#she’s fine with it though cause she doesn’t like the camera

[tiredfox64]

Dad bi han headcanons?

Father, Father I Crave Violence

Prior notes: FATHER, INTO YOUR HANDS I COMMIT MY SPIRIT! I feel like you thought of this cause I reblogged that artist’s drawing and I will not say their name cause I don’t like involving them in my bs.

Who’s your daddy?: Bi-Han, congratudolences he got you pregnant!

Warnings ‼️: HE IS THE FATHER *camera man goes crazy*

Big, muscly, meanie (Regular Bi-Han)

He needs a son. That’s the heir to the Lin Kuei right there.

When the kid is five he will be trained to defend himself.

Don’t worry he won’t bring the kid on missions he’s not dense.

He has a soft spot for his children. Though he is cold those are still his blood children. He wants to take good care of them.

He won’t let any of his assassins take care of or even hold his child.

Bi-Han can be a little paranoid, he worried someone will hurt his child. He can never be too careful. Once the child is old enough to defend themselves then they will have some freedom.

That motherfucker (literally) will be pumped to see if his children gain his ice abilities. If they gained your abilities that’s ight too.

The max is two. No more no less. Don’t matter if it’s two brothers or a brother and sister.

Okay but what about a girl?

Overprotective and overbearing oh gosh.

If anyone in the Lin Kuei takes a peak at her they are getting smacked. Poor guys.

Bi-Han will teach her how to defend herself as well. She needs to know. He will even give her a knife to protect herself (which you take away cause she is only five)

If the son comes first it’s his duty as the older brother to protect his sister from any nasty boys.

When they seem ready (like maybe 15) they can start going out for missions. Simple ones at first. Gotta build them up.

I know I said he will teach them to defend themselves but he will teach them to fight eventually. Yes there is a difference.

His daughter wants to play. Ehhhhh, fine, just because she is crying. But he will be taking it too seriously.

“That’s not how you pour tea.” “Your dolls can’t have multiple partners.” “The dog can’t talk.” You have no imagination sir.

What do you mean they need toys? He didn’t have many toys back when he was a kid. Give them a stick and a rock.

Fine, he’ll get them toys. Only a few though. They need to be focused on other things.

Puberty is gonna suck for everybody involved.

Pads? Yes. Tampons and diva cups? What are those?

You know what helps with cramps, working out. Yeah he’s that kind of dad. They don’t need Advil they got this.

The boys are fighting again. Now Bi-Han is yelling again. Has your tinnitus kicked in yet?

He doesn’t care what they are into they just better be loyal to the Lin Kuei.

Titan Bi-Han (y’all know why I made it separate)

It’s very similar.

He isn’t too overbearing he is still overprotective.

There are too many sharp things in the temple oh lord hide them!

Bi-Han, they can’t even walk how are they gonna reach the butter knives on the tall counter.

He is serious but I think he would crack a dad joke or two.

“Dad, I’m hungry.” “Hi hungry, I’m the Lin Kuei’s grandmaster.” FEED THE KIDS STUPID!

Please don’t take my pupusas away cause I made that joke.

They will be begging him to teach them to fight. He is hesitant but eventually gives in.

Two? Why stop there? If you’re comfortable he would like a few more. Don’t worry he’s not asking for six.

Spoils them! Spoils them to death! His daughter gets anything she wants. His son can have that puppy. They just have to share NO ARGUING!

Only the most trusted of his clan can take care of his children, aka Kuai Liang and Tomas.

Puberty will never be easy in any timeline.

Pads and tampons? Yes. Diva cup? Still don’t know what that is.

Heating pads, medicine, working out, curling up into a ball on the floor, he understands his daughter is in pain.

The boys can’t fight in front of their dad or else he will get scary.

He cares about what they like and will get concerned over some things. I don’t think he will appreciate them liking technology or having a fascination with Volcán de fuego (cause like I never did I promise). They just need to stay loyal to the Lin Kuei or else they will break his heart.

After notes: I did this one earlier cause my dad said some crazy shit this morning. He said marmalade is disgusting and strawberry jam was created by the devil. The only good kind and only kind there should be is grape. And then he went on about how he knew someone who would ask him to drink a bottle of bourbon and find Jesus. I told him “dad, if you drink a whole bottle of bourbon you don’t find Jesus, Jesus finds you”. Very strange morning but the breakfast was good. Adiós!

#mortal kombat #mk1 #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat1 #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat x you #mk x reader #mk x you #mk fanfic #bi han x you #bi han x reader #bi han mk #bi han sub zero #bi han mortal kombat #bi han #sub zero x you #sub zero x reader #sub zero #headcanon

[nichuuu]

Scatterbrain

Word count: 18k+

They say it takes a village to raise a child. 

To raise a girl as fine as Jang Wonyoung, you’d probably need 3 whole villages.

Two of those three villages would be used to train the way she walks because it’s perfect: classy, poised, elegant. The other one would have to work on her outfits because god would she need those. Hopefully the village doesn’t operate a Shein style manufacturing line. She’d hate that.

Her face is the definition of “striking the gene pool lottery”, and so is the rest of her body. Lanky arms and legs; toned, slim tummy; big, bright eyes that glimmer under the flashing lights. Personally, you like her “you’re on camera” smile the most. She knows this, and she always makes it a point to shoot it your way as she struts towards you. She stops half way to get a flute of Champagne, make that two actually, then grabs another. Those long legs can cover one hell of a distance, and they bring her right to you in a matter of seconds.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she hands you the Champagne flute in her left hand, and the rings on it shine in the light, “cause it’s starting to feel like you’re just stalking me now.”

Of course, it’s the snarky remarks that open the conversation. Jang Wonyoung, airheaded as ever m’lady, and you sip on the Bubbly that she’s very nicely delivered to you. Wonyoung is, of course, a little bit of an airhead in your books (only because she believes that you’re always there for her, nothing else), and it’s never not hilarious to watch her draw her lips into a thin line. It’s not the first time she’s hearing this from you; it certainly won’t be the last. You can’t control where you’re posted to, but you know for a fact that you’ll see her again a couple months down the road.

Cause your meetings with Jang Wonyoung are through pure serendipity really, and you certainly will start calling it that after you read that one story. You know: the one where this guy cheats on his idol girlfriend, who he has a tense relationship with, with another idol that he happens to meet just about everywhere. There’s 0 communication between the two of you when these types of events come around, and neither of you know if either of you will be there or not. Actually, it’s just you really; neither of you know if you will be there. 

“Here for Kwon Eunbi again? Or are you finding someone else?” This question of her’s is customary at this point. Never once has it been perfunctory.

“Well, I was actually here to try and catch an interview with Jo Yuri, but I guess you’ll do,” you reply. Wonyoung scoffs—so I’m second place then?—and you have to assuage her oh-so-damaged ego, “you’re making this inference on your own Princess. I never said anything remotely close to that.”

And it’s that smile on her face that makes you want to kiss her really. It’s gorgeous, it’s cute, it’s beautiful. She’s given you that damned smile so many times that you could probably draw it from memory, though you’d definitely butcher it. The dress is certainly doing it justice, and you watch it brush against the skin of her legs as she shifts her weight to the other foot. I’ve never been that good at inferences. You’re far better than me, Prince, and she’s playing with her hair: twirling and untwirling it around her finger. That ribbon atop her head… Her stylist certainly knows their stuff.

“Think I’ll win an award this year?” Her question draws you away from your thorough examination of her. You take a moment to think, and you have to say, it depends, but I think you could definitely get something in some category. She gives you this inscrutable look, and she’s chuckling to herself as she looks at the crowd and sips on her champagne. You can guess what she’s about to say next: quite the crowd today, huh? And you’d reply, “Don’t think that they’re all here for you”, and that would prompt her to shoot back with, “Then who are they here for? You?”.��

But of course, when do things ever go according to plan?

“Have you thought about my offer?” she asks, and you’re caught off guard. 

Cause here’s the history between you two: Middle school best friends, always kind of inseparable. She was the beauty queen, it girl, and she still is; you were the writer, head of the school magazine, and you’re pretty much writing for the rest of your life. Wherever you went with her, rumours followed—Are they dating? I think they’re just friends. Maybe she’s trying to be the front of the magazine?—but you never thought much of it. It was just a simple friendship to you, nothing more. 

Then the kiss she gave you in high school changed it all.

It was a party, hosted by one of your mutual friends. She kissed you, and no, it wasn’t a Spin The Bottle forfeit, nor was it a dare of any sort; it was a sincere, tender kiss in the garden—unprompted, and away from any prying eyes and soft like silk chiffon. You have to admit, the sensation had your brain mired for a minute or so. But when you came back to your senses, you kissed her right back, and things got complicated after that. 

No one knew of it; it was your little secret. Wonyoung became closer than ever, and next thing you know, she declares the two of you “exclusive” but not dating. It’s because her agency has that funky dating ban thing, and Wonyoung was desperate to find a loophole, albeit a little complex. Of course, you’re willing to stay “exclusive” with Wonyoung in secret, but you started to worry that it can’t stay this way for long after the two of you get out of high school. 

But as fate would have it, your career paths meet at the crossroads, and now you see her every other month or so. You still text her when you can, and the “exclusive” relationship has sustained. Now that she’s an adult and she’s bringing in mad bucks for the agency, she’s informed you of some changes in her contact. From there, the offer was birthed, and you have left it unchecked for the past four months or so, “grey ticked” as she liked to call it.

“You haven’t texted in a while, thought you died,” she continues, leaning on her elbows against the table. “Thank god you’re alive, huh?”

You hoped that she’d just forget about it, but she’s more of a mnemonist than you give her credit for. An award show is the last place you expected to be caught off guard by Jang Wonyoung, but she’s definitely a master of surprise. I uh… I haven’t really thought about it, is a lie you tell her and yourself. She smiles enigmatically, downs the rest of her Champagne. 

“Let’s talk about it tonight,” she touches your chest, and it’s soft like silk chiffon, “you know where to find me, Prince.”

She struts off to join the rest of her members, stops halfway to return her Champagne flute, then looks back at you over her shoulder to give you a small wave. You sip on your Champagne as the silk brushes against her skin. 

It’s a heavy breath that leaves your mouth, and it’s the rest of the Champagne that goes in.

*

302.

Gold lettering, black plaque. It’s grand, pretty elegant. Suits her well. 

Then the door opens. 

In her bathrobe, Jang Wonyoung shoots her “you’re on camera” smile. You’re earlier than expected—she lets you in—Matter of fact, I thought you might not show at all.

And it’s a must to quip back, “thought you’d be asleep by now you big baby.”

When the door closes, it’s straight to work, and here’s how that normally goes: kissing, undressing, foreplay, then finally—fucking. Not that it has to follow that order or anything, but it’s the unspoken schedule that Wonyoung’s written up. God forbid anyone goes against what the princess is comfortable with, not that you’d ever try to either way. Your voice is barely a mumble past her lips—aren’t we supposed to talk about something?—and Wonyoung’s quick to dismiss any queries, “later. There’s always time for it later”. 

So it’s the kiss that’s pulling you back into her. Her front teeth capture your bottom lip, pull, drags it back a little like she’s trying to unwrap you like a present. You hold her waist, and with gentle hands, you push her back against the wall. It’s not that you’re trying to get control or anything; you’re just attempting to give her something to work with, a place to rest as she starts to work on the buttons of your shirt. 

“Are you already naked underneath that?” you whisper, though it’s more of a drawl than a whisper. In response, she momentarily stops with your buttons to slide a section of her bathrobe away, giving you a good look at a column of her naked, milky skin. 

In short: Yes, she is very much naked under that robe.

“Don’t get distracted, my prince. Eyes up here.”

“You’re the one that made me look, princess.”

She’s evidently struggling with the last button of your shirt, and you have to let go of her for a moment to help her get it done. Then it’s off with the shirt, and she flings it against the door for convenience sake. Your belt’s next, and that’s taken care of before you can even say, let me undress you Princess. It does make her hesitate at the clasp of your trousers for a bit. Just for a bit.

“I’d like,” her fingers are moving again, and they’re awfully quick at unfastening your pants, “for you to unwrap me on the bed instead.”

How raunchy of her. Makes you want to try her on.

Your pants fall. Your hand slithers into the bathrobe. Her jaw drops. Wonyoung my darling, and your fingers have captured one of those perky breasts, the right one to be exact. How do you ever—it’s light pressure to the nipple for you; it’s mind melting for her—get away with being such a big slut? Look at you, I’m barely even squeezing here. You’d like to save that face she makes in a supercut of her other memorable faces: eyes wide, mouth agape and her chin tucked into her neck. Frame it up, take a step back, admire it. It’s the face of someone who’s pent up, the expression of a needy girl who’s been aching to get some dick. Maybe if you guys had met a little sooner, she wouldn’t be this sensitive. But now? A twist of your forefinger and thumb is all it takes to draw a cry out of her, a little more pressure is enough to rain hellfire upon her. What a crazy-hot mess she is; only god knows how to clean her up and get her sorted out.

Open mouth straight to your ear, Wonyoung lets out a breathy gasp. In your fingers, the stiff peak rolls between the pads—back, forth, back, forth: motions that make her weak in her knees. It’s with great effort that she pulls your face back to hers, captures you in her quivering lips. Elegance has long been thrown out the window by now, and it’s not going to be returning for quite some time, as if you ever need it at a time like this. She’s barely holding herself up at this point. Where did the prim proper Jang Wonyoung go? 

The answer’s in her kiss—gone, dusted, she was here just a minute ago though. She’s grasping at whatever inch of your skin she can find, and her nails are definitely gonna be leaving marks on the sides of your neck. You let out a small, wry laugh as you silently observe her behaviour, watching her implore without speaking, badger without requesting. It’s an art form really, the form of expression for the horny and desperate and bratty. When her hands grip your face and her nails sink into your cheek, you pinch a little harder and relish the pleasant vibrations that are sent into your mouth as she gasps. Her palms press into your jaw, and they’d probably crush it if you press any harder. Her feet patter against the wood as she starts to direct you to the bed. You kick off your shoes together with your pants. 

It’s definitely a sight to take in: Jang Wonyoung in a massive king size bed, a thin bathrobe being the only thing between you and that wonderful body being the bathrobe. Maybe if she wasn’t in this state she’s in, she’d gesture to you with a come hither motion, and invite you to remove the fabric from her body. Instead, she opts for a spine tingling mewl, and that’s your invitation to her body. It’s hardly an insinuation; the fact that she wants to be unwrapped like a present is undeniable, she used the word unwrap herself. The bunny knot holding the two pieces of fabric is symmetrical—has Wonyoung’s fingerprints all over it. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s watching you with a half-open mouth, maybe you’d compliment her on her efforts a little, maybe even call her “princess” a couple more times before you properly ruin her.

(But she’s already ruined, ruined by a mere bit of pressure to the nipple. What else can make her tick now?)

Her body is at your mercy and it, quite literally, jerks as you start to pull at the knot, undoing it centimetre by centimetre, millimetre by millimetre, inch by inch. You want to see how long she can watch for, how long she can witness herself be undressed in a painfully slow fashion. Needy as she is, she’s patient as she watches one end of the rope grow longer. 

Longer. 

“Do you want me to speed this up, baby?” The smirk on your face would earn you a pout from her if her nerves weren’t in a bundle at the given moment.

“W-Whatever you want,” she answers, and her voice is brimming with breathy arousal. How are you getting away with all this? She’d grab your wrist and pull by now if she wasn’t so damn needy right now.

You give a dry laugh. “Then I’ll keep at this then.”

Longer.

“Fuck. Just pull it all the way already.” She looks you right in the eye as she begs you to hurry, and now you can see the need brimming in those large, round eyes, the ones that stare back at you with soft intensity, if that’s even possible. She’s good at mixing emotions into her stare.

“I thought you said—”

“Just fucking do it!”

Slack.

And the knot comes undone, and together with it, the robe falls off to the sides of her body—it’s beautiful. Never have you taken so much pleasure in undressing her, but you sure-as-hell have taken this much time to admire that wonderful, slender frame. From your standing view over her, you get down to her level to get a better look at her. It’s all part of the game of course: the way you look her in the eye, the way you touch her jaw ever so slightly to turn it towards you. The kiss is sickly sweet, and she’s starting to taste more and more like that cherry lipstick you gave her when you saw her some time ago at another event. Into your mouth, she lets out a sonorous moan. Your fingertips brush along her skin, slither down from her collarbone to her cleavage—down to that flushed pink region between her equally flushed thighs. Almost instantly, the tip of your digits are coated in slick fluids, and you raise an eyebrow at the girl on the bed.

“I literally touched you.” It’s amusement permeating your voice more than anything. In the sheets, she squirms in the slightest, eyes locked on your fingers that rest against that dripping heat and breath caught in her throat. You know that if you were to shift your finger in the slightest, you’d trigger a chain reaction that you have no power over. Her legs would clamp, her abdomen would tense, her eyes would roll. In the midst of it all, she’d maybe scream, or maybe she’d moan; either way goes. As far as you’re concerned, she’s needy as fuck at the moment, and she’s not going to let anything stop her from cumming.

“Yea, well… I can be sensitive.” Her defence is hardly a solid one, more of a perfunctory reply. Her head’s far from able to formulate a quip to throw back at you; that ability went out the window together with classy Wonyoung. “Put them in.”

You go against her request, and your fingers start to skirt the edges of that swollen, pink slit of hers. A crime—you’re going against the princess’ wishes, but realistically speaking: she can hardly be called a princess at the moment, so why comply? 

A portion of the bathrobe is still clinging on to her breast. You use your other hand to push it away, and the split second of contact makes her flinch. “Jesus. You’re so fucking turned-on right now,” you can’t help but muse, all while your fingers retrace te outline of her swollen lips. She’s shivering, she isn’t breathing quite right. “Do you want to moan, baby? Do you want to moan like a good little slut for me?”

And she fixes you with a glare. “F-Fuck you… Put them in.”

No “please” this time. Shame. If she were more polite, you would’ve obliged; now you’ll just have some more fun with her. 

Your thumb finds the swollen nub, and a little brush is all you need to get her straining like a psycho in a straitjacket. What will I ever do with you Wonyoung?—and she’s getting wetter by the second—You look so pretty when you’re so needy, you know that?—why would you ever, for a second, think that she’d be as refined as the last time? She doesn’t play with herself when she needs to get off; she waits till she sees you again to get off on your cock, your fingers, your mouth. Sexting was off the table, she wants you to be physically there, driving her insane as she lets herself come undone. 

“You know,” and you’re almost laughing as you watch her face twist even further, “that I could do this forever right? I could just lie here, tease you for as long as I want… Or maybe that’s what you want?

She’s messy, so fucking messy. Juices are starting to soak the bed—you can feel it as your fingertips round the bottom of her slit. Housekeeping would certainly question the spot, and the two of you wouldn’t be there to reply anyway. Her cheeks are flushed, the veins of her throat are popping. It takes a considerable amount of effort to stay this composed, but you know that she’s breaking more and more. With each round your fingers make, cracks start to form along that perfectly sculpted face. The fine lines on her forehead begin to show as her brows start to furrow. Strained sounds are coming from her throat as the urge to moan is slowly winning the battle against her will. She wants control, but she can’t have it when she’s a wet, hot mess next to you. She’s being bratty for the sake of it. Your fingers are your leverage against her. It’s killing her. It’s delighting you.

And just like fine China thrown against concrete, her will shatters. 

“Please! Put them in!”

And your fingers stop just at the top of her pussy. It feels like a long minute, but she isn't about to take another second of this. Her thighs clamp against your arm. Her fingers wrap around your wrist in desperation. She begs again. And again. And again. And again, again, again. The bed starts to creak as you start to move your fingers down her lips, down to the very end of her cunt.

God is she dripping.

“Will you moan for me?” you drawl huskily. A finger, two, three rest themselves against her heat. 

“Yes.” There’s barely any of her original self left in there. “Please just—”

The fingers breach her opening. She screams, a high-pitched, keening cry. The noise makes your cock strain in your boxers, and you have to grit your teeth as her inner walls wrap tightly around your intruding digits. A moment of stillness comes, a moment where she’s just breathing raggedly, struggling to process this pleasure that’s racking her body faster than she can comprehend. She’s a ticking time bomb of nerves; the slightest movement in this state could send her into perdition, and she’ll barrel past that point of no return faster than both of you can imagine. God, she’s sensitive. God, she’s a mess. 

The chuckle that departs from your mouth is one of perverse pleasure. “Baby,” you whisper, right into her ear as she struggles to catch her breath. She squeezes her eyes shut, and you watch with a grin as her chest rises and falls. The grip on your wrist is a vice, knuckle-white and unrelenting. She’s begging you, with her eyes, to start moving, and you have to tell her, “I can’t start till you let go of me, baby.”

And it’s with reluctance that she slips her hand off your wrist, but that hand won’t stay empty for long. You guide it to her own breast, and with a soft whisper, you tell her to squeeze. She’s servile. She complies without protest. Her eyes slowly open themselves, and you relish the way they’re lust-glazed appearance looks under warm light while her breaths level themselves out. For a moment, there’s calm. For a moment, it’s tender.

Then your fingers start to move. All hell breaks loose.

Everything she did to calm herself quickly becomes futile; it becomes undone as her back arches in a way that catches your breath in your throat. Your fingers graze her walls, pressed into each other as they slowly draw in and out of her. And mind you: you’re going slow, slow enough to make her feel every bit of your fingers brush against her insides. But it’s enough to make her curse, enough to get her mewling like a damn kitten while her hips start to rock, rubbing her clit against the base of your palm. There’s no way to describe how needy she looks; her want is beyond words, and you’ve barely even started. Three fingers is the most you’ve ever put inside her. Clearly, it’s working wonders for her.

And now you yourself have to admit: you’ve wanted her for some time now. Since the last time you saw her, you’ve fantasised about that slim tummy twitching, about holding that snatched waist once more, about those long legs wrapped around your neck while your tongue and fingers turn her into a pliant plaything. For weeks, you’ve wanted nothing more than pulling Jang Wonyoung apart, reduce her into a withering mess wherever you guys are and get her screaming till she’s sore. You can’t even begin to describe what you’ve done with her in your dreams, nor can you ever convey how it feels to desire her as much as you have. So, you put all of it into action, sordid sentiments channelled into your fingers that are making those cute features twist and contort in perverse pleasure. She’s rambunctious, and her juices are quite literally soaking your hand, spilling the strongest sillage of lust all over the bed. 

“Why do you always have to be so fucking messy?” You’re really just trying to see how much you can get away with at this point, though the answer seems to be: just about everything. Your fingers start moving faster. You love the way her cheeks are starting to flush even more. “Are you always this wet? Or is it just for me?”

The squelching is lewder than you can ever imagine. The sound of her slick, wet heat being breached by your fingers is enthralling. Add the sounds she’s making into that and you have the ultimate erotica audio that can bless mankind. She’s panting, she’s moaning, she’s whining—she’s doing it all really, and you’re just using your fingers. God knows how she’ll react once you’re inside of her, rock hard meat stretching her out instead of a few fingers fiddling around in warm walls. 

But hey, the sounds she’s making are ever so erotic, and she’s definitely making your blood flow to all the right places. She feels out of place; you can’t put your finger on what’s wrong in this whole thing. It’s probably a small detail, something you’d overlook over the sight of her chest heaving as air shoots out and gets sucked back into her mouth, her whole body straining and convulsing against the bed while you get a thumb on her clit and rub at a languid tempo. Probably something miniscule, not worth mentioning because all your attention is focused on the look on her face (you want to mess up the makeup so badly it’s almost frustrating). And no, you’re not trying to make her cum in five seconds; she’s just really riled up—bundle of nerves and trigger happy. Probably hasn’t been treated this way in a while, probably hasn’t had three fingers twisting around, sliding in and out of that tight wet hole slow enough to make her feel every bit of skin against her walls; fast enough to make her combust if you were to speed up, in, like, forever. 

“I–I…” She’s quite literally mewling, and the sharpness in her voice is so cutting that it makes an incision in a bag inside you that’s keeping all the perverse thoughts at bay. The thoughts are leaking out now, and it’s almost impossible to stuff them back in. You want her against the glass: tits against the window and ass in your hands while you pump and pump and pump into that slick tight hole; you want nothing more but to pick her up and have her lock her legs around you, tight frame flushed against you while you nail her against one of these walls that surround you; you want to unhinge that jaw and watch that pretty mouth—now parted to let the stream of moans flow—take your cock in and out between those kiss-swollen lips and watch the drool leak out the corners of her mouth. Shit. It’s killing you. Jang Wonyoung, dolled up. She’s killing you. 

(No way in hell are thighs meant to be this hot, and lips are not  supposed to look this delicious. Yet Jang Wonyoung somehow goes against every fucking norm, fights it naturally and effortlessly and wins like a seasoned warrior. So just for her case: her thighs can be this hot and flushed, and her lips can look this fucking appetising. You kiss her; it’s sloppy, it’s lewd, it’s hot and everything in between. Mark her neck, mark that row of skin above her right collarbone, mark her everywhere. Cusses are flying—god forbid her agency finds out about the things hse says while she’s getting fingered. She's making a mess out of herself. She’s making a mess out of you.

Fingers, just fingers and she’s already looking like this: hair fanned out, frazzled, looking like she just went through a car wash and yet somehow has her make-up intact. Fuck. You want to watch the mascara run, watch it streak while she tears up as she’s choking down cum and she’s struggling to take in air. Pretty little princess, messy and glacially being turned into some improper slut. It’s hard to not smirk while you ruin her with the same fingers you use to type articles about her—fingers that sing praises and can also make her moan enough to make her throat hoarse.)

The rhythm of your hand makes her body roll. Her toes–painted over, fresh manicure—curl into the sheets. Doe-like eyes stare back at you, plump red lips part to gasp your name, throat muscles strain trying to  curse and moan at the same time. The fingers are gliding in and out and in and out and she’s begging you to not stop (like hell you ever would) in those choke up little sobs while she’s—

Oh fuck baby I can’t I can’t I can’t — Anything. I’ll do anything. Please just let me cum. I’m so fucking close baby. Please just let me fucking cum. I’ll be a good girl. I-I promise I’ll be a good fucking girl for you just… Fuck!

—blue screening on your fingers: lost in the sauce or whatever. Pliant plaything, docile doll. You’re certain she hasn’t gotten off in at least a month if the way she’s taking it is any sort of yardstick. She’s far beyond drenched, far beyond salvation and way off the deep end of the “needy” pool—drowning herself in her own sea of sighs and gasps and moans and loose phonics that slip out of her mouth. Ostinato of your fingers squelching in her cunt; half time rhythm of the creaky bed; melody of the chorus of Jang Wonyoung’s voice—music to your ears.

And there’s lots to unpack from the moment you locate that soft spot at the top of her pussy. There’s a lot of cussing, a lot of jolting, a fair amount of whining and your name is thrown somewhere in that mix. You find her lips, she kisses back, one of her hands grabs your arm, nails dig in and stay there. Flurry of actions, filthy language—fucking hell, someone stop her.

Bottom line: lots of action. You find it congenial to start from the part where it quite literally ends her world. Once your digits curled up into that sensitive patch of flesh, it was all over for her.

You can pinpoint the exact moment where the orgasm rips through her body, the exact moment where her muscles seized so perfectly that her back arches. The pulse around your fingers is strong, walls tight around your digits and your thumb gently rubbing on her clit while the pleasure rolls through her body, molten iron libido converting the feeling between her thighs to electricity that makes her short circuit. The moan is breathy if anyone’s asking, and the look on her face—twisted, perverse satisfaction: superimposing need and want—has a whole foot over the line of pornographic. Wires are fraying in her head, her vocal cords are strained, she’s ruining the sheets with her juices; you’re complicit in every damn part of this, and guilt is the last thing on your mind.

Then her back falls back flat against the mattress, and the sheets ripple as her body makes a dense thump against the bed, punctuating the sigh she releases into the air. Nerves are unbundling themselves. She’s sweaty and panting. Your fingers are beyond soaked.

“Messy,” you muse, slowly drawing your juice slicked fingers out of her cunt. You bring them to her mouth. She languidly tastes herself, sweat-darkened sheets hugging the muscles of her shoulders and lining her ribs. She looks so tiny in the bed if you looked over the fact that her legs were dangling over the edge of the mattress, and that’s easy to do once you lean in for a kiss.

(It’s not hard to slip your tongue into her mouth, and there’s barely any fight left in her as you roll her nipple between your index finger and thumb. The sweat-matted hair sticking to her forehead adds a nice touch to her face.)

“Such a good girl.” Your tone is warm as you praise her, and a hand moves to cup her cheek in an act of tenderness. Her eyelids flutter shut. She puts the weight of her face into your palm. 

“Do I get my reward now?” she whispers, and it’s more of a plea than a question really. You take a moment, not to think, but to drag out the suspense for a little more before you give her an answer. You take guilty pleasure in knowing that you could keep her on tenterhooks for the whole night—the only thing stopping you is the throbbing of your cock in your boxers and the look of sheer need on her face. If you could: you’d drag this out a little longer, maybe tease her a little and call her more names. You still could do that, but you’d much rather fuck her instead. 

“Where do you want it?” your thumbs hook into the waistband of your boxers and hook them down. Your cock springs free from its cottons confines, and Wonyoung’s eyes instantly dart to it. She may be a little obsessed with your cock, but only a little when she’s depraved (which is right now). Before you can even react, she has your shaft in her hand, lanky fingers wrapped around it and pumping it with considerate strokes. 

“I want a big load in my ass.” she requests, far from innocent and banking more towards improper, which seems to be a pretty big theme of hers tonight. “I’ve been wanting to feel daddy’s  hot load leaking out of my ass for a long time…” The strokes delivered to your length grow firmer and firmer by the second. “Please?”

The spikes of pleasure her small hand delivers to your system is really making it hard to say no at the given moment. Of course, she’s well aware of it, and she’s definitely feeling so damn smug right now. And so with a very clouded mind, you nod. She smiles smugly, unaware that you’re about to fuck that smug little smirk rig of her pretty face. Conveniently, she’s already on her back—it’ll make the process so much easier. 

“I take it that the lube is in your bag?” You raise. She grins and nods. 

Sure enough, you find it in the exact same place as it usually is: side pocket, right next to her lipstick. You toss it towards her and move around her, slip her ankles over her shoulders. She lies still, unmoving and obedient as her left calf goes past her head, then her right. You lean forward, and she gasps as she's almost bent her completely in half. She’s flexible; this position won’t bring any harm to her, but it is congenial to ruin her asshole and leave her sore for the next day or so, which is exactly what she wants, but probably not how she imagined herself getting it. She cracks open the lube, and with precision, squirts a generous amount of it on the tight ring of her ass, making eye contact with you all the while as the clear liquid gathers at the puckered ring of muscle. The tube is discarded to a side when she’s done, and she uses her hands to spread her asscheeks for you, inviting you to take your liberties with her hole.

“Come on Daddy,” she urges you. “Come fuck this ass,” she continues, her hands spreading her ass cheeks even wider as you start to line yourself up with the tight ring. “Wreck this fucking hole Daddy, I can fucking take it.”

To hear her say those words was almost enough to have you cum right there and then. You press the tip of your cock at the open, gaping hole of her ass, swirling it around the entrance, collecting more of the copious amounts of lube around it. She was generous with the amount of lube she dispensed; you're about to be generous with the strokes you're gonna make inside that ass.

(She yelps when you slide inside her ass. God does it feel so fucking divine.)

She is so tight and wet and hot that you think you could’ve cum with your first thrust inside her. Her pussy was tight and hot, but her ass was even tighter and even hotter. Even though your cock was slick with lube, it did close to nothing to keep the sheer tightness of her asshole from clenching around you like it was a really small glove. It wasn’t the first time you’ve been inside her ass, but it sure as hell felt like a novelty every single time you entered that tight ring of muscle. Fuck. The heat, the tightness—sublime. You think you could cum in a matter of seconds if you didn’t have self control.

“Go!’ she hisses, through the pain and discomfort. “Fuck me. Fuck my ass!”

You would have been happy to stay there, buried balls deep in Wonyoung’s ass, but her own words goad you into moving—slowly at first, but with a steadily increasing pace, you begin to fuck Wonyoung’s ass with long, slow strokes. She hisses—part glee, part discomfort—as your shaft starts to pump itself in and out of her ass. You draw yourself out till only the base of you tip remains inside of her, and then you thrust back in, hard, hard enough to make her yelp out in pained pleasure while she grits her teeth and watches your rock hard shaft fill her ass. It's a perverse show for her, and it brings you a sort of dark satisfaction in knowing that past all that discomfort she’s feeling, she loves the way your cock stretches her out and fills her defenceless little hole. 

With her ankles over your shoulders, you’re practically spearing yourself vertically into her ass, fucking her deep and making her feel every inch of your throbbing meat inside of that hot, tight hole. Every penetration is punctuated by a deep, guttural groan from Wonyoung, sometimes a curse, or something along the lines of: fuck. So fucking full. You know for a fact that the pained sounds you hear now will turn into airy gaps of pleasure once she gets used to the discomfort, and that she’d probably be a mewling mess by the time you reach the stage where she can take you in and out of her ass with only pleasure in her system and no pain. For now, you’ll settle with the pace you have—slow, long strokes in and out of her ass while she squeezes her eyes to block out all sensations distracting her from enjoying the sensation of her ass being filled with cock. You have to admit that she’s doing a great job at it, and your praise vocalises itself in the rather harsh form of, “what a good little slut.” 

(And here’s something interesting you noted: never once in this whole thing did she ask you to stop, nor did you ever think about stopping to let her adjust. If this was anyone else, you would have given them a moment to breathe upon entering, and you certainly would be checking on their wellbeing throughout it all. 

Thing is—the two of you know her too well to know that you could only dream of stopping once you got started with her, and it could only end in two ways. 1) You cum in her. 2) You cum on her. Edge her and you’ll never get the end of it, you would know. The last time you pulled a stunt on her like that, she left you tied to a chair with a vibrator taped to your cock till you were begging and a cummy mess. It wasn’t pretty. She could dominate if she wanted to, but she preferred to be a manipulative brat instead.)

It’s not long before she’s desensitised to the pain, and your slow pace is not enough, no, not for Wonyoung. Next thing you know it, she hissing for you to go faster, fuck her harder—I told you to fuck my ass Daddy. Don’t hold back on me now—and deeper. She swears, all three languages that she knew strung together shabbily like they were put together on some shitty production line and thrown out at random—and while you made little sense of the sounds coming out of her filthy mouth you knew what they meant.

Harder. Faster. Rougher.

Then you fuck her ass. Hard and fast.

You almost surprised yourself with the liberties you were taking, drilling in and out of her butt with the same speed and depth that you would use with her mouth and pussy.

“Yes!” she shouts—a loud, full shout. “Yes! Fuck me like this! Pound me, fuck me until you cum in my slutty little ass!”

You grunt in reply, because it was all you could do. The faculties of human language have long since abandoned your grasp and ability, and nothing else exists in your mind except the thought of filling her tight, hothole with warm, white semen. Her eyes lock with yours and you only find that they’re full of need, nothing else (not like she’s capable of displaying any other emotion at the moment). The rest of you, every fibre of your being, was focused on pounding Wonyoung’s tight little hole as hard and fast as you possibly could. Her ankles bounce helplessly behind your head, her knees press into her shoulders and her breath is ragged; sweat drips off your forehead and onto her tits, and your hot breath mixes with hers as you struggle to keep yourself propped up with your arms.

In short: the two of you are sweaty and messy (one more so than the other. Take a pick, not sure if there’s a prize for guessing right), victims of lust and slaves to pleasure. You blame Wonyoung just because you can.

For a few delicious moments, there is absolutely nothing in the world aside from the tight hot sheath of flesh around your cock, the warm flesh of her legs against your shoulders and the strands of sweat-slick hair that fly just about everywhere, all topped with the lewd, filthy, obscene words spilling from Wonyoung’s mouth. For a few delicious moments, she feels nothing but the feeling of her tight hole being stretched and used by the cock that turns her face into a wrought outlet of pleasure while she lets filthy words and exclamations spill from her lips. 

Try as you might, you couldn’t have it last forever. Not when you were already so turned on from watching her writhe and twitch under your fingers. Not when the sheer, pure pleasure overwhelming you was more than enough to cause you to cum at any moment.

And when she orgasms for the second time, her ass tightening exponentially around you—there is little you or anyone else could have done to stop the inevitable.

“I’m gonna cum in your ass, Wonyoung,” you hiss through gritted teeth, your lust and pleasure-addled brain on the edge of losing all comprehension.

“Cum with me! Fill me!” 

And so you do it, burying yourself hilt deep inside the quivering woman’s asshole before filling it with the last of your cum, giving her every last drop you had left in your body, leaving rope after rope inside her sore, well-used, cum-filled asshole. You almost black out, and you quite literally have to dig your nails into the sheets while Wonyoung’s own orgasm takes over her body, making her twitch and her ass contract—milking every last bit of cum from your throbbing, twitching length till it was nothing but a dry, hard rod inside of her creamy asshole. 

There’s silence that is punctuated by both of your ragged breaths. She looks at you, you look at her. And the two of you can’t help but chuckle at the mess you’ve made of each other. You want to remember the way her nose wrinkles as she teases you, “you fucking animal”, and you want, so badly, to burn the image of a sweaty, weary Jang Wonyoung, folded in half beneath you like she was a piece of origami paper, panting and gasping as a fresh load of cum spills out of her ass. 

It takes energy, but you bend down and kiss her, letting her sweaty calves slide off your equally sweaty shoulders as you do. She’s satisfied, for now, and she pulls you down next to her on the hotel bed with one hand and gathers the cum leaking out of her ass with the other. 

“Look at this,” she whispers, and your eyes train themselves on the pearlescent, sticky, slimy, fluids that run down from her fingertips slowly. “You made such a big mess inside my ass,” she chides before bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking your cum right off her fingers like it’s a delicacy. “Now I have to clean all of this up. You’re lucky I like the way your cum tastes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Um… Ew?”

Wonyoung smirks and gently nudges you with her left foot.

“It’s okay,” she tells you, all smug and everything. “I know you love the way I taste too.”

* In the dark, her small hand creeps around your torso and grasps yours. 

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” She’s whispering right into your ear, and it’s a sensation you want to be able to hold on to for the rest of your life. “I know your eyes are open.” The feel of her small fingers rolling the knuckle of your index finger sticks itself in your head like a post-it. “ I can hear and feel you tossing, you know?”

Okay. No dodging. 

The sheets stay still as your shoulders turn. You roll over, face her, and you really just want to capture the way the night lights paint her face: doe-like eyes reflecting glimmering pools of moonlight, warm yellow light painting her cute-yet-so-fucking-gorgeous face in a manner that not even Van Goh could copy, lips parted slightly as if in mid speak. She’s right there—you can kiss her if you really want to.

“Are you still mad at me?” She asks, tender with her tone. “I know that I fucked up, okay?” You can tell that she’s not even trying to look pitiful at the moment, but the way her face is sculpted really makes you want to just hold her to your chest and stroke her hair. Sincere are her words—heart heaved into her mouth. “I don’t blame you if you’re still mad. It’s your right. But… Just hear me out? Please?”

If you were mad, you wouldn’t have let her hold your hand the way she was now. If you were mad, you would’ve pretended to be fast asleep; ignore her pleas and just close your eyes and fall asleep. Alas, you can never stay mad at her for too long.

“I was… Never really angry, Wony.” Your tone is a lot softer than you would ever expect, but you know it’s because you probably needed this talk more than she did. “I... I’m sorry if it came across that way.”

And she studies you for a moment, lets the sound of your breathing fill the space as she furls her upper lip into her front teeth, and it’s a perfect moment for you to try and understand what’s happening in her head. She’s a complex creature really; understanding her is like finding a meaning that everyone can agree on when you look at abstract art.

Down below, you can still hear the cars moving through the street. Billboards and screens are still on, and from the window in your bedroom, multi-coloured lights filter into the room past the blinds like moonlight through bamboo leaves. The sheets you lie in are fresh, and they feel nice and smooth against your skin, and they smell like roses. The mattress creaks a little as Wonyoung shifts her weight, and you have to admit that you’re half-drunk on the scent of her shampoo. 

“You must have been scared,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I got really emotional. I… I shouldn’t have walked out. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know how to reply to that. Not now at least. Maybe it’ll come to you the next morning.

You give her a sweet smile. You hug her to your chest. You want to remember how she feels in your arms.

*

The gentle trickle of water down the arch of her spine is really something—a steady stream flowing down her back, running over the muscles of her shoulders, the curve of her breasts and fraying at her plump ass. You can’t remember the last time you showered with her, but you certainly remember the view being this good. 

In the shower of room 302, Jang Wonyoung lets the warm water hit her skin from the rain shower nozzle. Her hair—wet and freshly shampooed (and conditioned)—sticks to her back. Creamy skin glistens, small beads of water affix themselves to random parts of her body, stay there for one or two seconds, then roll down in streaks, almost as if they too were admiring Wonyoung’s well-sculpted figure.

Slim fingers grasp locks of hair. She lifts and looks over her shoulder, the whisper of a grin on her face as she shoots a beckoning wink. “Are you gonna help me soap my back? Or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?”

“Don’t you have to, like, turn off the water first?” you ask, and you already know what she’s gonna say, but you just want to hear her say it. For memory sake.

“Mmmm.” Her humming as she ‘ponders’ reverberates in the shower, floating over the sound of water from the shower head falling to the floor like rain. “No… Adds to the atmosphere, don’t you think?” 

Ah. There we go.

“Then could you at least step back?” you request. This shower is comically huge—long length, breadth about the same length as your arm span. In the space, she looks so tiny, but you know for a fact that she could probably walk to the other end of the shower in a stride. You’re not one to disregard the facts, but you do like to live with a bit of imagination.

Wonyoung chuckles, low and sonorous. She pushes her hair over her shoulder, then—painfully slowly—walks back till she’s out of the stream of water. Water wastage is the last thing on her mind. She stops when she feels your hands on her back, and she looks over her shoulder, expectant. You move your hands and the soap lathers as it’s spread. You start from the centre of her back, rubbing gently in the section where the muscles of her shoulders meet and working your way outwards and upward to her shoulders. Then it’s down from there, your palms moving in small circles and covering every inch of skin.

“You’re good at this,” she mutters, watching with intent as your hands start to trail to her lower back. “Maybe you should’ve been a masseuse instead of a writer.”

“Uh… Patronising much?” You chuckle, watching as her back muscles twitch a little when you apply gentle pressure. “The pay’s about the same,” the soap makes patterns across the area above her ass—spirals of foam that stick to her skin like styrofoam flowers. “The hours are probably the same… But I don’t think I can live on rubbing someone’s back really hard. I Think I’ll just save this service for you, but only for when we meet.”

Humored, Wonyoung offers a giggle, high pitched and cutting above the sound of water striking the floor tiles. She shifts her weight to her right foot, making her body slant a little. Her skin is soft under your palms. Your hands are going lower and lower, slowly spiralling towards the curve of her ass that’s literally just a centimetre away.

“You know…If you take up my offer, you can do this for me everyday.”

Your hands slow to a stop. You raise your head a little to find her searching for your gaze over her shoulder. “Oh?”

“Yea.” Her voice is low, like a mother trying to persuade her child to eat their vegetables. “Every night, we can be like this: you soaping my back, us chatting… Doesn’t it sound wonderful?”

Your lip furls behind your front teeth. “Yea… It really does.”

And in her gaze, you sense her sensing your apprehension. “What’s stopping you from taking it up then?”

(For context, here’s the deal proposed by her company: the two of you go public with the relationship, get clout for the company, and Starship will let you lead your lives together—no qualms, no disturbances. She can visit you whenever, live with you, appear outside together with you like it’s a regular Tuesday night; you get to date the girl you fell in love with all those years ago for real. Only issue: once you get the last stroke of your signature out on the contract, you practically agree to blurring the line between your private and public life. Press will be all over you like ants after you step on their nest, you probably won’t get to enjoy a cup of coffee in peace, everyone will suddenly want to curry favours with you… Was it worth the sacrifice?)

You find it hard to meet her eyes, and so your gaze affixes itself on your hands. It’s not like you don’t love her or anything, but your apprehension makes you feel like shit. It shouldn’t be this hard to say yes, yet the idea of selling your life of privacy to live a life with her makes you screech to a halt at the crossroads. Sometimes (in these moments), you wished that you didn’t always make decisions with your head and your heart. 

As the shower continues to run, Wonyoung slowly turns around. One hand finds yours, the other gently takes you by the chin and raises your eyes up to her. She’s tall, and the two of you are staring eye to eye; same height, different trains of thought.

The hand on yours guides you to her breast. Eyes locked with yours, she lays your palm flat against her tit. The skin beneath your fingers is slippery, but it doesn’t remove any of the familiarity from the sensation. Then she squeezes, and the flesh spills out between your fingers like putty. She gasps—airy. 

“Don’t you want me?” She whispers, and it’s raunchy more than anything. It isn’t aggressive, but it’s certainly blurring the line between demanding and caring. “Don’t you want to be able to fuck this pretty little pussy every night?”

She’s really far from home base. “Wony…”

“Don’t you love owning me?” She’s squeezing harder. Her knee twitches. Sopa’s spilling out of your fingers. You’re certain that you’re gonna mark her. She doesn’t care. “Don’t you want me all over you? Every night?”

“It’s not that Wonyoung.”

“Then what’s on your mind?” She’s not prodding for an answer, nor is she trying to demand a reason for your silence. She wants to understand you, to internalise what’s going on inside your head. You have no reason to lie.

“Will it all really be okay?” you ask sincerely. “My family, my life… Will… Will it all really be…”

She understands where you’re coming from (if the relieving of pressure around her own breast is any indication), and she’s starting to tune herself to the frequency of your worries. “If you’re wondering if you’re gonna be harassed—you won’t.”

“Yea but—”

“I promise you: I will do everything I can to make sure that you will be safe. You and your family–if so much as a finger is laid on any of you, I will quit.”

“Wonyo—”

“No one will intrude on you. You won’t have to live with the flashing lights. I give you my word: I will make sure that everyone who wants to invade your privacy will leave you alone. You and your family will all be left alone.”

If it’s possible for sincerity to ring clear, Jang Wonyoung has absolutely made it happen. Sweet like honey; she’s left you feeling like you had a spoonful of it. And just for good measure, she steps closer and repeats once more: “I promise.”

Considering that your hand was at the left side of her chest, this was really a “I swear. Hand to my heart” type of deal (whether it’s intended or not is purely up to your discretion). 

And as you gaze into those eyes, you want to remember the way she gazes at you softly, gently, tenderly. If it weren’t for your hand on her tit, you would’ve considered this one of the more tender moments you’ve shared with her. Not that it’s not or anything… Just that it’s a little hard to call this a loving moment when you can literally feel her nipple poking into the flesh of your palm at all times of the conversation.

“Are you sure you won’t land yourself in trouble?” you ask her, and she’s quick to scoff.

“Of course. I make too much fucking money fo those higher up fuckers to not listen to me,” she reminds you. 

Well… Then that settles about everything then.

“Okay,” you tell her. “Okay… I’ll do it.”

The corners of her lips play up in a smile. She leans in, kisses you—no tongue, closed mouth—and lets the hand keeping yours at her breast fall. Long arms wrap around your waist and she pulls you close, flushing her tight frame against your body. When lips part, she whispers a soft I love you, a sparkle in eyes that lingered for a moment.

But only for a moment.

Then—without you noticing—her hand snakes down and grips your rapidly hardening shaft, and she squeezes. This time, the line between demanding and caring is clear as day, and she’s chosen to play her ball to the court of demanding. With a gleam in her eye, she begins stroking with her closed fist, and she pumps your stiff length at a slow but steady rhythm, adding an occasional twisting motion to her wrist, corkscrewing her fingers around your cock, increasing the pleasurable shocks she was sending through your system with each pump of her hand. It was almost like she wasn’t the sweetest, loving girl in the whole world just two seconds ago.

“Jesus fucking…” You can’t even finish your sentence. Your teeth grit. Your fists clench. It’s hard to breathe. “Maybe… A little bit of a heads up next time?”

She smirks proudly, watching as you tilt your head back and let out a groan. “Where’s the fun in that?” And gently, she pushes against your chest, guides you to the wall. When your back presses against the cool tile, she presses herself against you. She leans in, hot breath on your skin, and then the feeling of her lips against your jaw almost makes you yelp. She kisses a path down your jaw, paves a way towards your neck to get cheeky: sucking, nibbling, licking the skin of your neck while she keeps the movement of her hands slow and considerate. The shower continues to run.

Do you know—she breaks contact with your skin for just a second—how fucking horny—her breath’s tickling your ear, sending shivers down your spine—you make me?—and she squeezes a little harder around your shaft, not enough for it to hurt, but enough to feel you throb in your hand and make you gulp a little. She starts going faster—jerking, fucking pumping your length in her closed fist, and it’s almost impossible to keep your eyes open; your eyelids flutter shut. Your head rests against the wall, a sigh slipping past your lips. It’s filthy really—down from the way she catches you off guard to the way she makes your skin sore after she’s done feasting. Almost every interaction with her in a private space is as X-rated as this; it’s hard not to get into a situation like this around her. You know: a situation where the two of you are naked and getting really touchy and actively trying to get each other as many times as humanly possible. 

“Fuck yes baby…” you rasp, your nails starting to eat into your palms as she the sound of her hand sliding up and down your dick starts to cut above the steady stream of water. With each rise of her hand, the pad of her thumb plays with the head of your member, and when it sinks down, she twists her wrist in a screwing motion. Rinse and repeat; up and down and up and down and fuck. “You’re so fucking good at this.”

She hums in reply, and she has your earlobe between her teeth the next second, nicking you mischievously, sending small pricks of pain shooting through your system as she adjusts her grip on your cock without ever breaking her motion. Next thing you know, your tongue is inside your ear, and she’s leaning in so close that when you open your eyes, you’re practically looking over her shoulder, looking down the curve of her back that glistens with moisture and soap bubbles.

“I love this cock so fucking much,” she whispers, a bit of a hiss in her words as she takes the head of your cock between her forefinger and thumb and pinches lightly. “It stretches me out when I need it.” her fingers start to trail down your slipper shaft, letting the smoothness of her palm rub against your whole length, “fills me when I want it.” She’s milking the precum out of you, making you all leaky and squirmy as she starts pumping faster. “And it’s so fucking big that I can choke on it. You know how much I love being choked.”

She chooses that last bit to make eye contact with you, and she’s practically served you what she wants next on a silver platter. The next move is clear cut and simple; no words need be spoken. You were going to fuck her—and you mean properly fuck her—with a hand wrapped around that small throat. How you were gonna do it was still a mystery, but you figured that it’d slowly come to you, but it will definitely be related to the mirror and the sink outside and the mirror in front of it. At once, you reach over to the handle of the shower, and you turn it down to the handheld showerhead mode. Wonyoung bites her bottom lip, perverse glee painted all over her face as you use it to wash the soap off her back. She’s watching, waiting, probably drenched down there and aching to be stuffed full of cock.

She’s almost shaking with excitement as you finish washing all the soap off her body. You’d hardly consider her clean, but it won’t hurt to hop back into the shower again once you're done with her. The shower door swings open and you’re cupping her pussy, dripping wet while stumbling out with her, lips locked on hers and her hand on your cock as you push her against the sink of her hotel room. From the moment her mouth opens and let the moans pour out while you rub her clit to the moment her hand leaves your cock to cradle your face, she’s practically radiating need from the pores of her skin. You can’t help but playfully remark, “you’re such a fucking loser”, while your thumb thumps against her clit and sends pleasure tearing through her system. Weak in the knees, she holds on to you for support.

And the moans (those fucking hair-raising moans), they tumble out of those plump lips like marbles down a ramp, and they mix with the sound of your lips smacking against her skin as you start to leave a trail of kisses down her neck, doing to her what she did to you in the shower; you give her a taste of her own medicine, and the way she’s titling her head back to let you mark her freely makes it almost seem as if it’s the intended outcome of her actions. It’s like she knew that you would get back at her, and it wouldn’t come as a surprise if you ever find out that she gets off on knowing that she can manipulate you in her own bratty ways—get you wrapped around her finger and have you doing all the things she wants you to do without having to tell you. Not that you have something to gripe about it, but you’re just so amused (and that’s just one word to describe how you feel) by how she goes about her ways.

“Come on,” she manages to whisper, all while you’re busy sucking on the skin just below her collarbone till it’s sore. She has a lot of pride in her voice for someone who’s quite literally quivering. “You know you want to fuck me. Give me a good creampie again.” 

You lift your head for a moment, and you take in the look of almost childlike excitement on her face as your hand finds its way to her throat. It’s perverse excitement, that lewd exhilaration of knowing that she was about to get what she wanted, and albeit a little messed up, it was pretty hot in its own way. When your fingers gently wrap themselves around her throat, you can feel every muscle in her body tense in anticipation, as if she didn’t get enough from the bedroom earlier.

“Up on the counter baby. Let me see how messy you are down there,” you whisper.

She knows what to do, and she has herself propped up on the counter and engaged in open mouth kissing. She doesn’t need you to tell her to spread her legs, and she definitely doesn’t need you to tell her how cute she sounds when your fingers slip inside of her, feeling around the mess you’ve made of her and coating your digits in her fluids. Your index and middle finger are slick with her juices when you retract them from inside her, and you can’t help but chuckle. 

“Messy as ever,” you muse, making a show of sucking her juices clean off your fingers. She’s sweet and borderline tangy—a taste that you’re accustomed to, and you will never get tired of it. She’s biting down on her lower lip, the skin wrinkling under the pressure of her front teeth as she makes a sound that’s close to a purr. 

“You made the mess.” She has her eyes locked on yours as you raise an eyebrow, prompting her to follow up after her first statement. Not that you didn’t know what was coming, but more that you wanted to gently coax it out of her, because it was so fucking hot to hear what she had to say next. “You clean it up.”

And you’re more than happy to oblige. She watches you with intent eyes as you sink down to your knees, waits with bated breath as you lower your face till the glistening, pink folds of her pussy are right in front of your face, flushed thighs around your ears. Her excitement is almost palpable, and you can hear the sharp inhale she takes when your palm finds its place on the inside of her left thigh, pushing gently to give you better access to her heat (you’re really just trying to drag out the tension if you were being completely honest with yourself). You lick your lips, lean forward till your mouth is hovering above her slit. 

“You better moan for me this time,” you tell her, and you’re making sure to make your breath hit her slick as you speak. “You have such a wonderful voice. Put it to use.”

Praise mixed with the slight hint of authority—it’s enough to make her nod furiously and implore you with doe eyes to just get on with it. With a smirk, your lips find the swollen nub at the top of her entrance. You suck on it. Hard. And almost at once, her thighs clamp around your ears and her hand is on your head, like it’s some sort of natural instinct for her when you’re eating her out. Keeping to her word, she cries out—keening, whiny and ever so fucking bratty, and it’s the the holy grail of every wet dream. Nothing in the world could bring you more satisfaction than that shrill, airy cry she lets out when the pleasure ripples through her body, and you’re just getting started. 

Your mouth opens and your tongue flattens itself against her folds, (She tastes so good. You want all of it, all of her) and you drag it up her folds, deliberately, painfully slow as you start to lick up that wet cunt. Her back arches; you can feel her struggling to keep a hold of your head; she throws her head back and lets out a gasp; her thighs clamp down a little harder around your head. The pleasure in her system builds up with the slow movement of your tongue, only rising and rising as you lick from the base of her slit to the mid section to the top. When the tip of your tongue flicks her clit, it's almost like an explosion, enough for her other hand to join its pair atop your head, enough to make her cry out in a perverse plea, “Daddy, please!”

(For the record: she’s wanted this from the moment you guys stepped into the shower. She’s willingly turned herself into some pliant little plaything, and she’s probably getting off so hard to it. Frankly, if she wanted to order you around, you’d be up to it, but this is what she prefers.)

And nothing else needs to be said really. You put your whole mouth on her—relishing the shiver that runs up from her thighs up to her body—and get right into making a wreck of her. You lick, you devour, you ravish her: working your mouth on her pussy, lapping up the juices that spill forth from flushed lips with broad, sharp strokes that make her body grow taut and her legs quiver. You tongue her clit, lick up sweet fluids, make her messy and needy and hot in all the right areas till she’s drilling her nails into the back of your scalp and pushing your face against her sweet slick. In half whispers, she tells you just how good you make her feel—oh Daddy I’m so fucking wet!—and you feel a dark part of yourself be fed by these lecherous words—Oh god oh fuck I’m gonna fucking cum if you keep… Fuck!—that leave her half-parted mouth and linger in the air, reminding you of just how wanton she is and how you’re the only person in the world she ever wants to fuck and be satisfied by. You’re hers; she’s yours—a relationship with Jang Wonyoung that any guy would kill for. 

“Daddy—” she gaps, her voice a whole octave higher than it should be as her nails turn into claws at the back of your head. “Fuck I’m cumming. Daddy I’m cumming!”

The pulsing of her pusy against your tongue grows. You continue licking, lapping. One stroke, two strokes—three. She moans, blue screens. You hazard a look up.

Nothing else matters. Only: the sight of that back arching off the marble counter, her thighs around your head trembling and quaking as her hips roll and her mouth parts in a silent scream. You’re certain that there’s blood being drawn from the back of your head, but you're more certain that she’s got enough heat in her core to melt molten iron but a lack of breath that makes her gasp for air as you lick and lick and lick your way into her. You can feel her orgasm getting closer by the second, it’s in her breathing, and in the way her hips are practically thrusting her into your mouth.

And just like the bathrobe from earlier, she comes undone—falls apart and ceases to keep control of her body. She tenses, her thighs go rigid around your ears. Her breath is caught in her throat, her eyes are closed. You stop your work, admire the way she glows as her body twitches and her face twists. Pleasure rips its way through her muscles, her nerves—splits her very being in half as the orgasm rolls through her system. She’s beautiful, and she’s a messy work of art that you’ve created. 

You rise to your feet as she winds down, and her hands leave your head to rest on the counter while her body struggles to process the aftermath of that orgasm. It’s not the first time she’s cum for the night, and it certainly won’t be the last. Her eyes open, and she instantly locs them on you as you brush back some of the hair that sticks to her sweat slicked face. You take her hand and give a gentle tug, and she slips off the counter obediently. You grip her jaw—tenderly but rough enough for her to like it—and tell her to turn around. Servile, she obeys, and in the reflection of the mirror, she watches as your hand snakes its way to her throat and grips it. You’re not squeezing, not yet. 

“I’m gonna fuck this pretty little pussy now,” you drawl, gripping your shaft in your hand and slapping it against her slit. The contact makes her shudder, but she remains silent as you place a kiss on her cheek. “Your face is gonna be so pretty when I choke you and fill you.”

“Yes Daddy.” Her reply is a whisper, a borderline drawl that’s airy and raunchy and makes your hairs stand on their ends. She’s looking at you through the mirror, plump lips slightly parted and eyes glassy. “Own me. I’m yours, forever.”

And you’re all too happy to hear that from her.

You slip into her, hilt yourself inside her in one swift motion. 

(Tight. Hot. Wet. So tight.)

She lets out a sigh, low and sonorous, harmonising with your own groan as you press her against the edge of the counter and make the fingers around her throat squeeze. The sound that leaves her throat is the sound of her sigh being truncated, and it delights that dark part of you. Being inside Wonyoung was otherworldly, as it always was, but here, in the bathroom of her hotel, on the night where you’ve agreed to seal a deal with her, she felt downright heavenly.  She squeezes her walls around you, her body thankful for the sensation of being filled by cock, if the intense tightness and slick wetness were any indication; she looks over her shoulder and bites her bottom lip. And when she has your gaze, she mouths something. 

Fill me.

The silence is deafening, but it’s all you need to hear. 

When you withdraw your glistening shaft for the first time you relish in the feel of her walls gripping you, not wanting to release you—but just as quickly they welcome you back inside as you penetrate her again. Soon you are pumping in and out of her at a slow, steady pace, her soft gasps turning quickly into long, drawn out moans as she is fucked against the marble. Her hands steady her body against the counter, her back arched in a way that lets you get a wonderful top-down view of her breasts as they roll together with her body. It’s a concerted effort, but she makes it seem effortless. 

“Be honest.” With the hand around her throat, her voice sounds a little hoarse. It’s hot. “Do you think about this, Daddy? About fucking me like a good little slut?”

“Wonyoung,” you reply, speaking through your gritted teeth. “You have no,” and you punctuate the sentence there with a deeper thrust into her tight slick, a thrust strong enough for her to let out a strained gasp. “fucking idea…”

(In the mirror, you watch as she curls her lips into her mouth and tilts her head back into your shoulder, like she’s submitting her whole being to you and letting you take liberties with her body. You take the invitation, and your free hand finds itself on one of her soft mounds and gives it a squeeze—rough but tender enough to elicit a low moan from her throat that makes your hand around it vibrate pleasantly. 

At the given moment, she’s doing all she can to make herself a pretty little fuckdoll for you, doing her best to encourage you to treat her rough, treat her like you own her. She wants nothing more but to feel the rockhard meat penetrating her tight little cunt stretch her out and fill her the way she wants, all while she’s begging and pleading obsequiously while being obsessed with your cock. It’s a lot to take in for her for sure, but she gets off on it, and you get off on it too—the fact that she’s being all needy and pleading just so she can implicitly tell you to fuck her till she’s raw and can’t fucking walk the next morning. The fact that she’s actually in control while being such a bottom. Bratty manipulation.)

“Then fuck me Daddy,” she tells you, almost pleading. “Use this pretty little pussy. I want it. I fucking need it.”

With her invitation to do more with her body, you’re more than ready to do what you’ve intended to do from the very start. You increase your tempo, and before long you are truly fucking her, drilling in and out of the tight hot warmth of her body with quick, deep strokes. With each stroke you don’t pull out more than halfway—you concentrate instead on pumping hard and fast, getting as deep as you could inside her given your standing position. She takes it well, like she was made for this. In her world, this was what fucking looked like, and it was the only definition that she was going to live with and she’d take it to the grave. She indulges in the roughness, the almost animal-like way your cock fills her again and again and again, all while she encourages you with cries and moans and sighs that are music to your ears. 

And a notion hits you: she’s going to make you fuck her till she’s the only thing you can possibly think about. She’s going to draw out every single primal urge within you, make you want her like she’s some form of drug and you’re the abuser, and then she’s going to get exactly what she wants—your cum in her pussy. You can’t let her win like that, you can’t. You can tell that to yourself now, but you’re not sure if you can remember it later, not when she practically reeks of the strongest possible sillage of sex. 

Her pussy throbs around you, pulse strong and just a beat behind your thrusts as you thrust yourself in and out of her slick walls, filling her up and drawing yourself out before filling her up yet again. Pure filth spills from her mouth, expletives, sordid sighs and cries and any sound or word that comes to mind. She's a quivering and squirming mess, and from the mirror you enjoy the way she’s almost writhing in against the counter. Ample breasts bounce with each thrust that shocks her body, and it’s almost hypnotic if it weren’t for the fact that that pretty face was stealing the show. The face that was marvelled, the face that was the source of jealousy, the face that was on the face of so many magazines and posters and adored by millions, if not billions—scrunched up, improper and so fucking lewd that it looked like it belonged in a porno instead of an idols face, and you take pleasure in the fact that your cock is ruining the face of a princess, turning her dissolute and so fucking needy that she was as good as a fan begging her for an autograph. This side of her was reserved for you, and only you—her duality is reserved for your eyes only. 

Her body is slick with sweat, rubbing against your own sweaty torso while her body rolls together with your thrusts. “Fuck—” you’re saying, but it comes out as more of a growl than anything given how hard yur teeth are clenching. Your fingers squeeze tighter around her throat. The slightly reduced airflow at her throat causes her pussy to clench even tighter around you—and the added tightness brings succulent pleasure to your mind that makes you think you’re going insane. You probably are at this rate. “This pussy. It’s so fucking good baby.”

Her reply is a strained gasp, but you get the gist of what she wants to say. She wants, so badly, to tell you how good your cock is making her feel, how well it fucks her, how well it fills her and stretches her and how it’s her favourite thing in the whole world. The squelch of your cock filling her pussy is loud, but not loud enough to drown out the smacking of skin against skin as you press more of your weight against her, pushing her a little more into the corner of the counter and a little more over the line of pathetic. She moans in response to your actions, and it’s telling you: fuck. Harder. It’s better when it hurts. 

And you can feel her juices leaking down the back of her thighs, wetting your crotch and making the smack of skin against skin louder than ever, almost as if it was an announcement: I’m being fucked like a good little slut and I love it. She doesn’t know what she’s doing to you,and for clarity, it’s something along the lines of turning you absolutely feral with her moans and the divine tightness of her pussy that makes you want to cum on the spot. Okay,maybe she is cognizant of how crazy she makes you when you fuck her, but you barely have the capacity to think, let alone rationalise wether thai girl in your arms that your chocking and fucking feel smug in knowing that she’s driving you insane. 

Oh and she loves it when you play with her tits. The way you fondle them is almost aggressive. Scratch that—it’s really fucking aggressive. You’re slapping her tits, leaving red marks all over the milky white skin and pinching and twisting the stiff nubs atop her breasts, all while she mewls and cries out in that strained voice that makes you throb even harder inside of her wet walls and makes you grit your teeth like your a dog waiting to chew on a bone. 

“D-Daddy,” she pushes out, past the fingers that close her airways and past her groans and moans and sighs. “Harder.” And your thrusts are starting to cut her off, but she has more to say. When it comes out, each word that she spits out is punctuated by a thrust of cock into her pussy, and it’s the hottest thing you’ll ever hear. 

Fuck.

You thrust deep inside her. 

Me.

Your cock drives itself deep into her, slicking itself with her juices.

Harder.

And if words could linger in the air, hers certainly would. 

You fuck her hard, and fast, and deep—hammering her into the counter, nailing her defenseless pussy with a pace that you would have thought was rough and callous were it not for the fact you knew this was exactly how she wanted it. All she can do is hang on, grasp onto the counter with a knuckle-white grip with her hands as you take your liberties with her body, fucking her as hard as you can, as deeply as she can take it. The cups on the counter shake, the toothbrush inside one of them shaking under the force. It’s loud,  but you hear none of it. You hear only the sharp sighs of pleasure that leave Wonyoung’s lips, and the wet slap slap slap of your crotch as it hammers her cunt again and again and again, your cock drilling her, pounding her, making her yours if you weren’t already doing that.

It takes a little long, but the haze of lust parts for a moment for you to realise that you're getting closer and closer to getting what she wants out of you. While the thought of burying yourself inside of that quivering, pulsing pussy to let it milk every last drop of cum from you is ever so enticing, that small part of you that wants to own her pushes you to fight against the urges. Not that there’s any harm in giving her what she wants, but it’s just that you don’t want to reward her bratty, manipulative tactics. She knew for a fact that she could tie you up and ride you over and over till you were dry—she’d done it before. But instead, she’s chosen to fulfil her needs in a less direct manner, maybe for fun or maybe just because she felt like it. 

“Yes,” Wonyoung hisses, spit flying into the mirror and her palms slipping on the counter. “Just like this Daddy.” And she’s making sure to make eye contact with you through the mirror, letting her eyes do most of the talking. If anyone’s curious, the look she gives you is saying, I’m your good little slut. Fuck me. Use me. Fill me. Please, and it's nothing short of hot and tethering far over the line of lewd. At this point, neither of you are in a state where you're capable of coherent thought, nor are you capable of thinking about anything else except each other’s bodies and the wet, lewd squelching of cock filling Wonyoung’s pussy. It goes on and on and on, a cycle of your hips hammering the back of her legs and your cock spearing deep into her cunt.  She takes it so well, drinking you in hungrily, coiling around your shaft like a snake as if it was begging for you to stay in her forever. The sight is enough to make your balls tingle and your toes curl, and your hand around Wonyoung's throat tightens to the point where the only thing that can leave her lips is a groan as her airflow is reduced. 

She’s tighter, hotter, wetter. Her pussy fits you like a glove, moulding around your cock as it pumps in and out of her at a pace that you had no idea you were capable of. The hand around her neck is nothing but an outlet of pleasure for you, and she’s loving it. “Such a good girl,” you mutter, watching from the mirror as her mouth slacks and opens while she’s being pumped full of cock. “You were made to take Daddy’s cock, weren’t you?”

Her equivalent of a yes is a sharp, strained groan—an amalgamation of phonics and whatever sounds the lack of air flowing to her throat permits her to make. She’s so fucking messy down there, and your cock is sliding in and out of her with ease, aided by her slick juices that coat your shaft and let it disappear and reappear from between her legs with ease. The motion is almost graceful if it weren’t for the fact that it was a sordid one, and you take a moment to admire the way your shaft glistens in the light of the bathroom while you fuck her the way she wants it: rough, hard and tethering over the edge of callous. If it weren’t for the hand around her throat, she’d be making herself hoarse with all the moaning she’d be doing.

And the hand around her throat is bringing her so much pleasure, if the way her pussy squeezes around you when you choke her is any indication. She wasn’t lying when she said she liked being choked. While she didn’t like gagging on your cock, she sure as hell loved it when your fingers clasped around the muscles and made her gasp. She liked the sensation of being deprived of air, be it when she was riding or when she has her kness buried into her shoulders and was being fucked into the bed like a slut. You were always afraid of hurting her, but when she shots you that look, the one that says, come on, you can do better, you know that she’s getting exactly what she wants, just the way she likes it. It was just a matter of how hard you squeeze around her throat before she either cums or passes out, though the latter has rarely happened before the former.

“Daddy!” she chokes, and you know exactly what she’s about to say next. So you release her throat from her grasp, bunch a lock of her hair in your closed fist and you pull back. Her eyes squeeze themselves shut. Her back arches deliciously, her voice now free to finish shat she’s aching to announce. “I’m fucking…”

You never expect her to finish her sentence. Wonyoung’s eyes open, and a gasp leaves her open lips. Her walls, already vice-like, tighten so hard around you that you think you might come there and then. You feel how close she is. 

“Fucking cum for me, Wonyoung. Cum around my cock like a good little slut.”

Wonyoung does as she is told—and the quivering, trembling orgasm she experiences is almost frightening in the way it overwhelms her body, turning her into a wet, hot mess. Her pussy tightens and pulsates, her fingers claw against the marble counter, and her entire lower body shakes violently, as though she had lost control of her nerves and muscles. For a few beautiful seconds she is utterly overwhelmed by the sensations, until finally she slumps forward in your grasp, breathing heavily. 

It's good. It's so good, but it's not quite enough to get you to your finish. Not yet.

(And if anyone’s asking: it’s not that the sex isn’t good. It’s mind blowing, amazing, and whatever word that can be used to describe “fucking incredible”.  She’s hot, so tight and fucking soaked down there. You’re horny, throbbing and on the verge of filling her full of your seed. But you’ve said it before and you’ll say it again—you’re not rewarding bratty manipulation. As tempting as it would have been to simply pound her from behind until you gave her needy pussy the load of semen she so desperately wanted, you knew that there was something even better that you could do.)

You pull out of Wonyoung, your shaft glistening under the hotel light. Her eyes are wide with shock as you withdraw yourself from her body, pulling her away from the counter—but only enough to have her lean back against you and not stand up completely. Her mouth opens to say something, but she's interrupted when you turn her face to you and kiss her. She moans into your mouth, and you swallow it, your tongue slipping into her mouth and massaging her own, lapping at the roof of her mouth as her tongue swirled around your own. You bite her lower lip, and it's not rough, but enough to get her attention. When her eyes flutter open, you whisper, "I'm not finished."

She nods, and you relish the disappointment in her eyes. You turn her around, push down gently on her shoulders. She goes with the motion, and you're not sure if you can ever get over the image of Wonyoung on her knees with her pretty little face staring at you with anticipation. You think about fucking her face, letting your cock thrust into the back of her throat over and over and over till you finally bury yourself inside and cum down her throat, but that would just be a repeat telecast of every other night with her. Spice things up; give her the liberty of creativity with your cock. 

And of course, Wonyoung perfectly understands what has to be done. You step up to her. She parts her lips and takes your cock right into her mouth. Grasping the base of your cock and pumping it with one hand while she gently cups and squeezes your balls with the other, Wonyoung quickly launches into a hard and fast blowjob, taking the top half of your cock in and out of her wet mouth with a rapid pace while her fingers work your shaft in a corkscrew motion, just like she did in the shower. The suction of her mouth is almost lethal, and the audacity she has to look up at you while she takes your cock in and out of her mouth is so exhilarating that it makes you weak in the knees. Your hand finds a clump of her sweaty hair, and you close your fingers around it, holding them in your fist. No, you weren’t going to push her head down onto your cock; you had to give her the space to work on her craft. 

And of course, she exceeds every expectation out there. Your eyes shut involuntarily, your brain unable to handle any sensations beyond the wet, hot cavern of Wonyoung’s mouth sealed tightly around your shaft with tight, soft lips. With the first entry into her mouth her wet tongue is pressed tightly against the underside of your shaft, lathering it with her spit. With each subsequent entry her tongue becomes more adventurous, beginning with quick swipes left and right on your shaft with each entry and ending each exit with a swirl of the tip around the head of your cock. While she tastes herself on your cock, letting her juices mix with saliva, her hands work in perfect concert with her mouth, one joining her lips at your shaft and pumping up and down, a twisting motion to her wrist while her free hand works gently with your dangling balls, fondling them with considerate fingers. She plays with them softly yet hastily, her fingertips working their magic between the sacs with expert attention.

You are content to stand there with your eyes shut, simply enjoying the feel of your cock pumping in and out of her mouth at a fervent pace, but a small part of you knew that you had to see it happening in order to truly believe it was all real—and so with a not insignificant amount of self-control, you force eyes open to watch the spectacle unfolding between your legs. Black locks bob up and down frantically above your cock, doe-like eyes glazed with pure lust staring right up at you as her cheeks hollow and her jaw unhinges even more to accommodate your length. 

It all becomes too much, and it hits you all at once—having her pump your shaft in the shower, eating her out then fucking her—and you quickly find yourself nearing that inevitable peak.

“Fuck, Wony—” is all you manage to say before your orgasm overtakes your world.

Wonyoung releases your cock from her mouth a split second before you erupt, shooting long, thick strands of hot semen all over her pretty little face. Her face glazes over in pleasure and you are all too happy to watch as strand after strand of cum lands on her cheeks, her pretty little nose, and finally her open mouth and jaw. You watch, through half-lidded eyes drunk with pleasure, as the thick streams of cum flow down her face, dripping onto her upper chest and those perfect breasts of hers. Her face is flushed and her mouth open, as though she herself was on the verge of orgasm (she probably was, and she was going to make it your problem as soon as she got your cum off her face).

You want to remember the way she wipes your cum off her face with the back of her hand, how she licks it all up like a cat licking its own paw before moving to clean the stray strands of cum off the tip and sides of your cock. You want to remember how she rises so gracefully even though she was a sweaty mess, and how she gently takes your hand and guides you back into the shower for another clean up.   

And back under warm water, you want to remember how she kisses you, and how she whispers, “next time, I want that big load in my pussy.”

*

“What?”

And it’s hard to meet Wonyoung’s eyes as you set down the papers from the doctor. You can feel her confusion, her frustration, her rage from across the dining table in your apartment. It isn’t pretty. Nothing about this situation is. 

“It’s a neurological disease,” you tell her, all while you’re looking at the MRI that’s in the middle of the table. You’re really just regurgitating what the doctor told you—it’s the only thing you have the capacity to do right now. “They ran their tests. They told me what I suspected. I’m losing my ability to read and write, to understand language. In 2 years—give or take —I won’t be able to express my thoughts. I’ll be spouting gibberish. What people say, what I see — on pages, street signs, everywhere — they’ll all be unintelligible to me.” She’s silent, and it unnerves you in every way possible. You haven’t even gotten to the worst part of it all. “My mental competence will deteriorate. I’ll have to live off a tube cause I’ll forget how to eat and drink. Dementia will follow shortly.”  

Now would be a great time for her to say something, anything to break this silence. But she is silent, unmoving and reticent in her seat from across you. You have no choice but to gulp and deliver, in your personal opinion, the worst part of it all, “By the time I forget how to breathe I… I would’ve lost all my memories by then.”

She chooses the moment after the last word leaves your mouth to pick up the MRI scan and look at it. 

“So… Everything we’ve built up till now will just… Disappear?” she whispers. She sounds hurt, scared and everything in between. You bite your lower lip. 

“Yes.” There’s no point sugarcoating it, it’s inevitable anyway. Face it now, sulk later… You think that’s the best way to deal with this piece of news. You hope that the matter-of-fact tone of voice that you’ve chosen doesn't betray how frightened you are by the prospect of losing everything you know. “We can’t stop it. It’s in my genes.”

She sets down the scan, and when you look up, you see the tears flowing down her cheeks and it makes you want to cry as well.

She stands up, shoulders her handbag and walks towards the front door. 

“Where are you—” you begin. “I’m going somewhere else to think,” she interjects. 

When she slams the door behind her, you feel like you’ve let her down in so many ways. There’s a burning in your chest that you can’t describe. The first hot tear rolls down your cheek, and you let the rest that well in your eyes flow down without resistance. 

You don’t want to remember what it feels like to be helpless—the emptiness, the rage, the sadness, the confusion is all so overwhelming. But you figure that you’ll have to feel it again at some point down the road. 

Might as well figure out how to cope with it now, when Wonyoung isn't there and you're all alone with your thoughts.

*

When you awaken later that night in your bed in the apartment, it takes you a few moments to determine whether the soft, slim body climbing atop you is real or part of some wonderful dream—but the familiar warmth of your girlfriend, and the soft, pleasant smell of her hair, convinces you that this was all real.

Wonyoung places soft kisses on your neck and jawline, before moving to your mouth and kissing your lips softly. You are still only half awake, but your senses and instincts take over, and you find your mouth welcoming her kiss and returning it with one of your own, your hands moving to either side of her hips and finding, to your surprise, that there was only bare skin there and no clothing.

“Wony…” you begin, as she deepens her kiss, her lips pressing more firmly against yours.

“Shhh,” she answers, “please. I need this. I need you, right now. Please.”

She’s suddenly reappeared after walking out on you, and you have yet to process the slew of emotions that have come your way. Part of you wants to stop her, to talk things out with her so that you could: a) figure out if she was still mad at you and; b) verify that she wasn’t drunk. But the part of you that formed the majority of your conscience knew that she needed comfort as much as you did, and that she needed something to assuage her and make her feel like everything would turn out alright. So you find yourself relaxing underneath her, letting her scent fill your nostrils as her tongue dances with yours.

She straddles you, and your hands begin to run up her naked body, up from her slim thighs to her chest where the ample mounds sat proudly, her nipples erect and stiff. She isn’t wearing any underwear, and your fingers brushing against the slick of her pussy is enough to verify that for you. She’s naked atop of you, kissing you like you just confessed your love to her or like you’re about to go on some mission and never return. It’s not lustful, but it’s full off passion and aims to soothe not stir. 

She breaks the kiss. Her eyes flutter open. In the dark that is pierced by the street lights of the city, you want to remember the way her eyes glimmer and shimmer as she breathes heavily. There’s no alcohol on her breath, and from the way she’s cradling your face, you can infer that she’s not mad at you in the slightest. 

“You okay?” she whispers, and her tone is soft and warm, like that time she spoke in the shower of her hotel about signing that contract with her company so that the two of you could officially start dating. It’s been some time after that, but you still hang on to the way her words made their way to your heart. “I didn’t mean to startle you if I did.”

You respond by nodding, and it’s enough to convey: I’m alright. You brush away the hair that falls in front of her eyes, and you really want to remember how silky smooth her hair feels in your hands. 

“What are you doing?” you ask her, making sure to keep your tone as warm as her own. She blinks, goes silent for a moment, then answers, “I’m making amends.”

She holds your gaze, you hold hers. The staring contest ends when you gently pull her in for another kiss, and you want to remember how she softly moans into your mouth while her thumb, smooth and tender, caresses your cheek.

When the kiss breaks again, her hands snake their way down to your sweats. You assist her in removing your shorts—a very clumsy affair: tangled hands and arms and lots of chuckling. But your cock does finally spring out from your boxers, the ones that have been discarded in the corner of the bed, together with her clothes. When it’s all done, you have the pleasure of witnessing the sight of her slim frame straddling you once more, long legs surrounding you on either side of your thighs while she peppers kisses on your chest. 

“I’m sorry I left you to deal with… Everything. Alone.”  she begins, “I shouldn’t have walked out on you like that… I’m sorry. I hope you aren’t angry”

And from your lying position, you lift a hand to cup her cheek. “We can talk later.”

She gets the message, but bends down and kisses you nonetheless. You’d probably have trouble falling asleep later in the night, and she’d wake up and you’d have this same conversation again. You’d rather have it later than now, not when the wound is still fresh.

Wonyoung lets a soft smile play on her lips. You are slightly aware of her raising her hips, her right hand finding its way between your bodies to grasp your wet, erect shaft, and line it up with her entrance. She breaks the kiss for the third time that night, searches your eyes for approval to continue with this. Was it make up sex? You didn;t know if it was for sure, but it sure as hell felt like it. What you do no for certain is: you’d like to experience this now, and you want to etch this in your memory for as long as you can before it fades with the rest of your mind. 

You give her the slightest of nods, and you feel the head of your cock press against her wet, tight opening. Slowly, carefully, Wonyoung lowers herself down onto your shaft, your cockhead parting her tight lips to impale her pussy. She gasps loudly as she impales herself fully, and she opens her eyes slightly to match your gaze. You brush stray locks of hair away to reveal her face fully, and you bring her mouth back to yours to kiss her deeply. As your tongues duel, she begins to raise her hips, drawing your shaft out of her body before lowering it once more, and soon she has found a soft, slow rhythm as she rides you, grinding her warm, tight body against yours. 

She raises herself upright and lets her hands rest on top of your chest. You’d like to save that face she makes in a supercut of her other memorable faces: eyes closed, lips slightly parted and the wisp of a smile on her lips as she rocks her hips. From where you lie, you watch as Wonyoung takes you in and out of her body with soft grinding motions, riding you slowly, enjoying every entry and exit of your shaft as it fills her over and over in slow, tender strokes that make her shiver. You watch as your shaft appears for a split second or so before driving back into her, each disappearance accompanied by a soft spike of pleasure. As always, she’s letting moans and sighs and gasps tumble freely from half-parted lips as she takes you in and out of her slowly, rocking her hips with innate grace and elegance. All you do is let your hands rest on her thighs, moaning softly to encourage her as she rides you lovingly, tenderly, a far cry from what you’re used to when it comes down to sex with Jang Wonyoung. 

Through the night, your cock glides in and out of that perfect pussy, elicits moans and gasp and sighs and cute little cusses when you hilt yourself deep inside of her and tug a little at her hair. Her hands were always active, sometimes caressing your chest, sometimes on your jaw, sometimes behind your head as she snaked an arm behind your head to keep you locked where you were just so she could sneak in a kiss. You came in her mouth, her ass, her pussy. She came on your fingers, your cock, your mouth. She cussed a lot, almost passed out once or twice. You cussed a lot two, and you caught her when she almost rolled off the bed (the two of you laughed for a minute about that situation before you ended up spooning on the floor, her leg in the air and your cock pumping in and out of her while she had your back to you and your face in her right hand). 

Bottom line: it was wonderful, wonderful make up sex that ended with both of you sweaty and panting and wanting more from each other but you guys just don’t have that energy to keep going. It was a novelty for both of you, and you wanted to remember just how special she could make you feel, even in the impurest of acts. 

*

The flash of the polaroid camera is almost blinding, but you power through and keep your eyes open. Like a child that’s seeing snow for the first time, Jang Wonyoung watches excitedly as the polaroid emerges from the slot in the camera, and she’s all too eager to grab it and lay it face down on the coffee table in your apartment.

“I thought you’re supposed to shake it?” you ask, watch as she fiddles with the camera for a little bit before she snaps a selfie with her newest purchase. She gives you a look that basically translates to, “uh, are you dumb?” and waits for the next polaroid to emerge from the slot before she launches into her lecture. 

“Shaking the polaroid to make it develop faster is a myth,” the way she sounds so official and everything is so cute. You can’t help but smile a little as she sets the other polaroid down. “It shifts the pigments and blurs the photo, but an idiot like you would need a genius like me to tell that to you.”

The remark is clearly meant to be biting, but it’s nothing short of hilarious to you. “When did you become a camera nerd?”

“Ever since I got this,” she lifts the polaroid camera up and hits you with that you’re on camera smile. “Maybe I should do an ad for this brand. Increase their sales, you know?”

She leaves you to think on that and retrieves the first polaroid she took: a picture of you and her on the couch of your apartment. Not the grandest first photo, but hey, a memory is a memory, and you really are just focusing on cherishing those at the moment. As she leaves the couch to clip the polaroid onto the photo rack (a bunch of metal wires on a metal frame with wooden clips to hold photos) she just set up, you grab your journal next to you and flip it to the page you wrote on a few hours before. With your pen (that you now carry around just about everywhere with your journal), you scribble down a new part of today that you want to remember. It was her idea to journal down everything you wanted to remember. 

The entry goes right under the one about Wonyoung’s new camera.

She looks so happy with that new camera. Bet she’s going to go back to the dorm and show it off to all of her members because she’s a fucking child. I hope that…

And you trail off in your writing, What you wanted to say was just on the tip of your tongue just a second ago. Why can’t you remember it? It was literally just in your head a minute ago…

No. 

You shut the journal. It makes a soft yet substantial thud as the leather cover slaps against pages. You place your pen in your pocket, set the journal back down on the couch and stand up to walk towards your girlfriend, who is currently adjusting the angle that the wooden clip holds the polaroid at. She senses you walking up to her, steps aside and makes a space for you to watch her struggle. You would offer help, but you know that it removes half the fun for her when you do something for her. 

She fiddles around a little more, makes a couple of grunting sounds under her breath, curses a little, and next thing you know, she exclaims, “tada!” while pointing at the first occupant of the photo rack. You roll your eyes, throw an arm over her shoulder and look at the slightly blurry photo within the white frame. 

“With the camera,” she tells you, her tone soft and warm like… Like… Fuck. “I hope that we can help our memories live on. Sounds pretty deep huh?”

You can’t help but chuckle in agreement. You take a moment to stare at the two faces that occupy the space in the polaroid, and you hope to God that they will never, ever look foreign to you. It’s a futile prayer, you know, but a glass-half-full mentality is the best chance you have at not spiralling out of control. 

Wonyoung lays her head on your shoulder, silent and all sentimental as she closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath. She lets out a shuddering sigh, and you know that she’s trying not to cry, cause in this situation she’s the one that will end up hurt at the end of it all. You’ll forget the pain of forgetting; she’ll remember the pain of being forgotten. It sucks, but it’s just the way it is. You hug her, hold her close and stroke her hair. You don’t want to forget what she means to you, what you mean to her.

How many more polaroids left till it all ceases to matter?

____________________

Hello! Hope you guys enjoyed this fic. I'm a bit rusty so this one might be a bit funny, but hopefully the style of storytelling I chose didn't fuck you up too bad. Non-linear storytelling will be the death of me. Also: I kinda didn't edit this one too much. My bad hehe.

This was really more of a PSA to cherish the ones you hold close to you, because you never know when they will just disappear. Love the people close to you, cherish them forever.

~Lots of love Nichuuu

#jang wonyoung #wonyoung smut #ive smut #ive wonyoung #kpop #fanfic #writing #smut #nichuuu #ansgt

[morganski-19]

The One with the Gossip

The group is hanging out at the café, all in different conversations when Jonathan comes into the bar and flops down on the couch. Camera bag sliding off his shoulders.

“When does this place start serving alcohol?” he groans.

“In about thirty minutes,” Nancy starts, “are you ok?”

Argyle trades places with Robin, sitting next Jonathan. “That bad?”

Jonathan nods, widening his eyes. “Messiest wedding I have worked months. There were so many things and they just piled on top of each other. The amount of bridesmaids and groomsmen that had previously slept together and didn’t know about it was insane.”

Steve and Eddie turn their heads at the same time. “What now,” Eddie says intrigued.

“I love messy shit I’m not apart of,” Steve mutters under his breath.

“It was crazy,” Jonathan sits up, turning toward Steve and Eddie at the side table. “And it all started for the most stupid reason. The guys apparently had a bet when to see how many of the bridesmaids they could sleep with. And the girls didn’t know about it, and a few of them fell with their ‘charms’ and were none the wiser. Until, one of the groomsmen said who won in their speech.”

“Holy shit,” Robin says with a sip of her tea.

Eddie winces. “That is such a dick move.”

“How likely was it that they were part of those fraternities that just liked to terrorize people,” Steve asks. Having almost accidently joined one of these fraternities when he was in college.

Jonathan nods with disgust. “That only scratches the surface. The best man had won, having slept with six out of the seven bridesmaids, and he was engaged to the maid of honor.”

Everyone winces with disgust.

“Not cool, dude,” Argyle says with disappointment. “So not cool. How can people do this to other people. And think that they can get away with it.”

“Because they’re inconsiderate assholes,” Steve says at the same the same time Eddie says “They’re disgusting bags of shit.” They high five each other.

Jonathan lets out a long breath. “And I’m not done yet. It gets worse.”

“Oh my god, how,” Nancy questions.

Argyle stands. “I’ll be right back, continue without me.” He walks over to the bar and starts to talk to the barista.

“He got bonus points for sleeping with the bride. And the second-place winner, was the groom.”

“Holy shit,” everyone says in unison.

Jonathan nods with wide eyes. “And the groom got a bonus point for sleeping with his future mother in law.”

They were too stunned to speak, just letting the silence fill that moment. Argyle returns with a cup of something and places it in Jonathan’s hands.

“What did I miss?” he asks, looking at them all super confused. “Are you guys broken?”

Steve shakes his head, trying to wrap his head around what was just said. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”

“And this is coming from someone who has actually slept with one of his frat bro’s moms,” Robin interjects.

“On accident. And she was his stepmom, that was much younger than his dad, well after I was in college. He doesn’t know, it’s fine.”

“Did that cause another sex ban?” Eddie asks.

Steve laughs. “No, that’s when the figured out that the previous sex ban wasn’t working.”

Jonathan takes a sip of the drink Argyle gave him. “Jesus, that’s strong. Did you bribe them or something?”

“Something like that. Seriously though, what did I miss?”

“Groom slept with the future mother-in-law,” Robin fills in, Argyle winces. “What is with people?”

Jonathan shrugs. “Don’t know. But it was a big wedding that they are not getting a refund for. And I still got cake, well what was left of it.”

Eddie leans forward. “What was left of it?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan nods. “Speeches were right before cake, so the bride took the entire top layer and slammed it over the groom’s head. Followed by the maid of honor taking two giant handfuls and shoving it into the best man’s face. Arguments broke out and all that shit. I stayed back to help clean up.”

“Had they signed the marriage certificate yet?” Nancy asks.

Jonathan sighs. “No clue, don’t care. It’s over and I got paid. A lot. This was not a cheap wedding. Oh right,” Jonathan reaches down into his bag and grabs a takeout container, handing it to Argyle. “Saved you a piece of cake.”

Argyle takes it, opening it and starting to eat it. Nodding his head in appreciation.

The rest of the group looks at Jonathan. “Where’s our cake?” Robin asks, a little hurt.

“You don’t live with me, you don’t get cake.”

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low, @thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady, @apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic, @fearieshadow, @mentallyundone, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging, @potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug

#this was inspiried by a tiktok I saw #where this woman was getting her matching tattoo with her mom removed because her mom was sleeping with her husband #which yikes #that must have been a messy divorce #also jonathan in a secret gossip I firmly believe that #morgan's friends au #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things ficlet #friends au #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #argyle #pre relationships #steddie #ronance #jargyle

[charlotteharlatan]

Do you ever think about what would have happened if Mary Hodges (formerly Mary Loquacious) hadn’t interrupted Crowley and Aziraphale’s “intimate moment”?

Because I do. I think about it a lot.

First off, the way that this shot is set up is perfect. Mary - Mary who had a key role in the whole “Antichrist shuffle” fiasco, and who is a walking reminder of the approaching apocalypse that will separate Aziraphale and Crowley - is literally coming between them. The show is full of these beautifully simple, yet easy-to-miss moments that only last a few frames.

Now, on its surface, this part of the scene mostly plays as humorous because Crowley and Aziraphale are sexless-by-default, non-human entities who just happen to come across to most humans as a very aesthetic queer couple. So naturally, Mary makes the same assumption as every other human that so much as glances in their direction, and isn’t that a laugh?

Except that…she’s not actually wrong about it being an intimate moment. Not just in the physical sense, although I think this is the closest we see them physically get in the whole first season (not counting being literally inside each other’s corporations, I suppose).

But it’s intimate in the emotional sense too, because Crowley is worried and stressed about having lost the Antichrist, and now on top of everything else he’s got Aziraphale calling him “nice” and poking at some very old wounds (if he’s so “nice” then why did he Fall?). And Crowley is also probably *frightened* - they’re inside a former Satanic convent that kept regular contact with not just Crowley himself, but also Hastur, and probably other demons too. For all Crowley knows, someone from his side could still be lurking about; they could overhear and get them both in big trouble.

And as if all that weren’t enough, I don’t think I’m imagining a healthy dose of frustration with Aziraphale in the mix either. Just a few minutes prior, the angel essentially tempted Crowley into miracling the paint stain out of his coat, and then broke their rules by saying “thank you” for it. Aziraphale has spent at least the last few centuries sending him some very mixed signals and we can see that Crowley is done with them dancing around each other. That game was more or less fine before, they had time, all the time in the world. But now, in just a few days, all the time in the world will be ENDING. And yet here’s Aziraphale, playing the same game as always, acting like nothing between them has changed, even though they both know better.

So yeah, it all comes to a head in that moment, and Crowley (sort of understandably) loses it a bit. He won’t actually hurt Aziraphale and they both know that, but he has to get across to the angel SOMEHOW that he’s experiencing some Big Feelings. And he doesn’t have a whole lot of options as to how to do that. He’s too worked up to communicate effectively. So he goes with the wall slam. This causes an emotionally charged situation which we’re primed to think will have an emotional payoff - the camera pulls in close, a dramatic transition, drawing us in to the tension of the moment right along with Crowley and Aziraphale.

And then there’s Aziraphale, who…doesn’t defend himself at all. Aziraphale, who is kind but far from defenseless, who used to guard the gate of Eden with a flaming sword, who was supposed to fight in a platoon of angels in the final battle. He’s no pushover, and yet he lets himself get literally pushed over. It doesn’t even seem to occur to him to stop Crowley, not even as he’s wrinkling his precious coat.

And maybe this is just my read of this scene, but Aziraphale’s reaction to Crowley coming into his personal space is interesting in and of itself. He doesn’t act as if this is the first instance of Crowley being that close to him - and it is CLOSE. Their lips are centimeters apart. Their noses are touching.

And one might well say that all of it happens so fast that Aziraphale is caught off guard and freezes up, but as so many have already pointed out about this scene, just after Mary interrupts he looks…blatantly longing, and then more than a bit put out.

And after Crowley lets him go, he casually fixes his clothes and goes straight back to bickering. Which may be partially a defense mechanism, because they don’t have time to talk about what just happened, there clearly won’t be any emotional resolution right now. But really, wouldn’t “you go too fast for me” Aziraphale be more rattled if that were truly the first time they had crossed that physical boundary and shared space like this? He looks affected, certainly, but quickly shakes it off.

And, to take it one step further: Aziraphale knows Crowley. He knows what words are likely to set him off. He has an established pattern of having Crowley do things for him, based on Aziraphale’s own prompting (see also: wordlessly asking Crowley to help Hamlet become a hit). Aziraphale does as much tempting to get Crowley to do “nice” things as Crowley does to get him to do “naughty” things. All of which is to say, Aziraphale may have actually been baiting Crowley here, but the bait is just a little too effective, and Aziraphale isn’t fully prepared for the intensity of the response he gets. But there’s a strong case to be made that by calling the demon “nice,” he’s looking to get a specific reaction out of Crowley. Again, not the healthiest form of communication, but it’s what they have in this context, because honesty would be too dangerous.

Which brings me back to my point: it IS an intimate moment, in more ways than Mary could have possibly realized, and what if she hadn’t walked in on them? How would Crowley have finished his sentence that got cut off, and how would Aziraphale have responded to it, to Crowley’s outburst of emotion, or to their proximity?

Maybe he would have gently and politely pushed Crowley away - but to me, something about his expression and body language says he wouldn’t have. Because Aziraphale is tired of dancing around this too, actually, and in the heat of the moment, he may just have closed the distance. Especially if they’ve had “intimate moments” before this one.

And between you and me, I think they did, and I think it was after Crowley saved Aziraphale and his books during the Blitz. It’s a solid explanation for the increased tension between them in the holy water scene.

Anyway. This meta has been sitting in my drafts since before the first trailer came out, S2 is only nine days away, and I’m clearly very normal about all of this.

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #go meta #meta #analysis #scene analysis

[papiliotao]

꒰ 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒎𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 ✩࿐

pairings: kazuha, scaramouche, and xiao x gn!reader (separate)

content: fluff, actor au, mutual pining, idiots in love (affectionate), kissing

summary: in which you kiss your pretty co-star for a scene of the new drama you’re filming. the twist? he’s head over heels in love with you!

a/n: also, this is very unlikely, but if you’ve seen this before, it’s because i messed up and posted it by accident before editing it one final time.

KAZUHA is a love interest straight out of the most euphoric of dreams and the most fantastical of fairytales. He’s sweet, gentle, and considerate, and each time the cameras start rolling, it almost feels as though nothing has changed. He’s the same charming and thoughtful boy you’ve grown to know and love. The only differences in his demeanor are subtle — hidden in the smallest of actions.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Kazuha asks you as he reads over his lines one last time. “If you have any objections, I can ask someone to revise the script.”

As a renowned actor, Kazuha has a considerable amount of power. If he was more selfish, he would have abused his position. However, he typically never objects to anything the directors tell him to do. He simply follows orders. Unless, of course, you’re uncomfortable with anything.

It’s funny. Whenever Kazuha’s told to do something, he has no complaints. He reminds you of liberating winds — able to blow on and persist in any situation. But when it comes to you, he doesn’t have any problems with telling the director to make subtle changes to scenes.

Somehow he’s even more charming than any love interest in a romance drama could ever be. In fact, working on set with Kazuha already makes you feel like you’re living in a fantasy formed in the mind of a hopeless romantic, so it’s no surprise that you’ve developed a bit of a crush on the sweet boy.

“No, it’s fine,” you answer your co-star. You try to act nonchalant, but in reality, your heart is fluttering like the delicate wings of the iridescent butterflies tickling the pit of your stomach. Every moment with him causes a hurricane of giddiness to well up within you. A kiss scene with Kazuha sounds like a dream come true.

“Alright then. Let’s get started,” the director interrupts your conversation — an exchange he was clearly listening in on. “Places, everyone!”

Both you and Kazuha exchange and glance and then get into position. You enter a house designated for the shooting of your drama while Kazuha stands outside in the warm streetlight. A singular call of “Lights! Camera! Action!” — followed by the beginnings of an artificial storm — are your only cues before the crew begins to film.

The scene starts with the ring of a doorbell. It’s a sound that reverberates in the face of overwhelming silence and melancholy, disturbing the peaceful waters atop an ocean of stillness. The sound summons you to the door, and as you twist and pull on the knob, a shivering figure is revealed. It’s Kazuha.

“Oh, hi,” you say, flawlessly adjusting your tone ever-so-slightly to fit the character you’re portraying. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

The droplets of rain falling from the false sky are bothersome, but Kazuha covers everything up with a perfect performance.

“Hi,” he whispers breathlessly. His voice is as gentle as ever, and the way he looks at you with eyes overrun with wonder makes your heart flutter. Stars glowing with a light reminiscent of Polaris seem to appear in his irises, beaming at you with adoration that appears just a bit too genuine.

“Why are you here?” you ask him, trying your best to morph your expression into one that conveys disbelief and concern.

“I just… wanted to see you,” the words fall from Kazuha’s lips effortlessly. His tone is warm, a soft blanket wrapping around your heart with the comfort of a thousand spring sunbeams. He’s so incredibly perfect.

“But you didn’t have to show up in the middle of a storm!” you insist.

Kazuha laughs sheepishly.

“I guess I just couldn’t contain myself,” he admits. After a long pause, he speaks again. “To be honest, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say.”

Your breath hitches. Here it comes.

“I’m in love with you,” he finally admits. His crimson eyes burn with a passion that is unmatched, and although they are calmer than aquamarine waters on peaceful summer days, they also hold an intensity akin to the heart of winter’s glacial plagues. Even though his words are scripted, you can’t deny that the beating of your heart begins to pick up.

“You don’t have to say that you love me too,” he adds. “I just wanted you to know.” Kazuha sends a soft smile your way, his features morphing to convey nothing more than pure, everlasting endearment.

You let the silence that follows stretch on for a few seconds before speaking.

“But I do love you.”

Kazuha’s eyes widen, and somehow, his gaze softens even more. For a moment, he stands still, caught in a daze. However, it isn’t long before he recites his next line.

“Then… may I?” he glances at your lips as he speaks, and it’s clear what he means.

You nod. “I want this just as much as you,” you whisper. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long.” Your voice comes out choked, trembling like an autumn leaf fluttering amidst inconstant wind. You mean it, but he’ll never know.

With that, he leans towards you. For a moment, all you can think about is him. His pale skin made cold by the rain, irises that appear as beautiful as lakes filled with the most precious of glimmering rubies, hair fashioned from guiding starlight, and a voice softer than the most touching of nature’s fantasias.

And when his lips meet yours, it’s like fireworks go off in the pit of your stomach, illuminating every bit of your soul with a joy that permeates even the darkest of thoughts. He’s sweet, gentle, considerate, and he treats you like you’re the most delicate thing in the world — as if you could break at any moment. Everything feels so incredibly warm despite the fact that his lips have been cooled by the ongoing storm.

He places his hand on your cheek as the kiss deepens and smiles slightly. It almost feels as though his feelings run deeper. But that’s just a delusion you’re forging in your mind because you’ve fallen for him, right?

Perhaps, but as you pull away and the director ends the scene with a loud “Cut!” Kazuha’s face lingers near yours for a few seconds, his eyes scanning your expression for something entirely unknown to you.

“Let’s do this again sometime,” he whispers in your ear, grinning at you cheekily before he quickly leaves, presumably to check in with his management team.

It takes you a minute to break out of the hazy stupor that Kazuha’s kiss induced, but once you do, you realize the implications of his parting words.

He wants to kiss you again!

SCARAMOUCHE acts indifferent. Apathy runs rampant through every constellation within the galaxies that are his eyes, and a permanent scowl seems to be etched onto his face whenever he’s not being filmed. It’s shocking how different he is when the cameras start rolling.

“Let’s get this over with,” Scaramouche mutters under his breath as he walks by you. The two of you take your places, slipping masks of infatuation onto your faces. Except unbeknownst to you, Scaramouche isn’t quite putting up a façade. The director gives you a cue, and then you’re off.

“Please don’t leave,” Scaramouche whispers, his personality and mannerisms changing up in a complete 180. He’s nothing like himself right now, and no matter how much of a jerk he is when you’re not filming, you have to admit that he’s a skilled actor. The way his voice breaks almost makes you believe that his words are sincere. Almost.

“I don’t have a choice,” you say, delivering the lines you have rehearsed too many times to count. You channel every ounce of raw emotion within you to pull off a touching performance, and it seems to be working. The director hasn’t stopped you yet, and he’s a man with rather harsh standards.

A silence ensues. You look up as practiced, meeting Scaramouche’s gaze. In that moment, you almost break character when you see his eyes. They’re watering. Oceans of grief pool up as he stares at you, looking at you as if he’ll never see you again. Right now, the inky depths of his indigo irises appear more captivating than ever.

Something about his pain feels real, as if he’s experienced the heartbreak that comes with abandonment before. It’s almost as though he’s simply tapping into a facet of himself that he hides. And despite the fact that you don’t always get along with Scaramouche, you feel the urge to hug him and shower him in affection.

“Will you come back?” Scaramouche’s gaze turns wistful as he speaks, his entire expression glittering with hints of hope and light.

“I will,” you say under your breath. “I promise.”

You take a step toward him and caress his cheek, relishing in the softness of his skin as you brush your fingers along his jawline. A light pink dusts his cheeks. If you were less professional, you would have imploded upon seeing his blush. The fact that he can elicit such a response on command is awe-inspiring, and plus, he looks incredibly adorable — nothing like the grouchy Scaramouche you’re used to.

With gentle movements, you take his chin in your hand and glance down at his lips with what you hope is a look of unadulterated passion and admiration. “May I?” you whisper. The softness of your voice surprises even you.

Scaramouche hesitates and then nods shyly — a perfect portrayal of the timid character he’s playing. He’s incredible.

Slowly, you inch toward him, watching as he narrows his eyes and parts his lips slightly. He’s so pretty, and in that moment, you can’t help but admire him. Messy strands of hair reminiscent of nightfall adorn his forehead, and his pale skin is tinted with the subtlest hint of colour.

For a second, as his face is hidden from the camera by the back of your head, he reverts to his typical self. He opens his eyes just a little wider, and exchanges a glance with you. A brief hint of emotion flashes through his irises. You’ve been working with him long enough to know what he’s trying to say. Don’t mess this up.

Things move in slow motion. Time stretches from seconds to millennia, and his expression reverts back to the picture-perfect look of a young man who’s innocently falling into the temptation of blissful love.

And when your lips finally connect in a kiss, you are fully immersed in the delusion of the scene. You wholeheartedly believe that he loves you. From your sentiments stems a warm feeling that bubbles up in the pit of your stomach. It’s soft and ticklish, and it only gets stronger as his lips move against yours.

He sighs into the kiss, and when you open your eyes in order to observe his face, you notice that his own eyes are closed, and he seems completely lost in the moment. At this point, it doesn’t even feel like he’s playing a character anymore. It almost feels as though everything is authentic.

However, when you part, reality hits you like the first snowstorms of winter — harsh, biting, and unrelenting in its pursuit. Scaramouche was only playing his part. Although everything had felt genuine, you know that it was just a mask he put on for the screen.

But as you finish up the scene, you fail to notice the way he walks away with a sunset pink blush tinting his cheeks. He touches his fingers to his lips in a daze and smiles the slightest bit.

“What an idiot,” he scoffs under his breath, but no matter how harsh his tone is, he is unable to conceal the hints of underlying affection in his voice. “Just how long will it take them to notice that I’m not acting?”

XIAO is usually extremely professional, and that’s more or less all you can say about him.

On camera, he is able to act as a charismatic, although slightly shy, love interest, but for whatever reason, things with him just feel so much more awkward when you’re not filming. Most of the time, he tries his best to avoid you as if interacting with you is a scenario straight from his nightmares.

And maybe it is, because on the rare occasions where you manage to catch Xiao off guard and strike up a conversation with him, his responses to your questions are always blunt. But it never really feels like he hates you. It just seems that he’s not the best at socializing.

Things between you are rather awkward, despite the fact that you’re co-stars. So when you’re told that you have to kiss each other for an episode of the drama you’re filming, you feel as though your world is ending.

Sure, Xiao is incredibly attractive with his golden eyes, tinted a colour reminiscent of the sweetest honey; seafoam hair that never fails to remind you of the mystifying ocean; and a pair of pink lips that look impossibly soft. He’s tantalizing, and a kiss with him wouldn’t be so bad — if not for the concerns that flood your troubled mind.

But unfortunately for you, there’s no way to retaliate when the director tells you that the shooting of the scene is about to commence. You just have to go with the flow and hope for the best.

As you pass by Xiao on your way to your places, you whisper a soft “good luck” so that only he can hear you. He nods in acknowledgement, and if your eyes aren’t deceiving you, the slightest smile appears on his face.

You sit down at the edge of a grassy cliff and wait. Meanwhile, you hear the sound of Xiao walking to a spot a short distance away from you. You take a deep breath, getting into character and gazing at the dazzling lights and countless galaxies in the night sky above.

Soon enough, the director calls for you to begin, and the atmosphere falls silent. The only sound you can hear within the stillness is the crunching of leaves under Xiao’s feet. You can’t see him, but you know he’s coming up behind you.

And after a few seconds, the sound of footsteps diminishes into nothingness.

“Hey,” Xiao’s voice rings out from behind you.

As scripted, you ignore him and continue looking ahead as if his presence is insignificant. The grass rustles as he sits down beside you, and in the edges of your vision, you can see him directing his gaze towards you.

“Are you alright?” he asks you.

“I’m fine,” you say, trying your best to emulate a tone that conveys nothing but the utmost irritation.

To your surprise, Xiao flinches slightly. That isn’t part of the script.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something to upset you?” he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears as he questions you.

You shake your head. “I said I’m fine.”

Both you and Xiao allow silence fill the atmosphere for a few moments, adding to the dramatic effect of the scene, before speaking again.

“I don’t believe you,” Xiao says, leaning closer to you to examine your expression.

Somehow, you’re able to remain calm despite the fact that the boy who makes you feel a plethora of emotions as numerous as the stars overhead is so close to you. It’s going surprisingly well so far.

And perhaps that is where you jinx yourself because the events that unfold afterwards are disastrous.

“Why do you even care? I thought you didn’t like me!” you scream.

Xiao jolts, and in that moment, the fear, confusion, and utter dismay flashing across his face act as a testament to his acting skills. He’s extremely talented.

Yet again, the night goes silent before Xiao utters, “I do like you — love you, even.” His words are soft, but you’re sure that the production crew managed to pick them up, and that’s all that matters.

Your entire world stops for a moment.

“I do care about you,” Xiao reiterates, “Because I love you.”

Your mind goes blank. Why do his words feel so real?

It takes a few seconds for you to recover from your shock, but when you do, your voice comes out softer than ever.

“I love you too.”

For a few seconds, you look up to meet Xiao’s gaze, losing yourself in the sunkissed dandelion hues of his irises. He smiles at you, and you smile back. His gaze shifts down to your lips.

“Is it okay if I…?” he trails off, and in addition, you swear that you can feel heat radiating off his cheeks. Is he too shy to finish the sentence?

That seems to be the case because for a split second, all he can do is stare at your lips as though he’s frozen in place. You decide to take matters into your own hands and play it off as intentional.

“Yes,” you whisper quietly. “Kiss me.”

With that, Xiao snaps out of his trance and takes both your cheeks in his hands before inching his lips closer and closer towards yours. The fact that the director hasn’t stopped you yet spurs you on because it means that this take is still salvageable.

Time seems to move in slow motion as the distance between you and Xiao closes. But although it feels like it takes forever, it’s only seconds before your lips meet Xiao’s in a gentle kiss that sends butterflies racing through the pit of your stomach.

The warmth of his skin on yours accelerates the beating of your heart, making you feel almost dizzy as the world around you seems to melt into a jumble of nothingness. All that matters at the moment is the two of you.

But unfortunately, you still have a role to play, so after a few moments of absolute bliss, you pull away from Xiao in order to continue on. However, when you do, you see that under the beams of artificial light that spill from around the set, his face is dusted pink.

“How was it?” you ask, grinning at Xiao. You hope and pray to the archons that he won’t mess anything up.

“I — uhm…” Xiao tries to speak, but all that comes out is a stutter. A stunned silence is all that follows. This is bad.

“Cut!” the director yells, breaking through the tranquility of night. “Xiao, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Sorry,” Xiao mutters, looking down to conceal the last of the blush on his face.

The director sighs. “You know what this means, right? We’ll have to reshoot that scene, and yes, that means you’ll have to kiss [name] again. Can you handle that?”

You feel Xiao tense up slightly, but to your surprise, he looks up at the director and speaks. “I have no objections. I’ll kiss them as many times as it takes to finish this.” He says the words so eagerly. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought that he wanted to kiss you more.

Needless to say, the night ends with countless kisses, each one sweeter than the last as exhaustion melts away the ice caging your hearts. And once and for all, your chemistry onscreen becomes undeniably perfect.

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, please consider commenting or reblogging! It helps a lot.

#r.archives *ೃ༄ #favoniuslibrary #astronetwrk #kazuha x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #genshin headcanons #kazuha fluff #scaramouche fluff #xiao fluff

[gretavangroupie]

The Ripe and The Ruin - (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader, OC x Reader

Word Count: 14.3k

Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Smoking, Angst, Unwelcome Advances, Kissing.

Find the Playlist Here: Apple Music | Spotify

A new series in collaboration with my talented co-writer @gretavanmoon.

"Like all good fruit, the balance of life is in the ripe and ruin."

JAKE POV

You absentmindedly swirl the skinny black straw around in your glass, scoffing to yourself as you wonder why the bartender put a stirrer into your Whiskey in the first place. It didn’t need to be stirred. You took it straight. It was fine on its own. Regardless, you sipped around the straw, letting the oaky liquor trickle down the back of your throat.

It wasn’t that you hated flying. It was more that you hated being alone with your thoughts for extended periods of time. Only your phone or a book to occupy your brain, but you knew that only worked for so long. Eventually you’d be left alone to tumble down into those dark, dusty memories that would torment you until you touched down in whatever city you were slated to be in that day. 

You hear Josh’s voice, instinctively causing you to turn your head, watching as he and Daniel stand in front of the camera recording whatever video the social media team planned for the day. You gracefully bowed out of that process all together, the team knowing not to approach you about an idea unless they knew it was something you would agree to. Usually though, it wasn’t. You turn to look at Sam on your right, seeing his gaze fixed upon the two of them. Both of you were now watching them as they played along with the skit, a huff of secondhand embarrassment sizzling through you as you sip from your glass. You’d never be caught dead doing that.

Fools. How is anyone ever supposed to take us seriously if all we show them is this? 

“You ready for another few months of this shit?” you mumble, your lips barely parting from the edge of your glass. 

Sam snickers as he turns back to you. “No. But that’s the job isn’t it?” he answers, swallowing down a gulp of beer, turning to look at you.

“I’m hitting that wall, too.” you answer, meeting the eyes of his girlfriend, Lyla. She sends you a sympathetic look as she squeezes Sam’s arm, giving him the little bit of reassurance he needs. “S’been a shit few weeks.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, instead pursing his lips together and slowly nodding his head as he peers down into his empty glass. Everyone knows better than to indulge you in your misery at this point, vowing not to pick at the festering wound. It’s still fresh and you’re still too volatile.

“Well, we’re going to your happy place, right?” Lyla asks with a hopeful smile. 

“Yeah, yeah we are,” you answer, taking another long pull of Whiskey. It was clear she didn’t know the reason it made you happy in the first place was because of the memories you made there with the person no longer around.

You turn your head ready to fall into those memories you’ve been pushing away for weeks, but fate has other plans as you spot your production team walking towards the boarding gate. They look frantic as they talk to each other, their eyes flicking up and down from their phones in their hands. Paul, your band Manager leads the group, finally slipping his phone into his pocket as he spots the gate. Next to him is Corrine, the Production Manager talking on the phone, balancing it between her ear and shoulder as she follows Paul. Wes, the Tour Manager continues to talk to Paul as they step into the waiting area, but behind him is someone you don’t recognize. 

She’s looking down at her phone, unaware that Wes has come to an abrupt stop in front of her. She runs into him just enough that it gets his attention, a profuse apology falling from her mouth. You laugh a little at the exchange, wondering who this girl is, and why she is with your team. She’s dressed like the rest of them, casual, but still comfortable for a day of travel. A slouchy white long sleeve shirt, a little too thin for the cold January weather, a brown leather backpack, worn and well loved, and a pair of olive green pants that hug her ass just a little too well for 10AM on a Thursday morning. You find yourself unable to pull your eyes away from her, a magnetizing feeling sucking you in the longer you look at her. She laughs with Wes, a bright smile lighting up her face causing an unwelcome twinge in your chest. It’s when she fully turns though, allowing you to see her whole face through the curtain of tousled waves, that you find yourself needing to know who she is. 

You swallow nervously, licking your bottom lip as you turn to Sam. “Who uh, who’s that?” you ask, nodding towards the group. “With Paul, Wes, and Corri?”

Sam turns around in his barstool, looking across the busy walkway to the group standing at the gate. “Oh, um…” he pauses, assessing the situation. “She’s with Paul, so that must be our new runner.”

“What happened to Lucy?” you ask, letting your eyes drift back to the mystery girl. 

“She got engaged and moved to Scotland or some shit, I don’t remember. Ask Josh,” he laughs. 

You hum, trying to remember the email thread where Paul’s new assistant was approved. What was her name…

“You know her name?” Lyla asks, looking at Sam.

Yes, Lyla. Yes. 

“Um, I think it’s….Y/N. Yeah, yeah, Y/N,” he answers confidently, snapping his fingers as he speaks. 

“So she’s the new Lucy…” you hum, flipping your sunglasses down over your eyes. 

“Guess so. We’ll see if she can hack it,” he laughs, sliding his card to the bartender. 

You turn back to look at her, this time your eyes concealed. She is rocking back and forth on her feet, looking around as she hugs her arms across her chest. She seems nervous, pushing her hair behind her ears every few minutes. You’re positively taken by her, unable to peel your eyes away from her every move. You can’t help but study her, and you briefly wonder if it's the alcohol rushing through your brain that has you so focused on her.

The gate agents’ voice blaring through the intercom system snaps you from your thoughts, announcing that your flight was ready to begin boarding. You look to Sam, who is signing the check, and nod your head in silent agreement that you should head over. You toss back the rest of your Whiskey, letting out a sigh as it warms your chest. You grab your black leather backpack and sling it over your shoulders, straightening out your shirt before following Sam across the walkway to the gate. With your glasses still down, you step into the waiting area, watching people line up around you. 

Josh, Ty, Mia, and Daniel appear behind you, startling you a bit as you fumble around in your pocket for your boarding pass. Their conversation is loud and grating, but you tune them out. You check your seat assignment as you move forward in the line, repeating it in your head over and over so you don’t forget it. You try not to pay attention to the pretty mystery girl five people ahead of you, but you just can’t seem to take your eyes off of her. You watch her disappear down the jet bridge as she talks to Paul, and before you can even register it, it’s your turn and the gate agent is scanning your ticket. She sends you on your way with a smile, and as you make the long walk to the plane you wonder if the girl in the green pants is going to make this tour just a little bit more interesting. 

—

HER POV

3E. 3E. 3E.

Your eyes scan the row of numbers at the top of the cabin, finally catching sight of your assigned seat. You slide into the aisle seat, tossing your backpack to the floor as you let out a sigh of relief. You made it in one piece. You weren’t late, and everyone seemed to like you so far. 

You take a look around you, admiring the plush seats and ample legroom. You’d never flown first class before. You felt a little out of place as you looked at the people around you. Thankfully it was filled with team members you knew, and the band members and their partners, but still you knew you didn’t belong up here. You kicked your bag beneath the seat in front of you, pulling your shirt sleeves over your hands before reaching up to adjust the air vents that were blowing far too hard. A small shiver left your body as you spun the vents closed, sitting back comfortably in your seat as you waited to see who your seat partner would be. 

Your phone buzzed on your lap, a text from your best friend lighting up your screen. 

Ruth

10:57am: How many hours is the flight again?

You smile as you quickly text back, running the numbers in your head.

You

10:58am: I don’t know, like 7 or 8 hours? You’ll be fine. Read a book or something. I’ll text you when I get there. But it will be late…or early? I think? There is a big time difference.

Ruth

10:59am: Ok, be careful.

You lock your phone and shove it under your leg, your eyes darting to the aisle as more people pass you on their way to their seats. You couldn’t believe your first leg of tour with them was taking you across Europe, allowing you to see places you’d only dreamed about. It wasn’t the job you were worried about, you could do that in your sleep. It was the uncertainty of being in another country with people you didn’t really know. 

Getting to know the bands you worked for was a precarious thing. Always walking the thin line between friend and employee. You knew your place though, and you knew where that boundary lied. Your eyes refocus as someone stops in front of you, dropping their hands. As you look up you see Jake, one of the band members staring back at you.

“I’m…right there,” he says, gently pointing to the seat next to you. 

“Oh, right here?” you ask, genuinely curious how you were seated next to a band member and not with a crew member.

“3F? That’s what this says…” he asks, checking his boarding pass. You nod and stand, letting him slide into the seat. He drops his leather backpack to the ground with a thud, letting out a sigh of relief, much in the same way you had. 

You resettle in your own seat, buckling your seatbelt and pulling it tight across your lap. Your heart is still pounding as you try to calm your nerves, suddenly feeling put on the spot next to your boss. Or– your boss's boss. Shit.

You realize that you know practically nothing about this band, about its members, and really even much of their music beyond their hits. You planned to spend most of this flight acquainting yourself with them, learning their likes and dislikes before making a fool out of yourself in front of them in the green room. You don’t know if you should speak to him, and truthfully you’re a little hesitant since that day at the office, catching him and Josh in an argument. 

You didn’t even know they would be there as you went in to sign your paperwork, but to your surprise they were, standing in the middle of the office playing around on instruments and talking. You made a beeline straight for the management office, mostly unseen, and quickly signed your paperwork. Paul went over some of the timelines and the things you would be responsible for as you took detailed notes on your phone, not wanting to miss a single thing. 

Though, all of that came to a screeching halt as the sound of a chair skidding forcefully across the concrete floors pulled you both from your conversation. From your seat you watched through the small office door as two men moved towards each other, while two more intervened to break up whatever was about to happen. 

You then learned from Paul that the two people that were arguing were the twins, Jake and Josh, and that the other two were their younger brother Sam, and their honorary brother Daniel. You observed in shock as the two of them shouted profanities at each other from either side of the piano, both red faced and worked up over something. 

Paul quickly walked you out the front door with an apology and a laugh, and that was the last you saw of the band and its members, until today.

Out of the corner of your eye, you try to get a good look at him without him noticing. First impressions have always been a big deal to you, and since your first impression of him was nothing short of off-putting, you decide to try again. Give him the benefit of the doubt. 

Worn-in black pants, cuffed at the ankle, a wrinkled beige button up that only conceals half his torso, a thick dark navy overcoat, and a stack of heavy silver necklaces. Oh, and blue-tinted sunglasses. His cologne… now that will be sticking around in your mind for a while. Clean, woodsy, a hint of musk but still kind of sweet.

You hear him clear his throat as he fidgets with his things, putting them all in their places as he finally settles into his seat. He reaches down into his black leather bag that appears to be well-loved, and pulls out a set of wired earbuds. They’re tangled and bunched, and you can’t help but smirk as you watch him try to untangle them. His fingers pull through the twisted white wires, and before you can offer your help, he reluctantly tosses them back down on top of his unzipped bag. “Fuck it,” you hear him mumble under his breath. He huffs again and leans back, tapping his fingers anxiously on his arm rests. 

You let yourself drift back into your own thought as the plane takes off, going over the hundreds of miniscule things you know you’ll have to accomplish as soon as the plane lands. It’s quiet in first class, something you aren't used to with flying on the regular. The peacefulness that comes along with the drone of the plane and the light conversation between everyone is almost enough to help you relax a little, if not for the damned cool air still blowing through the vent above you. 

You shiver a little, cuffing your hands over the ends of your shirt to pull it in more closely to your body. Why you had chosen to forgo a heavier jacket in the middle of winter, you truly don’t know. You decide to distract yourself a little, pulling up the string of endless emails that lie in waiting on your phone, getting a nice head-start on your duties before you have to hit the ground running. 

Jake has been sitting beside you quietly for about an hour now, alternating scrolling his phone every few minutes and looking out his window. The cloud cover is heavy, so being able to see even a glimpse of the ocean below you is a lost cause. You listen as he sighs, crossing one of his legs over the other and folding his hands in his lap. 

Should you strike up conversation? No, he probably doesn’t care to speak to you. But is it rude not to? You’ve already been sitting here for over an hour…

Just as you decide to open your mouth to speak, the plane hits turbulence. The cabin shakes and rumbles, and you can feel your stomach fall. Your hands grip the arm rests with white knuckles as the plane passes through, your eyes gripping shut as tightly as your palms on the arm rests. 

Finally, after what feels like forever the plane evens out again, and you hear the pilot come over the intercom to apologize. You finally let the breath you were holding free from your lungs, and you open your eyes to see Jake with his head leaned low in front of you. 

“You okay?” he asks, an eyebrow cocked. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just…don’t really enjoy this part much.” you admit, running your sweaty palms over your pants. 

He sits back in his seat once he notices your calmness return. “Me neither, to be honest. No matter how many times you hit turbulence on a plane, you never get used to it. I don’t care what people say.” he says with a sweet smile. You can tell that he was coming down from an anxious episode just the same as you. 

“No joke…” you agree, suddenly wanting a drink even if it was before noon. You push the tiny hairs away from your face as you regain a hold on your bearings, picking up right where you had left off before the turbulent air sent you into a spiral of doom. “I–I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself before, my name’s–”

“Y/N.” he cut in, extending the tips of his fingers out to offer you a friendly handshake. 

You let your hand slowly come up to meet his, suddenly uncaring that it was probably still clammy. “Yeah, that’s me. It’s nice to meet you.” 

For the five seconds your bodies connect, and the even shorter few seconds that his honey brown eyes meet yours, you feel like you were worried for nothing. This guy is nice. Maybe he’ll be easier to talk to than you thought…

His hand disconnects and flies to his chest. “I’m Jake.”

You nod. Of course you already know his name. “Yeah, um…guitar. Right?”

He smiles harder this time. “Yup. That’s my forte, at least. Have you um, ever been to Europe?” He brushes his hand over his nose a few times as his eyes dart back and forth from the seat behind you and back to your face, unable to hold eye contact. Is he nervous?

You turn your body a little more toward him. “No, actually. This is my first time. But I hear good things…”

“Oh shit, you’re gonna love it. Especially this time of year. Things move pretty fast when we get there, but we always try to explore as much as possible. See some sights.” You can tell that he’s truly excited about this excursion, and to be completely honest, you found yourself wanting to hang on his every word. 

“Anything in particular?” you press, wanting to hear the gritty rich sound of his voice again. 

You let him talk on and on about the places he wants to see, and the places that they had already been, even bringing up a few older photos on his phone as he describes their past trips. You try not to look as he scrolls, but his camera roll is full of tons of scenic photos and videos, landscapes, mountains, waterfronts… and of course a few rogue photos of guitars and guitar parts. You wonder if he’s planning to make little vlogs. 

“Italy is my favorite, I think. So much history there. I could’ve stayed for six months if they’d have let me.” Your shoulders are pressed up against each others’ now as you watch his thumb glide over the multitude of media, speeding through the less important ones to get to his favorites. Strange of him to trust a stranger this much to watch him scroll his personal camera roll. He obviously doesn’t have much to hide, even if this is crossing that boundary line…

“The people are great, the food is great, the wine, oh god, don’t get me started on the wine…” he chuckles, and you feel yourself bumping your shoulder against his a little as you laugh along with him. “The terroir is fuckin’ phenomenal, obviously. It’s like a different world.”

“I like a moscato every now and then.” You add, trying to throw in your two cents on your crumbs of wine knowledge. 

He returns with a scrunched nose. “Hmm, a bit sweet for my taste…So, Y/N. What’s your story, how’d you end up with us?” he asks, switching to cross his other leg over, now. 

You swallow, unsure of how to explain years’ worth of ups and downs you’d gone through to a rockstar. Your boss. You decide to keep it short and sweet, he didn’t need to know everything. 

“Well, I spent my entire youth attending a small private school and private high school, so I came up quite the determined and disciplined kid. Kinda sheltered.” You turn again in your seat, tucking one leg up underneath you. “But, I ended up moving away from home and away from family, been in this business for almost, eh, six years now?” You go on, and he listens intently. “Guess you could say I’m a pro at making things happen out of thin air.” You give him a long wink as you snap your fingers together. 

His eyebrows shoot up, and he finally gives you a hundred-watt smile. My god, he’s…

“A-ha, so you got all the good hookups, huh?” He asks, running his fingers over his chin as his cheeks turn the palest shade of pink. 

“S’what the runner does, isn’t it?” You pull your eyes back down to your lap. “Get you everything you need, right when you need it?” 

You bring your eyes back up to his and watch as he swallows hard, his mouth hanging open for just a split second before he catches himself. “Yeah, ehm, I suppose it is. We’re not too bossy, though. Josh can be, but.”

“So I’ve heard, he’s kind of a…diva?” You hadn’t done too much research on them, honestly. You hadn’t had the time. But, what few tiktoks and musics videos you had managed to see were fairly telling of their personalities. 

“He is. He is.” Jake laughs. “Don't let him fool you, though. He’s a big softie with an attitude problem. We all kind of are, honestly.”

“You’re a softie?” You press with a teasing tone. “From the few videos I’ve seen of you playing guitar, you look a little intimidating…” 

“Me? Intimidating?” He clicks his tongue. “Don’t believe everything you see on the internet, Y/N. It’s dangerous…” he growls the last word, and you can feel your insides ripping themselves apart just at the sound of his voice. You have to pull back, now. 

“All the runners we’ve ever had did extensive research on us before they came on tour, did you not do that?” he inquires, throwing you off a bit. 

You don’t really know how to answer, so you tell the truth. “Honestly Jake, no, I didn’t. I’ve toured with a few other bands in my career, and I did that. I researched them, learned all things I thought I needed to know so I didn’t go in blind. And, this time around, I did a little bit, but I kind of wanted to meet you all for myself. Get my own versions of you.” 

“Hm.” He responds with an understanding nod. “Well, you’ll be the first.” 

“Speaking of,” you go on, candidly glancing around the cabin and deciding to go ahead and ask the question that’s been nagging you. “Everyone else is seated with someone, wonder why I’m not with the rest of the team.” 

“What, you don’t wanna sit by me, Y/N?” he asks with a shred of a grin. 

“No no, it’s not that.” you laugh. “Just—“

“Normally I have someone with me, but…we’ve recently…gone our separate ways, I suppose.” He trips over the words a little, stammering through them like it was the first time he’d admitted it. 

“Oh… I see.” you pause, “That’s…never an easy thing.” 

I wonder if that was why he was so snippy that day at the office when you saw him fall off his rocker? 

“Eh, s’alright. Win some, lose some. We had a good run.” He says as he waves off the question. “So, you say you’ve been doing this awhile, you must really miss whoever you’re leaving at home.” 

Skating around the question, aren’t you, Jake?

“No, I’m single, if that’s what you’re asking.” You bite your lip as he doesn’t stop you from elaborating further. “I’m pretty independent, I like structure and uniformity. Growing up I wasn’t allowed much time on my own to have hobbies outside of school and practice. Strict parents. The job has kept me pretty adhered to that mindset, even in my personal life, so.” 

His eyes flick to yours and he squints them a little, as if he’s collecting every single one of your words and hanging them in a closet in his mind. He’s trying his best to figure you out, you can see it on his face. But why? He shouldn’t care…you don’t matter. 

“I can respect that.” He nods again. “My brothers and I, we grew up in a fairly religious household. Was great, don’t get me wrong. Really formed our roots but, as we got older and started to see the world, we kinda got away from it. Began to start seeing things in a different perspective.” He sucks his teeth, as if he’s recounting a hard memory. “Kinda why we moved to Nashville. We knew we had to break away if we wanted the band to be successful.”

You nod in understanding. “I mean, it worked, didn’t it?”

His laugh fills the cabin as it bounces off the walls, a sweet chuckle that makes your heart rate pick up. You could listen to him laugh all day long. 

“S’pose it did.”

“The fuck are you two over here laughing at, huh?” Suddenly Josh’s curls are squished between your seats, his cheeks pinched together as he speaks. “I’m trying to get some shut-eye but I can’t from all the babbling—”

Jake places his hand over entirety of his twin’s face, pressing him through and back into his own seat. “None of your business, fuck off.”

You laugh at their antics, knowing in the back of your mind that you had better get used to it. You feel the air kick on again, fiercely blowing the freezing cold air directly onto you. You shiver a little, balling yourself up and pulling your sleeves closely in toward you again. 

“You want my jacket?” Jake asks, already starting to pull it from his shoulders. 

“No! No no no, thank you, but I’m fine, really.” The last thing you need is that right off that bat. A bad look. Day one. Nope. 

“Seriously, I run naturally hot. Take it.” He replies. 

“Oh yeah? Hence all your layers?” You tease, repositioning in your seat. 

“It’s a fashion statement, thank you very much.” He bites. “All about comfort for me.”

Gotta change the subject. 

“So tell me something I should know about your brothers. Something that would give me brownie points if I wanted to say…impress them with my craft service skills…” you press, giving him a new challenge. 

“Wow um, let’s see…” he brings his fingers to his chin and thinks hard, and you can’t help but feel endeared by the fact that he truly wants to help you out. “Josh stays away from chocolate and dairy and sweets and all that, but his guilty pleasure is those cotton candy flavored grapes. Weird, I know.”

“Oh my god, those are so nasty!” you laugh, but still take note. 

“Danny would be over the moon if you surprised him with salsa verde Doritos, and Sam drinks kombucha more than the normal human should.” he finishes with a stern nod.

“Got it. I think I can make most of that happen, aside from the grapes…” 

“He would kiss you right on the lips, I’m telling you.” Jake giggles again, and you notice how he lights up when he talks about them. 

“So Josh is the dramatic softie, what about the other two?” you ask. 

“Sam’s kinda serious but he’s playful when he wants to be. Sneaky, too. Daniel’s always into something, always busy. Man doesn’t like to sit still,” he concludes, and you commit it all. 

“And what about you?” you ask, feeling your stomach flip for some reason. 

“I thought you said you wanted to get your own versions of us,” he quipped back, parroting your words from earlier. Damn, you had said that.

You toss your hair behind your shoulder. “I did but…You’ll tell me all about them, but not about yourself?”

He crunches his lips together as his eyes scan your face. It makes you a little uncomfortable, how hard he’s really looking at you, but you let him. Stopping him would be a sin you weren’t ready to commit just yet. 

“That’s right.”

The two of you drift off into silence again as the minutes tick by, thankfully not being embarrassingly interrupted by Josh anymore. You decide that you want to listen to some music, so you reach into the pocket of your bag and pull out your AirPods, slipping the left one in first followed by the right. You pull up your music and begin flipping through your playlists, searching for something to match the relaxed tone of the hour. Truly, you feel like you could easily drift off to sleep. 

You find a nice quiet playlist and curl up in your seat, halfway reluctant you didn’t take Jake’s jacket, but also proud of yourself for saying no. You’re fucking freezing. 

You turn your head to the side and close your eyes, ready to drift off into another world. 

You’re jolted awake by turbulence, the plane shaking again as you wake up and get your bearings. “Shit,” you breathe as you sit up straighter, remembering exactly where you are. You notice that in your slumber, your head had fallen against Jake’s shoulder. Fuck. Fuck fuck.

The turbulence only lasts a few seconds before it evens out again, and the calmness returns to your body. You glance at Jake, seeing him looking a little drowsy and shaken, too.

“Jake, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, why didn’t you wake me? I—”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I kinda dozed off, too,” he replies, stretching his arms high above his head without a care…not like he didn’t just have a stranger asleep with her head on his shoulder.

You look down, noticing that in the time you had drifted off, Jake had covered you with his coat. 

You panic, scrambling a little as you work to pull it from your body before anyone notices. 

His hands are quickly on yours, stopping your action. “Leave it, Y/N. You were shivering in your sleep…you can’t tell me you aren’t cozy right now…” his voice is barely a whisper, and the warmth of his hands grazing overtop of yours, even for a second, is enough to give you a whole other type of chill. 

“Yeah, I—I am warm…” you can’t deny that your body temperature has increased by at least a couple of degrees, and your fingers don’t feel like they’re going to get frostbite anymore. The jacket is heavy, heavier than it looks, and it smells like fresh pine needles and woodsy body soap. Just like…him?

“See?” he growls, backing away. “Just stay put.” 

Stay put? You want to bite back with something that will put him in his place; you explicitly told him you didn’t want his jacket, and he covered you anyway. While you were unconscious. While you couldn’t turn down the offer. 

…But you’re so warm, now. Your tense muscles are finally relaxing. The frigidity of the space has suddenly turned into a toasty furnace with a crackling fire.

Okay, but just until we land…

“What are you listening to?” Jake asks as he stretches again. You turn your phone for him to see, showing a generic playlist of Peaceful Sleep Songs lighting up your lock screen. 

“Agh, no, what is that shit?” Jake snatches your phone from your hand, quickly flipping the screen to unlock with your face before he begins shuffling through your playlists. 

“What are you doing?!” you yelp, reaching for your phone back. He raises his free hand to the air, stopping you from taking it. 

“Aht aht… I’m finding you something better to listen to. Don’t worry about it.” You suddenly hear the quiet music in your ears switch to something else, something you knew for a fact you hadn’t ever heard before. You give it a second as he turns the volume up a few notches, and you realize that it is most definitely brand new to you. 

It’s a solemn, tense-feeling piano beat, followed in by guitar. Lyrics only come in after a minute and a half or so. It sounds like growling, deep and hollow and a bit scary, but beautiful nonetheless. He’s watching your face as you experience it, quickly pressing pause as the song comes to a close. 

“What was that?” you ask, realizing you had really enjoyed it. 

“That was a song called Intro, by Alt-J. I know you’ve heard of Alt-J.” he says as he goes back to work on the phone. 

You slowly shake your head from side to side. “Can’t say I have, actually.” 

His jaw goes slack as his eyebrows raise in disbelief. “What? Like, never?” 

You feel your cheeks turning pink at the thought of a literal rockstar calling you out on your lack of music knowledge. 

“I don’t think so! That’s not what I normally listen to…don’t judge me,” you laugh, reaching for your phone again. 

He swats your hand away. “Ohh no, little fledgling. You’re listening to this. This is the good shit…” he presses play again as a twinkling high-pitched voice comes through your ears. It’s just jumbled words, no backing music or tune. The acapella strikes you as strange at first, until the end when it changes tone a bit, and it’s almost as if the lyrics are giving you advice you didn’t ask for. Warning you of something new and exhilarating, or better yet, dangerous and foreboding. It almost feels as if a black cloud has overcome you, only for a split second, letting you feel the nonexistent pokes and pinches that come along with the emotion of worry. 

The song flows directly into another now, one layered with a lot more sound, and it pulls you from that odd headspace the previous had put you in. You lean over the armrest, looking at the screen to see the title Tessellate. You’ve never heard anything like this kind of music before, and you wonder why Jake chose this particular artist. 

“This is one of their more popular ones, like radio popular, but it’s still one of my favorites on this album. Here in a second you’ll hear it slow down—”

You stop him by pulling your right earbud out, shoving it in his hand. “Shh, you can talk me through the songs later. Let me listen.”

He shuts his mouth, giving you a sweet grin as he takes the bud, placing it in his own ear and pressing play again. You continue on through the album, each song something brand new to you, a genre you’d really never delved into but wish you had, now. It’s enthralling, different, and full of sounds that make your mind sway and swim through mixtures of color and gray. 

You watch as Jake’s fingers tap along exactly with the beat of each song perfectly, down to a tee. The words don’t make much sense to you, and you can hardly distinguish what the singer is saying, but you know that Jake will give you a rundown of it all as soon as time allows him. You don’t know much about him, but his persistence is already apparent. You glance to see his eyelashes hitting his cheeks, his head barely bobbing side to side as he feels the music. You find yourself envious that he can draw inspiration and act on it, turning it into art of his own, whereas all you can do is sit back and listen to it.

Every couple of minutes he perks up from his meditation and adds new songs from their other albums onto the little playlist he’s started for you. You can’t quite make out what he’s titled it, but you can tell it's an emoji of some sort. His thumb flips and flies with precision across your screen as he scrolls and adds songs, and you have to admit, you’re a little excited to get your phone back and learn just what he’s creating for you. Especially for you.

You take a quick deep breath as you recenter yourself, catching your eyes drifting over his hand as he grips your phone. The veins in his hand roll over his knuckles, and you can just barely see the scuffed and calloused ends of his fingertips. Dial it the fuck back Y/N, remember the rules.

“Oooh, this is another one of my favorites,” he remarks, his mouth fairly close to your ear as he tries not to raise his voice over the volume of the music. He turns the screen a little so you can see the title, Taro. “You haven’t— You didn’t come to any of our shows last year by chance, did you?”

You feel a big pang of guilt shoot through your chest, remembering that you had actually been invited by some friends to see them way back when, but you’d turned the invitation down, not knowing who they even were at the time. You shake your head from side to side. “No, I didn’t.”

“This is one of the ones we play to the crowd before we go on. We all love it, it’s a sad, sad love tale based on true events. That’s the cool thing about this group, their lyrics are never really about what you think they are. They’re storytellers, a bit like Josh is, if you think about it. Their themes and over arcs are just…mind blowing sometimes.” Jake’s voice is a tiny murmur in your ear as your shoulders lean on one another’s again, still very taken with the music flowing through your ear. “We grab a lot of inspo from them, sonically and melodically…” You can feel his breath on your cheek, and you find yourself wondering what it would taste like…

“Here, read along with the lyrics. Try not to cry.” He hands your phone back, letting you keep up with the words floating down your screen. And he’s right, it’s heartbreaking without even knowing the context. 

“Wow…That was really beautiful,” you choke, realizing the depth of the story of the song. 

“Yep. Good shit, I told you.” He whips his hand around and takes the phone back as the next song comes in and warms your bones up again. You can feel the bare skin of his elbow brushing against yours, realizing that he was telling the truth about being naturally warm-bodied. Suddenly you don’t feel so bad about cuddling up under his coat. 

He opens your contacts app and adds himself, placing the sword emoji beside his name. He smirks as he hands the phone back. 

“Added your phone number, huh?” you ask rhetorically.

He sucks his teeth as he cracks his fingers. “Yep. How else will I let you know what I might need? Plus, never know when you might need to call me.”

—

You watch the signs overhead illuminate, a gentle tone ringing through the cabin as the Captain starts to make an announcement. You pause the song and pull your AirPod out, watching Jake do the same. 

“Hey folks, this is your Captain speaking. Just want to let you know we will be landing in Hamburg shortly. I’d expect to be on the ground in the next ten minutes or so, putting us about fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, so sit tight and we’ll have you on the ground in a few. Attendants please prepare for arrival.”

You turn to look at Jake, shrugging as you slide your AirPod back into the case. He raises his eyebrows and drops his jaw. “But we aren’t done! Wait! Hold on!”

He grabs your phone again, and from what you can see he is adding more songs to your playlist. You watch as he scrolls through various different albums by different artists, adding songs as quickly as he can. You smirk as you catch sight of the emoji he’s chosen, the chick icon, a playful nod at his earlier fledgling comment. He peeks over at you every few seconds, trying his best to hurry so you can pack up your things, but in a last effort you watch as he adds himself as a collaborator to the playlist. 

You raise an eyebrow to him as he hands your phone back to you, shrugging with a soft laugh. You feel your insides swirl at the sight of his smile, and you turn your eyes to your phone scrolling through the songs on the playlist. You turn back to him and nod, a silent agreement that you will listen just as you feel the plane starting to land. 

“I wanna keep adding songs for you to listen to, fledgling. If you want me to, of course…” 

You nod. “Of course I do. School away, Jake,” you reply with an air of playful annoyance.

He chuckles. “I plan to.”

As you brace for the landing you grip your hands into the arm rests, letting go of the soft worn in corduroy fabric you’d been playing with for the last hour. Your eyes squint closed as the plane touches down, jolting everyone forward in their seats. Jake grabs his phone as the plane slows down, flashing his screen at you to show a local time of 12:13AM. 

“I see some jet lag in our future,” you smile, sliding his jacket off of your arms. You fold it the best you can and hand it back to him, almost sad you have to give it back to him. “Thanks again for that.”

“Oh yeah, no problem.” He accepts it graciously from you, letting out a soft breath as he unfolds it and slides it back over his shoulders. It fits his personality well, soft and sturdy, worn in and weathered. He flips his hair out from beneath the collar, a barely there smell of peppermint passing through the air. You pull your gaze away from him just as you see his cheeks start to blush from your gaze. You lock your phone and stick it into your backpack at your feet, wondering how in such a short amount of time Jake has managed to infiltrate your thoughts so completely. 

JAKE POV

As she turns to grab her bag you open your phone, tapping on the notification that she has added you to her playlist. You accept the invitation with a sly smile before sliding your phone back into your coat pocket. It smells like her now, soft and floral, very different than anything you were used to. Your mind was already circling with things you wanted to add to that playlist when you got a minute, finding it was harder than you thought to think of songs on the fly. 

The first few rows begin to file out of the plane and you watch as Paul stands and turns to look at Y/N, motioning to her to meet up with him after she got off the plane. She nods her head and slides her backpack straps over her shoulders, waiting for her turn to stand. 

“For jet lag…You know…Um, Benadryl,” you offer, your voice a little soft and unsure.

She turns to look at you, pinching her brows together in question. 

“When you get to your room tonight, take a Benadryl. Should knock you out until the morning and help you get on a normal schedule. Works for me, at least.” you finish, nodding to her as the people in front of you stand to leave. 

“Thanks, Jake.” She smiles and nods, sliding out of her seat to walk down the aisle. 

You watch her as she walks up the jet bridge towards the gate, seeing Paul waiting for her in the doorway. The two walk together through the airport, finding it fairly quiet at this hour as most of the flights have landed for the night. You push your sunglasses down onto your nose just as you feel Josh walking up behind you. 

He gives you a gentle nudge in the side to get your attention. “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah. Easy flight,” you answer, still listening and catching bits and pieces of whatever Paul is saying to Y/N, prepping her for the hotel check in and details for the morning. She is typing notes on her phone as she walks, barely looking where she is going, clearly trusting Paul to look out for her more than she should.

You tune out Josh as he rambles on about the flight, Ty jumping in every few words with a retort or a laugh. Your eyes don’t seem to leave her though, watching her talk, watching her walk, shit, just watching her. You can’t seem to shake it. You’d never met anyone like her before. Someone you were so instantly taken with. You wanted to know every single detail about her. 

You feel Josh’s hand as it comes up to your chin, pressing it upward and forcing your jaw shut. “There, you seemed to have dropped that.”

You turn to him angrily, knowing what he’s insinuating, giving him a hard elbow to the arm. “Fuck off, Josh.”

He laughs and pushes you with his shoulder, readjusting his backpack on his other shoulder. “Just an observation, that’s all. Can’t say I blame you, though.”

“Oh are you talking about Jake and Y/N?” Sam interjects, stepping up on your right side in a lanky stride. 

Josh nods, laughing slightly, wanting to keep this banter going. Asshole. 

“Can you two knock it off, fuck,” you growl, hoping she can’t hear them. Your eyes are locked in on her again, and much to your relief she is talking to Paul and can’t hear a word they’re saying.

“He didn’t shut up the entire flight. Lots of whispering and giggles from up there. I didn’t sleep at all. But I did hear his monologue about the genius of Alt-J for the fourth time this year.” Josh quips, earning a laugh from everyone around you. 

“Fuck you again, Josh,” you spit, annoyed at his lack of respect. 

“Damn, so you’re trying to scare her away, then?” Sam teases, giving you a sideways grin. 

You shake your head and push past them forcefully as you step off the escalator into baggage claim, not wanting to engage in this conversation a second longer. Especially because you were afraid they might be right. 

—

“Shit, not again,” Danny mumbles as you all approach the baggage claim area, immediately noticing a group of fans obviously waiting for your arrival. You take a deep, preparational breath as you can’t help but run into them on your path to the carousel. 

“Let’s just get it over with,” you hear Josh complain as he puts on his faux-happy face. You all love meeting fans. Truly, watching their faces light up when they see you is something that is unparalleled. But coming off of a long flight and already feeling the effects of the time difference, starving, and ready for a drink usually puts all of you in a mood that is generally irked overall. But you always suck it up; this is the life you signed up for. 

This time though, unlike most encounters with fans, is enough to make your general irritation quickly turn into intense aggravation. They swarm you, hugging and pulling and invading your spaces in an extremely unwelcome attempt at meeting each of you. You feel surrounded, and unable to get to your luggage in time before it rounds the carousel again. You keep your cool, just as you always do, curtly smiling and pulling away as your body instructs you to. You pause for quick photos as your eyes search the spinning luggage again. You see your brothers out of the corners of your eyes doing the same… quick ‘hellos’ and ‘nice to meet you’s’ as the crowd just seems to get bigger and bigger. 

Just as your eyes finally fall on your suitcase, you hear a loud clack as you turn and notice someone has knocked Sam’s phone out of his hand. It lands face down on the tile floor, likely cracked and scuffed from the people crowding around you all. You watch as Sam’s face turns up in annoyance, his eyes closed as he composes himself. 

“Okay, that’ll be enough!” You hear Dean, your security, bellow across the crowd. “Please step away, no more photos, no more photos…” Dean makes his way into the center of group, quickly dispersing them. You give Sam a quick look that says, ‘get your phone, let’s go’, and soon enough you’re rolling your suitcase through the middle of the crowded room. 

You see Y/N in the crowd, finding her to be a little flustered from the encounters, but alright nonetheless. You lock eyes with her as she mouths, ‘Are you okay?’, and you nod her off with a look of, ‘Yeah, this happens all the time.’

Your team is surrounding you as you quickly walk through the hallway toward the exit, ready to hop into an unmarked van and zip away to your hotel. You’re still being followed as you make it through the back exit doors.

When you’re finally safe outside the pickup area, everyone breathes a sigh of relief. “Fuck, that was a bad one.” Danny says. “Sam, how's your phone?”

“It’s ok, just a little scuff in the corner but it’ll be fine,” he answers, scanning his eyes over it.

“Guys, keep your phones on, Wes will be texting you tomorrow with where we’re headed next. Get some sleep and something to eat.” Paul instructs as everyone loads their things into the vans. Y/N is standing nearby, and you can tell that she feels a little out of place as she awkwardly crosses one ankle over the other. You take a quick opportunity to knock your elbow into her side, feeling comfortable enough to do that now that you’d sat together so long on the plane, but she’s avoiding eye contact. You hope she doesn’t feel uncomfortable around you.

“Hey, thanks for letting me jam a little with you on the plane,” you say sheepishly. “Sorry if I overstepped any, but I really think you’ll like the music I added for you.”

Finally her composure opens a little. “No, no! You didn’t… overstep. I’m actually excited to hop in my big cozy hotel bed and listen again.” Her words make your stomach fall with nerves, but you quickly suppress it. 

“Y/N, you ready?” you hear Wes ask her as he passes by, heading toward another van.

“Yep, all set!” she answers as she follows him through the dwindling group. She hops into another van, and you worry she’ll be staying at another hotel. For a second you think you won’t see her as much if she is. You climb inside the van and slam the door closed behind you, seeing the group of fans with their phones pressed to the windows of the airport. You plop back down into the middle seat beside Josh, and finally take a full breath of relief. 

“Fuck! I swear to god if I’m getting sick again…” Josh says as he bangs his head against the headrest behind him. You scoot sideways on the van’s bench seat, staying as far away from him as you can. 

“Are you serious?!” Danny says from the seat behind you. “You need a mythical medicine man or some shit.”

“It’s fine, I’m fine, just feel a little congested. I’ll send Y/N out on her first mission for some meds after we get settled in the hotel.” Josh answers, and you keep yourself pressed against the van’s window, purposefully turning your back to him. Can’t have that again. You realize, though, that of course she’ll be in the same hotel as you, management always is. 

The vision of a worried Y/N replays in your mind, seeing her face full of concern as the fans did all but ambush you earlier. You shake the thought, suddenly having a realization that, most likely, everyone else is having, too. 

“I think we should amp up security,” you blurt. “No offense to Dean, but he’s only one guy. There are more than ten of us…” you’re met with a little bit of silence, so you press on. “Just while we’re over here, at least. We’re going to be separated a lot, and I think it would be a good idea if Dean wasn’t being pulled in all different directions.”

“Don’t you think we should have thought of that before we got over here, Jake?” Josh counters. 

“I’ve actually been thinking it for a while. Today just…made me feel like it’s necessary, now,” you respond quietly. What could it hurt? You have the funds, and a few extra eyes on you and your team couldn’t be a bad thing. 

You hear a collective sigh from your brothers, until Sam finally speaks. “Yeah, I kinda felt a little overwhelmed when I dropped my phone and it got kicked away from me. First world problems, I know, but—”

“But someone could have picked it up, and ran off with it. Gotten access to your private information. Stepped on it and shattered it. We’re probably just paranoid, but I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a bad idea…” you suggest. 

“I like the idea.” Josh adds. “Wish we would have talked about it sooner, but I’m sure Paul could get something arranged for us. Those security companies are always looking for overseas gigs.”

“Daniel, you agree?” you ask, twisting your body to the backseat. 

“Yeah, I do, actually,” he decides. 

“Good. It’s settled, then. We’ll talk to Paul first thing in the morning,” you say, happy with your decision of bringing it up. All you can see is a memory of Y/N’s scared face replaying over and over in your mind, and you just can’t seem to shake it.

You quickly curse yourself, you’re in no headspace to be worrying about a woman right now. You’ve gotta keep your head on straight. Tour hasn’t even started yet, and you’re already letting a new girl give you butterflies. You audibly scoff at yourself as you lean your elbow on the window, looking out at the bustling streets outside. You throw your earbuds in, letting the tangle of cords just be what it is, and you pull your phone out to switch the volume up. Of course, Alt-J pops onto your screen the second you look at it, and you wonder if she’s already listening to them, too. 

The city lights are twinkling through the light drizzle of rain, and you finally feel your bones starting to settle into tiredness. Though your mind is racing with excitement to play shows, you let yourself ignore the thoughts and relax into the music blessing your ears. Some room service and a down comforter is calling your name. 

—--

HER POV

The shrill sound of your hotel room telephone wakes you from a half-sleep. What the hell? What time is it? You don’t remember falling asleep, but the loud TV and the lights still illuminating the room signify you must have accidentally dozed off. 

“Hello?” you answer, realizing that no matter the time, duty calls. 

“Hey, Y/N. It’s Paul. Sorry if I woke you…”

“No, you’re fine. I’m awake,” you lie. 

“Cool. Um, Josh was wondering if you’d run to the pharmacy down the street and pick up the meds I just texted you. He said he would go get them himself, but he’s doing a lung steaming treatment or… something. I dunno. But if you don’t care, here’s your first assignment! I know it’s late, but the pharmacy is apparently open all night.”

You glance at your watch and see that it’s already nearing 1:00AM. “Sure! I don’t care at all. Tell him I’ll have them to him ASAP.” 

“Will do. Hey, turn your location on for me and Wes, okay? Be safe, thanks again,” Paul hangs up the phone before you can say goodbye, and within seconds you’re crawling out of bed and putting your pants back on. Your stomach growls as you realize you fell asleep without eating anything. You make a plan to make a quick trip to the pharmacy, deliver Josh his medicine, then go back out to find something to eat before you end up eating the bag of peanuts you stuffed in your bag on the plane. 

You take a second to check your messages, finding you have three unread messages from Ruth. In the mess and confusion of the day, and the time difference, you’ve been thrown for a loop. You shoot her a quick few texts to let her know you’re alive and well, but you leave out the sweet little detail that you’d shared AirPods with the guitarist of the band you’re touring with. You’d get into that part later.

The walk to the pharmacy is short, thankfully, and you find the things Josh needs without much of an issue at all. The city is still fairly crowded with people at this hour, and you make sure to track your steps backward just the way you came to get back to the hotel. Your stomach rumbles again, and the smells coming from the various restaurants around you have your head spinning with hunger. 

A few quiet knocks on Josh’s hotel room door bring him to answer it within seconds, and his warm composure instantly makes you feel welcome. “Y/N! Thank you so much, seriously. I need to knock this shit out before it gets any worse, and I think you just saved the day,’ he gushes as you see clouds of steam pouring out of his cracked bathroom door, and smell the sweet scent of herbal fragrances as they waft through your nose. “You have any trouble finding the place? Google said it was close by…”

“Anytime, Josh. And no, actually. It was right around the corner,” you answer, handing him the bag of meds.

“Good. Well I won’t bother you again, you heading to sleep?” he asks with a warm tone.

You bite the inside of your lip as your stomach screams at you again. “No, I passed a little pub on my walk, and it smelled amazing as I walked by. Think I’m gonna go have a drink and get something to eat. I’m starving.”

“Go feed yourself, love. Enjoy the city. We’ve got a long day tomorrow!” 

“Will do, see you tomorrow!” you say as he closes the door. 

“Thanks again! See ya!”

You make your way to the elevator and down to the bottom floor, digging your phone out of your pocket to check your location and make sure the pub is still going to be open at this hour. A quick search for Le Marmitone tells you the kitchen doesn’t close for another hour, so you pick up your pace and head straight for the pub. 

The wind and rain have picked up a little bit, and you thank yourself for adding a few layers on before you left your hotel room earlier. The cold air bites at your cheeks as you meander through the people still out walking the streets, and the smell of the food drifting on the wind draws you straight back to the pub. Upon entering the double doors, you find that it is actually a nice restaurant with a bar. 

You grab a seat at the corner of the bar, glancing to the coolers and shelves to see what your drink options are.

“Evening madame, here is a menu. Can I get you a beverage?” a man in a sport coat asks as he hands you the shiny white menu. His accent is thick, but you can understand him fairly easily.

“Hello. Could I have a whiskey soda and a water, please?” you ask as you remove your heavy jacket and hang it over the back of the stool. You look over the menu choices and decide on a bowl of soup and a sandwich, more of a lunch option, but a steaming hot bowl of soup sounds exactly like what you need right now. 

There are a few people still scattered throughout the restaurant, most closing their tabs and leaving for the night. There are a few patrons still at the bar, stuck in conversations with one another or watching whatever game is playing on the big screen. 

The bartender sets your drinks in front of you as you tell him your food order, and you pull out your phone to begin fishing through emails and making your daily checklists. The Whiskey drink is strong, but not too strong, and you let yourself enjoy the immediate warmth it sends coursing through your veins. 

You fill your stomach up as far as it will allow you, and you decide that one more drink probably won’t hurt, as the place doesn’t close up for another hour. You’re enjoying yourself, basking in the calm before the storm that is going to hit promptly at 10AM tomorrow. 

“‘Scuse me, sir. I’ll take one more drink and my check, please,” you alert the bartender. He nods and turns to concoct your drink and print your tab. When he returns, he plops a bright red maraschino cherry onto the top. 

“Gentleman at the end of the bar says this one is on him, ma’am.” He places the white slip of paper in front of you as he removes your dishes, and disappears. Your eyes slowly drift to the left, landing on an older gentleman who had been lingering at the end of the bar since you’d gotten here. His friends have since left, leaving him to finish off a few more rounds by himself. 

He smiles hard when you notice him, and slides off his stool, stumbling his way toward you. You feel your heart rate pick up as he approaches you, and you remember that you do have mace in your purse, should you need it, Ruth’s one request.

“Hello, lovely. Enjoy that drink on me this evening,” he slurs with a heavy accent. He sits down in the stool beside you, and suddenly you’d rather not have that second drink, after all. You glance at the drink, and back to him, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable in his presence. 

“Um, thank you, really. But I—I’ve actually got to go. It’s getting to be later than I thought…” you lie, pulling out some cash from your purse to pay the bill. 

“Nonsense! Have the drink, beautiful. Tell me, where are you from? Your accent tells me it’s somewhere far away from here…” he presses, pushing the drink toward you. His hands are giant, and covered in dark hair. He has a beard of the same color that reaches almost down to his stomach, and you can smell the alcohol radiating from his breath. 

“The States,” you say bluntly, avoiding eye contact with him as the bartender is nowhere to be found. You immediately kick yourself for not telling Dean where you had run off to, all by yourself. You know better than this. 

“Obviously, sweetheart. But where?” he asks. 

“Um, a small town, you’ve probably never heard of it,” you go on, beginning to pull your jacket on and leave the money on the bar top. Suddenly the man’s hand is on the back of the stool, holding it steady as you try to turn it. 

“I’d like to hear all about it, love,” he growls, and you suddenly feel very intimidated. There is no one else around, no other patrons at the bar, you couldn’t feel the presence of another human or employee running about, and you contemplated making a run for it. 

“I promise I’m not here to scare you, just talk. That’s all I’d like to do…” he goes on, backing his hand away from the chair as he notices your panic. Finally, the bartender makes his way back, but instead of taking your check, he continues cleaning and re-stocking for the night. You’re alone, and uncomfortable. Why did you do this to yourself? 

Suddenly you remember that Jake put his number in your phone. You know you can’t get a hold of Dean at this hour, especially since you didn’t tell him you were going anywhere. You can’t make that bad of a first impression before your first day even really happens. 

You quickly turn your attention to your phone, trying to figure out what to do, but then it hits you. You type in the name, taking a deep breath before sending Jake a risky text as a last ditch effort. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here alone, hmm?” the man asks as you turn away from him to type as quickly as you can.

You

1:47AM: Jake, are you awake?

Your foot taps nervously on the floor, the man next to you doing everything in his power to corner you into this seat. A text bounces back after a minute, and you feel your shoulders relax just a touch. 

Jake 🗡

1:49AM: How did you get this number?

You

1:50AM: You put it in my phone today on the plane. Are you busy?

Jake 🗡

1:51AM: Oh, hey. No, I’m just getting ready to go to bed, why what’s up? You okay?

You

1:52AM: No. I don’t think so. I hate to ask this, I know it’s late. Is there any way you could come meet me? I left to get something to eat and didn't tell anyone and this guy here has me cornered into my seat and I don't think he is gonna let me leave alone.

Jake 🗡

1:53AM: Share your location, I’m leaving now.

You

1:54AM: Thank you. I owe you.

“Did you hear me sweetheart? I said, are you expecting someone?” the man asks, a sly grin on his face as he leans closer to you. 

You quickly glance back down at your phone, sharing your location with Jake and hoping he can find you. You lock your phone and put it in your purse, pretending you’re a lot less anxious than you actually are.

“Actually, yes, I am. My…boyfriend is on his way. He’ll be here in just a second.” you lie, doing your best to speak confidently. “I should probably step outside to meet him.”

“No, no, stay, you haven’t touched your drink,” he says, gesturing to the glass of alcohol. “I know a place down the street, stays open late, too.”

You feel your skin start to grow clammy, the man's intentions suddenly becoming very clear. Your heart is pounding as you try to talk your way out of the situation. You clear your throat, and just as you start to speak you see the front door of the restaurant open. Jake steps inside, looking side to side, his eyes quickly scanning the entirety of the restaurant until he locks eyes with you. 

He nods to the host at the door as he walks toward you, wearing the same clothes from earlier but now his hair is a little messier. You know he got out of bed to do this. 

You instantly stand from your seat as Jake steps up, reaching towards him as he settles himself between you and the man. 

“Hey baby, you finally made it,” you coo, your pleading eyes locked on Jake’s as he wraps his arm around your shoulder in a welcoming hug. You can smell him, the cologne lingering on his coat. The same coat that was wrapped around you only hours ago.

He pulls away and drops his arms to his side as you turn to him. You stare at him just a second longer, hoping he can hear the words you are screaming in your mind. He blinks and turns to look at the man before letting his eyes flick back to you. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course babe, sorry I was late,” he pauses, turning to face the drunk man beside him. “Who is this?”

You let out a small breath of relief as he silently agrees to play along with you. “Oh, he came over from the bar. He sent this drink over, but I just can’t drink it. I already had one and you know I work in the morning,” you answer, hoping he is understanding what you’re trying to say. “Do you want it?”

He looks so effortless standing there with a hand in his jacket pocket. He tilts his head and scrunches his nose just a bit before answering, “Ahh, nah…It looks like a watered down well pour and I just had one myself before I got here. I’m alright. We should probably get going though, we have an early day tomorrow and it’s fairly late already.”

Yes.

“Oh, you two are terrible liars. He isn’t your boyfriend, is he sweetheart?” the man asks, scoffing at Jake. “You should come with me, I can show you the city better than this fool.”

“That’s an awfully brazen assumption, sir, I must say.” Jake argues, pulling his hand from his coat pocket and grabbing yours. You suck in a harsh breath feeling his fingers lace with yours. Fake or not, there was definitely a new feeling swirling through your veins. 

“Look at her, she’s flustered. This woman hasn’t ever been touched by you. It’s written all over her face.” he continues, looking Jake over. 

“Your boyfriend, your husband, he isn’t any of those things. I don’t see a ring on your finger, and I don’t know how they do things where you’re from, but in this country, you my dear, are fair game.”

You want to snap back. The audacity is astounding. You start to step forward, ready to lay into him, but you feel Jake’s hand squeeze yours and you know he’s telling you to follow his lead this time.

“She is with me, sir,” Jake spits. “And it would be in your best interest to back off.”

“Oh, is that right?” the man counters, standing up from his seat, giving him a few good inches over Jake. Jake didn’t falter though. Of course he didn’t. He knew that didn’t matter.

“Kiss her, then. If she’s yours, kiss her,” he quips. 

“Absolutely not, I don’t have to prove anything to you, and quite frankly sir, it’s none of your business,” Jake snaps, you can tell he’s starting to get mad, his hand gripping yours a little harder. “Let’s go, babe.”

You stand firm next to him, not letting your face show a single waiver of emotion as the man waits to see if you’ll crack. Jake starts to walk away pulling you behind him, but before you can move the man grabs your other arm, taking both of you by surprise. 

“Stay, sugar. Let a real man take you home.”

Jake snaps his head around, hearing the words fall from the man's drunken mouth. For a minute you’re scared. You don’t know how Jake is going to react, his jaw is hard set and his nostrils flared in anger. You hear him curse under his breath as he shakes his head. 

“You know what? Fuckin’ fine…” he challenges, looking at the man then to you, nodding just enough for you to notice.

Just as you feel the anxiety of what he is about to do bloom in your chest, he reads your body language, letting a sweet and quiet ‘S’okay’ slip from his lips.

Your eyes widen a little as you realize what’s about to happen, but take solace in the fact that he’s likely just as nervous as you are. He stops, pulling you in towards him as his hand grabs at your waist.

His fingers grip into your hairline as he tilts your head just enough to deepen the kiss. His tongue swipes over your lips, hot and wet as your hands slide up his body to rest on his chest. You kiss him back, you’re trying to sell this as the real thing, but also partly because you just want to. You try not to think about that part too much as you let your tongue flick against his just for a second before pulling it back. You feel the vibration on your lips as the softest groan leaves his mouth just as he pulls away from you. 

Your lips are wet with the taste of him and your chest is heaving as Jake rubs his lips together and clears his throat. He turns to the man who is standing there staring at the two of you, a bit of challenge in his tone as he speaks. “You good now?”

The man scoffs, mumbling a curse as he bats at the air between you. You feel yourself relax in Jake’s grip as the man turns to walk back to his original place at the bar. A quiet ‘fuck’ leaves Jake’s mouth as he turns his attention back to you, stepping back and releasing his grip on you. 

His eyes search yours just as yours search his, both of you unsure what to say. Instead he looks over to the man again, nodding his head to him as he grabs your hand again and guides you towards the door.

“You okay?” he asks, opening the door and letting you walk out into the drizzle. You pull your jacket closed across your front, the cold air chilling your skin. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay. Thank you– for that,” you murmur as he steps up next to you. He grabs your hand again, lacing his warm fingers with your cold ones, taking you by surprise. 

“Oh, it’s okay now Jake, he isn’t following us,” you offer, looking over your shoulder to check. He doesn’t drop your hand though, in fact you feel his fingertips brush across your knuckles, sending a whole different kind of chill through your body. 

“I know,” he answers, smiling shyly as he peeks at you out of the corner of his eye. You’re positive he can see the blush that has taken over your cheeks, your mouth suddenly dry, and your mind unable to form a response. You feel the butterflies swirling around in your stomach as you walk towards the hotel, the rain starting to taper off finally. 

“You can trust me, you know,” he says, his voice sincere as he guides you around puddles. 

“I barely know you, Jake,” you smile, bumping your shoulder into his. 

“For now,” he answers, squeezing your hand in his. 

He opens the door to the hotel lobby, the warm air instantly hitting you. Jake drops your hand, your fingertips brushing against his. You kind of miss it, in a way you definitely shouldn’t be. 

“Thank you again, for doing all of that. I’m really sorry. I fucked up, I won’t make that mistake again,” you say, watching him press the button for the elevator. Your eyes linger on his lips, a little pink from the cold air outside. 

“It was no problem, I promise. Stop apologizing,” he pauses, motioning for you to step into the elevator. “Let me walk you to your room, what floor?” he asks, his finger hovering over the buttons.

“Oh, no it’s really okay, you don’t have to do that. I promise I’m good now,” you stammer, watching his lips turn up in a huff of laughter. 

“Y/N, what floor?”

“Nine,” you squeak, your eyes fixated on the dimple in his cheek. You feel your skin growing warm just from looking at him, you feel like you might burst into flames just at the thought of how his lips felt on yours. Did you imagine that whole encounter? No way all of that just happened.

“Me as well,” he says, pressing the button as the doors close.

The two of you ride up in silence, casting each other the occasional glance every few seconds. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you're positive you stopped breathing. The elevator chimes as it reaches the ninth floor, and you nearly jump out of your skin at the sound. 

He smiles at you again as the doors open, gesturing for you to walk ahead of him. “Your room number?”

“Um, I think I'm 924, all the way down,” you answer, your heart jumping in your chest. 

He nods his head and puts a hand into his pocket. “Alright, I’m just up here in 915, but I’ll walk you down.”

“Jake you really don’t have to, you can just–”

He turns to you and laughs, shaking his head again. “Just let me.”

“Fine.” You huff a breath, pulling your own keycard from your purse. He walks only a step behind you, both hands in his pockets now as you step up to your door. You tap your key to the lock and hear it beep, signaling for you to enter. You turn to look at Jake, seeing a softness to his face you hadn’t noticed until now. 

“Thank you, for…being such a gentleman,” you say playfully, smiling at him. 

“My pleasure, Miss Y/N. There is some chivalry left in the world…” he answers, bringing his hand up to rub at his lips. 

You start to enter your room, and hear him speak again, this time very quietly.  “We’re not all bad.”

You turn around to see him shifting his weight still rubbing his fingers over his chin as if he expected you not to hear him. 

“What?”

He hesitates as he makes eye contact with you, clearly shocked you heard him. You can tell he wants to say something but he’s holding back. Maybe you’ve spooked him. 

He shakes his head with a smile, as if telling himself whatever he wanted to say was stupid. He pulls his phone and his keycard from his pocket and grips them in his hand. “Nothing, nothing, um, have a good evening. I will see you in the morning, I suppose.”

You nod once, giving him a sweet and appreciative smile, “See you in the morning.”

He lingers for just a moment, eyes locked on yours before flicking down to your lips. He catches himself and looks back at you before turning to head down the hallway. You shut the hotel room door and twist the lock, letting out the breath you had been holding with a gasp. 

You spin around, letting your back press against the door as you sink down to the floor with a barely audible squeal. Holy. Shit. What the hell was that?

Pull yourself together Y/N.

You grab your purse and stand up, digging through it as fast as you can in search of your phone. You have no earthly idea what time it is in Nashville but you don’t care as you pull up your texts with Ruth, and begin furiously typing. 

You

2:34AM: Without going into detail I definitely just kissed the guitarist 🫢

You toss your bag onto the chair and change into your pajamas, your blood still rushing around in your body as you try to calm your nervous system. A text bounces back, and you know it’s her. 

Ruth

2:40AM: WITHOUT GOING INTO DETAIL???? KISSED? I just got to my desk!!!! I’m here. I’m sat. I’m listening. I want every single detail in a five paragraph essay with MLA formatting.

You

2:42AM: Lol it is 2:40 in the morning. I will call you tomorrow, which is really still today for you, but kinda tomorrow for me? I don’t know this is confusing but I will call you and give you the full run down because we also shared airpods on the plane and he made me a playlist? Love you goodnight!

Ruth

2:44AM: AIRPODS? A PLAYLIST??????

2:45AM: Y/N NO! GET BACK HERE

2:45AM: Okay. Hang on, I’m googling him. I need to see this man’s face

2:46AM: Wait there’s two guitarists

2:46AM: Ok one is the bassist HELLO?? You kissed HIM?! Aldjsfklsk

2:48AM: It’s totally fine and I am being so normal about this. Talk to you later, if I haven’t pulled all my hair out by then! I’ll be creeping his insta all day! Goodnight!

You laugh as you read her onslaught of messages, knowing that she is likely going out of her mind with possible scenarios. You make your way into the bathroom, washing your face and brushing your teeth so that you can positively melt into the bed and sleep until your alarm forces you awake. You’re patting your face dry as your phone buzzes on the bathroom counter, but the noise it makes isn’t one you’re familiar with. You hang the towel on the ring and pick up your phone, seeing a notification come through that is brand new to you.

‘Jake Added A Song to Your Shared Playlist: 🐥’

He what? 

Now?

Your blood runs cold just seeing his name on your phone after…well…whatever that was.

You turn off the bathroom light, hesitantly sliding your finger across the notification, and letting it bring up the playlist. There at the very bottom you see that a new song was added two minutes ago. But not just any song, no. You know this one. You know this one well. You tap on the song hearing the familiar and haunting guitar riff of ‘Kiss Me’ by Sixpence None the Richer start to play through your phone speakers.

You can’t help but to laugh, a smile of shock has your jaw hanging wide open as you stand in your giant fancy hotel room, listening to what you consider to be a fairly romantic song sent straight to you from none other than your knight in shining, well, corduroy, armor. You couldn’t even picture him listening to this song, and somehow that almost made it a little better. 

As the chorus plays you fall backwards onto your bed, the fluffy white sheets enveloping you as a giddy feeling swirls through your chest. He’s thinking about me. He’s thinking about that kiss. You felt guilty for thinking about it, but now? Now you weren’t feeling so guilty. He liked it just as much as you did, clearly. 

Jake Kiszka liked kissing you. 

You. 

What?

You couldn’t wipe the stupid smile off of your face if you had to. You didn’t want to. This was quite possibly the most thrilling thing that has happened to you in months. Years! You had all but forgotten about creepy bar man at this point, but god you have half a mind to walk right back into that bar and shake his hand. 

But, you knew you had to calm down. Take a breath. The song came to a close, leaving the hotel room silent. Your mind was still swimming in bliss, replaying the feeling of his lips on yours, the way his hands held yours, the way he smelled, the way his lips tasted, oh god… He was thinking about your kiss. He all but told you so. 

You were also thinking about that kiss. He wanted you to know he was thinking about it. How can you– Oh. A sly grin spreads across your face as you type into the search bar. 

You find the song you’re looking for, your thumb hovering over the add button as you try to talk yourself out of doing this. It could end badly, terribly, really. He is technically your boss, and you know you shouldn’t be doing this, but. Hey, you’re just the runner. You smile as you watch the little box pop up reading ‘Added’.

Your heart starts to pound. Did he get a notification? Is he asleep? Did he see it? Will he understand? Since when did you start communicating with people through song titles?

You rush back to the playlist scrolling to the bottom and smiling as you press play on the new addition to your shared playlist. It's mere seconds before ‘Do It Again’ by Steely Dan starts to play and you laugh, knowing you are absolutely crazy. Do it again, of course you wanted to do it again. God he probably thinks you’re such a loser. Plot twist, you are, but he doesn't have to know that yet. 

You listen to the song, plugging your phone into the charger and turning off the lamp. You’ve always loved Steely Dan, it reminds you of your dad, but then again who doesn’t it remind of their dad? The song comes to a close, your giddy feeling finally starting to wear off as the exhaustion starts to step into its place. Your eyes feel heavy as you roll towards the nightstand to set your alarm, groaning at how soon it’s coming. You lock your phone and settle into the pillows, letting out a content sigh as you recap the day in all of its insane glory. 

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, the glow illuminating the room for just a brief second. You freeze as you stare up at the ceiling, almost too scared to look. Did he add another song? What if he changed his mind? What if you overstepped? Oh god. You should not have done that. What were you thinking?  

You suck in a breath as you grab your phone, nervously tapping the screen that shows no new songs added, but a text from Jake. 

Jake 🗡

3:04AM: I fully intend to. 

Oh, he definitely saw it.

.

.

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[rachetmath]

Emerald: Ruby? Weiss? May I talk to both of you for one minute?

Ruby: Emerald? You want to talk?

Emerald: Yes.

Weiss: With us?

Emerald: Yes. Do you both have the time or not?

Weiss: Um… sure.

Ruby: This is rare so I am curious about how this conversation will go.

Emerald: Okay, good. Now, if you don’t feel comfortable, we can drop this. Alright?

Ruby: Okay.

Weiss: Absolutely.

Emerald: Good. So… which one of you is going to give it up to Jaune?

Weiss: WHAT THE-

Ruby: WHEN DID WE GET TO THIS POINT?! WHEN?!

Emerald: I’m just saying. When are any of you going to give the man something for his efforts?

Weiss: There is no way this is happening. Especially not from you.

Ruby: *looks around*

Emerald: Ruby what are you doing?

Ruby: Checking for cameras and microphones at the very least. But mainly to see if Nora or Blake are hiding anywhere. This is something straight out of their book. 

Emerald: Look, I’m just asking a simple question. Now Ruby I understand considering-

Ruby: No. Stop.

Emerald: I mean-

Ruby: Shut up.

Emerald: Fine. But you Weiss, I don’t understand.

Weiss: Alright look. I somewhat am impressed with Jaune, but I don’t like him like that. We’re just friends.

Ruby: Yeah and so are we!

Emerald: So after everything he’s done for both of you, you don’t think of him as anything other than a friend?

Ruby and Weiss: Yes.

Emerald: Even though he helps both of you. Saves both of you. And kept both your sisters alive.

Ruby: Um…

Weiss: I mean… yeah.

Emerald: Mhmm. Disappointing.

Ruby: Excuse me?

Emerald: I’m just saying I met no one besides Hazel and Mercury who would go that far for me. If I were you girls I try to keep that around.

Weiss: What are you trying to say?

Me: Cinder and Neo may have had a point. You two don’t deserve shit. Ungrateful bitches.

Weiss: Look, Emerald, Ruby and I care about Jaune. Plus, you make it sound like we don’t stand a chance now to get with him.

Emerald: Because you don’t. Especially when you had Jessica ahead of you both.  And she’s not from this universe.

Ruby: How do you know about Jessica?

Emerald: Jaune told me and he didn’t skip the details. 

Ruby: … … um…

Emerald: And he’s older now.

Weiss: But not as mature.

Emerald: How so? I mean, he cares about others. And he’s responsible. How does that not count as being mature?

Weiss: Well he yelled at Ruby.

Emerald: Did he have a reason?

Ruby: He was always angry and frustrated.

Emerald: Again did he have a reason?

Ruby and Weiss: Yes.

Emerald: Okay, look, if you girls don’t want him fine. Just don’t be mad when another woman decides to claim him. 

Ruby: Pfft like who?

Emerald: I don’t know. Maybe just any girl willing to put up with him. Help him. And unlike Pyrrha would take any opportunity to seal the deal. Maybe Winter. Elm. Me. Harriet. Possibly any one better.

Ruby: Hold on what you say.

Emerald: I said what I said.

Weiss: Emerald, you are no older than us. 

Emerald: I mean I can wait and if it doesn’t work out I’ll find someone new. But again… what about you Schnee cause I believe your chances are slim.

Weiss: What? 

Emerald: Because you are basic.

Weiss: Basic? Oh, I will show you ‘basic’.

Ruby: No, Weiss. Calm down. No.

Weiss: Let me go, Ruby. 

Emerald: Well I am going to take my leave. Later losers.

Weiss: I KILL YOU!!

#rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #weiss schnee #emerald sustrai #rwby lancaster #jaune x ruby #rwby topaz #jaune x emerald #whiteknight #jaune x weiss #pyrrha nikos #rwby arkos #jaune x pyrrha #harriet bree #jaune x harriet #rwby elm ederne #jaune x elm #jessica cruz #jaune x jessica #rwby knightlight #jaune x winter #winter soldier #winter schnee

[ethansluvbot]

hotch unconsciously favouring new bau!reader and she doesn’t even notice 😭😭 she just thinks he’s super sweet and everyone is like 🤨🤨 where’s our special treatment aye?

WHERE DO WE GO NOW | A. HOTCHNER

warnings: mostly fluff, but a kiss?

an: SORRY I TOOK SO LONG HOPE YOU LOVE IT, ignore how bad im at writing like technical fbi stuff lol

as he returns to his seat on the jet, hotch gives you a pack of food and some water. you put your earplugs back in after grinning and thanked him. morgan smirked at his boss's strange actions, but he remained silent.

"all right, let's briefly review the case's facts. while morgan and prentiss travel to the M.E., jj and reid head to the crime site. y/n and i will head over to receive a briefing. okay, everyone, let's get going."

you smooth your dress down and collect your belongings, trailing hotch in the process. as soon as you enter, he opens the door for you and goes inside for a briefing.

"the victim's boyfriend last spoke with shelby at 9:02 p.m. we spoke with the bartender at jack's bar, where she was around for the majority of the evening at 9:30. we are currently obtaining the security footage from her. tell my staff or me if you need anything."

spencer said as he left the room, "i'm going to call garcia and ask for access to the security cameras sooner rather than later."

"how's jack doing?"

"he is doing well! he does, however, truly miss you, especially your homemade chocolate chip cookies."

"does he miss the cookies or do you?" you chuckle.

Thinking to himself, "I will not answer that question," you smile and wondered who else he let his guard down for. we was always open to you, even though he never discussed his past with others.

"what would you say about you, jack, and I visiting the aquarium? ever since you got him that ipad, he has been telling me about dolphins, and i get texts all the time."

as he takes a sip of coffee, reid enters the room and says, "garcia has found the camera footage. what did I ruin something?"

1 HOUR LATER

"as of right now, it appears that the unsub prefers women who are between the ages of late 20 and early 30. Every victim carries a huge risk, and I think he enjoys the possibility of exposure. kidnapped from bar parking lots despite the fact that his face is constantly hidden. he has a dark-colored van and it's clear by the signature he injures the victim, since he has a long-term damage of his own.

"y/n i would prefer if you would lay low on this case, you fit the profile and i don't want anything to happen to you."

"are you certain? given the profile, it could be the greatest option for us."

he nods while leaning back in your chair, knowing that he thought too highly of you to see you be in harms way. you have no idea how much more than you realized he cared for you.

"fine, do not put yourself into a situation where you know it will end bad."

the remaining members of the team carrying on the discussion regarding the unsub's actions. garcia chiming in with men who match the description. you gently brush your hair away from your face and glance at the hotch. even though you quickly avert his gaze, you can still feel his eyes on you.

"i'm sorry to break this terrible news, but I believe there is a match for this suspect. i'm sending you travis's records and the last two address on file." the group leaps up and sprints towards the available cars. together, you and hotch jump into the car navigating your way to his address.

you get out of the car as soon as you get there. as you search the house, some of the team arrives, and you head upstairs. Your mouth is grabbed by a hand and you are slid into a room. you fall as a result of your head slamming into the wall.

you were able to get up and cause him to lose his balance by kicking the back of his knees. your body reverts to its limp form. travis limps his way back toward your body. there's a shot, and you reach for your gun. You turn to face the hotch, who is gripping his gun.

You say, "thank you," as he helps you leave the house. doctors are rushing to your side right away. hotch stays by your side throughout the whole thing. It is a blessing to have someone who is as concerned as he is.

He asks in jest, "so you still up for the aquarium?"

TINY BONUS

With your earbuds in but the volume down enough to hear the entire conversation, the team continues to tease you on the flight back. "Where's our special treatment?" you chuckle to yourself in private.

#criminal minds smut #criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #spencer reid #emily prentiss

[stardustloserdoll]

Hi! Saw you were looking for some Johnnie requests so I was wondering if you could write him and a fem reader who’s style is like a mcbling x 2000s scene kid but her music taste is the complete opposite like she listens to Taylor swift , and Beyoncé , and The Weeknd and all different types of music but mostly pop and hip hop and stuff like that 😭 if not it’s totally fine have an amazing day/night ! 🤍

yes i am!! im so happy ppl are requesting🙏🙏😭

johnnie with a gf who’s style is mcbling and 2000s scene

you two fs make a video of dressing in each others styles for a day

he’s loves seeing your nails when you get them done

when he came over and saw your room he was like 😲 your room was super pretty and colorful. he honestly loves staying in your room more than his so yk he’s coming over a lot

if you guys live together it will be a mixture of both of your aesthetics

even though you guys have different music tastes and he swears he doesn’t like pop or hip hop. he’s mouthing the lyrics and bopping his head

you both take a lot of pictures on an old camera to get that 2000s feel to it

he loves your jeans and skirts bc of the rhinestones and the cute prints they have

definitely dying each others hair and maybe adding highlights

if he finds any cds that youve been wanting hes buying it for you

hes always complimenting you on your outfits cause they look so good on you

when you post on instagram he’s the first to comment and he spams the comment section with hearts and 😍

he has a hello kitty plushie on his bed cause it reminds him of you, he sleeps with it too

always posting you on his story like “look at my gfs outfit!” he even has a highlight of you and him

you guys prolly go as each other for halloween😭

he lets you practice your makeup on him

#johnnie guilbert fluff #johnnie guilbert x reader

[thesharktanksdriver]

Weaving threads of friendship (mostly platonic)

Refer to this post.

As the people requested, Hobie’s partner meeting Miles.

This one is significantly shorter than my last one partially cause I think this is pretty straightforward

From the moment Miles Morales heard of Hobie brown he didn’t know exactly how to feel about him

It happened in passing as he and Gwen had swung through the city

The first time since the collider incident that he had seen her, months of wondering if she was fine

If she and the others had made it back safe

And now as they go around city just like he had hoped if she mentions him

He couldn’t help but feel a twang of panic

Feelings he’s harboured for the blond that had been simmering for a long while coming to a bubbling uproar

Didn’t help as he pushed the subject and got in response that she had apparently been living with him

An ugly seed of envy sprouts it’s way into his gut at that

He can’t help but feel ashamed of it

This was Gwen, of course she found someone. She was the coolest person he knows

Someone who could do ballet while fighting villains

Plus was apart of some kickass band in her dimension

He honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if she was selling out stadiums

And if she wasn’t currently, then he fully expected that for her future

He should feel happy that she found someone

Happy that she was in a good place

Yet it’s hard to ignore that sprouting envy as his emotions are already high enough as it is when seeing her again

It doesn’t help when he meets Hobie though

Having a moment to prove himself and then suddenly having it quite literally dashed open

With a guitar no less

Doesn’t help that he was cool as hell

The studded black leather vest

Spike Mohawk

Doc Martin boots

British accent

Silver gleaming piercings

Miles knew he couldn’t compare to him

And by god did it hurt

From the moment Hobie saw miles he knew knew he’d like the accidental Spider-Man

It might be due to the fact that Miguel did NOT want him apart of the Spider regime

On the fact that him being Spider-Man went against canon

But it also had to do with the fact that he recognized how he looked at Gwen

It’s how Hobie looked at you

Sure, he couldn’t see under the mask but it was very glaringly obvious to Brit

That was the gaze of someone who was in a deep passionate love

Something akin to fizzling fireworks that popped off in the night

Pop rocks exploding on your tongue on a humid day

Sappy romantic shite that he once never thought he’d think of

Until he rapidly found himself staring at you with that same expression

It makes him chuckle a bit thinking back

How glaringly obvious he was with his feelings yet you couldn’t accept the signs

Not until he told you face to face

Good times

With that look he also sees a slight sadness with it as well

Miles occasionally glancing at him and then back to Gwen

The slight bitter taste Miles held in his voice when addressing him

But what…oh

That realization almost makes Hobie burst out in laughter

Poor lad is probably running circles in his head for nothing

He’s definitely gonna have to tell him

One the tour of the HQ Hobie lingers close by to the newbie

Hands on his pockets as Jessica leads to way to Miguel’s sulking area

With the lame and inconveniently slow office floor elevator

A perfect example of capitalism

He pulls Miles aside with an arm around his shoulder, making Mikes give a noise of complaint

Until Hobie pulled out a Polaroid from an inner pocket of his vest

In it was Hobie with another person

Both staring up at the camera as he gave them a kiss

Miles looks to him in confusion

“I thought you and-“

“Gwenivere? Nah mate. S’ just crashin at my place cause home ain’t the best for her right now.”

“And that’s?”

“Yeah, my partner in crime so to say. Should meet them sometime, they’d like ya”

“Really?”

“Gwen won’t stop talking bout you.”

Hobie stifles a laugh at Miles’s face

The look of surprise and Fluster washing over the young lad as he shoots a glance at Gwen

Who all the while remained obvious to his stare as he directs it to the ground once more

Hobie grabs a new piece of tech as he does this

Pocketing it as he did with many other nick-knacks he’d found and swiped

To be fair, if it’s not nailed to the ground real nice then it’s free territory for grabbing

Or well…that’s what he tells others anyways

The piles of scrap pilled up in both his home and your room is a testament to that

As was the prototypes of his own dimension hoping bracelet

When you met Miles you couldn’t help but be extremely excited as the young Spider-Man sat down on Hobie’s worn and old ripped leather couch

Gwen often talked of him

So now seeing him in person is a extremely fun experience especially since he’s awkward in a way that reminds you of your past self

Conversation starts off slow at first

Stuff mostly revolving around his universe

What he liked

Etcetera Etcetera

But what really gets talk happening is when he brings up drawing

In a life in which your surrounded by musically artistic people it’s nice to have someone with a new passion

So it’s safe to say he quickly ends up showing you his sketchbook

Carefully showing you pages of graffiti tags

Mural ideas

And a few that had Gwen that he quickly flipped to a different page

You don’t comment on it but your grin alone tells him what he needs to hear

Speaking of which, Gwen is ecstatic that you get to meet Miles

She would not spot talking about it even before the whole “don’t tell mikes about the spider society” situation happened and was figured out

You definitely tease her a bit about it

And Miles as well

Buts it’s all in good nature

Miles finds you to be down to earth and Hobie’s translator of sorts

He doesn’t at all get British slang or can understand what Hobie is talking about so you help with that

Using an phrases and metaphors work better for his American understanding

He thanks whatever god there is for that cause sometimes he swears Hobie is making up shit just to confuse him

If you show him all the handmade gifts Hobie has made for you he gets a lot of creative inspiration

Especially since he’s always willing to step out of his normal medium

Show him how to make his own custom pins and he’ll return later with at least 15 plus a couple for you and Hobie

Their also really well drawn as well

So it’s a win win for everyone

At some point you secretly ask him to make some potential album cover art for Hobie and he is fucking ecstatic

He’s never done something like that before so he takes to trying it very seriously

Experimenting with styles

Trying new techniques

Eventually he settles down on a mix of graffiti and collage of news paper clippings

Cause apparently to him you both look as if your straight from newspaper clippings mashed together

Gwen can attest to this as well

Hobie ends up fucking loving it

And Gwen, Miles and Pavitr have to deal with the punk being all lovey dovey to you in a way they had never imagined Hobie to be

He’s peppering your face with kisses and swinging you around in a hug

You let out a small yell as he tosses you up and catches you

It’s honestly really sweet

“How did I once find him intimidating?”

“Eh, it’s not much of a surprise to me. You’d be surprised to find out how many Punk people are actually really sweet”

“I think it’s also cause you thought he was dating g-“

He eventually puts you down and pulls them into a hug

That quickly turns into him aggressively messing up their hair

“I take what I said back”

“Hey! Don’t mess with the hair! My beautiful natural hair!”

“Why am I even surprised anymore?”

Safe to say miles has become a new vital part of this group

And you wouldn’t have it any other way

#hobie brown x reader #across the spiderverse x reader #into the spiderverse x reader #atsv x reader #miles morales x reader

[lace-coffin]

Can I has soft Moonie and Monty gator fic, where reader is perpetually exhausted and the animatronics drag em off when they’re meant to be working to help them get some sleep in the pizzaplex? (Totally not projecting here)

How would Moondrop and Montgomery gator react to an exhausted reader on their shift?

Thank u for the moon and Monty rq I want to eat it up so bad😌

Requests are open!

Reader is gn! No trigger warnings required

Working for the pizzaplex was definitely an experience. A good one? Thats up for debate. No you loved your job, the actual security aspect of it was pretty univentful, flicking through the camera’s of the empty pizza plex. It’s not like any intruders would get far anyway with the security bots at every turn and moon slinking around in security mode. You did however get to see the dumb stuff the animatronics got up to after hours though so that was a plus. If she doesn’t tell that you’re watching YouTube on your shift then you won’t tell how you regularly see chica rummaging the kitchens like a racoon over the cams.

It was a pretty cushy job overall but the hours were vile, working from 12-6 am isn’t great for anyone and essentially becoming nocturnal because of it meant you were either sleeping or exhausted in your free time.

Today was one of the days that you’d turned up essentially half alive, isotonic drink held in a death grip and a pack of pain meds at your disposal. You clock in and slump on the chair In front of the security camera’s, groaning as the pain is taken off your joints.

Moondrop

Naturally moon has been following you to your work station since you clocked in, floating through the shadows of the pizzaplex in a totally normal and not creepy way. No matter how many times you tell him he can just greet you normally and walk you over he still refuses and watches you from afar, you know he cares but emotional vulnerability is difficult for him.

A few hours into your shift you can’t take it anymore, energy drink only doing so much for you. Your head starts to loll in your chair, finally getting a blissful second of rest-

“Morning glowbug!” Moon swings down from the ceiling in the upside down Spider-Man pose, intending and succeeding in scaring the shit out of you just as you were drifting off.

You jump in your seat and land in a pile on the floor on your ass. Once moon stops laughing at your misfortune and you realised it was just him and you weren’t about to get bite of 87’nd you huff at him from your spot on the floor.

“Very funny moon man, hilarious in fact, you do know the door is an option right? Now help me up you nerd” you say in fake irritation, tugging his trouser leg and giving him your hand.

“Everyone’s a critic, bug. I found it fairly amusing”he lends you his spindly hands and pulls you up with a bit more force than necessary, making you stumble. He snickers into the long end of his hat and you shoot him a glare. “Not the day dude”

Moons faceplate rotates at this, non verbally questioning what’s causing your sour mood, you usually love playing with him and whatever is ruining your mood needs to stop immediately because it’s ruining his fun (and maybe because he cares about you but he’ll never admit that)

“I’m fine moon, I’m just sleeping bad again, I’ll survive” you say nonchalantly, dangling your energy drink in your hand and chugging the last of it.

Moons grimaces as he watches you do this, you know he hates those stupid drinks, you feel better for an hour or two and then immediately crash worse than before, usually leaving moon to scrape you off the desk and take over the cameras.

You realise what you’ve done before moon can even get a word out, squeaking and throwing the can back on the desk. “It’s uh, not actually that bad! I’ll be fine, you know me haha, just a little behind on sleep” you stutter over your words trying to back track. You know it’s pointless and moon being the way he is you’re not going to get out of this.

“Oh no, go ahead starlight, drink your sludge. I can’t wait to peel you off the desk later” he drawls out, if his eyes could roll any further back into his head then they would have.

You rise from your chair, hiding behind it like a shield as if it’s going to save you from the inevitable. “You know the drill bug, either you get over here or I’m dragging your sorry ass over here” Moons voicebox fizzles out over the inappropriate word, stupid filters.

“Moon, you know I can’t, I have to finish my shift, I promise as soon as I get home I’ll go straight to bed, no messing” despite trying to placate him moon remains unimpressed, arms folded over his chest. You should probably run.

“Starlight they pay you peanuts, you can take one nap, they’ll survive”

The jester moves down slowly and sits on his haunches like a cat. Moon launches himself at you full speed. You scream and run to the other side of the security office, not much room to run to considering how confined it is in the first place. You yell and giggle as this continues, moon drinking in the way your eyes crinkle when you smile. Over a few minuets you start to get worn out, having no energy in the first place. This gives moon the perfect opening to land a pounce on you and snatch you into his arms, throwing you over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. You playfully kick and complain but you don’t have it in you to actually be upset.

Unsurprisingly you make it to the daycare attendants room in record time, moons huge strides cutting down on time. “You know the drill” moon says as he throws a pair of daycare themed pyjamas from the gift shop at you, hitting you square in the face. You laugh and crawl into the other room through the tunnel to change.

By the time you’ve changed and come back moon has his bed all made and fluffed up and is looking at you expectantly. “Your chariot, my lord” he says dumbly, pulling back the covers and gesturing to the bed. You snort and climb in, snuggling down into the plush bedding. You make a happy noise and look back at moon, taking his big metallic hand in your smaller warm one.

“Thankyou, for this I mean, I really appreciate you caring about me like this, it means a lot”

Moon makes a fake gagging noise but his faceplate tinges a darker blue, telling his real feelings. “Always so mushy starlight” he laughs, but you know he loves the attention.

“Can you stay until I fall asleep?”

“Bold of you to assume I was leaving in the first place”

Moon scooches into the bed and rearranges his limbs into a comfy position, pulling your head against his chest and starting up his music box. He traces little shapes into your palm until you fall asleep for the night.

Montgomery gator

A horrid crash feeds through the security cam speakers. Excellent. You sigh and flip over to gator golf, already knowing who’s most likely to be causing the noise. Sure enough faint mechanical grunting and roaring can be heard. You can’t seem to find Monty on screen though, so it looks like you’ll be taking a trip down to the golf course.

You groan and pull yourself up from your chair, you really don’t have the energy for this tonight.

Not having to look very far you catch Monty red handed a few steps into the golf course. Golf club jammed into the mouth of one of the mechanical gators below the bridge. You pause and just look at him, unamused, waiting for him to explain.

“Uh, howdy twerp, I’m having some…difficulties?” He try’s, almost framing it as a question. You rub your hand over your face in exhaustion and ask him to expand on his problem.

“I uh worked up a rage after screwing up a note in tonight’s show, wouldn’t have happened if stupid fazzass hadn’t bumped into me” he grumbles, getting side tracked complaining about Freddy. “Anyway, I may have taken a swing at one of those gators…it’s turns out once the club is in it’s hard to get it back out” he laughs and rubs at the back of his head awkwardly, hoping your not going to explode on him.

“I love you but you’re a nightmare, green guy”

Monty snorts at the nickname but realises you look a little worn down, your usual bite not as prominent in your banter.

“Are you ok cher? Like you looking after yourself ok? Not to be an ass but you don’t look as with it as usual” he says in a softer tone, a look of genuine concern washing over his face.

“You want the polite answer or the real one?” Monty laughs and asks for the real one. “I’m tired as all hell and I’m essentially a zombie right now, these night shifts are killing me”

Monty frowns at this, he knows the company can be hardasses when it comes to shift patterns, not caring if their employees work themselves to death as long as the schedule is covered.

“So what you’re saying is we’re going to wrestle this stupid club out of that gator and then you’re going to the nest without causing a fuss?” Monty says, phrasing it as an order and not a question.

“I don’t even have the energy to be stubborn, ask moon man to cover for me please”

Monty gives a toothy grin at this and nods his head. You both work on releasing the golf club from its grizzly demise. Combining both your effort and Monty’s unnatural strength you pull the club free! And send it through the window of gator golf…it can wait for the day crew, technically you only came down to remove it from the gator and you’re beyond caring.

Monty throws his arms in the air in celebration. “Nice shot, cher!” You both cackle at the absurdity of the situation until you let out a yawn.

“Ok squirt, let’s get you to bed” he says softly, rosey eyes roaming over your sleepy face. Monty collects you in his arms and makes his way back to his green room, lending you an oversized gator golf shirt to change into. Monty lets out a little huff out of his nose when he sees you in the baggy shirt, adorable.

“Time to hit the hay kid” he pats on the nest he’s made on the floor out of blankets and various plushies/pillows waiting for you to climb in. Once you settle down Monty curls up around you like a big puppy, placing his snoot on your chest. (He’s totally not hoping for some pets before you sleep..)

“I don’t want to hear a peep out of you unless it’s snoring kiddo” Monty grumbles. “Love you to big guy” you hum and pat his nose

You fall asleep wrapped up in the gators tail, your chest rising and falling in time to the gentle bellows rumbling from the now calm and cuddly animatronic.

#fnaf security breach #five nights at freddy's security breach #five nights at freddy's #montgomery gator #montgomery gator x reader #fnaf daycare attendant #daycare attendent #daycare attendant moon #daycare attendant x reader #moon x reader #moondrop x reader #writing #my writing

[nervoussagittarius]

self control

chris sturniolo x reader

summary: two best friends who have been flirting for years finally confess their feelings for one another, request

warnings: fluffy, short little cute moment

chris has been trying to hide it for years. four years to be exact. he refuses to admit it but he’s completely infatuated with you. even though you have been in and out of multiple relationships, chris is holding on for the day he can call you his.

you’ve spent your day with the triplets and are currently getting ready to film a night vlog with them. this isn’t an unusual situation. you often filmed with the boys and appeared in different projects of theirs. you loved it. although you could never give up your job and do it on your own, you enjoyed being included.

chris was currently stood behind you resting his hands on your shoulders as you watched nick start up the camera. you reached your hands back to intertwine your fingers and leaned you head back to lean on chris.

you were both very touchy people so this was no rare occurrence for you two. nick began to intro the video not giving you two time to release eachother. “hey guys welcome to todays vlog. we’re just gonna film our night because we forgot to film the rest of our day so you’ll see what we do tomorrow as well.” you let out a laugh as nick panned to you and chris.

“what are your guys plans for the night?” nick asked. you moved to sit in the counter as you wrapped your arms around chris’s shoulders from behind. “we’ll y/n doesn’t know this but she’s spending the night with me and we’re watching all of the spider-man movies.” he looked over his shoulder at you. “is this your ploy to get me in your bed?” you asked raising your eyebrows. chris looked at the camera and signaled for nick to come in closer before whispering “she wasn’t supposed to figure that one out.”

you jokingly pushed chris away as you hopped off the counter. you felt his eyes on you as you left the room.

later in the evening as you all were sat in the living room watching old videos of the triplets together, nick pulled out the camera again to film you all.

as nick adjusted the settings you all were sitting in a brief scilence, which chris couldn’t handle. he turned to you as you were looking down at your phone. “who’s your celebrity crush?” he asked as he tilted your head up to look at him. “ya know i’m kinda a celebrity so it’s basically me right.”

“sorry to break it to you babe but it’s actually ross lynch.” you said with a shrug. “what are you talking about dude. it’s definitely me. but i could learn how to play the guitar if you really wanted.” he said giving you a wink.

“yeah but have you seen him? he’s like a quadruple threat. he sings, dances, acts, and plays multiple instruments.” you continued. chris rolled his eyes at you and nonchalantly moved away from you on the couch. the spot where he was laying in you becoming cold. “i could definitely do all of that.” chris mumbled.

the rest of the night chris was distant. he didn’t want to admit it but he was jealous that you spoke so highly of this guy you’ve never met. you noticed his change of attitude towards you and it eventually started to hurt your feelings. he was pulling away from your touch and not responding to your jokes and comments towards him.

you became tired of the way chris was treating you so that night when you made it to his room you spoke up about it. “did i do something to upset you? ‘cause if i did i’m sorry and i didn’t mean it.” you slowly climbed onto chris’s bed and watched as he turned his back to you. “i really don’t want to talk about it. it’s fine.” he is tried to act unbothered but you could read him like a book.

“i know something wrong can you please talk to me.” there was silence and a deep sigh from chris. almost five minutes went by before chris started talking. the way he shot up and almost exclaimed startled you. “i just don’t understand how you talk so highly of these people that you let treat you so horribly.” you were stunned by his statement. you didn’t know how to respond to that.

“wh-what?” “you talk so highly about your exes or random people that you don’t know when they treat you like shit. i would treat you so well if you gave me the chance but your so hung up on these people that mean nothing instead. i’m so obsessed with you it’s not funny. i love being around you and i love hearing about your day but you don’t see that. i just want you to see that.” chris’s tangent got quieter as he finished his thoughts. you were at a loss for words.

“i don’t know if it’s because im exhausted or because im just in shock at what you’re saying, but im so confused.” you were looking at chris like he had three heads. you didn’t know what was going on or how you got here, but you weren’t necessarily mad about it.

“y/n. i think im in love with you.” chris said taking your hand in his. “all jokes and flirting aside i really really like you. and i hate that you don’t see that. i understand and if you don’t feel the same way but i can’t keep flirting with you like i don’t mean every word im saying to you.”

“im in love with you two, chris.” you said as you rested his free hand on his cheek and leaned your forehead in his.

#nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine

[thesupreme316]

Hiii I’m here to request ( take your time)

I wonder how aew guys would react to their s/o being clumsy ( she gets hurt lot from being clumsy )

Have a amazing day and take care of yourself

AEW STARS REACT TO: Their S/O being clumsy

Pairings: Eddie Kingston X Reader, Kenny Omega X Reader, Ricky Starks X Reader, Hook X Reader, Nick Wayne X Reader, MJF X Reader, Daniel Garcia X Reader

Word Count: 832

Supreme Speaks: heyyy, thanks to anon for this request (and sorry for taking so long) and I HOPE YOU ARE DOING WELL AND ARE TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF. that's it I think...at least i'm uploading once a week neow...anyways, please remember that you are loved and appreciated.

Warnings: none tbh, GIFS AINT MINE

Taglist: @eddie-kingstons-wifey @hookerforhook @hooks-martin @wwenhlimagines @sheinthatfandom @cassie0sstuff @batzy-watzy @triscillal

Eddie Kingston

This man laughs at you

Like a full-on cackle

But don’t get it twisted

He will make sure that you’re all right

But he’s gonna laugh through it

Will buy bubble wrap baby safety items to “keep you safe” (mainly to tease you)

Mans even grabbed a helmet for you

“Remember when you ran into the light pole?? And then you tripped over a cat??”

He’s a tease and will not hesitate to remind you of all your clumsy actions

But he still loves you…even if you don’t have the best balance

Daniel Garcia

He doesn’t know you

Mans would full-on walk away from you and pretend he doesn’t know you

“Oh my god ma’am are you okay? Whispers stop tripping on air”

When while y’all are on vlogs with Isiah

He just looked off into space or into the camera like he’s on the office

Sometimes he would check on you and quickly walk away

It’s not that he’s not concerned…he just embarrassed a lil

Daniel still loves you to bits and pieces

But your name on his phone is still “Two Left Feet”

Ricky Starks

This man laughs at you pt. 2

Teases you like no tomorrow

Have you ever seen those videos where the dogs mock their owners?? Like that one dog pretending to hop on one foot cause his owner was doing it??

…That’s Ricky…

A dog that mocks you every chance he can

He would mock you over and over again to the point where it’s just an instant reply

Once he walked in on you covered in orange juice (cause you know the fridge fell or something) and he instantly started laughing

“I’m so glad I don’t have to clean that up”

He has videos and pictures of you tripping, slipping, falling, running into doors

I mean he would help wipe the juice off your face…but that’s it…you’re on your own

Hook

Man catches you before you fall every time

He will move you out of the way of danger without looking

He doesn’t understand how you are so clumsy and still alive

Doesn’t flinch if he hears a big crash…that’s just the universe letting him know that you are still alive

It’s when you are very quiet that scares him

Like the time he didn’t hear a noise for an hour, Hook decided to check on you

And he found you on the floor holding your foot in silence…looking up at the ceiling in disappointment

“You good?” “Yeah” “Do you need ice?” “No” “Do you wanna be left alone?” “Yeah”

And then he closed the door and sat back down

As long as you are not severely hurt, Hook is fine

Kenny Omega

Immediately cares for you…folds every time

Gets surprised and scared every time you trip or if there is a big noise

But finds your clumsiness adorable

“AWW, you are still so cute…even though you are as fragile as Don’s ego”

Instantly cuddles you, hugs you, and comforts you if anything happens

Has actually wrapped you up in bubble wrap before

Tries his best to make sure that you don’t have to get up to get anything

Worries about if he’s not there to help you and you get seriously injured

But he quickly realizes that it’s a daily thing and that you are fine

He hopes…

MJF

THIS MAN IS EVIL LAUGHING AT YOU

YOU KNOW THAT PICTURE OF SHINEE’S KEY WAS TAKING A PICTURE WHILE MINHO WAS DROWNING? (Here’s the pic)

That’s him…In fact…that’s his home screen

Doesn’t understand how he fell in love with you when you are this clumsy

Has weird nicknames for you

“Hi my little butterfingers, how are you today?”

But also would take your clumsiness and use it to make him look so strong

Just catches you when you fall and would be “What would you do without me here?”

In his mind, he’s your Superman

Nick Wayne

Mans is clumsy too and no you cannot change my mind

Doesn’t judge you at all…will still laugh at you

While he’s laughing at you running into a wall, Nick runs into a door

Now you both on the ground…laughing in pain

You both be covered with bandaids and bruises from running into anything and everything at least once a week

He risks his safety just for you (kith kith)

“I got you sweetheart. place himself between you and the wall Now you won’t stub your toe”

But then he stubbed his toe…so now you have to nurse him

Overall…he just wants to make sure that you are okay

#aew #all elite wrestling #aew imagine #all elite wrestling imagines #aew reactions #nick wayne #nick wayne imagine #aew hook #aew hook imagine #ricky starks #ricky starks imagine #daniel garcia #daniel garcia imagine #eddie kingston #eddie kingston imagine #i love that man i truly do #eddie kingston x reader #nick wayne x reader #ricky starks x reader #daniel garcia x reader #mjf x reader #maxwell jacob friedman #aew hook x reader

[anonymousboxcar]

TTTE/RWS Headcanons: Tabitha

Tabitha is a cat who appears in a TTTE annual story called “Gordon’s Stowaway.” I just really like playing around with the idea of a railway cat who adores Gordon (and whom Gordon adores in return, lol)!

—————————— -Within Tabitha’s first week in Tidmouth Sheds, a workbench became swamped with cat toys brought in by cleaners and engine crews. Yarn, felt mice, battery-powered doodads — you name it!

-This is partly because of Tabitha’s inherent cuteness. It’s also because NWR employees discovered bringing a new toy was the fastest way to curry favor with Gordon.

-Gordon insists on inspecting every new toy, ensuring it’s “suitable” for her. Nine times out of ten, he accepts this latest tribute with the loftiness of a medieval lord.

(-The one time out of ten is anything with catnip. Gordon still hasn’t recovered from what he calls The Incident.)

-But Tabitha’s favorite toy is a simple feather. The engines take turns having someone lay it across their funnels. Then, they let off steam. The feather goes flying and she jumps after it.

-Tabitha doesn’t share Gordon’s musical tastes. The first time they put on his tape of The Magic Flute, she hid under his buffers for an hour. Still feeling guilty, Gordon now refrains from playing his opera tapes whenever she’s there.

-The others sometimes exploit this, coaxing her into the sheds so they don’t have to listen to the “Night Aria” for the hundredth time.

-She seems indifferent to the other engines’ preferences, as long as it’s at a reasonable volume. With James’ jazz CDs, however, she curls up on her cushion and goes straight to sleep. James and Gordon still bicker over whether she’s comfortable or bored by his music.

-If one of them is in a bad headspace, she’ll sit with them on their running board and purr. Nobody knows how she knows, but it’s clear she has a sixth sense for it. And she always makes them feel better.

-Tabitha has her own YouTube channel! Run by a cleaner at the sheds, it mostly consists of short clips: chasing birds, slow-blinking at the person behind the camera, playing with string, etc.

-For a short while, none of her viewers knew she was the NWR’s cat. That changed with a video of her running to Gordon as he came back to the sheds, meowing at him.

-(Not only did the video go viral, but the moment Gordon’s face lit up upon seeing her became the most viewed part of the video.)

-Tabitha’s Internet fame has since been used to spearhead various causes: fundraising for other heritage railways, railway safety campaigns, and so on.

-Thomas also has a tongue-in-cheek, one-sided rivalry with Tabitha over who should be the mascot of the NWR. It’s mostly something he plays up to amuse visiting children or to spur on fundraising. (The others make sure he doesn’t get too into it, though.)

-When there’s no mice to chase out of the sheds, Tabitha joins Gordon on his morning trains. A porter brings along her cushion, from which she watches the scenery go by. The coaches adore her and scold any passengers who disturb her.

-The first time Gordon had to go to the works after Tabitha settled in, he figured she would be fine at Tidmouth in his absence. The others would care for her.

-And they did. So much so, in fact, that they caved to her mournful meowing and pacing in Gordon’s empty berth. Gordon couldn’t be upset after Henry explained this to him, Tabitha jumping into his cab.

-Tabitha’s clinginess is her one bad habit. Since she can’t always be at the works with Gordon, everyone does their best to keep her occupied and happy. Even the Fat Controller will slip her a treat.

#ttte #rws #the railway series #ttte headcanon #rws headcanons #my headcanons #ttte tabitha #ttte gordon #ttte james #ttte thomas #ttte henry #ttte sir topham hatt #the feather thing might be unrealistic but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #please let me have trains playing with a cat lol

[boldlyvoid]

Home Alone...

Aaron Hotchner x Male Reader (he/him pronouns) | CM/911 crossover

Summary: it's Aaron's first Christmas with Jack away at college.

Warnings: May Grant/Jack Hotchner, Aaron misses his son, first angst with a happy ending, reader loves him so much he'll do anything for Aaron, food mentions

Word Count: 2.9k

Jack called him on the 18th, his plans for Christmas had changed. 

Originally, he was going to get on a plane on the 22nd and make his way from LA to DC where his dad would pick him up. They’d spend his break together and he’d head back to school on January 2nd. He was worried about his final projects, being away from his new girlfriend for so long (under 2 weeks) and he was worried that it would snow and he wouldn’t get back in time for class on the 5th. 

All this anxiety caught up to him and ultimately, he cancelled his flight. 

“Bobby and Athena said you can come to California and have Christmas here? They have lots of food, they feed a literal army every year,” Jack explained, trying to make him feel better. 

“That’s okay,” Aaron assures, smiling at him through the FaceTime camera. “All that matters is you feel okay, I’m sorry you felt so stressed out.” 

“I just hate leaving you alone this year,” Jack worries.

“Hey, I’m not really alone, Y/N will be here,” he reminds him. “We’ll be fine… but tomorrow I’ll send your gifts out, I’ll expedite them so you get them in time.” 

“Even if I don’t, I’m still thankful,” Jack smiles right back. “Thank you for understanding.” 

“Your first Christmas with your first real girlfriend is a big deal… I remember how pissed my mom was when I was with your mom for the first year and we just lived down the road. I’d never want you to think I’m mad at you for doing what you want to do.” 

Jack smiles, “thank you for being so cool.” 

“thank you for being even cooler,” Aaron teases him. “What did you get May for Christmas?” 

“A new laptop bag and some perfume,” he shares. “I think she’ll like it, she’s been obsessed with that blueberry milk trend, it’s like a muted baby blue colour and her current cover is clear with stickers on it… and then I got her that daisy perfume just cause it’s a cute bottle and it does smell like something she’d wear already.” 

“That sounds really thoughtful,” Aaron swoons. His little boy was growing up way too fast, but at least he was a gentleman. 

“And I got her mom a necklace, I’ve noticed she wears a lot of jewelry when she’s not on the job so I thought it would be nice,” he explains with a little proud smile. 

“That’s so sweet of you,” Aaron cheers him on. “And for Bobby?” 

“That’s harder to do… he’s a chef but he has everything he’d ever need and he doesn’t drink so a lot of dad gifts aren’t up his alley so I’m still trying to figure it out,” Jack slumps in his seat. Defeated a bit. “And when you google gifts for firefighters everything is alcohol-related too, or like an engraved axe that he doesn’t need.” 

“He seems very practical from the way you’ve explained him to me… maybe get him something for the house like a good flashlight for the earthquake kit or a new first aid kit for his car?” Aaron suggests. 

He nods, “Yeah… he was saying it’s almost time to renew the earthquake kit and make sure it’s all stocked up.” 

“You can go to any store that sells camping goods and get dehydrated meals which last a while and batteries are always a good thing to have lots of,” Aaron explains. “He’ll love it. He’ll know you care about his family as much as he does and it could bond you two a bit better.” 

He nods along, “Thanks, dad. May can’t wait to meet you too, you know?” 

“Yeah?” He smiles. 

“Her moms heard of you, you’ve helped her detective friends with cases but she’s a sergeant so she hasn’t had the chance to meet you either, but they think you’re cool.” 

“I’ll try and get out there soon,” he assures. “I miss you a lot, buddy.” 

“I miss you too, Dad,” Jack solemnly smiles. “Seriously though, you could come out here… We can get you somewhere to stay, you can come to Christmas at Mays and I can show you some of my favourite places?” 

“I’ll talk to Y/N and see what we can do,” Aaron smiles, knowing it probably won’t happen. 

—

When Y/N gets home from work, he comes right over to Aaron's house instead of going to his own apartment. They’ve been doing this for a while now, he honestly might as well move in at this point. So much of his stuff is at Aaron’s, they’re happy this way, and this is their 3rd Christmas together so it’s really about time they make the jump to something more. 

He puts his things down, kicks off his shoes and makes his way to Aaron on the couch. “Hello, handsome,” he leans in for a kiss. “How was your day?” 

He shrugs, “Not that bad… but Jack isn’t coming home for Christmas anymore.” 

“Oh no,” his heart breaks for him. “Baby, I’m sorry, what happened?” 

“He’s just so anxious about the snow we're expected to get when he has to go back and if his flight gets delayed then he won’t make his class in time and you know him,” he explains. Jack is just as time-sensitive as his dad. 

He pulls Aaron in for a hug, holding him close, “It’ll be okay, we’ll get to see him soon. We’ll find a way to make it good here with just us.” 

He nods, “I know… it’s just weird.”

“He’s your baby,” Y/N sympathizes. “I’m so sorry… did you want to go out there this year?” 

He shakes his head, “I don’t want to intrude.” 

“Did they invite you?” 

He nods, “Yes, but—

“Come on, we can go?” He encourages. “It’ll be fun. We can get a nice hotel or an Airbnb and after Christmas, we could go to the beach and have like a real vacation for once.” 

Aaron sits back and sighs, “Maybe.” 

“What is it?” He pries. 

He shrugs, “I don’t think I want to meet her family yet. I’m not sure I’m ready for all that. I liked it more when he wasn’t dating and I didn’t have to think about him getting married one day and moving away and being in California all the time.” 

“You don’t have to stay here,” Y/N reminds him. “You can leave whenever you want, you’re retired and you have the money to relocate, you can go wherever he goes.” 

“But I want you with me,” he whispers, pulling him in closer. 

Y/N straddles his hips and cups his cheeks, “yeah?” 

He nods, “I don’t want to go anywhere without you, my love.” 

He swoons, “I can come. I can put in for a transfer and we can go to LA or Orange County or something-- hell, we could go to San Fransisco and it would still be so close to him.”

“I love you,” Aaron smiles. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too… and I was thinking, since we’re on this topic—

“You can move in,” Aaron knows what’s coming. “I never want you to leave. We can put all your things up here, you can make this place yours and you can put your work stuff in my office since I don’t even use it anymore.” 

He smiles. “I’m going to start packing soon… but right now I have some cheering up to give you.” 

—

The tree lights are on, and they have matching drinks of half coffee half hot chocolate and store-bought cookies… his lover is cuddled into his side while they watch a random Christmas show on Netflix. He’s happy, but he’s sad at the same time. 

“you okay?” Y/N asks. 

He nods, leaning in to share a quick kiss. He smiles against his lips, “Thank you.” 

“You miss him?” 

Aaron nods, “I do… it’s been 3 months. I haven’t been away from him this long since he was in WITSEC.” 

“I know baby,” he rubs Aaron’s arm with a slight pout, feeding off his unhappiness. “We’ll see him soon. We can go out there and visit at any time.” 

“I know…” he leans back against the couch and sighs. “I’m sorry, I’m ruining Christmas.” 

“No, you’re not,” he assures Aaron. “Here,” he reaches out for his phone and googles something. He spends a couple minutes tapping around and then shows Aaron his phone. “We leave at 2am, we can sleep on the plane. Come on, let’s go pack.” 

“What?” Aaron can’t believe it. 

“I’ll explain in the bedroom,” he instructs, hauling him off the couch. “We have bags to pack and then we need to head to the airport. I should have an Uber come here…” 

“How did you—

“You’re not the only one with connections, hot stuff,” he teases.

Aaron pulls him in for a kiss, holding him close to his chest, he breathes him in deeply. When they pull back there’s an audible smooch sound and they break into matching smiles. “I love you.” 

“I love you,” he reminds Aaron. “Now come on, let’s get you to your boy.” 

—

The flight isn’t too long, it’s pretty packed but they had decent seats. There weren’t any crying babies or complaining older women, so they managed to sleep pretty easily. The landing was… not as smooth as Aaron was used to when he was at work but, they got there in one piece. 

He has Athena's phone number in case of emergencies, like if another earthquake hit LA and he couldn’t get ahold of Jack… He’s not sure if she wants casual calls, but he takes the risk while waiting for their rental car to be brought around to the front, he dials her number and he waits. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi, this is Aaron Hotchner, Jacks dad…” 

“Oh, hello, what a pleasure to finally talk to you, how are you?” She asks, kind as ever with the sweetest slightly southern accent. 

“I’m good, uh, me and my partner are here in LA we—

“You decided to come!” She cheers. “Do you have a place to stay?” 

“We do, we got a hotel last minute,” he can’t help but smile. “I just wanted to make sure we were still invited to Christmas?” 

“Absolutely! I can text you the address and you can come over as soon as you’d like. We’re having a little bit of everything for lunch soon and then dinner is at 6,” she explains. “Does he know you’re here?” 

“No, we’re going to surprise him.” 

“He’s still in bed— he’s in my son's old room, don’t worry. But I’ll keep this a secret for you,” she assures. “This is going to be such a wonderful surprise.” 

“And you’re sure it's—

“No intrusion at all, agent,” she teases him. “It’ll be lovely to have you.”

He manages to laugh, “I can’t wait to meet you, thank you again for the invite.” 

“You’re welcome here anytime,” Athena assures him. “See you soon.” 

“Bye,” he smiles as he hangs up and waits for a text with the address. “Thank you,” he looks to his boyfriend. 

He smiles and wraps his arm around Aaron, “Anytime my love.” 

—

It doesn’t take them long to get their things set up at the hotel and then head over to the Grant-Nash household— but not before getting something to bring to the party. 

Aaron knows from Jack that Bobby, May’s step-dad, is a recovering alcoholic and that while he’s not tempted to drink when his wife has wine… Aaron just rather not bring that into the house. So, they opt for a dish. They stroll around a Whole Foods for a while, thinking of what could be the perfect thing when they stumble across cheese and tomatoes in the shape of a candy cane with balsamic glaze on top and a loaf of fresh bread. It’s perfect. 

They grab some sparkling cider and a bouquet of flowers for Athena and then they’re on their way officially. He’s a little nervous, his leg bounces while Y/N drives and he reaches over to place one hand on said bouncing leg. He rubs him with his thumb and gives him a quick smile before returning his attention to the road. It��ll be okay, Aaron knows that. 

This is just such a big step in a person's life. Not only is Jack's girlfriend meeting his family, but both families are going to be in one room at the same time. They’re all meeting. This can make or break a couple… and he hopes to every force or earth that it just makes them stronger because Jack is so, so happy.  

When they arrive, they have to park on the road as there are so many cars already in their driveway, they really weren’t kidding about it being a big party. 

He holds the flowers and drink, Y/N has the dish they bought and they walk up the long driveway to the most beautiful little bungalow in all of California. He knocks 3 times with a bit of hesitation and it takes all of 20 seconds for someone to answer. 

And to their surprise, that person who opens the door is May. 

“Oh my god?” She bounces with excitement. “You made it?!”

“Hi,” Aaron smiles, instantly all the anxiety leaves his body with how happy she is to see him and his partner. “It’s lovely to finally meet you, May.” 

“come in,” she steps out of the way and lets them walk right in. “Let me take that, you can take your shoes off if you want but we don’t really care. The party is just down the stairs here.” 

“Who was it?” Another woman asks while walking around the corner. “Oh, Aaron, hi,” she lights right up as she climbs the stairs to meet them. 

“Athena?” He confirms before going in for a hug and she smiles. 

“The one and only,” she teases as she wraps him up. “It’s so good to see you, Jack was worried about you having a Christmas alone.” 

“It was his idea,” he says as they part, pointing to his partner, “this is my partner, Y/N.” 

“Jack has told us all about you,” Athena assures as she goes to give him a half hug and then she takes the dish he was carrying. “Come on down and meet everyone, Jack's out in the garden with Bobby making the turkey.”

“He said he’s never seen someone deep fry one before and he’s intrigued,” May teases. “Actually, hold on, stay here,” she insists. 

She heads over to the back door and leans against the post, “Hey Jack? Can you come here for a second?” 

Athena puts the dish down on the table and rushes to the door, “Bobby, you too. Leave the turkey with Hen, she can handle it for a moment.” 

They come into the room with the same expression, confused as to why they’ve been called in and then Jack sees him. 

“Dad?!” His jaw drops and his eyes grow 10 times the size they were before and within seconds he’s rushing to his dad and wrapping him up in the biggest hug. 

Aaron holds him so close, he hasn’t seen him since August and that felt like 6 years ago. This one hug makes up for all the time passed, he kisses him on the temple, unable to believe how much taller he’s gotten. Before, this same kiss would’ve been to the top of his head… he pulls back and cups his face in his hands, “When the heck did you grow up on me?” 

“I ask myself the same thing every day,” Bobby teases, stepping forward to shake his hand next. 

Jack gives Y/N the same big hug as he gave his dad, it’s cute how much they love each other too. Aaron shakes Bobby's hand, it’s big and rough and he can sure tell he’s been a firefighter for years… and he’s handsome. Really handsome. 

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Aaron manages to say. “Jack talks about you and Athena all the time, I’m so grateful for you taking him in while he’s been out here.” 

“He’s been a joy to have around,” Athena assures. “With my son in Florida with his dad, it’s so nice to have another boy in the house.” 

“I was making too much food for just the 3 of us, I wasn’t used to it,” Bobby teases. “He’s helped a lot.” 

“And I love taking home leftovers,” Jack teases, still holding onto Y/N around his middle. “This is such an amazing surprise dad, when did you decide to come?” 

“Last night,” he admits. 

“He was so sad,” Y/N shares. “I hated knowing how much he missed you so I impulse bought two red-eye tickets.” 

“Well, we’re glad you could come,” Athena assures. “I’m sure you’re hungry, come eat, we’ve got enough for everyone.” 

“Come on Dad, you’ve gotta try Bobby’s Caesar salad dressing,” Jack all but drags him to the table with the biggest smile he’s ever seen on this kid. 

Seeing him this happy is all he wanted for Christmas, and boy, does he hope that this happiness— this new family he’s found, lasts forever. He deserves nothing but the best, and this group he’s been brought into, they’re just that. 

General Taglist 

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @buckleyhans @mrs-ssa-hotch @ssavanessa22

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #hotch smut #hotch x reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine

[familyvideostevie]

october fourteenth

day fourteen: remus lupin it’s picture day with your friends | marauders being silly, fluff | 1k

The whole thing is Sirius’s idea. A bit surprising, given that he strikes you as the most nonchalant, the most uncaring of your boyfriend’s friends, but Remus assures you that Sirius has as soft, gooey center behind all the leather and frowning.

Which is how you end up in their apartment living room in matching sweaters in the middle of October. It’s like picture day at school but with alcohol and a self-timed camera on a tripod.

“The holidays aren’t for months,” Lily whines, tugging on the collar of her mustard colored sweater. You’d think it would clash with her hair but she looks as lovely as ever.

“And we’ll be prepared,” says James. “Especially for the Halloween party.” He smoothes down one of her eyebrows.

She leans into him. “For the first time ever,” she mutters.

“I don’t know about this matching,” Remus says. “Why do we look like a catalogue, again?” His hand is absently tracing patterns on your back as you lean into him, waiting to be directed.

“Because I said so,” Sirius grumbles. “Now get on the bloody couch.”

He’s moved their couch to be centered in front of the best light in the flat and set up his camera in front of it on a rickety tripod. Everyone is in various shades of fall tones and dark bottoms. Remus is in a fetching red sweater you picked out for him and you brush imaginary lint from his shoulder just to touch him.

Ever the perceptive one, he smiles at you. “Thank you for doing this,” he says softly. Lily and Sirius jostle for the center cushion behind him.

“Are you kidding?” you say. “This is fun. I’m honored to be on the card this year.”

You mean it. Apparently, as Remus tells it, they did this at school, too, though it was much less serious. They’d get dressed up in stupid themes and take a ‘family photo’ to get printed and sent it out come the holidays and give them away at house parties. This is your first fall as a couple and it was, in Remus’s opinion, a no brainer to have you in it. You were a bit worried that the boys would object but everyone was thrilled.

“We’re lucky to have someone as pretty as you on record as being friends with us,” he says. He fixes the collar of the blouse you’ve got on under your burgundy sweater. “And I’m luckiest of all, since you’re coming home with me.”

Your face feels hot. Remus is quite the tease sometimes. It never gets old.

“Stop being gross and get on the couch,” Sirius says again.

You roll your eyes and grab Remus’s hand. Sirius has won and put himself in the middle with Lily on one side and James perched on the arm next to her. He’s playing with a strand of her hair.

“Where do you want us?” you ask. Sirius waves his hand as if he suddenly doesn’t care. Infuriating man.

“You sit,” you tell Remus, pushing him into the couch.

“You sure?” You nod. He settles next to Sirius and you copy James’s pose on the arm of the couch. Remus puts his arm across your legs, hand resting on your knee, and grins up at you.

Sirius clears his throat. “Okay, five seconds on the timer. Don’t fuck it up. I’ve only got a few frames left.”

He doesn’t take much seriously but this does seem to be his passion project so you do your best to smile nicely. At the last second, Remus squeezes your knee and you look down at him. He’s still smiling up at you softly, his hair perfectly arranged, his eyes bright. You smile back and the flash goes off.

You won’t see it until Sirius gets the film developed but you’re sure it’s a nice one.

“Can we do something fun now, please?” James begs.

“Fine.” Sirius gets up to reset the camera. “You have ten seconds.” You have no clue how the camera works. Does he have a button that’s connected? Is the chord under the rug related to this? Whatever. You can’t think about it for long because James and Lily hop off the couch and start causing chaos.

“Get on my back, Evans,” James says.

“Fuck’s sake,” she mutters, but she hops up, arms around his neck as he walks them behind the couch.

“Alright you two,” Sirius grumbles. “What’ll it be? Five seconds.”

“You’re just bitter because Marlene couldn’t come,” Lily says.

“Not my fault she and Dorcus are snogging in the countryside this weekend,” he huffs.

“I’ve got an idea,” Remus says in your ear. He’s got his cheeky voice on.

“Oh boy.”

Sirius throws his legs over the back of the couch and hands his head off the edge. Remus tugs you down from the arm so you’re in his lap, legs in the air and kisses you. He swallows your sound of surprise and you manage to close your eyes and grab his shoulder as the flash goes off.

“Now I just look like a single prick,” Sirius says.

“Because you are,” James reminds him.

Lily hops off of his back and flicks her hair over her shoulder. “He’s got a point.”

“See if you get prints of this,” Sirius mutters.

You and Remus only have eyes for each other. Your nose is pressed to his cheek. “Thank you,” you whisper in his ear. For this, for being yours, for all of it.

It’s a bit silly to thank each other for this, but you know that it means a lot to both of you. Lily and James have been together for ages and the boys have been friends even longer. You being invited and you showing up means that you’re here to stay, that you’re both in it for the long haul. This thing between you is going somewhere and not stopping.

He just kisses your temple. Remus always knows what you’re trying to say.

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