#Paper Radio Clipping

[artistthetravel]

Art collection name > search In t. Eyehearitwad the start of a Portfolio.. another hey steal my idea make a app no limit add on with video audio pics for artists and make it a portfolio... watch out for hacking editing stealers taking painting making smaller

[fozmeadows]

the older I get, the more the technological changes I've lived through as a millennial feel bizarre to me. we had computers in my primary school classroom; I first learned to type on a typewriter. I had a cellphone as a teenager, but still needed a physical train timetable. my parents listened to LP records when I was growing up; meanwhile, my childhood cassette tape collection became a CD collection, until I started downloading mp3s on kazaa over our 56k modem internet connection to play in winamp on my desktop computer, and now my laptop doesn't even have a disc tray. I used to save my word documents on floppy discs. I grew up using the rotary phone at my grandparents' house and our wall-connected landline; my mother's first cellphone was so big, we called it The Brick. I once took my desktop computer - monitor, tower and all - on the train to attend a LAN party at a friend's house where we had to connect to the internet with physical cables to play together, and where one friend's massive CRT monitor wouldn't fit on any available table. as kids, we used to make concertina caterpillars in class with the punctured and perforated paper strips that were left over whenever anything was printed on the room's dot matrix printer, which was outdated by the time I was in high school. VHS tapes became DVDs, and you could still rent both at the local video store when I was first married, but those shops all died out within the next six years. my facebook account predates the iphone camera - I used to carry around a separate digital camera and manually upload photos to the computer in order to post them; there are rolls of undeveloped film from my childhood still in envelopes from the chemist's in my childhood photo albums. I have a photo album from my wedding, but no physical albums of my child; by then, we were all posting online, and now that's a decade's worth of pictures I'd have to sort through manually in order to create one. there are video games I tell my son about but can't ever show him because the consoles they used to run on are all obsolete and the games were never remastered for the new ones that don't have the requisite backwards compatibility. I used to have a walkman for car trips as a kid; then I had a discman and a plastic hardshell case of CDs to carry around as a teenager; later, a friend gave my husband and I engraved matching ipods as a wedding present, and we used them both until they stopped working; now they're obsolete. today I texted my mother, who was born in 1950, a tiktok upload of an instructional video for girls from 1956 on how to look after their hair and nails and fold their clothes. my father was born four years after the invention of colour televison; he worked in radio and print journalism, and in the years before his health declined, even though he logically understood that newspapers existed online, he would clip out articles from the physical paper, put them in an envelope and mail them to me overseas if he wanted me to read them. and now I hold the world in a glass-faced rectangle, and I have access to everything and ownership of nothing, and everything I write online can potentially be wiped out at the drop of a hat by the ego of an idiot manchild billionaire. as a child, I wore a watch, but like most of my generation, I stopped when cellphones started telling us the time and they became redundant. now, my son wears a smartwatch so we can call him home from playing in the neighbourhood park, and there's a tanline on his wrist ike the one I haven't had since the age of fifteen. and I wonder: what will 2030 look like?

[tapeskingdom]

vintage themed study planner washi tape

[thinkinonsense]

old!logan and his obsession with the cute diner girl *mdni

a/n: this is my first attempt at writing something smutty so if it sucks im sorry lmao also if any writers have any tips please share! :)

logan has been around for long enough to know when a woman is attracted to him. there was a certain essence given off that was always a dead giveaway. usually it came from women close to the age he looked like and it tended to be brief moments of lust before all hope was lost. this was until he met you.

the pretty young girl working at the diner during her time off from college. everyday, he came in and ordered a black coffee. the coffee wasn't even that good but logan would spend two dollars every single day of his life if it came with the view of you bending over in that tiny uniform skirt.

logan would watch you for hours while he drank and skimmed the news paper alone in a booth. your hair was always up in either a ponytail or held together with a hair clip. he loved seeing your pretty handwriting as you scribbled on your notepad, taking orders. it was part of your job to be nice to everyone but you were especially nice to him. even your friends began to notice how you would linger by his table, constantly topping off his coffee mug and making small talk; sometimes giving him a slice of cherry pie on the house.

"don't you think he's kinda old for you?" one of your friends whispers to you behind the counter.

it's stung but you suppose she had a point. what would a man old enough to be your father want with a young wild girl like yourself?

"i-i guess so?" you stuttered, embarrassed at your previous attempt at flirting with him.

the rest of the night, you hoped he would leave before close so you could have some time alone with your feelings. summer was almost over and you would go back to the city soon. it was time to forget these silly fantasizes.

by ten, all the other waitresses went home except you, the older woman in the back who counted the drawer every night, and a few of the cooks. the only customer still there was logan. he flipped through one of the books he brought with him; still sipping away at that damn coffee.

"isn't it getting a little late for you, sweetheart?" he asked nonchalantly, not even looking up at you as you bent over to scrub the table next to his. the fifth table you've cleaned in the last hour and the second time you've cleaned that specific table. logan noticed but you didn't.

"need the hours." you mumble, frustrated by a stubborn stain. all logan could focus on was your scrunched nose and how your tight top pushed your boobs together just right for his viewing. "college is fucking expensive plus grants and scholarships only cover so much."

"hmm.." logan grunts. grants? scholarship? what a goody fucking two shoes, logan thought to himself. "if you bring me piece of pie, i think i can help you out."

you lean off the table and go get what's left in the glass container. it's probably a little hard so you definitely didn't plan on charging him for it. you sit the plate down in front of him and before you could turn around to walk away, logan reaches for your wrist softly.

"join me." he offers.

you knew you shouldn't but what was really the harm? at least your friends weren't here to make fun of you. the radio played quietly on an older station while you watched logan take a bite of the pie.

"why did your friends leave you here alone?" he asked, watching your face turn sour at the memory of them.

"don't wanna talk about it." your voice was small in the empty diner.

"why? think an old man like me can't relate to it?" logan chuckles. your thighs squeeze together without thinking. so much for not embarrassing yourself.

"no, no, not that." you shake your head and a strand of hair falls from your bun. "just sort of juvenile, you know?"

logan could tell that you were trying to come off more mature around him. you didn't want him to see you as some college kid.

"juvenile, how?" he eggs on, pushing down his glasses a bit.

god, those glasses got to you; and logan knew it.

"they don't understand how i feel about someone." you sigh.

"how do you feel about this person?" logan noticed you now avoiding his gaze, not liking it one bit. "eyes on me, princess."

the nickname caught you off guard like a dear in headlight; blinking and trembling up at logan. something logan enjoyed very much and could get used to.

"it's not important, just some stupid crush." you lie through your teeth. "they will forget about me in a month."

"why don't you think it'll work?" he cocks his head to the side a bit. "you're a pretty young thing, dollface. anyone of those college boys would be lucky to be wrapped around your little finger."

"i don't want college boys." you mumble, slightly annoyed by the memory of your friends.

logan felt himself getting hard at you admitting you had a taste for someone older. his eyes grew dark as he leaned in a little over the table.

"then what do you want?"

your moment to answer was interrupted by the older woman from the back, releasing you to go home for the evening. this was your chance to get up and leave before you admitted anything else that you would regret.

both of you stood up. logan threw down some cash while you went to collect your stuff behind the counter.

"i'll see you tomorrow, lo-"

"you didn't answer the question."

"i must go now if i want to catch the last train."

logan worried about you taking the train back to your apartment alone this late at night. usually you drive back but your car has been in the shop for almost three days now. he would watch you get to your car every night to make sure you were safe.

"i can drive you home." logan offers.

you shouldn't be this excited to be sitting in a strangers truck alone at night but here you were. the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes before logan brought up the conversation from the diner again. what did you even want?

"i want someone who understands me..." you begin rattling off the first things that come to mind when you notice logan's hand on your knee. you don't dare move.

"someone who is responsible..." with every word, his hand creeps higher and higher up your skirt. logan is more than pleased when he notices your legs spread on their own.

"someone who is m-mature..." logan's fingers inch towards the delicate skin of your inner thigh. there's no way this was happening, you thought as his index finger plays with the lace on the center of your pink underwear. he smirked at the wet spot front and center, waiting for him.

"treats me r-r-right." every word was a struggle to form as he stroked you softly. back and forth. back and forth.

logan nods along, not letting up down below. his index finger hooks onto your underwear, pulling it aside. you weren't even sure if you were breathing at this point; all this teasing was torture.

"p-p-please, logan..." you whine. "touch me."

his thumb rubs tiny circles on your button, adoring the way his name pours from your glossy lips. your hands fly to his wrists, needing more; nails digging into his skin in the most delicious way.

"where did this greediness come from?" logan groans, dipping his index finger inside of you. "what happened to that good girl from the diner?"

logan's finger barely fit in the tight space. your head fell back and a loud moan escaped you.

"oh, you weren't letting those college boys touch you at all, huh?" logan mocks, adding another finger and creating a steady pace.

"n-no!" you whine, lifting your hips a little.

"you were waiting for a real man to have his way with you, isn't that right, pretty girl?" he growls, pushing your hips back down.

you completely missed logan pulling off to the side of the road until now. his pace increases becoming rather rough now that he isn't driving. logan leaves deep purple bruises down your neck and across your chest, praising you to no end until you gush around his fingers, completely soaking his palm.

your heart pounded like you had just finished a marathon. logan allowed you to catch your breath as he carefully removed his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to lick clean. he can feel your dazy eyes staring at him as he does so, making a real show of it.

"i've been wanting to do that for months now." he admits with a smirk.

"me too." you said, leaning forward and pulling him into a kiss; tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. logan wraps his hands around your hair, pulling you back a little when another moan falls from your lips.

"and we aren't even close to being done."

[redvexillum]

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, human!alastor, period-typical racism, period-typical sexism, implied abuse from reader's husband

SPECIAL MENTION: @cartoonykat thank you for the request. It has been fed into the monster that is called VEXITOBER.

SPECIAL SHOUT OUT: @redfoxwritesstuff I know I promised a fanfiction of your fanfiction (Misdemeanour of the Heart) like 300 years ago. But, just take this one-shot to stave off your hunger for now.

The brittle paper crinkled under your fingertips, every crease, every worn edge, a reminder of the countless times you’d held it before. It was delicate – seemed like it would crumble into dust at the slightest touch – but despite its fragility, it was the most valuable thing you’d ever possessed. Your fingers trembled as they traced the lines of the newspaper clipping, but it wasn’t the printed news of the “Bayou Butcher” striking again that made your heart race.  

It was his writing, the neat curling script at the bottom, a mere whisper of words: “Tune in next Monday at 3:00, ma chère.” 

Your breath hitched, a sharp hiss escaping between clenched teeth as the persistent ache in your left leg flared. Pain shot upward, digging into your hip like a dagger, but you fought to stay upright. The agony was a minor inconvenience today.  

Today was the day.  

Your heart pounded harder, matching the rhythmic throb in your leg. The memory of those elegant, looping letters tugged at your emotions, just as they had when you’d first received the note. Every time you touched the ink, you remembered his voice – smooth as honey, with that rich, radio charm, the voice that captivated thousands. But it wasn’t just a radio host’s voice.  

It was his voice. 

It was…Alastor’s. 

You never should’ve gotten involved. At first, it had all been so innocent, hadn’t it? You thought little of it – a mere curiosity – when your husband, a man who harboured such blatant hatred for “coloured folk,” began conducting business with Alastor, a man of Creole descent. It was scandalous in its own way, but you, ever the dutiful wife, entertained your husband’s association with grace.  

You were polite, respectful, keeping your eyes down and your words sweet. But slowly, ever so slowly, those polite gestures became something more.  

A fleeting brush of his hand, lingering longer than it should have. A shared smile, deeper than you intended. The space between you shrank until a single kiss shattered the fragile boundary you’d drawn. And now… 

Now… 

Tears blurred your vision, each drop falling onto the brittle paper and smudging the ink. The once-crisp words bled together, dark and dreary, as if the rain itself had swept across the page. A storm had gathered within you, just like that fateful night. You almost got caught. You and Alastor, locked in a forbidden moment, nearly discovered by your husband.  

The thought of your husband finding out, of him laying a hand on Alastor, made your blood run cold. You couldn’t stay.  

So you left.  

You left Alastor.  

A broken whimper escaped your lips as you stumbled forward, your body too weak, too damaged, to hold itself upright any longer. You caught yourself against the bookshelf, your trembling fingers gripping its edge, knuckles white. Every movement was agony. The bruises littering your skin throbbed with each breath, each heartbeat, a cruel reminder of the hell that had become your life.  

Lately, your husband returned home late, reeking of alcohol so pungent it seemed to burn your skin when he got too close. The man you once knew, once loved, had become something unrecognizable – a monster lurking behind a mask of daylight.  

You were trapped. A prisoner in your own home, your body marked by his rage, your soul shattered by the weight of your tight-lipped silence.  

The clock ticked steadily in the background, its rhythmic pulse mocking your stillness. You closed your eyes, wishing for a moment of peace, but even in the dark, the memories of Alastor haunted you. You hadn’t seen him since the day you walked out of his life. But weeks after, he appeared right on your doorstep, unannounced. His brown eyes were gentle with concern, only to have that warmth crack and harden when he saw the state you were in. His once soft brown eyes had turned into stone, his anger rippling beneath the surface as though it could tear the earth apart.  

He tore a piece of newspaper he had in his pocket and scribbled a message before handing it to you. His eyes narrowing when he saw the striped bruises around your wrist. He hadn’t said a single word to you, other than the two words that seared into your heart: 

You’re mine.  

The clock struck three, and slowly, painfully you opened your one good eye – the other swollen shut from the brutal fist that had come down on you after you refused your husband’s demands. You had denied him access to your body – denied him your so called “God-given wifely duties.” And this state you were in was your divine punishment. The bruises around your bony wrists were dark and vicious, branding you with your husband’s mark that trembled as you reached for the radio.  

Today – Alastor had asked you to tune in specifically today – and out of some stroke of luck, your husband was out of town. He hated when you listened to other men, even if it was just the radio. The idea of another voice in your ear, a voice that wasn’t his, filled him with blind rage.  

You took a quick glance at the window, letting out a brief sigh of relief that your husband was still away. Your fingers hovered over the dial, and with a soft click, the radio crackled to life. Static filled the room, but then, through the distortion, came a voice that made your breath catch in your throat. 

His voice.  

“…and now, I have a special message for the lucky lady tuning in!” 

Alastor’s familiar, jaunty tone spilled through the speakers, wrapping around you like a warm embrace, like the gentlest touch on your battered soul. You bit your lip, stifling a sob as tears welled up, your body shaking with the need to cry out. It had been so long. Too long since you’d heard his voice.  

“A-Al…” you tried to whisper, but your voice was hoarse, cracked from the screams you’d muffled in the night. Your lips were raw and bruised, but even with the pain, you smiled. It was small, fragile, but it was a smile nonetheless. Because here, in this small moment, you had him again. His voice, his presence, filling the void left by your husband who only knew how to hurt you.  

Closing your eyes, you sank onto the floor, legs giving out as you rested your head against the cool wood of the shelf. Alastor’s voice filled the room, filled you, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you let yourself feel – let yourself be held by the words of the man who had once shown how gentle and beautiful love could be.  

You tuned in, just as he had asked, and for the first time in weeks, you weren’t alone.  

“Ma chère, I still remember your warm eyes that gazed only at me, steadfast and unwavering, filled with wonder and bright cheer. Your voice, a sweet melody, that I could listen to daily and never tire of. Ah – but if I may be so bold to confess, ma chère, it is your smile that visits my dreams. It is your smile that keeps me company daily, it is your smile that I miss…” 

His words hit you like a wave, crashing against the fragile wall you’d built around yourself. Your smile, once warm and bright, slowly withered. The first tear trailed down your cheek, hot and burning, followed by another, and then another, each one faster than the last as you bit down on your lip, suppressing the sob threatening to escape.  

“I miss your smile too…Alastor,” you whispered, lips quivering, forcing the words through the pain. For a moment, you let yourself pretend. Pretend you were strolling though a sunlit park with him by your side, hidden from the eyes of the world. But reality, cold and merciless, clawed at your throat, dragging out a small, broken whimper.  

“… Ma chère, my sweet, my love,” Alastor’s voice dipped lower, his tone like velvet through the static of the radio. If you closed your eyes now, you could almost feel him – standing behind you, his breath warm against your ear, whispering his sweet, honeyed words. Words that once filled your heart with joy now felt like they might tear you apart. “A day without you is bleak, but a future without you is…” His voice wavered, a beat of silence, as if he was fighting to get the next words out.  

“Hell.” 

That single word, harsh and broken, cut through the crackling static like a knife. You flinched, the pain radiating from your chest as if someone had reached in and twisted your heart.  

There was another stretch of silence. The white noise filled the room, deafening, until finally, his voice returned –softer, aching. “My love,” he whispered, “if you would allow me to see you once more, to brush my fingers down your lovely cheek, to gaze into those bright smiling eyes, then I vow… I would move Heaven and Earth for you. I would be everything you want and more. And there will never be a day when you must endure the chilling embrace of an unworthy touch, nor a single night of agony. This, I promise. I vow to you, ma chère, if you would only give me the honour to be worthy of your love.” 

Your breath caught in your throat, teeth chattering as you let his words wash over you, seeping into your tired bones. He was offering you everything. Love, protection, a life free from the horrors you endure every day. But didn’t he know? Didn’t he understand that this love was doomed from the start? You were already married, bound by vows to a man who made your life a living nightmare. A love like this – your love with Alastor – could never survive. It wasn’t meant to.  

And yet…yet, like always, Alastor had planted a dream within you, a sweet, dangerous seed that promised bountiful harvests of love, of tenderness, of a life you’d only dared to imagine in the darkness of the night. How could you not reach for it? How could you not want to believe in it, despite everything? 

Your fingers tightened around the scrap of newspaper, the brittle paper crumpling in your hand as you tried to stop the flow of your tears. Yet, it was no use as the tears continued to stream down your face, stinging your bruised eye. You pressed your trembling hand to your lips, your skin still raw and split from your husband’s violence, as if trying to hold in the cry steadily building inside you.  

But you couldn’t hold it back. Not anymore.  

A wail tore from your throat, loud, agonizing, your body wracked with sobs as the flood of tears spilled out, unchecked and relentless. It was too much. The love, the longing, the pain – it all crashed down, drowning you in its biting cold tide.  

You loved him. You loved him. You loved…him.  

The truth of it echoed in your mind, in your soul, and as if he could hear your heart’s desperate cry, Alastor’s voice broke through the storm of your agony, as soft and tender as the touch you craved.  

“My sweetest dear,” he murmured through the radio, his voice filled with the words you had both been too afraid to speak during all your stolen moments together. “I love you.” 

It was the confession you had waited for, the one you never dared hope to hear. And at that moment, despite the bruises, despite the pain, despite the impossible weight of your circumstances, you believed him.  

And you loved him back.  

You bowed low, forehead pressed against the floor, your tears soaking into the polished wood, staining it with sorrow. The ache in your heart was unbearable, sharp and unrelenting, a pain deeper than any bruise your husband could leave on your skin.  

This love – it hurt. It hurt in ways you had never imagined. The realization cut through you like a blade: loving someone you could never have, never be with, was a torture far worse than any physical blow.  

Oh, it hurt.  

Your eyes fluttered shut as your body, too exhausted to endure any longer, curled onto its side. Just for a moment, you needed rest. Just for a moment, you wanted to escape the reality of your life – the bruises, the pain, the suffocating hopelessness.  

In your mind, you reached for Alastor, imagining him beside you, his arms encircling you with warmth, his voice lulling you into a peaceful slumber. A world where his love was real, tangible, and the pain that haunted you every night simply vanished.  

He promised you everything in those dreams – tenderness, devotion, a life free from fear. And as his voice played softly through the radio, talking about the weather, the sports, the latest hot gossip, you let the tears dry on your cheeks. His voice, so familiar and comforting, pulled you from the edge of despair, if only for a little while.  

For the first time in what felt like eternity, a small, fragile smile curved your lips. It had been so long since you felt any semblance of peace. So long since you could rest without the constant grip of terror choking you.  

As your consciousness began to slip away, sinking into the embrace of sleep, Alastor’s voice faded with it, the steady cadence of his words slowly disappearing into the background. The surrounding darkness wasn’t frightening this time – it was welcoming, calm. There were no screams here, no pain.  

Only him.  

But before you fully drifted away, his voice lifted again, bright and animated, his thick transatlantic accent dancing through the radio 

“Now, dear listeners, before I end my segment, please do take care! Word on the street is that the notorious Bayou Butcher is prowling the streets, and the past several victims all appeared to be married men! Haha!” 

The words hung in the air, but you were too far gone to hear the dark twist of humour in his tone. Too far gone to realize what it might mean. Your last thought, before sleep claimed you, was of Alastor, and how much you wished – how much you needed – to be in his arms, far away from the world that was tearing you apart.  

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[01zfan]

presidential suite | s. es

actor!eunseok x actress!reader | 10k words

loved the idea of actor eunseok so much i had to write a fic about it unfortunately.

contains: mentioning money and an uncomfortable relationship with it, reader is assumed to be a prostitute by hotel staff, dry humping on a couch like horny teenagers, eunseok and the reader are enemies kinda

Your taxi finally made the final turn into the roundabout of the hotel. The otherwise dark drive was suddenly illuminated with the bright yellow lights of the lobby and drop-off lane with bellboys ready to tend to the rich with their luggage carts in toll. The hotel trolleys were gold plated and the young boys were clad in black, from their black polished shoes to their glove-bound hands that covered their open-mouthed yawns and picked at their faces in boredom. 

When you saw the boys stand at attention waiting for your cab to come to a halt you felt a pang in your heart. Even during the night California was much too hot to be wearing a full suit, and you imagined the pay didn't match the manual labor their job demanded. When you saw their tired faces preemptively light up with the dead customer service smile you were taken back to those days yourself. Young, broke, no clear visions of your future. The memories of working late night odd jobs that didn't pay you enough still plagued your mind. Sometimes you still found yourself using your fake customer service voice, overly cheery with the intent to please by any means necessary. But that isn't to say your new wealth suited you any better. Sometimes you went months without looking at your banking statements, and you were so plagued by guilt that you couldn't identify.

Your guilt made you insist on carrying your luggage up yourself and tipping the bellboys extra despite them not doing any work and taking pictures with them even if you were tired. Because of your guilt you would slip into your customer service mode, and then because you were acting fake cheery you would feel even more guilty. The endless cycle was a downwards spiral, leaving you with an acidic taste in your mouth and making you feel like you've made a fool of yourself. It made you incredibly sweaty too, and your back was already lined with sweat from the excessive layers you wore.

You were lucky that today you weren’t checking into the hotel, technically you weren’t here at all. To everyone’s knowledge—including your team’s—you were back at your motel getting rest in preparation for your long day tomorrow. 

You made the decision after filming, one that you told yourself was impulsive even if you had the directions to this hotel saved on your navigation app the second you landed. The person you were here to see told you where he was staying with a simple text. You replied with an even more simple fuck you before going radio silent. He replied with a you wish, and five hours later you were sneaking away in the dead of night.

You left the motel quietly to avoid suspicion from the paparazzi that were hellbent on catching you in the middle of something juicy enough to sell. You called the yellow taxi a five minute walk away from your motel, covered head to toe in black. When you felt how nervous the taxi driver was seeing someone in several layers of clothes in the middle of summer come into the car you felt guilty. Part of you debated on taking off your mask and shedding the jacket, but you didn’t know what he knew. You didn’t know if middle aged man had the paparazzi on speed dial next to that faded picture of his family paper clipped to his foldable windshield, ready to tell them that an a-lister was in his cab going to a hotel that was very much not hers in the middle of the night. Your paranoia made you keep your identity hidden and deepen your voice as you gave him the directions to the hotel across town.

The taxi ride was spent in complete silence. The only sound was from the occasional squeaks from the vinyl seats and the low, low volume of The Hot 100 playing on the radio. As the radio continued playing you realized how out of the loop you were when it came to music. You tried to remember the last time you had a chance to listen to an album in full. Maybe you listened to the latest project of the person that did the soundtrack on your last movie? Something playing in the background as sat in a makeup chair getting ready, or the white noise of rain as you tried to force yourself to fall asleep?

Your schedule was too packed to enjoy anything but work. Your schedule was so much to the point that you were operating on autopilot. Your brain was just a turning cog, something that send a signal to your mouth to open and your limbs to move. You couldn't handle anything more than that most days. You were so lost that your personal assistant set your schedule as your lockscreen, trying to force you to remember how present you’d have to be the following day. The method seemed outlandish, and the schedule was hideous each time you opened your phone, but came in handy; when you turned on your phone to check the time you were reminded of the day you’d have tomorrow.

Hair and makeup: 5:30AM

Breakfast: 7:00AM

Interview #1: 7:45AM

Interview #2: 8:30AM

On set: Filming Scenes 48-52, 77, & 83 9:15AM-9:15PM

Looking at the schedule made your head spin. You already felt your body grow weary at the thought of the work waiting for you the next day.

But did you really have the right to be tired when you were on your way to a hotel getting ready to do anything but sleep? 

Behind your mask you slowly started mouthing the lines to the scenes you’d be shooting tomorrow in an effort to make use of the time you were wasting. If your very first agent could see you now, he’d be disappointed. You could see him so clearly, with his nose pointed to the air as he talked about if he was you, he’d never do something so stupid. 

You rolled your neck and put a hand on the knot forming at the junction of your shoulder. You dug your fingers underneath your jacket and shirt to prod at the tense muscle, trying to find some form of relief. Now the sound of your jacket moving filled the car, and the sound of your heavy sigh behind your mask followed behind it. You can admit that your newfound wealth did make you feel comfortable in the confined spaces like these ones. You weren't scared to let your presence be known or your discomfort be heard in the back of taxi cabs. You also had your fair share of revelations in the backseats of cars. Your first callback was in the back of a car like this one, the first time you felt like the paparazzi were actually looking for you was in the back of a tinted out van. You just wish you could feel something like that again, giddiness instead of this terrible sinking feeling.

You put your head back and let out a sigh, closing your eyes to try and find a reason why you were doing all of this. In the beginning you loved it, but now it felt like you were grasping at straws to find a solid reason. The art? The money? Because it feels good? Because you like being held?

You could feel the taxi driver look back at you from the rearview mirror, you could tell he was on edge from the way you were behaving. You had half a mind to comfort him, to pull down your mask and ask a question about the current song playing on the radio. But you only blinked hard to try and will away the tight band of ache forming around your head before going back to your phone. 

Who isn’t on edge this late at night? You said while scrolling through the script. To be relaxed late at night was a privilege, one that was revoked when you got your first paycheck as an actress.

You told yourself that it’d all pay off a million times over in between reading the lines of the script and suffering through every single pothole in Los Angeles. You told yourself each time your but raised in your seat that was another million in the box office. Each car that had their high beams on and blinded you was another accolade. You were so caught up in your mantra you didn’t even realize you were at your destination until the taxi driver spoke for the first time.

“Is here okay, miss?” He asked.

You looked out the window to see the hotel. Before you could prep your fake voice and tell him to park on the side of the building the taxi pulled into the curved driveway and stopped in the pickup area. 

From your tinted window you watched the bellboys flock to you, excited for some sort of work this late into the night. You looked at them motioning for the driver to pop the trunk as you took in the sight of the large building in front of you. You pressed your forehead to the window and still couldn’t see the top, only lights from the rooms that still had people awake and the never ending skyline. 

When the view became too much—when everything became too much—you took another deep breath and rested your body against the backseat. You heard the low music from the radio cut off completely as your taxi driver rolled down his window.

“There’s nothing in there!” The driver yelled to the bellboys.

They scattered from the trunk and went to your side of the car next. A trio rushing, and then singled down to one when they realized all of them couldn't open your car door.

They pulled you from your breathing exercise to fully immerse you in the five-star hotel experience. One of the bellhops offered the side of his forearm to you, an invitation to treat him as a living breathing step ladder to get you out of the car. You could feel the air conditioning on full blast from the grand entrance of the hotel, chilling your sweating body.

You quickly reached in your pocket and grabbed a wad of cash, not caring to look at the number on the meter before handing it to the driver. You assumed it was the right amount by how wide his eyes got and the extra arm of a bellhop that came into your line of sight.

“Are you going to be in the area in an hour?” You asked.

The taxi driver nodded, his eyes still fixed on the cash.

“I’ll be here, miss.” He said.

You nodded and grabbed the bellhops arm, feeling your body get pulled from the backseat of the cab to the curb. One of the bellhops told you to watch your step as you were fully hoisted up.

You couldn’t say thank you before another bellhop closed the door. As the taxi driver drove out of the drop off area the other bellhop lead you to the front of the hotel. None of you spoke and you stumbled trying to go through the motions of a life you still weren’t suited for.

The smaller door into the lobby was opened for you by a man in a different suit, one that had an enamel pin of the hotels logo pinned to his lapel. You wish there was a name badge, so you could atleast pretend you were interacting with another human being.

“No luggage, madame?” Enamel Pin asked.

You shook your head, instinctually gripping the arm of the bellboy a little harder. You took in the sight of the lobby behind Enamel Pin, from the white marble floor and the stairs with solid gold handrails.

“No.” You swallowed when you tilted your head and saw the large chandelier. “I’m just visiting someone.” You said.

The air seemed to shift as Enamel Pin and the bellhops eyed you down. You realized the situation long after everyone else, what it could possibly mean for a young woman to arrive at a hotel with rich clientele once the sun went down. But the working class don’t ask questions, they only follow procedure and assumed in hushed voices during their lunch breaks that there are prostitutes coming into their place of work. 

So Enamel Pin doesn’t ask you to clarify, he only points towards the concierge and flicks his head subtly the same time the bellhop goes back to standing outside to wait for their next rich customer.

“You can check in at the front desk, miss.” He says.

You’re no longer a madame. You felt like you’ve been striped of a title, you aren’t the distinguished madame but instead the dirty miss who is here to do nothing but tarnish the reputation of this fine establishment. You almost pull down your mask and take off your cap to reveal your true identity, that you’re the one starring in a blockbuster every summer and receiving endless praise for your indie projects. You’re tempted to throw a wad of cash at Enamel Pin and yell I’m nominated for a fucking Oscar, you dipshit! But you keep your words to yourself. You knew by the time you woke up the next morning you’d be circling the gossip pages, your identity badly hidden in a not-so blind item. 

Young and rising actress making it rain in the hotel lobby where her former costar ex-fling is staying. You could see it so clearly, and you could see the disappointment of your current agents face even clearer. So you only nod your head and start walking towards the desk, wishing that the bellhop stayed around a little longer to get a tip.

“Who are you visiting today?” The concierge asks.

You lean closer to the desk, trying to hide all evidence that you’re nervous. You assume the same fake deep voice again, trying to sound so different from the movies you’ve starred in.

“Song Eunseok.” You answer.

The concierge looks from her computer at the name. You thought places of this caliber would be a little more inconspicuous. But she is wide eyed, even leans in to make sure you said the right name.

“Song Eunseok?” She asks.

You can practically see the way her eyes light up at the mention of the actor. You still haven’t come to terms that he’s not you’re little secret anymore, that he’s not the same boy you saw at all your low-brow auditions when you first came to the scene. He was an international heartthrob now, one that made women lose their tact and become unprofessional.

No one knew what type of person he truly was underneath all the charm and the good looks.

But it was arguably worse that you knew and were still putting yourself in these predicaments just to see him.

You were in one now, as the concierge started to realize you were a girl going up to his presidential suite dressed like a shadow and like you were hiding something under all of those layers. 

She went back to looking at the computer, going over the approved list of visitors.

“What’s your name, miss?” She asked.

In the beginning of your careers when Eunseok still slept in motels and poorly managed inns you never had to worry about checking in. There wasn’t a concierge in a pantsuit but instead it was a man in a stained shirt who didn’t even look up from the game on the television. He would only slide you a key and say Don’t make too much of a mess before going back to his regularly scheduled program. 

You were so used to the anonymity that came with being a nobody that you panicked at the question. Your mind scraped through the people in Eunseok’s circle, who would be on the list so you wouldn’t have to give up any of your information. You thought about Minjeong and Wonbin, Eunseok’s stylists and then went to his agent Shotaro. The concierge looked at you expectantly, raising her eyebrows waiting for your response.

“Sohee. Lee Sohee” You adjusted your mask on your face to try and add sureness to your voice. “I’m Song Eunseok’s personal assistant.” You added.

The lady looked at the list then looked to you. Her eyes stayed on your face mask then flitted up to your tinted shades and baseball cap. You could tell she wanted nothing less than to let you upstairs. In her mind she was protecting her precious actor as she reached for the landline in front of her.

“Let me call Monsieur Song to let him know he has a visitor.” She said.

You nodded, feeling another layer of sweat line your back as she looked over the room number. Each button she pressed into the keypad vibrated your skull. Over your shoulder you swore you could feel Enamel Pin staring at you, ready to escort you out.

Maybe you should really get back to your agent on the spy movie she pitched to you. You already had real life experience of lurking in the shadows and going on top secret missions where there was so much at stake. Maybe instead of risking your career you could play a role that would help propel it further. 

You pulled your baseball cap as far as it could go and settled into your jacket more. This was the part of the movie where the phone rang for an embarrassingly long amount of time, forcing the concierge to ask for your ID. This was the part that it’d be revealed you were not Lee Sohee, and you were not Song Eunseok’s personal assistant. You were arguably something much worse, something way more valuable to a concierge looking for some extra cash.

Just when she was able to ask you to materialize some form of identification, Eunseok answered the phone. You and the woman drew in a pensive breath the same.

“Monsieur Song. Sorry for calling at this hour but there is a Lee Sohee here to see you.” She said.

Your eyes were focused on the transmitter, trying to imagine Eunseok on the other end of the line. The concierge was imagining him too, she turned her body and played with the handset cord like they were in their own private conversation. You leaned further against the front desk in an effort to hear the conversation. You heard the low hum of a voice on Eunseok’s end but couldn’t make out a response. 

The concierge acknowledged your presence again when she took a quick peak over her shoulder. The smile she had faded slightly as she hummed a yes into the transmitter.

“She said she’s your personal assistant.” She said.

Your eyebrows raised as you heard no response on the other end of the line. For a second you thought that Eunseok was going to tell the concierge that Sohee isn’t a girl and would never be up this late at night. But instead you hear more low hum, and the concierge nods again.

“Yes sir. I’m sending her up now.” She says.

She puts the handset on the switch hook and you can see the wistful look in her eyes before she turns to you again. She pulls a sticky note from the pile of her supplies and a pen. After quickly scratching a number onto the note she slides it to you.

“Sir Eunseok is at the top floor in room 7319.” She says.

The relief of not being caught still has you frozen. You take a moment to clear your throat and reach across and grab the note.

“Thank you.” You say. 

You’re tempted to slide money across the marble countertop to the concierge, but something holds you back. Maybe it’s the last bit of sense you have left that tells you to try and not make it look painfully obvious you’re doing something you’re not supposed to do. By the time you take the note the concierge is already doing something else that involves her computer. She’s switching between tabs and typing maniacally as if you no longer exist. She doesn’t spare you a second glance as you turn on your heel and head towards the elevator. 

As you walk across the lobby to the elevators, you imagine the sound of heels clicking across the floors. Even underneath the heel of your flat worn out shoe you can tell the floor so badly wants to make a noise, that it wants your presence to be known. You purposefully make your steps light as a feather to try and leave no trace of yourself behind. 

You find true relief when you’re in front of the elevators and hear the sound of someone coming in, booming about their flight and chatting with Enamel Pin. You silently thank the man for being unashamed to make noise as you press the button to the top floor.

As you watch the red analog number climb you settle further into the corner. Your eyes mindlessly travel around the tiny box, peering from corner to corner until you see it. The small camera hangs from the corner diagonal from you, but it’s pointed at you all the same. You stay unmoving in your spot and you imagine the security guard in the basement staring at your unmoving moving image. You don’t take a step until the elevator doors finally open to the top floor, and you let out a pensive breath when you step across the threshold into the hallway.

Your eyes are fixed on the carpet underneath your feet as you make your way down the hall. Your eyes wander from your worn shoes in contrast to the fresh carpet as you look for an imperfection across the fabric. You don’t see the dark stains caused by God knows what or fraying threads, you don’t feel parts of the carpet that were threadbare from constant foot traffic. All you see is proof of a well managed building. The difference is already staggering, you’re reminded of your motel room that had unknown stains and janitors that did illegal substances in the supply closet. You could’ve sworn there was noise coming from every room on your floor; noise surpassed the tearing wallpaper and leaked into the dimly lit hallways. The sounds of program television and people bounced off the walls of the narrow hallway and even found its way into your room. You had to blast The Price is Right to try and drown out everything, but you slept soundly. You felt more comfortable in the bed you had to check for bugs and bloodstains than you did now. 

The hallway you walked down now was completely silent. You strained your ears for signs of life, looking past the doors of the suites imagining someone was there. You were the only source of noise. Each time your heel scraped the carpet you flinched, afraid that someone was going to open one of the doors and shush you to death. The fear of being caught making noise made you knock on Eunseok’s door quietly, three small taps before you brought your arm back to your side.

You knew that Eunseok was going to make you wait outside. He had a habit of forcing you to revel in the lengths you’d go through just to see him. You were in the hallway, completely covered, but still so exposed. You imagined any second one of the doors would open and there’d be a camera pointed at you, and the very next day your career would be over. You shuffled on your worn feet and looked back tot the elevator. Maybe the taxi was still close. You could go back to your motel and get enough rest for your long day tomorrow.

Before you could even fully consider that option the door opened. Light filtered into the dim hallway, and past the tiny gap in the door you saw Eunseok looking down at you. Despite all the layers and all traces of your face being hidden you saw Eunseok’s eyes soften before part of his smile was revealed.

“Kinda late, isn’t it Sohee?” He asked, smile getting even bigger.

You pushed at the door despite the chain keeping it locked in place.

“Let me in.” You ordered.

Eunseok scoffed but didn’t even close the door all the way before getting the metal latch off. Even when there was only a slit of you visible between the cracks of the door Eunseok didn’t take his eyes off you, like he was afraid you would disappear into thin air. He opened the door wide for you, and you stepped into the entryway past him.

You heard the door close and the dead bolt lock as you took in Eunseok’s room. The corridor was small, even smaller than the one at the motel with half the amount of rooms and you understood why. You looked at the hotel room—this presidential suite—to see the full kitchen and California King sized mattress. There was a full sofa, clean and inviting in front of the flatscreen plasma television. Your motel room had scratchy seats and unknown stains on a cramped loveseat with an ancient box television that had screen burn in the bottom corner. The ceilings above you were high, maybe even higher than the ones of your apartment back in New York. There was definitely a better view, from the large windows it looked like you were at the highest point of California.

You were still taking in the view when Eunseok put his hands on your shoulders. You felt him try to turn you, but when you didn’t give in he started pulling at the sleeves of your jacket.

“You told them you were Sohee?” He asks. 

Eunseok guides your arms out of your jacket as you walked further into his room. You never understood what a presidential suite meant or what separated it from the other types of rooms in a hotel. But you saw what parts of it was illuminated from the small light hanging above you, and how it seemed to stretch even further past the darkness. 

“Because Sohee is a feminine name.” You reason.

Your voice sounds far off as you try to conceptualize how much wealth is in the room. The marble countertops with the stove embedded in and the open bathroom door that exposes the large shower. Your mouth only drops further but Eunseok is unaffected as his heavy hands drag down your arm, feeling your clammy newly exposed skin.

“Could’ve said you were Minjeong.” Eunseok whispers from behind you. His head lowers down to yours, whispering in your ear as you continue to look around the dark suite.

He can’t see the way you shake your head from his suggestion when he turns away to put your jacket on the hook by the large door. He comes back to you and puts his hands on your shoulders again, rubbing your arm and messing with the end of your sleeve.

“I don’t want the gossip pages to have her name in their mouths.” You respond.

Your mouth feels dry when you turn your head and see the light fixtures that hangs from the ceiling. Eunseok bends down to kiss your shoulder but stays there, whispering into your neck.

“You’re that paranoid?” He asks.

As if a switch had been flipped, you turn away from the wealth to look at Eunseok. He already has that knowing smiling etched into his features, like he knew he was pushing your buttons.

His hands reached up to take your mask off, smiling even bigger at the pout that he knew was already there. He lifts your cap and takes off your shades, gathering all the things you used to hide yourslef in the bowl of your upside down cap. He ruffles your hair and pinches your cheek, causing you to reach up and smack his hand away.

You can tell that Eunseok is trying to corral you further into the suite, but your feet are planted. You don’t think you could move past the space of the entryway even if you wanted to. The thought of you not deserving to see so much luxury keeps you focused on Eunseok’s amused face. You don’t dare to look at the walk-in closet next to him or the pristine paintings hanging on the wall.

“No woman is in a mans hotel room this late at night unless—”

“Unless what?” He asks.

Eunseok tilts his head to the side. You hate when he interrupts you. You hate when he looks at you so intently waiting for what you’re going to say next. You hate that he’s so used to the wealth that he wears plain designer shirts to bed. You hate that he seems more comfortable in his skin while you're ready to crawl out of it. You hate that he tilts your chin up when you try to avert eye contact.

“Unless she’s a murderer or a prostitute.” You say. You make sure to emphasize the first word, as if you were capable of hurting Eunseok.

Eunseok takes his hand away from your face to laugh. It’s a dry chuckle but it has something blossoming in your chest, a warmth that’s different from the layers of clothes you were wearing earlier. It's equally strangling, and equally makes the knot form at the base of your neck again.

“I did think you were a stalker at first.” Eunseok walks past you, forcing you to follow him across the room. He subjects you to his wealth, he practically rubs it in your face as he lazily pads to the couch like he owns the place. His black tee and low sweatpants reveals the lowest part of his back for you. You let your eyes stay focused on that as he continues to walk towards the couch. “Sohee would never be here at this hour.” He says.

“But you let me up anyway?” You ask.

You can barely see Eunseok’s expression as he sits on the couch in the near darkness. You thought it would look like he was photoshopped against the backdrop of the Los Angeles skyline, but he was a natural. Eunseok settled into the gray modular couch and put his arm on the back like it was second nature. He spread his legs out and shrugged before looking behind him at the night sky.

“I figured it was you.” He answered.

Whatever you and Eunseok had truly wasn’t all that complicated. Yes you cursed him out before showing up at his suite in the middle of the night and yes you two must hate eachother to some degree. But your separate careers grew side by side, you came out during the summer and he dominated the winter. In the fall that following year—when your careers were still fresh and you two would’ve agreed to anything to chase the fame—you were told about the opportunity you had to grow your careers and build more hype around the project you were both starring in. 

Looking back, you could admit you had fun. When work dragged on or you were feeling extra lonely you’d look at old issues of the tabloids, thumbing through the pages until you got to the gossip and celebrity couple section. You'd look down the doggy eared pages of the magazine and look at the paparazzi traps disguised as dates. You looked at the two of you walking around in matching athleisure wear on the way to pilates with Eunseok trailing behind you holding your things and the infamous Central Park date where you two played with children and dogs that weren’t yours. There was even that one photo of you in the bottom corner of the page with Eunseok's hand on your lower back guiding you to your chauffeur. That date felt very real. The drinks you held in your hand was real liquor, you felt actual excitement and the buzz of being in a Hollywood party. Eunseok's hand that reached across the back row of seats to buckle you in was real. The way he pinched your cheek and told you teasingly you should let loose more often was also very real.

The wobbly view you had of him was the same you had now. His pointed noise and high cheekbones, the softness in his expression that defied his sharp features. His hair still fell the same as he continued looking at the outside, picking at the top of the couch like he was subtly trying to find an imperfection. Back then in the back seat of the tinted SUV he was red in the face, looking out the windows in awe of the flashing cameras. Back then you only had your bleary sights on him, you only took in the smile on his face instead of the sounds of paparazzi calling out your name and orders to roll down a window.

That fall you two seemed to be the worlds couple, coming from humble beginnings and navigating the glamour of Hollywood together. You two attended every event attached at the hip, wearing a something that complimented the other and said praises during each interview. For a moment you thought everything was right in the world. The money had started rolling in, the two of you compared checks like kids compared trading cards, wide eyed and passing them in your two-person circle. Eunseok sent you the magazine issue to your new high rise loft in Astoria that had you two on the cover. We look cute together was the note he wrote in permanent marker on the back, you smiled and ran your fingers over the black ink, thinking about how he thought of you all the way in Tempe, Arizona.

Eunseok was the first person you would call when you got a positive feedback, and he was the first one you went to when you ended up losing a role. You believed for a long time the relationship was the same both ways, but when your joint project came out your relationship did what it was supposed to do. You two found solid roles and your names started being mentioned in the acting world. The same time you found out you were in the running for Best Actress the magazines found out the one thing that sells better than love was drama. So less than a week later you found Eunseok snuggled up to the co-star of his upcoming movie underneath the trees at the Maria Hernandez park, playing fetch with a Goldendoodle and cooing at a toddler that was hobbling towards them. 

The sides chosen only fueled your anger. People believed that Eunseok wronged you (they were right) and that you were the best thing that ever happened to him (they were also right). Others didn’t really care, but still participated in the feud to say that at the end of the day it didn’t matter because Eunseok had more accolades (they were unfortunately right). 

Your hatred for Brooklyn and Eunseok started then, you cut him off without hesitation and ignored his texts begging for reconciliation. You put your nose your work without coming up for air, replacing every moment you had with him in favor of lines for your upcoming films.

Somewhere along the way in the middle of your bout of no contact he caught you (or you caught him, that was still unclear) at a wrap party in NoHo. Minjeong, who you built a real friendship with during your very fake relationship with Eunseok, promised you that he wouldn't be there due to a conflicting schedule. For a moment at her wrap party you were at peace, free to drink due to the lack of press and phones that were collected at the door. But when your nth shot of the night started tasting like water, Eunseok arrived. He took the pregame route, showing up to the party already drunk and haughty like the jackass he truly was. When you were at your weakest and the party was winding down, you two set your eyes on eachother. You narrowly tried to avoid him, bobbing and weaving through the crowd of unknown cast and crew members and their plus ones as he weaved through right behind you. The further you went to try and hide the further you strayed from the crowd.

You ended up in the bathroom (the only one that didn't have people doing coke inside), trying hard to close the door on Eunseok's Golden Goose shoe. You were slurring that his shoes were hideous and he was telling you about the botched trailer for your movie one minute then the next you were on top of the small sink spreading your legs and swapping spit with him. You told him you hated him and his stupid movies and he nodded while sticking his fingers in your mouth. You told him none of it was real and he hesitated, your spit covering his lips in a thin glossy layer before he said sorry so genuinely it made you almost regret everything. You never meant to fold, you never meant to be anything less than cruel to him, but Eunseok grabbed your hands the same way he did when there were no cameras around and kissed each individual knuckle while keeping bleary eye contact with you. He truly seemed sorry when he slid inside of you with a quiet sigh, and you seemed to accept his apology by the way you begged him to go faster. 

Something that was meant to be a messy and regretful one time thing for closure happened again, and again, and again. Wherever you were working on for a movie Eunseok seemed to be trailing close behind for his own project. You two begrudgingly came to an agreement, a secret kept behind closed doors. 

Despite the level of trust needed for something so reckless you found it hard to be with him. Sometimes you questioned if you even liked Eunseok, or if you were just blinded by the false sense of familiarity and the lasting effects of the dopamine rush from the PR stunt. He was nothing like that boy from humble beginnings you met at your very first audition, the one you felt like understood you. Then he wore beat up shoes and had a hole in his polo where he accidentally tore the fabric trying to remove the logo. The same boy who talked about name brands with disdain was endorsed by several now. The boy that was so afraid to take up space spread out on the Italian leather upholstery and patted his lap like it was a seat.

“Don’t be afraid to get comfortable.” He says.

You start by taking off your shoes, carelessly kicking them behind you where you saw Eunseok’s other pair of shoes lay.

“I can’t get comfortable.” You say.

Him rolling his eyes takes your attention away from the silk sheets on the bed and the large windows that give a full view of the city.

Eunseok picks at the stitching of the upholstery and focuses on his prying fingers. He focuses on the integrity of the couch, lips pulled into a scowl before he turns to you. Almost instantly a taunting smile replaces his features as he settles into the couch again. 

“Just because your fake humble doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy a little luxury.” He taunts.

Despite the snarky comment Eunseok still holds his hand out to you. 

“I’m fake humble because I like to save money?” You asked.

Even with your eyes raised in anger and surprise at the jab you start walking towards Eunseok. His smile gets wider with each step you take. The floors are cold against your feet but you feel warm all over. You tell yourself it’s the rage, your body that's burning itself out from being overworked.

Eunseok doesn’t speak again until you stand in front of him. He brings his hand from his lap to hold your waist, a steady grip to keep you in place. He dares to lean forward and press a kiss to your clothed stomach before looking directly up at you. With a sigh your hands go to his shoulders and your head lulls to the side to look down at him.

“I saw how well your last movie did.” This time he lifts up your shirt to press a kiss to your bare waist. He pulls you in a little closer by the belt loop of your jeans before messing with the button. “An extra couple hundred here and there won’t break your bank anymore, baby.” He responds.

"I'm not your baby." You say it quietly, your hand rubbing his hair slowly.

You feel the tension and the forming headache melt away like rain. You already feel relaxed when you shake your head. The need to fight back leaves your mind when you feel Eunseok come forward with his other hand to undo the button.

Your body turns with each pull and before you know it the denim pools at your ankles. You step out of them and Eunseok sees it as his chance to pull you onto his lap. When you try to straddle him he directs both of your legs to one side. You stumble into the position, unsure what Eunseok has in mind for the night until you sit on his lap sideways and he brings an arm around your shoulders to keep you close. 

You can already feel his dick twitching underneath you, but before you can mock him you’re distracted by the feeling of Eunseok running his hands up and down your bare legs. He inches closer and closer where you need him most before retreating. He repeats the motion of tracing up and down your leg over and over again. It’s not long before you’re squirming in his lap and keeping your eyes on anything but the rest of the room. When the teasing becomes too much you finally grab one of Eunseok’s hands and lead it towards your cunt.

“Just because you flaunt doesn’t mean I have to.” You say.

Your words lack bite, the edge is completely gone from your breathy tone. Seeing you remain steadfast while becoming weaker and weaker only fuels Eunseok to make you suffer even more. His hand restricts yours to the side and he waits just above your waistband. He looks at you silently with a pout on his face as your stomach jumps from being so close to getting what you need. Your hand pulls against his grip uselessly and suddenly you're too embarrassed to look at Eunseok anymore.

Your head tilts towards the high ceilings as he finally pushes past your waistband. You arch your back and he pulls you closer before pressing his fingers deep to your clit with his cold middle finger.

“Is that what you tell yourself when you wear designer straight off the runway just to walk around the Upper West Side?” He asks.

Before you can defend yourself Eunseok presses deeper into your clit, pulling a pained whine from your lips and a pathetic thrust. His refuses to trace down to your slit to collect your slick before messing with your clit. Somehow it is infuriating but erotic that he knows how to not touch you but does it anyway. He doesn't treat you sweetly, he doesn't do what your hands guide him to do. He does what he wants, he goes straight to picking up the speed on your clit that sends currents through your body.

When he realizes you can’t speak anymore only then does he dip his hand down further, gathering the slick from your hole and prods your entrance with his two fingers. You feel the tension and pressure from his fingers, you preemptively let out a sigh and a small shake when Eunseok kisses your temple. The kiss is passive and small, but it makes you relax enough for Eunseok to slide his fingers inside of you.

You practically suck his two fingers in, and you whine out to the large light fixture above you. You turn your head to Eunseok’s chest seeking some type of comfort but he gives you nothing of the sort. Even if you are cradled in his lap he doesn’t baby you, he doesn’t coo at you affectionately while pumping his fingers in an out of your heat.

“Seriously. You think just because you stay at The Struggle Inn on the other side of the tracks you’re humble?” Eunseok presses the pad of his finger against your walls for emphasis. “This little persona you got going on makes me sick sometimes.” He laughs.

“Sometimes?” You breath.

You let out a labored whine from the feeling of Eunseok playing with you. He’s making a mess of you and you’re almost ashamed that you do nothing about it. Your hand reaches back to dig into the firm cushion of the couch as a means to ground yourself. You see Eunseok look from your clothed cunt to you, nodding his head as he pushes his fingers in deeper. You can feel his soft fingers, you swear you can feel each individual knuckle as your back arches. When your chest is high enough he kisses your covered nipple until you lower it out of his lips reach.

“Sometimes it’s so cute seeing your eyes get all wide like you don’t have money. Kinda feels like I’m ruining you.” Eunseoks’ free hand travels up your back and moves your body close to his. Your hands go back to gripping his shoulders instead of keeping yourself propped up. You lean all your body weight on Eunseok’s side and his arm as he runs his eyes up and down your twitching body. “You’re committed to the bit, I gotta give you that.” He laughs.

“Not a bit.” You respond.

You don’t know how he manages to string so many words together during times like this. You’re all for the jabs at ones character—especially Eunseok’s—but you think it is extremely unfair when you can’t form a coherent sentence that doesn’t involve whimpering his name. He further tips the scale by plunging another finger into your heat and using his hand to lean your head against his shoulder. One of your legs stays on the couch but the other slides off, opening yourself up to him even more.

“Slumming it in a motel while filming a movie with a half million dollar budget.” Despite being in a position of comfort Eunseok’s words have the opposite effect. He’s sturdy against you, unmoving from your body twitches and sudden movements when he hits that spot he has memorized. He so clearly wants to aggravate you while bringing you pleasure, he wants you to fight with him while he bends his hand at an odd uncomfortable angle just for you. “Aren’t you sick of it?” He asks.

“No. I’m not.” You try to bite back but your body preens forward into Eunseok’s fingers and your head leans fully into his shoulder. “Not everyone becomes a classist pig after a little success in the box office.”

“It was actually after I got my first Emmy.” Eunseok’s hand wraps around your waist and brings you further into his lap. Eunseok speeds up his hand as he brings his face closer to yours, so close your clammy cheeks touch. “You wouldn’t know anything about that though, would you?” He sneers.

Everything always goes back to that fucking Emmy. You still remember being up against him in the Outstanding Limited or Anthology Series. Your project was your one and only attempt at anything that wasn’t a movie, and it was Eunseok’s first of many. You remember thinking about how nice the titles of your shows looked side by side when Eunseok won. The fan wars that were fueled by Eunseok’s win plagued your social media feed for weeks. You still periodically saw the clip of Eunseok appearing on screen before the camera cut to you in the crowd. 

“The award wasn’t just for you.” You dig your hands into Eunseok’s waist to try and ground yourself. “You’e not that special. Just a one trick pony.” You lie.

Your heart only has the chance to drop for a second from your lie before Eunseok chuckles again. His fingers inside of you don’t even falter from your jab, instead his other hand pushes your leg until you move it to one side. Your other leg comes up from the ground and before you know it you’re straddling Eunseok as his fingers continue to push into you. The squelching sounds between your two bodies is louder than the kiss he places on your sweaty forehead before going to your ear. 

“You haven’t even seen all my tricks.” He teases.

Eunseok bested you once again. You have nothing to say in response to his fingers that suddenly picked up their pace, you only clutch at him tighter and moan so pitifully it’s barely muffled by his shirt. Your voice floats up to the ceilings as you crumble against his chest. You see the darkened spot on the shirt from your saliva the same time you feel Eunseok press a kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re breaking my heart, honey.” He coos. “I didn’t take you for the competitive type.” 

Eunseok’s hands increase their pace and you can already feel more drool peaking past your lips. You’re being bullied to the edge and Eunseok hasn’t even take his pants off yet. You squirm in his touch again, pressing your hips down to feel his hard dick jump in his sweats. The feeling pushes you forward, it gives you motivation to try and speak.

“I’m not competitive.” You lie again.

Eunseok hums and slips his fingers out of you. The lack of stimulation causes you to whine but gives you room to push your hips against his. Eunseok’s wet fingers grab at your hip and works them back and forth. You hear the content sigh tumble past his lips as your hands grip the couch on either side of his head. You finally find the strength to lift your head up and press your open mouth to Eunseok’s. 

“Then say my movie is gonna do better than yours.” Eunseok murmurs against your lips and pushes you down again. You pant hot air into his mouth and tilt your head, silently wishing he’d kiss you instead of taunting you. “Say it and I’ll fuck you so good.” He says simply.

You shake your head and Eunseok runs his hands up and down your arms, light as a feather to make goosebumps raise across your skin. He pulls away from your lips and looks at your heaving chest and your perked nipples that poke against the fabric. One of his hands harshly pinches at your nipple, causing you to cry out. As an instinct you smack his hand even harder. He looks up from your chest to your face with a smile on his lips.

“So, so, so good.” He taunts.

Eunseok looks you in your eyes again but you can’t even bring yourself to retort. You are still trying to clear the haze and calm your lust from the edging. You only slightly back away from the peak of pleasure before you start pressing your hips down on Eunseok’s. Your previous position on his lap made it had to feel it but straddling his hips let you feel all of him. He throbs against your clothed pussy through his gray sweatpants. Eunseok even lifts his hips upwards to press against you more. You breath heavily into the crook of his neck, but you still shake your head weakly.

“I’m not gonna say it.” You whimper.

“Then you’re not getting it.” Eunseok groans.

For a moment your heart drops at the thought of Eunseok lifting you off his lap or holding your waist to cease your movements. But Eunseok is caught up the same way you are, even if he tries to act like he isn’t. He doesn’t want you to stop, clear in the way he greedily moves your hips when you lose your pace. 

You can feel his dick continue to pulse, the stimulation has you dragging your bare cunt on the fabric of his sweatpants. You swear you can feel all of Eunseok and he moans like he can feel all of you too. His hands press unbelievably hard into your waist to help guide you up and down his length.

“You’re not getting it.” He repeats.

Eunseok is so quiet you think he is speaking to himself rather than to you. But you still nod in the crook of his neck, kissing the exposed skin before tilting your head upwards towards his ear.

“I’m not getting it.” You echo.

Eunseok brings a hand between your shoulder blades and presses your chest against his. he starts lifting his hips with more fervor, letting out a quiet curse into the air when a tiny whine escapes your throat. You purposely push your hand against Eunseok’s thigh just so he will grab your wrist and hold it against your lower back.

“You wouldn’t even be able to handle it, would you?” He whispers.

"It's been too long." You quietly whimper back.

Moments like these where you two are so desperate to be quiet takes you back to your motel days together. The walls were thin as paper back then and you two had an irrational fear of being caught like you weren’t two consenting adults. You’d moan and whimper quietly into eachothers ears, chasing so desperately after that feeling you were both pursuing now. Back then you two would kiss alot more and only praises would fall from Eunseok's lips.

You weren’t sure what you preferred. Pleasure was pleasure the same way wealth was wealth no matter who was administering it. You did wonder if clutching at Eunseok’s shirt would’ve been more fulfilling if you two were on the stiff loveseat cramped in the corner of your motel room. You wondered if hearing him moan your name sweetly would’ve sent you over the edge faster if he still presented himself the same way he used to.

The thought of slumming it with Eunseok again brought you back to the edge again. You went back to the crook of Eunseok's neck as your body swayed against his. You felt the impeding orgasm loom over you. You dug your nails into his shirt and leaned against the back of the couch. For a moment you were so lost in the throes of pleasure you forgot where you were. When you opened your eyes you remembered, and when you remembered it felt further away than ever.

You were subjected to the view from the top floor of this fancy hotel, looking down at the rest of the city beneath you. You saw the cars of people just now getting off from their shifts or people heading to work while you were all the way up here, carelessly enjoying the life of luxury by fucking in the presidential suite. Your hands were tangled in the hair of your arguably richer ex-whatever, and you were grinding on custom Italian that cost more than what most made in a year. You remember being down there, struggling to get a decent nights rest after being a corporate slave all day. That was your life but it felt like an eternity ago. Instead of Eunseok and what he was giving you your mind went to the yawning bellhops and the barista who made your coffee this morning. You saw them in the dark reflection next to yourself in the glass of the window. You focused on your mussed appearance and the back of Eunseok's head. Maybe this really was a persona, maybe you were something worse.

“I can’t.” You whimpered suddenly, stilling your hips against Eunseok’s.

Eunseok looked from your waist to you. His furrowed eyebrow went from focused to confused. You looked at the sweat dot his forehead and line his top plump lip. He looked like he did when you first met, taking you back to the time you wanted to escape from so badly. When you tried to pull away Eunseok shook his head and continued to hold you close. Your loudest sound fell from your lips, something between overwhelming pleasure and the unbearable guilt that comes with achieving success you can barely conceptualize.

“You can. You’re so close already.” Eunseok pulls your view away from your reflection to press your forehead against his. He looks at you intently again, like you were his beginning and end. “My star.” He coos.

Your hips falter at the nickname. Eunseok smiles and grinds his clothed dick against you again, showing that your nickname has an effect on him too. You press your forehead harder against his, the sweaty surfaces sticking together as you two let out heavy pants. You can feel yourself clenching around nothing, squeezing around air as you get closer and closer to the edge. The grip you have on Eunseok becomes so strong your hands begin to shake.

“I’m close.” Eunseok breaks apart from your forehead to lean his head against the couch. His neck is on full display for you, the protrusion in the middle of his throat bobs up and down as he tries regaining his composure. “Keep going.” He whines.

Everytime without fail, Eunseok became the most vulnerable right before he finishes. His own persona crumbles before you. If you ever brought up how pitiful he becomes in the pursuit of his orgasm he would accuse you of projection, but his submission was so palatable you could taste it. He was no longer the cocky movie star, but a defenseless whining mess underneath you. You could always see how badly he wanted to be taken care of, it was written on his lips and evident in the way his grip tightened on you but no longer guided your movements. He needed you to press deeper into him, to kiss him all over and talk him through it.

“Look at me.” You said.

Whether your voice was commanding enough didn’t matter, because Eunseok opened his eyes almost immediately. You looked at him instead of looking around his suite or looking past him outside the large windows. You stayed locked in on Eunseok’s blown out eyes, focusing on yourself in his eyes instead. You never changed on the glassy wet reflection. You still looked the same when you stared intensely at them.

Something about Eunseok being so weak made you feel strong. You forgot about your overwhelming guilt to press your hips down to Eunseok’s and rock against him quickly, looking directly into his eyes. He only lasted a moment before his back arched off the couch and his eyes were screwed shut. You moved one of your hands from Eunseok’s shoulder to thread through his hair, pulling tightly as your hips continued to move.

He started twitching underneath you and you let yourself collapse against his chest. Designer perfume and Eunseok filled your nose as you whimpered against his chest and a beat later the familiar warmth washed over you. Your hips started moving erratically as you settled deeper into his chest, repeating that you were cumming after Eunseok already came in his sweats. 

“Go ahead.” Eunseok weakly cooed at you as his hands ran up and down your back. “I got you.”

You nodded against his chest, and you didn’t stop nodding until you felt the warmth subside. You let out a heave against Eunseok’s chest. The both of you had matching heart rates and the same heavy pants. 

You rested against him and he pulled you closer, still rubbing your back as you came down. When you could manage moving your body agains you started massaging Eunseok’s scalp, paying closer attention to the area that you had his hair tugged between your fingers.

Even with knowing you were a sticky sweaty mess you felt comfortable. When you were against Eunseok’s shoulder all you saw was him. You didn’t worry that you defiled the expensive Italian sofa or that you might’ve disturbed the neighbors. You were only focused on the whirring of a machine somewhere and the fact that Eunseok smelled like you now. Everything was reminiscent of the life you were accustomed to.

“So.” Eunseok clears his throat and lets his head rest against yours that’s still slumped in his shoulder. “You gonna stay the night? Or go back to the dirty motel?” He asks.

Instantly the veil is lifted. The fog in your mind clears and the strength comes back to your limbs. You pull out of Eunseok’s hold get up from his lap with a grunt and walk over to your pants, pulling them up your leg as Eunseok scoots forward to the edge of the sofa.

“Don’t be like that.” He says.

You shake your head again and pull up your pants quickly. You even wag your finger as Eunseok to show him he’s really messed up. 

“You ruined it.” You say. 

You walk through the dark of the suite, trying not to run into anything on your way out. The worst thing would be to leave a trace of your presence anywhere. You want to be in and out like a ghost, you want to be back in the comfort of your scratchy sheets.

“Seriously you should stay.” You hear a tiny gross leave Eunseok’s lips as he gets up from the couch. You can hear his bare feet against the floor of the room as pads after you. You don’t turn around, you only reach for your baseball cap sitting on top of the command center. “It’s so late.” He reasons.

Your mask is already on your face by the time Eunseok makes it to your side. His voice is hoarse, when you turn around you see his hair is still bumped on one side as you secure the baseball cap onto your head.

“I gotta get back to my dirty motel.” You emphasize the end. Eunseok’s eye roll and the dark splotch on his sweats is tinted behind the your shades before you turn to grab your jacket. “My taxi is waiting for me.” You say.

You can tell Eunseok has given up any attempt to get you to stay when you zip up your jacket. Instead he puts his hand on the doorknob, stopping you from pulling it open. When your hand goes to the deadbolt Eunseok puts his hand over that too. You see his softened gaze behind the dark tint of your shades, so inviting you have the urge to stay.

“How long are you in LA for?” Eunseok asks. 

Your hand goes to the small chain above the deadbolt lock right beside Eunseok’s head. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You say.

Eunseok puts his hands up in defense and you take the moment to undo the lock and turn the knob. The door is heavy, it pulls you slightly forward as you try to open it. Eunseok helps you the rest of the way and you’re forced to walk past him to go into the hallway. You don’t dare to turn back and look at Eunseok when you make it to the hallway. You keep your eyes on the elevator only, so close to escape.

“Maybe next time we can fuck on the nasty sheets in a motel?”

Eunseok speaks above his normal volume because he knows it will make you turn around. He swears he can see the indignation  in your eyes as you point your finger at him in warning. He puts his hands up in defense again and laughs at your reaction.

“Shut up.” You seethe behind gritted teeth. 

“I’m just saying it’ll be a nice change of pace for me.” He says, equally as loud.

Eunseok is happy he’s able to wear you down when you pull out your phone and start vigorously typing. He hears his phone chime behind him on top of the command center before you stuff your phone back into your pocket.

“I sent you my schedule for the next month.” You point your finger at him again as you start heading backwards to the elevator. “Don’t make me regret it.” You seethe.

Eunseok leans against his door, nodding mockingly.

“You won’t.” He says.

Eunseok stays leaned against his door even when you turn away from him and walk towards the elevator. He doesn’t catch your eye again until you turn inside the open elevator to face the exit. He decides to be even more of an asshole by bowing to you just to show you how grateful he is. Eunseok waves to you with all his might as the doors came to a slow close in front of you. 

You make it back down to the lobby, the same staff there as when you went up. You notice the concierge staring at you from across the lobby. You feel her gaze never leave your body as you shift uncomfortably from the unwanted attention and the feeling from your underwear. Enamel Pin doesn’t say a word to you as he opens the door, he barely gives you a nod as you walk past him.

The bellhops look from the yellow taxi to you, they make a step towards the back of the cab before standing still in their place. You don’t know what you’re waiting for but you’re still too. Everyone outside is still, no one moves until you hear see the passenger side window roll down.

“Have a nice night, miss.” Enamel Pin says.

The bellhops move to the car that comes up behind the taxi and your feet finally move. You open your own door and clamber into the backseat. You close your own door and motion for the driver to take you back to the same spot.

You look up from your seat in the car, trying to find the top floor of the hotel. It’s impossible to see from down here. You still try to find the top as the cab leaves the lobby, heading the same direction you came from.

[wooeo]

☼ BEAUTY QUEEN — enhypen x f!member!reader

youtube compilation (name) my beauty queen, 1.3 million views

note, the 2 girls during clip 2 are ocs dont mind them

clip 1

— “noona,” jungwon called you over to him and niki. he had just confessed to once getting valentines day chocolate from one of his friends. 

“hmm?” you pushed your hair over your shoulder, making sure it didn’t get stuck in your clothes.

“noona, have you ever gotten white day chocolate?” niki asked, looking up at you.

the camera panned to you, “yeah,”

they both ooh’ed, teasing you as you smiled awkwardly, “how many times?”

embarrassed, you laughed and turned away from them. they protested loudly, catching the attention of your bandmate and old classmate, jay. 

“what? what?” 

“hyung! you and noona were classmates right?”

“yeah,”

“have you ever seen her getting white day chocolate?”

jay nodded, “yeah. she once had a whole bag filled,”

you protested, not wanting him to make the information public, “jay! shut up!”

“eh?!” niki’s mouth fell open and jungwon looked at you in shock, “seriously?!”

jay nodded, laughing at your flustered expression, “didn’t you have two full bags in our third year?”

“JAY!”

clip 2

— jay entered first, then sunghoon, then you. you were half hidden behind sunghoon until you stepped out onto the white platform where the boys made space for you between them and you properly came into view of the other contestants. 

“wha,,”

you were too far away and too nervous to hear the sounds of awe coming from the others. two of the girls that were already seated, leaned closer to each other, “is that fair? her face?” they giggled, eyes zoomed on you. “don’t let me stand beside her,, seriously. i’ll look like a trashcan,”

you chuckled nervously, “they’re all staring,”

jay leaned closer to you, “aren’t you used to that?”

you rolled your eyes at him and he smiled. 

“she’s seriously pretty,” 

“very pretty,”

“(name) has a pretty voice,” bang sihyuk put his papers on the desk, “and she’s a strong performer,”

“ah,” rain and zico made noises in acknowledgement. “she looks like a manhwa character,” zico commented, laughing along with the other two when they saw how the contestants kept stealing glances at you.

clip 3

— “(name)!” the radio host turned to you, eyes on the cue card.

you peaked up, ignoring heesung calling you cute. 

“there is a rumor going around,” the host's eyes went to you. 

your nose scrunched up, already knowing what was to come. 

“that when you were in school,, your desk was so filled with letters and gifts that it broke,”

your band members snickered while your face flushed in embarrassment. you shook your head and waved your hands around, “‘t’s not true, it’s- ah,,” you hid your face in your hands, “over exaggeration,” you managed through the embarrassment. the boys burst out laughing, clapping and hollering.

jake, who was sitting next to you, ran his hand up and down your back in comfort through his laughter.

“it’s true! it’s true!” jay laughed even harder when you protested his words. when everybody calmed their laughter (except niki, who found your embarrassment the best entertainment), you repeated your denial.

“it’s not true. but,,” you hesitated and the boys and host chuckled again, “there was a lot on the last day before summer vacation,”

jay, your ever so helpful, ex classmate, opened his mouth, “so many it letters they fell of her desk,” 

“JAY!!” 

[mothofmyth]

Steve Harrington is lost. He's trapped in the upside down. Alone. Because of fucking course he is. Why wouldn't he be? Still, at least it's not one of the kids or something.

Then again...

At least the kids know shit like morse code, and they're smart enough to figure out how to communicate topside. Steve's just sitting here, miserably staring at the vines with his plank (he misses his baseball bat, this rotting old timber was all he could find on short notice).

Sometimes he hears little bursts of voices from the real world. Hears fucking Munson and his godawful noise-music that gave Steve headaches BEFORE all of the head trauma. And actual trauma.

But all he can find in this dump is a walkman and a two-way radio. He's tried talking into the radio an embarrassing number of times, to no avail. He doesn't know if the damned thing even has batteries in it.

He can't communicate. He can't get back home. He's just... stuck.

He's just about given up on ever getting home; ever even seeing another living person again.

When he hears Munson again.

He's just talking to himself, muttering about his latest campaign or something. Steve doesn't really care, he's just grateful to hear someone's voice other than his own.

He tries recording it, so he can listen to human speech whenever he wants, but he grabs the radio by mistake.

Munson stops talking. The air becomes thicker, somehow tension seeps across the dimensions.

"Hello?" Munson sounds concerned - afraid, even.

Steve's eyes snap wide open.

"Hello?! Hey, Munson? Can you hear me?" He shouts into the musty air, careless of the monsters waiting outside the paper-thin walls of his hideout.

"Fucking losing it, Munson." Eddie mutters to himself, seemingly without hearing the call.

Steve tries the radio again, shouting into it, begging to be heard. No luck.

He sighs, assuming some miserable coincidence gave him a tiny crumb of false hope, and drops to the floor.

He grabs the walkman, resigning himself to listening to faint recordings of Eddie fucking Munson's voice for the rest of his short, sad life. He hits record and lays in silence, listening to Eddie until he falls silent.

Steve winds back the tape, listening for whatever he's captured. It's bad quality, but that's certainly Munson's voice, raving about dragons and other nerd shit. He'll take it.

Some time passes and Steve's got the tape playing aloud while he's toying with the radio again. This time, Eddie hears it.

He reacts with surprise and fear and confusion. He's hearing his own voice, distant and crackling, coming from nowhere in particular. Of course he's fucking terrified that's some mimic ass shit.

Some sort of monster, lurking in the dark, trying to lure him to it with his own voice.

Steve, of course, realises that for some fucked-up reason, the radio works to connect him to the other side, but it only hears the fucking walkman.

Steve spends weeks trying to communicate with Eddie by playing his own speech back to him, writing a full glossary of words he's got at his disposal with time stamps for where on the cassette he needs to play to express them.

He finally convinces Eddie to listen by playing "help" "me" "it's" "big" "boy" any time he hears Eddie's presence.

He sometimes catches snippets of Wayne, too, and throws some of his words into the mix as well.

Just the innate horror of being able to communicate but only through another's words, of hearing something strange and other speak to you with your own voice, cut and clipped and tonally all wrong for the context.

Something uncanny. Something familiar yet not. Something dark and serious and frightening.

The nature of danger and bravery and fear and innovation.

They muddle through together, and when Steve is finally, FINALLY rescued he ofc holds Eddie so tight the poor boy can't BREATHE but he doesn't care because it's over and they're both safe.

Eddie holding him in return because it's REAL and he thought he might be losing his mind for a hot minute there.

[brucewaynehater101]

Y'all think about how different the batkids' perspectives on Batman were growing up?

For Dick, Batman was around 1-3 years before Robin joined him (depends on canon ig). Dick probably hadn't heard of him before the night his parents died. Then he finds out that the weird shadow monster thing that hugged him after the Graysons fell is the weird guy who is fostering him.

Barbara heard about these new vigilantes trying to do good from her dad. She saw them as people she could help and/or learn from to aid her dad in cleaning up Gotham. They weren't legends to her, but strangers that could be allies.

Jason definitely saw Robin and Batman shit in the papers (or heard it on the radio, saw some clips on TV [if he didn't have a TV then probably in a store or neighbor's home], whatever). He was tentatively five or so when Robin hit the streets. He got most of the grumbling from Crime Alley about the new vigilantes (which a lot of the folks in his neighborhood were probably pissed at Batman [either for Batman apprehending/beating up common muggers, him avoiding protecting Crime Alley, or the child shadow he had]).

Cass probably didn't know much about Batman until she met him. She knew nothing about his stories or work. She didn't grow up with the legend of Batman. All of her impressions of him came from their first meeting.

Tim and Steph both grew up with established Robins and Batman. Steph might have heard similar cursed muttering that Jason had (especially from her dad), but Tim idolized these semi-known heroes.

Duke is younger than Tim and Steph. Thus, Batman and Robin (and Nightwing) would have been considered normal throughout his childhood. It's just how it is in Gotham

Damian grew up hearing about how awesome Batman was but didn't get the proof the others did. He was told to live up to that legacy, a faint and distantly known one.

Just, for some, he was this huge legend, vigilante, and hero. For others, he was this new guy. For one, he wasn't known at all.

[stormblessed95]

Watching Are You Sure?! EP 8 Finale

A reminder of how I do these reaction posts as I watch things. I just write my reactions and thoughts down literally they happen. Think more of a bullet point format. I'll include links when I can to videos, thanks to the people who twt who upload clips and to @dstdes for providing so many of my linked video clips. And at the end, I'll do a better wrap up of all my opinions. I hope everyone enjoyed the show, I can't believe it's over!!

JK turning on Korea's top hits on the radio and both their songs playing one after the other. They KNOW they are powerful. I like them seeing/hearing that evidence though first hand 🥰 Jikook can't be separated, even on the radio!*

JK mentioning the Park Jimin summoning spell 😭😂 lmfao I love it

"this is the boyfriend shot" Jimin says THREE TIMES IN A ROW. we get it, he said this is what it looks like to go out on a date with Jungkook. And Jimin is the one who gets to do that 😅😂🥰🥰🥰 goodness. What was that Jimin? Lol honestly though, it was a cute and cozy picture!

Did the head chef just gift them one of everything on the menu?! Lmao they have so much food!!

JK telling Jimin to basically just strip naked because he went to go undo his pants buckle because he was so full but it was already undone was such a wild statement and comment to make?? The fuck? Lmao and Jimin replying with a meme was hysterical. Joking yet blushing. Top notch 😂😂 loved it. Love them. We aren't even 20 minutes into the episode yet And that was so out of pocket 😂🤣

JK being so tickled over teasing Jimin and making him come back to the car to get him 🤣 they are so funny!

Jimin dancing SNTY 😍

Their giggles over the beds?? Lol it has to be because they saw photos originally and saw the staff had separated out the beds to be separate when they originally weren't and then still gave them matching PJs to wear 🤣🤣 idk why they would do that? Lol they aren't strangers to sharing a bed lol

Jungkook teasing Jimin over the scuzzi 😂😂

Jimin putting snowballs on his head while in the hottub lol the way JK watched him. Love 😍

Not rock paper scissors to have to lay down in the snow 🤣 Jimin forcing JK to follow through on the punishment he thought up 🤣🤣🤣 the way Jimin called him baby as JK gave him the biggest puppy eyes trying to get out of having to do it 🥺🥺🥺

Jimin just laying on the floor at the bottom of the stairs while JK has his snack. Lmfao the call and response singing they had is so cute and what a song choice! 😂 Jimin saying he likes randomly laying/sprawling/rolling on the floor at home too 😂

Them reacting to episode 1 of AYS was NOT on my bingo called but im so happy about it! The editors joking with them and their interaction with the staff made me so happy too! It was also really funny them admitting to having a hard time editing the show 😂

Their giggles heal something in my soul 🥰

And the way they are sitting so close and kept their feet touching almost the entire time?? 🥰🥰🥰

Jimin's head in JKs lap at some point while watching too. I love them

JK acting a fool in the kitchen while cooking to make Jimin laugh 🥰🥰🥰

Jimin calling JK " Honey" 🥺🥺🥺 he wanted to cheers their glasses, but he called him honey. Cute

Not them teasing each other over their snores and sleeping habits 😂

"Jimin doesn't like it when someone touches his head" JK says, while rubbing his head with Jimin unbothered. Lol Jimin will let that man do ANYTHING to him 😂 and idk if JK was trying to tease Jimin or us by flexing his privilege in our face. Probably both 😂

JK saying driving on smaller roads like this is romantic. Jimin saying "this is romance, this is youth, this is nice" 😭😭😭 fuck they are so cute

JK is flying from Japan to Korea and then basically straight back out to America for his schedule. And he choose to not drink, even though he really wanted to, because he wanted to drive Jimin to the airport, just them instead of depending on the staff to take them. Give them that extra alone time together. And he chose to fly to Korea with Jimin instead of giving himself an easier and more relaxing travel schedule with more rest by staying and flying to America from Japan instead. That is... It's really fucking special and sweet and says so much about how they love each other honestly.

Giving up his last beer of their trip, after being told to relax and not worry about it because he wanted to be the one to drive them, to have that time together, just them and a GoPro they had control over, and spending that extra travel time to be together when it made a much longer and harder few days for him? That's that persistent, dedicated, quiet yet impactful kinda love. Really said a lot without saying anything.

The tradition continues of JK filming their food before ending with a close up shot of Jimins face. love that is a constant here 🥰

"I'll make sure you have a safe journey" "it's an honor" just kill me now omfg 😭🥰😭

JK being salty that Jin didn't dream about him with Jimin in the military since they are going together 😂😂😂😂

Jikook talking about how these trips were some of the happiest moments ever. And the way they were feeling a little melancholy over the trip ending and things changing and losing this constant togetherness time they had to be free .. goodness. Enjoying the cool air while trying to feel better. Ugh, I love them. I love them so much and I love the way they love each other so much.

Talking about how they loved it so much in the ending interviews, how they were the best of times. JK softly rubbing Jimins nape and back in comfort too. I'm tearing up, damn

The way JK is looking at Jimin during that last interview outtakes. My goodness 😍 same way Jimin was looking at JK while he was driving 😍

Them ending the show by having us literally send them off to the military is cruel, omfg. I AM CRYING NOW, DAMN. "A letter from beyond" fuck you too editors 😭

Wrap up Thoughts:

I'm so sad this is over. My God. Minute of silence to mourn.

.

.

.

This was such a sweet and wholesome episode. It had teasing, it had bickering, it had pet names. It was domestic as heck. It was the perfect trip for them to end their "freedom" before military service. I would have loved more conversations about that, but I'm fairly content as it is too.

Again, so many cuts (not complaining, very normal) but my favorite was how Jimin went to go wake JK up and then it cut to them leaving. I hope they enjoyed their time cuddling and relaxing sans cameras and interruption 🥰 (my assumptions I guess, but wouldn't be far fetched)

Letting my delulu out when Jimin said he just lays wherever whenever all the time at home and me thinking about the the members teasing JK about all the random ass mattresses over his house 🤣 it's too keep them comfy no matter where they end up wanting to lay 🤣🤣 (just kidding, sort of lol)

The way Jikook play fight is so equal and cute and funny. They just shove the crap out of each other but never with an intention to hurt or be mean. And they both LOVE IT.

They trust each other, give weight to each other's words and have confidence in the others beliefs and thoughts like no one else. It's such a special bond, and I'm so so glad they opted to share this with us. I truly am so grateful. And grateful for y'all letting me share all my musings with you too. 💜

And we have to end this post with the way that Jikook were spotted in Sapporo driving in the car, Jimin being the passenger princess he was, alone with their GoPro's and giving major flirty energy. And the way the show just proved OP right too. Genuinely Jikook are so special and wonderful and amazing and I love them so much. And when they got home from this trip, the group live they did shortly after? They were sooooo touchy and snuggly!

Hope everyone is excited for the photobook and behinds as well. I unfortunately am horribly sad because I'm broke AF and cannot afford to buy it in my budget at the moment, but hopefully ARMYs will upload all the photos and upload the behinds for everyone too. I will share links if I find them.

[artistthetravel]

PAPER RADIO CLIPPING EP.1

[ereardon]

Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Eighteen

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child? 

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader 

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, angst

Chapter summary: The truth about Jake and Bob's feud comes to light

WC: 1.6K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

The day it happened, the sky was blue. Not light or foggy blue, the kind that bleeds into white. Not dark blue like midnights, or a storm on the horizon. 

It was crisp, perfect blue. The kind your memory associates with summer beach trips and perfect picnic days and the way the sky felt the day school let out at the end of the year and the kids rushed outside in a flurry of old papers and discarded textbooks. The kind of blue that felt like freedom. 

It was blue that day. Bob felt it in his bones. Jake did, too. There was something almost calming about how blue it was. How accessible. 

And then the call came in. 

The sound of the jets was loud. The wind as it whipped on their faces as they sprinted across the deck of the carrier was harsh and hot. Suddenly, the blue sky felt like an omen. 

Jake hopped into the single seat of his jet, checking the sensors, nodding at the attendant who wheeled away the ladder. 

Bob climbed into the seat behind Dakota. The two of them had been partners for years. He was the godfather to her son, Blake. They had been friends in flight school, neighbors for a while at Lemoore. He taught Blake how to ride a bike. 

They strapped in. The air buzzed around them. Bob found himself holding his breath as they climbed into the sky. Into the blue. That’s the funny thing about the sky. Once you’re up there, it’s transparent. You find yourself always reaching for something just out of your grip. 

The fight was hard, but fast. Guns blazing, enough loops that Bob felt his stomach lurch into his throat more than once. But then the smoke cleared and the radios were silent. 

They were safe. 

Dakota looked around one more time in the open air. There was something practically fizzing on her tongue, she couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was there. A feeling. A trepidation. 

And then Jake’s voice, haggard over the radio. “Dakota, five o’clock!” 

She whipped the jet just in time to dodge a bullet that pinged off the wing, leaving a burn across the metal. Bob felt his heart start to race. Suddenly, there was a firestorm of bullets. But everyone had already descended, back to the carrier. It was only Bob and Dakota’s plane, and Jake’s, left. The two of them fought off the best they could. And then the gun clip went dry. 

“Jake, we need fire,” Dakota cried, looking over her shoulder. “They’re coming!” 

“I–, I–,” Jake stuttered over the comms. 

“Hangman!” Dakota’s voice was sharp. “Hangman, where the fuck are you? We need cover!” 

There was a moment of dead silence in the air. Just Bob and Dakota waiting for a response, watching the streams of light from bullets pierce the air around them.  

“Eject, eject!” Jake’s voice was frantic. “Eject!” 

Dakota grabbed the handle beneath her seat. “You heard him, Bob. Eject!” 

Bob grabbed his lever, tugging it hard, feeling his seat throttle into the air. His eyes were squeezed shut. As he came to, he was floating, parachute gliding him down toward the water. 

And as he swam, ditching the parachute, paddling for his life, he watched as another body floated down, twenty yards away. He paddled, fast, but he already knew. He could see it in the way she fell. 

He was too late. He had been too late the moment he pressed eject. Her head was bloody from the impact, her blue eyes closed tightly, mouth slightly ajar. Bob held her in his arms, even as they fished the two of them out of the water. He tugged, hard, on her limbs as they pried her body away. 

Jake stood on the outer ring that had formed around them, sweat dripping down his face. Bob sat with his head in his hands for a moment, before looking up and making eye contact with Jake. 

Despite Bob’s smaller stature, he grabbed Jake’s collar as Bradley dove for the two of them, but Natasha stopped him. “You fucking coward,” Bob seethed. “You could have covered us, but you wanted to escape unharmed. She’s dead because of you. Her son has no mother because of you.” 

“Floyd, I–” 

“You killed her,” Bob repeated, loudly for all to hear. Jake’s face went white. “You fucking killed her.” 

***

You stood with your hands on your hips, squinting. “I think it’s crooked.” 

Jake groaned from where he sat on the floor, dutifully building the dresser that would house the baby’s changing table. “Honey, trust me when I say it’s not.” 

“Our daughter is going to roll off that shit like Humpty Dumpty.” 

“Let’s hope she doesn’t have a huge head.” 

“Your head is enormous.” 

“Hey!” 

“Am I interrupting?” Bradley poked his head in the room. 

“Yes, you are,” Jake replied, “and good timing. Y/N was just reaming me out about my big head.” 

“I mean, it’s huge,” Natasha said, striding in with a basket of baby clothes in her arms along with a bag of tiny hangers. 

“I’m sorry, does everyone think this?” 

The three of you nodded in unison and Jake rolled his eyes. “Where’s Bobby?” you asked. 

Bradley frowned. “He’s, um, busy.” 

“Busy?” You grabbed your phone out of your pocket. “Excuse me.” 

You brushed past the others, dialing Bob’s number as you entered the living room. 

“Ducky?” 

“Where are you?” you asked. “We all agreed to setting up the nursery and then Jake and I wanted to take you guys out for dinner.” 

“I, um, sorry I forgot.” 

“Well come over now,” you replied.

“Y/N, I just don’t feel like seeing Jake tonight, OK?” 

“No, not OK,” you said, placing one hand on your enormous stomach. “I’m having this baby in less than two months, Bobby. And I refuse to bring her into a world where her uncle and her dad hate each other. So get your ass over here before I scream.” 

He paused. You tapped your foot impatiently. Then, “I’ll meet you at the restaurant.” 

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth, hitting the phone’s red button and forcing it back into your pocket. Back in the nursery, Jake looked up, his face scanning yours quickly. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“Nothing.” You shook your head. “Let’s go to dinner? Bobby is meeting us there.” 

A shadow passed across Jake’s face. Or was it nausea? You couldn’t tell, because it was gone in an instant. 

At the restaurant, Jake held your hand beneath the table, his thumb stroking the soft part of your palm as you twirled a bite of pasta around your fork. All the while, your gaze fell on Bob, who had his eyes trained on his plate. When he did look up, there was a sadness, an ache, in his features. You couldn’t place it. 

When he left for the bathroom, you excused yourself, waiting outside in the narrow hallway until he crossed through the door and almost slammed into your stomach. Immediately, his hands shot out, guarding you. “Ducky! Jesus, what are you doing lurking in the dark?” 

“What’s wrong?” you demanded. 

“Nothing.” 

“Don’t give me that,” you said sharply. “I know you and I know something is wrong. What is it?” 

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Let it go.” 

“Did Sena dump you?” 

“No.” 

“Then what?”

“Y/N.” His blue eyes flared. “Don’t test me. Not today.” 

“Why? What’s today?” 

“What’s going on?” Jake stood with his arms crossed over his chest. “Y/N? Are you OK?” 

“She’s fine,” Bob bit back. 

“Bobby,” you warned. “Stop.” 

“You want to know why today?” he asked. You nodded. He tilted his head toward Jake. “Ask him.” 

Your gaze went to Jake, who turned pale. 

“Floyd, maybe we should do this somewhere else.” 

“I think it’s time she heard,” Bob said. “Tell her, Seresin.” 

You frowned. “Jake?” 

“Three years ago,” Jake said quietly, “there was an accident.” 

“It wasn’t an accident,” Bob spat. “You froze. You chose yourself over us.” 

“I chose YOU” Jake bellowed and you stepped back, alarmed. His green eyes, normally so calm, flamed wide. “I fucking sacrificed myself for you, Floyd. You and Dakota. And what did I get? You hating me for the rest of my life. I couldn’t save her, Bob. Neither of us could. She hit her head on the way down. It wasn’t my fault and it wasn’t yours. So can you stop blaming me for making her eject? It was protocol. It was what we were supposed to do.” His breath was getting ragged. You reached out for his arm but he yanked it away, practically buzzing with anger. “I took it. All of your anger. All of the hate. All of the pain. I took it because I was her wingman and I let her down. I couldn’t protect her up there. But I never fucking forgot about it. Not a single day goes by when I don’t regret that I froze up there.” 

Tears tingled in the corner of your eyes. Bob’s mouth was wide, but no sound came out. Jake’s face was red, stretched in angry tears. You wanted to reach out for him, but it was clear: he didn’t want you.

“You hate me for what happened,” Jake whispered. “And I know you hate that I’m the one your sister is having a baby with. But you know what, Bob? Sometimes I hate myself too.” 

Then he turned on his heel and strode away. 

Please follow my library page @ereardonlibrary as that will largely serve as my tag list. Anyone I previous promised to tag is here:

@blue-aconite @bobfloydsbabe @bobfloydssunnies @withahappyrefrain @djs8891 @clancycucumber230 @xomrsalliej4787xo @xoxabs88xox @myfaveficrecs @spinning-away

@gigisimsonmars @shanimallina87 @mycobrakai1972 @sio-ina-bottle @joaquinwhorres @justanothermagicalsara @je-suis-prest-rachel

@rosiahills22 @buckysteveloki-me  @kmc1989 @eloquentdreamer @mjisbby @seresinslady @seresinhangmanjake @blackwidownat2814 @bbyvanessaa  @mrsjobarnes @midnightmagpiemama @ingoaliesitrust @rockbottomphilosophies-blog @iangiemae @boiolay @sometimesanalice @na-ta-sh-aa @bobfloydsbabe @kmc1989 @rosiahills22 @palepeanutponyshoe @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love @mel119g @daggerspare-standingby @grxcisxhy-wp @mrsjobarnes @csmt-m @rockbottompunk-blog @joaquinwhorres

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐃𝐚𝐲 ᝰ ☕︎ 📂 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

⤳ synopsis: Nanami asks you to come into work tomorrow for overtime, but it’s supposed to be your day off.

genre: smut

⤳ a/n: got inspired by an animated clip in twt….I can’t find it though :(

⤳ tags: power dynamics, backshots (me next nanami), praise, vulgar, explicit, office sex-

⤳ wrd cnt: 1.9k

You sat down in your crummy office chair, staring at the mountain of paperwork ahead of you. It was the most interesting site in your boring middle office, view covered with the big cinder block building that no one rented. All you could think about was the fact that tomorrow was supposed to be your day off. Supposed to.

You had been looking forward to a relaxing evening, catching up on all your half watched shows and indulging in some much-needed self care.

However, as usual, your boss Nanami had other plans. You could hear his voice over the little radio in your office phone, calling you into his office for a moment.

You sighed, knowing that it was probably another project that needed to be finished urgently.

You walk into him staring at his laptop with a look of overwhelmed dread. 
“Y/n, I know tomorrow is supposed to be your day off, but I was hoping you could come in for some overtime, it’s much needed” he said casually, leaning back in his chair.
You couldn't help but feel a rush of annoyance. You were scared your eye was about to start twitching infront of him.

This wasn't the first time he had asked you to sacrifice your time off for work, and you were beginning to feel resentful towards him. But as soon as you opened your mouth to protest, he continued.
“I know it's asking a lot, but I promise it'll be worth it. I can't do this project without you. And besides, I'll make it up to you,” he added with a charming smile.

That walking company credit card better get you some pad thai, at the very least. 
You looked into his eyes and felt all your resolve weakening. You knew you couldn't resist the allure of his persuasive words and his stupid handsome face. And deep down, you were a little curious about what he meant by 'making it up to me.'
Maybe a raise? 
“Okay, I understand.” you reluctantly agreed, trying to sound firm but failing.
“Great, I'll see you tomorrow night then,” he said, giving you a smile before he saw you out.

The rest of tomorrow was quite dull, there really was no one but you, your boss, and a few strangling assistants trying to keep up with agendas and filings.

It was finally 6pm, and your overtime started.

You made your way to Nanami’s office with most of your belongings and the rest of the stack of papers you had procrastination on the day before.

Before you had a chance to knock on his office door, it swung open with Nanami inches away from your face, quickly backing up, startled.

'Y/n- Sorry, I was just about to go get you. Please, have a seat,” Kento said as he closed the door behind him. “I appreciate you staying late to help me with this. You've been a great asset to the department”.

You blushed and mumbled a thank you, feeling flustered by his words. You had to admit, as much as your boss annoyed you from time to time. You truly looked up to him, and a compliment from Kento made you feel much more confident about your capabilities. But as you looked up at him, you noticed the way he was staring at you.

It wasn't just appreciation, it was something more. “I have to admit,” Kento continued, walking behind and around your seated form to plop down into his desk chair across from you. “I've been watching you. Your dedication to your work ethic, your intelligence….your beauty. I've expected a lot from you, and I’m glad I was right to do so.”

You were at a loss for words, your heart pounding in your chest. You never imagined that Kento, your strict and unapproachable boss, would have paid so much attention to you. But here he was, confessing all this in front of you, his eyes burning into you with every word.

Before you could say anything, Kento smiled and looked down to your lips, and back to your eyes before opening up his laptop and crossing his legs, leaning back into his chair as you tried to form words.

You were taken by surprise, and you didn’t fully register everything he said, especially the part where he told you how beautiful he thought you were.

“Thank you- Mr. Nanami.” You said, gulping slightly and trying to fill the silence.

He twirled a pen with his fingers while replying to you, “Call me Kento, you’ve earned it.”

You nod, getting to work on the shared desk.

The two of you exchanged more details on the work at hand, hours went by and it certainly felt like it.

You let out a big yawn, small droplets forming in your eyes. It was already midnight.

“Oh dear…we’ve been here quite a while huh? Let’s take a break, stretch our legs.” He suggested.

“Sure, would you like to get some coffee?” You offered.

“I’m okay, how about you?”

“I actually…don’t even like coffee”, you confess.

Nanami lets out a deep chuckle, catching you off guard a little as it’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh.

“Y/n, there’s something I’d like to share with you. I find it now to be quite appropriate.”

Your curiosity is peaked, silently hoping for something more than just a raise.

“You’ve shown how loyal you are to this team. I’d like to offer you a promotion to senior management. We can talk more on the details later, but I look forward to sharing them with you.”

You eyes widen, this was a promotion you didn’t expect til the next few years.

Trying to stay as professional as possible, you say, “Yes! I would-“ you jump up, trying to calm down a little but it’s a little too late. Without even thinking you hug Nanami, surprisingly he hugs you back, lifting you up a bit off the floor since you pounced on him and all.

It only got worse, you may have accidentally kissed him too.

Could you blame yourself? His hands hugged your back in a way that felt too welcoming, and when you pulled away from the hug in trying to reclaim your professional manner, you swear it was like a slo motion film, where your eyes met; lips slowly pressing together.

His lips were soft yet demanding, almost like he wished for this more than you did. His tongue teased yours as his hands roamed over your back. 
“Miss Y/n,” Kento whispered against your lips, his voice sending shivers down your spine, “You should really be more careful.”

Before you knew it, he had you lifted up into his hold. He placed you onto his desk, throwing the rest of your unfinished stack to the floor in a swift motion. His hands engulfed the sides of your face as he took your lips into another dance, standing in between your legs. The authority and control he had in the office now seemed to transfer to this encounter, and you were putty in his hands, melting into his palms.

You soon felt his kisses trail down to your jaw.

“Nanami-“ You gasp.

“What did I tell you before. Call me Kento. I need you to.” He whispered into your ear, pulling your hair to make you look at him. You nod, as he makes your head lean back, giving him ample space to place kisses to your exposed neck as you sat on his desk, the paperwork as unimportant as ever.

“Yes- Kento…please- need more…”

You moan, your words shaky as he takes your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down gently before soothing it with his tongue.

His hand trails down your body, his fingers slipping under the hem of your pencil skirt, teasing the skin of your inner thighs before finally meeting the dampened fabric of your panties.

“You’re so wet for me already. Did you think about this all day, imagining my hands on you?” He asks, his fingers starting to rub against your clothed core, eliciting a loud moan from you.

“Yes-! Please Kento…I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about how badly I wanted you to fuck me…” You admit, feeling a sense of freedom in sharing your desires with him after all his vulnerability towards you.

“Mmm, I’m so glad we’re on the same page. Tell me how badly you need me sweetheart.” He commands, his voice low and husky, only adding to the heat between you two. You whimper, feeling his fingers pressing harder against you, the fabric of your panties becoming damper with your arousal.

“Please, Kento. I need you, I need you to fuck me. I want to feel you fill me up, I want you to make me yours, completely.”

You plead, feeling the desire and lust pulsing through your body. But Kento is not one to give in easily, enjoying the way you squirm under his touch. “Thats it, you’re such a good girl.”

He smirks, hiking your skirt up as he kneels down before you and pulls your thighs closer to his face.

He looks up at you with eyes of dark endearment, moving your panties to the side before diving down to bury his face between your thighs. His tongue works magic on your sensitive bundle of nerves, making you grip onto his hair tightly as you try not to scream his name. He already knows just how to push all your pleasure buttons, his fingers slowly tracing your folds before entering you with two fingers, curling them to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

Your superior, knelt down and serving your cunt right before your eyes.

“Fuck, Kento. I-I can’t-” You pant, feeling yourself getting close to the edge. He pulls away, making you whimper at the loss of contact.

“No, not yet. I want to be inside you when you come.” He stands up, unbuckling his belt and sliding off his pants. You can’t help but admire his toned, muscular body as he grips you hips to turn you over, forcing you down onto the hard desk, tits pressed against it with his hand pressing down on your lower back to make your ass grind up against his hard, throbbing cock.

He positions himself at your entrance, slipping his dick up and down your dripping folds, coated with your arousal, his spit, and his pre-cum leaking tip.

He slaps it on your ass a little too, making sure to savor every part of you.

“Look at me.” He commanded, waiting for you to turn your head back to meet his eyes.

He slowly pushed into you, making you gasp and grip onto the desk for support. He almost came right then and there from watching your eyes wince at his size.

He starts off slow, but it doesn’t take long for his thrusts to become rough and demanding.

Your entire body burns, a sensation so deep and guttural.

You feel Kentos hand snake up to your neck from behind, pulling you up off the desk, arching your back into him deeper, his cock finding spots in your cunt untouched to anyone else as he fucked you deeper.

“Do you like this, dirty girl? When your boss fucks your hard like this? You’re so tight around me.”

“Oh God, Kento. Yes, yes, yes!” You cry out, feeling yourself reaching your peak. He matches your moans with his own, the sound echoing through the room. The tension builds, until you both reach your climax together, panting and moaning each other’s names. Kento doesn’t pull out of you, not until he’s finished making sure you’re full to the brim. Only then, he’ll pull out and watch all his cum drip out of you and onto the edge of the desk. He might even fuck it back into you.

His gift to you, for your new promotion.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[luvymelody]

NAME : gojo satoru , jujustu kaisen

SONG : me and your mama , childish gambino

SUMMARY : gojo satoru has been your bodyguard for ages, he's nearly your age, only 1 year older. your father insists that gojo is there around you for your safety.

you can read part 2 here!

(non like magic world au/no jujustu sorcerers au)

y/n honestly weren't very sure of what business her father did.

he had tons money, crazy rich. the house she lived in was gigantic and she had been living it in since she were born. she was 19 now, still living in her childhood home as her father has insisted her to.

to the plus side of being rich, there would always be some bodyguard in her sights. like always, the only reason she wouldn't is in her bedroom or bathroom, but even then, they would stand outside, waiting patiently for her.

y/n had a personal bodyguard, been there since she were 12, gojo satoru. he was her favourite. he was fairly cute and the two of them really had a connection.

he'd even let her sneak out when she were 15 sometimes, but he would always be with her, he looked out towards the busy streets while she bought food from the midnight vendors, smiling at her while he ate along with her.

he listened to her whenever she needed a good cry and he held her in his arms, stroking her head as he switched his radio off behind her back, not wanting to leave her.

he'd let her play with his hair while he sat cross-legged and she sat on his lap, doing whatever she wanted as she applied makeup to his face and slapping his cheek lightly as he blinked from the mascara she were putting on his white eyelashes.

he stood behind the wall as she argued with her father about wanting to leave, shortly after when she were storming off and away, he was a corner away, tucking her into his arms as tears rolled down her face.

-

satoru had a soft spot for y/n, being introduced to her when she was 12 and he was 13.

"gojo, meet y/n. y/n meet gojo satoru."

gojo was a bit taller than y/n. he had his hands behind his back but was picking at his nails behind his back.

y/n was standing next to her father, smiling widely,

"hi gojo!"

"hi y/n."

after that, gojo would linger around her presence more, y/n's father was friends with gojo's father, which led to gojo's father leading y/n's father some of his own men, including his son. gojo's father was more than happy to led his own flesh and blood, gojo's father hoped that the young boy and girl would get closer.

gojo helped her with her homework, seeing as he was in a higher grade level and he already knew the material. he helped her choose out what she wanted to wear to school, even if it was a private academy and she had a uniform, she was allowed to wear simple makeup and accessories. he really liked it when she wore the white clip.

school got too dangerous, without y/n's knowledge, she was pulled out of school, going into homeschooling, tutors for each subject as satoru sat beside her for help.

it was late, y/n's father was out doing business and satoru and y/n were sat on the dining table as she was finishing homework from her english tutor.

she was 15, her chin on her hand as her elbow rested on the table and her free hand spinning a pen, satoru was beside her, looking at her, noticing her hands spin the pen, watching her her eyelashes closed and reopened slowly, as if she was tired. she was tired, her head bobbing up and down.

"you can go to sleep if you want, y/n. let's do your skincare routine."

"wait- lemme finish the questions first.."

"you're gonna fall asleep before you do sweetie."

"no i won't, satoru.."

"sure you won't."

satoru silently crossed his arms, leaning back onto the chair as y/n crossed her arms on the table and rested her head on them, looking at the papers infront of her.

her eyes slowly came to a close eventually, and satoru heard the soft, quiet snores and satoru chuckled. he stood up, moving her position to hold her under her thighs as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs hanging mid air next to his as he stood straight up.

"told 'ya you'd fall asleep."

"shh.."

she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and yawned in his ear, he put one hand underneath her, under her butt to the side of her hip and one hand on her lower back.

he walked to her room, moving his head to signal to the bodyguard to open her door as he walked to her bathroom, sliding the door open and sitting her on the counter.

"just stay sitting up for me pretty, i'm doing your skincare."

-

y/n had brought satoru into her bathroom while she did her skincare night routine sometimes, so he knew the basics on what she did. she wanted to gossip about the girls in her school while she patted her skin with essence.

"she even put food in her locker and it got moldy because she didn't know it was there! like who does that?"

satoru was leaning on the door to prevent anyone from getting in, his arms crossed while nodding and watching her actions.

"yeah, who does that?"

-

eventually he finished, laying her down on her bed as she gingerly tucked her head into her pillow deeper, hugging herself with her blanket. satoru silently left the room, going back to the dining room table to pick up the homework and supplies, bringing it back to y/n's room.

he ended up doing her homework as he felt bad, making it slightly into y/n's handwriting, a little bit messier than her normal handwriting.

he finished, standing up and walking to y/n's bed who was sleeping, just to check on her. he crouched next to her, kissing the back of her hand that laid on the side near the edge.

"goodnight y/n."

[pawnshopbleus]

These Are the Days Four - Sunflower

Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader High School AU

For the summary, warnings, and more please visit here.

Previous Chapter

The only thing you feel when you wake up is wet. 

You had fallen asleep on Abby's shoulder so, she checks that your head is okay before she gets up from the floor. “What the fuck, Ellie!”

Both of your clothes are soaking wet, making them cling to your bodies. 

Ellie shrugs, “You two were out like a light. The only way I could wake you guys up was with water.”

“You could have shaken us awake. Not waterboard us!”

“Right, well, I need you two out of here before my parents get home. I don’t want people here when they yell at me for having a party…again.” 

Abby outstretches her hand and you gladly take it. She helps you get off the now soaking-wet floor. 

The two of you walk down the stairs, careful not to trip on puddles of beer, and make your way outside. The contrast between the dark house and the bright sunlight makes you squint your eyes. 

“How are you getting home?” Abby asks as she grabs her keys. They jingle as she grabs them from the carabiner clipped to her jeans. 

“My bike.” You point at the space where you parked your bike last night. Abby looks at you confused. When you look over, your heart drops. Your bike is nowhere to be found. 

“Fuck!” 

You turn and bang on Ellie’s door. Seconds later, Ellie opens it with a hand on her hip.

“What?” You can tell that she’s on edge. Whatever her parents will do to her is clouding her mind so nothing else matters to her right now.

“Have you seen my bike?” You point to the space where your bike was. 

“That was your bike? Some guy drove off with it last night. I thought it was his so I didn’t say anything. Sorry about that.”

“Do you remember what the guy looked like?” “TBH, I was fucking zooted so I don’t remember that part.” You thank Ellie for her time and collapse on her lawn. The shoes you are wearing were okay for biking but terrible for walking. The twenty-minute bike ride from Ellie’s house to yours just tripled. It would take you an hour to walk home. You really hoped that the asshole who took your bike ate shit in front of everyone at school. 

“Do you need a ride home?” Abby asks.

"No,” you lie. You would like a ride home but don’t want to be a burden. 

Abby can see right through your lie. “You are not walking home in those shoes,” she says. 

She’s right. No matter how much you’ve walked in platforms, walking an hour in them would be terrible for your feet. The only person you knew who could do that was Carrie Bradshaw and she wasn’t real.

“Get in the car.” Abby opens the door for you and closes it once you’re tucked inside. The leather seats are cracked, adding to the vintage charm. There are two CDs in the open glove compartment and a pack of gum. Once Abby’s inside the car, she reaches over you and closes it. 

“Sorry,” she says, “My car is a mess.” 

“It’s okay. You should see my room,” you joke. 

Your mother thought that your room was messy when in reality, it was only a little cluttered. Your entire desk is filled with little trinkets and memories from your past life. Clothes are thrown all over the floor from playing dress up one too many times and sometimes paper lays flatly on the floor if you’re too lazy to pick it up. 

“I didn’t know you collect CDs,” you add. 

“Yeah, I do. It’s cheaper than collecting vinyl,” Abby shrugs.

Abby turns the music up a little bit. Some new pop artist is playing and she taps her fingers on the steering wheel, enjoying the music. The car is silent except for the music playing on the radio. 

You can’t believe the two of you were caught like that on the floor. Laying your head on Abby’s shoulder was innocent enough but the fact that the two of you fell asleep like that got to you. You didn’t even drink anything last night so there was no reason why you slept in. Then you remembered why you didn’t drink anything last night. You spilled your drink all over Owen. 

You took your bottom lip in between your teeth and began to chew on it out of fear. What would Abby think when she found out that you spilled a drink on her boyfriend's t-shirt? Would she hate you and never want to talk to you again? Or would she also call you a bitch and hate you forever? Maybe if you came clean she would admire the fact that you were a real friend who never hid secrets from her.

“I have to tell you something,” you huffed out a nervous breath.

“Yes?”

“I spilled a drink on Owen last night.”

“On his J.Crew shirt? That ass.” She shook her head. “It was his favorite shirt and I told him not to wear it to parties anymore because someone would spill something on it. That’s what he gets for not listening to me,” Abby laughed. 

You let out a breath that you didn’t even notice you were holding in and laughed along with her.

“So, we’re cool?” 

Abby nodded, “Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?”

You shook your head and looked out the window, “No reason.” 

By the way that every house on the street looked the same, you knew that you were close to your own. You look over at Abby, confused. 

“How do you know where I live? I never told you my address.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Owen told me you lived by him in the house that just sold.” She bit her lip. 

Abby pulls up in your driveway and you almost curse out loud. Both of your parents' cars are in the driveway. Even though they’re never home, they've given you a curfew. You must be home before 12 in the morning and according to your phone, it is currently 10 am. You were so fucked. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you say as you slip out of her truck.

Abby smiles, “Anytime. And I’m sorry about your bike.”

Abby waits until you’re inside of your house to pull off. Instead of going to the left, she turns right towards Owen’s house. You feel the tugging in your heart when you see the two of them together. It shouldn’t bother you that they’re spending time together but it does. You can’t quite put your feelings into words but they aren’t nice.

"Where have you been and why are you wet?” your mother asks, her arms crossed. 

“Since when do you care?” you shoot back. 

“Some partners from the firm are coming over and we need you to be here,” your father rubs the bridge of his nose, annoyed at your rebellious tone. 

“Why? So we can play happy little family again. No thanks, I have plans.” 

You walk past them and into your room. You don’t have plans but you’d rather walk all the way to hell and back than play into their little act. 

You change into dry and clean clothes, grab your bag, and head out the door. You have no idea how to use public transportation but you’ll figure it out today. 

Your parents don’t argue as you walk out of the door. Some weird part of you wants them to call for you but you know them. You know that they don’t want to waste more of their breath on you.

You don’t care where you’re going. You just need to get away. You take the first bus you see and ride it till the end of the line. It drops you off at a public park. Children scream with glee as they play on the playground, people walk their dogs along the sidewalk, and couples enjoy the cool breeze as they sit and enjoy each other's company. And then it hits you, that weird feeling inside of you that you get when you want something you can’t have. It makes you sit down and watch as the small waves flow through the small duck pond.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Monday comes around, and you’re in the library with Abby. It’s the first day of tutoring and both of you are nervous. You want to be a good teacher and Abby wants to soak up all the knowledge she can. 

“So, what do you struggle with the most?” You ask, getting ready to take notes. 

“Memorization mostly,” Abby says truthfully, “But I’d like to work on everything.”

You get out a fresh set of flashcards and slide them over to Abby. “Why don’t we start with making some flashcards? You can write down the word and then the definition on the back.”

You observe Abby. She’s hunched over the note cards and writing things down with the speed of a cheetah. Usually, the curtains of the library are closed, causing it to be lit by the sickly white lights above, but today the curtains are drawn, exposing the beautiful sunlight. 

Abby’s skin drinks up the sun. The freckles littered on her skin make unique patterns that not even a skilled painter could recreate. 

You speak before your mouth has a chance to stop you. “Do you know what you remind me of?”

She looks up at you through her lashes, “What?” “A sunflower.” The way that she flourishes in the sun can only be compared to a sunflower. So delicate yet strong. The perfect contrast between the two.

Abby laughs which would cause the librarian to scold her but not today. Today, the librarian is nowhere to be seen. Odd.

The library doors open and the mood shifts. A chill runs down your spine. The librarian is awoken from her nap by the lack of sunlight. The clouds cover the sun and Abby is no longer illuminated by its rays. 

Heavy footsteps can be heard making their way towards your table. 

“Babe, I thought you said you were coming to my place after school?” Owen places his hand on Abby’s back and snakes it up to her shoulder. He looks you in the eye as he does this, making you more uncomfortable than you’ve been in your entire life.

Abby sits up straight and brushes the hair out of her face. “Sorry, I forgot.”

“What’s going on? You never forget to come over.”

“I’m tutoring her. Mr. Miller thought that it would be a good idea considering I have the best grade in that class,” you cut in on their conversation. 

Owen eyes you suspiciously as if there aren’t flashcards and textbooks on the table. 

“We’ll talk about this later,” he whispers, loudly enough for you to hear. He pats Abby’s shoulder twice before exiting the library. 

Once he’s out of sight, you can feel the sun come back out and the librarian knocks out. The sun's rays reflect off Abby's skin and back into the atmosphere. 

Next Chapter

Taglist: @soupycloud

Thank you for reading!

[aaakikoo]

random low effort Attack On Titan headcanons

-> I’m back from the long ass break lol, I’ll try to most more regularly <3

-> nothing is 18+ so everyone can interact, some of these could be a lil icky n they could give ur favs an ick but some r rlly sweet too <3

-> this a guy ver ill do a girl ver soon!

-> girl ver

EREN J.

listens to rap but fails to rap as fast as the rapper so it turns into him mumbling.😭

has a collection of funk pops

doesn’t have a mid, or bad but TERRIBLE spice tolerance.

thinks that his loud motorcycle is hot

his breath smells like onion sometimes

surprisingly doesn’t sweat alot

his fav colour is sage green and black

tries to act manly infront of mikasa but ends up looking stupid

argues with armin but when he proves him wrong he says “that’s exactly what I said!” 💀

doenst use sunscreen

tries to make food for armin and mikasa but fail so the trio end up making food together instead

lends armin his clothes

ARMIN A.

drinks jet black coffee every morning

his breath always smells like mint

has a collection of polo shirts

get sad/offended when he sees those tiktoks of ppl saying that blue eyes are scary.

listens to true crime on the daily

is very very organized like WAYYYY too organized, on his desk his pens, papers, clips etc are all sorted out in different containers, his clothes are washed and ironed perfectly in his closet with each drawer, his bathrooms smells so expensive all the time.

wears those shorts with longer black shorts underneath

has little/to no hair on his body expect his face

has a pet parrot

is allergic to dogs

JEAN K.

this man has a collection of colognes but only used 3 of them.

also has a tie collection

unlike eren he only knows how to cook the basics, coffee, salads, pancakes, cereal, eggs and bacon, pasta & noodles.

he isn’t super organized but like to have control, I feel like he’d have an obsession with vacuuming especially the living room.

watched BEN 10 as a kid

Fav colour purple

smokes cigs, but only sometimes.

calls his car “his lady”

loves to paint/draw

he’d be one of those guys who wear shorts and a tank and no socks around the house (nun wrong w that)

hairy legs but no hair on his arms n chest??? 😭

asks to borrow ur Netflix

spam comments under his partners posts

loves frank ocean

CONNIE S.

surprisingly I feel like Connie would know how to bake and very responsible when it comes to that.

still has the hand writing of a 7 year old

has a collection of tote bags

has a silver piercing in his left ear

loves chunky belts and chunky silver rings

a huge fan of ariana grande

doesn’t like sea food

loves to watch reality tv and get involved in drama

a nice gym bro

doesn’t smoke but drinks on occasions like he really takes his chance

has fully loaded biceps

has 3 suits. Black, grey and navy and rotates between them.

has seen every show/movie on Netflix

LEVI A.

black coffee everyday as well

loves to collect exotic types of tea

has a skincare routine of face wash, moisturizer and sunscreen

uses a bonnet when he sleeps

doesn’t eat meat

listens to rain ASMR when he can’t sleep

always has a bottle of water with him everywhere

his showers r 30 mins long

only wears suit pants

has a wallet with a pic of Hange in it

his fav cake is cheesecake but only eats it if the biscuit ratio is bigger than the cream cheese

loves red tulips

reads the news paper and listens to the radio everyday for 15 mins

ERWIN S.

eats only eggs and bacon with orange juice for breakfast

has a huge collection of suit shirts that he wears everyday

carries a small comb around

has a pen in his chest pocket

when he sees a good looking man he always admires them out loud

has 2 colognes that he rlly likes and wears

really good at cooking

tries to say Gen z slangs

a huge MJ fan

loves Sherlock Holmes

a hairy man

loves dogs

only uses sunscreen on his face

has a little bit of a sweet tooth

uses Vaseline all the time, he has a tub at his place, a tub in his office and a stick with him all the time

REINER B.

lactose intolerant

loves to rewatch his childhood shows/movies

loves salty things, actually he eats quite literally anything

scared of animals

has a fear of heights (??)

actually really great with kids

always rushes to the other side of the car to open the door for his lady

sucks ass at cooking

he is really strong but doesn’t have very good stamina

loves to play video games

very good at literature, wants to be an author (modern AU)

BERTHOLDT H.

nut allergy

has long fingers

very shy and doesn’t really have an opinion on anything