#I can get into this more later - I feel like I should elaborate on my thoughts here and add some canon backing to explain myself a bit more | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

junityy · 2 months

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🕸 — stay.

pairing. spider-man!jake x fem!reader genre. fluff, slight angst, slightly suggestive?? wc. 2k warnings. for context, this is the #infamous scene in the amazing spiderman 1 when peter shows up hurt at gwens window!! and yes im including the lizard LMAO and jake is kinda down Bad note. THIS TURNED OUT SO LONG.... and also NOT how i wanted but erm well.. spiderman jake is truly all i can think about so i hope you enjoy!!!

You were just finishing up your chemistry homework when Jake leaned against your window frame outside, and lightly knocked against your window. By now, this had become a routine-like thing, so you didn't even flinch.

The first time he did that, though, you felt slightly creeped out before letting him in regardless - because, after all, you do live on the 21st floor. The second time he did that, you started getting used to it. After all, your boyfriend just so turned out to be Spider-man. It was just something you'd get used to sooner rather than later.

Turning around and telling him, “Come in.”, you could already feel your lips form into a smile like that of a little kid's. Jake does as you said and opens the window, slowly climbing inside while you quickly save your homework document in the meantime.

“So, big guy, what was saving New York like today?” you joke before turning around to look at him. Though, once you see Jake holding onto your armchair for stability, your smile fades as quickly as it appeared and you get up when your eyes scan his body - three major scratches across his chest, along with other small wounds across his face (though these are a given by now). But also- scratches? No, it looks more like someone tried to slice him up with.. you don't even know what. Knives? This big? You can only imagine how he got these.

“Different, for sure.” he replies in a joking manner (even though there is no smile), and you can hear just a tiny bit of the pain he must be in in his voice.

“Jake?” you end up whispering as you walk towards him, and he simply lets himself fall onto your armchair before you sit down beside him.

“Seems that reptiles aren't my biggest fans.” he jokes; now smiling as he lets his head fall back while trying to catch his breath. In the meantime, you can't help but scan his wounds up close and - it's safe to say, someone (or something) possibly did try to slice him up from the looks of it.

“Reptiles?” you repeat, the confusion in your voice being very easy to identify; something Jake had already seen coming though, so that is far from surprising.

Before speaking up to elaborate further, he lifts his head again to look at you up close, then explains; “Remember that thing on the bridge yesterday? The thing that was ‘bigger’ than a human.. Well, turns out it's actually some kind of giant, mutant lizard. And it's living in the sewers, apparently.”

“A what?” raising your eyebrows in shock immediately, you can't help but blink in utter confusion a few times - at least before your eyes find their way back to his chest, and some dots start to connect by themselves. Well, his wounds make a little sense now at least. Still, neither of you could deny that ‘giant mutant lizard’ doesn't sound absolutely insane - so naturally, it takes you a second to process and.. imagine what that fight must've looked like just now.

“You're..” you frown; making eye contact with your boyfriend again after breaking it shortly. Jake on the other hand can't seem to even think about taking his eyes off of you. As per usual. “You're telling me you're fighting.. giant lizards?” you simply add. You're also certain that no matter how you would've worded this, it would sound equally just as crazy.

But, well.. your boyfriend IS Spider-man after all. So really, nothing should probably surprise you anymore. If you had to guess, things would, most likely, only get crazier from here on.

“Yeah. Well, they suck.” Jake scoffs, followed by another smile on his face, but he quickly groans in pain right after; your eyes still fixated on his wounds. It’s not like he'll die of them, so you try telling yourself to stop being so dramatic, but still.. it's a sight you'd rather not get too used to.

You hate seeing him like this. Usually, you're pretty used to seeing him with small or at least smaller wounds by now, but this? This is.. low-key crazy. You keep telling yourself that he is literally Spider-man, and that there's.. kinda no way to avoid getting hurt, yet all you hope for is to see him in one piece every single time. And it seems that the longer he keeps doing what he's doing, the chances of seeing him at all keep getting slimmer. Which is something that truly keeps you up at night, easily causing goosebumps all over your body.

“Hey.” Jake quietly says, simply to bring you back to reality once he notices you're lost in thoughts, and the next thing you feel is his hand on your cheek, softly cupping it.

Once you're actually back, you properly reconnect the eye contact you so love with him again. “What is it?” he questions not too long after, barely whispering while trying to read your expression. You, on the other hand, just remain silent; swallowing, before taking a sharp breath.

“Take this off, I'll take care of it.” pretty much avoiding the question, you point to his suit instead (or at least the upper part of it) - since, every time Jake has come here, you took care of him and his injuries. And today was gonna be no different.

While he makes sure the city is okay, you need to make sure he's okay. And vice versa, Jake has to make sure you're okay, by coming back to you every time like promised. New York could be safe for all he wants - only seeing your face every time makes him feel truly safe and sound.

And so again, he does as you say; moving to sit on the floor while leaning against your bed, he watches you do your little magic in silence. Silence, awe, admiration - it's all the same when it comes to you, really. He doesn't even deserve you, Jake thinks to himself. Like he does everyday.

Your ‘little magic’ though, simply includes disinfecting his wounds first; a process the both of you have gotten used to by now.

Once he's rolled down his suit a little, you begin to carefully pat his chest with the tissue again and again, so careful as if he'd break if you made one wrong move. Which.. seems sort of funny. You're patching up the Spider-man after all.

Jake, in the meantime, can't seem to take his eyes off of you again, so he simply doesn't. Instead, he watches your every move like his life depends on it. The look in your eyes has changed. You've gone quiet. Like, awfully quiet.

“Y/N.” he tries again after just a moment - after you clearly avoided his question the first time. When you look up just the tiniest bit, you're immediately met with his eyes on you already in no time. Oh. His eyes. “What is it?” he repeats, hoping to get you to talk this time.

Looking at him, it takes you a few moments to even form a somewhat coherent thought. Sometimes you wish you could just stop time and stay like this. With him, here. Forever.

Sure, being Spider-man's girlfriend had its perks - like Jake taking you with him to swing around New York together. Surely.. an original experience! But it also meant praying he'd come home to you every time there was trouble in the city.

“I'm just scared for you, is all.” you sigh quietly, tilting your head a tiny bit. For just a moment, silence enters, and it feels like you're falling in love with him all over again. You're just glad he's here.

“You won't lose me.” Jake assures you in the softest tone possible and immediately brings his hand back to your cheek, only to bring your face closer to his. Close enough to place a kiss on your lips, a reassuring one. A kiss that, as you both know, says something words wish they could truly encapsulate. Breaking the kiss for a short, simple “I promise.”, he immediately reconnects your lips again like he'd suffocate if he didn't.

What starts as a lovely, reassuring kiss, quickly seems to turn into something much more intimate when you feel Jake rest his other hand on your waist only to pull you as close as possible; to feel your body right against his.

Spider-man might have impressive healing abilities that are above those of the average person, but Jake felt as if having you near him was already enough healing.

“I love you.” he breathes into the kiss, and quickly tries to catch his breath when you do the same for a second. Your faces still dangerously close, all you seem to be able to get out is a “I love you too.” that sounds very out of breath, like you were the one fighting a giant mutant lizard just before.

Bringing your hand up to rest on the side of his neck, Jake can't help but sigh when he backs off a tiny bit, only so he can get a good look at you. God, you're beautiful he thinks to himself. Basically looking at you the same way he did when he first told you he loved you, he automatically moves the few strands of hair out of your face; tucking them behind your ear, while his eyes simply shine with admiration. But mostly love.

“I just love you, Y/N.” your boyfriend repeats while shaking his head slightly, and sounding completely hopeless as if he just accepted that he is, indeed, hopelessly in love with you. Though, that was more or less the case anyway.. it still is, actually. Watching his eyes go back and forth between your eyes and lips, Jake speaks up again in a low voice, “You won't lose me.”. However this time, it's a promise rather than a reassurance.

Your eyes lighting up with pure love at his words and the look in his eyes, you can't seem to hide the way your lips are forming into another tiny smile - so you decide to just let them speak by placing them on his once again.

It's like your lips were perfectly made for each other, especially when Jake tilts his head a tiny bit more to deepen the kiss - his hand still on your neck, and if it were to go after him, he'd never remove it again. It's like you were perfectly made for each other.

“Jake.” you mumble into the kiss, yet keep it going because his lips feel a little too good moving against yours. Although you don't wanna let go, you (sadly) do end up breaking the kiss - which causes Jake to immediately look at you as you're gathering your thoughts one by one.

“I need to ask you a favour. It'll sound really selfish, though.” you begin quietly, only to receive a promising nod from his side, waiting for you to continue curiously while his eyes go back and forth between your eyes and lips again. Swallowing, you carefully ask, “You know I love that you're Spider-man, but can you just be Jake for tonight and stay?” Yeah, you were right about it sounding kinda selfish. Jesus.

But, like, it's true, and you couldn't really figure out a better way to word it. I mean, obviously you love that he's Spider-man - literally who wouldn't? But it's true that you love Jake Sim more. Even if just a tiny bit, which is why you want, - or need, actually - him with you tonight. Just Jake. Just the two of you.

“It doesn't sound selfish.” is the first thing he says in response, slightly shaking his head for further assurance. You're not only glad about it, but you feel your heartbeat increase rapidly when you see yet another smile form on his face, which (thank god), he doesn't even try to hide as it's getting too big. “Actually,” he lightly scoffs, biting on his lip as you watch him do so (it drives you nuts every time).

“I was hoping you'd say that, princess.” is the last thing he says before pulling you in for a kiss much, much more intimate than the ones before.

taglist @tyunni @geombyu @jaeyunverse @yjwfav @sieuneo @beombisou @neos127

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s-4pphics · 4 months

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click!: in frame. 1 (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you crave redemption more than love. [idk au]

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

WARNINGS: professionalphotographer!ellie, strugglingartist!oc who’s black, ANGST!!, loss and unhealthy grieving, papa issues, verbally abusive parent(PLEASE TREAD LIGHTLY), depictions of therapy and counseling, light discussion of anger management, brief mention of alcohol, bullying, a lil fluff, SMUT!! YIPPEE MDNI, bondage, squirting, bathroom sex, eating out no taqueria, ellie getting sloppy from a hot milf that’s it

You look like your mom.

Your father’s admiring whisper yanks you out of the hazy turbulence in your mind. You shovel a handful of caramel popcorn in your mouth. You don’t dare look at him.

Daughter things, I guess. Your dad simply hums. Silence simmers between the two of you. It’s not comforting. Not like it should be. A bomb is coming.

Honey, I… I love you. Your father sounds like he's crying and it pauses your aggressive chewing. You finally turn to face him and your fingers twitch when you see his globby tears. They’re heavy as he releases his regrets in silence, just like he always does during this time of year.

Me, too, dad.

You’re not sure if you’re lying or not. Some things are impossible to forget, you suppose.

You eat more popcorn with a permanently damaged heart.

FOUR YEARS LATER

FIRST DAY WITH DOCTOR BROWN.

“Some people believe that any form of assistance is… insulting. Whether it be to them as people or… specific traits that they hold that others may find unfamiliar or unsettling. I’m not here to judge or anything of that nature. Just here to help you figure out why specific aspects of your life affect you the way they do.”

Your arms cross over your chest. Dr. Brown realizes you’re not taking the bait, so she attempts to get you more comfortable. “I think icebreakers could help ease some of the tension. So… What’s your favorit— “

“My dad died last year.”

Your statement makes her freeze, her smile melting off her face, eyes shifting across her face. She adjusts some papers on her clipboard and clicks her pen. “Alright, hun,” Her gentle tone makes your stomach twist. “Let’s talk about it. What was the relationship with your dad like?” You simply shrug.

Dr. Brown nods and tries again. “Were you and him close? Your notes say you and your mother were inseparable, just like me and mine.”

Your nails sink into your cuticles and tears burn in your eyes, “I… I wanted to be. Close.” You whisper. “He wasn’t around like that, though.”

She scribbles and solemnly nods, “Did he work often?” Your head bobs and droplets stream down your cheeks.

“I didn’t think I’d care that he died… He was never around growing up, so… like, whatever.” You grumble lamely.

“What did losing him feel like?”

The end of your mouth curls downward, the familiar searing you’ve grown to loathe, “Like… the world was burnin’.”

“Elaborate.” She pries softly.

Another bounce from your shoulders. You readjust in your seat. “I wasn’t even sad. Just…” You trail off, fingers twitching under your arm.

“Angry. I was angry all the time.” You rush out quietly, face burning with shame. “Just like he was.” You pause when your breath shakes, “I wish I got some of my mom’s traits. My dad’n I are just alike.” You fiddle with the sleeves of your sweater.

“… You’re not like him— “

“I am— “

“You’re not. You’re trying to put in effort to be better for the future. Could he have said the same?” She’s stern when she speaks.

You’re stumped. You wipe your tears harshly. For the first time, you're at a loss for words.

WEEK TWO WITH DOCTOR BROWN.

“Think about the first time you saw your dad lash out. You can elaborate on how you felt, how you reacted, how your environment changed… Anything you feel comfortable sharing.” Your eyes stay glued to your therapist’s couch as you recall the day. Every detail and foul verbiage he directed towards your mother resurfaces and falls at your sock-covered feet.

It was the morning of your first day of second grade. Your mother spent the entire morning hot-combing your hair, bumping your ends, littering your locks that were bound to recoil in seconds in bobbles and clips. She could tell by your expression that you didn’t like it, but she completed your bright pink outfit with it’s not for you, it’s for me! Sit still! She never failed to live vicariously through you; Every childhood moment she couldn’t live out was now yours.

Your father wasn’t around much. He was a truck-driver, on a constant voyage to wherever he was instructed to go, hundreds to thousands of miles away from solace for months — sometimes years at a time. He missed birthdays, holidays, family reunions; There was always a missing space for him somewhere in your childhood home, whether it be his customized keychain that he forgot, shoes he didn’t pack, a hug he didn’t give. Proof of him was always scattered around somewhere, but he was a shadow. A blank memory.

So, why were your cartoons interrupted by his booming voice in the kitchen?

You remember turning the television down, only by a couple digits, your ears honing in on every word he screamed at your mother. You were so confused. Half of those words you’d never heard before. Why was he so mad this early in the morning?

You knew it was serious when your mother retaliated just as loudly, the cracks and shrieks from her belts sounding alarms in your brain. Your mom’s in trouble! Help her! But how could you? You were defenseless against him. It felt like the day flew by as their aggression intensified, curses nearly shattering the glass of your backyard door before everything went quiet.

But still, your feet carried you to peek behind the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen. Your attempts at being discreet were pointless, though. When you saw your mother pinned up against the counter by your father, tears streaming down her face as he spat with every whisper onto her cheek, you gasped. Your memory is washy after that, but you remember your mother wiping her tears and slapping that comforting grin on her face. You wish you didn’t remember how broken she sounded when she said alright, baby! Ready for school? Don’t wanna be late!

You suffered through social studies, language arts, and math. Your mind wasn’t where it should’ve been; You couldn’t shake the fact that your mother could be hurt and she had no one to tell. You just prayed to yourself as your teacher spoke, hoping that your mom would be on time to pick you up at the end of the day.

Your eyes travel over the teal incisions of thread on your therapist’s seat. You’re still not used to the sound of your own voice. “It’s… it’s a funny story…” You sound so weak. You retell what you can, all while following the tip of your therapist’s scribbling pen.

Why did it have to be green? Why are the clicks deafening?

“Ellie, holy fucking — shit, these look fucking incredible!” Yuki whispers, expression impressed as she snoops over the auburn-haired girl’s shoulder, inspecting the aerial shots she’d taken a few hours ago. Editing is a bitch. “I don’t know how you do it. You’re…”

“A genius, I know,” Ellie says dryly, a soft grin hidden behind the hand that holds her head up. It’s almost eleven. “M’almost done— “

“Nope! Not happening!” Another voice exclaims from the black lounge chair on the opposite side of the room. “You’re not the one that has to lock up every goddamn night! I ain’t stayin’ here ‘til two again! You got two seconds to finish up before I drag you up outta here.”

Yuki giggles at Saliyah’s scolding, and Ellie sighs. The pictures look almost perfect. Almost. They’re not there yet! All she needs is an hour… or three—

“What did I say! —“

“Alright, alright, fuck.” Ellie shakes her head before closing all her tabs, pulling her flash drive out of the PC before shutting it down. She stands from her rolling chair and snags her blazer from over the back of it, throwing it over her shoulders and grabbing her work bag, camera already securely inside. She shoves the drive in a random pocket before stretching.

The two girls already have all of their belongings in hand, more than ready to clock the fuck out. Yuki eyes her slyly, sarcasm dripping from her tone, “Oh, wooow, she’s actually taking orders, now? Listening to instructions for the first time? —“

“Can you stop.” Ellie mutters as she follows the girls descending the stairs. “No!” They both say in unison. Ellie smiles. Does she really stay out that often? There’s no way she’s that stubborn.

All three girls crack jokes as they vacant the building, ensuring all the lights and equipment are shut off and prepped for tomorrow. It’s an early day.

“Alright, bitches!” Yuki screams into the darkness, bag swinging as her heels click-clack on the pavement. “I want you bright and bushy-tailed tomorrow! Busy day! No time to fuck arou— “

Saliyah yawns, eyes droopy, “Girl… fuck you.” Ellie cackles and rubs her tired eyes. She can’t wait to get these six hours in. And see her baby. Saliyah wraps her arms around Ellie’s neck, muttering see you tomorrow, stinker into her neck. Ellie hums and holds her before watching her get into her vehicle.

Ellie does the same after both girls leave the parking lot, her head falling back onto the headrest, eyes shutting in exhaustion. Today was insane… Fuck, it was incredible. She's always accepted opportunities to take photos in nature. Landscapes are her prestige, but when she got the offer to take aerial shots of the ocean, she couldn’t say no. Just when she thought she’d never get on an aircraft out of fear…

The shots were mystical, the monsoon winds carrying the waves in all directions as the foams ripple, a scene straight out of her dreams. The second she got off the helicopter, she got to editing. Staying in late to perfect her captures has become a terrible habit, but what can she say? She loves her job. Thank God her coworkers are as sweet as cherry pie and support her bad habit. Besides tonight, apparently.

Days like this keep Ellie humbled… Most times. She deserves to boast every once in a while. She often thinks back on her college days, how out of touch chances like these seemed. The number of times she was brushed off by respected professionals because she lacked “necessary resources” was astronomical. But look at her now. She had everything she could ever want: a career she’s passionate about, healthy friendships, and the means to take care of her father.

Well… she has most things.

She sighs and starts her vehicle, the diamonds in her Rolex sparkling under the street lights beaming in from the window. The streets are calm. Not normally bustling like they would on a regular day. The clouds are coming in; Rain is due. She’s so excited.

It’s a calm drive back to her small home. She pulls into the driveway and exits with all her supplies, unlocking and entering her place of peace.

Meow! Meow!

Ellie clicks her tongue at Pickle, “Hiii, mama. I’m home.” She drops her bag on the small couch near the front door, bending down to pick her up. “You’re heavy, fuck.” The baby purrs and nuzzles into her neck as they enter the kitchen. She sets her down on the counter and opens the fridge for water. There’s soft scuffling from behind her as she sips.

Ellie turns to see Pickle playing with a pen, rolling it across granite. She swallows her last gulp before sighing, picking up the utensil, the one memory she kept of you. Your colorful fucking custom ballpoint pen. Pickle nibbles her fingers, trying to snatch it back to play with, but Ellie clicks it over and over.

“Miss her? Yeah?” She whispers. Pickle licks her index. Ellie will never admit it, but she thinks about you whenever she sees her baby. Yours, too.

She hopes you’re alright.

“You said that going to his funeral was different from your mom’s. Do you mind elaborating?”

You shrug and scoff. “Shouldn’t everybody feel sad when they parents die?” Dr. Brown mimics you, “Not at all. Every reaction to loss is different and not all reactions are symmetrical.”

“I was angry.” Your statement is blunt and abrasive.

“Expound.”

“I wanted to dig him up and spit on him my damn self.” You say, sharp as razor blades. Brown hums, unfazed by your sudden aggression; What the hell do therapists write on those clipboards? “I just… Seein’ all these fuckers I didn’t know talk about how fuckin’… great he was and how missed he’ll be was fuckin’ infuriating. They don’t know shit about that man or the shit he’s done.”

Sympathy washes over Dr. Brown’s pupils. “See, your temper is the reason you’re here. You’re not obligated to forgive anybody that wronged you, but…” She’s simultaneously stern and empathic, “You do not get to use those emotions to inflict negativity onto the people around you. You’re perpetuating the same harm you wanted to avoid in the first place.”

You instantly know what she’s referring to and guilt radiates all the way down to your toes. Amaya… Oh, you miss her. Another good person caught in your violent crossfire. Your last conversation was vile, and you hate yourself every day for the things you said to the only person who unconditionally cared about your wellbeing. Tears brew in your ducts, but you blink them away.

“I didn’t… know what to do…” You didn’t, so you screamed and shouted and told her to never call your fucking phone again. The last thing you berated was the final nail in the coffin for your relationship. You left me, you’d said over and over until the line went dead. You left me alone! I fucking needed you!

“No one has the answers for these types of situations. Why we react the way that we do to traumatic events will always be a mystery.” She adjusts in her chair, leg crossing over the other. “What I do know is that… you’re fighting grief. You’re choosing not to experience it, and it’s making you lash out on people who don’t deserve it.”

But how does one grieve the person that made their life… unlivable? Through rage. Rage in its purest form: unfiltered, erratic, sizzling. It’s unrelenting and unforgiving and holds no bounds, prepared to be released at any moment, no matter who’s present. Your father’s home has seen it all at this point: glass shattering on walls, screaming into the closet where all his clothes hang, punching the pillow he slept on every night.

Everything was exactly where your father left it, and instead of crying, you relinquished hell on the home he left in your name. You’re still surprised it wasn’t engulfed in flames after his funeral.

“I just…” Harsh sniffles from you, desperately wiping your tears with damp hoodie sleeves, “I don’t know what to do. Nothing feels… real anymore.”

“You’re real, baby.” This is the most delicate Dr. Brown has ever sounded, tone hushed. “Your feelings are real, your pain is real, but so is everyone else’s. You have to remember that.”

You’re listening so intently, “What I'd suggest…” You already know what she’s going to say, and you’re petrified. You sag into your seat.

You owe those two girls an apology.

Flashes of green race across your memory. The meadows are back, and they’re haunting.

“Three.” You whisper.

“Hm?”

“I owe…” A heavy exhale. “Three girls an apology.”

OCTOBER, 2013

Ellie’s officially fifteen. She’d give anything to be home right now.

She was so happy before she left that morning. Her dad woke her up with a heaping stack of iced chocolate chip pancakes that were the size of her head and happy birthday candles. Laughter echoed through their household, following as they cascaded down the stairs to blast music. Neighbors be damned. Everything was perfect. Up until she was dressed and ready and in the car.

Ellie’s dad held her hand the entire drive. He didn’t comment on her white knuckles as she gripped his digits when he kissed the back of her hand. It took her a second to exit the car when they arrived, so he said the usual. You got this, kiddo. The extra encouragement provided a boost, for sure. She was able to get to class on time.

Every time a wad of paper or a sharpened pencil hits the back of her head, she regrets not begging her dad to let her stay home. She’s grown used to the snickers, the shoulder chucks in the hallway, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

English concludes and she’s silently packing when her bag gets yanked out of her hand.

Missed you, stalker, A kid who Ellie doesn’t fucking remember snarks with a dark grin. Where’s that book you always have—

Tyler! The teacher’s voice booms, the class filling with oooh’s, That's enough. Give her stuff back now.

C’mooon, I can’t talk to my girlfriend? The remaining students burst into laughter and Ellie’s face burns, swallowing the lump that’s forming in her throat.

How about I call home? Tyler sucks his teeth at the threat while his friends laugh, dropping Ellie’s things on her desk with little care. She wastes no time to flee, shoving her earpods in and synching each trembling breath with the heavy percussion.

Her dad comes to pick her up an hour later.

A light tap on your shoulder tears your attention away from the lengthy equations on the board. Numbers and letters? Your fucking ass; Absolutely not!

You turn to Amaya, who’s smiling wide, shoving a folded note in your hand, rushing you to open it. Your brows crease as you face forward, unraveling the nest crevices and met with… hearts? Glitter? Pretty penmanship? No man wrote this, thank God.

Hi. You’re really pretty and nice. Would you like to sit with me during lunch?

Ceniyah

… Ceniyah? … Thee Cece? The person you’ve been obsessed with since middle school? What the fuck is going on!

You turn back to Amaya who’s giggling into her palm, catching glimpses of a shy Ceniyah, who keeps her head down, her beaded braids shielding her face. Your face burns and you jerk back forward. It’s not a fucking prank, what the fuck, what the fuck—

Class drags like a bitch, but the bell finally rings, and everyone hustles, shoving books in their bags, running to the cafeteria. You refuse to move, though. Your iron is low and the person you’re in love with asked you to crunch on celery sticks with her. Alone. You're bound to pass out the second you breathe wrong.

Hi.

You nearly fly out of your seat at her soft tone. She sounds like an angel. You’re going to die. You jump out of your chair and… take in the beauty that she is. She smells like heaven and her skin is perfect, not a blemish in sight. You hope she can’t see your acne scars… and she’s shorter than you. Are minors allowed to get married?

H-Hey, You hold up the pink piece of construction paper, I, uh, got your note… It’s beautiful. Her smile shines brighter than the sun. She shakes her head and the chains locked on her clips tinker like fairies.

Are you kiddin’ me! That mural you helped create was crazy. That was beautiful.

I love you.

Your eyes go wide. Did you say that? You don’t think you said that… Her smile turns confused and you realize you said that. You almost stab yourself with your pencil. I mean, like, I love how you appreciate art! Like, not m-many people… do that, and stuff…

She smirks and your heart squeezes with delight, And stuff? She inquires with an arched brow.

I’d appreciate it if you ladies headed to lunch so I can enjoy mine. Your teacher interrupts, And the next note that gets passed earns a detention.

A soft, floral-scented hand closes around your wrist, over your beaded bracelets and charms. You grab your bag with your last remaining strength and follow her like a puppy, her flowy skirt brushing against the bottoms of your jean-clad legs.

Best… day… ever.

PRESENT

Ellie needs to start doing finger stretches. Her hands are starting to hurt every time she clocks out.

She’s sitting at her desk, re-editing the infant photos she took earlier today. The twin girls from earlier were absolute angels, smiling and cooing up at the camera behind their matching pink pacifiers. She's never thought about having children… ever, but it might not be so bad—

Meow! Meow, meow! MeowMEOW—

… Nevermind. Kids are not for her. She can barely get this one to act right. The pictures are cute, though.

“What’s the matter, mama?” She coos down at a doe-eyed kit-kat. “Hungies?” Pickle jumps up and into her lap, staring at the bright screen that displays Ellie’s editing software. Ellie smirks down at her, “What, you wanna try?”

Pickle blinks up at her. No thoughts, just kibble.

She decides to save her progress on the photos and give her munchkin some love. The few minutes of head pats and runs are cut short when she gets a pop-up from her email. She pays it no mind at first, but she zeroes in on the subject with furrowed brows. It simply reads hi… an overdue apology. Ellie blinks a couple times before suspecting spam… But who the fuck names a spam email something that cryptic? What the fuck?

Ellie opens it… and her body goes numb as her eyes follow each word.

hi, ellie. i’m not sure how to start this off, but i hope it’s decent enough to sit through. i apologize in advance.

you probably don’t remember me, but we had statistics and used to live together in college. it was only for two months (i think, kind of a blur) but… yeah. i hope it semi-kinda rings a bell. hi again.

this is a very random time to reach out, and i understand any confusion, but i just wanted to apologize for everything. i was terrible to you. i'd never thought i'd become a judgmental person, but i did. i mocked you, i spoke behind your back, and probably ruined your last year of school, and i carry that regret with me everywhere i go. i’m not sure if i'll ever be able to express my remorse properly.

i’m trying to do better. i want to do better, but i can’t unless i express it.

you never have to talk to me again, and i understand if you don’t, but if you ever want to have a conversation with me, i’d be more than willing to come wherever you are to do so. or we can exchange numbers if it’s less of a hassle. i see how busy you are.

thank you if you took out any time to read this jumbled mess of thoughts. i’m very nervous. i hope you continue to live beautifully.

sincerely, someone trying to start fresh.

(p.s. i swear i'm not a stalker. you’re really popping on instagram. congratulations on everything.)

Ellie wastes no time and unplugs her entire PC, the screen going black. Her heart is racing and water surfaces above her pupils. Pickle purrs in her arms as she backs her rolling chair from under the desk and scurries into her bedroom. She sets the kitty down on her bed and clutches her chest. She forgets to count, forgets to breathe as detailed images of you scatter in her head.

You… what the fuck.

Ellie feels her hands start to shake, so she squeezes them in a fist as she paces. Her gasps are choked and she’s spiraling into panic; She can’t unsee your teary, brown eyes, how you tried to mask your sadness when she stated she was leaving. She was able to convince herself that she’d never see you again, and it took her so long to be okay with that. She’s grown to be okay without your presence.

The burnt trail she left behind has reignited again. She's sinking, drowning, just like she did years ago.

WEEK FIVE WITH DR. BROWN

“How do you feel now? Be honest.”

“… Still shitty… but alright, I guess.” You’re hoarse when you speak.

“Elaborate. What does alright mean for you?”

You pick at your fingers, “I’m not… I don’t wanna, like, kill myself… if that’s what you’re asking. The ball’s in their court now, I guess. I’m… I’m just alright.” Your shoulders bounce in a shrug.

“Has anyone answered?” Your head shakes in denial. “Don’t let that jeopardize your progress. However they react to you contacting them is not on you anymore. They either accept it or they don’t, and they’re valid in both options.”

Dr. Brown pauses and eyes you skeptically, “What?” You ask.

She shrugs, “One person isn’t on your making amends list.”

Your reply is immediate, “Probably for a reason.”

“Do you remember what you told me during our first meeting?”

Irritation boils under your skin. “I see where you’re taking this conversation and I’m not messin’ wit’ it… Respectfully. Next topic, please.”

Her hands raise in surrender, “Ay’, I’m not here to make you do diddly-squat. Merely providing perspective.”

“Right.”

“You did beat that girl to a pulp, though. I will say— “

“It’s what she deserved.” You say flatly. “She… humiliated me, and when her bitch left, she tried to come back to me. Get me pregnant— “

“Chile, I’m not tryna hear all that— “

You scoff and fall back in your seat, cushions and pillows molding with the curve of your spine. Dina bringing her happy ass to your father’s home after his death was one of the most infuriating experiences of your entire goddamn life. The second you opened the door, you were met with wildfire and permanently scarred. The least you could do is give her a fucking black eye.

What you did after that… you’ll never regret. Ever. She can blast you on Twitter all she wants; She’s dead to you.

Dr. Brown sips on her black tea with a pointed stare, “Yes, ma’am?” You say sarcastically.

“Watch that tone,” That look in her eye… she meant that. You’ll be quiet. “She was wrong for what she did, but you ain’t innocent.”

“I’m sorry, but I disagree. That one… she can choke. I don’t care.” Dr. Brown is disappointed by your answer, but frankly, you don’t care. That ship sailed and sank like the goddamn Titanic.

She seems disappointed in your answer, but she lets it go. “… Alright, then.”

On the brink of a heart attack perfectly explains how Ellie’s been feeling for the past week. The number of times she’s reread your fucking email is genuinely embarrassing, but she’s weighing her options: she either blocks you or accepts your offer. She's never been so conflicted in her life. She desperately needs a fucking break.

She never takes Saliyah and Yuki up on their offers to turn up on Friday nights, but her rampant emotions backed her into a corner… and now she’s tipsy on the dancefloor of some rinky-dink club. One night of release wouldn’t hurt.

Ellie really wishes she had a grilled cheese. They’re quite delicious… Probably not the thoughts she should be having with a hot older woman pushing back on her to fucking T-Pain, but she’s hungry! Liquor gives her the appetite of a fucking rhinosaurous, what can she say!

Saliyah and Yuki are handling business for her, though, giving the lady’s ass very encouraging slaps every time their hips connect. Ellie probably looks like a fucking dumbass as she pumps her fist in the air like an old man, but she can’t remember the last time she partied. Sue her!

It’s not until the woman stands upright, her sweaty, nearly bare back pressed against Ellie’s button-up, an arm coming up to loop around her neck, slightly shifting her bow tie that Ellie freezes, her fists clenching even tighter in the air. Her core gives a sharp squeeze when she feels sticky, glossed lips imprint on her throat. Her eyes bulge as she frantically searches for guidance from her friends, but they’re no fucking help, as usual! What the hell is miming sex and eating pussy going to do for her? She can barely breathe.

Her friends shoot her finger guns in encouragement before heading back to the bar. A tongue darts out to lap up her anxiety-induced sweat, and her body tremors, her hands untwisting to land on the girl’s jean covered hips for leverage. She feels teeth beam on her neck and her entire body flushes.

“You’re adorable!” Ellie hears her scream over the blasting music. Her tongue jumbles as she searches for a reply, but nothing leaves. She just drops her head onto the woman’s shoulder… and nearly flat lines when she eyes the cleavage sitting taut in her halter top. Her heart’s pulses synch with the ones from her clit when the woman giggles. Ellie’s ninety-five-point six percent sure that her nipples are poking through her shirt.

Her teeth sink into the inside of her cheek when the woman spins to face her, chest to chest, noses almost touching. The woman’s gaze drops to her neck, cunning as a fox as she undoes the first button of her shirt before unraveling the loop of her bow tie. She leans in, wafts of cinnamon flooding Ellie’s nostrils.

“Come to the bathroom with me?” Ellie’s nodding before the lady can conclude the purr in her ear. Her hand gets snagged and she’s being dragged through the hot crowd, all the way to the back of the club and shoved into the giant restroom. She finally takes in the goddess in front of her: dark hair, plump lips, pretty lashes. The wrinkles by her eyes and laugh lines are sending dopamine alarms in her brain.

Ellie receives one gentle kiss that makes her hips

grind forward before she hears, “You ever been tied up?” The raven-haired woman mumbles against her mouth. She whines, cheeks burning, “N-No,” she whispers.

Her perfect teeth shine, “You wanna be?”

Does she? “I — yeah, I guess?”

“Put your wrists together,” she hums and Ellie does. Her own bow tie gets looped and twisted around her nimble hands. The woman drops to her knees in front of the trembling girl, massaging her thighs over her jeans, planting kisses all over them, “You gotta name, honey?”

“Ellie… M’Ellie…” The woman’s hands creep up to unbutton her jeans, the soft hiss of the zipper, “What’s yours?” She only receives a shrug. “Whatever you want it to be.” Her jeans are yanked down seconds later, her… fucking Cartoon Network boxers drenched all the way through. The woman giggles and calls Ellie a cutie pie and her clit jumps.

Her manicured nails hook under the band of Ellie’s boxers, slowly inching them down until her soft, sticky hairs are on display and her boxers are around her knees, “Gonna let me eat this pussy out, angel?”

Ellie’s vision whites out. Only for a second, “Y-Yes, ma’am…”

Ellie’s sopping lips and pulled apart, her red, throbbing clit on display for the fucking witch in front of her. “You’re so fuckin’ cute. Anybody ever play with this pretty cunt?” Reality crashes down on her like a boulder as images of you touching her, kissing her flash before her eyes. Her jaw slacks as her words flurry.

“Just — fuck, just one time.”

“Yeah?” She coos, massaging gentle circles on her clit, “I'm your lucky second?” Ellie nods frantically. Her knees buckle when a sharp slap lands on her pussy, “Ffuck—“ The strokes on her clit are punishing, fast and non-stopping, the woman’s teeth gritted when she asks, “Steppin’ out on your girl, huh?”

Ellie moans around her denial while her cheeks glow, “N— agh, s-shit, wasn’t m’girl—“

“Yeah? She touch you like me?” The woman snickers, and Ellie burns red. She’s already so close and she can’t fucking think, “Think m’cummin’—“ Ellie slurs, her tongue thick in her mouth as her walls squeeze down, desperately trying to pull something, anything in as deep as possible.

“Can feel it. Tell me when.” But Ellie couldn’t. Her orgasm crashes into her like a fucking truck and her body falls forward, legs trembling as it wracks through her in harsh waves. The thighs that try to close are forced open, sharp stings radiating off her skin from the nails that pierce them. Strong suctions attack Ellie’s clit and she sobs, practically riding the woman’s face. Vibrations from satisfied hums stimulate her further, and she swears she’s going to pass out.

The pleasure builds all over again and her eyes squeeze shut, her hips thrusting forward and into the woman’s mouth. Her optics cycle into her skull when the space right below her clit gets stimulated just right and she rides that edge all over again, but this time, it’s stronger. The woman’s groaning in her pussy like she’s starving, and Ellie can barely garble her warning of another orgasm.

She squeaks when a gentle finger slides between her walls and she wishes it felt like yours did. Ellie’s bound hands entangle in the soft locks and pull, pushing her head any which way to guide her where she needs. She doesn’t register that she’s whining your name until the woman asks, “Tha’s your girl?” Right on her pussy, and Ellie tips.

She’s so loud when she explodes all over this stranger’s face, wetness coating her inner thighs, dripping all the way down to the bottoms locked around her ankles. You take refuge in the nasty side of her brain as she envisions you between her legs, you making her feel this good. Something about the way you touch her… She thinks it's impossible to replicate till this day.

When Ellie comes down, she falls against the door, relishing in the steady kitten licks on her twitching bud. One last gentle kiss, and the woman separates from the mess between Ellie’s thighs, chest wet with her juices.

“Good, honey?”

Ellie blinks like she’s risen from the dead, short hair clinging to her forehead. She shoots the woman two thumbs up and she chuckles, untying Ellie’s hands and helping her back onto her feet. The woman helps her redress after she cleans herself up, and Ellie’s nose twitches when her own stickiness latches onto her clothes. Her arms fall back to her sides when her belt gets secured.

She’s winded when she finally speaks, “Um… thanks…” How the fuck does Ellie say goodbye to someone who sucked her soul out?

“No problem…” The woman’s warm hands are soft as they push away damp strands from Ellie’s forehead. The freckled girl nearly purrs. Call her Pickle at this point.

Ellie steps away from the door so that the fucking seductress can exit. The woman backs away and unlocks the door with a gentle smile. “You should text her.”

Ellie’s stomach churns. “… What.”

“The girl that’s not your girl.” That’s the last thing she says before stepping out. Ellie’s heart plummets when her eyes lock with Saliyah’s, then Yuki’s. Her friends gawk at her disheveled appearance, lipstick stains littered all over her button up. Ellie’s not nearly as embarrassed as she should be; All she can think about is you.

“I think I’m in trouble.” Ellie states mindlessly.

“Doesn’t look like it.” Yuki snickers and pulls Ellie out of the bathroom. She hides her face when she’s met with the long line of people desperately needing to piss.

WEEK SEVEN WITH DOCTOR BROWN.

“You look bright.”

You feel brighter. Just a little bit. You’ve finally gotten your locs retwisted.

“Amaya texted me back.” Dr. Brown seems impressed at your statement, happy for you. A small smile makes its way onto your face.

“Yeah? What’d Ms. Producer say?”

“She, um… She wants to have dinner.”

“Oh? And what’d you say?”

“I said of course and then sobbed until I got here.” Dr. Brown chuckles, “When’s the big meal?”

“In two days. I got a hotel near where she’s at, so… Yeah. Probably won’t see me for a little.”

“Good for you, honey.” She says proudly, “Heard from any others?” Your head shakes. It’s not surprising that Abby and Ellie haven’t reached out to you. They don’t owe you any closure, even though it took you a while to accept your karma.

“Progress is progress, nonetheless.” Her tone reverts back to stern, “Remember… when you see that girl, don’t expect anything to come from it. She’s going out of her way to speak with you, not the other way around.”

Your head bows shamefully. You're incredibly nervous to see your best friend… if you deserve to call her that anymore. Anxiety isn’t foreign to you, but you’re anticipating the worst for your meeting. You’d give anything to mend your relationship with Amaya, but how’re you going to be able to overcome the guilt of abandoning her?

You can’t remember the last time you went to the campus coffee shop.

When Amaya sent you her new address in the middle of your old college city, you sobbed for half an hour. You’re not sure why considering the entirety of your graduating class is gone (hopefully in hell); It’s a mix of emotions coming back here. The baristas that used to work here have been replaced with new bushy-tailed freshmen with under eye bags. The coffee isn’t the best, but it’s oddly nostalgic. You feel fucking old just looking at their bright customer service smiles.

Your attention gets snagged away from your steaming cup when a sharp gasp echoes from behind you, nearly spilling your drink all over your flannel when someone calls your name. Anxiety spikes in your gut when you see…

Who is that?

“Oh my goodness! Sweetheart!” An older woman with gray hair and a cardigan places her hand on your shoulder and your eyes bulge out of your skull. “It’s so good to see you!”

What the fuck is going on? “You... You, too, uh… ma’am!” You put on the most believable smile you can. Is your memory really this fucking bad?

“Students don’t usually stick around after this long! Our major was pretty small, you know how it is.” Major… Students… Graphic design… Professor! Your memory clicks but her name doesn’t. What the fuck is this woman’s name! You feel like a cunt all over again!

“I’d love to catch up if you’re sticking around!”

“Um… yeah, of course.” Her smile is bright when she enters the line. Relief floods through you when she gets to the service counter and one of the baristas says good morning, Professor Meyers!

You silently thank the Lord.

“What brings you back to town, honey!” Professor Meyers asks excitedly.

“Um… just missin’ school, I guess.” You lie. Fuck this school.

She swallows her sip of tea before pausing, “Wow. First time I heard that. I didn’t see you at graduation!”

Your chest concaves and your face burns, “I, uh. I didn’t graduate. I dropped out.” Professor Meyers' expression drops, pity written all over her face.

“Wh— Why?”

You shut down her interrogation, “I just… stuff happened. I couldn’t handle everything all at once.” Her eyes sadden and she places a comforting hand on top of yours.

“I’m so sorry, honey. Whatever it was… I hope it’s okay, now.”

“Getting through it.” You shrug, feigning nonchalance. The air is suddenly suffocating.

“Y’know… if you’re interested…” Professor Meyers’ tone is suggesting. Your brow quirks at the woman plotting in front of you.

“Some of the art profs are always looking for some extra help for the introductory courses. Your rough drafts were always pretty spectacular.”

Your body burns. “Thank you.”

She smiles and reaches into her bag in the other chair, pulling out a small card and handing it to you. “This is my contact information. I can set you an interview with Professor Ronson if you’d wanna join the little alumni support team.”

You accept her card, “But I’m not… I didn’t graduate— “

“Oh, hush now! If you go to college, you’re an alumni! These exclusive rules are outdated!” Professor Meyers stands with her bag and tea. “I gotta run, but please consider it! It could be a great marketing opportunity for you!”

You're left to simmer in your thoughts as she rushes out of the cafe. You didn’t even have the chance to tell her that you haven’t touched a canvas since your father’s funeral.

You waltz into the upscale restaurant with tied lungs. Prepping an outfit for tonight was a hassle; You were forced to rummage through your father’s closet for suitable attire. You can’t remember the last time you made a purchase for yourself.

You feel out of place standing here with the… upper class. They’re dressed to the nines and it’s incredibly intimidating. Your eyes cast downward to your wrinkly shirt and blazer; Why didn’t you bring a fucking iron?

“How can I help you, miss?”

Your eyes bulge when they lock with the host’s and gut churns with discomfort. Your legs wobble closer to the counter, “I— there’s… reservation…”

The host stares at you with utter confusion, “Oh, sure! What’s the name?”

“Um… Amaya— “

“Ms. Robinson?” The host’s eyes fill with glitter, “Oh my gosh, when I saw her walk in earlier, I was like, no way she’s actually here. This is crazy! But it was really her! I couldn’t believe— “

Another host interjects, “My apologies, ma’am! She’s a bit, uh, excited. Your table is right this way.” The host begins walking, and your feet move on autopilot, “Would you like a menu?”

“No. I’m good, thanks.” You won’t be able to keep anything down anyway.

You move through bustling walkways, ears filled with bouts of obnoxious laughter and corny jokes with each table you pass.

Your heart stutters in your chest when you see the isolated leather and rosewood booth where Amaya sits, her back to you. There’s two glasses and a bottle of… something on the table.

“Ms. Robinson! Your guest is here!”

Amaya, filled glass in hand, cranes her neck and meets your flitting gaze. Her eyes are stagnant, unmoving, and your nerves wrack. She looks fucking immaculate with the slit in her black dress, smokey makeup, heeled

shoes. She’s dressed down for a fucking funeral. Yours.

You’re actually not ready to see her. You’re not ready at all.

“You want a glass?”

Amaya’s tone is cold. Colder than the dripping neck of the bottle right in front of you. “N-No thank you.”

She scoffs laughter around the rim, “Shocking.” You scramble for a reply, anything to say to the woman oozing impatience in front of you.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper. She sets her glass down with an unsteady clink.

“You said that already.” She states, brown eyes sharp. “Why are you?”

You scratch at your ear, trying to mask the tremors in your fingertips, “Because… I — I wasn’t…”

“I don’t hear from you for months,” She spits, “And then I get a phone call from my drunk best friend screamin’ at me, tellin’ me that I fucking left her to grieve by herself… because I’m selfish and money hungry… Right?”

Angry tears sizzle in Amaya’s eyes as she continues, “And I still come and visit you… only to get a door slammed in my fuckin’ face.”

You’re completely frozen; You can barely look her in the eye. Your hands are clenched together under the table, nausea creeping up your throat. “I… there’s no excuse for what I did— “

Amaya’s eyes are void, “Why did you do it.”

“I don’t know how to explain it,” you rush out, desperate. You’re losing her, “He — I was just — I couldn’t control myself and I screamed and yelled and blamed everyone for what happened. I was just so mad and I couldn’t stop— “

“Abby called me two days ago.”

You gasp, “S-She did—?”

“She told me she hated you.” Amaya says plainly. The remaining shards of your heart dissipate like dust, leaving your mouth when you whimper, “O-Okay.” Tears stream down your cheeks and neck, harsh sniffles filling the small corner of the restaurant. “She hasn’t, um… never mind.” That’s why she hasn’t reached out, you suppose. Well deserved.

“I don't… hate you, you know that, right?”

You sob, palms in your eyes, “S’okay if you do. I deserve it.”

She shrugs, “I don’t. I’m just very disappointed in you.” You nod in agreement, in understanding. You accept that this is probably the last time you’ll ever see someone you considered a sister.

“I’m so sorry, May— “

“M’gonna head out. I’m,” She wipes a tear and grabs her bag, throwing a hundred-dollar bill on the table. “I… I don’t hate you.” You cry as you watch Amaya gather herself, stand, and leave without another word. You heave and attempt to dry your face with the fresh napkin but they won’t stop flowing.

It’s difficult, accepting that you’re undeserving. That you’ve dug yourself into a hole that you can’t escape. It’s dark and cold and you’re desperate for comfort but it never comes because you chased it all away. You eye the tall bottle that sweats; Very tempting, but you leave it where it stands. The blame for your downfall is yours to take; The only reward you can receive now is from your upkeep. To dig yourself out from beneath the maggot-infested dirt. To resurface and recover what you can.

You’re unsure how long you sit here crying. Devastation sets hard in your tummy when you stand to leave the restaurant, ignoring the judgmental stares from the annoying, old fuckers that wouldn’t stop glaring at you.

The air outside is fresh and soothing as you walk, right past your parked car. Past the young people mingling and taking pictures. Past the girl doing graffiti on the old building across the street. Something beats in your chest when you eye her spray paint cans, brushes in her hand, the bright colors all over her bare arms. Her passion is evident, even from a distance, and you miss that. That feeling that takes over when you create something that no one else can replicate. Her style is unique to her just like yours is to you.

Color sparks in your soul for the first time in a year, and you know what you have to do tomorrow morning.

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#in frame ✎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･#ellie williams smut #ellie williams #ellie williams au #ellie williams angst #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #black!reader #black!oc #lesbian #works 𖧧࣪

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tommykinard6 · 11 days

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Should I be eating and resting? Yes. Am I? No, so come join me for a dissertation on Tommy Kinard being lonely.

Edit to add a note since I saw a reblog about it: Tommy has no canonical age right now and Lou is 39, 40 later this year, so that is my basis for saying he’s 39.

Now when I say lonely, I don’t mean that he has no one whatsoever. I can picture him going for drinks with his team or having some Muay Thai buddies that he could call up if he really was inclined. Maybe an old army buddy or two.

But there’s something about Tommy that’s just achingly lonely, both when he was at the 118 and now at Harbor.

Tommy had a broken home, or some other kind of unstable childhood. Maybe his parents split, maybe he was mistreated, maybe he was in the system or was passed around family members. Maybe he was isolated as a child because he was a little overweight (I think Lou said something along those lines) and was bullied. I think Tommy didn’t really have any friends until high school, when puberty hit and maybe he started working out and probably joined the football team. I don’t know if anyone remembers what teenage boys are like, but I can imagine they were the same as they are today back in the 90s/early 00’s. Because around this time, Tommy might’ve started to realize that something was very different about him.

Now this isn’t a meta about how I think Tommy dealt with his sexuality (maybe I’ll do one of those later) but I think he never would’ve risked his football friends knowing even if he himself could acknowledge it, which I doubt. So he messed around, got in trouble with these guys, hung out with the bros, and pretended to be interested in girl talk.

Of course, eventually, his buddies all got girlfriends and he was always the odd one out again.

He didn’t do college. The army was his next step. And I feel like this might have been the first time in his life he wasn’t lonely. He’d learned to blend in by this point and he worked with some great people. But as he started making real friends for the first time, he also started losing them as the war tore them away.

Tommy left the army and joined the fire department. There was an aching hole where the camaraderie of the army had filled previously and with no education beyond a high school diploma, Tommy thought the fire department would replicate that. Not the police though. He’d had enough of guns.

(And ohhhh now so many ideas on his thoughts during the sniper)

But he ended up at the 118 and quickly realized that his team had maybe more of a DADT stance than the army. He realized that he had to put on an elaborate act to fool his fellow firefighters, who had more time on their hands and more prejudice they were willing to wield to pick apart his life. Tommy, who maybe had only just started to acknowledge he felt differently about guys with less panic than before, had no choice but to backslide. He acted and acted and crafted a person he wasn’t until the day that maybe he was. Sal was his closest buddy at the 118 and Tommy had no doubt that Sal would be one of the first to make his life hell. Gerrard seemed to look at Tommy as some sort of mentee. Boxed in by two notorious bigots, Tommy had never felt more claustrophobically alone.

Chim was the first one to reach out a hand of friendship, or at least the first one that didn’t come with caution tape, but he was also an “other” and Tommy, who was confused and afraid and had just had his captain call his bluff on his fake girlfriend, lashed out. Then he allowed Chim in and Chim wasn’t interested in being besties but he was a great drinking buddy and movie buddy and Tommy felt safest around him.

Then Hen came and Tommy watched her get the same treatment he was afraid of. Not that he had to worry about the racism, and he was aware of the privilege, but Hen didn’t exactly hide herself and he watched them bully his lesbian coworker. He let himself get pulled into it all and hated himself for it, but was too cowardly to break away from it. He wasn’t sure why Hen had forgiven him, but she became the only other person on shift he felt even a little safe around other than Howie. But then Chimney and Hen became best friends and Tommy fell to the wayside. They still included him, sure, but they were always a pair and there was something there that Tommy didn’t know but longed for. A closeness he’d never felt.

A best friend. A juvenile idea to him, but one he’d never truly had.

Then Gerrard was gone and Sal got transferred and the 118 moved forward under Captain Nash, but Tommy felt left behind, even in what was the most united A shift team yet. Because he was over 30 and was starting to be unable to ignore everything that he’d had to hide under Gerrard, as he no longer had a distraction from it.

He’d been a pilot in the army, so he transferred to Harbor. And Harbor was great. He wasn’t best buds with anyone (he was starting to think that was never in the cards for him) but his team didn’t carry the same baggage that the 118 had.

So Tommy started to come to terms with himself. He started to date for the first time and came out to his team. And he had several boyfriends, but most couldn’t handle the job or his baggage or the desperate need he had to be wanted. His most long term partner cheated and the one he fell hardest for couldn’t deal when Tommy was injured on the job. Even within his own relationships, he felt like he was destined to stand alone.

Tommy was 39 years old and alone, as always, when Chimney walked back into his life, dragging an adorable and also extremely hot blonde and a stoic brunette that radiated ex military in a way only ex military could know. And then Hen was there and they were trying to rescue their captain and his wife and they clearly loved each other fiercely and like family.

And as Tommy listened, flying through the remnants of a cat 5 hurricane, he thought to himself that he should’ve never left. Simply just never found himself if only that meant being part of the family the 118 was now. However, he knew deep down that he still would’ve been alone and on the outside.

And they rescued the survivors and Tommy thought that was it but then Eddie wanted to hang out. And they liked the same things and had similar experiences and Tommy couldn’t help the hope. Because the loneliness had grown stifling and now he could breathe a little. And then Evan, the cute blonde, wanted a tour of the hanger and he thought that maybe he was being hit on.

And then at the end of it all, Tommy was left realizing that he’d wedged himself between two best friends and that was what happened when he allowed himself to hope. So he went to Evan to apologize. He would get Evan and Eddie to talk to each other and then would fade into the background.

But then Evan was sweet and apologetic and told him that he was part of the 118 family simply by helping them. Tommy couldn’t help it. Here he was, at 39, with a little boy still waiting inside of him to be soothed. And Evan was hot and sweet and Tommy couldn’t help himself.

And he really liked Evan. Evan was adorable. But their first date didn’t go as planned and Tommy knew he was already whipped. So he removed himself before someone could get hurt. Evan deserved better and so did he, even if the loneliness was stifling again.

But then Evan texted him and looked at him with sparkling blue eyes over too sweet coffee and wanted him. Him. He wanted Tommy and to have something with Tommy and he wanted him to come to his sister’s wedding with him.

And Tommy looked at him and saw someone who could finally fill the ache he’d felt his whole life. He saw a man who he knew he wanted to take a chance with. All he had to do was jump.

And he did.

And it wasn’t solved, not immediately and never fully. Too many wounds were left gaping for too long to ever heal. But for the first time in his life, at 39, with the 118 surrounding him and Buck as the sunshine at his side, Tommy finally felt at peace.

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mauesartetc · 7 months

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Redesigning Helluva Beelzebub

Hoo boy, roll up the sleeves for this one.

The Original

In my review of Helluva Boss 108, I mentioned that Beelzebub's character design put me in mind of how some DeviantArt kid's fursona might look. And... Yeah I stand by that statement. The most likely reason I can figure Viv Medrano wanted her to be dog-like was to make a reference to her Die Young music video, which featured an anthro wolf singing a Kesha song (for context, Kesha herself voiced Beelzebub and co-wrote a song for this episode).

But for those who are unaware, Beelzebub's traditional depiction looks nothing like this.

Really the only visual similarities the Helluva version shares with the Infernal Dictionary version are the insect wings, six limbs, and the crown thingy over the head. (At least I think that's a crown-? Kinda hard to tell on both counts.)

Bee's eyes get somewhat more insectoid later in the episode, but that feels like a cop-out. Wow, her eyes and colors changed. Totally a bug demon, right?

They had the same problem in Hazbin Hotel with Katie Killjoy, who's allegedly supposed to be a praying mantis but barely resembles one, even after her transformation.

I understand the desire for fresh takes on old figures, and taking creative liberties so the new interpretation doesn't feel generic. But the changes should at least make sense. By now it's pretty clear Viv couldn't care less about representing Ars Goetia demons faithfully, as demonstrated with Paimon, Andrealphus, and now Beelzebub. You could slap completely different names on these characters and it wouldn't change a thing. I posted this meme a while back but it's never been more relevant:

On top of that, what reason could there possibly be for the design to be this damn complex? Why did she need so many markings on her face? Why did she need so many layers of hair? Why did she need flowing goo for her hair, tail, and body, each requiring dedicated effects animation?

When it comes to a hand-drawn production, less is more. Any superfluous details on a character just make unnecessary work for the animators.

Anyway, here's what Viv has to say about it.

Alright, I'll admit: The lava lamp bit is a little clever. Basically it works as a regular stomach does, but on demonic steroids. But it wouldn't look so much like Viv's making this up as she goes if we'd seen Bee's stomach performing its intended function in the episode. Let her chow down on a giant piece of food (maybe that cotton candy she's been handing out-?) and swallow it, and let Loona (and the audience) see it dissolving in her transparent belly. As a general rule, if it's not shown or explained in the work itself, it's not canon. Like I've said before, Viv: Elaborate on the nuances in the story you're telling, not on social media.

Also, "Her ears are designed after beehives"? Wh...Wha? Ma'am have you ever seen a beehive.

(Hell, even if you told me the ears were inspired by the generic cartoon beehive we're all familiar with, I wouldn't have guessed. There's a difference between being subtle and being vague.)

I can kinda see it in the overall shape, but that's a very specific design inspiration that wasn't clear at all in the design itself. Same with the "animal trainer" thing: I never would have picked up on that if Viv hadn't pointed it out. If a character design doesn't visually convey all the necessary information, it's not a successful design. Show, don't tell. There's a communication breakdown between what Viv's telling us and what Bee's design shows us.

(It's possible she actually meant "Her ears are designed after honeycombs", but even then, each compartment has a specific pentagonal shape that's not coming across at all here.)

I also find it interesting that Bee and Loona have almost the exact same body type. Of course Viv's pretty infamous for samebody syndrome, but it's actually unnerving how similar these two are.

Might this be a reference to Vortex's "type"? Is this foreshadowing a relationship with Loona? Am I overthinking this? Yeah, probably. Viv's demonstrated a clear preference for tall, skinny body types over the years, so it's safer to assume that's the explanation. It's all aesthetics. It ain't that deep. Occam's Razor and all that.

Finally, Bee how the hell does your shirt work.

The Concept

So at this point it seems most logical to lean into the "bee" thing for the redesign, and scrap all the canine elements. As for the blobby hair and tail... yeeeah let's nix those too. We're going for a streamlined version that's easier to animate. And because I ignored the ringmaster look for my redesign of Asmodeus, it only makes sense to do the same for Bee's animal trainer vibe (what little there is) for the sake of consistency. I know this version of Hell has a circus theme with its highest-ranking demons, but there's never been an in-universe explanation for why that is.

Let's look at actual bees, then. A quick peek at Google has informed me that certain insect species have smaller, "simple" eyes (also known as ocelli), in addition to their compound eyes. In bees, this manifests as a triangular grouping of three beady eyes on top of the head.

In her Helluva Boss episode, Bee's full demon form has three eyes, which could be a reference to this triangular arrangement, plus her regular form has two spots on her forehead in addition to the third eye. So it's possible Viv actually did research for something. Pleasantly surprised on that front.

Next, the body. I've noticed that some folks find Bee's skinny body type refreshing, as the sin of gluttony is too often personified with fatness. And that's fair. That's valid. But consider this:

Imagine any Vivziepop character saying that about a chubby person. Imagine the series sending the message that fat people can be sexy too, and that they have worth outside of their appearance, enough for at least one character to consider them girlfriend material. That they're valued and appreciated regardless of this culture's beauty standards (which we know nothing about since the worldbuilding is as thin and flimsy as tissue paper, but whatever). Imagine if this show finally had a fat female character who wasn't relegated to the background. Don't know about y'all, but that would be refreshing to me. And when you take into account all the fat-shaming of a character who isn't even fat, portraying a fat character as attractive would be a nice change of pace for this show.

Now let's talk about clothing. In the episode, Bee's clothes show off a lot of her body, with a cutout crop top and short shorts. We can take a similar approach for the redesign (something that still shows off her chest, belly, and limbs, in keeping with the extroverted "party girl" persona), but that perhaps includes more queenly elements.

The Redesign

Because this is a redesign, many elements were already in place, but I still had to figure out how this character would look as a bee. Here's where the preliminary sketches came in. Lots of trial and error in this process.

Wrestling with this character's face got a lot easier once I realized I could mold it into a pentagonal shape akin to a honeycomb compartment. It took a few tries, but at last, I had a final sketch.

All that was left to do was test out some color combinations.

I tried a few different approaches, but in the end, this is the version I felt worked best.

I used many of the colors from the original, but pushed the orange much harder since orange is the symbolic color of gluttony as a sin. And overall it gives Bee a nice honey-ish look rather than the generic black and yellow we already see on so many bees in cartoons. I thought the colored outlines on her clothing would add a soft, feminine touch, as well.

And just for kicks, here's a quick sketch of her giant form, inspired by the Infernal Dictionary drawing of Beelzebub.

Conclusion

The canon version of this character exists in the form she does for no reason than to stroke her creator's ego. "Hey guys, remember when I animated that Kesha fan video? Remember how cool that was? Wanna see me foist this unnecessarily-complex character design on other animators while I take a victory lap?" I wouldn't mind so much if Viv animated any of this herself, but she didn't. I could almost excuse this if she had no animation experience and didn't know how much work it requires, but she does. The self-aggrandizing entitlement is just off the charts. But a nonsensical design is leagues better than a stolen one, so... brownie points for that, I guess.

#character design #redesign #helluva boss #helluva critical #helluva beelzebub #vivziepop critical #body positivity #long post

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sehtoast · 6 months

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Forget Me Not (Homelander x Reader)

1.4k words | gender neutral reader

Ask Prompt: HL x gn reader. Where hl loses his memory and runs away to another state where he meets the reader 🙏

You were totally prepared to swing first and ask questions later. Of course, that was before you saw him. Standing there drinking from your milk carton at three in the morning, fridge light illuminating him against the darkness of your kitchen, was The Homelander himself

You hide the baseball bat before he turns to you, a droplet of milk dribbling down his chin.

“You should really invest in whole milk,” he says, sloshing what little was left inside the carton. “Tastes way better.”

You could hardly believe the night had been real when you woke up the next morning. But, sure enough, he was still there.

“So, how did I end up with The Homelander of all people in my house,” you’d asked nervously. Reality had finally set in and you both sat at the table to talk.

He looked at you like you had seven heads.

“What’s a ‘Homelander?’”

Yeah… That really did happen. If not for the fact he looked entirely serious with such a genuine curiosity in his tone, you’d have thought he was bullshitting you.

Somehow, some way, he’d lost his memory. Ran away from wherever he was, showed up at your house out of all possible others. He said it seemed more inviting, but he couldn’t quite explain why.

You’d tried to explain to him how to find his way back to New York, how to find Vought Tower so that he could go home and get some help, but he seemed too afraid to leave.

“What if I get lost?” He’d asked, eyes twinkling with nervous energy. “You said it’s north-east, but aren't there a lot of things north-east? What if I get the wrong place?”

You don’t know what possessed you, but you decided to let him stay. Let him borrow some spare clothes that made him look much less… well, like a superhero. You’re sure Vought would come looking for him eventually, so you might as well keep him safe and sound, right?

After helping him out of that suit, you can’t help but wonder if all super suits are total death traps. If most heroes are padded up to look larger than life, but are really just plain as can be underneath.

Before he falls asleep in your spare room, he tells you the one thing he can remember.

“My name’s John…”

The next day, he follows you around everywhere. You work remotely from home, and he sits next to you on the couch while you do. The TV plays in the background while you cycle through tasks and emails, but his attention seems fixed on you entirely. The clickety-clack of your keyboard fascinates him and he ends up curious as to how you type so fast, what you’re doing, what your code inputs mean.

He’s an interesting fella, curious by nature to the point he’s a total snoop. You catch him in your bedroom on the third day, fingers trailing over your blankets as his gaze pans around the whole room. It seems innocent enough, and he’s given you no reason to feel he’s out to hurt you.

When you ask him what he’s up to, he just shrugs, saying something… interesting.

“I wish I would've had a nice room when I was little…”

It conflicts with what you know to be true about him, but also makes you wonder if he’s starting to remember things. You ask him to elaborate, but he can’t. He presses his palm to his forehead as if he’s in pain and just shakes his head.

“I don’t know. I just know I didn’t…” He trails off, and you’re there to press a soothing touch to his shoulder.

You tell him not to worry too much.

You take him out grocery shopping one day. He’s like a fish out of water.

He doesn’t know the first thing about navigating a store and doesn’t do much more than follow you like a lost puppy. Hell, at the end, he doesn’t even know how to help the cashier with bagging.

He is, however, incredibly helpful when it comes to bringing everything in. He is quite literally the one trip wonder, dangling every single bag from his arms and walking in as though they weigh nothing.

You could get used to that.

You cook a proper dinner that night and he helps. Well, ‘help’ is a strong word. More like he watches and hands you the occasional ingredient.

You’re fascinated by him. He seems oblivious to normal living skills, but a part of him seems to genuinely want to learn them. More than that, he seems so… peaceful. You recall his recent erratic behaviors in the public eye, his meltdown on his birthday, his snippiness with interviewers…

But he seems so much less tense now. Maybe it was the memory loss. Maybe he just likes the quiet. Who knows?

What you do know is, by the second week, you hope he never leaves. You’re almost praying that his memory never returns despite knowing that's selfish.

It’s nice to share your space with someone. It’s nice to have him around.

He’s sweet despite his dramatics. Helpful and eager. He’s company, and it’s been… a very long time since you’ve felt like you weren’t alone. You didn’t quite live in bumfuck nowhere, but it was close enough that he was a blessing.

Your heart sinks on the day he comes downstairs wearing his suit.

He looks at you with those big blue eyes, but within them is a sadness.

There is recognition floating around in there, swirling with that determined fire that you’ve seen on so many screens before. Yet he still looks so melancholy.

You offer him his morning coffee, a shared routine between you both for the past two months, and he sips at it quietly.

He used to hate it, but now..?

“Are you going back?” You ask after some time, not daring to meet his eyes.

Your heart sinks when he tells you he is.

“I’ll miss you…”

He struggles to reciprocate the words properly, but… he leaves you with a tight hug before his departure.

You don’t know why you cry so hard when he goes. No, no…

That’s a lie. You do know.

You miss him terribly.

You miss him for days, for weeks.

You watch the celebrations for his return. You touch the screen of your laptop, wishing he was still at your side, still peering over your shoulder, still riding alongside you in your car.

But he isn’t.

And you don’t think he ever will be again.

You learn to breathe again after some time. You feel good enough to crawl out of bed, collected enough to clean up the house a little. You fall into your hobbies again, but nothing feels right.

It’s all just… dull.

And you hate that you know why.

You hate that you pray every night to hear your fridge door shutting, to hear the clinking of glass in your cabinets, to hear him step on that creaky floorboard on the steps.

But you don’t.

You don’t hear any of it.

Eventually you just stop listening.

Which means you don’t hear what slips through your window. There are no footsteps, no creaks or cracks. You don’t hear his nervous breaths.

You only feel when he lowers himself onto the other side of your bed. You about jump out of your skin, ready to reach for the bat by your nightstand until you realize just who has come to see you.

You throw yourself at him entirely, hugging him tight, arms and legs wrapping around him to squeeze and squeeze and never let go. He holds you close, nuzzling into your neck.

He tells you how much he’s missed you. That he misses the quiet of your life together, that it was the nicest thing to happen to him in… well, his whole life, really. He thanks you for taking care of him, tells you he wants to do the same for you.

Over the next few days, you have a visitor every night.

Within a few weeks, he kisses you for the first time.

After six months, you are a resident of Vought Tower, living with him in his penthouse.

He is different in this environment. More demanding, more intense, but not to you.

No.

When he comes back, when he comes home, he falls into your arms much like you did the night he came back to you. He leaves his burdens at the door, safe and sound with you.

The peace didn’t necessarily come from losing his memory. It didn’t come from the solitude of your old home, nor the routine of domesticity.

It came from you.

He found his peace with you.

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander fanfiction #antony starr #request #i couldn't let this one end on a sad note ;_; i'd cry

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triassictriserratops · 15 days

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Would you be able to elaborate on your statement about the pseudo sexual imagery of the Everlark pearl? I hadn’t really considered the pearl from that angle before and would love to hear your thoughts on it.

In response to this post So firstly, this in NO WAY takes away from the other symbolism present in the pearl. This is in ADDITION to, NOT instead of. In fact, lemme go into it all from my perspective, although I know MANY creators have expressed a lot of this much more eloquently than I will! PEARLS AS THEY RELATE TO THE CAPITOL

i always viewed the presence of the pearls on Katniss' capitol wedding dress as twofold. Firstly, it speaks of the opulence and extreme perceived wealth of the Capitol. To have a dress adorned with chains of pearls - what a symbol of luxury! I also viewed them as binding/chains. A representation of the "freedom" of the victors. The trappings of their wealth while living under the thumb of the Capitol. Their chains aren't metal, they're beautiful and delicate but still present and just as deadly. Like a gentle hand on their throats.

PEARLS AS THEY RELATE TO PEETA In direct contrast to the Capitol pearls, the pearl Peeta gives Katniss is singular. It isn't purchased, it is found. It is found in a space where Peeta has nothing else to give to Katniss, other than his life. Instead of a chain or a burden it is meant as his symbol of freedom to her, in conjunction with the locket - "I give you fully back to your family. To the people who love and need you. I let you go, but this, here is something to remember me by." (And I also love how it's representative of Peeta's ability to find pieces of beauty in the most horrific of circumstances.) KATNISS' MENTAL CONNECTION OF PEETA AND THE PEARL We also know that, during Peeta's capture, Katniss connects this pearl heavily with Peeta's life and her need to protect it. "Tomorrow morning, I'm going to agree to be the Mockingjay." I tell her. "Because you want to or because you feel forced into it?" she asks. I laugh a little. "Both, I guess. No. I want to. I have to, if it will help the rebels defeat Snow." I squeeze the pearl more tightly in my fist. "It's just...Peeta. I'm afraid if we do win, the rebels will execute him as a traitor." I slip the pearl from the drawer and spend a second sleepless night clutching it in my hand, replaying Peeta's words in my head. "Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you're working with?" I knot the pearl into the corner of the parachute, bury it deep in the recesses of the bag, as if it's Peeta's life and no one can take it away as long as I guard it. Then, later, when Peeta returns and is found to be hijacked, his essence and personhood taken from him and from HER - the Pearl becomes a symbol of the boy she lost and everything he isn't anymore. Then she finds the pearl Peeta gave me. "Is this-?" "Yeah," I say. "Made it through somehow." I don't want to talk about Peeta. One of the best things about training is, it keeps me from thinking of him. "Haymitch says he's getting better," she says. "Maybe. But he's changed," I say. I consider saying a final good-bye to Peeta, decide it would only be bad for both of us. But I do slip the pearl into the pocket of my uniform. A token of the boy with the bread. And, finally, when in the Capitol, in the last mention of the pearl, we connect it with his literal LIFE in Katniss' HANDS. (And Peeta's unwillingness to risk Katniss' life even for his freedom.) "Should we free his hands?" asks Leeg 1. "No!" Peeta growls at her, drawing his cuffs in close to his body. "No," I echo. "But I want the key." Jackson passes it over without a word. I slip it into my pants pocket, where it clicks against the pearl."

And, finally, here we go: THE PEARL AS IT RELATES TO KATNISS' SEXUAL AWAKENING It is no coincidence, to me, that the pearl is gifted from Peeta to Katniss following the events of the kiss on the beach. Katniss has now admitted to herself that Peeta holds sexual currency with her. Her body is reactive to his own and feeds a hunger in her, a flame. The giving and acceptance of the pearl can be viewed as the "tender" of that sexual currency. Katniss ALSO thinks of the pearl as it relates to Peeta in the ways that Peeta was able to make her PHYSICALLY feel. She connects it with both what she felt with him that night on the beach, and what she HOPES to feel with him upon his return. (And what she misses when he is "lost" to her.) I feel around for the parachute and slide my fingers inside until they close around the pearl. I sit back on my bed cross-legged and find myself rubbing the smooth iridescent surface of the pearl back and forth against my lips. For some reason, it's soothing. A cool kiss from the giver himself. I take the pearl from where it lives in my pocket and try to remember the boy with the bread, the strong arms that warded off nightmares on the train, the kisses in the arena. To make myself put a name to the thing I've lost. But what's the use? It's gone. He's gone. Whatever existed between us is gone.

all I'm saying is that Peeta would literally pass out if he ever hears about how she basically kept rubbing one out in 13 to thoughts of him. (Because, let's be real. That's what the symbolism of the pearl was.) Rolling the pearl between her fingers? Kissing it to her lips? COME ON. It's so on the nose. (Or clit in this case.) 🦪😏

#peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #everlark #the hunger games #thg series #thg #hunger games headcanon #thg headcanons #the hunger games headcanon #thg analysis #the hunger games analysis #hunger games analysis #symbolism of the pearl

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goldsbitch · 4 months

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Right? p4

summary: Y/N is a photographer for McLaren F1 team. Hard working, goal oriented professional who would never put her career in jeopardy for some stupid crush, right?

That is until a photoshoot gets out of hand and there is no way to go but forward.

part 1, part 2, part 3

warning: 18+ i guess?

It was a bit tricky to find a safe moment of solitude for the two of you to have your promised photoshoot. But in two days, your plans might finally become true.

What seemed easier, surprisingly, was finding little moments for quick make out sessions. In the driver's room, in the PR office, in that little hallway just next the mechanics gear storage.

You were a bit more careful outside the garage, but could not help one little kiss between the trailers.

It wasn't like Lando was shy at the beginning, but the more you got into the, the cheekier he became. He was so touchy. Grabbing your boobs and ass during make outs, brushing your hand when he walked by you and getting a little too close when discussing his photos.

You must have missed it before, or the frequency of him putting his hand on your shoulders has skyrocketed in the past few days.

You loved how you got to know him more. Learning the secret tricks that worked on your little, minor, definitely not massive, crush.

Zak Brown has requested a general meeting of the whole crew once you all landed in the next location. A tiny part of you suddenly got worried it might concern your little endeavor. Keeping this under the radar was of utmost importance, no matter what Lando said. You hoped you could trust him and his confidentiality. It felt strange to depend on that, but the adrenaline rush was hard to resist. The meeting turned out to be the introduction of a new sponsor and the obligation that this entailed. You had never been more happier for a new sponsor.

-"I might have one request for our photoshoot," was a text from Lando that popped up on your laptop screen. He was sitting on the other side of the room, at the front with all the important folks, while you were in the back right next to your other colleagues making notes. You looked at Lando, who was already watching you. Once your eyes met, he turned to his phone again. Having a feeling this might be one of his inappropriate games, you quickly disabled all notifications on your laptop. Instead you took your phone out, hoping no one was paying any attention to you.

-"Can you move just little to your left?" he continued. You gave him a questioning look and did as he asked.

-"Great, thanks sweetheart."

-"May I ask why, Lando?"

-"It's very closely connected to my request."

"Which would be....?"

"Be as kind to me as you are today" Again, you reacted with another questioning look. Lando took a moment to reply to a question from Zak and only after that quickly took his phone again to elaborate.

"Tight t-shirt with no bra is the peak of kindness in my opinion. Remember this next time I'm sad, I'm sure it'll help."

There is a certain kind of mad, that's not really angry or serious even, but still manages to rile up the blood in ones veins. Lando noticed your disbelief and tried to hide his amusement by pretending to be super interested in what Zak has been saying. For his own sake, he should stick with a driver's career, rather than acting.

In the meantime, to cut his fun short, you gracefully took out your sweater and put it on.

5 seconds later you received a ":(" text from the one and only.

"Sad already, Lando? I recall some cure for that. But probably for a closer inspection."

Lando was biting his cheek while reading it, only to be lightly reminded by Oscar of all people, that Lando's full attention is required to other things than his phone.

You were also pretending to be super interested in the presentation, but in the corner of your eye, you felt the rookie McLaren driver pointing his attention in your direction.

Probably nothing, right?

The change in your mood has been noted by those closest to you. All of a sudden, you were like a lit up candle, shining around every room you walked in. This did not play well with your need to stay as lowkey as possible. Oh and you were dyinggg to speak about this with someone to help you process what the fuck was actually happening. But it was all just pretty delicate. Mentally, you'd settled on the idea that once this is over, it will be a cool and unbelievable story for you and your friends. You did not usually fall for people, but when you did, you fell hard. You were currently overrun by adrenaline and dopamine to make much of a room for any of this to worry you.

Lando seemed to be followed by someone from the team all throughout the week. He was very vocal to you over texts about his impatience and that you both would need to be creative. Lando also wanted to catch the golden hour for your photoshoot. Wanted was an understatement, he was obsessed with it.

So when is the best time to avoid everyone? When they're busy getting ready for a new sponsor welcoming party. It was easy for your to get out of it, it was impossible for Lando to skip it completely - but arriving fashionably late was something he could very much afford. Which gave you an hour or two to have fun.

When the taxi dropped you off over at a location he sent you, he was already there. You agreed that at the moment, him picking you up would be risky. His car here on a random hill near Monte Carlo was suspicious enough. Then again, normal cars seemed to avoid Monaco.

He was leaning over centuries old abandoned wall on a make shift parking spot next to a forest, light shining directly into his face. You were not sure whether he was trying or if it just really came naturally, but when took his sunglasses off to look at you properly, he looked like he was put on this Earth to break hearts, to capture and allure anyone he decided.

So, into the lion's den you went. Nowhere you'd like to be but here.

"Good girl," is what he opened with. Shamelessly looked you up and down and continued: "I like it when you listen to me." Yes. You wore a tight crop top without a bra. And you had zero regrets for using cheap tricks.

"Well, Mr. Photographer. You're the boss. Now it's your turn to tell me what to do." The way how him telling you what to do made you so horny was freaking you out a bit. You were usually the dominant one, right?

"Like the sound of that. Come over there with me and let's see how this light works."

You were 100% sure he wanted to kiss you. Just like you wanted to kiss him. But this cat and mouse vibe was making it all just a bit more exciting. So you immediately went to where he was pointing.

"Taking a girl in the forest, alone. You sure you're not planning anything I should be worried about, am I right?"

"If I recall, you're the one who dragged me to a forest at night. Perhaps it's our thing."

"We'll see."

Lando had a different kind of a photographer personality than you had. With him doing this just for fun, he was super relaxed, chatty and playful. You were more "crazy eyes" "in-the-zone" type of a person when it came to photography. But his approach worked on you. You were actually bit worried coming here, because being on that side of the camera was not your comfortable spot. He managed to get all of this out of the window without even trying. At first he gave you over the top instructions as a joke, suddenly speaking with a horrifyingly bad French accent.

"I'm not doing that, Lando," you laughed out when he requested you run away from him so he could take some blurry back shots.

"Monsignor Norris for you, madame, let's be professionale," he kept his act and looked at you and rolled his eyes. "These young hot girls, they always think they are ze shit. How can I work with these material. My art will suffeour."

You looked at him, trying not to laugh at his theatrical expressions. Apparently, you were now into bad accents jokes. He was getting under your skin in parts you had no idea is possible. "This was maybe more German than French, monsignor Norris."

"Papa must have been German then." He then swiftly moved his camera up, completely taking you by surprise.

"Yes," he abandoned the accent. "The face of a total disbelief suits you the best. I want to see that."

It was fascinating to watch someone walk so gracefully on the line of serious hot and goofy cute. You were doomed.

You sighed loudly. He smiled. You bit your lip and butterflies flew as if they were on drugs. Because spending time with him was having the same affect as drugs would have on different people.

"Can I take one photo of you?" you asked. "The light is just too perfect to miss this out."

He stepped closer. Handed you the camera. When his hand touched yours, it felt like being burned in the best way possible.

"Yes. But only if this goes to your special secret folder with the other ones."

You nodded. His fingers played with yours. You looked up at his face and lips he just licked. And then you kissed him again. This was probably the slowest kiss you ever shared. Not a quick "hurry up before someone sees us" type of kiss. No, this was the one where you explored, drowned in the moment. You were becoming used to the texture of his lips, the way his tongue moved and how his teeth lightly bit your own lips once in a while. This wasn't a rushed moment. This was a study session. It continued to surprise you how great of a kissing partner he was to you. Putting most of your previous kisses you had with other people in shame.

When his hand slowly traced a line starting down your neck and ending right above your nipple, you could feel him smile into your kiss. "Shall I continue?" Lando had his line of asking for consent and making it sound hot mastered to perfection.

"Yes."

"Yes...?"

"Yes, please."

"That's more like it." And he went on to circle and squeeze your nipple. It was as if he had unlocked a new level. The further you went the more had the curiosity about how it must feel when he'd be inside you grew into a need. Desire transforming to urge. Intrigue growing to lust. Lando studied what kind of an effect each of his move had. And used what he had observed to toy with you even more. He gently pushed you to the nearest tree, pressed his body against yours and bit your nipple through your shirt, causing you only wanting more. You grabbed his hand it on your other breast and make him squeeze it. While you yourself started exploring his torso under his t-shirt. He returned back to kissing you, while his hands roamed around your body. You reached all the way to his belt and pulled him forward. "Careful, Y/N," Lando joked in between kisses. "Might be hard to turn back and stop if we keep it at this pace. Here in this forest. Anyone could walk by."

Your hand started to trace the outline of his growing erection. "Is it bad that I'm finding that hot?"

He smiled. "Yes. And I guess we are both bad people."

You gently grabbed him. The reaction his body was giving you was everything. "So we'll stop here. We need to get you to the stupid event anyway."

Lando took a deep breath. "Right."

"Right," you smiled, finally seeing that you have some effect on him, which was only making you want to go further in the future.

You both stepped away from each other, burning each other with eye contact. Once Lando came back to normal a bit, he winked at you. "Come along, I need to smile at people who are making sure we get paid."

"Fair enough." You snapped an unexpected photo, getting his flustered face in the perfect light. Cheeky smiles were shared again.

The sun was almost set as you reached his car. "I'll drive you to the hotel."

"You sure?" you asked. "I'm happy to get a cab to be safe."

"Nonsense, you'd be waiting here for half an hour. Come, I'll drop you off in the parking lot of the hotel, quickly dress and head to the event."

You got into his car, reluctantly. Once you were settled, he promply started the car, did 180 drift and had the car sprint to the road entrance.

You laughed. "Show off...."

"Ha, as if."

The drive was silent for few minutes, but after that Lando started asking you quite a lot of questions. It seemed a bit strange to you. He was suddenly interested in how you like your colleagues, what got you to the world of F1, how your family handled the fact you were away all the times. You made a joke about this feeling like an interview. He joked back, saying he is continuing on trying different roles and progressed from a photographer to an interviewer. You had a lot to say about this - how come he would consider this a progress?

It felt like you could spend hours talking to this British idiot.

In the middle of your conversation, he put his hand on your leg for a moment. It really should not make you lose focus on the outside world so quickly, right?

part 5

_______________________

@i-wish-this-was-me @lqvesoph

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #ln4 imagine #formula 1 #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lando norris angst #mclaren

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cuubism · 1 month

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physical therapy, part 6.

Hob's been wavering on things like timeline with Dream because, well, he doesn't want to push, but he does obviously want more. There's a lot that he wants, and he thinks Dream wants it too. But Hob can be patient. Definitely. For sure. He's the epitome of patience.

In any case, after a few more dates which are oh so very patient, and in which Dream seems to be gradually coming more and more out of his shell, Hob finally takes the plunge and texts him:

If you want, come over to my place this weekend and I'll cook for you, and adds his address.

He paces nervously while waiting for a response. Dream coming over... he doesn't know how that would end. Well, it would hopefully at least end in Dream eating a proper meal, but other than that...

It's really not so long before he gets a response, though it feels like an eternity.

Okay, writes Dream, with a smile. 🙂 Should I bring anything?

Just yourself, writes Hob.

A shame, for I was planning to arrive incorporeally.

Hob smiles to himself at the comment. Dream is so much brighter once he decides he’s allowed to be.

On the agreed-upon date, Hob spends a truly excessive amount of time getting ready. He’s not even cooking anything elaborate, as he felt convinced he’d wind up fucking it up out of nerves if he did. But really, the quality of his food isn’t the wild card. What he’s nervous about is Dream’s response to being in his home. To being alone. Whether he’ll be okay with it. He doesn’t want to make Dream nervous.

But Dream arrives on time, and he’s smiling when Hob opens the door. He’s also carrying a huge canvas.

Oh!” Hob says, distracted from even kissing him hello. “What have you got there?”

“It is for you,” Dream says, and turns the canvas around so Hob can see it.

It’s a large painting of a rather clever-looking cat, bright colors and bold swathes of paint. It reminds Hob of Dream’s finger paintings, actually, but far more precise in technique. It’s lovely. It’s so cute. And much more playful than Dream’s older art, the pieces he had shown Hob from before his injury.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” he says, and Dream smiles shyly. “I take it your grip’s been feeling steadier, then?”

“Somewhat,” Dream says, following Hob deeper into the flat, as Hob takes the painting and sets it on top of a low bookshelf, propped against the wall. Later he’ll have to hang it up properly. “I am. Enjoying painting again. I think.”

It’s so good to hear. Each time Hob sees Dream he seems incrementally better. Less frozen. More outgoing. And it always makes Hob realize that he’s only gotten to see a fraction of the life that truly exists inside of him.

“I’m so glad to hear that, darling,” he says.

It hurts to think of the version of Dream that might have been there before being hurt. But Hob likes the Dream that he gets to know now.

He leads Dream into the kitchen and bids him to sit down at the table while Hob serves their food, which is staying warm on the stove. Normally, when he invites someone over, he’d offer them wine, but he doesn’t want Dream to get the wrong idea. God, he’s probably massively overthinking things. He’s being totally paranoid, he knows it. But it feels so important that it be right. He’d never forgive himself if he made Dream feel unsafe around him, even if it was by accident.

“I am curious what you’ve prepared to attempt to persuade me to change my habits,” Dream says, after taking a sip of the water Hob’s handed him.

“Something with a lot of butter,” Hob says, and Dream laughs softly. Dream needs it, though. He needs something that’ll stick to his bones.

What he has is tarragon chicken—fried in, truly, an excessive amount of butter—served over rice with string beans. If this can’t encourage Dream to eat real meals, nothing can.

And, gratifyingly, he’s right. Dream devours it, and has seconds. As he eats his own serving more sedately Hob wonders when the last time was that somebody actually cooked for him.

They barely even talk, but Hob doesn’t mind. He just wants Dream to eat.

“You can cook,” Dream says, and Hob laughs.

“Was that in question?”

A light blush graces Dream’s cheeks. “When you first mentioned cooking for me, I had the thought that you were a catch. For that reason among others.”

Hob can’t help himself from smiling—and perhaps blushing a bit, too. “I’ll have to keep it up, and maybe you’ll keep me.”

Dream looks down at his food, but murmurs, “I would like to.”

So Hob takes his hand on the table and squeezes it.

Later in the evening, when they’ve been ensconced on the couch for a while watching mindless telly, Dream’s head on his shoulder, Hob says, “You can stay over if you want. No expectations. Just don’t want you walking home in the dark.”

He’ll walk Dream home if that’s what he really wants, but it’s already midnight and it really might be easier to just stay put.

“Am I allowed to stay over in your bed?” Dream asks, and Hob’s pulse jumps.

“That’s what you want?”

Dream nods.

So, heart still beating hard, Hob says, “Alright. Come on, then.”

And Dream takes his hand as Hob draws him up.

He gets Dream situated with some of his pajamas, which are far too large on him, and with a spare toothbrush and so on, and when they’re finally ready he tries not to be too awkward or nervous as he climbs into bed and gestures Dream to follow, saying, “Come on, love.”

He expects Dream might hesitate, but he doesn’t, just crawls into bed after him and presses himself all up against Hob’s body, laying his head on Hob’s chest. And— God. He’s really decided that he trusts Hob. It puts a lump in Hob’s throat.

He feels like a fucking teenager again, stomach all fluttery just at the feeling of Dream lying against him. In past relationships, Hob had mostly jumped in sex-first, questions-later. But maybe there are more benefits to taking things slow than he thought. It makes every tiny thing feel monumental.

“Comfortable?” he asks, and Dream nods, hair brushing Hob’s chin.

“Yes, thank you.”

Hob pulls the blankets up over them, pets his hair. Dream lets out a long, happy sigh, and snuggles closer.

I’m going to keep you, Hob thinks. “Goodnight, Dream,” he says.

#a nice moment before ANGST #you didn't think we were done with angst did you XD #physical therapy fic #dreamling #my writing #tarragon chicken is a family recipe--thin chicken cutlets breaded and fried in butter with white wine wash and tons of chopped tarragon #i recommend

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cinnaminsvga · 2 months

Text

Harana Preview | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, fluff, angst → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, so much yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: anticipated 10-15K → a/n: what da hell who is she... HEY SO its been a while since ive written anything longer than 2k words and i really wanted to get back into writing, if only for practice... plus this is part of my heart full of hugot series that i teased literally eons ago and i want to finish it before the year ends... pray for my sanity ( ; ω ; )

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture.

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat.

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk.

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you continue, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence.

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and purse your lips uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away.

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door.

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice.

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off.

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note.

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you.

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole.

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero.

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation.

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

#my wips #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts x reader #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook imagines #jungkook x reader #i gotta stop making jimin a gremlin in these LMAOOO #at the very least he isnt insane in his installment of this series #idk who i should write for next... maybe hoseok? its been a while since ive written for him (or written anything at all lol)#i need to stop making hoseok evil... new year new me #OK ANYWAY i'll post the entire thing soon-ish... yippeeeee

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multi-kpop-fanfics · 3 months

Text

valentine's on a budget

pairing: non-idol bf!Seungkwan x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut, established relationship!AU - minors dni.

warnings: a serious argument, mentions of financial troubles, crying, mentions of getting sick

smut warnings: making out, marking, teasing, dirty talk, use of petnames, fingering, nipple and breast play, minor panty stuffing, minor lingerie kink, oral sex (f rec), edging, mentions of multiple orgasms.

word count: 2.4k

summary: Valentine's day is the holiday you're waiting for the most every single year - but a certain mishap brings a series of events that might test your relationship.

Author's note: hello beloveds! i am finally back haha. this is my entry for the Cupid For You @svthub collab, hosted by my dear @wongyuseokie and the fic is solely dedicated to @dirtysvthoughts 💕I hope you will enjoy this fic Kenny, happy Valentine's and Carat day🥰

©multi-kpop-fanfics, 2024. No reposting allowed. No translations allowed without permission.

Valentine’s Day. Probably one of the days you’re anticipating the most within the year.

Knowing your boyfriend, he has planned something really exciting and fancy for the two of you - he always knows how to treat you right (and not just on Valentine’s).

When you accidentally found out about the reservation he had made in one of your favorite restaurants, you were smiling like a maniac and feeling giddy like a highschool girl. You could already imagine yourself in your favorite velvet dress and a pair of strappy heels, makeup and hair on fleek. Of course, there was no way you would let Seungkwan know he was busted, it would hurt his pride immensely.

That is, if things hadn’t gone to absolute hell.

“What do you mean the reservation was canceled?” You ask him with a baffled expression.

“You heard me. No fancy dinner tonight.” Seungkwan purses his lips in a thin line.

“Please tell me you’re just trying to mess around with me.”

“I wish I was, but I was forced to cancel it.”

“Forced? By what?!”

“My fucking bank account, Y/N.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“That’s….. I cannot tell you.”

“What do you mean you cannot tell me?! We’re literally sharing a home and a life!” You yell at him.

“I know! But I seriously cannot tell you! I just fucking can’t!” Seungkwan loses his temper.

“What makes it so hard for you to tell me the reason?!”

“My fucking pride!” He yells back.

Silence befalls the living room

“Of all the days to break my heart, I didn’t think you’d pick today.” You say with a monotonous voice, “But I guess your pride is more important.”

Seungkwan lets out something akin to a scoff before turning on his heel to walk out of the house. His action catches you off guard - he’s not the type to just walk away from an argument, let alone of this caliber.

“Whatever.” You roll your eyes in displeasure, going back to the bedroom to remove your dress and shoes.

Taking a glance in the mirror leaves an even more sour aftertaste in your mouth, as you were hoping you would be taking off these clothes a few hours later and perhaps in a more vulgar way. You push these thoughts away as you change into comfy clothes and go to the bathroom, picking up your makeup remover and cleanser to take off your makeup.

The one hour you spent perfecting your face is wiped off in seconds, as if it never existed in the first place. But again, you choose to push away the thoughts of Valentine’s dinner away.

You go back to the living room and sit on the couch, turning on the television to zap between channels.

The house feels quite empty without your boyfriend around, but you’re not in the headspace to deal with him at the moment.

That is, until you hear thundering outside.

Great, now he’s going to get all soaked, you think, grumbling to yourself. Whatever, he’s a grown man, he should know how to take care of himself.

The thundering grows louder and you can now hear heavy rain pouring on the streets and hitting the windows. You get up from your seat and slide the curtain to the side, your worries growing bigger.

You pick up your phone and dial Seungkwan’s number, but you’re horrified when you hear his phone ringing between the couch pillows.

“Fuck.” You curse and run back to the bedroom to grab a pair of boots and your umbrella, terrified that something bad could potentially happen to your boyfriend.

As soon as you run back to the door and turn the knob to open it, you’re greeted with a soaking wet Seungkwan, whose eyes are colored red - possibly from crying.

“I’m sorry.” He sniffles, shaking like a leaf.

“God, please get inside.” You pull him on the entrance carpet and close the door behind him. “Stay here, I’ll be back soon.”

You make a short trip to the bathroom and return with two towels in your hands, handing them over to Seungkwan.

“Thank you.” He mutters and starts patting the towels to soak the excess water off his clothes.

“You can thank me after you take a shower. Can’t risk you getting sick.”

Seungkwan nods wordlessly and carefully walks towards the bathroom, closing the door behind him. You let out a puff of air through your mouth when you hear the shower tap running and you take off your boots, setting them next to the doormat.

You’re not stupid - the elephant in the room is too big to ignore and you don’t intend to just gaze upon it. You return to the bedroom and sit on the mattress, picking your phone from your pocket. It accidentally slips from your fingers and falls on the floor with a loud thud.

“Fuck.” You kneel down to grab your phone, but an unfamiliar box hidden under the bed catches your attention. You struggle a bit to take it out, but you manage to bring it in front of you.

You notice the seal has already been cracked and your eyes widen when you open the box to reveal a brand new laptop.

“What the hell?” You narrow your eyes. “Why is a laptop here?”

“Why do you think it’s here?”

Seungkwan’s voice catches you off guard and you whip your head around to face him.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Or is it going to hurt your pride?”

“This laptop is for you, Y/N.” He admits with a neutral expression.

“For me?”

“Yeah, since the one you had completely broke down.”

“How do you even know that?!”

“I saw the receipt from the shop you took it to get it fixed. The owner didn’t charge you and he wrote comments. It’s not hard to put two and two together.”

“Still, what does that have to do with canceling the reservation?” You cross your arms in front of your chest.

“Well, I weighed my options and decided that getting you a new laptop was more imminent and would relieve you of the stress of not being able to work properly and whether you would spend a hefty amount of money on a new device.”

Your features soften when you piece everything together.

“You….used the reservation money for the laptop?”

“Pretty much.” Seungkwan rubs the back of his neck. “Although I hated that I had to ruin Valentine’s because of that. But I didn’t want to watch you be upset because of one dumb device breaking down.”

You can’t help but want to burst into tears after your boyfriend’s confession.

“I wish I had more money to give you both the laptop and the dinner date, but capitalism kinda hates fun, I guess.”

“Oh my God, Kwan, I-” You cover your mouth with your hands, keeping your sobs from escaping.

“Y/N, it’s okay, it was my fault too.” Your boyfriend wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back soothingly.

“God, I feel like such an asshole right now.”

“Well, to be honest, I wasn’t any better. If I had told you about the laptop from the beginning, nothing would have happened.”

“I’m so sorry.” You give him a muffled apology, hiding your face in his chest.

“I’m sorry too, darling.”

“It’s just that-” You wipe away your tears, “I was really looking forward to that dinner and I had coordinated my entire outfit inside out and all that.”

“I mean…. It’s not too late to check out the inside…” Seungkwan pouts his lips with sneaky glances.

“Well…..I still have it on…” You look at him with a grin, “Do you want to unwrap me?”

“I was a little strapped for cash this year. Do you want to unwrap me instead?” He raises his brow teasingly. “You can think of it as an apology.”

Your grin grows wider and you untie the knot of his bathrobe, letting it fall open to reveal his naked body. You don’t hesitate to take off your clothes and show him the cotton candy pink lacey set you bought recently, just for tonight.

“Holy shit, Y/N, a man could die here.” Seungkwan lets out a ragged breath.

“Mmm, you seem perfectly fine to me.” You smirk and kneel in front of him, slowly wrapping your hand around his half-hard cock. You look up to your boyfriend once before sliding out your tongue to give his shaft a few licks to test the waters.

“Ever the tease, aren’t you?” He threads his hand in your hair and you giggle, kissing the tip of his cock.

“Well, serves you right for putting me through misery.”

“Oh, now you’ve done it.” Seungkwan chuckles and pulls you on your feet, lightly shoving you on the bed. He discards the bathrobe on the floor and climbs over you, capturing your lips in a quite hungry kiss.

“You have no idea how nuts you drive me.”

“Is this about the argument or the lacey set?”

“Both. But talking isn’t the thing we’re supposed to be doing now.”

“I know. You should be doing me.” You grin on his lips.

“Ever the smartass, huh?” You can feel him grinning back.

“Takes one to know one.”

He takes another look at you and the grin is still plastered on his face. Except this time, he wordlessly runs his hands over the semi-sheer lace covering your breasts, his fingertips toying with the delicate material. He carefully slides it down to uncover your soft flesh, deft digits eagerly playing with your taut nipples.

“Mm, that feels nice.” You exhale in satisfaction and you part your legs to let your boyfriend slot himself between them.

“I can give you better than nice.” He whispers and pinches the buds, eliciting a whine from your mouth. He pinches them and rolls them a bit harder, forcing your back to arch off the bed.

“That’s more like it.” He licks his bottom lip and dives his head to attach his lips on your breasts, making out with the plush mounds. He keeps his mouth busy with your nipples, all while his right hand descends towards your neglected core.

“Kwan, please touch me more.” You beg with a whiny voice, wiggling your hips to get some kind of friction.

“You know, for someone who was really angry just half an hour ago, you’re quite the needy little thing right now.” He teases you more about your earlier behavior.

“I said I’m sorry!” You defend yourself.

“I know, darling. I wasn’t planning on keeping you high and dry.” He smiles sweetly as he slides his hand between your folds, moaning lowly as he lets his fingers get soaked in your arousal.

He plunges two of his slender fingers in your pussy, enjoying the way your walls clench greedily around them. Stilling them for a few seconds, he keeps making out with your chest, a few red marks already blooming on your skin.

“God, just stop teasing, please! I’m begging you!” You whine louder and wrap your legs around his back.

“You sound so cute when you beg for me, it almost makes me want to keep you wanting more.”

“You’re mean.” You put your lips in a pout.

“But I’m also madly in love with you.” Seungkwan presses one last kiss on the valley of your breasts and he climbs down to bring himself on eye level with your lace-clad pussy.

He retracts his fingers and tugs the lace crotch upwards, making you moan and fist the sheets in response. Your reactions urge him to tug on it a bit harder, the thin material rubbing over your clit. Your entrance clenches in a needy manner, your slick gushing out and soaking the pink lace.

“Eager to make it your second skin, aren’t you, darling?” Your boyfriend comments as he digs the pads of his fingers on your panties to push them in your hole, just enough to make them stick on your pussy.

“I’m n-not the sole c-culprit here.” You stutter, bucking your hips to get a bit more friction.

“One does not negate the other.” He bites back, pulling your panties away from your body, not missing the clear strings of your juices connecting to the fabric. He throws them somewhere in the room and gently unwraps your legs from his back.

He parts them open with his hands, finally uncovering your pussy.

“So worth the wait.” He whispers and licks a fat stripe over your slit, collecting your slick on his tongue.

“Oh God, yes.” You lean your head back on the pillow, your hand creeping in Seungkwan’s hair. The touch you were craving this whole time is finally yours and you couldn’t feel more blissful.

Sex with Seungkwan is never boring, but foreplay? It’s his fucking specialty.

Part of you wants to keep your eyes closed and get lost in the moment, but part of you also wants to keep them wide open and watch your boyfriend worship your cunt.

He uses his thumbs to keep your folds apart and make space for his tongue to re-explore your cunt and savor it like a Michelin star worthy meal.

“Have I told you before that you have the prettiest pussy in the world?” He peeks his head from between your legs.

“At least once during sex, Kwan. Not that I mind, of course.” You tug on his blond hair.

He flashes you a cocky smirk and purposefully circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, never breaking eye contact.

Your thighs clench on the bed, struggling to keep them still. If it wasn’t for Seungkwan’s hands, his head could have been crushed.

His assault on your bundle of nerves is relentless and the buildup to your climax picks up the pace.

You don’t want this to end yet, you want him to stay like this for the rest of the night, if possible.

All of a sudden, everything stops and you’re left on the edge of your orgasm, a loud whine bouncing off the walls of the bedroom.

“This might sound cheesy, but will you be my Valentine?” He asks you with doe eyes and glossy, cum covered lips.

“I can’t believe you have the nerve to say this right between my legs.” You protest from above, almost mad at him for ripping all stimulation away from you.

“I also have the nerve to edge you until you give me an answer.” He smirks.

“Fuck, how could I ever not want to be your Valentine?!”

“Good to know.” Seungkwan grins wider.

“Because the night is still young and only one orgasm won’t cut it.”

#svthub #svthub.collab #seungkwan angst #seungkwan smut #seungkwan fluff #svt seungkwan #boo seungkwan #svt angst #svt smut #svt fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen smut #seventeen fluff #seventeen

249 notes · View notes

shaylixie · 10 months

Text

Going Home

Word Count: 2k

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Bang Chan x fem!reader

Requested: No.

Part 2

Summary: Chan and Y/n get into a fight, causing one of them to leave.

Warnings / Contains: Language; toxic behaviour.

A/N: The way I write this shit but I'd never act like this irl lmao...I'd like to believe I'd be a lot healthier about it but hey, do it for the angst amirite? Enjoy! 💗

You come home and take your shoes off at the door of your apartment, feeling defeated after yet another shitty day at work. The past month has been hell - work has been so hectic and insane and you barely got a breather. To make things worse, Chan was having his own struggles too, and you hardly had time for each other...which you thought would have made the little time you spent together more special, but it just felt strained. It was getting late, and you desperately needed a hot bath and a meal. The first proper one of the day - that muffin from the morning did a good job sustaining you, but you really really needed something more.

You walked in to the kitchen to find Chan sitting at the table with takeout - God, you completely forgot.

"Channie, hi. Fuck! I'm so sorry, baby. Work finished later than planned and I completely forgot and...are you mad?"

He gave you a tight smile. "It's okay, y/n. I know how things are. The food is cold now though...we should warm it up."

You sighed and sat down at the table. "I feel like shit, Chan. I really am sorry. Why didn't you eat without me?"

"You know I'd never do that," Chan says. "Hey, you're here now. Let's just eat, okay?"

You have a feeling he's trying to appear less hurt than he is, but you dish out the food anyway for both of you and heat it up. You eat together in silence, trying to ignore the slight tension in the air. Afterwards, you get up to wash the dishes and Chan finally speaks up.

"How was your day?"

You can tell he's trying to ignore the tension in the room and move past it, so you do your best to do the same, while remaining as honest as possible.

You sigh. "It was shit. Again."

"I'm sorry," Chan replies.

"It's okay. Not your fault. Anyway. I'm gonna go shower, okay?"

He clears his throat. "Yeah, sure. Let me know if you need anything."

You kiss his cheek and make your way to the bathroom.

When you get into bed, Chan is turned the other way, already asleep...or so you think. You switch the bedside light off and turn to sleep too. It's silent for a while until Chan turns over and runs a hand down your side, stopping at your hip. He presses against you then, and you feel exactly why he's still awake. But after the shitty day - no, month - that you've had, you just don't have it in you. You ignore it, and act like you're asleep. Maybe not the healthiest move, but you're too exhausted to think about it too much.

"Baby?" Chan whispers. "You awake?"

"No," you reply.

He sighs then and flops onto his back, letting out a sigh of defeat. After a few moments, he shakes your arm and then turns to put his bedside light on.

"Y/n, can we talk?" he asks, tone firmer than usual.

"Can it wait?"

"No, no I don't think it can."

You sit up then.

"What going on with us?" he finally asks after weeks of wondering.

"What do you mean?" you ask, knowing but wanting him to elaborate more.

"You mean you haven't noticed? God, we haven't talked in ages. I mean a real conversation. Everything always feels like a string is about to snap...the constant tension...I can't stand it. I don't even know what's happening." It's as though a valve opened, and now everything is pouring out. "Look...you're busy, I get that. But I am too - yet I'm trying, y/n. It feels like you aren't. You come home late. You never come by me anymore...not to the studio, not to my place. It's been what, a month? Maybe more? It feels like more. We don't talk, we don't touch...when's the last time we even had sex? It's like you don't want to even touch me anymore. I don't know if I did something but I don't know what to do anymore. I'm trying...and it feels...it feels like you aren't. Like you haven't been for a while."

He waits for your response, and you feel tears pricking the back of your eyes. Which makes you frustrated...which makes you angry.

"What the fuck do you want me to do, Chris?!"

He's taken aback by your sudden burst of anger.

"I'm tired. Okay? I'm fucking exhausted. I-I don't even know what to do myself. I barely sleep. Or eat. I'm stressed all the time. I feel like I don't even have time for myself let alone you and now what, it's my fault? Fuck this."

You get up from bed and leave the room. Chan sits for a while in stunned silence. What just happened? Fuck it, he's pissed too now.

He follows after you. "Really, y/n? You're gonna take this shit out on me? I'm trying to help us - get us out of whatever the fuck you got us into - and you what, just explode on me? I'm trying to fix us!"

"And what if you can't, Chris?! What if this can't be fixed?"

He looks at you like you just cussed him in 3 different languages. "You really think that?"

"Fucking maybe!"

He laughs a humourless laugh and then shakes his head at you.

"That's all I needed to hear. Fuck this."

He grabs his keys and slips on his shoes, slamming the door behind him and leaving you alone in the dark flat, the tears finally falling down your cheeks.

It's been hours and you still can't sleep. You sob thinking about your fight with Chan; about what you said; what you insinuated. Was it really beyond fixing? You think about what Chan said. He's right...you haven't been making time for him. You haven't spoken the way you used to in what feels like a while. You haven't touched each other lovingly or sexually in a minute and you've ignored his every advance. And he had been trying...Chan was just as stressed out. His deadlines were all coming up and he was suffering with writer's block and he had an appearance soon and the Kids were behind and and and. Yet he still made time for you. Even if it was small. He still came to your place almost every night, even if it was after you fell asleep. He still made sure you ate and he checked in when he could and he always tried to act like things were okay, even if they weren't. He never wanted to add onto your stress. God. You were a dick. You don't deserve him, you think, crying harder. And the cherry on top? In a few days, you'll finally have a break. So much for that now.

It's been 3 heartaching days since the fight with Chan. You haven't spoken in that time, but you can't say it's his fault. The day after, neither of you spoke. The next day, he sent you a message. "Can we talk?" You ignored it. He called that same night, but you declined. He got the message. The third day, he called 4 times. You ignored all the calls. You knew what you had to do.

At 4am that morning, you woke up and started getting ready. You got out of the shower and dressed, hair still wet, when you heard urgent knocking at your door. You opened it, only to see Chan - bags under his slightly red, puffy eyes and hair dishevelled. Your own face probably looked the same.

"Y/n, can we talk? Please?" He paused as if finally noticing you were dressed and your hair was wet. "Where are you going?"

You sighed. "Home," you said in a small voice.

Chan furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "But you're already home?"

You looked down, and then back at him.

"I mean home Chan...as in South Africa. I'm going back."

He stopped breathing. "What?"

"This isn't working out, Chan. I don't...I don't deserve you. My flight is in 2 hours. I need to get to the airport now. I'll be gone for a while but I have to come back to decide what happens next. Maybe we can talk then."

You move to close the door on him, but he stops you.

"What- You're ending things?"

Now it was your turn to be confused. "Didn't that happen 3 days ago?"

"Y/n, no. It was just a stupid fight! It doesn't mean anything. Don't do this, please. We can work things out. Cancel the flight. Please. Baby...please."

You feel your eyes sting with fresh tears, and you turn to walk to your bedroom to get your things, knowing that trying to get Chan to leave is useless. As you suspected, he follows you and stands behind you as you go to grab a jacket, ignoring your wet hair now. No point drying it while he's here...you had to get out as soon as possible. You go to grab your suitcases, trying painfully hard not to look at Chan whose face is streaked with tears too. You deposit the suitcases at your front door and slip on your shoes, making sure you have everything. Chan watches you do all this, still in shock, as though he doesn't believe any of it is real...like it's just one big nightmare.

"You have to go now, Chan," you sigh. "Or at least, I have to. I can't miss this flight. I'll see you around."

You turn to walk out the door but you stop when you feel his hands wrap around your calves. Looking down, Chan is on his knees, the same way he's been so many times before for you, but so so different now.

"Please," he croaks. He's sobbing now, and he drops his head against your leg. "I'll do anything. Please just don't go. You want me to beg? I'll beg! Please, y/n. I'll make things right...I'll fix this. I'll fix us. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fuck things up between us...I'm so so sorry, baby. I love you so much...please, please...please, baby. Please."

You're sobbing too now. You kneel down, facing him, and take his face in your hands, wiping his tears. In between shuddering breaths, you say, "That's the thing, Chan. You don't have to fix anything. You weren't the one that broke it...that was all me. I don't deserve you, Channie. Maybe I did once, but not anymore. You deserve someone better." You cry harder at the thought of him with someone else. Composing yourself enough to talk, you add, "You deserve someone who can love you where I failed to...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, baby." You kiss his forehead.

"That's bullshit, y/n! I know you love me. And it's enough! It's enough for me. Look, a lot of shit has just been happening to us but we can fix it. Okay? Just give us a chance. Fuck anyone else - I don't want anyone else. I want YOU! You're all I've ever wanted and I'll never-" He breaks down sobbing again. "I'll never want anyone besides you. You hear me? Stay. Stay for me, baby. Please."

You both break down even more then, foreheads against each other. You stay like that for a while before you glimpse the time. You still had to drive to the airport and check in your luggage and board and-. You had to leave. You move to stand, pulling Chan up with you. You hug him, and eventually force yourself to let go.

"If it's meant to be...it'll be. Yeah?" you say.

Chan just sniffs in response, fresh tears brewing.

"I'll see you when I get back and then...well, we can see from there. Okay?"

"So it's not over?" he asks.

You kiss his cheek and hand him your key. "Lock up for me?"

You grab your suitcases and make your way to the car, leaving a heartbroken, devastated Chan behind.

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hyunsungies · 4 months

Text

jealousy — han jisung

pairing: han x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: 3.6k

warnings: kinda mean dom han, unprotected sex, slightly dacryphilia, english is not my first language (sorry for any mistakes)

when your college teacher asked for that assignment in pairs and said that he would choose the duo of each one, you felt in elementary school again. your assignments always came out perfect with the girls you used to unite with, but this specific teacher said that you should train group work with people you don't know, since, according to him, it would be exactly like that in your future job.

therefore, you were forced to do this with a random boy from your class with whom you have never interacted before. there was no specific reason why you never talked to him. he seemed to be normal and everything, but he hadn't caught your attention.

“so, when can we meet?”

the boy asked you when the class ended. you both have scheduled it for next weekend at your house, or rather, jisung's house. you were dating for so long that you both decided to live together. you didn't feel very comfortable with the idea of going to the house of a stranger. han probably wouldn't even be at home, busy with the new album he was producing with the rest of the group, so it wouldn't be a problem for him, that's what you thought.

the moment you got home, you told him that a classmate would go to your house this saturday to do a job with you.

“only the two of you?”

“yes.”

“both alone?”

hannie looked at you with a grimace, not happy with the idea that you would stay home alone with another guy. he didn’t think you were going to do anything. he would never think that of you, but nothing prevents this guy from trying something with you.

anyway, he didn't protest or anything, he just nodded and went back to doing what he was doing.

when saturday finally arrived, you woke up next to your boyfriend in bed. you were cuddling for a few minutes before you got up to make coffee. jisung showed up in the kitchen exactly when everything was ready and then you ate together.

there was something wrong, though. usually, hannie eats in a hurry and leaves home very early to get to the studio, even more so in times such as the current one, of composing new songs, elaborating new choreographies... today, he was taking advantage of every second of breakfast to taste his food and tell you some news. when you both finished eating, he remained seated, chatting with you, which left you confused.

“aren’t you going to the studio today?”

“actually, no. chan allowed me to work from home.”

…?

so you mean that bangchan, the most workaholic man you know, allowed han to stay at home while they have a new album to release, all this just on the day your classmate will come to your house to do that assignment? you couldn't tell if that was an amazing coincidence or if he had told him about the fact that you would be alone with another man at home and begged not to go to the studio. well, you’ll never know. there was no reason to waste time thinking about it and you were actually glad that he would stay home, so you got up and went do the dishes while waiting for your co-worker’s arrival.

a few minutes later, you and hannie were talking in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. it could only be him. you spied through the peephole before opening the door, just to make sure it was really the guy. after confirming who it was, you turned the key in the lock and pulled the door handle.

“i’’m here.”

he greeted you with a smile and passed by you, admiring the surroundings. he didn't have much time to do that, because jisung soon appeared at the kitchen door and waved to him. the two greeted each other from afar and you introduced them.

“and that’s my boyfriend, han.”

“glad to meet you” the guy said.

hannie smiled and watched the two of you settle down at the dinner table, where you would do the assignment. your laptop was already on the table, so you just turned it on, while your classmate took his own laptop out of his backpack and put it on the table as well. all settled down, you two began to plan what each one would do, creating a sketch and dividing it into parts. you spent a few minutes doing this and, during that time, you completely forgot about jisung's presence in that house, at least until he appeared in the living room with his own laptop in hand and a headset. he mentioned that he would work from home, but you didn't think he would do it in the same room as you, separated by a small space.

both you and the guy stared at him for a few seconds before looking at each other, slightly disconcerted by his presence. however, jisung was not making any noise, with the exception of the keys he pressed with his fingers. taking this into account, you decided to turn your attention to the draft of the assignment and the dialogue you were having with your classmate.

as soon as the appropriate parts were separated, each one started their own work, in order to put everything together at the end. there were moments when you interacted with each other to make sure you were going on the right track. you were already focused a few minutes later, totally concentrated, when, suddenly:

“i didn't want to be annoying, but... can you ask your boyfriend to stay somewhere else? the noise of the keys is distracting me.”

he whispered to you. deep down, you suspected a lot of the reason why he had asked you for this. i mean, you were also typing on your laptop, but why did only your boyfriend's keyboard bother him?

even so, you decided to give in, because you knew how the presence of someone else in the same room can distract you. that said, you turned back in the chair and stared at jisung.

“hannie!”

he had his headphones, so he couldn't hear you, keeping focused on what he were doing. you got up from the chair and went to him, stopping right in front of his face. as soon as he put his eyes on you, han took off the headphones and waited for what you had to say.

“babe, can you work in our bedroom? or anywhere upstairs?”

hannie was visibly confused, not understanding why you were asking for this. he wasn't making any noise, so why ask him to get out of the room? when he looked at your co-worker though, jisung understood that his withdrawal was a wish of his and not yours only by the way he looked at him back. he thought about resisting and questioning you, but he didn't want to create an embarrassing situation for you.

“fine.”

he smiled at you and put his things together, going up to your room and disappearing from your field of view. there was no sign of frustration on his face. when you heard the noise of the door being closed, you went back to the dining table and tried to focus again on what you were doing.

“thanks.”

your classmate smiled as a thank you and turned the focus to his own work. that was strange, but you decided to ignore it. there was something more important now and you needed to finish this.

after a few minutes, you were able to concentrate again. sometimes, you felt the guy looking in your direction. maybe he was making sure you were able to deal with your part or whatever. even feeling his eyes on you sometimes, you didn't let your attention deviate from that assignment. things were flowing well. if you followed that rhythm, you would certainly be able to finish everything today.

silence reigned inside the house, with the exception of the keys you pressed. suddenly, as you finished writing a paragraph, you heard your boyfriend's voice calling your name from your room. some steps were heard too, so you thought he was walking to the room you were again. you diverted your attention from the computer and waited for him to appear on the stairs. jisung actually appeared, but he stopped on the first step and leaned on the handrail.

“can you help me here?”

“right now?”

you asked, not much in order to stop what you were doing. it would be difficult to concentrate again.

“it’s gonna be quick.”

something, you didn't know exactly what, but something made you know that it wouldn't be quick. even though you had this feeling, you couldn't let your boyfriend down. taking a deep breath, you got up from the chair.

“i’ll be right back.”

you told the guy and went towards the stairs. jisung was no longer there, which made you confused. when you arrived in the upper hallway, the door to your room was open. you walked there, thinking that he must be there, but when you entered the place, you realized that it was empty.

that's what you thought. suddenly, the door closed behind you and two hands grabbed your waist from behind. you would have jumped in fright if han wasn't holding you. before you could process what was happening, he got the strands of your hair to the side and started kissing your neck, walking his hands through your body.

“hannie, what are you doing?!”

you didn't move away from him, but you also didn't melt on his hands like you always do. as much as you love all the touches your boyfriend gives you, now was not a very good time for that. there were people at home and you had obligations to fulfill. however, han had no intention of answering you. he kept kissing your neck, until you separated from him and stared at him with a serious face. now that you were far away, he finally made mention of saying something.

“claiming you.”

“w-what?”

his answer didn't make any sense to you. with a naughty smile on his face, jisung began to approach you again.

“that guy, he’s into you.”

there’s no fucking way han was feeling jealous of a random guy you didn't even talk to. even worse, he really thought the boy was hitting on you, and he didn't do anything to indicate this.

“you’re out of your mind right now.”

“stop fooling yourself, i know he asked you to kick me out.”

after finishing this sentence, his hands were already on your waist once again. he kissed your forehead, then your cheek and finally your lips. it was a brief peck, so you could contest soon after.

“babe” you used the nickname in an attempt to make he listen to you “he asked for it because your keyboard was distracting him.”

“did you really believe that?”

it’s true that you found the excuse very weird, but at no time did it cross your mind that he had done it because he was interested in you. in fact, that seemed far from the truth. nothing jisung said would convince you that he was into you. even so, you didn't have an answer to his question, so you just kept quiet. when he realized that you didn't know what to say, he laughed lightly and kissed your neck again, as if he had proven his point.

“i need to go back, hannie…”

“then you’re leaving me for that asshole?” he whispered right beside your ear, licking your earlobe right after.

“i’m not leaving you, but i need to finish that assignment.”

“relax, darling. only a few minutes and i let you go back to him.”

back to him, not it. han wasn't talking about your goddam assignment, but about your classmate, who was waiting for you downstairs. before you could protest and get rid of his hands, jisung pushed you to bed and climbed over you, caging you under his body.

“hannie, not now!”

he completely ignored you, suffocating your words with an intense kiss. in a humiliating way, you ended up surrendering to him for a few seconds, feeling his tongue sliding into your mouth, hot and wet. a few seconds wouldn't kill anyone, right? you would agree to stay there if it were for a short period of time, but when han stuck his hand under your bra and twisted your left nipple, you realized that he had no intention of being quick, so you held his face with both hands and pushed him away from you.

“babe, let me finish that all. i promise i’ll be quick and then I'll give you all the attention you-“

“you’re not going anywhere now.”

jisung went to your neck once again and left a strong hickey there. you tried to push him away from there before he left a mark, but he didn't let go of you. only after making sure that your skin would turn purple, he went back and smiled when he saw the result.

“hannie, please!”

you didn't seem very willing to shut up, so he had to do it for you, kissing you once again. while you were distracted by his mouth, he took off your shorts along with your panties in a blink and left you naked from the waist down.

“babe…”

you tried to protest one last time. surprising you, han grabbed your neck with relative force, enough to restrict a little of the air passage, but not enough to hurt you. looking into your eyes, he said:

“we can do it the easy way, or the hard way. if you keep quiet, i'll be gentle. if you try to stop me again, i'll make that guy down there pretty aware of what we're doing.”

that was the last thing you wanted. when jisung felt like hearing you cry for him, he could do it easily, stuffing his own cock inside your walls so hard that the headboard hit the wall, making a loud noise, but not as loud as your moans. you couldn't take the risk of letting hannie do this to you now, or your classmate would certainly hear everything and you didn't want to go through this embarrassment. therefore, you touched your boyfriend's wrist and nod your head, indicating that you would give in to him. glad with your answer, he finally let go of your neck and gave you one more kiss, seductive as always.

accepting your destiny, you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and pulled him closer. meanwhile, jisung lowered his own pants enough to leave his dick out. separating his mouth from yours, he put the tip in your slit and looked into your eyes again.

“you better close your mouth, sweetheart.”

you obeyed him instantly, silencing yourself with your hand. that was the best decision you could made because han thrusted into you straight away, not giving you a second to get used to the stretch. as soon as he fit into your walls, jisung grunted and began to move his body.

he had his face right above yours now, biting his own lower lip and suppressing some moans that insisted on coming out of his throat while you had a grimace on your face while using all your concentration so as not to emit any sound. it would only took a little more strength on jisung's thrusts for the headboard to hit the wall. luckily, he had fucked you often enough in that bed to know what rhythm he could follow without making any noise. you thanked the heavens for him collaborating with you. that would end really bad if that was not the case.

“too rough?”

he asked and you nod, hoping that he would slow down. this would help you control the moans, but he just laughed at you.

“i know you can take it.”

han said and continued to push himself in and out of you. this side of jisung is rare to appear. usually, he is very sweet with you while having sex. he only treated you like this on special occasions. today was definitely a special occasion: you had brought another man into your house, one who would do anything to be in your boyfriend's place now. jisung knew this very well and, for him, it was okay for you not to know this! your naivety was cute, but he was there to make sure the guy didn't take advantage of this.

it was getting harder and harder to hold your moans. han's cock was hitting your g spot, making your spine arch. he grabbed your hip tightly, sticking his fingers into your skin to hold you in the same place. the wet noise of the thrusts was loud, but you believed and expected that it was not enough to hear from the dining table. even if it was, you weren't willing to stop now that you were feeling so good.

“god… s-so fuckin wet...”

jisung moaned in your ear. he kissed your neck again, making you clench around him. you could feel that he was getting close by the way he was getting messier, licking your skin nonstop and moaning more often. he also increased the pace of his thrusts, as well as the tightness in your hip.

tears began to appear in your eyes because of the tension exactly when he turned back to face you. hannie was feeling like a good boyfriend, so he started kissing your cheeks where the tears start to run, wiping them for you.

“you look so beautiful crying… it makes me wanna go rougher...”

you looked into his eyes in despair and he laughed at your face. if he decide to do this, the noise would certainly be too loud.

“calm dow, i'm not gonna do that.”

your body relaxed a little after hearing this, but not enough for you to stop crying. the feeling was so good and, deep down, you even wanted him to be mean. sex with jisung made you stop caring about anything, including that guy downstairs. you would certainly let him go rougher at this point, thinking only of your own pleasure, but hannie gladly wasn’t doing this with you.

your mind was going numb. you wanted more, so you pulled your blouse by the hem to leave your breasts exposed and provide a show for sungie. seeing your breasts bouncing with his thrusts made him twitch inside you. hannie wasted no time, he soon lowered his face to the height of your nipples and began to suck them.

your tears increased. it was all too much for you. all that pleasure with jisung's mouth made your walls clench more around his cock. rolling his eyes back, he moved away from your nipples.

“s-shit! i can't take it anymore… 'm gonna-

before his sentence was completed, he came and painted your walls white. his thrusts were gradually decreasing until they stop for all and you were finally able to uncover your own mouth, taking a deep breath right after. when take his dick out of you, he knelt in front of you and climbed your panties in a hurry so that his cum would not slip from you. as soon as he put on your shorts again, he kissed your shoulder a few times and caressed your chin.

“can’t believe you managed to be quiet and let me finish inside you... that’s my girl.”

despite being unable to see his face, you knew that he was smiling right now. frustrated with the time that had passed up there, you got up from the bed in a hurry and left the room, leaving behind a satisfied hannie.

when you reached the edge of the stairs and saw that your classmate was still there, you thanked the heavens that he hadn't gotten tired of waiting for you, gathered his own things and left. as soon as you sat down in the chair again, he looked away from the screen of his laptop and stared at you.

“i'm back.”

“why did you-“

his question stopped unfinished. you imagined that he would ask you why you had taken so long, but it is likely that he already has the answer to this question, since his gaze was focused on your neck, probably where jisung had left a hickey. trying to mask it, you made a confused face to him, waiting for him to finish the question.

“nevermind.”

finally, the guy said and stared at his screen again. you decided to do the same, trying to locate yourself in the last paragraph you had written, which was being very difficult given the feeling of hannie's sperm running down your panties.

#han x reader #han smut #han scenarios #han jisung #jisung x reader #jisung smut #skz x reader #skz smut

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