#like not trying to shit on the artists but yeah I just wanna attempt to make my own sprites lol
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Bad Manager - Huening Bahiyyih KEP1ER
Rape, Pure Horny Degenerate Male Reader, Clothed Sex, Hair Pulling, Face Slapping, Submission, Piss, Messy Facefuck, Creampie
KEP1ER Bahiyyih
3,075 Words
Being a personal manager for the KEP1ER members is exciting, but it's also draining. Not physically, however. You're young and full of energy, so running around all day is a piece of cake.
What you mean by "exhausting" is trying to keep your shit together while being surrounded by nine smoking-hot idols.
These ladies are drop-dead gorgeous, and they get you all riled up every time they perform or even during practice.
Today's no different. They're about to rock the stage at the Asia Artist Awards, and you gotta give props to the stylist who made them look so irresistible.
Especially the youngest one, flaunting her soft midriff and smooth shoulders like a seductive siren.
All you wanna do is grab Yeseo and fuck her senseless right then and there. But your last shred of decency holds you back as you focus on handling their needs.
A few minutes before showtime, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. You plop down on the toilet, whip out your phone, and watch their performance on the screen.
Your cock's throbbing in your jeans, begging for some action.
You're on the verge of losing it, and when the camera zooms in on Yeseo, swaying her hips and shaking that fine ass, your leftover self-control shatters into a million pieces.
"Oh God, I wanna fuck you so bad, Kang Yeseo. That petite body... it's begging to be bred," you mutter, fishing out your cock and giving it a firm stroke.
KEP1ER's five-minute performance feels like a blur. You crave more of Yeseo, watching her move her body in that gray shiny top that barely covers a thing.
With a sigh, you lock your phone, letting go of your cock and taking a deep breath. But calmness is a distant dream. This level of horniness is downright torturous.
Realizing the girls probably need your assistance now that they're done being on stage, you force your stiff cock back inside your jeans and step out of the toilet stall.
As you make your way back to the waiting room area, you spot Bahiyyih strolling down the hallway towards you, still in that short performance dress.
She seems a bit lost, wearing a worried expression until her eyes meet yours. "Oh, oppa!" she calls out, a smile lighting up her face as she hurries over. "Thank goodness. I can't find the bathroom. Do you..."
Her voice fades into the background as your gaze fixates on her collarbone and that creamy skin of hers.
She's never looked this sexy before. Well, this girl will do. It's the only chance you've got, and you're not picky at this point. You just want to fuck any of them.
"Oppa?" she calls out, her voice tinged with hesitation as she instinctively covers her bare chest with one hand.
Snapping back to reality, you meet her eyes. "Hm? Oh yeah, sure. Follow me, Hiyyih-ah."
You walk side by side, leading her in the direction you just came from. But instead of heading straight, you take a left turn towards another restroom that's out of commission, tucked away from prying eyes.
"Oh? I guess I can't use this one then," she says upon noticing the sign, but continues to follow your lead and stops in front of the restroom. She hisses and squirms a little while glancing at you. "Oppa, is there another restroom? Ahh!"
You grab her dark brown hair and shove her inside the partially open door, quickly locking it behind you. As Bahiyyih falls to her knees, struggling to regain her footing in that fitting dress, you unbuckle your belt.
Once the idol manages to stand upright, you yank her hair again and press her against the wall, pushing her face against it and pressing your body against hers.
Despite her attempts to resist by pushing the wall with both hands, your weight keeps her pinned. "Stop! No! What are you doing?! What's wrong with you!? Let me go!"
You place your forearm on the back of her neck. "Shh! Stay quiet, okay, Hiyyih-ah? I'll make this quick..." Your other hand unzips and lowers your jeans.
Your jeans and boxers slide down to your knees, your rock-hard cock bursts out. Her dress, not exactly thick, allows her to feel the presence of your cock pressing on her ass, sending a wave of panic through her.
"Stop! Oppa, please... What the hell is that? What are you doing?"
You yank her head back by her hair, giving her earlobe a teasing lick that makes her let out a groan. "That is my cock. Don't act like you don't know what it is. I'm pretty sure those wrinkly sponsors have already had their way with your pussy."
The degrading words spew from your mouth, causing the held-back tears in her eyes to stream down her cheeks. "No! Stop it! I'm— Just stop, please. I won't say a word."
You pull her head even further back, so you can get a good look at her pretty face stained with tears.
"Quit crying like a little bitch. I'll let you go once I've fucked you good and proper, like a whore. Either way, you won't be blabbing to anyone. You won't dare.”
You reach for the hem of her dress and yank it up, fully expecting her reaction. You cover her mouth from behind, muffling her scream as her hands desperately try to keep her dress in place.
But it's too late, your hand has already slipped between her legs.
“I saw how you were performing earlier. I had no idea you're kinda thick. Let me have a taste of that juicy pussy too," you say, spreading one of her legs apart.
Bahiyyih shakes her head in your grasp, thrashing with all her strength. But it's no use. You squeeze her soft thigh, burying your nose in the spot where her neck meets her shoulder.
Take a deep sniff, matching the vigor of your hand sliding between her legs.
She can't do anything but stay still, her body jerking with harsh sobs. You take advantage of the moment and slide your cock right between her ass cheeks, the tip rubbing against her pussy.
"Hmm! Mmph..." The violated idol cries even harder. Her hands claw desperately at the wall, trying to find some way out.
"Yah, calm down, Hiyyih-ah. You'll get used to this eventually."
You give her pussy a smack, ripping a hole on whatever safety shorts she's wearing right around her private area. Her voice gets louder, wetting your hand with a mix of saliva and a bit of snot.
Bahiyyih can resist all she wants, but you couldn't care less as you start fucking her soft, warm thighs from behind, taking it slow and teasing her slit with two fingers, while your thumb flicks her clit.
The new sensation weakens her knees, unintentionally squeezing your cock between her thighs even tighter as her ass lowers on top of your shaft.
"Oh shit. You're into this now, huh? Such a slut," you whisper into her ear, increasing the pace of your thrusts, “Imagine what it would feel like if this was my thick cock.”
Using the same fingers that were teasing her entrance, you slip them inside, causing her eyes to widen in shock. You push deeper into her wetness.
When about half of your fingers are already buried inside her, Bahiyyih grabs your hand as if trying to pull them out in a hurry. But you oppose her attempts and plunge your two whole fingers in.
You can sense her walls clenching around your fingers. She gasps, her back arching in response. Increasing the intensity, you thrust with a fervor that matches the rapid rhythm of her breath.
Her muffled scream gradually transforms into a whimper.
Curling your fingers upwards, you focus on stimulating her sensitive front wall, targeting that sweet spot. Her muscles tense, her grip on your hand tightening.
The wetness dropping on your hand increases with each passing moment, a clear sign that her body is betraying her.
"Come for me, like the slut you truly are. You know you want to, Hiyyih-ah, otherwise you wouldn't be moaning like this, right?"
You release your hand from her mouth, and indeed, she bites her bottom lip to stifle any sounds from escaping.
As much as you want to simply fuck her and be done with it, the idea of sexually breaking her mind also holds a certain temptation.
You thrust your fingers into her slick pussy, the sound of your palm smacking against her skin reverberating through the room. Fingers in and out, the wetness sloshing with each motion.
Bahiyyih's legs drop even lower, unable to contain her moans any longer. "Ooh... Ahh! O-oppa, s-stop! Ah! Ah! Hmm! I'm..."
Her words trail off, but you know exactly what she's trying to say. You wiggle your fingers deep within her, exploring her inner walls.
She leans back against you, her legs quivering, and her moans become strained as she digs her nails into your forearm. Her orgasm crashes over her, causing her whole body to shake uncontrollably.
As the tremors subside, a warm liquid washes over your hand, even dampening your still-pressed cock between her thighs. Bahiyyih pants, her head resting on your shoulder.
"See? This toilet is still functional. You managed to pee so much," you taunt, pulling your fingers from her dripping pussy and raising them in front of her face.
"You like that, huh? Pissing yourself turns you on, doesn't it? We're in this together now, Hiyyih-ah," you taunt her, relishing in the way it challenges her morals.
"N-No, I'm not... Haa... I hate this..." Her words come out in gasps as she struggles to regain her balance.
Without any warning, you thrust your urine-soaked fingers into her mouth. Her eyes squeeze shut as you push deeper, ensuring she can't bite down on your hand.
"Eeugh... Blergh—" She gags and manages to remove your hand before coughing, the taste of her own piss lingering in her mouth.
"How about that? Proof that you enjoy this just as much as I do. It tastes good, doesn't it?"
"No! Let me go! You've lost your mind... I'll tell everyone what you—"
Her futile threat is cut short as you yank her hair, eliciting a yelp of pain. You turn her body around and down to her knees. Gripping her hair, you repeatedly slap her face with your erect member.
"Tell everyone what? That I'm slapping your face with my cock? Well, why don't you also tell them how you suck my dick like a pro slut, huh? While you're at it," you sneer.
You yank her hair back and forth, causing her to wince in pain as she tries to shield her face from your cock and free herself from your grip.
Watching her helpless state, relishing in the power you have over her trembling form. Fear pulses through her veins, fueling the twisted excitement that courses through your veins.
Without a shred of mercy, you force your cock into her mouth, disregarding her pleas and protests as you immediately start pumping deeper.
Your cock chokes Bahiyyih, her body convulsing with each merciless jab. The taste of her tears mixes with the salty, musky flavor of your cock, which is infused with the tang of her earlier urine.
The mounting pleasure drives you onward. The strong pressure of your penetrations stretches her jaws, causing her body to twist, retching as your cockhead breaches her throat.
You hold both sides of her face, keeping it in place as you pound into her throat.
Her tongue remains trapped beneath, rubbing the underside, adding to the intense sensations that drive you closer to the peak.
Her makeup smears down her face, mixing with the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes roll back, silently pleading for you to give her a moment to breathe.
Despite her nails scratching at your thighs, the pleasure you're experiencing overrides any discomfort.
Bahiyyih's mind teeters on the edge of surrender, her mouth drooling excessively. Her chest and stomach cave in, desperate for a breath of air.
"Shit, shit, shit! Oh, fuck! Your mouth feels so damn good, Hiyyih-ah. It's not just for singing, huh?" you remark, your hips continuing to rock back and forth.
She gags even harder, trying to stretch her jaws wide to find some relief from the continuous harsh motion while enduring your balls repeatedly smack against her chin, causing her saliva to splatter everywhere.
As you feel your climax approaching, you abruptly withdraw from her mouth. Her stomach heaves, and she collapses to the floor, coughing up a wad of spit and gasping for air.
"Now you can breathe all you want, you whiny bitch. Get up!" you command, your cock still throbbing and on the brink of explosion. You grab Bahiyyih's hair and pull her up.
Bahiyyih is too exhausted to speak, only able to shake her head. Irritated by her stubbornness, you rapidly slap her face, turning it red until she stands as straight as she can.
She winces in pain, tightly closing her eyes as she endures the slaps. Her trembling hands are powerless to shield her face.
You cease the slapping and wrap your fingers around her neck, while your other hand slips under her knees, lifting one of her legs.
"You better clench that pussy real tight, Hiyyih-ah. I'm going to fuck you hard. At the very least, you deserve that," you announce.
Bahiyyih cries, her body jerking without any will to fight back. She hesitantly places her hands on your shoulders, gripping them tightly as if holding onto the last sliver of hope she has remaining.
You squat down, aligning your hard cock with her pussy, a smirk plastered on your face. Since your hands are occupied holding her, you give the weeping idol a command, “Go ahead. Put it in."
You lock eyes with her before glancing down at her glistening, bald pussy. Bahiyyih follows your gaze, finally getting a good look at the thick meat that damn near choked her.
Now, that repulsive thing is about to be inside her again, and she's gotta do it herself. The only consolation she can think of is that she won't suffer like she did before, as long as your cock is in her pussy.
With that in mind, Bahiyyih slowly grabs hold of your cock, lining it up with her wet folds and after taking a deep breath, she slides your cock into her pussy.
The moment the swollen knob slips in, a blissful hiss escapes your lips as you push forward, invading her slick, velvety canal. She doesn't let go, as if she's in control of how you fuck her.
Bahiyyih can feel the wide stretch inside her as your cock buries itself deeper. Her head instinctively knocks against the wall, her mouth gaping open, and a low huff escaping her lips.
It's a whole new sensation compared to when you fingered her. This time, the slow feeling of being filled starts to consume her. No need for you to force your entire cock inside when she willingly thrusts her hips forward.
Leaning back a bit, you take a look down, letting out a chuckle at the sight of her pussy lips tightly gripping the base of your cock. Her one leg planted on the floor is tiptoeing while the toes of the raised leg are curling.
"You really are a fucking slut, aren't you?" you remark as you pull out.
"Ahh!" she moans, completely oblivious to your comment, her entire focus locked on the growing pleasure pulsating within her heated core. One hand aimlessly scratches the wall beside her head.
Completely convinced that she won't put up a fight anymore, you release her neck and hold her slender waist, fucking Bahiyyih with fierce intensity, reclaiming the orgasm that you cut short earlier.
Her pussy clings to your cock, tight and gripping, as her natural juices flow abundantly, making the slide in and out of her moistness a breeze.
Leaning forward, you shoot your hips upward, splashing and sloshing inside her drenched warmth, your balls smacking against her flushed cunt with a satisfying thud.
Your grunts grow louder with each hard thrust, matching her erratic moans. She becomes increasingly vocal, her back arching involuntarily, her body sinking lower as her legs weaken over time.
"Oh fuck! Your pussy... Haa! I'm really gonna cum this time... Shit!"
In the nick of time, you scoop up her other leg, lowering her body as you lean forward, battering the idol's swollen pussy without holding back as if your very existence depended on it.
Knowing that you might face the consequences later, you go all out, giving it everything you've got in an uninhibited, wild frenzy, taking full advantage of the moment.
You pull Bahiyyih close, pressing your cock deep inside her, not caring about anything else as the tip hits something inside her. The room is filled with the scent of sex as you release fresh white semen, coating her insides.
Bahiyyih feels a tickling within her womb. Her body spasms, and she lets out strained groans, her arms awkwardly reaching out for nonexistent support against the wall.
One leg stiffens while the other moves as if walking on air, her toes curling in pure ecstasy.
As the pleasure subsides, you slowly withdraw your cock with a wet "plop," removing your hands from her legs. She slides down the wall and collapses onto the floor.
Her legs twitch, still spread wide, as your cum oozes out of her well-used pussy and trickles down to her asshole.
"Stay spread like that, Hiyyih-ah. It suits you so much more," you degrade her, scoffing as you pull up your boxers and jeans, which had bunched up around your ankles.
Gradually regaining her senses, Bahiyyih closes her legs and collapses sideways, her messy face covered as she sobs, her arms shielding her from the world.
You check your phone and see numerous texts from the other managers and members. You quickly reply, making an excuse about having a stomach ache.
Glancing at Bahiyyih's pitiful state, you give one last command, "Get yourself cleaned up. The others are looking for you. Good thing I didn't ruin your fancy clothes, or you'd have to walk out naked."
Despite putting on a tough front, fear starts to creep in as the adrenaline wears off. But one thing is certain—you have no regrets.
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For your 2k celebration: Eddie/Lover's Lake/book 🌼
Big, gigantic thanks to @trashmouth-richie for helping me with this one!
Warnings: attempted drug deal, mention of drug use
WC: 899
--
Mud squelches under your trainers as you make your way towards the lake. It’s a familiar destination; your favorite place to write. But today, you have other plans.
Eddie’s already there, waiting for you. He’s sitting on a stone wall, idly tapping his ringed fingers against his tin box. Your stomach flip-flops at the thought of what’s inside.
Come on. Don’t be such a coward.
“Um, h-hi,” you stutter, mentally kicking yourself for letting your anxiety seep into your voice. “Thanks for meeting me here.”
“Yeah, no sweat,” Eddie says, patting the empty spot beside him and popping open the box lid. You oblige, bringing your backpack onto your lap. “All right, I can do $15 for half an ounce.” He takes out a crinkled plastic baggie, frowning as you inspect it critically. “I really can’t go any lower; you’re already robbing me blind here.”
“No, no,” you shake your head, “‘s not that. Um, I was wondering if you had any, like, magic mushrooms?” Your face burns as you say it.
Eddie’s eyes widen. “Never took you for a psychedelics kinda girl,” he laughs incredulously, “but, yeah, I should have some.” He digs through his stash, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. “So, what’s the occasion?”
“Huh?”
“The shrooms. You going to a party, or…”
“Oh.” You wipe your palms on your jeans. “I, um, I’ve been having bad writer’s block, and I heard that drugs can help…unblock things? I smoked weed with my friend, but it didn’t do anything.”
“Oh, yeah?” Eddie asks, not breaking his focus. “What are you trying to write? Essays and school shit?”
You shake your head. “I’m working on a novel, actually,” you admit. It sounds silly when you say it aloud. “It’s like a horror-mystery hybrid? I don’t know,” you finish lamely, hoping he finds the shrooms soon.
But you’ve captured his attention, and his chocolate brown eyes light up as they meet yours. “No way!” he exclaims. “I love scary stories. I swear, I’ve read everything Stephen King’s written.” He crosses his heart for emphasis. “Can I get a sneak peek of your book?” He pouts adorably, melting your heart and easing your nerves.
“It’s just some chapter outlines so far,” you explain, tugging your notebook out of your backpack. It’s an assuming marble composition notebook, but it holds all of your hard work. “And I haven’t written anything in weeks, hence the…” you gesture to his lunchbox of drugs in lieu of completing the sentence.
Eddie raises his eyebrows as he scans your writing. “This is…really fucking good,” he muses, flipping the page and continuing to read. “How do you come up with this stuff? Puts my Hellfire campaigns to shame.”
You laugh bashfully. “Sometimes, inspiration just strikes, y’know?” Your smile falters when he skips to the rough sketches you have for your characters. You’re not an artist, not by a long shot, but you know he’ll be able to recognize who you’ve modeled a protagonist after. “Okay, give it back,” you blurt out, attempting to grab it from his hands, but his grip is too tight.
“What, you got some naughty drawings in here?” He waggles his eyebrows, making you giggle despite your embarrassment. “Don’t worry; I won’t judge.” Before you can protest further, he finds the one picture you were hoping he’d somehow skip over. It’s a tall, lanky guy with curly brown hair that touches his shoulders. He’s wearing a concert t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, displaying his tattoos, and ripped black jeans. “Whoa,” Eddie breathes, and you’re praying to be swallowed up by a black hole. “This dude is totally metal.”
“Wh-What?” Did he really not know who it was supposed to be?
“The guy,” he says, pointing to the drawing, “he looks so badass.” He closes the notebook but doesn’t hand it back. “Could I hang onto this? I wanna read more, but I gotta get going. Promised my uncle I’d make dinner tonight, and he’ll kill me if I say that and then order pizza one more time. Actually,” he pauses, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, “do you wanna help me cook? And stay for dinner, obviously. You could maybe tell me more about your story. Might help get those creative juices flowing or something.” He shrugs like he didn’t just use all of his courage to ask you.
“Sure,” you smile, hopping down from the wall and brushing off your pants. “And you can tell me about your…campaigns?” You furrow your brows, unsure if you used the correct terminology.
Eddie narrows his eyes. “I don’t know…how can I trust that you’re not working as an enemy spy?”
You gasp, startling him. “Sorry,” you apologize sheepishly, “but that just gave me a great idea. Maybe Kal–that’s the totally metal dude–used to be allegiant to the enemy, but is trying to redeem himself!” You pluck the notebook from him, flip to where a pen serves as a bookmark, and jot down your thought before you forget it.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” Eddie teases, taking the book back and tucking it under his arm for safekeeping. “You’d better mention me in the acknowledgments. Better yet–dedicate the whole book to me.”
“I can see it now: ‘For Eddie Munson: thanks for the idea and for not selling me shrooms,’” you joke back, walking in tandem with him.
“Perfect.”
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#bug's 2k celebration#eddie x reader#eddie stranger things#eddie munson fluff#eddie x you#eddie munson#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x f!reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie x y/n#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things fanfic#fanfic#eddie munson stranger things#stranger things
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spins in a swivel chair
HEY GUYS GUESS WHAT I HAVE A REVIEW RANT THIBG!! YK THISE THINGS I DO EVERY BLUE MOON ON SOMETHING OTHER THAN HELLUVA BOSS? YEAH! WE ARE DOING THAT?
ABOUT WHAT EXACTLY??
YUP! THIS HORRIBLE WEBTOON. I won't be talking about the creator controversy
Look I couldn't even get past the first few episodes. I had to watch summary videos that's how much I hated it.
So!!
Yeah
So using what I've learned ima. Review it.
Story first!
So it's a romance (WHY) between Nelle and of course Jeff the murderer- sorry killer. Anyway. Nelle at the beginning attempts to get a job at Arkham asylum, but isn't allowed to due to not having any experience. Nelle why is this the first thing you tried to do after getting a degree- you could be a therapist. (Wait she was a child therapis?? Oh) anyway. Nelle runs into Jeff and. Nelle gives the obvious psychopath a ride to HER home. WHAT??
Shit happened and Jeff ends up living with Nelle, and ig. They start falling in love?
Yeah.
This is written like a fanfic. You know what it reminds me of?? IT REMINDS ME OF STOLITZ!!
Which brings me to the next point
The writing/dialogue
Everything feels uncomfortable and stiff. It also feels really robotic- it's just. Not good.
Jeff is really creepy. I mean yeah he's a murderer but he calls Nelle 'kid' with the sexual tension going on and it feels weird. WHY KID. God Jeff also gives off that 'alpha male' dude vibe it was just. I'm crying. BUT THE SHOW MUSt GO ON!!
This webtoon and it's characters feel so soulless and Nelle is so obviously this adorkable self OC god.
Next part.
The art.
AUHHJJ- ITS ACTUALLY TERRIBLE- MEDIOCRE AT BEST
It looks like Vivziepop art, but at least her newer art is consistent
This also has ZERO artistic growth!!
Now I'm a young artist, and I don't normally hate on other's art but this??? It's so Incredibly painful, and it doesn't even feel like it's trying to be good
Liker here are a few panels that I read that were really inconsistent
As well as some Google images.
God
Anyway rant over
Do you friends, have some shitty canvas webtoon you want me to review?? TELL ME!! I'll probably do it lmao.
Ig I'll call this series 'Bargain comics' because it's a bargain if I will be traumatized for the rest of my days
Anyway, I'm Dotty, and I wanna die
#jeff the killer#Jeff's disorders#Bargain comics#Critical#webtoon#original comic#webcomic#webtooncanvas#webtoon critical
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🗒️'I Wanna Hear Everything ☁︎,📎
collage!ellie ⭑ reader
noties: ellie is anxious & overwhelmed, swearing, angst and fluff w/ happy ending i promise !!
It was exam season and as much as Ellie didn't want to own up to it, she was extremely overwhelmed. No matter how many hours of sleep she missed out on or how many times she attempted to revise, as an astronomy major she couldn't wrap her head around ‘planetary formation’. She severely wanted to call it quits and just drop out but she knew that feeling was momentarily so she urged on.
Ellie had been studying for what felt like all of eternity when she heard a familiar five knocks on her door. You and Ellie had a little code when you’d knock on eachothers dorms. Five knocks the two of you had decided, Ellie had suggested the number five because that's the month you mutually confessed your feelings for eachother, May. She hopped up from her cluttered desk deciding that she did in fact need a break.
“Ellieeeee!!” you greeted her as she opened the door, “Hey baby, what brings you here?” “Just wanted to see you.” You shrugged. You sat comfortably at the edge of her bed, her room was a mess. She seemed to notice the way you looked around her room “Yeah yeah I know m’ gonna clean it as soon as my exams are over.” “ok ok” you giggled, snuggling into her side. “So what have you been up to today Bug?”
“Yeah so then…Ellie? Ellieeee?” you said, “Shit sorry, m’ just tired.” Her sorry sounding insincere. “Alright so then, Ellie are you even listening?” Ellie then looks at you, eyebrows furrowed, “Oh my god can you please stop harassing me for two minutes!” she partially yells, you suddenly go quiet, she sighs. Once she hears sniffing and looks up at you trying to hide your face as it starts to go red. “Shit baby m’ so fucking sorry please don't cry, shit. Look at me baby”. She knows you are sensitive and regrets not thinking before she spoke. She looks at the tears that are starting to stream down your cheeks, That’s when the guilt of what she said hits her like a ton of bricks. You slowly begin to get up from your current position “I- I should go '' you manage to choke out, still trying to hide your face and glassy eyes full of more tears threatening to fall at any given moment. You pick up your bag and she gently grabs your arm. “Bug I am so so so sorry m’ promise I didn’t mean it.” You look at her, tears still sliding down your rosy cheeks and at that moment she feels like she could cry as well.
You pull your arm out of Ellie’s grasp and she doesn’t react, she just stands there red in the face from the amount of embarrassment and guilt she’s experiencing from ever speaking to you like that. You both have argued before but she never raised her voice at you like that before.
Once you’ve reached your dorm, you look in the mirror to see your smeared mascara and the remaining tears stuck to your scarlet cheeks, you feel pathetic. You can’t shake the fact that you had started sobbing over a stupid comment Ellie made, sure you’ve cried in front of her a multitude of times but it was never like this, this time felt different and that’s what had upset you the most.
smelly ellie ⁉️ (2 missed calls) 2:46 pm
Ellie pretended to hate it but she secretly found it kinda cute.When Ellie first noticed her contact name in your phone she acted all offended. “Smelly Ellie? That’s not fair, yours is bugs with a heart! Okay now I have to change it to smelly Y/n!” “Noooo Ellie that doesn’t rhyme” you whined while giggling.
You sighed when you saw that she left a voice message, you played it in your ear. “Baby m’ so fucking sorry y’ know I didn’t mean it please come back so I can apologise properly in person.” The recorded message spoke through your phone.
You put your phone onto your nightstand, you knew you were being stubborn but you also couldn’t help not feeling like a burden. You felt a twinge in your stomach when you realised you had an essay on an artist of your choice for your art class due next week which was going to be worth 60% of your final grade. You had heavily procrastinated this assignment because you had no idea where to even start.
you closed your laptop due to you noticing 4 new notifications on your phone.
smelly ellie ⁉️ (4 new messages) 4:22 pm
smelly ellie ⁉️: baby i'm so so sorry please message or call me back
smelly ellie ⁉️: bugs answer
smelly ellie ⁉️: baby I am really sorry you know I didn’t mean it
smelly ellie ⁉️: bug?
You wanted to respond but you didn't know what to say, you felt equally as bad and embarrassed by what had happened, and you wanted to make up with Ellie but you didn’t know where to start.
You felt guilty not responding but you decided to sleep it off and perhaps your response would come to you in a dream. Ellie knew you didn’t like confrontation as you were quite sensitive and Ellie had known all that yet she still unnecessarily yelled at you and Ellie didn’t know how to make you feel better except apologising profusely.
You had awoken from your nap by 5 soft knocks on your door, you tiredly sat up preparing yourself for this conversation before opening the door.
Once you opened the door you saw Ellie standing in the hallway, she immediately threw her arms around you pulling your body into hers tightly. She released the both of you from the embrace and cupped your cheeks.
“Bug I am so so sorry” she rambled “it’s okay Ell-“ she cut you off “love you more then anything y’ know that, would never mean t’ hurt you.” She explained “I love you too, and I’m sorry for overreacting” you said looking down, cheeks flushed. “no no you didn’t overreact, m’ stupid, said a stupid thing.” She kissed you nose. “m okay I forgive you” once you finished what you were saying you looked up at her, and she kisses the side of your still pink cheeks, “okay now can you please tell me what you were talking about before” she looks at you hopeful, “hm you sure?” You question, “yes bug, wanna hear everything.”
This was my first proper fic!! please let me know what you think <3
#ellie williams#the last of us#ellie x fem reader#tlou#tlou2#angst#ellie williams angst#wlw#lesbian#fluff
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OOH IF YOU'RE STILL TAKING ASKS FOR THE TROPE THING can i get vernon and like you two are assigned partners on an art project but he's awful at art LMFAO okay thank love you xx
JJ BELOVED HI HELLO I AM FINALLY GETTING AROUND TO THIS <333333
okay first of all i LOVE this idea skfjllkdfl this would definitely be a fun, comedic, romcom nonsense fic hehehe
i'm picturing this being set in like, a fucking calculus class and this project is the professor's way of trying to "bring more creativity to the sciences" or whatever. and vernon's just like. 'dude. how on earth is making a collage...sculpture...thing... supposed to help me learn calculus???' no one in the class really gets it either, since they can just, you know, do the math without having to create anything. but whatever, a little arts n crafts never hurt anyone [spoiler alert: it maybe hurts someone *cough*vernon*cough* a little at some point]
anyway, vernon ends up being partnered up with reader who, thank god, actually has an idea for what they can do for their project and also talks like someone who knows about art. in fact, they seem really into art and like, super pumped for this project. which is great! except, they're also really cute? and like, they're maybe kinda sorta the person he's been lowkey crushing on from afar since last semester???
and because having a crush sometimes makes you say/do stupid things, he tells reader that he can totally help with the art portion, easy peasy. [narrator voice: it was not, in fact, easy peasy] queue montage of the week leading up to when they're supposed to meet up again:
- vernon desperately watching all kinds of youtube videos trying to learn how to Art™️
- him walking into a Michael's and just being so lost and overwhelmed that he just. has a bit of an existential crisis in the fabric section
- he somehow manages to accidently cut himself with a pair of scissors while trying to do some kind of papercraft thing and has to go to the nurse's office.
- his roommate (let's make it chan for funsies) is convinced that he's having some kind of mental breakdown "hyung, i don't know what to do, he's just staring at a pile of children's playdough like it holds the secrets of the universe. or maybe like it killed his pet goldfish. i don't know, he's just being weird."
all of this leads up to when reader and vernon meet up again to present their 'prototypes' of the art part of the project so they can decide which they like better and then start actually working on it. reader is already at the cafe they agreed to meet at, and vernon (sleep deprived and already overly caffeinated) walks up to where reader is sitting, drops his sad attempt at art on the table, and blurts "i lied about being good at art because you're really cute and it broke my brain a little bit and i'm actually really, really bad at it. i'm so sorry." and then he fucking WALKS AWAY because he's a LOSER and you were extra cute today and his brain is still a bit broken and reader ends up having to chase him down the street, his shitty attempt at art clutched in one hand, to tell him that it's fine, they can handle the art part as long as he does his fair share of the math
"and like. maybe i could, teach you? sometime? if you want to learn, that is. and i'm not the best artist, but i've taught some summer camp classes before, and—" / "wait, you'd really wanna do that? after seeing how bad at it i am?" / "well... it means i'd get to spend some extra time with you outside of school, so... yeah"
vernon of course readily agrees, and they start going on little art dates together (and yes, they're Date dates bc vernon finally gets his shit together and asks them out) and they get a solid B- on the project bc while reader is great at art, turns out neither of them are the best at math rip </3
[send me a person and a trope/au and i'll tell you what kind of plot i'd write for them]
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I wanna start brain vomiting here, but I need to get out of my own way
I've had this tumblr for years and never really got much farther than just reblogging and liking. I think I struggle with the way the site functions, I could never wrap my head around it, especially not being able to filter people's reblogs from their original content.
But here I am in adulthood with a brain that perpetually operates at 105%, constantly filled with a million and one thoughts, some deep analyses, some absolute shit.
“I want to talk about everything with at least one person as I talk about things with myself.”
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Idiot
I started therapy a few years ago and have found myself quite the journaler, and this quote captures the 'thing' that keeps me coming back to the idea of writing here. Nothing professional, just a little blog of thoughts to share. I have friends who share my interests, but I can't always deep dive and hyperfixate for hours at a time with them. It's fun and I love them to death, but it can't happen all the time when the urge strikes. It's impractical, both for them and myself.
I think fandom as a broad concept is fascinating, I love seeing how people can breathe life back into media that only gives a fixed amount of content. When I recover from all this academic trauma and burnout, I think fandom and pop culture studies is something I might explore a bit more.
But exhaustion and ambitions aside, I like contributing to that process of bringing your own thoughts and baggage to art and watching how it gives so much more depth to it. Taking something and exploring every corner of it. I like giving, real, intense, thought to things. I like to dive into lore and think about character psychology and world building. I like to think about how the artistic choices in music and visuals contribute to it. I like to analyze dialogue and read into things and steep my brain in every element of it.
I like words, and I like using them to talk about things. I wanna do that here but I keep getting tripped up by the idea of curating the "perfect" blog and, god, it's fucking annoying. I have so many topics in my head that I've already mentally drafted out that just swim around up there and occupy space.
I wanna talk about love, grief, burnout, trauma, my life experiences that have contributed to who I am. I wanna talk about the LoZ timeline and lore, or this one fanfiction that is so exceptionally good that I will continue checking for updates no matter how long it takes, I wanna talk about music albums as collective works of art, I wanna talk about visual art and how, at the end of the day, most art is fan art and all elitists that say otherwise are missing out, I wanna talk about OSTs that rip my soul out, hold it tenderly, and put it back, I wanna talk about anime and TV shows and movies, write about my reviews and opinions, talk about the socio-cultural phenomenon that Hatsune Miku is.
I have so much shit I wanna talk about and all it does is stay tucked away in the attic of my brain just collecting dust but also still like...bouncing off the walls just trying to get out. I think writing essays in uni would've been more fun if we had more opportunities to talk about the things we cared about.
This post is a shit show and isn't much of anything for anyone, this is my attempt at getting over the idea of doing it "right" or "perfectly," it's my way of putting pencil to a blank paper, just to ruin the idea of perfection and just to get things moving.
I haven't shared my in-depth thoughts or my art consistently or with real intention on a public platform in years (did I mention I'm burnt out) so it's a bit weird thinking that people might see and read this and...I don't know, have a glimpse into my mind.
So yeah despite being on here since 2015? 16? 17? I suppose I'm pretty new to tumblr in a way. Bear with me as I try to get better at messily attempting things instead of trying to make something perfect before I even start it. I'll probably expand on so many all of the things I've mentioned here in the future :)
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I posted 1,757 times in 2022
That's 1,742 more posts than 2021!
118 posts created (7%)
1,639 posts reblogged (93%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@spell-cleaver
@thewriterowl
@materassassino
@46hasu
@positivityjediprince
I tagged 1,616 of my posts in 2022
Only 8% of my posts had no tags
#alderreblogs - 1,450 posts
#star wars - 535 posts
#luke skywalker - 387 posts
#star wars funnies - 159 posts
#alderposts - 149 posts
#dinluke - 141 posts
#din djarin - 136 posts
#darth vader - 135 posts
#obi wan kenobi - 124 posts
#anakin skywalker - 119 posts
Longest Tag: 139 characters
#fine with reading it when in the plot. but don't you dare try to get me to read self-insert or actually attempt to convince me to do the do
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
Favorite Riordanverse Ships
#1: Percabeth
art by @viria
thanks to @candlemouse for letting me know the artist is actually viria! :D
bi percabeth bi percabeth BI PERCABETH
#2: Frazel
See the full post
70 notes - Posted December 7, 2022
#4
Does anyone else just wish to know what Shmi thought of all the stuff that went down after TPM?
Of Padme and Anakin secretly marrying?
Of her grandkids, Luke and Leia?
Of Vader?
Of literally anything?
Or is it just me?
83 notes - Posted July 15, 2022
#3
I swear if Rachel Elizabeth Dare doesn't have a blue plastic hairbrush that is a blue plastic WET BRUSH I QUIT
94 notes - Posted May 11, 2022
#2
Guest what?
My grandma took me to the theater....and surprised me with tickets to the Secrets of Dumbledore!
WHOO
I will be acknowledging my stance on the jkr debacle later. (Spoiler: I do not support her) Rn I wanna scream about this movie.
So...Spoiler alert!
DUMBLEDORE ADMITTED HE LOVED GRINDAWALD. TWICE. SCORE FOR THE LGBTQ+ COMMUNITY.
CREDENCE. he is a dumbledore. Just not what we initially thought. He's Aberforth's son! AND HE'S DYING. THE OBSCRUOUS IS KILLING HIM NO.
MORE FANTASTIC BEASTS YES. (though the scorpion-like creatures kinda freaked me out. I don't like things with many legs. *shudders*)
THE QILIN IS SO CUTE HOW DARE GRINDAWALD KILL ONE HOW DARE YOU SHAME FOR A THOUSAND YEARS-
JACOB AND QUEENIE YES. YOU GO JACOB. SHOW GRINDAWALD YOU WON'T TAKE ANY SHIT YEAH.
NEWT. NEWT MY BOY I LOVE YOU SO MUCH
THESEUS IS BACK BRO YES
I love how the Scamander bros relationship kind of echoes the dumbledores'. But they'll have a better one I believe.
ABERFORTH YES I AM LOVING ABERFORTH YO
The professor character (I can't remember her name rn and I can't look it up bc I will lose what I'm typing) is so cool! Am I the only one shipping her and theseus?
EDIT 2/20/22: EULALIE HICKS IS HER NAME SHE IS SO COOL I LOVE HER.
BUNTY YOU ARE AMAZING.
WHY WAS TINA ONLY IN THERE A FEW TIMES? I WANT ANSWERS.
also....NEWT AND TINA YES
QUEENIE AND JACOB ARE MARRIED YAY
EDIT 4/2/22 WHERE IS NAGINI. THIS QUESTION ENTERED MY HEAD WHEN I WATCHED CRIMS OF GRINDAWALD WHERE IS SHE.
EDIT 5/3/22 CLAUDIA KIM WHO PLAYS NAGINI WASN'T IN THE MOVIE BECAUSE SHE FOUND OUT SHE WAS PREGNANT OKAY I FEEL BETTER NOW
141 notes - Posted April 16, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
Ok but what if din was there during the originals and like is crushing so hard… and Vader finds out first his daughter is falling for the smuggler now his son is falling for the mandolrin
Can we have headcanons for Vader’s reaction?
Okay, let's see here...
Now, I think we can all agree Vader does anything he can to get his hands on any and all peices of information on his son.
For "research purposes" ofc. (Not. It's cuz he's a snoop. Anakin's still in there, ya know! )
And lo and behold, what is this Vader finds?
What's this Mandalorian bounty hunter doing tagging along with Luke?
...and not bringing him in for that sweet reward Vader placed on his son's head?
So, Vader being Vader (or Anakin being Anakin) starts to keep a closer eye on this Mando.
He pours over holo footage of this Mando lending a hand to Luke, the princess, and that accursed smuggler Solo (at least Solo seems to be just as disgruntled as he is!)
So from that 3 year gap between ANH and Empire, Vader just can't shake the feeling that this Mando...there's something going on there but he can't figure out what...
AND THEN COMES BESPIN
Vader's trap is set. It goes as planned...until it doesn't. (Shocker, right?)
While that Mando's not there, he *does* overhear a little conversation between Leia and Han about him...and Luke.
He would've choked if he could.
Luke. His son. The only person he still cares about.
Is dating?
A Mandalorian?
Force, no.
Not on his fucking watch.
Vader manages to keep his indignation under control for a bit - until he blurts out (before the I am your father moment) to Luke that he *knows* about his relationship.
Luke is, understandably, confused and worried.
On one hand, "oh no Vader knows about Din!"
On the other... (mind the pun)
What does Luke's love life have to do with Vader?! Has Vader been stalking him or something?! (Yes Luke. The answer is yes.)
Then comes the reveal and Luke's ultimate escape, leaving Vader even more frazzled.
First, he finds out he has a son.
Then, that son has a boyfriend. (Who is he? What did he look like under that stupid helmet!!? How old was he - Vader needs to know, okay?!)
Then comes an offhanded comment from Boba Fett.
"Oh, a Mando is silver and red armor? Yeah I know him."
See the full post
202 notes - Posted June 12, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
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Ok but, if love to hear about some of your super heroes someone. Man if you haven't played Stardew Valley in a while you should, they recently updated it and added some cool new stuff. Also I totally get the shibari thing. I don't sketch or draw but I think it's very aesthetically pleasing in a non perverted way and can see how it's be a fun excessive in posing and angles and such, especially with some of the more extravagant artistic shibari. Do you have a PC and what consoles do you have? Sorry to hear that about your friend, I know even if you're growing apart loading a friend can suck really bad.
Thank you for this ask, also.
I so wanna see how the new updates look in Stardew, like there's a new island to explore? And whole new fruits? (My wine aging casks in the cellar are a vital part of my little operation bringing in cash every day so new fruit to make wine with is exciting to me, baha) And yeah, like even being like ten years in on one playthrough there are still so many trophies I want to attempt when I start it up again. Even though some of them depend on being a traitor and siding with Joja mart in a new save.
For consoles have my slightly battered PS4, which has weathered two moves and multiple corrupted data reboots sadly, and may need puttin out to pasture soon 🥲🥲🥲 Im really strapped for cash and the thought of pricing a PS5 or something as a replacement and Im trying to be like hold on old girl just one more 700 meg download of a DLC for me
I also have a Nintendo Switch handheld with, like, two games loaded that my friend James sent me, it's second hand and I do not love the controller drift but I really enjoyed Pokemon Sword and the remaster of Skyward Sword a lot!
And also my GBA, that thing will outlive me and I still have a dozen games for it. First edition, I got it for Xmas 2001, it has followed me my entire adult life.
And yeah, you get it! I truly believe all art has validity to it, even horny art has it's niche as expression.
And man I would love to talk the heroes I created in high school, it's just such a thing that I might be here all night 😅😅😅 It started, oddly enough, with me mimicking cartoons. Idk if like anyone remembers, there was a bad, old Avengers cartoon on Fox in the 90's. (It was. Bad. They all had armor, nonsensically) so starting in middle school, using that as a jumping off point, I created Avengers in Armor ripoffs I called the Detectives. And they were my first real attempt, middle school wise, to do more than just random comics. I took spiral bound notebooks and I just began filling them up. And I was experimenting, tinkering all the time, because creating an experience that was as much as I cojld make it LIKE a comic book, in that it was very crudely drawn anatomically bad figures from a middle schooler. But the formula began taking shape, the notebook pages became stock, nine panel grids and from there I just filled page after page with ongoing adventures of this team.
Now. The Detectives. Sucked. And even in 8th-9th grade, I was losing interest in them because that Avengers show I took the germ of inspiration for their adventures from didnt even last that long, and I was getting into other stuff. Harry Potter. Blade Runner. Toonami cartoons, MUCH better shit than Fox Kids. I began using that and started cranking out more and more heroes.
Killed the Detectives, just wholesale had them wiped out, they sucked.
But I began building a universe of heroes beyond them, starting with a Harry Potter sort of pastiche that I also used as a commentary on high school and he was a little bit okay a lot like me, named Johnny Dreamer. And then other heroes in Johnny's world. And then, another comic, which I brilliantly named Systems Crash, about a dark anti-hero named Downfall (total Deadpool ripoff) and a Supergirl pastiche I based off a friend of mine. And just on and on. The notebooks began bursting with content, and I was riding some fucking lightning pushing these out and not doing any schoolwork. I was creating a little shared universe.
Like I said, I remember it all too well. It's just there doesnt seem to be any getting it back 😅 which makes me sad.
And yeah. Story of my life a bit, friends leave. It never stops being hard, when people who spoke to me every day begin texting less and less and move on with their lives, but it feels like Im just not... worth it? Idk it does make being friends with people hard for me.
So uh.
Thank you for the questions, honestly
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Life Purpouse and Other Flower Bullshit
I have never been a normal person lmao. Which is okay but they ccrushing anxiety, fomo and social rejection has always let me suffer up & down through the shame and self-hateret tornado. For the longest time i have been trying to be positive, friendly, chill, responsible, hardworking, basicly tried to reenact the übermechen as if its possibly plausable. But nope i am chaotic bitch. Many would describe me as childish, has anger issues, clingy, depressed, traumatized, weird. Yes bitch, yes. But the thing people forgot it is thats how i enjoy my life.
Im not a sort of person who can only get a bonner from acting as a mediacore goodie two shoes who projects every toxic bs they cant face including their projection defence mechanism to satisfy a deep rooted inferiority complex covered by saviour complex due to not having any sort of skill set or courgae to have live. Or be a part of modern day slavery.
I’m not a good person because i don’t care about normal bullshit that can hype a normal person, such as structure and regulations. I like pushing boundries, creating chaos, being existentialy and socially suicidal. I dont care about being a good human, i care about having fun and askign the realy deep questions that people want to avoid. I want to look at the shadows and shallows to see a deeper shit for the fucks sake.
I don’t want to live in a glass apartmant with golden bearings and that’s what people assume i am at? I was never there dammit bitch. I was always chilling at the wall of a art museum rebelling against the very core aestetic of the subject matter. Who the fuck do people think they are who the fuck they think i am? I was never a good person, i was never a bad person, i was always a chaotic shitter. I dont care about being the god or the best in the universe, i wanna be the shit that kills it. Fucking dammit why you gotto be so fake and predictible to feel good about yourself? Is that how being a “role model” works IRL when cameras are not on? Cuz i would rather traumatize everyone by violently orcestrate a suicide attempt then work at an office job, classifiying categories of swedish cheese or some boring shit like that. No offese cheese, fuck you sweden.
Only real problem i am terrified of letting go of is the amout of shame and rejecting i get from people, maybe the cause of my shame is the rejection, who knows. I wanna be a part of the society yet simonteniously rebel against it. Is this how disorganzied attachment style works? Even if it is, i would rather be this way than change my brain chemicals and pathways to fit in a job that can help (well its not helpful) me barely survive. I want to be an artist for fuck sake.
Wanna producing my own shit but even the aestetical expectation can make me wanna drop my pens to the bin and walk the fuck out of that door to never come back again. Yet here we are in another self rebellion agains the things dont evn exist and all just in my head... Why gotto feel opressed and to concure it to feel free? Is all my personality is just based on childhood traumas and nothing else thats positive or is this just me as a health human boy man? Is this it? Just that? Can i never be a goodie two shoe even if i try?
The fundemental problem with me is that i am against god and life yet again i just sit there i a comtempt jsut being mad and knowing how to defeat him + it. Fucking shitty god i can kill myself and win this shit. Bye? I dont think so. You dont exist anyway.
What i am against is, i just feel the pain of being totally free and out of control without anything to fight for when i win. Winning is losing when you are already a winner in the most simpleset things. And maybe yeah i am an obsesively rightgeous person, which is true tho i am right always. It just begs the question, what now? That i won fair and square?
Is this it? Find a shit to chaotifie? Thats sad.
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[10:00am] “I’m going to fuck you so good you won’t be able to look me in the eyes for a week straight without blushing.” W/ Yunho x MakeupArtist!Fem!Reader
Smut warning: Marking and Breeding kink (nothing too intense… I don’t think) 1.4k words This was a request but I lost the ask in my inbox but here it is :) This was also supposed to be a timestamp but it’s kinda too long so adkfjdsk
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Being a make-up artist is the best job you could have but with 8 beautiful men being so close to you… it’s terrifying. You typically did makeup on whoever was available but today Yunho had a solo shooting, so that meant it was only you two.
You’ve been a makeup artist for the boys since the beginning so you’re pretty close to all the members, specifically Yunho. You and Yunho were a little bit closer than with the other members because at the beginning you two would always go out and eat lunch and hang out so it’s safe to say that you have the fattest crush on Yunho.
Now, Yunho is super busy all the time so you haven’t seen him besides when you do his makeup. And since there’s usually a shit ton of shooting and cameras all over the place, the two of you can never talk or hang out.
Now Yunho is telling you about the shoot he’s going to be doing while you’re hovering over him with a soft smile. Your hand is holding onto Yunho’s chin lightly as you signal him to pucker his lips.
You start to get flustered as Yunho rests his hand on your hip. “Did you make me look pretty y/n?” Yunho looked at you with the prettiest smirk as his head tilted suggestively.
You let out a flustered laugh and look away as your face heats up, “You always look pretty, Yunho...” You clear your throat and attempt to pull away but Yunho swiftly takes hold of your hand.
Your breathing is heavy as Yunho speaks deeply, “We haven’t hung out in a long time. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy darling.”
“You haven’t forgotten about me, have you?” you look at Yunho with the most innocent face you can muster, “You’ve been seeing all those other pretty girls huh?”
Yunho knew you were just teasing him so he was playing along, “You know I’d never like them as much as you though.”
Your heart is racing as Yunho pulls you closer so you were in between his legs, “Y-Yunho-”
“Come here.” Yunho’s hands fall below your butt to pull you up into his lap. You turn to look at the door with a worried expression, “It’s okay. No one is gonna see us. I promise.” Yunho rubs down your back in a comforting manner before he brings you into a soft kiss.
Your body immediately melts into Yunho and your arms wrap around his body tightly as he deepens the kiss. He pulls away making you let out a soft whimper. Your eyes scan Yunho’s face and you huff slightly, “Don’t mess up your makeup!”
Yunho snorts as you run your thumb across Yunho’s chin as your lipstick smudges onto him. Yunho tilts your head back and his mouth attaches to your neck, sucking softly, “Yunho- P-Please.”
You hold onto Yunho’s bicep tightly as he pulls both your jeans and underwear down to your knees. His long fingers make their way down to your already soaked pussy and lightly brush over your clit. You let out a loud moan and your fingers are trembling as you reach down to unbutton Yunho’s slacks and pull his half-hard cock out.
You pull Yunho’s hair back so his head is tilted back instead. You look at Yunho’s neck wanting nothing more to mark him all up but you knew you were going to be the one who was stuck with covering them up, “Go ahead. I can tell you want to.”
Your hand is softly jerking Yunho off as your lips attach to Yunho’s neck. You leave sloppy kisses down Yunho’s neck before sucking on his collar bone. As you’re distracted, Yunho lifts your hips up and removes your hand from his cock before he slowly pushes you down onto him.
You bite down a little bit too hard on Yunho as you refrain yourself from moaning out loud making red teeth marks engrave into his smooth skin, “Hng- Y-Yunho. We only- fuck! We only have f-five minutes.”
Yunho groans, “Let’s make it last then, yeah?” He grips onto your ass tightly as he begins to bounce you on his cock as his entire cock slamming into you.
You held onto Yunho tightly and continued sucking on his chest and collar bone because everyone else was just outside of the room and you never knew who was listening, “Wish I could hear you. Wish I could hear all your pretty moans. How about you come home with me afterward, Hmm? I’ll fuck you good. I’ll fuck you how you deserve it”
Your nails dig into Yunho’s back at his words, “Please. Please fuck me Yunho- I-It’s been so long!”
Yunho pulls you down in time with his thrusts and a loud slapping noise fills the room, “Feel so good Yunho!” Your breath is heavy and you try your best to control the volume of your moans before someone walks in on the two of you.
Yunho looks at the time and lets out an annoyed huff before he picks you up and lays you on the edge of the counter so he can properly fuck you. You spread your legs the best you can with your jeans constricting you and Yunho is gripping onto your hip with one hand and the other is rubbing circles on your clit, “I’m going to fuck you so good you won’t be able to look me in the eyes for a week straight without blushing.”
You let out a choked sob as Yunho angled his hips just right, “Y-Yunho! YunhoYunho!”
You get cut off as someone knocks on the door, “Y/n? Are you done with Yunho”
“Oh fuck- uh- I-”
“Actually, She’s having to redo my makeup… I didn’t like the original look- sorry.” Yunho saves your ass but has no mercy as he fucks into you like a man on a mission. You hear an annoyed groan on the other end of the door before he walks away.
“You gotta cum darling. I don’t wanna have to leave you here all needy.” Yunho’s thrusts become more powerful and his thumb is rubbing your clit so well that your legs begin to shake. Yunho lets out a deep moan as you clench around him.
Your head tilts to the side as you cover your face with your hands. You’re so close to cumming, your pussy’s throbbing, and Yunho’s cock is so big and feels so good. You just need that one extra push to send you over the edge.
“If you’re a good girl and cum for me, I’ll cum in you. I’ll give it to you.” Yunho knew that’s exactly what you wanted to hear.
“Y-Yeah? I-I’ll be a good girl. I am a g-good girl. Please. Please c-cum in me.” You let out a loud whine as Yunho trusted in you particularly rough.
“I will darling. I’m gonna cum in you. Gonna fill you with my cum so much that there’s no way you won’t get pregnant.” You turned to look at Yunho who was looking back at you with red cheeks and a lopsided smile because he knew just how much that turned you on. He himself would admit the only reason it affects both of you the way it does is because y’all know it’ll never happen.
“I-I’m cumming! Cumingcuming-” your hands moved to grip onto Yunho tightly and your legs pulled him as close as he possibly could be. You opened your mouth in a silent moan as you couldn’t even register Yunho’s cum filling you. Your eyes were glued to Yunho as his head was thrown back as he was letting out deep moans.
There was another harsh knock on the door making the two of you immediately pull away. You quickly pulled your jeans back up and Yunho shoved his cock back into his pants just in time for the door to swing open.
The two of you stood there awkwardly looking at Mr.Choi, the photographer. He looks between the two of you before simply stating, “You’re going to have to cover those up.” pointing to the several teeth marks along with hickeys on Yunho’s chest.
#ateez#ateez timestamp#ateez smut#ateez fuff#timestamp#smut#fluff#kpop#kpop timestamps#kpop smut#kpop fluff#kim hongjoong#hongjoong#park seonghwa#seonghwa#jeong yunho#jung yunho#yunho#kang yeosang#yeosang#choi san#san#song mingi#mingi#jung wooyoung#wooyoung#choi jongho#jongho#jeong yunho smut#yunho smut
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Never Have I Ever - Harry Styles
this is very random and just a lil somethin’, bc i secretly dream about being on one of these shows and meeting one of my crushes lmao, not me pretending to be at an interview in my own kitchen, hah, not at all!
hi hello so im adding this after this was posted. i randomly turned this into a series so you can find further parts for this in the series masterpost!
word count: 1.8k
pairing: Harry x actress!reader
SERIES MASTERPOST
masterlist
“It’s so good to have you here, it’s been quite some time since the last time you sat in this chair, am I right?” Ellen asked with a warm smile as you nodded.
“Yeah, I’ve been busy, I guess,” you chuckle tugging your hair behind your ear.
“I mean, of course. You starred in two movies since then and even got nominated for an Emmy as well for your role in The Umbrella Academy!” she lists and the audience starts cheering on your successes. “Of course you’ve been busy, but I’m glad you had time to drop by for a talk. So, let’s talk about your upcoming movie. You’ll be co-stars with Zendaya and Finn Wolfhard, it’s a quite interesting cast.”
“Yes! I’m very excited to work with them, I just met Zendaya the other day and though I’M yet to meet Finn I’m sure we will get along well.”
“What was your first impression about Zendaya?”
“Oh, she is very sweet and funny, I think working with her will be more like just a fun activity,” you admit chuckling and Ellen nods in agreement.
“I bet. Alright. So let’s talk about quarantine, it was a rather huge part of the year, where did you spend it?”
“I went home to my family, so I quarantined with them in my hometown.”
“And what did you do mostly?”
“We played a lot of board games and my mom taught me to cook,” you admit with a shy chuckle.
“Yeah, we had the luck to see parts of that,” Ellen chuckles as a video of you and your mom in the kitchen appears on the big screen behind you. It was posted to your Instagram when she attempted to teach you how to make her famous meatloaf. “It seems like you are a natural talent in the kitchen.”
“Well, I haven’t burned it down, so it’s going fine,” you chuckle.
“Alright, and what else did you do? Seen any good movies or discovered some new artists in the world of music?”
“Oh, absolutely. I definitely watched everything I’ve been postponing and I got to listen to new music, so now I have a few new favorites,” you admit smiling.
“Have you been listening to Harry Styles lately?” she asks and you find the question a little odd and very… specific.
“I mean, yes, but it wasn’t anything new, I really like his music,” you admit truthfully. “He is a great artist for sure.”
“Have you been at any of his concerts by any chance?” she asks and you notice that the audience is getting a little excited over something, but you don’t pay too much attention to it.
“Not yet, but I hope it’s gonna happen one day.”
“Well, I think I can get you tickets to see him,” a voice speaks up from behind you and immediately, the audience starts cheering as your head snaps around and you see none other than Harry Styles standing behind you. Your mouth hangs open as you feel yourself blushing, he is so tall and handsome, dressed in a bright blue suit with a silver shirt underneath, smiling down at you widely as he walks around the armchairs to greet you.
“Oh shit, I was not expecting this,” you breathe out as you stand up and hug him shortly before he moves over to greet Ellen as well.
“’M glad you like my music, Love,” he smiles as he sits in the armchair next to you and you swear you see him wink at you.
“We thought you wouldn’t mind our other guest joining in,” Ellen explains Harry’s appearance.
“Not at all,” you smile shaking your head. Harry has been your celebrity crush for quite a while, but the two of you just never crossed paths, until now.
“’S very nice to meet yeh,” he nods in your way.
“Same goes for you.”
“Okay, so now that Harry is here, I thought that we could play a little game,” Ellen announces reaching for something next to her armchair.
“Oh man,” you breathe out earning a round of laughter from the audience. “Last time we played something you asked me the most embarrassing burning questions!” you whine thinking back how you had to admit that you sleep with your lights on when it’s raining outside.
“We’ll do something similar this time too,” she chuckles before handing out two round boards to you and Harry as well.
“Oh fo’ fuck’s sake!” Harry groans making the audience laugh again. “Not this!”
“I know you loved it when we played it the last time,” Ellen grins as Harry hides his face behind the board that’s now showing his I HAVE sign towards the cameras. “We’re gonna play Never Have I Ever, I think you both know the rules.”
“Yes, this is why I want to run away now,” you mumble under your breath.
“I’m going with yeh,” Harry smirks at you finally letting his board drop to his knees. Seemingly, the audience is enjoying your misery.
“Don’t be babies, it’s gonna be fun!”
“For who? Not me!” Harry exclaims making everyone in the studio laugh. “Should’ve asked what we’re gonna do before I said yes.”
“Too late, Harry. Alright, let’s start,” Ellen announces as she takes her card in her hands, picking the first one and she reads the lines on it. “Never have I ever had a crush on someone I worked with.”
You huff as you turn your board so the I HAVE side is facing the camera, while Ellen has the same side showing, but Harry shows the I HAVE NEVER.
“Never?” you ask Harry.
“Well, what do yeh mean by working with?” he asks with narrow eyes as he taps on his chin.
“Anyone you had any relations with through a job.”
“Well then…” he sighs turning the board, earning some cheering.
“Okay. Never have I ever drunk texted someone and regretted it in the morning,” Ellen continues with the next question.
“Oh, too often,” you blurt out holding up the I HAVE side.
“What did yeh write?” Harry asks with a cheeky smile while he holds up the same side.
“Well, there are just too many, I can’t choose,” you admit laughing. “I often tend to write down my feelings when I had a little too much to drink and then send it without a second thought.”
“Then I better get yeh drunk to find out what yeh think about me,” Harry teases and you hear a loud “ooh” coming from the audience while you can only hope your make up covers the blush on your cheeks.
“I’d need your number for that to happen,” you say arching an eyebrow at him.
“That’s something we can easily fix,” he smirks.
“Okay, before the two of you go on your first date right away, let’s finish the game,” Ellen jokes and you both turn to her. “Never have I ever kissed someone I didn’t know.”
“What do you mean by knowing someone?” you ask to clarify.
“Let’s say you didn’t even know their name,” she adds and as you think about it, you hold up the I HAVE NEVER side first, but then flip it over.
“Oh, something popped into yeh mind?” Harry teases while he holds up the I HAVE side as well.
“I guess I just want to forget about it, but I can’t,” you admit chuckling awkwardly.
“Were you drunk or you just didn’t care to ask for their name?” Ellen questions.
“I’ve had quite a few drinks if I’m being honest. But I think he told me his name, I just didn’t catch it,” you admit.
“Poor guy, he is completely forgotten,” Harry chimes in shaking his head in a dramatic way.
“Alright, we have two more questions. Never have I ever had a friend with benefits.”
“This game sucks!” you snap as you hold up the I HAVE side, making the audience laugh. “You’re making me look like such a bad person!” you whine to Ellen.
“Don’t feel so bad, Harry is in the same shoe!” she chuckles and turning to the man on your right you see that Harry has the same side showing and a very cheeky smirk on his lips.
“How did it end?” you ask out of curiosity. You know how yours ended, in a horrible fight, because he wanted more, but you were in it just for the fun.
“Not in the best way, if I’m bein’ honest,” he clears his throat leaning back in his seat. “How about yours?”
“Same,” you nod chuckling.
“I guess it was a learning lesson for the both of you,” Ellen smirks before reading the last question. “Never have I ever ghosted somebody.”
“Shit,” you mumble, trying to hide your smirk as you hold up the I HAVE side. Harry thinks to himself before doing the same. Leaning forward he checks yours and your eyes meet for a moment.
“I think it would be an honor to anyone to be ghosted by yeh,” he teases you making you roll your eyes. “Wha’? ‘M telling the truth!” he chuckles.
“Wanna get on the list of my ghosted people?” you joke raising your eyebrows at him and he immediately holds his hands up.
“Would rather not.” He places a hand over his heart before smiling in your way sweetly. “Tha’ would break m’ heart.”
“Oh come on!” you chuckle feeling the heat crawling up your neck and cheeks as the audience lets out a soft “aww” at his words.
“Alright, thank you for playing, I think we found out some interesting things about the both of you.”
“Thanks for embarrassing us,” you add mumbling as you hand her back the board.
“It was a pleasure,” she chuckles. “We’ll be right back after a short break, please stay with us, we have more from Y/N and Harry coming right in your way, so stay tuned!” she announces as the crowd cheers.
“Friends with benefits, huh?” Harry asks smirking in your way as you fix your dress. You just shrug your shoulder trying to look casual when you feel so intimidated sitting next to him.
“Had to try it, I guess,” you admit.
“I get it,” he chuckles. “So, if I were to ask for yeh number, would I eventually be ghosted as well?”
You have to bite into your bottom lip to hide your growing smile at his attempt to flirt with you.
“We’ll see. You gotta ask for it first,” you tell him with a knowing smile, hoping to look flirty and light, not the nervous wreck that you truly feel like talking to him.
“I think my dressing room is two doors down yours, so expect me to drop by after this,” he smirks, making your heart skip a beat before Ellen starts speaking and the taping continues.
NEXT PART
#harry#styles#harry styles#harry styles imagine#harry styles oneshot#harry styles one shot#harry styles fluff#harry styles blurb#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles x you#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x reader
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Right behind you:(Bodyguard!Santiago “Pope” Garcia x M!Celebrity!reader)
This is my offering for this week’s #writerwednesday from @autumnleaves1991-blog, which this week is joint with @flightlessangelwings’ Jey’s Pride celebration! 🥳
The verbal prompt was: glitter and/or “I’ll always be by your side.”
The visual prompt is the photo below.
This gave me the idea for a very quickly written one shot with bodyguard!Santi and male celebrity reader! I hope you like it!
Warnings: food mentions; mentions of panic attack / hyperventilating. Mentions of sensory overload. One mention of Santi “sucking off” reader. Language. TYPOS, undoubtedly.
Rating: mature for mentions of oral sex but no explicit / actual smut.
Gender stuff: he/him pronouns / masc! terms of endearment used for reader. Implied that reader is a penis owner - no other physical descriptions besides reader wearing a suit and some make-up.
Genre: angst then mainly fluff and happiness! Hurt / comfort, I guess.
ALSO: BONUS CAMEO FROM ANOTHER OSCAR CHARACTER. Did you spot him?
You perch on the couch in your suite, taking steadying breaths and trying desperately to ward off hyperventilation as your bodyguard grips your trembling hand firmly in his. The air is quaking in and out of your lungs and you can no longer help the tears which spike in your eyes and spill over on to your cheeks.
He gives your fingers a squeeze as he crouches before you, and you can’t help the surge of guilt that this is so far outside of his job description. He’s meant to protect you, not comfort you. His work centres on your physical well-being, but you can’t count the times he’s bolstered your emotional well-being too. Then again, this is the only time he’s done so quite as blatantly in front of the rest of your staff, perhaps.
“Oh no, don’t you dare cry, sweetie,” your make-up artist - who will not be getting rehired you decide suddenly- flaps around you, attempting to fuss over you with a tissue. Her panic about her work being ruined at the worst possible moment is plain as day, and it only makes your chest constrict further.
“This isn’t helping” is the only thought blaring loudly in your mind, but you cannot for the life of you push the words out right now. You shut your eyes in an attempt to block it all out. To subdue the sensory overload.
You are thankful that your bodyguard intuits that sentiment on your behalf when you can’t, and you hear his voice is coming from a different angle now, his head whipped sharply sideward and up towards the offending MUA.
“For real? Ffff....” you close your eyes and hear Santi bite down on a curse. You’d laugh if you weren’t so preoccupied, trying desperately to focus on his voice amidst the chaotic, intersecting hubbub of the room. “Ma’am, could you please back the shit up?” He bites. Apparently he can’t stifle the cursing entirely.
Your limp hand travels along with his as he waves his arm around emphatically. “In fact. Out. Everyone out. Now. Please.”
His request slices through the nervous air in the room, his words deep and commanding and delivered with an authority that you doubt anyone would dare question. This man must be obeyed, and in the back of your mind you congratulate yourself for your decision to take a chance on hiring this moody ex-soldier with creaky knees. When he needed to he could certainly clear a room. And on top of that, he offers you a whole lot more besides.
Indeed, here he is, going above and beyond, kneeling on said creaky knees for you. Protecting you, and comforting you too.
Your eyes are still closed as the room gradually quietens, until it is so still you could hear a pin drop. Until you can hear the steady rise and fall of Santi’s breath. Until you can hear the delicate wet noise of his lips parting so his tongue can skim his lips. You can hear him swallow.
As you hear the sound of the final remaining person shuffle out, and the door gently click closed behind them, you are finally able to peel open your eyes. You are able finally able to release your bottom lip from the grip of your teeth, an indent having formed where you have bitten down so hard you have threatened to draw blood.
Santi is as still as death as he waits, and as soon as he hears that final click, he is moving. Only then, does he allow his (thin) veneer of professionalism to collapse. He allows the flats of his palms to snake up your thighs, rubbing reassuring shapes into you, and you feel the familiar heat and press of of him through the luxe fabric of your suit trousers.
“Look at me, cariño,” he soothes, in a deep, fond tone, entirely different to those bitten off commands reserved for the rest of your entourage. “It’s just you and me now. Look at me, baby.”
You do. You look into his big brown eyes and you and he could be the only two people in the world, never mind the room. You sniff, and you fumble away a stray tear before settling your palms on top of his.
You slow your breathing and Santi flashes you a small, proud smile. “That’s it, honey. Nice and slow. Just like that.”
Then, he flinches, his head leaning to the side as though he could physically retreat from whatever angry voice is no doubt blaring into his ear. Then, he makes a point of taking the earpiece out altogether, letting it hang over the collar of his white shirt.
He tugs in a huge exhale too, letting go of the tension he held in his body through his concern for you, although his eyes slit flit around your face in residual concern.
“They’ll be mad you did that,” you warn, with a nod to his earpiece.
“Whatever. It’s not my job to get you to the red carpet on time. It’s my job to look after you.”
“Your job? Hmm? That all I am to you?”
He flashes you a lopsided smile as you tease him. “I’m a lucky man. My job happens to be a thing I love doing outside of work too.” You lift your palm to his face, the familiar texture of his stubble beneath your fingers. “Now, honey. No rush. But do you wanna tell me what’s going on?”
You look away from him then as you realise he won’t let you distract him enough to avoid the true issue at hand, but his hands are still languidly smoothing your thighs, and you know he won’t make you do anything you don’t want to before you’re ready. He might dole out some tough love, eventually, but not until he is sure that you can take it. He lets you fumble until you find the words. “It’s... even the thought of it, Santi. This is the biggest thing I’ve ever done. All those cameras. All those eyes on me, I...”
Santi shushes you, as he hears the resurgent panic creep into your voice, even as your fingertips idly trace over his handsome features, a self-soothing unconscious thing, as he continues to kneel before you.
But while you may be panicked, he’s smiling. Looking up at you earnestly. “You deserve all those eyes on you, hermoso.” You don’t mind at all that when his voice comes out now it’s both fond and a just a little dirty as his own, very attentive eyes sweep over you.
“I don’t know...” You nibble on your lip again.
“Baby. You deserve this night. You’ve worked so hard for this. You’re so talented. And holy shit. You look so fucking hot in this suit I can barely function.” You let out a small, tentative laugh, which Santi seems pleased by, his own eyes creasing at the corners in return. “Besides,” he continues, tone more earnest now, his thick brows raised as he hammers his point home. “I’ll be right there. Just a few steps behind you, okay, mi Principe?”
You take one more deep breath, expelling it slowly and steadily through the “o” of your mouth, and Santi can’t resist your pursed lips a moment longer. Yet, for all his comments about how hot you are, his kiss is not as devouring as you might expect. It is a soft, tender thing, barely skimming your lips, and yet even so it appears to inspire a reverent heat in him, his eyelashes fanned on his cheek as his eyes remain closed a moment longer. As he expels a gust of disbelieving air at how you make him feel from this alone.
“Or,” he proposes, his voice breathy. “We could sack this whole thing off? We could order chilli cheese fries to the room and I can suck you off until you can’t think straight?”
You kiss him again, this time giving him just a hint of tongue, even as you laugh musically into his open, increasingly eager mouth.
“Appealing as that sounds, my love, I probably shouldn’t miss this...” you nod your head towards the door “...lil thing.”
“Yeah. Probably.” Santi concedes with a fond, lopsided smile, his eyes flashing with adoration, until he reluctantly schools himself back to something resembling professionalism. He gives you a few moments to gather yourself, and for his... eagerness to subside, before asking “You ready?”.
You nod. “Ready as I’m gonna get.”
“There he is. That’s my man.” Santi gives your thighs one more squeeze before he stands, and you swear you hear his poor knees creak; and then, he is replacing his ear piece, his face becoming all business as he presses two fingers to his ear. “Kolpakov? We’re ready to move out. Everyone in position?”
He awaits the response before turning back to you, practically gasping as he sees you stood there in all your glory for the first time. His eyes sweep up and down the length of you. He shakes his head incredulously, switching his mic off for a moment more. “Fuck me. You look like a fucking dream.”
“Not so bad yourself,” you respond in a loving, flirtatious tone, dancing your fingertips across his chest as you sweep past him towards the doorway and he turns with you as if in your thrall.
As you prepare, taking another deep breath and gripping the handle, Santi reaches for your arm, delaying you for just another moment. “Santi,” you laugh. “We can do the chilli cheese fries later, I promise.”
But that’s not quite what he has in mind. He looks at you intensely, and he cups your face in his broad palm. “Don’t forget. You deserve those eyes on you. But if you get overwhelmed, know that my eyes are on you. Wherever you go, I’ll be right behind you.”
The sentiment and sincerity with which he says this makes your mouth fall open in shock. Makes your chest constrict with happiness rather than nerves - but you aren’t afforded the opportunity to respond. In the next moments, the door is flung open, and your entourage is flooding you, barking directions and whisking you down the staircase and out on to the red carpet.
You are pulled away from Santi, and you don’t get to be near him again, besides a quick, surreptitious whisper into the shell of your ear as he follows you out the door “we need to talk about your ass in these pants because holy shit” - but that is all you can steal.
True to his word though, wherever you go he is right behind you. He is there with a firm arm to form a protective wall should a photographer come too close, or a fan get too handsy over a barrier. He is standing, stern and formidable to your rear as you provide sound bites to the tv stations forming a line up to the venue (and, trying very hard not to ogle your ass in these pants, probably).
He’s right behind you, designed to fade into the background in every sense. For all his charisma, he’s good at it. Not drawing attention. Even his suit is designed to be non-descript.
But... that’s not where he should be, you realise.
And, when you are almost at the end of the carpet, you stop in your tracks. You hesitate, and you turn around, your gaze instantly finding him in the crowd. He looks concerned, alarmed, as though you may have gotten the jitters again and like you might be about to do a runner.
But that’s not it. That’s not it at all.
In fact, you are more calm and sure than you have been all evening, looking at his befuddled, deer in headlights expression as all the attention suddenly falls on him. He has some big talk and a tough exterior, but the centre of him is soft, and you love that about him.
And so, a cautious smile blooms on your face as you settle firmly on your plan of action, and you walk determinedly in the “wrong” direction, going against the stream of attendees and making a beeline for your love, as he, for once -your man of action- stands frozen in confusion.
Then, when you arrive at him you stop, placing both your hands flat on the lapels of his suit, smoothing them down.
“What are you-?” he begins to ask, but you cut him off.
“Santi, my love. This is ridiculous. I don’t want you behind me. I want you by my side. Where you should be. So, fuck it. Will you do me the honour of accompanying me to this premiere?”
He answers with a smile. With sparkling eyes. With his arms flung around your waist. With the press of his curved lips against yours, and a slip of his supple tongue. “Baby. I’ll always be by your side.” His hands slip a little lower. “Or - you know - sometimes right behind you.” He winks at you. God, you adore this idiot.
So, you wrap your arms around him, guffawing fondly into his neck before kissing him again, more deeply, not caring who’s watching. Your face splits with a beaming smile as you break from the embrace and link your arm into his, proceeding to walk up the carpet again: together this time.
“Fuck me though, honey,” Santi leans over to confide in you as he straightens up his tie, as if suddenly noticing the photographers for the first time now that they are noticing him. “You could have warned me you were going to french me on the red carpet, I would have put on a better suit.”
You laugh warmly as he continues to babble, and you reassure him that he looks perfect.
You know he’s doing his best to mask it, but he’s the nervous one now - you can tell. “Don’t worry, handsome,” you reassure. “Just you and me, remember?”
No-one else in the world.
“Jesus. How do you do this?” he asks, balking at all of the camera flashes going off in his face, his voice choked.
Luckily, Kolpakov - his second in command- figures out what’s happening and takes the cue to intervene, shifting the line back just a little to give the two of you some space. A good job too as you see beads of sweat forming on your love’s brow.
“How do I do this?” you ponder. “Well, I always have you to protect me, right?” You squeeze his arm tenderly. “And I’ll protect you now, my darling.”
This- having him by your side? You have no doubt that this feels right. It is where he has been all along, albeit only in the shadows. In private moments. But tonight, as he encouraged you into the spotlight, you realised how little you cared for hiding. You need him with you.
“Jesus,” Santi chuckles, looking around and trying to take everything in. “The boys are gonna have a fucking field day with this one. I didn’t even tell them we were dating.”
“What the hell, Garcia?!” you chide fondly, mouth open in a shocked “o”, before beginning to chatter and banter away with him as you easily fall into step together. Distracting him from his nerves like he always does for you.
With Santi by your side, you no longer care about all of the other eyes on you. All of the camera flashes. The crowds. Those watching at home.
You’re proud of your achievements. You’re proud of your relationship. And besides, the only eyes on you which you pay any heed to are his. Santiago’s gorgeous brown eyes, which, right now, shine with nothing but pride.
Yours shine right back.
You think he is the one who deserves all eyes on him, tonight.
#santiago pope garcia x reader#writer wednesday#Oscar Isaac#triple frontier#santiago pope garcia#male reader#m!reader#mlm
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THE VAMPIRE LESTAT COVER ALBUM - the legendary Vampire Lestat is back and bigger and badder than ever, this time bringing a whole album of song covers ranging from classic bangers to newer fresh takes on chart hits! get your copy now, complete with a transcript of the artist's commentary on each song!
(songs I think Lestat would cover and release as an album in an attempt to re-kickstart his career and/or make some sort of dramatic statement to Louis. tracklist and "artist commentary" under the cut)
Survival - Muse
“And I’ll reveal my strength, to the whole human race, yes I am prepared, to stay alive, and I won’t forgive, and vengeance is mine, and I won’t give in, because I choose to thrive! Yeah I’m gonna win!”
Oh, I wish this song had been around back on that opening night at the Cow Palace - how apt that would have been! What a fucking anthem! They would have been rioting all night. I mean, they already were, but, like, because of the music. Not because vampires were being immolated in the middle of the crowd. Different kind of riot.
The Bitch Is Back - Elton John
“I’m a bitch, I’m a bitch, oh the bitch is back, stone cold sober as a matter of fact, I can bitch, I can bitch, ‘cause I’m better than you, it’s the way that I move, the things that I do!”
One day I want to have this play as I walk into Night Island. I’ll time it perfectly so that I throw off my coat - my denim jacket, or- oh, no, a fur! Maximum drama! - just as the chorus starts. Armand will know that I’m coming of course, but I think that’ll just make it even better. And I have good memories to this song... [muffled question] Sorry, gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, bébé. [laughter]
Everybody Loves Me - OneRepublic
"Oh my, feels just like I don’t try, look so good I might die, all I know is everybody loves me, head down, swaying to my own sound, flashes in my face now, all I know is everybody loves me”
Look, do I even need to explain this one? Didn’t think so.
Bad Reputation - Joan Jett
"I don't give a damn ‘bout my reputation, I've never been afraid of any deviation, and I don't really care if you think I'm strange, I ain't gonna change - and I'm never gonna care bout my bad reputation"
This one's fairly self-explanatory again. It could have been my personal anthem when I was mortal quite honestly. And it's an awful lot of fun to jump about and headbang to, don't you think? That's a new thing I've found out about, headbanging. People have been hopping about to music looking like fools for centuries but now there's a name for it. Fantastic.
bad guy - Billie Eilish
"I’m that bad type, make your mama sad time, make your girlfriend mad type, might seduce your dad time… I’m the bad guy. Duh.”
Creepy? Check. Sexy? Check. Tongue-in-cheek? Check check. This song was great and a lot of fun to cover.
Lover to Lover - Florence + the Machine
“I believe there’s no salvation for me now, no space among the clouds, and I feel I’m heading down, but that’s alright, that’s alright, that’s alright”
I don’t know, this one just felt very relevant. Also the piano was great to do. You might have noticed that I’ve picked a lot of songs with piano, and that’s because I bullied the studio into getting me a goooooorgeous grand piano for the recording space and I wanted to use it as much as possible!
Feeling Good - Muse
“Stars when you shine, you know how I feel, scent of the pine, you know how I feel, oh freedom is mine, and I know how I feel”
I just really like this song - I’ve done a cover of an excellent cover! Can- can you put emojis in this? Do people still use emojis? Well imagine I’ve put the shrug one. Wait, isn’t there- Daniel, Daniel, come here, isn’t there a shrug emoji made up of keyboard- [muffled words] yes! The shrug one! Yes, put that in the transcription. [ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ] I just like this song.
The Man - The Killers
“I got gas in the tank, I got money in the bank, I got news for you baby, you're looking at the man, I got skin in the game, I got a household name, I got news for you baby, you're looking at the man”
I feel like this one speaks for itself too. Can you put that shrug emoji thing in here again? [ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ] Yes!
J'ai Pas Envie - MIKA
J'ai pas envie, de faire comme si, comme les maris, qui disent oui, j'ai pas envie, j'ai pas envie, j'ai pas envie d'te faire plaisir, j'ai pas envie, j'ai pas envie, si tu m'aimes viens me le dire"
Look, I'm not going to translate the whole song for you, because it has all this clever wordplay you just totally lose in english… but the gist of it is that these two lovers are… at odds a lot. It's… it's maybe a little spiteful [laughter] but in a fun way! It's a fun song! Louis won't even be mad about it, it's MIKA.
Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy - Queen
"When I'm not with you, think of you always (I miss those long hot summer nights), when I'm not with you, think of me always, always"
[Long pause] God, I miss Freddie.
Let 'Em Talk - Kesha
Ah, full disclosure - I put this song in purely because of the expression Louis made when I played it in the car and it got to the line “can suck my dick” and she did that popping noise… it was incredible, and I just knew I had to cover it so I could see his expression when I said that. I can’t wait to play it to him. [laughter]
So What - P!nk
"So so what, I'm still a rockstar, I got my rock moves, and I don't need you, and guess what? I'm having more fun, and now that we're done, I'm gonna show you tonight, I'm alright, I'm just fine, (and you're a tool, so)"
I'm actually a big fan of nineties and noughties female stars - all that grrrrrrrl power, it's great fun, you know? I'd say this one is fairly self-explanatory, because I am still a rockstar! This is my new album! Fuck you EMP and your sniffy little article calling me "washed up"!
Little Lion Man - Mumford & Sons
"But it was not your fault but mine, and it was your heart on the line, I really fucked it up this time, didn't I my dear?"
This one could be self-deprecating, but it's also very vindictively angry at the same time, and that's a combination I definitely get. Like, oh, it's my fault, isn't it? It's my fucking fault again, what a surprise. Perhaps "learn from your mother or you'll spend your days biting your own neck" is a little on the nose… [muffled words] you've read my books, right? [muffled words] Good, good.
Missy - The Airbourne Toxic Event
"But I swear there's still some good in me, I think if you'd stuck around you'd see, all the botched attempts at integrity I once had"
Oh, I was feeling philosophical when I picked this one. No, philosophical isn't the right word… melancholy? Do people still use that word? "I swear I swear I swear I'll never get sad" is both furiously defiant and yet so self-defeatingly ironic. [Exasperated noise] Enough of that. Next!
Please Don't Leave Me - P!nk
"I don't know if I can yell any louder, how many times have I kicked you out of here, or said something insulting? I can be so mean when I wanna be, I am capable of nearly anything, when my heart is broken… (please, please don't leave me)"
Oh, we’re… we’re getting to this section now. [clearing throat] Well, I have to make up for that sucking dick line, don’t I? Get a bit vulnerable. Oh God, why did I decide to do this bit? [muffled words] [bad chicago accent] But why buy the cow? Because you love him, you really do. [sigh, laughter]
Next To Me - Imagine Dragons
"Oh, I always let you down, shattered on the ground, still I find you there, next to me, and oh, the stupid things I do, I'm far from good it's true, still I find you, next to me"
Why did I- I don’t remember putting so many of these ones in.
Run To You - Pentatonix
"I've been settling scores, I've been fighting so long, but I've lost your war, and our kingdom is gone... how shall I win back your heart which was mine? I have broken bones and tattered clothes, I've run out of time"
[Sigh] [clears throat] Yeah. I think we can move onto the next one.
Love of My Life - Queen
“Love of my life, don't leave me, you've stolen my love, you now desert me, love of my life, can't you see? Bring it back, bring it back, don't take it away from me, because you don't know, what it means to me”
I play this one sometimes on my baby grand when we've had a fight, and it's impossible for him to stay angry. He's a sucker for this sort of… formality in romance. God, I wish I'd realised that earlier. If I'd written him a letter in fancy copperplate script with scented paper and enclosed rose petals politely requesting him to bend me over his desk back in the day, it might not have taken two centuries of mutual blue balls for us to figure our shit out. Ah well, live and learn… as it were. [muffled words] Look, I did a whole bunch of vulnerable songs! Now I get to make sex jokes! [laughter] oh fuck off.
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TWO GHOSTS | MATTHEW G. GUBLER
It’s been 15 years. 15 years has to be long enough . . . right?
Set 15 years after the end of Ever Since New York, so give that a read first!
Word Count: 3.1k.
Warning: Usual angst, porn, and poor communication amongst characters.
SOUNDTRACK:
Maps - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Stop the World, I Wanna . . . - Artic Monkeys
Space Song - Beach House
May 16, 2002.
New York City, New York.
“[y/n] . . .” Claire whispered. “Honey, c’mon . . . just, try to sit up.”
You couldn’t. You just, couldn’t. It was as if your entire body was filled to the brink with sand — coarse, wet, heavy sand — and it was weighing you down, keeping you anchored to Claire’s bed. Your head rested in her lap, and your fist gripped, tightly, onto the fabric of her jeans — which were stained with your tears. Her hand ran along your spine, and her arm wrapped around you, protectively. She wanted to shield you, she wanted to keep you safe, happy. She wanted to distract you from your luggage laid out on the floor.
But, the pressure of her body, coddling you, God, it just hurt. Everything hurt, and you couldn’t get it to stop, and you couldn’t stop sobbing, ugly sobbing, snot running down your lips.
“Cl—Claire . . .” you whined. “I . . . I . . .” your hand flew to your mouth, muffling a loud and painful sob that echoed throughout the room.
“I know, I know . . .” she cooed, kissed the top of your head, and ran her hand over your hair. “It’s okay, don’t try to talk, just rest.”
Claire held you, all day and all night on May 16, 2002. She held you until you lost your voice, until you cried yourself to sleep, and after that, she still held you.
Because it was May 16, 2002.
And May 16, 2002 was day one without Matthew Gubler.
After crying yourself to sleep that morning, you awoke alone in Claire’s bedroom that night. You rubbed your tired and sore eyes, and sat up, surprised to see the sun had gone down. Your mouth felt dry, and your throat was sore. Claire had left you a bottle of water, and you chugged it in one gulp. You stood from the bed, slowly and groggily, stumbling your way through the boxes of clothes, and decorations that Claire hadn’t even put up yet.
You wandered aimlessly into the bathroom, and switched on the light. You didn’t recognize yourself in the mirror. Only a faint resemblance of what you looked like that morning, before the airport, before the tears.
You had dressed up. Did your makeup. And now, your clothes were wrinkled, and your face was smeared with mascara. You looked miserable, you felt miserable, you were miserable.
Claire walked in just as another tear rolled down your cheek. You looked at her reflection, and saw she was eyeing you, sadly.
“Hey,” she attempted to smile. She stepped over to you and held onto your shoulders, catching you as you fell back, dramatically, into her arms.
“Hey, hey, look at me,” she whispered. You hiccuped as you looked in the mirror, making eye contact with her. “It’s just day one . . .” she said. “It’s just . . . day one.”
And it’s true, what everyone says: one day turns into one month, and one month turns into one year.
And one year turns into one decade.
October 13, 2017.
New York City, New York.
Today, is Friday the thirteenth.
Day 5,629 without Matthew Gubler.
And somehow, someway, you feel just as stuck, and frozen, and scared shitless as you did on day one.
You haven’t felt this way in a very long time, though. And of all the days, of all the nights, to feel like this, to be stuck and frozen and scared . . . tonight is not the night.
A knock rings at the dressing room door, startling you from your thoughts. You cleared your throat, and found yourself, once again, focused on your reflection.
You know this person. You’ve spent 5,629 days growing into this person. And y’know what? She’s fucking hot.
“[y/n]!” Another knock follows.
“I’m coming!”
“When?”
“Ramona, I will fire you, and trust me, I really need an assistant!” You shout, fixing your dress in the mirror once again.
“Oh, yeah, right. Then who would make your coffee and make sure you’re on time?” she replied. “. . . You’re late!”
“Okay!” You stumbled to the door in your heels, flung it open, putting your hand on your hip.
“Wow . . .” Ramona said, nearly speechless. “You look . . . hot.”
“That is not how you speak to your boss, dude,” you laughed. “You really think I look hot?”
“Marshmallows on an open fire, smoking, kind of hot.” She winks.
You chuckle, “Thanks, I needed that. Walk with me.”
“Okay, um,” she starts, walking beside you as you strut down the hall. “Hair and makeup are gonna take care of you in no less than thirty minutes, that gives you, approximately, two minutes to get into the studio.”
“Two minutes?” You stop in your tracks. “That’s it?”
She can’t help but grin, just a little, “Told you you were late.”
You scoffed, “Okay, so are we shooting when I step into the studio?”
“Yep!”
“Great . . .” you sigh, walking over to the cosmetic chair.
“But, hey, you’re the big boss, they can’t film without you.”
“Yeah, except big boss told everyone we’re filming at seven sharp, and big boss probably won’t even be ready at seven sharp!” You ramble.
“Okay . . .” Ramona nods, slowly. “Are ever gonna tell me why you’re so nervous about tonight, or . . ?”
“Uh, why am I nervous about a major, televised, celebrity event that I not only put together myself, but choreographed?” You rambled. “I don’t know, pick a reason!”
“Wow . . .” She says. “As valid as all those reasons are, I think something else is going on and I will find out, so you might as well spill.”
“Can’t talk!” You pip. “Getting my makeup done! Tell them I’ll be in at seven.”
You exhaled deeply the minute Ramona stepped away, closing your eyes. Not opening them until your hair was done perfectly, and the makeup artist added her final touches.
You, once again, came face to face with your reflection.
“[y/n]!”
But you didn’t have time to process it.
“[y/n], cameras are rolling, thirty seconds to seven.”
Of all the days, of all the nights, you tell yourself, looking into the mirror, to feel like this, to be stuck and frozen and scared . . . tonight is not the night.
“[y/n]!”
Because you are the big boss now.
Your purple dress — perfectly matched to the NYU logo — hugs your body tightly as you walk across the floor, the hem splayed over feet, which are covered in tall, silver heels. The clack of your shoes silences everyone as you walk by. Everyone, except for Ramona, who steps in before you can enter the studio.
She clips an NYU pin to your dress, “For good luck,” she smiles.
“3, 2, 1 . . . rolling.”
You enter the studio, and the room fills with a flood of “oooooh!” from each and every one of your students. The camera pans over their faces as you walk across the hardwood floor, smiling at them, laughing at their expressions. Their jaws are dropped, hands clutched over their chests.
“[y/n]! Holy shit!”
“Hey!” You laugh. “Language! We’re rolling!”
“You look great!”
“Thank you, how are you all?” You ask.
“Nervous, thanks for asking.” They all laugh.
“You guys will be fine, I’m an excellent teacher,” you giggle.
“Damn right, but are you sure you can’t hold our hands while we’re on stage? Just for a little bit?”
“Big babies!” You shake your head. “You’re ready. Signals from off camera indicated a time crunch, and you quickly brought the group together for a big hug.
It’s been a long time coming. Tonight. Or, as printed on all invitations and promotional materials:
New York University’s 2017 Celebrity Alumni Event: In Support of the Ballet class of 2017.
Coordinated and Choreographed by [y/n] [y/l/n], executive producer and star of the hit reality show, New York Best and Ballet.
Big boss.
The camera follows you as you exit the studio, walk down the hall, “They’re gonna kill it,” you smile into the lense. “I know it.”
All you can think about is the blatant, gross hypocrisy. The way you’re completely, beyond a shadow of doubt, confident in your students and their ability to pull this off.
And you can’t even say the same thing about yourself.
With the cameras off of you, you put your hand against the wall, and steady yourself. Ramona walks up to you, walking along your side. “Got you a water, you should stay hydrated tonight.”
You give her an appreciative look, taking the bottle of water and standing up straight, “Is it too early to start drinking?”
“I guess not, guests are starting to arrive.”
“Holy shit, already?” You gasp.
“You did plan this thing, right?”
“Ugh,” you huff, dramatically rolling your eyes.
“You’re expected in the ballroom, a margarita will be waiting for you at the bar.” Ramona grins.
You continue down the hallway, as she watches you walk away, a crew of people following behind you.
“[y/n]!” Ramona calls.
You turn to her, stopping in your steps.
“Marshmallows on an open fire, smoking, kinda hot,” she smiles.
You laugh, out loud, and give her a nod. Then, you continue on your way downstairs.
More people had already arrived than you thought. The ballroom was packed, covered by a sea of people, tables, cameras and crew meandering through the crowd to catch every ounce of footage they could. You were filmed as you walked down the steps, passing the stage and stepping onto the floor with a grand smile.
“Pretty good turn out, huh?” You chuckled, beaming at the camera as you branch out to greet your guests.
This helps.
The smiles, the laughs, the presence of people that support you and your program enough to show up, pay a lot of money, and witness the magic of NYU ballet in all its glory. The light highlights the brightness of your smile, the glow around you in your element. Your chuckle echoing around the room, as you coasted from table to table, person to person, thanking them for coming.
Reconnections were made, stories were told, and retold, and thoughts of college had you blushing on the spot. You’re so lost in the whirlwind of energy, of being the proper hostess, and managing everything in sight, you didn’t notice that an hour had passed.
Until a crew member taps you on the shoulder, and tells you it’s five minutes to show time.
“Excuse me,” you nod, removing yourself from your current conversation and heading backstage.
You blow kisses to the band of nervous students, give them two thumbs up as cameras trailed behind you. “And . . . you’re on, [y/n].”
You stand up straight, hand your margarita off to a crew member, take in a deep breath. And walk. You march up to the podium, the bright lights beating down on you as you stand in front of the large crowd.
“Hello, everybody, welcome!” You announce, bringing the room to a gentle silence. “Thank you all so much for being here. I’m [y/n] [y/l/n], director and head of the ballet department here at New York University.”
You become flustered at the wave of applause, cheering the crowd and backstage. “Thank you, thank you so much. As a NYU alumni, there is truly nothing that makes me happier than to teach this extraordinary class of students. They’re focused, they’re determined, incredibly talented, and the best of the best. So, without further ado, I present to you the NYU ballet class of 2017, presenting a remastered rendition of their first performance in 2014.”
You exited the stage, the curtain behind you shielding the students that were already positioned in place. You stood backstage, watching them on screen, with your hands bound against your chest. The curtain was drawn, the music kicked up, and they went.
They move effortlessly, dare you say it . . . perfectly. In sync, and with a wide range of motion that rolled without a hitch. The crowd watched in awe, and you were right there along with them. Cameras focus on your face as you’re entranced by the class, and so immensely proud.
“They’re incredible,” you beam. “Aren’t they amazing?”
The full set took about half an hour, and when the curtain flies down, closing dramatically, you jump up and down, and run over to the group of kids who couldn’t wait to see you. The joy can be felt through the lense of every camera trained on you.
Their energy and excitement is putting you on cloud nine. Your own adrenaline is rushing, and pumping in your ears.
You let your guard down. You hand out kisses and hugs left and right, and step back in the crowd on a high, head empty, no thoughts. No feelings except for happiness and pride.
“That was incredible, [y/n], absolutely incredible.”
“Wonderful show!”
You were saying thank you faster than you could hear the accolades, caught in a rush of people passing you by.
You turn to see your students trailing behind you, shaking hands as they’re showered in praise. You grin at them, entirely consumed with elation by their looks of satisfaction, of relief, of relaxation and accomplishment.
You let your guard down.
You got comfortable.
“[y/n]!”
You let yourself slip.
“[y/n], [y/n]!” A hand is placed on your shoulder, causing you to turn around, a smile still plastered across your face.
“You know Matthew, right?” Your co-producer asked. “You guys graduated the same year?”
You nearly collide with him. You stop on the toe of your heels, and come to a screeching halt. Your eyes connect like magnets, the pull is strong and intense. Your breath catches in your throat, you smile fading along with your breath. You instantly begin to sweat under the light of the cameras, your skin heating up, your hands shaking.
“U—u—uh,” you stutter. “Yes! Hi!”
“Hi, [y/n]!” He exclaims, happily, opening his arms to give you a hug.
“Oh!” You gasp as he pulls you into his chest.
And he smells, so good. He’s grown, and it feels different holding his tall frame in your arms. But the embrace is quick, and brief, and he holds your shoulders in his palms as he speaks to you, “The show was amazing, blew me away!”
You’re expected to talk. You’re expected to breathe. But you’re left speechless by the scruff lining his jaw, the curl atop his head, the suit shaping his body, and topped off with a jet black bow tie.
“Thank you, thank you,” you ramble. “Thanks for coming, um, let’s catch up later,” you nod, to which he politely nods back, and clears a path for you to walk on by.
You let your guard down.
And now you can’t seem to catch your breath.
Your feet were killing you by the end of the night. You didn’t get to take a proper seat — without the cameras, and the crew, and the crowd, until nearly ten o’clock at night. As you were trying to regroup, Ramona found you hiding away in your dressing room, halfway asleep.
“[y/n]?” she taps your shoulder. You groggily lift your head, and look to her, “There’s a car waiting for you out back. It can take you home or to the hotel across the street. What do you think?”
“Mm,” you hum. “Hotel. Hotel is fine.”
The Lillian Hotel had been acquired specifically for tonight’s event. A cozy room, with an even cozier bed was waiting for you, calling your name. And after tonight, after day 5,629, it’s all you can think about.
You give Ramona a quick hug, and thank her for everything before you sneak out of the building. You take the back exit, avoiding an entanglement of people and paparazzi.
The atmosphere of the elegant hotel was much calmer. You were given the key to your room, and you turned on your heels to head to the elevators. Your shoes created an echo against the tile, and the sound suddenly silenced when you saw him. Waiting for the elevator.
“Matthew?” You call, timidly. The courage comes out of nowhere, flies out of your chest before you can catch it in your throat.
He stops in his tracks, and turns to you, holding the strap of his bag. “Hey!” he grins.
You give him a shy smile, as you let out a dry laugh and step closer to him.
His eyes darken, not noticeably, but just a little. He looks down at you, and you look up at him, and all you can say is . . .
“Matthew . . .” you clear your throat. “Thank you for coming tonight, and supporting the program, and for . . . being so professional about everything, I know it . . . couldn’t have been easy, I really appreciate it.”
His eyebrows furrow, only for a second, and his face almost goes blank. He looks down at his shoes, taps his foot as his mind swirls with words to say. But all he can is chuckle. Laugh.
“I knew you were gonna do this,” he says.
You tilt your head, “Do what?”
“This . . . think . . . think that what I did today had anything to do with you.”
“I—“ you stutter. “Okay . . .”
“I came tonight to see friends, to catch up, to visit New York. And I knew I would see you, and I knew . . . I knew you’d, I don’t know, expect me to fall to my knees the second I saw you. I can’t do that . . . I, personally, see no reason to do that. I acted professional, because I am professional, not to cushion your feelings.”
And although, he’s changed, he’s grown, he’s matured, and he’s a completely different person than when you saw him last, Matthew Gubler still knows how to make a dramatic exit.
He turns away from you and continues down the hall, boarding the elevator without looking back at you. You — who’s paralyzed, stuck, scared shitless. Standing in the foyer of the hotel lobby, wondering why you’re unable to move, to breathe, to keep your eyes from misting.
And back to day zero.
You knew for sure that you’d struggle to sleep. That Matthew’s word would eat at your gut and brain like a parasite, haunting you, rattling around your head. But, the second your head hits the pillow, you were out like a light.
And you dreamt of him instead.
The way he was 15 years ago.
The way he made you feel.
Bing, bing, bing!
“Huh!” You jolt awake, spasming out of your sleep violently. Suddenly, the sun had risen again, and it was burning your eyes through the windows.
Bing, bing, bing!
“What the—“ You sit up, rub your face, and anxiously search for your phone, wondering why you were being called so early in the morning.
Ramona’s name flashed upon the screen, and you swiped to accept her call. “Hello?”
“[y/n] . . .”
“Ramona . . .” you slur.
“Have you checked twitter this morning?”
“Tw — no? No, it’s . . . seven in the morning, of course I haven’t checked Twitter.”
“Check it.”
“Ra—“
“Check it!” She shouts.
You groan, and navigate to the Twitter app. “Oh . . . oh, I’m trending . . . that’s good, right?”
“Yeah, uh-huh, check who you’re trending with . . .”
“Okay . . .”
Clicking on your name, you instantly sat forward, your eyes going wide, “NO!”
TAGLIST:
@muffin-cup
@pinkdiamond1016
@ncsls0515
@spencersbed
@safertokiss
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You're A … Inexperienced
Summary: On watch one night you find out some thing that Daryl has never done. And you offer him some experience
Category: Friends to Lovers, Eventual Mild Smut, just a good ol' time
Paring: Daryl x reader (second person)
Warnings/Includes: General Walking Dead grossness, Smut (but not in this chapter), swearing, use of weapons, non-graphic hunting, mention of past child abuse, (let me know if you see anything else)
Word count: 2.1k
Chapter 1: Truth
The night was off to a slow start since you and Daryl had taken watch. The sound of the chain link fence rattling in the wind served as a pendulum in the back of your mind. A chill in the late summer air made the concrete you used as a backrest cool to the touch. Both of you sat against the base of the watchtower on lookout, since the two with the regular shift were on a run.
“Know any games to play to stay awake?” You asked, slumped against a wall, and turning to look at Daryl, who was sitting cross legged, head rested in his hands.
“No,” he replied, “should get some cards or somethin’.”
“Yeah, next time we go into town.”
The night had become dark, no moonlight deciphered the sky from the inside of your eyelids. Time ticked on and before you knew it both of you had fallen asleep.
The rattle of the fence shocked you out of your sleep, and you saw an arm reaching through the fence trying to grab at you. Although a decent distance away, you could still see it’s skin peeled back up to it’s bicep; raw meat dangling behind the wires, so it could fit the exposed bone deeper through the fence.
The growling must have woken Daryl up, because by the time you were standing to go and kill the bloody thing, he had handed you his knife to use. You took it graciously and tiredly walked over to kill it, looking much like a zombie yourself.
Stabbing it through the eye, you could feel the pop of penetration to the skull, and with that it fell to the ground dead, fully dead. With all of its weight moving downwards, the force must have been too much, causing it’s limb to stay on the side of the fence opposite to it’s corpse. You hoped backwards as the appendage reached for your ankle, then shriveled up like the rest of its body.
Returning to your space adjacent to Daryl, you handed his knife back, and sat down breathing heavily.
“You rest, I won’t go back to sleep,” he said leaning on his hip to pull his red rag out from his back pocket. The knife you had used was laying on the ground next to him, beaded with blood.
“No way I’m getting back to sleep, I can hear my blood pounding in my ears.”
“Tell me if you need ta though, ‘cause I’m good,” He said, reassuring you.
You just shook your head and leaned against the wall, propping yourself up with a gun by your side.
You rolled your shoulders back every once in a while to stretch your back. Daryl mindlessly fiddled with a rock that he picked up off the ground. The sky was now dark and all of the stars in the night could be seen. Nothing like this would have ever been possible before. As the stars moved and passed with the coming hours, your tiredness from before seemed to return.
Neither of you had spoken in quite some time, which wasn't weird for you now that you have been taking shifts with Daryl for sometime. At first it was weird doing nothing with him, it was like he wasn't comfortable enough with you to converse, but now you know it's quite the opposite. You guys can communicate by means other than just talking. However, silence needed to be broken if you were going to keep him company until sunrise.
“I miss coffee,” you broke silence, plucking some grass and throwing it past your outstretched feet.
“Huh,” he snickered.
"I don't think I appreciated it before, I don't even remember drinking it that often."
"Don't even remember the last time I had it." He said and spun the little shiny rock he had in his grasp.
“I do,” you said.
He readjusted his position to be facing you holding his knees up to his chest with his chin rested on top. His head tilted down, but his eyes looked up at you to continue.
"Was a date, or not a date, but a meeting. I was out at a cafe, with the TA, for the psych class I was in. And he ordered for us, and after I explicitly told him to get almond milk, he didn't."
"Why?" Daryl asked with conviction.
"Because I'm lactose intolerant and I had to kick him out that night because my stomach hurt so bad." You picked a few sticks up from the ground and broke them into tiny pieces. The stick sprinkled across the ground, and disappeared in the surrounding weeds.
"Didn't mean why are you lactose intolerant, I meant why didn’t he get ya what ya wanted?" He furrowed his brow for a second.
“I don’t know, never thought about it, maybe he’d just forgotten or something. Doesn’t matter, he wasn’t even that good in bed.”
Daryl threw his special rock in the air and caught it swiftly. For just a second it had sparkled in the air, before he held it in his fist like he would never let it go.
“I bet you’ve been on bad dates, too.”
“Nah,” He said and threw his rock across the land and wrapped both his arms around his legs.
“What!? Okay, I guess your fucking perfect,” you said scoffing in a half joking manner.
“No, just didn’t go with too many people.” He mumbled.
“And all of them just happened to be great?” You questioned.
“Never said that,” He tucked his chin under his arms, that still rested on his knees, “I never went on any good ones neither.”
“It’s kinda hard to believe you didn’t date much, I mean, look at you,” you joked, but also couldn’t deny the genuine admiration that he evoked from the people that surrounded him.
“Nah, forget I ever said anythin’. Let’s just go back to sittin’ here.” He turned his head to the side in which the sun would eventually rise.
“No, please, I just came up with a game idea,” you begged.
“Hmm?” He glanced over.
“Truth or dare!” You exclaimed, failing your attempt of hiding your excitement.
“Nuh uh. Not subjecting myself to that shit,” he said tersely.
“Come on, I wanna know about these dates you didn’t go on, and you could dare me to do stupid shit in the mean time,” you said with your shoulders sagging.
“Ain’t gonna ask you nothin’,” he said stubbornly.
“Okay, then it’ll be one-sided truth.” You had as much enthusiasm as a little girl at a sleepover as you asked, “Truth or da…”
“Fine.”
“Okay, when was the last time you got drunk?” you started him off easy.
“Uh… CDC.”
“Wait, the CDC? Like the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta? How have I not heard about this before?” You asked. If this was the easy question,then this game may be more fun than you had previously thought.
“Yeah, stopped there, it’s gone now though,” he said nonchalantly.
“It’s gone? You would think it’d be better guarded or something.” You were astonished by the first question, and immediately got excited for the night to come.
“Blew up. My turn,” he said and pondered for a second, resting his chin on his palms like a winsome child. “What was his name?”
“Who’s name?” You wondered if this was what he was wasting his first question on.
“Coffee date guy,” he raised his eyebrows ever so slightly.
“I don’t remember,” you shrugged.
“That ain’t how this game works,” he argued back with a pout.
“Okay fine, I think his name was Bryce,” you gave up.
“‘S a douchey name.”
“He was a douche… probably dead now.” You looked down at the weeds growing, plucking a few and tying them together, waiting for someone to speak. You looked over at Daryl, who was patiently waiting for his question. He actually looked like he wasn't completely hating this game.
You thought for a minute, wondering how you could crack the boy in front of you. After some thought you said, “What was your first date like?” It was the perfect question, because really you could not imagine what he’d say.
“I told you, never did that type of thing.” He brought his thumb up to his mouth and started rubbing his lip as he talked.
“Okay then, who was the first person you ever did anything romantic with?” you asked.
“‘S not romantic, but there was this one girl that Merle’d bring out drinking with us sometimes. Name was Candy or something.” He mumbled around his thumb.
“Aww, little 20 something Daryl going out with a girl named Candy,” you teased.
“Wasn’t 20, I musta been ‘bout 13 or 14,” he recalled.
“I thought you said you’d go out drinking together?”
“Yeah, we’d go to this bowling alley, ‘cause they don’t card, and they had a pool table and a back room, I used to pay Merle t’ get me drinks.”
“He have to buy her drinks too?” You questioned.
“Nah, she was ‘bout his age I think, and he’d never buy something for someone else,'' he looked off.
“Wait, she was his age, and they let you drink when you were just a kid?” You tried not to chide.
“Hey, ain’t it supposed to be my turn?”
“Sorry,” you stopped.
“You said you were in a psych class, was that what you were gonna be?” He looked interested, as he inquired, studying your face as he awaited your response.
You explained “That’s what I went to school for, but who knows, I minored in fine arts. Truth is I hated psychology, but my parents needed me to make money for myself, otherwise I could have lived happily as a broke artist. Doesn’t really matter now though,” you trailed off. “Speaking of, what were your parents like?”
“Mean, drunk, dead.” He put it bluntly.
"I'm sorry, I didn’t know. How old were you?"
"With my mom, I’s 9. I was out playing with kids from around where I lived. They were all on bikes and wanted to chase this fire engine trying to see somethin’ exciting. I ran behind, and when I caught up I realized it was my house that was on fire. My mom had been smoking in bed."
"I'm really sorry about that, I didn't know about your mom or anything." You looked at him genuinely, giving a sympathetic smile.
"Was a long time ago,” he shrugged off. “Now for you. What art did you do?"
“I drew, painted, took pictures, everything really.” You added kindly.
He tilted his head back until it hit the wall, he stretched out his legs, and looked up at the stars as he said, “I’ll have to see that sometime.”
“It’s not like I still have any of them,” you said, perplexed at his interest.
“Oooh, who was your celebrity crush as a kid,” you asked, “like who did you have posters of above your bed?”
“Ya’ know Blondie,” he looked over to get your reaction. As he saw you nod, he said “Yeah, had a Debbie Harry poster, ripped out from a magazine.”
You laughed, and the questions continued; some questions resulted in stories others sat in stillness. The morning was short to come as the warm glow of the sun peered over the trees, and chirping birds made themselves present.
“Okay, what was your first time like?” you pestered.
You were met with a second of awkward silence, before he stumbled over the phrases “ I never, I mean… I did, it wasn’t like that though.” He brought his thumb up to his mouth again.
“Are you trying to tell me that you’re a…” he dipped his head down, and looked up at you through his hair. A sickly puppy could make your heart hurt any more, so you danced around your initial wording and asked “uhh, inexperienced?”
“Morning!” sang through the fields, and Daryl had been saved by the bell. Carol stood alongside Carl to take over for the morning shift, and relieve Daryl of his painted flush. She extended her hand out first to you, helping you up. Then to Daryl, letting the hand holding linger as she instructed for you guys to go get some rest.
The walk up was silent, but just before parting you joked with him “If you ever need some more experience, you know where my cell is.” You had said it quiet enough where he could ignore it, but you knew he heard it, because he silently split, seconds after you said it.
#the walking dead#twd#daryl x reader#daryl dixon#carol peletier#the walking dead fanfic#daryl dixon fanfiction#twd fanfic#there will be more parts#I am almost done writing it#get ready for some awkward daryl
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