothing but supportive. He didn’t even need to plead his case : they could see what a breath of fresh air Y/N was for him. He had never thought about bringing a woman into his family, but he was so happy he had found her. Now that they were going to live together, he wanted nothing more than to give her the life she deserved and provide her with the safe space she needed. He knew the past few months had been trying for her, and he would be there for her as she let her mind and body recover. Caring for her had become second nature to him anyway, ever since they had met.
Y/N received a call from reception, indicating that her father was here. He could see her anxiety levels rise once again, as he tried to give her a reassuring smile. He kissed her forehead before she went downstairs to meet her Dad, before bringing him into the room. While she was gone, he inspected himself in the mirror. He was dressed in jeans and a dark blue sweater. He had even trimmed his beard for the occasion. He looked rather random. That was the kind of look he usually donned for appointments like PTA or meetings, where he needed to be taken seriously and look like an adult, instead of the man-child he definitely was, dressed in jeans and hoodies, or tee-shirts with rap album covers on them. A couple of minutes later, his girlfriend came back to the room with a man that looked nothing like her. He assumed she took after her mother, because he couldn’t have guessed she was related to this man. He was rather tall and carried himself like a military man, with a stiff posture. He looked rather serious. No, gloomy was a more appropriate word. He wasn’t really one to judge solely on vibe, but he immediately felt ill at ease. One look at the man and he could tell the father was nothing like Y/N. In spite of her usual shyness, she exuded warmth and softness. A far cry from her dad, who seemed cold and distant. As soon as they got through the door, he went to them and shook his hand.
Papa, this is Marshall, my boyfriend, Y/N said. Marsh, this is Jean, my father.
Bonjour, Marshall said as they shook hands and made eye contact, deciding to try one of the three words of french his girl had taught him.
Bonsoir, the man replied in a corrective tone.
Marshall looked at Y/N, a bit lost.
It means “good evening”, she explained. Bonjour is for the day.
Oh, right, he said. Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, sir.
Likewise, the man said in an emotionless voice.
They went to sit in the living room area where Y/N had prepared a glass of wine for her father and soda for the both of them.
I got your favorite wine, she said with a shy smile.
Are the two of you not drinking with me ? He asked.
I don’t drink, Marshall simply said.
I don’t feel like drinking, Y/N said softly.
He could tell she was uncomfortable, and he distinctly remembered her telling him that her father knew nothing about her addiction, recovery, nor her sobriety. She had always been a bit shy, but seeing how uncomfortable she was in the presence of the man who had raised her gave him red flags. Something felt off. Or at least, as a father, he would hate for his girls to be this tense around him. But then again, he understood that not everyone’s relationship with their parents was fun.
Americans usually fail to enjoy wine properly, Jean pointed out.
We actually have decent wine, you know ? Marshall said with a smile.
Only because they come from french vines, the man replied. Are you sure you don’t want to try this, Marshall ?
I’m good, he said. I don’t drink, for health reasons.
He wasn’t ashamed of being sober. Usually, it was quite the contrary : he was proud of his journey and he had come far. But when meeting your girlfriend’s dad, saying you’re recovering from addiction makes you seem like a raging drug-addict and alcoholic, which isn’t exactly the best look. Jean nodded and understanding and they sipped on their beverages as they made small talk.
So… Y/N told me downstairs that you are an entrepreneur ? The father asked, giving him his time to shine.
I am, Marshall nodded. In the music industry, actually.
I don’t know if she told you, but I am a big fan of music myself, Jean continued. What kind of business do you do ?
Well I own a recording studio and a label, Marshall explained. There are a couple of other things, but I am mainly into recording, producing and songwriting.
Have you been doing it for a long time ?
About twenty-five years.
He could see Jean’s stare intensify.
How old are you exactly, Marshall ? He asked in an inquisitive tone.
Fifty-two, Marshall replied as calmly as he could.
He knew he looked a few years younger - thanks to genetics, healthy eating, exercising as well as a good skincare regimen prescribed by his daughters - but surely, his age couldn’t be such a surprise, right ? Or at least, that’s what he thought when he saw his girlfriend’s father’s face decompose. Jean glared at his daughter who immediately looked down.
So, you’re into opera, right ? Marshall asked in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Indeed, Jean said. What kind of music do you produce ?
Mostly hip-hop, Marshall said. Though I’ve worked with artists of various horizons.
Anything I might have heard ?
Well, you might have heard some Eminem stuff, he said with a soft smile.
Y/N threw him a panicked glance. The man in front of him might hate hip-hop but he still had to be honest. Hiding from his father-in-law that he was a big recording artist was probably not the best way to go and get his approval. Life had taught him that honesty was, by far, the best way to go.
I have heard of him, Jean simply said. I cannot say I care for this type of music.
I get it, that’s not for everyone, Marshall said with a shrug.
It is that I don’t think it qualifies as proper music, the man continued. Does it even pay the rent ?
Marshall tried his best not to roll his eyes. He had heard countless times that hip-hop is not actual music and he was sick of people failing to understand the artistry behind it. However, now was not the time to argue. The question about paying the rent was also incredibly stupid, in his opinion. The man was sitting in the penthouse suite of one of the most expensive hotels in Paris. Of course, it paid the rent. He didn’t want to be an asshole who flaunted his wealth, but the judgy look on the other man’s face was almost prompting him to list his assets.
Well, it certainly bought the house, Marshall said with a forced smile.
Alright. What brings you to Europe ? Jean asked. Business ?
Yeah, Marshall said. I just finished the second part of my tour, actually.
Your tour ? You are an artist too ?
Dad, Y/N interjected. What Marshall means to say is that… He’s Eminem.
Marshall smiled. At least that was clearer now. It was the first time he had ever had to disclose who he was in such a way. Jean turned to his daughter with a confused expression and said something in french. Y/N’s eyebrows were furrowed as she replied something, visibly uncomfortable. It was incredibly frustrating for him not to understand a word of what they were saying. From what he gathered, it wasn’t a very pleasant exchange.
We should order our food, Y/N said after a while.
Her expression was one of confusion and sadness. She seemed visibly hurt by something her father had said. He hated seeing her this way, but he also didn’t want to interfere. They ordered food from the room service and kept on making awkward small talk. As the meal arrived, they settled in the dining room.
Forgive me for being so blunt, but I am rather disappointed, Jean said.
What disappoints you ? Marshall asked.
When I agreed to let Y/N study in America, I did not expect for her to end like this, he explained matter-of-factly. No one wants their daughter unemployed and making poor life decisions.
He saw Y/N duck her head down. The remark was not aimed at him, at least not directly, but it stung. It was no wonder why she didn’t mention her father too often : from the looks of it, he was an ass.
Ever since her mother’s death, I have raised her on my own and tried to instill good values in her. I certainly did not expect her to repay me by failing miserably to start a career and deciding to be some sort of potiche for a rapper.
A what ? Marshall asked with his eyebrows furrowed.
Potiche, Y/N repeated with a sad look on her face. It means “vase”. It refers to, hum… a woman who is basically a trophy wife.
Marshall’s eyes darkened. He wasn’t necessarily expecting the man’s blessing - not that he cared too much, Y/N was an adult - but having a man his age insult his own daughter was wrong on so many levels. He tried really hard not to spit in the man’s face but it was getting harder by the minute. If he hadn’t gone to anger management classes and therapy, he probably would have thrown him out already.
I mean, she just became a doctor, Marshall said tentatively. You must be kind of proud.
The degree doesn’t mean much if she doesn’t find a job, Jean pointed out sternly. I guess she’s just too lazy.
Not to contradict you, but I’ve actually seen her work on her dissertation, he said. Your daughter is really impressive. I think she deserves credit for her work.
It’s not too hard when everything’s been handed to you, the father pointed out. Do you have children, Marshall ?
I have, Marshall replied. Three girls, actually. They’re 31, 28 and 21.
So I guess you understand the disappointment I’m facing, then. No one wishes for their daughter to fail her professional life and be in a relationship with someone who could be their father.
Y/N was staring at her plate, visibly on the verge of tears. He grabbed her hand under the table and interlaced their fingers. He stared at Jean, who had a cold expression on his face. Not approving of their relationship was one thing, but what kind of father could belittle his child in such a way ?
Look, Marshall said, I understand where you’re coming from. If one of my daughters told me they were in a relationship with someone my age, I wouldn’t be too happy. In fact, I’d probably want to punch the man in the face. But I want you to know that I have good intentions when it comes to Y/N. I love her, I care about her and I want to make her happy.
And, for my career, I’m going to send out applications as soon as I move in with Marshall, Y/N said. We have it figured out.
You are not moving in with him, Jean said.
Both him and Y/N turned their heads and stared at Jean. The way he said it sounded final. As if he were talking to a little girl. However, she was a grown woman, an adult and she didn’t need to ask for permission. In fact, the whole meeting was more of a courtesy rather than an actual obligation. Marshall would gladly remind him, but it was not his place and he knew it. His girlfriend said something to her father, in french. Her tone was soft, at first, as it was most of the time when she talked to people, but as the conversation kept on going, it got more animated. Jean was talking loudly and he could see his girl having trouble being assertive. However, she said something that prompted her father to slap her, before screaming something. Before he could even think about what he was doing, Marshall got up and threw his fist in the other man’s face. It was bad enough that he was making Y/N feel bad, but he would not get away with hitting her.
YOU PIECE OF SHIT ! Marshall screamed as he grabbed him by the collar, forcing him to get up and shoved him against the nearest wall. DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE TOUCH HER!
The man was taller than him but he was in such a fit of rage that, unless his opponent was Mike Tyson, he could probably take out anyone. He kept on screaming, out of his mind, as the other man yelled as well, trying to get out of his hold. Lucky for him, Jean wasn’t much of a fighter. He was firmly holding him by the collar, slapping him just like he had slapped Y/N. He kept on screaming and slapping, telling him what a piece of shit he was, and how undeserving of being a father he was.
You’re fucking lucky your daughter’s in the room, Marshall finally spat. I wouldn’t beat up someone in front of their child, but I swear to God, if I see your motherfucking face one more time, I will fuck you up !
When he finally let go of Jean, the man addressed his daughter, who was still sitting at the table, in a state of shock. He yelled something in French and was about to approach her when Marshall intervened between the two of them. The man yelled something he couldn’t quite understand, still in French, before storming out of the room. Marshall closed his eyes for a second, to regain some composure. His heart was pounding in his chest. He had not been in a state of rage in a long time and the sensations felt foreign. He could feel his cheeks burning. He took a few deep breaths to try and soothe himself. If he didn’t, he might as well chase him down the corridor and strangle him. Seeing him slap Y/N had brought back memories of being abused as a child. His mother had never hit him too much, but the same couldn’t be said of some of her boyfriends. He had always sworn that if he witnessed it, he would intervene and make sure the person regretted their action. Didn’t matter who or when.
When he opened his eyes, they landed on Y/N, who was silently sobbing, face in her hands. For a quick second, he had almost forgotten about her. He immediately went to her, to make sure she was alright. He kneeled by her side and tried to grab her hands, so that he could examine her face. As he tried to touch her, she jerked and looked at him with terror on her face. Suddenly, it hit him : he was the one that scared her. The realization was enough to make his heart sink, as he took a step back.
Please don’t touch me, she whispered. Please.
Ok, he said softly as he held his hands up. I won’t touch you. I just need to make sure you’re alright, baby.
Tears were still streaming down her face and her chest was heaving. He had to fight against his own urges to touch her, wipe her tears and take her in his arms. He was about two feet away from her but it felt too big a distance. He looked at her cheek : the slap hadn’t left a mark. Evidently, it hadn’t been too violent. On a physical aspect, at least. He knew full well the psychological effects of such a gesture.
I didn’t mean to scare you, baby. I’m so sorry, he said softly.
Who are you ?! She blurted out. Wh-What… What did you do ?!
He sighed and looked at her face. It was crumbling, filled with doubt and uncertainty. She had never looked at him like this before. Sure, their first argument was one to remember, and she had certainly looked at him with hatred and disgust, but this look was different. It was a look of fear.
He hit you, Y/N, he said.
You hit him ! You hit my father !
Yes I did, he replied sternly. No father, hell, no parent should ever raise a hand on their child.
It’s… my fault, she said. I said something he didn’t like. I-I shouldn’t have, really. This one is on me.
So what ? He asked. I’m sorry but that doesn’t justify shit, Y/N. I’ve raised three kids, four if you count Nate. Do you know how many times they’ve been insufferable and thrown shit in my face ? A lot. But I can tell you I have never, ever lifted a finger on them. That shit is not ok.
She looked down and buried her face in her hands once again. He wasn’t sure if he should approach her or not. She seemed so distressed, he decided against it, although it broke his heart. After a minute or so, she got up and made her way to the bedroom. He followed her, making sure not to be too close.
Baby, talk to me, he said softly.
Please, no, she said. I need… I need a minute.
He nodded and she went to the bathroom. He heard the lock click. He sighed and sat on the bed. He absolutely did not regret his actions. For all he cared, Jean could sue him, he didn’t give a shit about it. What worried him was what Y/N would think of him. The last thing he wanted was to be seen as someone violent by the person he loved the most. He heard the water running and figured she would take some time. He went back to the living room area and grabbed a can of coke. God knew he needed a sugary drink. The wine bottle was still on the table, half full, as well as the plates of their meal. To be fair, he wasn’t hungry anymore. He sat on the couch and let his head fall back against the headrest as he tried to think of how he would possibly navigate the situation with Y/N. About forty-five minutes later, she came out of the bathroom, wearing her PJs.
Good night, she called from the bedroom.
We should talk, first, he said before joining her.
She seemed a little less distraught, though she still had a frown on her face. She was getting under the cover when he sat on the edge of the bed.
How are you feeling, babe ? He asked carefully.
I don’t know, she said. I’m not even sure how I am supposed to feel.
Did he hurt you ? How is your cheek ?
I-It’s fine, she said. I’m just… I don’t even know how to say it. But you… You were… Terrifying.
I am so sorry, my love, he said. I didn’t mean to scare you. But I saw him hit you, and I lost it.
It wasn’t you, she said. It was someone who looks like you, but it’s not you, Marshall. I’ve never seen you like this. You’re not this angry, scary person.
Well it was me, he sighed. I hate that you had to see me like this. I hate that side of me. I used to be this very angry person but I worked on it. It takes a lot for me to get angry like this, you know ?
You were so intimidating, she said. Suddenly, you were yelling, a-and you were slapping my dad… And I couldn’t help but think “that’s not him, that’s not my boyfriend, that’s not the man I am moving in with”...
He sighed and took his head in his hands. He said nothing for a couple of seconds before looking at her.
I am so sorry, Y/N. I keep on saying that, but it’s true. I need you to know that I would never do that shit to you, he said. I know it must have been very scary for you, especially because you have never seen me like this before, but I want you to know that I would never, ever scream at you like this, let alone lay a finger on you.
I know, she whispered. But… He is my father. And you hit him.
He is your father, he replied. And he hit you. And I am not ok with that. I am not ok with anyone hitting their child, ever. I am not ok with him hitting you, and especially not in front of me. I… Fuck. Has he always been violent like this ? Was he abusive to you ?
No, she said. He is not like that. I mean, yes he is, but he usually isn’t that bad.
Meaning ?
He has always been really tough on me, she said. Really strict. But he never really hit me. Maybe once, when I was a teenager. But it’s never been a habit, you know ? But it’s my fault, I swear.
How is that your fault ? He asked. How is your father hitting you, your fault ?
Because I stood up to him, she said sheepishly. And I shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t respectful and I shouldn’t have.
What did you say ?
I said… I said that I wasn’t asking for his opinion and that I was old enough to do whatever I wanted, she explained. And then, he said that I was his biggest disappointment and I should be thankful for everything he did for me. And when I said I didn’t care he… he slapped me. So you see, it’s my fault.
He shook his head and sighed. Her thinking it was her fault was wrong on so many levels. At least, he was relieved to know that he hadn’t been violent to her when she was growing up. Everyone was not that lucky. However, the fact that a fifty-something man was not able to handle the fact that his grown-ass daughter was making her own choices and slapped her when she stood up for herself was frankly appalling. So was the fact that Y/N didn’t seem to realize that.
Arguing with your parents, it happens, he said. Even if you had been super disrespectful, which I don’t think you were, him laying a finger on you would not be ok, babe. And I’m not even going to get started on the fact that he’s been belittling you all evening.
He was always like this, you know ? She explained. I was never good enough. But I suppose it was his way of striving for excellence. He wanted the best for me. We don’t come from money, you know. When he was growing up, he was dirt-poor. We don’t have much, we’re typical middle-class, but he worked hard for everything and he was able to give me a good chance in life. And he single-handedly raised me. I owe him everything. He is my father. He is literally my only family.
It’s kind of his job, though, he said. As a parent, that’s literally what he is supposed to do. And I’m sorry but the fact that he comes from poverty doesn’t justify shit. I come from a poor, dysfunctional family too, I should know. I’m a father, I understand the wish for your kids to do good, but that will never be an excuse to behave the way he behaved.
She ducked her head down. He knew his words weren’t exactly what she wanted to hear, but he’d rather tell her the truth.
I can’t move back, she whispered.
What ?! He asked. Of course you can. And you should.
Marshall, no, she said. Before he left he literally told me that if I moved to Detroit, I would have to forget him and his support.
His support ?! Oh yeah, clearly he’s the most supportive person ever, Marshall said sarcastically. Before you went back to France, we knew each other for a whole year. Shall I remind you of all the times he came to visit you ? Of all the times he was here for you, during your recovery or after you were assaulted ? Oh wait, that’s right : NONE. Literally zero. That man has no idea what you’ve been through and he doesn’t see all that you’ve accomplished. You don’t get to call yourself “Dad” just because you helped make a baby. It takes more than that. So why the hell should you care about his so-called support ?!
Because I don’t have a family ! She cried. Marshall, you are the love of my life and I would follow you anywhere. And I told you I don’t care about marriage and children if I get to be with you and I meant it, but I can’t do it if it means that I am losing the only family that I have, the most important person in my life.
What kind of father would do that to his daughter ?! Do you even realize how wrong that is, Y/N ? He asked as he was starting to get worked up.
I want to be with you, Marshall. I do. But…
No « but », he said firmly. That’s bullshit and you know it. If anything, that’s one more reason why you should move. Are you seriously going to live with him after that ?!
I can’t lose my only family, she cried. You’re a family man. You understand, right ?
What I understood long ago is that you get to choose your family and who is part of it, he said. Talia and Jamal are your family. And I can be your family too. But even if that weren’t the case… would you really be willing to turn down opportunities to be happy and live your life just to please your father ?
After all, that’s all it came down to : her independence and her happiness. If she told him she’d be happier in Paris, he wouldn’t mind. It would hurt him, crush him, of course, but he would understand. But judging by what he saw tonight, her sudden reluctance had nothing to do with happiness and everything to do with her fear of disappointing her Dad. She was sobbing uncontrollably and it broke his heart. All he wanted was to make her sadness go away. If he had the choice, he’d rather take her pain so that she could be free of it.
All I’m saying is… don’t make a decision tonight, alright ? He said softly. Just like you needed to think before accepting to move back, you need to think about it. And you need to put yourself first. Not me, not your Dad, not anyone else. You.
I don’t know, she whispered in a croaky voice.
Come here, he said as he gestured for her to come in his arms.
She looked at him and had a second of hesitation, but she got out of the covers and nestled against him. He engulfed her in his embrace. He could feel her tears on his neck. They stayed like this for a while, not talking, not moving either.
I love you, he whispered in her ear. I’m so sorry you didn’t get the evening you deserved.
I love you too, she said quietly. Thank you for tonight. You really tried to make a good impression on my Dad.
Didn’t work but… Yeah, he shrugged. I tried.
I’m sorry he didn’t like you, she added. I wish he would have given you a chance. I tried telling him that you make me really happy, you know ?
I know, babe, he said softly. I don’t need his approval or any blessing from him, though. It would have been nice if we had gotten along, for sure, but as long as I have you, I don’t care. I’m good. Yours is the only approval I need.
I would be crushed if your family hated me, she pointed out. I don’t know how you do it.
Mostly, it comes down to being an ass and not giving a fuck what people think, he chuckled. You, on the other hand, care too much for your own good. But it’s ok because my family likes you. Let’s look at it this way : it’s 50% of our families that approve of us, that’s not bad, right ? Plus, if you consider the number of family members… Odds are in our favor, you know ? There’s only one of him and a lot of people in my family. And I know you like good statistics.
She chuckled for the first time all night. Her soft laugh was music to his ears. Even though her face was puffy from crying, she looked quite adorable and he could not refrain from kissing her temple. He stared into her big doe eyes and smiled at her.
Let’s try and save our evening, ok ? He offered. We could order some dessert and watch the Office.
I’m not really hungry, she said. And you hate the Office.
Hate is a strong word.
You said you hate Michael and he makes you cringe, she pointed out.
He does, but I know that Jim and Pam make your heart melt, that Jim’s pranks make you laugh your ass off and that you have a soft spot for Dwight, he said with a smile. So we can watch it. I know it’s one of your comfort shows.
You remember ? She asked surprised.
I do, he said. Six months was not enough to forget about you. Six lifetimes wouldn’t even do it. You’re still all over the house, you know ? I still have your movies in my Netflix account, bottles of that non-alcoholic wine you love in the pantry and your perfume may or may not be in my bathroom.
Really ? She asked with an emotional smile.
Really, he said. You’ll be right at home. I promise.
He took her hand in his and squeezed it. He had to convince her to fly back to Detroit with him. For her sake, as well as his. They cuddled in bed, watching the stupid TV show. He could tell she was bothered and her mind was wandering, but at least she smiled at the lame jokes. Most of his attention was on her, as well as trying to find ways to get her to make the right choice. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast.
#eminem#marshall mathers#slim shady#eminem fanfiction#eminem fluff#eminem imagine#eminem x reader#marshall mathers x reader#recovery fanfiction#marshall mathers imagine
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My neighbour Rúben | Chapter 7
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“Lucy, what are you doing here?”
“I live here” she chuckled. “Why so surprised?”
“I wasn’t expecting you until later.”
“I can tell… Are you hiding someone in your room?”
“What?” I asked.
“I saw the beer bottles in the living room, and I don’t see you drinking all that on your own.”
The beers. Oh, good. I was so… gone after saying goodnight to Rúben and his kiss, and also so worried about Julia, that I had totally forgotten about them.
“No, no. I shared them with Rúben.”
“Oh my God, is he in your room?” Lucy asked, lowering down her voice.
“What? No! He just stayed for a bit after we put Julia to bed, nothing else” I said, my face definitely looking bright red.
“Just a bit? I counted six beers.”
“Ok, fine. Maybe it was a bit longer.”
“And did anything happen?” Lucy asked with a playful smile.
“No. We just talked.”
“Really? You were drinking with a man like that and nothing happened?”
“Yeah” I shrugged. But it could have happened. I’m pretty sure he was planning on kissing me before Julia woke up.
“Do you like him?”
“What?”
“Rúben. Do you like him? Because I think he likes you.”
“He doesn’t like me” I snorted, crossing my arms over my chest. Why was I acting so… defensively?
“I met him not long after Julia was born, and he had never invited us to a game or come over for a movie night. Though it would have been a bit weird, because my ex was super jealous of him.”
“He was jealous of Rúben?”
“Oh, he was. Rúben has always adored Julia, he loves kids. And every time we crossed paths he would ask about her, make her laugh… those cute things. And my ex would get so mad… More than once our arguments started because he was jealous, thinking that I was flirting with Rúben when I was just being nice.”
“What a dick. He was the one actually doing the cheating, not you.” Because that was the reason why he and Lucy had divorced. He had been cheating on her with Julia’s piano teacher, and she probably wasn't the first.
“Exactly! So you can imagine our fight when I found out. It was… nasty.”
“I’m sorry, Lucy.”
“Oh, don’t be. I’m so much better like this… And I am not interested in Rúben in any shape or form beyond admiring how hot he is. He is all yours” she winked.
“I don’t…”
“Mami!” Julia said behind me, running towards her mum. “I’ve missed you so much!”
“So have I, princesa.”
“I am not a princess, I am Queen Elsa! She is the princess, princess Anna" she explained. "And Rúben is Kristoff.”
“Is he?” Lucy said, looking at me. “Isn’t he Anna’s boyfriend?”
“He is. But oh, mami, I have to show you the doll I got on my Happy Meal last night!” Julia said, jumping from her mother’s arms and running away.
“Anna and Kristoff, uh? Even Julia knows.”
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“You won’t believe what Julia’s teacher told me yesterday when I met with her” Lucy said. Since this weekend Julia was with her dad, we met to have lunch together just the two of us and organize everything for the traditional Christmas party all the neighbours celebrated together. Each year a different one was the host, and it was her turn.
“Is she struggling?”
“Oh, no, she is doing great. She actually is one of the best in her class, so I guess I have to thank you for that. But this was about a personal matter.”
“Personal? What do you mean?”
“Apparently, kids have been asking Julia if she has two mums, because someone is going around saying that the reason why my ex and I got divorced, was that I cheated on him with the piano teacher. You.”
“No way” I gasped, almost choking with my drink.
“Yep. You suddenly showed up one day, Julia said you were her piano teacher, there had been rumours about one being the cause of our break up, and they decided that that was what had happened. They believe that I sacked my old nanny and that it is you now taking care of Julia because we can finally live our love and don't have to hide anymore.”
“I… wow" I chuckled. "What about Julia, tho? What has she told the other kids? Because she hasn’t said anything to me.”
“She doesn’t understand what they mean. But her teacher told me that if they ask again, she’ll explain to them that Julia has a mum and a dad, and use that to explain to them that these days there are different types of families and they all are valid.”
“Oh, good. And the mums? Are you gonna tell them something?”
“Nah, it isn’t worth it. I’ll just wait until one day you show up with Rúben and leave them confused” Lucy smirked while taking a sip of her wine.
“Lucy…”
“Sorry, I’m sorry. But I already told you. I think he likes you, and you definitely like him. And I know you don’t have much experience with guys and dating, but trust me, he is one of the good ones. I don’t know if he is your one or not, but whatever happens, it will be worth it” she winked, making me blush. Because I knew what was crossing her mind in that moment. “Anyway, there is something else we must discuss.”
“About the party?”
“No, but it has to do with my apartment. One of the things the mums at the school are gossiping about is that you and I are living together. And to be honest, we kind of are, aren't we? So I think we should make it official. You should move in with Julia and I.”
"I don't know, Lucy...”
“Like I said, you are basically living with us already. You have your own room and most nights you sleep there, so why pay the rent for your apartment and have to worry about missing the bus, when you could just live with us and save all that money?”
“I guess it makes sense. But are you sure? What if one day you want to bring someone home and I am there?”
“Then I’ll kick you out and send you to Rúben’s house.”
“Lucy…”
“Sorry, sorry” she apologized again. “But it is an option. And if you move in with us, it means you can see him more often, get to know each other a bit more, and see if there is something going on. I think it is a win-win situation, and Julia would love it.”
“Fine, ok” I said after thinking about it for a few seconds. It all made sense, didn't it? The Rúben part included. “I’ll move in with you.”
“Great!” Lucy said, clapping her hands just as Julia does when she gets excited. “Let’s order some champagne to celebrate.”
“I thought we were meeting to organize the party” I chuckled.
“Oh, yes. We can do that later” she replied, calling for the waiter.
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“Oh, for fucks sake!” I yelled, sitting on the floor.
It was moving day, everything was going wrong and it was all my fault.
I thought I could do it all by myself, but turns out that I had way more shit than I remembered, and I ended up with two huge suitcases and a bunch of boxes, all of them very close to exploding. Which was what had happened the moment I made it to our floor.
I left one of the boxes on top of a suitcase but it wasn’t well balanced. When I saw it was falling I tried to catch it, failed, and both the box and the suitcase fell to the floor, making a horrible noise that I’m sure everyone in the building had been able to hear. And to make it even worse, the suitcase’s zipper had broken and half my clothes were scattered all over the floor.
While I was picking everything and cursing, I heard a door opening.
“Please don’t be Rúben, please don’t be Rúben” I said under my breath.
“What the hell happened here? Are you ok?” Rúben said, bending down next to me.
“I’m fine, don’t worry. My suitcase, not so much.”
“Let me help you” he said, picking up some of my clothes. Or to be precise, a bag full of knickers.
“I don’t need help with this” I said, quickly grabbing the bag from his hand, my face burning. “But you could pick those boxes over there and bring them inside.”
“Ok” he smirked. Because even though I wasn’t looking at his face due to how emabarrased I was, his voice was saying it all. “Are you sure you don’t need help with that suitcase?”
“I…” I needed help. The zipper was completely broken and I wasn’t strong enough to carry it. He, with his big arms, definitely was. “Ok. But don’t open it.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
As expected, he lifted it with ease and I followed him inside the house while carrying the other suitcase.
“Where should I put this?”
“My room. Over here.”
“Are you… are you moving in with Lucy and Julia?” Rúben asked after leaving the suitcase on the floor.
“I am, yes. Lucy thought it was the best idea since I spend most of my time here.”
“Are gonna be proper neighbours?”
“We are, yes.”
“Well, my door will always be open for you. Whatever you may need.”
When he said that, I made the huge mistake of looking at him… and there it was. That smirk that made my knees feel like jelly.
“Thank you” I muttered. “And for helping me too.”
“Do you need anything else?”
“The will to unpack all of this” I sighed.
“If you aren't in the mood for it, why don’t we go out somewhere? The Christmas market is already open, so we could have a look, get a hot chocolate...”
“Are you allowed to drink hot chocolate?” I chuckled.
“I am allowed to eat and drink many things. I just choose not to do it because I like being healthy. But when you are around, I can’t help but sin.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It is worth it” he smiled. But it wasn’t one of those smirks he liked giving me when he was being cheeky. This was different. This was an honest smile, though there was something else there…
“Rúben!” Julia said, running into my room and throwing herself at him. “Why are you here? Are we watching "Frozen" again?”
“Oh, hello” Lucy said from the door. “Didn’t know we had company.”
“I was just helping with the move.”
“One of my suitcases exploded in the hallway” I explained. “Anyway, why are you here? Weren’t you going to the park?”
“We were” Lucy said. “But Julia saw the lights of the Christmas market, wanted us to go there, and I had forgotten my wallet. That’s why we came back.”
“Do you want to come with us?” Julia asked. “We are going to buy decorations for the tree.”
“Oh, yes, come with us! We can have like a welcome party there and get ourselves some hot chocolate. Do you drink hot chocolate, Rúben?” Lucy asked, making us laugh. “Why is that funny? Am I missing something?”
“Nothing, don’t worry” Rúben said. “But I like the idea of the welcome party. I’m in.”
“Then it is settled. It’s three against one, and we can’t have a welcome party without the main guest. Get a scarf and a hat, it is cold” Lucy said, not giving me a chance to complain.
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hey there!
just cus im curious and dealing with some crap, how would Hanako and/or Tsukasa help his S/O who tried to scratch the feeling of someone's touch off of them? Not him of course, but someone else like a bully who touched their arm too much and it made them want the feeling ✨off✨ and ended up really messing up their arm in the process.
He doesn't get to see them do it, but when they're cleaning and take off their jacket so it doesn't get dirty he sees their arm? Or he could watch the event go down and could stop them before it happens. Idk.
If you're not comfortable writing this it's okay, and you don't have to! Have a good day/night/life, wherever you are. <3
Hello hello! I am sorry this took a while to get to! I have been having a hard time with my mental health lately so I tried to take a break! I am feeling much better now, tho! I made these into mini oneshots to make up for this being so late! I for some reason felt a lot writing this one even though I haven’t really ever had problems with this..I am so sorry if you are going through things like this. I know that reading some words probably won’t make it all immediately better but I want you to know that you are so loved and appreciated by those around you, even if they don’t seem like it sometimes. If you don’t believe that, then I want you to know that despite the fact I don’t know who you are, I still care for you and am always here for you when you need it <3
Side note: I am going to stop putting whether my requests are open on my requests so that it doesn’t get confusing for those who only read my past works!! If you want to know if my requests are open, check the pinned post on my page! There you can find when I have request’s open as well as rules! Thank you for taking time to read this! Onto the stories!
Warnings: Mentions of self-harm (can be triggering to some, be careful!), HEAVY angst on Hanako's(comfort later on), cursing(sorry in advance! I couldn’t help myself-)
Proofread: yes
Prompt: Hanako and Tsukasa reacting to a S/O who tries to ✨rub off✨someone’s touch
Hanako
You were helping Yashiro clean the bathrooms, as you usually do at the end of the day. You still question every single day why this was the thing Hanako wanted Nene and you to do for him as a payment.
He could have had you do anything! I mean think about it! He could have you go around and collect cursed objects or try and stop evil apparitions with him..but no. He instead chose to have you clean bathrooms. Seriously, who even uses these??
You let your mind wander as you wiped the sinks along with the mirrors belonging to each sink. Your sleeve slipped down your forearm and revealed...marks on your skin. You froze your movements entirely. Your breath hitched, this was not the best time. Not now.. please not now... you thought to yourself.
You have been hiding the fact that your bully has been..touchy lately. It made you super uncomfortable and no matter how many times you would wash your arms and scrub them with lots of soap, it felt like your arm was covered by the bully's touch. It made you sick to the stomach just thinking about it.
You must have not heard Nene call your name because you were pulled out of your thoughts by Nene tapping your shoulder a little firm, but not in a way that would hurt you. She was too sweet, you know that. She wouldn't do anything to hurt you. "Did you hear me, (Name)?" Nene looked at you with concern. Before you could answer, Hanako came over to see what was happening. He took one look at your arm and froze.
"What happened to your arm, (Name)..?"
Oh, god dammnit.. This was the last thing you wanted. Why did you not just cover up your arm? Now you have to explain how disturbed you are by the touch of someone who gives you shit all the time. You realized you hadn't said anything and that talking would probably be the best thing you can do right now.
"Uhmm..nothing just..anxiety I guess, heh.."The FUCK was that?!? Now they know you have been hurting your arm!! Great going, (Name). Hanako stared into your eyes for a while, his orbs seemed to be filled with mixed emotions. Hurt, worry, ...anger...?
"..Yashiro, could you give us a few minutes? I will call you back in when we are done," Hanako asked, more like demanded with the tone he used. Yashiro nodded and left without a word. Now it was just you and Hanako. The silence made the air feel thick.
"What happened to your arm?" Hanako looked at you with what looked like a mix of pity and slight anger. What he was angry about, nobody knew. "I was just.. scratching at it. I do that sometimes.." You felt tears fill the brim of your eyes.
Hanako gave you a look that said that we wasn't buying it. "Did something else happen..?" His eyes locked with yours, as if they were looking for something. What were they searching for? You probably knew what, but you didn't want to admit your problems. Hanako already has a lot of things he worries about as it is. It would just be a bother..
"..No, I am just..anxious is all.. It's fine, really!" You tried to reassure him with a fake smile. "You are lying." Hanako said, his tone starting to scare you a bit. Hanako reached out for your arm but you flinched away, pulling your sleeve over your arm."H-Hanako.. you're scaring me.." The tears you were holding in started to stream down your face.
"I'm scaring you? I'M scaring you? (Name), you look like you have been hurting yourself and you aren't telling me what has been going on! I am scared! I am worried about you, (Name)! I don't want you to hurt yourself! I have been there, I get it! But please, tell me what's going on!"
Hanako has tears in his eyes. You'd never seen him like this before. You felt bad now, he was just worried about you. And yet for some reason you decide to not talk to him.
"Hanako.." You reach out to him and before you can get past his name, he already has his arms wrapped tightly around you. He held you like if he let his grip loose even slightly, you would fade away.
"I just..I want you to be okay..So please..please talk to me.." He let out a quiet sob. You hugged him back and started crying with him.
"Okay, Hanako. I will tell you what has been..going on...but can we just...sit down for a few minutes..?" You quietly asked between sniffles and sobs. He slowly nodded, still embracing you in his arms as he sat you both down on the floor by the window sill.
-a few minutes later-
Hanako had finally calmed down and was patiently waiting for you to tell him whatever has been on your mind. You took a deep breath and look into Hanako's curious, orange orbs.
"So..I have told you about (Bully's Name), right?" You softly asked, already starting to feel terrible just saying their name. "Yes..you have told me about them a few times..do they have something to do with this?" Hanako replied, deep concern in his voice.
"Yes, they are involved in this... They have been..kind of an asshole lately and uhm.. they have also been..grabbing my arm and stuff.." You explained, getting more and more anxious as you spoke.
Hanako remained silent, listening to your every word. But you could see that the more he spoke, the more pissed he seemed. He wasn't mad at you, oh, of course not! He just wanted to talk to this..(Bully's Name)... Hanako spoke up after a few moments of silence.
"Are the scratches from them or did you do that?"
"I did that..it feels like their touch is just...always there..like i can't get it off no matter how many times i wash or scrub or..scratch my arm.."
Oh.. Now Hanako understood. He felt bad for you, really. This was not what he thought was originally happening. He is relieved you weren't hurting yourself due to..bad thoughts. However, he is still kind of upset that you have this problem.
"Im so sorry, dear. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" He asked, moving his arm so that he can hold your hand.
You gave his hand a gentle, affirming sqeeze and held a small smile before replying, "I don't think so.. Maybe some cuddles..?"
He smirked at that and let out a small chuckle. "Alright, (Name). Get comfortable, I am not going to be letting you go for a while."
You ended up falling asleep while having your face in Hanako's neck. Noticing this, Hanako smiled and gave a kiss to your forehead. The last thing he remembers before falling asleep is whispering into your ear, "As long as I am around, I won't let them hurt you. You have my word. Sweet dreams, love." And then he fell asleep on the floor of the bathroom, you in his loving arms.
-
Tsukasa
You were making your way towards the broadcasting room since the last bell of the day had rung. You couldn't wait to see Tsukasa, he said that he had a surprise for you. You wondered what it could possibly be. Knowing him, though, it might be a dead mokke he found or possibly some kind of tea party date.
You two often had tea party dates and while they are nice and all, you really want to just sit down and cuddle every once in a while.Your thought train was forced to a halt when you heard your name being called by a certain someone.
Oh no.. please not now.. you thought to yourself and as you tried your best to ignore the voice and continue walking to the broadcasting room. "(Name)! Did you not hear me? Deaf bitch, can't even respond to your own name! How pathetic!" (Bully's Name) called out to you. Just ignore it..just ignore it.. you're almost there..
Turns out ignoring it was not the best choice you have made. You felt a firm and painfully tight grip on your wrist, yanking backwards and onto the floor. You hit the ground and felt the air knocked out of your lungs. You closed your eyes and let out a pained groan.
(Bully's Name) chuckled manically and stared down at you. "Oh, how pathetic! You can't even keep yourself standing!" Hearing those words made your eyes feel glossy. You knew you couldn't keep yourself standing. You knew that already. But despite that fact, you still tried. You still tried to stand your ground.
You felt your eyes start to tear up, and you tried to rub your eyes to stop them from streaming down your face. Before you can lift them to your face, (Bully's Name) grabs both your wrists and stares you down. You try and pull your wrists away, tears rolling down your cheeks now.
"All I have to do is grab your wrists and you act all pathetic! It's funny how weak you are!" They just kept spewing insult after insult until they were satisfied with your state of being.
You watched as they left and went to turn the corner of the hallway when you heard them let out a pained cry followed by rapid footsteps getting further and further away. Had he run into someone else? Before you could even try and answer that question, you felt your arm start to burn.
Not in a way where it hurt, but it a way where it was uncomfortable and you felt like (Bully's Name) was still touching you. It felt horrible. You started scratching your arm trying to get the feeling off when two hands gently held your wrists away from each other.
Your eyes shot up in fear, had (Bully's Name) come back to torment you?
No, it was actually your boyfriend Tsukasa. You looked up at him in shock, not knowing what to say. Was he the one that ran into your bully? He must have, (Bully's Name) is not the type to get scared easily and Tsukasa was the most sadistic person..ghost..you knew.
"Hi, Doll~ Who was that back there? I noticed they were getting reallll close to you.." Tsukasa asked, his eyes going dark. His tone sent a shiver down your spine.
“Oh them, that was just..never mind. Can you let go of my wrists please? They hurt..” you mumbled the last part to yourself. But Tsukasa only let go of one of your wrists and held your face with his free hand.
“Doll, I know you’re lying. If you tell me who it is, I will give you cuddles~” he tried to deal with you despite the fact that even if you did get cuddles, he always ends up clinging to you in the broadcasting room anyway. Cuddles did sound pretty promising, though.
“…Fine. That was (Bully’s Name). They have been…talking to me since middle school. I don’t know why but all I know is that they keep touching my arms along with insulting me a lot and it makes me uncomfortable.” You admitted, already knowing Tsukasa was going to end up finding and killing this kid. Oh well, you tried.
“Ohh~ They must be the reason you are always itching at your arms, yes? Well, you won’t have to worry about them anymore.” The last part made you feel uneasy. But at the same time, you wouldn’t be seeing (Bully’s Name) again..
“Now, let’s go to the broadcasting room. ‘Kay, (Name)?” Tsukasa asked you, holding out his hand for you to take. You gave a gentle smile and took his hand. You nodded and he teleported you to the broadcasting room.
-A few minutes later-
Tsukasa had you on his arms on the couch in the broadcasting room. And while you realized that Tsukasa never gave you your surprise, you didn't care since you were starting to feel tried. You felt Tsukasa kiss your cheek before kissing your neck gently, telling you to sleep if you need to.
You eventually fell asleep in his arms and Tsukasa pet your hair gently, smiling at your sleeping form. Sakura and Natsuhiko walked in and were about to say something when Tsukasa gave them “the stare”. They got the message and left quietly.
Tsukasa couldn’t wait to track down this (Bully’s Name) and make sure they pay for what they did to you. But for right now, he was going to hold you close and whisper sweet nothings to you as you slept peacefully in his grasp.
-
I am really sorry for this coming out late! I hope you enjoyed, tho! I spent a LOT of time on this so I hope it is to your liking and I also hope I got the correct meaning of “trying to rub off their bully’s touch” and if I didn’t, please let me know and I can fix it for you! Have an amazing day/night and I hope to see more requests from you lovely human beings!! <333
-artistic-intrxvert
#tbhk#tbhk x reader#jshk#jshk x reader#hanako kun x reader#hanako x reader#tsukasa yugi x reader#tsukasa yugi
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hey!! i love ur work. could u do hcs for the boys fighting for the readers attention?? 🫶🫶
Of course I can.
Pronouns weren't specified so gender-neutral reader.
GIVE ME ATTENTION
MASTERLIST | MULTI-CHARACTER MASTERLIST
SUMMARY: See above. Gender-neutral! Reader x Glader boys.
You're the most popular Glader around, and it seems like all the boys have a thing for you, so, how would they get your attention?
WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, dumb teenage boys, possessiveness and other slightly problematic themes (I don't condone but it's fiction).
THOMAS
Considering that Thomas moves at a million miles an hour and has Teresa (*cough* and Newt *cough*) as potential love interest(s), I don't think Thomas would actually fight for anyone's attention.
I know, I know, that defeats the point of the prompt.
But, if anything, especially in the books, Thomas is kind of actively trying to avoid attention.
And failing monumentally.
So, I think if he'd want your attention, he'd seek it out in private.
He wouldn't be the type to chase you around the Glade, pining for your attention.
He'd wait until there'd be a moment alone.
Maybe when you're enjoying your own company, chilling after a long day's work, Thomas would approach you.
And he'd get your attention that way.
In an intimate, one-on-one way.
Just simple conversation getting to know one another and some light, and kinda awkward flirting.
Which I guess is a good (and healthy) way to get someone's attention.
Good job, Thomas.
NEWT
Maybe it's because there isn't much romance in the series, but I can't see Newt fighting for attention in the traditional sense either.
He's the second in command and has enough on his plate.
I can, however, see him going out of his way to offer you more guidance.
Or he'd act nicer to you and let you get away with more stuff.
He'd probably give you gifts and convince Frypan to give you more food.
He'd basically use his influence over the Glade to give you an easier time.
It'd be subtle.
And you might not even realise he'd been doing it until you'd ask Minho or somebody and it'd get spilled.
That's probably when you'd develop an actual relationship.
MINHO
Now, unlike the previous boys, Minho absolutely would be the stereotype of dumb, slightly overly-cocky teenage boy trying to get his crushes attention.
He'd flex around you.
He'd crack more jokes than usual around you.
He'd also try and act cooler around you at the same time.
You'd "bump" into him at random occasions.
He'd tease and poke fun at the other Gladers to make himself seem better.
Though that being said, he would not be good at flirting.
It'd be the kind of cheesy flirting that would leave you rolling your eyes and having to stop yourself from laughing.
Though, if you'd ever flirt back, he'd lose his cool and be turned into a stuttering, flustered mess.
Not such a cool guy after all, huh?
GALLY
Gally would be a problem.
More of a problem than usual.
He'd get in fights and insult people in front of you to try and make himself seem seem tougher and more "manly".
Not attractive and definitely not healthy.
You'd often grace his presence and then someone else would end up bruised and bloody.
Alby hates you.
Even though you've done nothing wrong.
He'd also try extra hard at work around you.
Lifting heavier things, barking more orders and pushing himself to his building limits.
"Oh no, it's too hot doing all this manual labour- better take my shirt off" typa energy.
Definitely more of a physical attention seeker.
Though, I think that'd probably scare you off more than anything.
Or maybe not.
I don't know what you're into.
FRYPAN
You'd be well-fed, to say the least.
Fry would get your attention in a similar way to Newt.
By providing you with food and anything you need.
Though, he'd be more open and complimentary.
Despite popular belief, he'd probably be the best out of the boys when it'd come to flirting and making you notice him.
He's not shy, but he's not an idiot who succumbs to his emotions and starts acting really different because he has a crush.
He'd ask you what you'd want to eat.
You'd accidentally end up picking the meals for the Glade everyday.
People would start asking you to get Fry to make their favourite foods.
Like Gally, he'd put far more effort into his work.
But in a healthier way with less violence.
Definitely a sweetheart, and no threat.
Thank God.
ALBY
He simply would not.
Not even Movie! Alby.
Sorry.
Ahhh I'm back.
This definitely isn't my best work but I'm also working on part 2 for "on my own"- which is a lot of hard work because I have to actually follow the plot lmao.
Anyway, I hope you liked these dumb lil headcanons :))
#🌿 petri writes#🌿 petri writes tmr#🍃 petri tmr#tmr fanfiction#tmr minho#tmr imagines#newt the maze runner#the maze runner#thomas the maze runner#tmr gally#alby maze runner
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Hey girl!!! I loved the Bayverse one!!! It was so accurate on how I have seizures!!! I loved it!!! I was thinking maybe that again but maybe the mha boys. I was thinking Shinsou, Bakugou, Deku, and Tokoyami. If that’s to much then I’m sorry!!!! I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable!!!
Bnha Boys x Chubby. Autistic Reader
Want more, get addicted HERE.
☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆☆*: .｡. .｡.:*☆
Let's Learn Each Other (BNHA or Boku no Hero Academia)
Warning(s): Seizures (and again, it's in the ask, so...)
You worry you may be too much for your boy, but he's happy to assure you, you're worth it...
✨✨✨✨✨✨
Shinsou
Shinsou was so chill about everything, you felt comfortable enough to not mask your behaviors.
And he didn’t pay them any mind until someone else pointed out that they weren’t typical.
Which he didn’t take very kindly.
They were offered a glare, “Are you saying [Name] has a problem?”
You had to hold back the laugh that wanted to escape from his protectiveness, “Well, it’s not a problem as much as a–um–condition.”
“Huh?”
“They’re right, I don’t—I don’t have normal behaviors, since I’m autistic,” you explained.
“Oh, I know you are,” he shrugged, “I just don’t find any issue with it. It’s a part of you and I like you, so it didn’t make sense to make a big deal of it like it’s bad or something.”
He admitted that he noticed your tics and traits but quickly grew used to them and continued as normal.
He thought you were perfect for him, you were sensitive to touch, and he wasn’t a touchy guy.
In the past, you would feel bad that you couldn’t touch him like most couples did. You’d force yourself to hold his hand despite the anxiety. Until he told you he wasn’t a big fan, either.
You were direct, which was a trait he respected and valued.
And he honestly wasn’t much of a conversationalist himself, so he didn’t mind the communication issues you had.
And despite you not understanding many emotions, you easily flustered him.
“Shinsou, your Quirk is so cool, you know that?”
“You did a good job. I’m proud of you.”
Cue a Shinsou with a flushed face avoiding eye contact.
Sometimes you’d think you’d embarrassed him until he tells you.
“No, I just…stuff like that makes me a little shy sometimes, that’s it.”
“You don’t like it?”
He shook his head, which he realized was probably confusing, “I don’t mind when you do it.”
Since he was pretty aware of Autism before he met you, he could guess when you had a seizure for the first time on the couch...
Which was repetitive swallowing.
A focal seizure. It wasn’t long, and it was subtle.
But he carefully watched you until it passed, “You okay?”
You waited for a moment before you nodded.
“I’m okay now.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it.”
“People usually think of seizures as only being dramatic, obvious, and intense…but it isn’t always that way. There just has to be more people out there to teach them.”
“Yeah. Another thing this society has to change,” he picked up the remote to change the show.
“Shinsou?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you.”
Midoriya (Deku)
“Autism?... I think I heard of it.”
A few minutes later Midoriya will have a clear notebook from who knows where, writing things down like a madman.
“Oh! That explains why you do that head tilt thing a lot.”
In between the internet, he will ask you questions that are specific to you, outside of the general stuff.
He tries to ask questions sparingly so it doesn’t get overwhelming.
“They also mentioned seizures. Do you have those?”
“Yes. Sometimes.”
Even though he now understands your behavior better, he will still misunderstand you for a few moments until he remembers.
Like when your bluntness can be offensive without intending to. But trust Midoriya won’t burst into tears, he’s had much worse things said to him.
Sometimes you will misread the mood, but he’ll explain it to you.
You attempt to practice better communication skills, but he’ll assure you.
“Don’t practice too hard, [Name], you don’t need to be perfect at it. Besides, I…don’t have the best communications skills, either.”
And sometimes, Midoriya’s back and forth consistency throws you off.
But you both work to make the relationship good for the both of you.
And then he experiences a seizure experience with you for the first time.
You’re in his room at home when your muscles suddenly go rigid.
Of course, you’re used to this happening, but you can’t help the slight panic of sudden loss of control.
His first instinct is to panic, but he fights against it because he realizes you already are. He doesn't want to make it worse.
He quickly works on timing it while making sure to make you’re comfortable. He softly starts to tell you a story, his voice is calming and you start to freak out a little less.
Then, it’s finally over.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better…a little sore. But better.”
His brows furrowed as he thought, “That was a…tonic seizure?”
“Yes.”
“Before I met you, I didn’t realize there were so many different types–Hm, can I ask a few questions? So I can be better prepared, next time?” he quickly parted from you to find his spare [Name] notebook.
“You didn’t do too bad this time. But okay, go ahead.”
Bakugo
You would mask your behaviors around people. You were a hero in training, you didn’t want anyone questioning your capabilities for something you couldn’t change.
But Bakugo’s incredibly observant and picked up on a few things you let slip without realizing.
Once he’d watched you for a while, he approached you and got straight to the point. He wasn't one to beat around the bush.
“Oi. Are you Autistic?”
“Huh? Yeah.”
“Thought so.”
You were surprised Bakugo had approached you considering you actively avoided him.
You were sensitive to loud noises. You’d learned to adjust to some sounds that couldn’t be avoided as a hero, but his yelling still made you anxious as hell.
But right now, he was quiet. No yelling.
You thought that was the end of it, that he was just curious about your possible Autism…but no, he kept talking to you. He kept asking you questions.
And you didn’t mind answering them.
And along the way, you found yourselves in a relationship.
The class was wondering how in the world you tamed Bakugo, he wasn’t yelling nearly as much…when you were around, anyway.
But you didn’t do anything. Behind closed doors, he was always relaxed, his speaking tone was even, and he was gentle.
You had to learn how to understand each other.
Bakugo was emotional and buried what he felt. He would keep to himself how he was feeling. And you weren’t able to read his emotions sometimes.
So you learned to ask him.
“Hey, Bakugo.”
“Yeah?”
“How are you…feeling? You look tired, but you sound upset?”
And he learned to be more direct with his feelings, which helped you understand him better.
And sometimes, on accident, he would get a little loud, so you would ask for breaks, which he would give you.
Although Bakugo could be spontaneous, he was consistent with the things that mattered, so it made it a little easier for you to learn him.
Bakugo treated you like any other person, he didn’t treat you like Autism was something strange or bad. He was protective of you, so if anyone talked about your behaviors or appearance, he would pull them aside to go off on them.
He showed interest in your interest. He loved when you would ramble about it and he would always remember what you’d say.
He had to compromise touch, since you craved it. He was surprised, but all you said was,
“It’s actually a myth that all people on the autistic spectrum are averse to touch. Some of us like it, depends on the person.”
But he found he liked it when you cuddled with him, so he didn’t mind. It wasn’t a bad compromise.
Bakugo likes knowing things, so he’ll look stuff up and ask questions until he has a wide knowledge of Autism, your specific type, and everything about it. He learned about you outside of your Autism, your favorite foods, favorite color, any information he could get his hands on.
He paid special attention to information on your seizures.
Talked to you about them, watched videos, read books.
So when he witnessed it the first time, he was prepared.
You weren’t, since it was in the common room and most of your class was there.
Everyone was panicking, this hadn’t happened to you with them around before.
Kirishima rushed to get Bakugo from his room, let him know what’s going on.
“Shit. Is everyone panicking?” he rushed past his redheaded friend.
“I–Who wouldn’t? It was just so sudden!”
Once he made it into the room, everyone was crowded around you.
And someone looked as if they were about to try and hold you down.
“Back up! All of you!” he barked out.
“But Bakugo—”
“Stop standing there like idiots and move!” he growled, pushing past them.
He started moving things away from you and carefully checked your breathing.
“How long has it been like this?”
“N-Not long–Half a minute, maybe?”
“Okay.”
He spoke quietly to you, apologizing that he wasn’t there with you when it started, apologizing for the idiots making things worse.
“Maybe [Name] needs some water—”
He turned to Kaminari, about ready to strangle him for the suggestion, “Does it look like they can drink water right now? Does that make any sense to you?”
“Right–Right, sorry.”
“And all of you, back up some more or leave. I feel like you’re breathing down our necks,” he scoffed.
So they did, now it was just the two of you. Then you settled.
He waited for a minute, softly petting at your head until you could speak again.
“Thank you, Bakugo.”
“Huh? For what?”
“Helping. They weren’t being very helpful.”
“They’re the ‘panic first, get into action later’ types.”
“I noticed.”
“How are you feeling?”
“I need water, I think. And cuddles, too. If you’re up for it.”
Tokoyami
He honestly hadn’t noticed anything was unique about you until you told him you had Autism.
“Oh? I hadn’t noticed.”
He does ask you plenty of questions over the next few weeks whenever one comes to mind.
You find yourself fascinated by Dark Shadow, though you misunderstand some things he says to Tokoyami that make him flustered. It was always something about you.
You were also sensitive to bright lights, which made you perfect for Tokoyami. He wasn’t a fan himself.
He showed devotion to listening to you about your interest, never seeming annoyed about the same thing.
He was very uncomplicated to you.
He spoke his mind, he was to the point. If he didn’t tell you his emotions at first, he will tell you eventually.
Behind closed doors, he lets you gently pet his feathers–although they are sensitive, it relaxes you, so it’s the least he can do.
He also helps you find relaxation training, which you appreciate.
And one day, he experiences your seizure with you. He almost missed that’s what it was, since you would stare off and get confused suddenly.
He kept the environment relaxed until the moment passed.
Which you were grateful for, but then…
“Tokoyami. Let’s–Let’s take a nap.”
“That’s a good idea, [Name].”
And a nap you took.
#bnha x reader#bnha#mha fluff#mha#mha x reader#anime#fluff#bnha shinsou#bnha bakugo#bnha deku#bnha tokoyami#tokoyami#bakugo#deku#shinsou#autistic reader#autistic reader req#bnha x autistic reader#mha deku#mha bakugo#mha shinsou#mha tokoyami
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12/JAN/20XX
"......."
".........."
"Okay, but it's not past my bedtime technically."
"it is definitely-"
"wait, friday."
"Midnight bedtime, babeyy!!!"
i glanced at the time.
"alright, you've got about thirty minutes before i hang up."
"Thirty five."
"ok. thirty five. but do you wanna spend that five minutes arguing about what time it is?"
"No."
"anything specific you called for this time?"
"Uhh..."
"Wellness check."
".....𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬."
"Wellness check."
"like they do for the elderly?"
"You ARE the elderly."
"nuh uh."
"As far as I'm concerned, you are."
"is there a level past elderly? 'cuz both your parents surely hit that one."
"..Both my-?"
"......"
"hm?"
"I guess he kind of is.."
"old?"
"My parent."
"Visiting him feels almost the same as seeing, like, Undyne and Alphys though."
"And I usually call him Asgore."
"you referred to him as 'dad guy' for a little bit."
"Then stopped."
"Every time I would, Mom would..."
"make 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 face."
"Yeah."
"Someone else comes to mind when I think of who my 'dad' is, anyway."
"he sounds cool."
"Yeah."
"great, even?"
"............."
"he'd be a better influence, y'know."
"He's more like my awesome uncle."
"true."
"Plus, it doesn't make sense to call him 'dad'. He doesn't have the hots for my mom."
"wow."
"those thirty five minutes went by so fast."
" 'night."
"NO-"
it didn't last long.
my phone started buzzing once again.
"Sans."
"frisk."
"You can't hang up on me for that."
"i did."
"Was I wrong?"
"i will again."
"Fine, okay, we don't have to talk about it."
"Eventhoughit'sdefinitelytrue-"
"Just don't hang up on me again."
"we'll see."
"You never did answer the wellness check."
"Are you well... Ness?"
i gave them a long stare.
"Come on."
"It was right there."
"a n y w a y."
"sure. i'm of the wellness. having much well."
"The best answer you can give is 'sure'?"
"you want me to list every symptom, dr. frisk?"
they pretended to hold an imaginary clipboard.
"Yeees."
"Tell me everything, patient."
"is that your impression of a doctor?"
"Yes it is. Now, are you good or not?"
"i'm good."
imaginary pen scribbling.
"Noticed one of your eyes has been back on."
"indeed."
"That's good, but why just the one?"
"𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 supposed to tell 𝘮𝘦 that, doc."
"Oh."
"Uh."
"..Well."
"It was the left one that does the magic glowy stuff, right?"
"yep."
"And that's the one that blew up."
"mhm."
"Whatever Papyrus said happened when you did your special attack... probably worsened that."
"So that's why. I think."
"thanks for the diagnosis."
"what do you suggest?"
"Hmmmmm."
putting their fingers together in thought.
"Nighttime phone calls where you spill all your weird skeleton secrets..."
"at really abhorrent times, got it."
"And a big fat kiss from Mama Goat."
"goodnight."
"AAA-"
they called again.
i rolled over the other way.
——
at least twice a week, usually about three in the morning or so...
i'll wake up.
for seemingly no reason.
sometimes i can get back to sleep if i lay there for long enough, but tonight was not one of those times.
while in there for some cold water and likely a light refrigerator raid, something surprising met me in the kitchen.
actually, met 𝘮𝘦 isn't quite the right wording, considering 𝗶 scared 𝗵𝗶𝗺.
sitting on our kitchen floor, cradling the basically empty milk jug, was my brother; long limbs folded criss-cross on the tile.
his troubled gaze focused on nothing in particular, almost trance-like.
"hey."
he snapped out of it.
if not for being a skeleton, i'd say papyrus jumped out of his skin.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP AT THIS TIME??"
"wonderin' the same of you."
"I ASKED FIRST."
"i'm gonna raid the fridge. get some water."
proceeding to do just that, light from the refrigerator spilled into the darkened room. papyrus narrowed his sockets slightly and turned away from it.
"you?"
"....."
tapping his fingers on the side of the milk jug for a moment.
"I DON'T KNOW."
his glance to the side, followed by slight tensing.. it was all too familiar.
i parked myself next to him on the cold floor.
unable to be bothered with washing up an actual fork, i grabbed a plastic one and opened a container of leftover pasta.
"what was it about this time?"
"......"
"puzzle mishap?"
"underground again?"
"mtt's show cancelled?"
"NO..."
"I BARELY REMEMBER ANY OF IT."
"but you remember a little?"
"THERE WERE-"
"AROUND ME, I WAS..."
"I DON'T KNOW WHAT WAS HAPPENING EXACTLY, BUT I KNOW I DIDN'T ENJOY WHATEVER I WAS BEING MADE TO DO. I'M NOT SURE WHY IT WOULD BE..."
"VINES, OF ALL THINGS."
".........."
a part of me flickered with anger, but it fizzled out just as soon.
i sighed.
"just a weird metaphor, probably."
"you know how dreams are."
"I GUESS."
"..gotta ask."
"what's with the milk?"
"OH- UH."
"WELL IT.. THERE WASN'T THAT MUCH LEFT, AND I FIGURED I WOULD FINISH IT OFF, SINCE I WANTED SOME ANYWAY-"
"too much effort for a glass, huh?"
"IT'S NOT A LACK OF EFFORT!!"
"IT'S MORE EFFICIENT LIKE THIS. I DON'T NEED TO WASTE TIME WASHING A PERFECTLY GOOD CUP WHEN IT IS ALREADY CONTAINED WITHIN THE JUG."
"i dunno. sounds like you were being lazy to me. not wantin' to wash a cup, drinking straight from the jug..."
"IT'S 𝘕𝘖𝘛 LAZY."
"if you say so."
"think i could get a swig of that before you finish it off?"
"HERE."
"thanks."
"alright, you can have your comfort milk back."
"SO LONG AS MY BONES ARE ASSURED TO BE STRONG, I WILL BE AS WELL!"
"you're always strong."
"AND HOW DO YOU THINK IT GOT TO BE THAT WAY?"
"daily training."
"....YES, THAT. BUT HAVING PLENTY OF MILK FALLS INTO THE REGIMEN AS WELL!"
"including the rest of the jug."
"THIS IS A ONE-TIME THING!!"
"so this where its been disappearing to at random all this time.."
"NO."
raising the jug to his mouth.
"LIKE I SAID, ONE-TIME THING."
"uhuh."
"I HEARD YOU SPEAKING A WHILE AGO."
"i was on the phone."
"WITH WHOM?"
"frisk."
"AGAIN?"
"yep."
"ISN'T IT PAST THEIR BEDTIME?"
"nah, it's friday."
"AH, RIGHT."
"suppose it's technically saturday now."
"REALLY? WHAT TIME IS IT?"
"uhh, let's see..."
after being in the dark for so long, we 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 turned away from my phone screen light.
dimming the brightness, i showed him the time.
"IT'S FOUR ALREADY??"
"I DIDN'T MEAN TO BE DOWN HERE SO LONG."
"me either."
"let's get back to bed, huh?"
papyrus silently leaned against me.
"...ok. sleeping bags?"
"JUST THE COUCH."
"i'll grab our pillows."
#undertale#journal#sans#sans and frisk#papyrus#frisk#frisk and sans#soriel#toriel#sans and papyrus#skelebros
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I think one of my only nit picks about Mob Psycho is I do wish there was a moment Mob voiced his opinion on Teru. I feel like the story does a good job at getting across how he feels about Ritsu and Reigen but not really him?
Like, i wouldn’t consider them super close or anything. And I feel like you can def gather an idea of how Mob feels about him (generally a good friend who’s also very helpful, perhaps even a similar “admiration” he has to Ritsu where Ritsu has a lot going for him academic wise and Teru is someone popular with girls and has a confident attitude) but I guess I just wanted a little more of his own thoughts? I’m not sure how to put it but I think about how in the guidebook he has a lot to say of Ritsu and Reigen but for Teru he’s like “he has a good fashion sense”
Obviously a big part of Mob’s character is he doesn’t speak his own opinion a lot and the story hides his direct thoughts a lot and it makes him interesting as the story asks you to try to understand him and what he’s thinking and who he is.
But there’s a layer to their relationship that I thought was really interesting and I guess I wish it came to light more?
Both are important to their respective development being the first psychics either have met. Their relationship is focused on the idea of strength but also a wake up call to living in reality. Teru has to accept living a life with more then his psychic powers despite hating that part of himself and Mob has to accept that he can’t just suppress his psychic powers forever and that they’ll always be a part of him no matter how much he hates it.
I think there’s something super compelling about someone seeing you at your lowest or what you see as your worst or perhaps they bring out the worst in you but your relationship with that person. And sometimes its easier to do that with people youre not super close to because showing your flaws to the people you hold really dear to you is hard and you’re so scared of disappointing them. I get reminded of that idea
I do think it’s there it’s just subtle and I love subtle! I think Teru himself is a subtle character in a lot of ways.
I wanted to know someone else’s thoughts on this though or what they think of their dynamic cause it’s on my mind sometimes sugwusbwj
oh i totally agree with you their relationship kind of fascinates me. i believe i remember reading an interview where one said that if mob wanted advice for stuff dealing with his powers he'd probably go to teru but dont quote me on that bc i dont actually remember where that comes from.
im so glad we got confirmation that they still hang out afterwards and just seem to both be physically incapable of making the first move ("you should invite me to hang out more" INVITE HIM YOURSELF TERU!!! MY GOD.) because the ending of the manga left it sorta ambiguous and the idea of teru drifting apart from the singular friend who he has an actual emotional connection with has been haunting me since i first finished the manga. like, i know he does hang out with the awakening lab kids and presumably teru and the spirits and such gang sometimes, but those are all people whove only known the teru that is working on bettering himself and considering how adverse teru seems to the idea of getting help (see him rushing into every situation on his own and getting his ass kicked) i cant imagine any of their conversations would ever turn to the problems hes had in the past and the problems hes currently dealing with. i mean, reigen only knows about terus parents because he was in the room when teru explained his situation to mob.
#this ended up so much longer than i meant it to FSJKNFJKS#do NOT ask me about teru if you want an answer shorter than a paragraph#mp100#mob psycho 100#teruki hanazawa#shigeo kageyama
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Muffins and Morning Sex (Jamie Tartt x Reader)
“I guess I should get home,” I say.
Jamie shrugs. “The bed’s already paid for. You can stay. I am.”
Exhaustion wins out. “Fine. I’m too tired to wait for an Uber.”
He smiles proudly. “Wore you out, didn’t I? Means I did something right.”
“I really hate you, you know that?” I say, slipping between the covers.
Jamie climbs in beside me. “You also think I’m a sex god,” he adds smugly.
“Fuck off,” I say. “Not that it matters, but that was my first time. It’s not like I have anything else to compare it to…”
There is a long beat of silence. “You’re fucking joking,” Jamie finally says.
“No,” I answer.
“You were a virgin?” Jamie asks in disbelief.
“Yeah. Don’t worry, I don’t care that it wasn’t special or with someone I loved.” Though wasn’t it special in its own way? Jamie annoys the living fuck out of me, but he also turns me on like no one else. Having sex with him was way better than I thought it was going to be.
“You could have told me I was taking your virginity.” Jamie sounds annoyed.
“Why? Would you have been nicer to me?” I ask.
“Maybe,” Jamie says quietly. “No, probably not.” He clears his throat. “You were great. Really, I couldn’t tell.”
“Wow, Jamie Tartt giving me a compliment? Has hell frozen over?” I think over what he said. “Wait, so I didn’t suck. And you… does this mean you still have feelings for me?”
“You mean do I still want to fuck you?” Jamie clarifies. His eyes find their way to mine. “Yeah.”
My heartbeat decides to pick up the pace. “Me too.”
“That’s not surprising,” he says, making me roll my eyes. “I usually don’t want to shag people more than once, so you should count yourself lucky.”
“Yeah, I’m so lucky that someone who hates my guts wants to fuck me again.”
Suddenly he’s all up on me. “Don’t pretend you don’t want it as much as I do. Admit it, you wish I was kissing you right now.”
Since he’s keeping things purely physical, I see no harm in saying, “Maybe.”
Jamie kisses me and it’s almost…sweet. He wraps an arm around me and doesn’t remove it the entire night. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was actually starting to like me.
I wake up alone. I look around at the hotel room, wondering if last night was all a dream. If I booked myself this room and had the world’s most elaborate sex dream about Jamie Tartt. I frown and feel something crumpling on my forehead. I pull off a sticky note.
Getting breakfast for us. Prepare for payback for making me shower alone ;)
- Jamie
Wow. When he wasn’t there, I assumed he ditched me. Went back home to his apartment and laughed at me expecting to wake up next to him. But he was actually planning to come back? With food? Also that second part is making my pussy all fluttery. He’s antagonizing me like he always does, but he’s also being incredibly flirty…and sexy.
Oh, God. What if I’m starting to like him? That can’t be it. I just crave his body, that’s it.
I hear his key sliding into the door. I’m still not wearing any clothes. I can’t be blushing when he comes in- I can’t. God, all I want is to feel his body against mine again. He walks in wearing his outfit from the night before, looking just as jaw-droppingly gorgeous, and places a brown paper bag on the table.
What do I even say? I mull over my options as he takes off his pants, then his underwear. Thanks for bringing me breakfast? Thanks for not leaving? You look just as hot as you did last night and I still want to fuck you? I settle on, “So why didn’t you wake me up if you wanted company in the shower?”
He instantly straddles me, grabbing at a lock of my hair and playing with it. “Because I wanted to get my revenge on you more.” He winks at me as he pulls the lock hard. “Hope you had sweet dreams, love. I’m about to be your worst nightmare.” His mouth instantly devours mine, and his tongue gives mine hell. He hauls me out of bed and my legs wrap around his hips. He presses me up against the wall, taking the opportunity to squeeze my ass.
“Who knew torturing you was going to be this fun?” Jamie gloats before thrusting into me hard, over and over and over. He continues at a more rapid pace, making my boobs jiggle up and down uncontrollably. At one point he buries his face in my hastily bouncing cleavage like it was his birthright. Now that he knows where the clit is, he takes pleasure in eliciting shouts from me, all while leaving the biggest, most noticeable hickeys on my neck for me to cover up later. I try my best to dig my nails into his ass but he gives mine a hard pinch in return. His tip excruciatingly runs the length of my clit, making me moan in pleasure.
After making fun of me for finding it hard to stand, he carries me back to the bed. “When you said I was a sex god, you were right,” he teases.
“You’re the worst,” I reply.
He snatches the brown paper bag from the table. “Does that mean you don’t want these?”
I grasp it out of his hands. “Hand it over, jackass.” I look inside. “Holy crap, are these muffins? They smell fresh-baked!”
“They are,” he says.
I can’t help but smile. Who knew Jamie was capable of something so thoughtful.
“I would have gotten scones, except I hate them, and if you didn’t like them then neither of us would eat them.”
“Oh no- I don’t get the hype around them…I don’t know, I find them too hard.” As I say this I can see Jamie’s eyes light up slightly. His lips zoom towards mine and my tongue happily licks his. I sigh blissfully. God, he’s so hot. If I could imagine him not being Jamie Tartt, whose mission in life is to make my life miserable, I might actually really like him.
As he breaks away from me, he exclaims, “Thank you! Someone gets it.”
A smile works its way across my face. That was so…unexpectedly cute. I take out a blueberry muffin. It’s warm and soft in my mouth. It tastes almost as delicious as Jamie’s kisses.
Ughhhh, why is he making me fall for him? It’s not fair. He’d never feel the same way about me. He’s made it clear that he only wants me for my body. The only feelings he has for me are sexual ones, and I’m not going to lie, being on the brunt of those is hot as hell. If that’s how Jamie treats someone he despises, he must be…fucking dynamite with someone he loves.
“Have you ever been in love before?” I ask absently.
He nearly chokes on his muffin. “Sorry- what?”
I widen my eyes. “Never mind. Uh….you don’t have to answer that.”
Jamie swallows. “No. No, I haven’t.” He peers at me curiously. “Why do you ask?”
Oh, God, now he’s going to think I’m in love with him after one night of sex in which he treated me like garbage… but also made my body feel the most satisfied its ever felt.
“I was just wondering if you’d treat a girl you were in love with better in bed.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably?”
“You’re not going to ask if I’ve ever been in love?”
“I don’t care,” Jamie states plainly.
“That sounds more like you,” I remark.
“You should finish up,” Jamie says. “I have to get you home.”
“Awww, you don’t want to spend the day together? I’m hurt,” I say sarcastically. Why did I hope that after one sweet gesture, Jamie might actually morph into someone I could want to be with?
“Actually, I do,” Jamie says, surprising me. “Just thought you’d want to change first.”
“Oh.” That is actually really thoughtful. “You actually want to spend time with me?”
“Thought I’d bully you some more, if that’s okay.” Jamie gives me a sardonic smile.
“I’m always looking for more reasons to hate you, so…sure… I guess….”
#jamie tartt#jamie tartt x reader#jamie tartt x female reader#jamie tartt fanfic#jamie tartt fanfiction#ted lasso#ted lasso fanfic#ted lasso fanfiction
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Asks Comp 15/5
@manorinthewoods submitted: I believe I got confused about the omnipotence thing because I'd talked about it in some Discord server or other.
My interpretation of the confusing usage of 'omnipotent' is that it specifically refers to any individual with the ability to exert unlimited power upon at least one individual. This allows for a system where one omnipotent can be more powerful than another, such as a Horrorterror being stronger than a First Guardian. [...] That's all I wanted to say.
The problem is that I don't really understand what it means to exert 'unlimited power' over someone.
Does it mean that you have full control over that person's actions? Or perhaps, the ability to change their nature in any way imaginable? Neither of these traits apply to First Guardians - their powers are centered around controlling space, not people.
Doc Scratch exerts power over Vriska, but his influence isn't absolute. If it was, she wouldn't have been able to use the cueball behind his back. Maybe I'm just misunderstanding what you mean by unlimited power.
Probably! There are already a lot of human/troll interactions going on, so their relationships will inevitably evolve.
I recommended a few webcomics last year. They're all decent theory-fodder, particularly Paranatural.
That said, none of them are as good as Homestuck at doing what Homestuck does. This is a very unique story, and I'm also not sure what, if anything, I'll liveblog after this is done. I'm certainly enjoying liveblogging, so there probably will be a next project - and I remain open to suggestions.
Dang it. Well, I'm still showing up in search, so at least I'm not shadowbanned this time. Maybe a glitch on your end?
I don't think you're wrong, exactly - but to be honest, there seems to be a bigger issue here than unreliable narration. I still have trouble understanding how any kismesissitude can be healthy.
The prophecy is true!
It's kind of cool that the kids' entire fortune is likely seeded from John's original stockpile. All that Grist we picked up in Act 2 actually went somewhere!
Oh, nice! I feel like there'd be too many combinations to effectively crowdsource, though, unless the pool of alchemy ingredients was extremely small. If you really wanted to implement alchemy in a game, it'd probably have to be at least partially procedural.
To be fair, I have to give credit to John on this one. Some of his funniest moments are when he's not trying to be a jokester.
I know! I probably wasn't clear enough about my question.
My question is whether the phrase 'the numerals of the blind prophets' is a reference all on its own. The phrase is a little out of left field, and the comic itself hasn't explained it.
Pretty sure John's has already been explained - he needs to wake his Denizen and save his fireflies!
As for Jade's, it's indeed hard to say. I thought they'd all be about terraforming, but Dave's seems to break this pattern. Maybe his Quest isn't what it seems - or maybe I was just wrong, and a Quest can be just about anything.
I don't think I'll be able to guess Jade's, since it'll involve the features of a Land we haven't yet seen. All I can say for sure is that it'll have something to do with Space.
Hell yes! This blog's hidden objective - to plug The Locked Tomb - is finally bearing fruit.
It's easy for Aradia to do what she does, because she ''knows'' that she could never have done anything else. 'Understanding' this lets her be reckless.
Once you can convince someone their choices don't matter, you can convince them to do whatever you want.
I prefer Prospit's aesthetics, but Derse's vibes. The Horrorterrors are a better suspicious patron than Skaia - at least they'll help me break the game.
That said, the official quiz assigned me Prospit. Maybe I misunderstand the moons - but from where I'm currently sitting, Derse is the better choice.
The question isn't whether Sburb would screw them over - it's how it would.
I like the idea that Sburb started with only Sprites, and slowly assimilated its victors into its later iterations.
Each Sburb species represents a video game trope, so I could see an aggressive species like the trolls as a border patrol. They're angry, aggressive NPCs who fly their warships around the Veil, making sure Players don't leave the session's boundaries. You're meant to avoid them, not fight them, and they're the bane of any Player who tries to get creative with the Furthest Ring.
Now, what kind of NPC would the humans be?
I'm not a fan of jumpscare horror, but psychological horror can be very interesting indeed.
I didn't expect the comedy meme man to be that good at instilling a sense of dread - but I shouldn't have been surprised. Horror and comedy tread a very fine line.
Thank you!!
This frame in particular is pretty unsettling. Jack never usually shows this much emotion, and you have to wonder if the Ring has gone to his head a little.
Anyway, if we're talking about aesthetics, my favorite area so far is the Battlefield. It's like a chessboard mixed with a Windows XP background, and it's gorgeous in Rise Up.
Neither have been used in the comic, so I'm just going with lusi for convenience's sake!
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You know what Karno? You probably are one of the few I'd actually trust to do that. You'd listen to what MC was saying for a start.
Thaaaat said, this has got me thinking on how the others would handle this so...
What would happen if MC asked [God] to help redecorate her apartment? (Thoughts under cut)
WISHES
Karno: Well he's the one that bought it up so lets start with him. As I said he'd actually listen which would be a help for a start, and no doubt his amplification power will come in handy here too. You want slgihtly brighter lighting? Easy.
Aigonorus: Did you mean redecorating as in fill the place with pillows and maybe get a larger bed? Because honestly that's what I'd imagine Aigo doing. If you wanted to decorate other parts of the apartment, like the kitchen, I don't think he'd get why. Maybe if you can persuade him it'd help you make better marshmallows?
Leon: Oh good God, no. Even if MC is with Leon, whatever the hell you do don't let her ask him to do this. If IF he can even see the point in why he should bother to do this, I can imagine him getting the completely wrong idea. I guess it might be alright if you offer Meatballs and stick to decorating the kitchen. If I talk about other areas I'm gonna end up having to put this under the mature label aren't I?
Tauxolouve: Lou, hon, I love you but he can't even work out what to put in his own room even now. If MC has a clear idea what she wants though, he'd arguably be second choice over Karno from the Wishes Gods... although, that said:
Huedhaut: If you want some input from someone other than yourself and some brainstorming, then yeah Hue's probably gonna be more use than either of them. Trouble is I can also imagine him somewhat stressing MC out by saying "Are you sure THAT is the right colour?" when he doesn't even mean it. How much teasing is MC up for? Hue's end result could be the best but I can't see it being the smoothest journey (even if that is why we all love him). On the other hand, as I have already seen several posts here on tumblr mention - Hue's room is full of books and a pool! Maybe he's somehow made the books waterproof else he's probably not the one to go for for functionallity.
I'm missing someone... oh, oh dear...
Teorus: Uhh... I cannot imagine this at all. I guess maybe he would cycle through a load of different designs but not give MC a chance to really see any of them and then get upset when she can't seem to chose one.
Punishments
Oh... oh boy. Where the heck to start with this?
Partheno: Well he might be able to utilise his beauty skills to work out what would look good but... you know I said don't ask Leon if MC is with him and definitely not if not? With Partheno I feel it's the other way around - it'd be worse if he was the one with MC. If not you might just get away with it as long as whoever MC is with is intimidating enough... or better yet doesn't leave you on your own with him. (No I still don't want to make this a mature post get out of my head)
Dui: Dui is actually the only one of the punishments Gods I'd expect to 100% listen, though it might be a bit awkward if both sides of his personality have slightly different feelings. That may make for a better end result though.
Krioff: I... I dunno really... like there's listening and there's not giving any clue about what you think back? Like with Lou, MC would have to be 100% sure what she already wants the place to look like because I absolutely cannot imagine Krioff inputting anything at all. At least not to the colours or objects he's already seen. Maybe if you add something new he'd be curious about that at least.
Scorpio: You want it done quickly but maybe with some shouting? Yeah Scorpio could probably do this. He wouldn't really get why you're trying to alter your filthy human place but he'd change it. Again you'd really need to know exactly what you want... although if it doesn't come out exactly as you'd envisioned, Scorpio will at least be able to tell if he's touching you. Which in this scenario he probably would be holding onto your hand or arm because if MC isn't with Scorpio, he would have told her in no uncertain terms to go and bother somebody else.
Ichthys: Oh... oh no. What are you doing? No really, what are you doing? Not only would Ichthys have ideas of his own, I can easily imagine him persuading MC to at least keep a few of his more outlandish choices.
That said, there's a reason I didn't leave him till last... no much as I love him dearly the avoid on this one has to go to...
Zyglavis: MC has a clear idea what she wants the redectorating to be like? Well she's clearly wrong, things would be more efficient if instead it was x, y, z. And it would be easier to dust and keep tidy if there was less knick-nacks not more. I feel like with Zig MC might get the apartment she needs but not actually the one she wants. Oh and for christ's sake don't ask Zig if MC is dating anyone else - depending on who that is there may be something added to deliberately wind them up. If MC is dating Zig, she might be able to get through to him... eventually.
#star crossed myth#scm#star-crossed myth random thoughts#scm headcanons#I guess?#scm karno#scm aigonorus#scm leon#scm tauxolouve#scm huedhaut#scm teorus#scm partheno#scm dui#scm krioff#scm scorpio#scm ichthys#scm zyglavis
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