#THIS GOT WAY LONGER THAN I MEANT IT TO. OOPS.
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everything you’re saying is completely correct but i do think there’s more nuance in the problems with the way women are written in the show vs just season before season 11 good after season 11 bad. which i’m not saying that’s what you’re saying i just also want an excuse to talk about the way female characters are treated.
there’s a definite difference between the way women are written in the different eras of the show. looking at bgc, there is a LOT of misogynistic humor levied at the women; the women in bgc face more overt misogyny than at any other point in the show. there are also only 3 women over the 5 seasons, compared to the 14 men (the disparity in numbers will continue through all eras of the show, though). however, they’re also WAY more fleshed out than the freelancer women are— and even the post 11 women at times. kai was reduced down to “party girl” in the original post but i don’t think that’s fair at all. for a character who was really only in a little over half a season of the show (pre 16) she has a really dynamic characterization. she’s not immune to the misogyny of blood gulch but she IS a fleshed out character. she’s colorblind; she speaks fluent spanish and knows morse code, implying a proficiency in languages; she has an actual backstory of how and why she joined the army, something that even most of the reds and blues don’t get; she’s bisexual; she’s terrible at picking up social cues; and, most importantly, she’s on the same level as the rest of the reds and blues in terms of power and narrative. kai and jensen are the ONLY female characters who are allowed to be as much of a fuckup as the rest of the cast. and we’ll get to jensen later. (ohio is also a fuckup but she’s barely a character and even then, within the triplets she’s often the most competent!). all of the reds and blues are messy assholes and kai is really the only female character that is actually equal to them (tho even then, her status as a little sister character does give her an element of being below the other characters— not to even mention the fact that she literally was not named besides her title of how she related to a male character). as for kai in 16-17. we already wrote about this in a much better way than we’re doing here so. go read those posts.
sheila is a really interesting character because like. she is literally a tool for men to ride around in and use. but she is also, imo, maybe the best written female character? besides maybe kimball? but sheila and kimball’s problems are very similar, actually. looking at sheila in a vacuum, she’s unbelievably dynamic and imo compelling. she’s a military tank who’s purpose is to kill, and she does take pleasure in violence! but she’s also. motherly? and a romantic. and vindictive and jealous. and caring and kind. she has multiple arcs, which is a trait she shares only with carolina (and kind of tex? tex’s arcs are. complicated.) she’s like. a really interesting character. there’s such a deep well there. but her problem is not a problem with her, it’s a problem with the rest of the show. her motherly behavior and general competence puts her on a higher pedestal than the reds and blues have. and like. there isn’t a problem with writing a woman who’s motherly. especially since she’s so fleshed out besides that. like, toriel isn’t a misogynistic character just bc she’s a mom. but the difference between toriel and sheila is that undertale has countless female characters with contrasting traits while rvb. does not. if rvb had tons of other female characters all at different levels of competence and personality types than sheila would be perfect. but it does not. and as it is two out of the three female characters in blood gulch are at least in part defined by how they take care of the male characters around them.
which i guess i should talk about kimball bc she has the same problem. kimballs actual writing is FANTASTIC. but again, chorus has numbers issue. out of the 10 new main characters introduced during chorus, only three of them are women. better numbers than bgc, but still not great. and if we consider ALL characters, not just new ones, then out of the 22 main characters, only four are women. and three of those four women are, again, hypercompetent and taking care of the men around them. there is more of a nuance to this dynamic in chorus bc i do think chorus has overall the best treatment of female characters but there’s still a lot of issues there.
especially with jensen. i do like jensen a lot, and i do really appreciate getting another cringefail woman to the cast. unfortunately her entire plot line is about the fact that she’s a woman. obviously, being a woman is an important part of. being a woman. but nearly everything about jensen’s arc is about how she’s the girl. simmons’ whole thing in 12 is his “nerdy” misogyny of seeing women as some untouchable separate species. which, funny enough, is kind of a microcosm of the entire issue with the shows treatment of women. make no mistake: the fear of women is rooted in misogyny. simmons behavior towards “volleyball” (refusing to give her a promotion because she intimidated him) is just as misogynistic as tucker’s (wanting to give her a promotion because she’s attractive to him). and this is never dealt with. (the misogyny is, in fact, doubled down in psas, but if i want to start complaining about the psas i’ll be here all week). even like, her trait of being bad at driving is a misogynistic stereotype? and like. i don’t think that was the intention there but you can see the problem when whole reason for existing in the first place was for a man (her boss) to be misogynistic at her. and then giving her a romance plot with palomo is like. we get it. she’s the girl. men attracted to women. can she please at least get an apology for how simmons treated her please.
you’ve explained a lot of the issues with the pfl ladies but again, the only characterization that women are allowed to have during the pfl era is “hypercompetent bitch”. obviously, all of the freelancers are hypercompetent, given their status as elite soldiers, but even within their ranks all the women are presented as being cutthroat, extremely capable, cold-hearted bitches, while the men are allowed to be soft, caring, lovable goofballs. york and north are allowed to wax poetic about the morality of pfl while CT yells at wash to “wake the fuck up”. wash and york are allowed to have major fuckups on their missions with little consequence shown to the audience while when north and south fuck up their mission, only south is blamed for it, and when she points out how unfair that is it’s treated as a tantrum and it’s never acknowledged that she’s right. there IS a double standard. wyoming, the one male character who was presented as being as cutthroat and cold blooded as the rest of the pfl women are, is just. written out. looking at numbers again, pfl has the best ratio but it’s still off. out of the 14 main characters, 5 are women. i didn’t even include wyoming or any of the innies in that count. out of the 5 women, ALL of them are hypercompetent and four of them are consistently characterized as “bitches”. and you could make an argument for 9er having that trait too. out of the nine male characters, NONE of the freelancer men have really. any negative traits. the only men who are presented in a negative light are the villains.
last but not least is shizno. i don’t have a lot to say here but. starting with kalirama— do you remember how excited people were when she first showed up. why was she just dropped. the fact that she was dropped was so egregious that the writer for 17 literally made chrovos a women to make up for the fact that he thought kalirama wasn’t utilized enough. i’m not joking that’s literally the reason. and about chrovos. look i think the god of all time not having a set gender is good and makes sense but. i kinda wish she was like. actually fluid in her gender and changed formed a few times. bc as it is she’s just kind of. a trans woman. and there’s nothing wrong with making your time god villain a trans woman (it’s actually awesome and everyone should do this) but when that’s. the only trans character you have. and it’s introduced with a joke about a sex change (in character comment for donut to make but. it still sucks) it’s like. it’s like. don’t do that.
and then dylan. she’s fine. i think she should’ve been way more unhinged. the thing is she is kind of unhinged in the first few episodes? like she shoots jax without remorse. she breaks into active military investigations. she negotiates a man’s suicide. but it feels like the second she gets with the reds and blues all the interesting parts of her character vanish and she just turns into. nice lady who takes care of the men around her. again. AGAIN.
it’s tiring. no more women who have the only brain cell. no more hypercompetent women who take care of men. from now on we only write cringefail lesbians.
(also i want to be clear here that when i call a woman’s characterization “bitch” i am not calling her a bitch, i am saying that that is how the writers are characterizing her. “bitch” is a character trait to misogynistic men, which is essentially “woman who has too much power and doesn’t respect men and you should hate her for it”. “bitch” isn’t just “woman who’s mean” it’s specifically about how the woman interacts with men (though sometimes that man is just the male author). as an example: despite being possibly the most cruel woman of the cast, grey isn’t characterized as a “bitch” because she’s never presented as being cruel for how she undermines a man’s character. contrast that with CT, who is literally in the right, but still gets the “bitch” characterization because of treatment of wash.)
In general up until like season 11 most of the women in the show are very one dimensional and they're often ignored until they can move along the guys plotlines. They’re also focused on a lot less. Aside from like. Carolina. The girls are all shelved over and over. Kai just got straight up removed for like 7 seasons. Comparing the girls to Redteam. Both are part of the plot but aren’t the main focus of the story, but red team gets fleshed out dynamics, diverse characters, multi faceted personalities, even Donut the guy whose personality is “gay jokes” gets hobbies and friends and interesting interactions. And the girls get. The angry one. Died to further the plot. Party girl. Hell Tex gets killed over and over to give motivation to the Churches. A lot of the depth and complexities of the girls has to be made up by the viewer. And while there are good women leaders in the show, there are like no girls who are allowed to have character development sans Carolina. They’re not allowed to make mistakes or grow from them. Their shows of emotions aren’t taken seriously by anyone around them. The girls are for the most part not allowed to be anything but perfect. When they make any mistakes they're immediately made out to be the bad guys. South is literally designed to be hated for traits that she shares with people like Sarge and Church. Ct is killed to give Wash trust issues and as a way to push her bf guys existence into the story and explain desert!ct. In general I absolutely love the girls and think they deserve better than what they got. For the person (tried to @ them but tumblr wont let me?) in the comments of one of my posts who asked me to explain why i think the way rvb women are written isn't good, thanks btw /gen. I love excuses to write out my thoughts <3
#THIS GOT WAY LONGER THAN I MEANT IT TO. OOPS.#no read more. you WILL understand the misogyny in rvb.#this is very very not organized sorry#and so so rambley#i’m not editing this. just take it as it is.#listing the characters i used to get the ratios here. you can make arguments about who is and isn’t a main character so:#bgc: kai sheila tex. sarge lopez simmons grif donut caboose church tucker vic doc omalley gary wyoming andy#new chorus: jensen kimball grey. bitters palomo smith locus felix doyle#all chorus: prev plus. carolina. wash tucker caboose church grif simmons donut sarge sharkface price hargrove#pfl: south tex lina ct 9er. north york wash maine director counselor sigma delta theta#–chi#like i wrote this but most of this is ghost’s thoughts. so. i’m still putting my tag on it tho i wrote it
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There is a man named Stanford Pines.
Just about anyone in the scientific community knows his name, and most know his face. It would be hard not to. It's plastered on magazines, on websites, on informational guides about the Institute of Oddology. Stanford Pines is synonymous with the word odd, peculiar, strange; it takes very little digging to find that.
Yet, when it comes to actually meeting the man? No matter who you ask, the answer is almost always no, they have not met him. Everyone knows of him, but nobody knows him. They see his face, they hear his name, they read his papers, they know his arguments. A lucky few even converse with him through email, or letters, or phone conversations. However, meeting him face to face seems to be an occurrence even rarer than the beasts he writes essays about.
Sometimes, he makes a public appearance. Sometimes, someone will see him walking about in some small, secluded space. His co-founder follows him like a shadow, never long taking his eyes away, full as they are of both care and peculiar caution.
Even more unheard of, sometimes, Stanford Pines will do something that interacts with the public. Once every few years, he will appear for an interview, or a photo, or something else to please the magazines that fill up his inbox. McGucket will be with him, every single time, and afterwards there will be whispers on the very internet he created from the people he'd spoken to. By all accounts, Stanford Pines is a very subdued, polite gentleman. Someone who is very intelligent and awkward, and attached to his co-founder at the hip. A man who is followed at all times by an army of personal security and NDAs. "For safety," McGucket will say as Pines' face goes dark. No one ever explains who's being kept safe, or from what.
To the students at the Institute of Oddology, it's even stranger. Nowhere does it say that seeing or meeting the core founder is guaranteed -- in fact, in comparison to other institutes, it's hardly even advertised that he's there -- but it's still surprising. If Stanford Pines is seen at all, it's almost always from behind a screen. Some students graduate without ever having seen him in-person. He does not attend events. He does not greet families. He does not make speeches unless he's being projected on a screen, a stark contrast to McGucket and his exaggerated mannerisms as his very real and present form hovers nearby. He holds no office on the entire campus. It is not unheard of to see him taking a walk with his co-founder, but it's rare enough to be shocking.
Rumors fly. Some are silly, absent things that would seem implausible to anyone who hasn't spent time in Gravity Falls. He's a vampire. He's a robot made by McGucket. He's a whole eldritch entity. Some rumors are more serious, whispered when his reclusive nature rings suspicious among the masses. None of them change the facts.
Perhaps it would make more sense if his co-founder was similar. However, Fiddleford McGucket is the polar opposite of Stanford Pines. He responds to interviewers asking about his computers. He makes speeches. He wanders around campus, stopping to chat with anyone who cares to listen. He's amiable and approachable as long as you can get past his rather extreme eccentricities, with an open-door policy and only one question he won't answer. If anyone builds up the guts to ask about Stanford Pines, and why he's so gosh darn reclusive, his only response is a sad, painful smile and a change of subject. In general, however, if one were to ask a given student of the institute where they could find Fiddleford McGucket, the chances are would be they'd be able to relay the information. However, like so much having to do with Stanford Pines, there is always a but.
At least three days a week, Fiddleford McGucket disappears for hours at a time. In theory, this would not be unusual. There's a section of the campus, slightly separate from the rest, dedicated to research. It takes much clearance to get to this area, for it is full of many very dangerous things. Some of the newer students fall under the misconseption that this is where he goes off to. However, there is a secretary at the entrance to this section of the campus, and when McGucket disappears, no amount of asking will get them to respond that he lies within. There is no summary of what he's there for, and there is no estimate of when he'll be back in his office. He is not there. For those hours, it's like he's vanished off the face of the planet.
There is another building seperated from the rest, barely visible through the trees. Tucked far behind the research area of the campus and heavily guarded at all times. No amount of clearance, or ID, or begging, will get anyone in. This place, most know, is where McGucket goes. No one can be certain, but there's a conviction there that this is the truth. It's the same way people know that this is where Stanford Pines resides. In those hours, McGucket disappears to the same nowhere at all that his co-founder lives.
No one tries to get there. Not anymore. There would be no point.
In order to do so, one would have to get into the research zone of campus. Already, this requires more clearance than most students could imagine. From there, one would have to go through a building only staff can open, at the very back of the campus, where only the most dangerous of research is kept. A security officer stands ever-vigilant at a back door leading to a winding pathway, intersected halfway through by a pair of guard stations. Past them lies a towering locked gate, centered in the midst of a towering electric fence. There is no guard station at the gate itself, though guards patrol the perimeter, even though the underbrush is too thick to walk through. There is no visible way to unlock the gate, but if one managed to get through regardless, they would find that the obstacles were still not over. The acre the fences encircle is thick with security, only some of which is human. It's impossible not to get caught, but if somehow, someone did, they would find themselves face to face with the sloped roof and charming wooden exterior so vaguely visible from the more well-trodden paths.
If one were to make it behind the reinforced door and yet one more pair of security guards, they would find nothing of note at all. In fact, were the windows not so thick, and the place not full of rooms with no place in a residence, and the path not so elaborate, and the whole area not so heavily reeking of isolation and uncanniness, one could almost mistake it for a normal home.
Inside, one would find Stanford Pines. Shorter than his head-and-shoulders shot makes him seem, and with a tangible air of melancholy about him that no projection could ever communicate.
Above all, Stanford Pines would appear incredibly alone, with only security, a McGucket Computer, and shelves upon shelves of books for company. If this someone who somehow managed to sneak in got lucky, they would arrive in this not-quite-a-home while McGucket had disappeared to there. They would find the two of them in deep conversation, and Stanford Pines would appear happier and more animated than most any living soul had seen him in decades, content in the company of his one connection; his shadow. Even when they had serious conversations, about the most serious topics in the world, something about him would be just that bit more lively. The visit would end, every time, with McGucket asking the same question. Every time, Pines would shake his head sadly as he responded; would the answer have been different, they both know that McGucket would have been informed long before he arrived.
Upon his co-founder's departure, one would be able to see Stanford Pines either sigh and sink right back into his melancholy, or the energy persist for another handful of hours. One would wonder why he was so reclusive, if he seemed so much brighter when he was among friends. One -- the impressive, unstoppable individual who managed to get into such a heavily monitored area -- would more than likely leave confused.
They wouldn't realize, unless they stayed within the bounds of the not-quite-home until it was far too late, what the hoards of security was designed for. Wouldn't realize that just as much as much as they are meant to keep someone out, they are also meant to keep someone in.
#this got way longer than I expected. oops.#probably gonna put an edited version on ao3 later#gravity falls#stanford pines#fiddleford mcgucket#writing#better world#gravity falls better world au#is this fiddauthor? it wasn't really meant to be straight up fiddauthor#fiddauthor#I think the fiddauthor enjoyers would like this#gravity falls fanfiction
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Spoilers for the Percy Jackson TV show and books:
I have actually loved all the little changes and additions they've been adding to the story omg. Since Rick is actually heavily involved with everything, it feels like he's editing the story he wrote over a decade ago, and as the author that must be SO satisfying. He's leaning so much harder into the narrative parallel between Percy and Luke. Granted, it has been a while since I've read (and reread) the series, but it seems like Percy is much angrier at his dad for abandoning him (and his mother, especially). The whole scene where Percy says in his prayer to his mom "I'm gonna make him come down here and see me, and to see us"? I feel like we didn't get kind of anger from Percy until later in the series, and damn it feels good it see! Like yeah, Percy, you should be fucking mad! Also, emphasizing the connection to his mom (I'm Sally Jackson's son!) and refusing to go on the quest for a father that never did jack shit for him, even at the cost of the world? this perfectly shows how much of a problem and a threat the gods consider Percy later down the line. This kid is rebellious, stubborn, and will not be pushed around by the gods - the way he was being yelled at my Dionysus to take the quest and that little 12 yr old boy just yelled right back at him??? King shit. Percy is motivated by love, not power, not glory, and the gods can't help but feel threatened by that. He'll save the world, but not for the gods or even the rest of humanity, but on the off chance that he'll see his mother again. God I love this series.
#this got way longer than i meant it too oops#percy jackson#percy jackson analysis#this is one of my favorite series of all time so buckle in yall#percy jackson and the olympians#percy jackson tv show#pjo tv#pjo tv spoilers#percy jackson tv show spoilers#percy jackson spoilers#spoilers#sally jackson
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feeling soooo soft rn. i want to take care of a puppy/bunny/kitten/etc., especially one who's had a rough day.
i want to take a bath or shower with them and take my time making sure they're all clean and relaxed, kissing them all over as i do, and really who can blame me for getting down on my knees and enjoying how good they taste and what pretty noises they make when they cum?
once we're done, i'd wrap them in a big fluffy robe (staying naked myself) before leading them to bed, where i'd start playing their favorite movie on my laptop and we cuddle real close. well, it starts as just cuddling. before long, my hands would start to wander, finding their way under the robe and teasing them oh so gently.
after a while, probably about halfway through the movie, i'd untie the robe and start edging them, stopping touching them entirely if they made too much noise or tried to touch themself or me.
pay attention to the movie, [puppy/bunny/kitten/etc]. be good for me, and i'll give you what you want.
once the movie's over, i'd finally let them cum and make them lick up the mess they made on my hand before guiding them in between my legs.
look how hard you made me, being such a good [puppy/bunny/kitten/etc]. i'd stroke their cheek as i move my hand to the back of their neck. what are you going to do about that, my sweet [boy/girl/pet]?
if they're good, they'd start sucking my achingly hard cock, but the hand on their neck is there to... encourage... them if they need it.
i wouldn't immediately start fucking their face, but they feel so good, it wouldn't take long for me to start, all the while being very vocal- moaning and praising them, how good they are at taking my cock, how pretty/handsome they are like this, that sort of thing. all the things i know they like hearing.
i'd stop when i feel myself getting close- as much as i love cumming down their throat, i've got other plans tonight.
don't think i didn't notice you humping the mattress, when you've already cum twice tonight. what a needy slut my precious [puppy/bunny/kitten/etc] is. up on all fours, so i can breed you properly.
#ftm nsft#mlm nsft#t4t nsft#nb4m nsft#nb4nb nsft#queer nsft#this got way longer than i meant for it too oops lol#breeding k1nk#petpl4y#soft d0m#i hate that you have to type tags for kinks like it's homestuck
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Damian meets Dani about... oh, a few weeks after he's found out his brother was alive and living somewhere in America, and... lets say a week after he's met Samantha Manson. After that gala, it doesn't take much prodding and stalking to find out that Mansons live in Amity Park, Illinois. And if that's where Samantha was, then that's where Danyal was.
Stalking Manson's social media -- of which required a little bit of hacking as she kept her account private -- to see if there were any pictures of his brother was only slightly helpful. Most of her pictures were either scenic shots of Amity Park, photos of posters and signs of her environmental protests, fundraisers, and other such activities. The photos that did include Danyal were all carefully cropped out or angled to avoid showing his face.
The most recent photo was one of Manson at what appeared to be a gym, sitting in front of a mirror with another brown-skinned boy leaning against her. They all looked like they were coming down from exercising, Manson and the other boy -- Foley, as the tag said -- were both sitting on the ground. But the third boy, Danyal, was laying down, the angle prevented the camera from seeing most of his face and body, and what could have been seen was covered by Danyal's arm that he'd thrown over his face.
Unfortunately, as easy as it would be to take a plane down to Amity Park and hunt down his brother for answers, that would cause more problems than it would solve. Father made it explicitly clear after they'd returned from the gala and found out where the Mansons resided that they were to wait.
"If Danyal finds out that we know he's alive, he will likely try and run." Father told them, sitting at the chair in front of the Batcomputer, Amity Park's page pulled up. "He's spent the last five years in what has been, essentially, deep cover. He will not react well to finding out it's been blown."
(Damian had wanted to argue -- he's waited long enough. He wants to know what his brother's real feelings on him are. He wants to know why Danyal decided to leave the League himself. It had been a decision between Danyal and Damian over who would fake their death, and Danyal had chosen to leave. He wants answers.)
(But, Father's been quieter since the reveal of Danyal's existence was brought to him, and the memory is still fresh in Damian's mind of Father approaching him after the fight and quietly asking him why he hadn't told him about Danyal.)
(It was hard to read his face with the mask on, but the line in his shoulders, the pinch of his mouth -- Father was hurt and trying not to show it. Guilt still bubbles up in Damian's chest at the recall.)
(He feels even worse remembering his response -- rolling his shoulders back and telling Father, his stomach churning: "I thought it pointless to inform you of a son that was already dead." He didn't want his Father to mourn a child he never met, and... Damian didn't want Father to wish it was Danyal here instead of him.)
So, waiting for their plan of attack to finally be initialized, Damian allows Richard to drag him down to Gotham's mall. To get out of the house and do something else.
And it's there that he meets Danielle Fenton. Really, how unexpected. He's in the middle of conversation with Richard when she, well, bumps into him. Its not a huge bump, neither of them go to the ground nor do they drop anything, but she whirls around in utter apology while Damian is already forming an insult on the tip of his tongue.
"Oh geez, sorry! I didn't see you--" Ellie makes eye contact with him, and her voice cuts off, but her jaw stays dropped. Damian can't say he's of the same expression, but he is of similar sentiment. Brown skin only a few shades lighter than his own, black hair, glacier blue eyes that Damian has only ever seen on two people. And, as both of their eyes flick up to each other's brows, the death knell.
Father has a very unique set of facial features -- specifically, the strange shape of his eyebrows. It feels ridiculous to say aloud, but the 'batwing' shape of his brows means that anyone who knows about the Waynes would, reliably, be able to recognize them within minutes.
And this girl had them, just as Father did, just as Danyal did, and just as Damian does. She also shared an uncanny likeness to Danyal, and to mother.
Damian's hands immediately go to a dagger at his hip.
At the same time, the girl makes a strange squawking sound - like she's just had a revelation. And immediately she's jabbing a finger at Damian's face, her other hand slamming over her mouth to smother her annoying, staccato shrieking.
"You!" She squeaks, hopping in place with sparkling blue eyes. She looks around frantically, and Dick tenses up in Damian's peripherals -- likely seconds away from dragging the girl away from the crowd.
The girl laughs, giggly and excited, and lands her eyes back on him. There is an expression of awe on her face as she drops her hand from her mouth, she leans her face close to his, grinning from ear to ear. "You! You're Danny's brother!"
Damian's attention sharpens. She knows Danyal -- she looks like Danyal. She knows Danyal.
The girl couldn't be more than a few years older than Damian, but younger than 15 -- the age Danyal should be right now. She claps her hands together excitedly. "Holy cow!" She breathes, and audibly inhales, "Look at you! Wow! I thought you were a mini-Danny for a moment. But then I realized your eyes were green and you don't have his scar."
She's tilting her head side to side, looking over him like a specimen to be studied. Automatically, Damian is scowling, leaning away from her in annoyance.
That only seems to delight her more, and she laughs again. "You even have his scowl! Amazing!" She exclaims, and long-driven instinct forces Damian to ruffle up in offense, how dare she compare him--
The girl juts her hand out for a handshake, grinning from ear-to-ear. "I'm Dani with an i, but you can also just call me Ellie if it's too confusing." She waits patiently for Damian to give her his hand, and he tamps down his annoyance to reluctantly take it. Dani shakes it hard.
"You know, Danny's told me about you a few times -- never your name, no, he's always calling you starlight. It's incredible how he can share details while also keeping all the important bits out."
'He calls you starlight.'
Dani speaks quickly, excitably, like a child on a sugar rush or a teenager meeting her favorite author. She steamrolls through her sentences like she didn't just hit Damian with a sledgehammer to the chest. It's the second time he's heard someone claim that they've been told about him under a pseudonym, under the same pseudonym.
He's at a loss for words, and Richard steps in with a hearty chuckle and a hand on his shoulder. "Woah," he says, cutting off Dani with a warm smile, "I think we should probably talk about this sitting down, yes?"
Yes, Damian thinks, blinking at Dani, let's pause this for a moment. He needs a moment to breathe.
Dani blinks, and then nods, smiling back easily. "Right, good idea! I know a good spot." Then she turns and bounds into the crowd of other shoppers, and only then does Damian realize that Dani was without a chaperone.
They quickly follow after her, and perhaps if they were anyone else, they would have lost her in the crowd. The ease she moves between people makes Damian wonder about her origins -- obviously she is a clone of Danyal. The eyes, the name, the similarities are all too convenient to ignore.
However, who made her was the question. She was far too bubbly to be made by the League, and the fact that she knows Danyal and was even within speaking terms of him implied that whoever made her was within close range of him as well. Perhaps even knew him, to some level.
Most people who made clones did not do so with good intent, but the fact that Danyal told this clone about Damian meant they were close on some level. Dani likely defected then? Similarly to Superboy. Did she have powers? Did she know of the League?
She's sitting at a table in the food court when they finally catch up with her, and she looks a little sheepish as they draw up their chairs. "Sorry," she says as they sit down, smiling nervously, "I totally forgot to make sure you guys were following me."
Not a lie, Damian thinks, eyeing her up and down as he lowers into his seat beside Richard. He sniffs curtly, hiding only some of his annoyance. "It's fine. We found you, didn't we?"
Dani nods,her mouth twitching into a more relaxed smile. "You did! Yeah, wow." She stifles a round of awed giggling. "Sorry, sorry-- it's just so weird to actually meet you in person. The way Danny talked about you made it sound like he was never gonna see you again, so I kinda thought the same."
...Ah. Right. Because he faked his death without any intention of reveaing that it was fake in the first place. The squeeze of Damian's chest is unexpected and throbbing, like someone put a weight on his sternum in an effort to crush his lungs. In his chair, Richard's arms flexed and unflexed subtly.
"Well..." Damian pressed his lips together, "I am here now. It is interesting to meet you, Dani." He says, he can't say nice, the jury is still out on that one. But it is interesting. Placing his elbows on the table, he leans forward. "Are you Danyal's clone?"
Immediately Richard swats him lightly in the arm with a hiss of his name, while Dani's eyes widen comically at him. However, instead of getting defensive or even fleeing, Dani grins widely. "I am, actually. No point in denying it, right? But you haven't given me your name, Danny's brother."
Damian tamps down an instinctive twitch, a trained negative response to being Danyal's anything. He nods shortly. "My name is Damian, this is my... brother, Richard." He gestures to Richard, and ignores the grin he gets burning into his temples.
"You can call me Dick, Dani." Richard says, leaning over the table to shake Dani's hand. Dani nods, an eyebrow raised amusedly. When Richard lets go, his smile carefully falters, and he feigns looking around. "Are you alone?"
Dani's eyes bug for a moment, and her smile turns strained. "Ah, my -uh, guardian is actually in another store right now. I texted them, they'll meet me here when they're done."
Lie, Damian thinks, and shares a knowing look with Richard. She's alone -- a foolish thing to be for children, especially in Gotham. If there's one thing Damian knows for certain, it's that Danyal would not allow any clone of his to wander around inept or incompetent. Especially when he is supposed to be dead.
He likely allowed Dani to live because she was not only a girl, but had something that prevented her from being easy to defeat or capture. He doesn't see anywhere where she could be concealing a weapon -- so powers, perhaps? A meta Al Ghul would be a useful asset to anyone, if she had no weapons, then powers were the next potential option.
He turns back to Dani, "I see. Can you tell me more about Danyal? It has been a long, long time since I last saw him. I am... curious to see if he's the same as I remember him."
Dani's expression falls flat and deadpan, the illusion only ruined by the toying of her mouth and the amused glimmering of her eyes. "By that do you mean if he's still a stubborn stick-in-the-mud with a mean streak a mile wide, and a weird propensity for breaking out into shakespeare when he's pissed?"
Damian stares at her. "...Yes."
The girl sighs dramatically and slumps against the table, pressing her cheek into the cold metal with her face all scrunched up. "Then yeeesss!" She whines, "I love Danny, I do. He can be a big prickly teddybear sometimes, but oh ancients, I will always hold our first meeting against him for as long as I live."
An eyebrow crawls up Damian's forehead - both at Dani's description of his brother, and the mention of their 'first meeting'. Dick sits up in his peripherals, an equally intrigued look on his face.
"How did you guys first meet?" He asks, barely bothering to hide his interest.
Propping her head up on her chin, Dani remains deadpan -- and perhaps a little pouty -- "Ehh... I claimed to be his third cousin once removed." Automatically, Damian presses his mouth into a line. She was avoiding answering the question in full. "He didn't really... take it that well."
Damian can understand why. Father's earlier explanation brings itself back to the forefront of his mind -- Danyal would not react well to finding out his death was uncovered. If Dani claimed to be related to him, then it is a miracle she was still even alive. Had it been Damian, he would have killed her on the spot.
"Yes," he hums, "I can understand why."
Dani scrunches her nose up, and eyes him warily, "Yeah, don't think I didn't see you grabbing your side earlier." She says, ignoring how Damian stiffens up faintly. "I've learned my lesson."
They fall into almost comfortable conversation after that - trading questions and answers back and forth. Dani, short for Danielle, was in Gotham to explore. She was nearly a year old, and she wanted to see the world before settling down and doing anything concrete.
Danielle asks Damian what he was doing in Gotham, Danny said they lived overseas. Damian tells her that he lives here, and she perks up and asks if he was put into foster care too.
He nearly ruffles with offense -- no, he was living with their Father. He nearly says as such -- only for a hand on his back to stop him. Richard sends him a warning look, and Damian is very vividly recalling just that weekend with Manson.
(He is still wondering how his brother managed to reach Gotham so quickly, because that was his brother. He might not have been able to see his face, but that voice was his.)
Manson was furious with them over something, furious enough that she refused him information on his brother. Enough that she was petty to hang up the phone with Damian's brother without ever even uttering a word to him of who she was talking to.
Damian looks Danielle and lies, and tells her yes, he was also put into foster care. Richard backs him up.
Danielle is a well of information on his brother -- more so than any of Manson's social media was. Despite her explorations, she's still naive -- or, at least, naive to Danyal's situation. With Richard's help it's all too easy to get her to tell them about Danyal.
He learns that Danyal was interested in astronomy. Whenever Dani visited it was like he had new facts to tell her. He learns that his brother listens to goth rock, and was particularly a fan of a band called Dumpty Humpty. Something that Damian was certainly not expecting his brother to be interested, of all things.
And, perhaps the most important piece of information of all, Danielle pulls out her phone with little prompting and shows him a recent photo of his brother. Damian prevents himself from stealing it out of her hands, forcing himself into carefully taking it with permission and showing it to Richard.
It was a simple selfie of the two of them in a park somewhere. Danyal was crouched down beside her, and while Danielle was beaming into the camera, Danyal simply wore a half-tilted, awkward smile. He was in a red muscle-tee, the last thing Damian could imagine his brother wearing.
There wasn't much to put it, Danyal was simply older. With wavy black hair framing his face and his glacier blue eyes, there was no doubt about it that he was an Al Ghul and and Wayne. The scar he's had for as long as Damian can remember -- the one he gained from protecting Damian merely a week into his birth -- split diagonally down his face. It's shrunken more with age -- well, not shrunken. Danyal merely grew.
He had old, familiar scars down his arms. Ones he gained from training. But there were ones Damian doesn't recognize -- a pinkish one near his upper shoulder that looks new. Another laceration on his other arm that still had its stitches. An ugly, mottled wound as if someone had stabbed him with a blunt object.
There was a cut on his throat, healed but certainly not years old, as if someone had meant to slit his neck and missed it's mark. His brother has been in battles, in fights, and they are recent.
Damian stares at it silently. His tongue locked to the roof of his mouth, unable to formulate a sound. He never really knew his brother in the League, he was not allowed to -- not by Grandfather, not by Mother, and encouraged by Danyal. He is a stranger to him. Damian is sick of it.
Danyal and Danielle look more like siblings than he and Damian ever did.
He looks up at the girl, and finds his voice. "Can I have this?"
Danielle is all too happy to give it to him, typing her number into his phone. It's the first message she sends him. Richard leans over Damian's shoulder with a smile, "Would you be willing to send us anything you've got on, uh, Danny?"
Danielle beams at him, looking incredibly touched, "Of course! I can give your number to Danny the next time I see him, if you'd like."
That's right, Damian realizes with white hot panic, to get these photos she has to see him in person. He can't know I know he's alive. He jolts his head up, eyes wide. "No!" He exclaims. Danielle reels back, looking surprised.
"No." Damian repeats, forcing his voice to remain calm despite still feeling panicked. "No, not yet."
"Oh." Danielle simply says, her brows furrow together. She looks like a lost fawn. It's incredibly strange to see on a face that holds Al Ghul blood. "Uh... why?"
Yes, why? Damian can't seem to come up with an excuse.
But Richard can, always a lifesaver. He wraps an arm around the back of Damian's chair. "We recently found out Danny lives in Amity Park, our family was hoping to go visit him as a surprise." He lies, easy as breathing. And it's hardly even a lie. Just the truth re-worded. Damian nods shortly.
Danielle believes it, hook, line, and sinker. She grins widely, near-impishly. She smiles so much. It is equally as strange. "That's so sweet! Okay! I won't say anything, promise." She swears, and Richard feigns a slump of relief. "Dan's pretty good at sniffing out lies, so don't tell me anything about it. The less I know, the better."
Richard nods, smiling warmly and gratefully. "That'd be great. Thank you, Dani."
Danielle and Danyal's meeting... very, very quickly goes very sour from, basically, the moment Danny steps into his room and finds Ellie sitting on his bed (strike one) and reading the comic books Tucker introduced him to (strike two). By the time she's looked up to address him, Danny has the door locked, and a hand hovering near the knife hidden under his shirt.
She gets her third strike when Danny, in a voice that could make the mountains tremble, demands to know how she got into his room, and she lies (with uncertainty of her decision growing in her chest) that Jazz let her in. Danny's hand shifts closer to his weapon, and he turns towards her fully, and says that Jazz would never let someone he didn’t know into his room, and who was she.
(Vlad Masters had underprepared Danielle for her meeting with Danny -- not out of any completely direct malicious intent, but he failed to mention just how... 'touchy' Daniel could be -- he failed to mention the scars littering up his arms, unhidden by the hoodie tee he meets Ellie in. He failed to mention that along with those scars, that Danny was visibly lean, capable of doing very real damage without the use of his powers.)
(He tells Ellie that he’s adopted, and that he is observant and clever, but ungrateful and has a bad attitude.)
Her final strike occurs when Ellie, trying to keep her facade of cheeriness, tells him that she’s his third cousin once removed. Immediately, Danny has his dagger pulled out, and Ellie finds herself with the cold metal of a blade pressing against her throat.
Danyal 'A.G' Fenton hasn’t killed since he arrived in Amity Park. At first it was because mother told him to keep a low profile, and killing would do the opposite of that. But, he's been slowly learning from his sister and friends over the years the value of human life. So it's become a combination of keeping his head down, and also that life has value to it.
But. That doesn’t mean he can’t kill, nor is he opposed to doing it if the situation calls for it. It just means that he doesn't do it. And ‘Danielle’ is an unknown in his room, claiming to be family to him, and appearing uncannily similar to him and his family. Either someone hired her and she was trying to pass herself off as a relative to him because that someone realized Danny was the biggest threat, or, his false death has been compromised, his mother was unable to tell him, and the league was aware he was alive.
No matter how he looks at it, this Danielle was a threat to him, his sister, his friends, to Damian, and to the Drs. Fenton. Danyal Fenton doesn't kill, but he has no problems doing so.
(Ellie, pinned under Danny’s knee and the blade to her neck, is too terrified to think of phasing out of his hold. Not that it would help, he would just chase after her.)
“You have broken into my home, dared to lie to my face, and when I demanded to know the truth, you dared lie to me again." Danny's scowl could cower even Skulker, his glacier blue eyes burning. "Your continual breath has been a favor from me, that I have graciously allowed, from the moment you entered my room, dahkil."
"So I will ask one more time," he hisses, "who. are. you."
Danielle, only a few months old, unprepared for the ice storm that is "Daniel" Fenton, and his clone in only flesh and blood, and not memories, immediately breaks. And tells him that she was his clone, that Vlad sent her to come capture him, and to please not kill her.
Danny's face twists with anger, Ellie thinks he's going to kill her anyways. Instead, he withdraws his knife and gets off her, stringing out curses in Arabic as he sheathes his weapon back into its hiding place faster than Ellie can blink.
He switches to English as she is collecting her bearings (and contemplating fleeing), and Danny paces the room like a tiger in a cage. "--of course that wretched, arrogant, peacocking little ingrate would do something so infuriating. I should have driven my sword into the shrivel of his heart when I had the chance--"
Ellie, for a moment, thinks of leaving while he is distracted. And starts to slowly creep away. But Danny notices instantly, and whirls on her. His too-bright eyes bore into her head: "Where do you think you're going."
"...I'm leaving."
And Danny scoffs at her, "Why? So you can fly back to Masters and tell him that you failed to capture me, and that I know that he cloned me?" He says, and Ellie remains silent -- that's exactly what she was going to do. "He will destroy you within seconds."
Of course, Ellie rears back in offense, and she finds the footing to glare at him. "He would not! He's my dad, he loves me!"
Danny gets in her face, glowering back with an equal intensity. "He does not." He snaps, "Vlad Masters has not a soul in his body nor a heart in his chest. He would sooner cut off the hand that helps him stand, than to take it along with him."
"If you're really made of my blood, then I will teach you only this: we bow not our heads nor our hearts to anyone." Danny's too-blue eyes narrow, and his voice dips into a hiss, "Especially not to a conniving snake like Masters. Your heart: cut it off, or cut it out. He will sooner leave you to bleed."
Then, he unlocks the door and drags her out before she has much time to act. And as he drags her down the hall he shoots Sam and Tucker a text, and they meet up at Nasty Burger. Ellie is a spitfire, but Danny has her too intimidated to leave.
"This is Danielle," he tells them bluntly as he corners her into the booth, "she's my clone. Masters created her."
Ellie is with them for a week, and somehow throughout that time, Danny manages to actually get her to like him throughout that time. He's callous, blunt, and full of sharp edges that you can cut yourself on. But when he's not spitting venom, he's fretting.
When he drags her back to the house after being with Sam and Tucker, he pulls her to Jazz's room and opens the door to tell her the same thing. "This is Danielle." He says upon abruptly opening the door, interrupting Jazz's studying as he pulls Ellie inside. "She is my clone, Masters created her. She needs clothes."
Then he turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him. Ellie, in that moment, thinks that now's her chance to flee. But Jazz then squeals, and she is trapped in new arms, shaken around by Jazz Fenton, excited for a sister.
(Ellie finds herself complaining to Jazz that night, shoved into old pajamas. She's in utter disbelief that Jazz could care about a jerk like Danny.)
("He's rough around the edges, but Danny does care." Jazz tells her, combing through her hair with her fingers. "We've been working on it ever since he joined the family, but Danny warms up slowly. He's usually less stoney; I think your arrival spooked him.")
("Spooked him?" Ellie repeats, she doesn't believe it at all. "He has a funny way of showing it, he threatened to kill me!" And she turns around just in time to see Jazz's press her lips into a line.)
("He's... very protective. He'll deny if you ask him, but he worries a lot." Jazz's fingers find her hair again. "What I do know for certain though, is that he wouldn't have kept you here if he wasn't worried about you at least a little bit.")
(Ellie doubts it.)
But Ellie is indeed there for a week, and the day after her initially rocky introduction with Danny, he is a little bit kinder to her. Still kinda a bitch, but he's less harsh to her, if... almost uncomfortable around her. Flighty, kinda.
Whenever she gets mouthy at him though, he looks oddly smug about it and, infuriatingly enough, praises her attitude. He is very, very annoying. And still kinda terrifying. But hearing him shout insults via puns at someone during a ghost fight that happens that week lessens the intimidating factor,,, a little bit.
Things go about,,,, relatively,,,, similar to canon. In the sense that it ends with Ellie defecting from Vlad because she finds out that Danny was right and that Vlad didn't actually care about her. (And that Jazz had been right too; Danny, in his weird, mean way, had been worried about her as well)
Danny looks out of his depth as she talks about how he was right, and he cuts her off with a vaguely uncomfortable clearing of his throat. And gives her the most awkward, but genuine apology he can muster.
"I should've used more tact when telling you about Masters, and I... apologize for threatening you when we met. I was..." he makes a face like he's sucked on a particularly sour lemon, "worried. First about my family, and then later about you."
(Ellie will be damned: Jazz was right)
Before Ellie leaves, Danny puts a hand on her shoulder and tells her: "I wasn't kidding about what I said to you when we first met: you are of my blood, and as such, you do not bow your head nor your heart to anyone."
Ellie looks at him, thinks about the last week, and smiles like she's caught him in a trap. "What about Sam and Tucker then? And Jazz?"
Danny smiles, it's awkward and tilted, like his face isn't used to the gesture. "We bow not our hearts, but that doesn't mean we can't share."
#dpxdc#dp x dc#danny fenton is not the ghost king#danyal al ghul au#WOW WOOPS THAT WAS LONGER THAN EXPECTED#and i even got everything that i wanted into it! Damian getting Dani's number was a surprise though#not included: damian and co also stalked tucker's SMS and found jack shit on danny too bc danny told them he doesnt like posting his face o#the internet. so they don't post his face. danny also has a social media account but its sparsely used and any photos taken are scenic shot#or are photos promoting events. there aint a single selfie on there yall#his account is @djfenton on instagram and anything else is @sneakahead which is an inside joke between his friends and him#not included and cut: dani saying she was alone and when one of them points out how that's unsafe she laughs and tells them#'it only is if i get caught! and good luck catching me'#damian was not meant to end this interaction with more info on his brother but oops Danny's total vagueness on his situation#is coming back to bite him in the ass unintentionally - ellie doesn't know you're hiding and she recognized your brother! oops!#dick is the “nice” one but he is also a manipulative fuck just like the rest of his siblings. everyone say thank you dick for being able#to lure people into a false sense of security and get what you want that way. love ellie but she's canonically naive so im using that to my#advantage babeyyy#the waynes are fantASTIC liars and actors and manipulators.
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[1:11 am]
Husband!Jaemin was certain he was going to love you until his dying breath. He loved you so much that being away from you for longer than a minute, and he meant it. There was a physical ache in his chest when you were both apart, or arguing, or mad at each other.
You were actually arguing now, and he should have felt that ache, but he didn't. If this were a cartoon, his pupils would be in the shape of hearts and he'd be kicking his feet back and forth.
"Do you realize how gross it is to go to the bathroom and fall into the toilet water?!" You exclaimed, running a hand over your sleep-mussed hair.
Yeah, oops. Jaemin had an unfortunate habit of leaving the toilet seat up. He was good about remembering to lower the seat after he finished his business, but could you really blame him when it was the middle of the night? He was tired, he'd reverted to his old, single guy habits and he went right back to sleep with you in his arms.
You continued to rant, your voice raising and you recounted how you'd already tripped over one of his haphazardly thrown shoes on the way to the bathroom. You told him that you didn't even want to get out of bed until the urge became too much and how you were in the middle some of the best sleep you'd had all week and the cold water on your bare backside was a horrible wake up call. "And honestly, it would have been fine if it were the daytime, but I was sleeping so well. Now, I just feel dirty and cold," you sighed, crossing your arms across your chest.
Jaemin nodded, "you're right, honey."
"You're not going to apologize?" You ask in a calm voice.
Jaemin pouted empathetically, reaching a hand out to pull you back under the covers and press his forehead to your own, "Love, I am so sorry. I will regret this misstep until the day I die and work every day to make up for it. Can you find it in that big, beautiful heart of yours to forgive me?"
You snorted, shoving his shoulder lightly, "you're forgiven. I just need to go shower to get rid of this icky feeling. I want my spot warm when I get back."
He heard the water in the shower turn on as he fluffed up your pillows. He fell back against his own pillows with a sigh, he knew better than to leave the toilet seat up. It was a bad habit that you'd kindly spent many months reminding him to keep in mind. He just hated that it had ruined your sleep. You'd been tossing and turning, waking up early, and going to bed late all week except for tonight. He really did feel bad.
You reentered the room in a new pair of pajamas, smelling fresh and still looking sleepy. Jaemin held a hand out for you and clicked off the bedside lamp while you got comfortable against him once again.
Jaemin rubs your back slowly, his voice quiet and low "I'm so sorry I forgot about the toilet seat, honey. I know how poorly you've been sleeping."
"I'm not upset anymore Jaemin, I promise. I know you were probably really tired too, just try to remember, alright?" You ask while nuzzling against his chest "I'm sorry I raised my voice. I shouldn't have but I was feeling really upset."
Jaemin hums in acknowledgement, nothing the way your speech is slowing with fatigue, "I like when you yell at me."
You laugh in surprise, "w-what?!"
He keeps you in a calm state, continuing to lull you to sleep with the slow circular patterns against your back. He responds quietly, "well, no. I like your complaints and our mundane arguments. It reminds me that we don't have bigger problems to be fighting about. We have a good life together, we're lucky. I love the reminder that I'm not some stupid, single guy living alone now. I'm a husband, I'm your husband and this is our home. I love it."
"You’re such a sap at 1 in the morning," you whisper, your words slurred from sleep, "I love you though."
Jaemin feels his eyes getting heavy and can't fight the smile when he hears your breathing even out. You're fast asleep again and his heart soars, "I love you more, honey."
#kpop imagines#kpop au#kpop scenarios#kpop reactions#nct#nct imagines#nct fluff#nct timestamps#nct x reader#nct dream#nct dream imagines#nct dream fluff#jaemin x reader#jaemin imagines#jaemin fluff#jaemin blurbs#jaemin drabbles#jaemin timestamps
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leaning on the everlasting arms
member — childhood best friend! pastor's son!joshua x f reader genre — angst, smut, some fluff, bible college au word count — 10.3k (my first fic over 10k wowie!!) synopsis — as kids growing up in the same church, you and joshua were inseperable, until you got to an age where it was considered immoral for girls and boys to be friends. when you find him again just before graduation, he's different than you remember; but so are you. content warnings — female reader, she/her, reader is implied to be smaller (i'm sorry), discussion of gender roles & religion, no religion is mentioned by name but it's heavily implied to be a form of christianity, reader & shua are both seniors in college, reader wears skirts/dresses but not really by choice, this whole thing is pretty blasphemous oops smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, virgin!joshua x virgin!reader, mutual masturbation, phone sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (reader receiving), hints of a voice kink, size kink, praise, begging, really vanilla missionary but it's hot, nicknames (sweetheart, baby, angel) notes — although i am no longer religious, this is partially based off of my own experiences with the extremely traditional christian church i was raised in. however, please keep in mind that this is fiction and does not reflect my beliefs nor joshua's beliefs so don't take the plot too seriously. this piece is not meant to discuss whether certain religions are "right" or "wrong" so please do not comment/send me asks trying to start a debate! we're all just here for a little sexy time with shua it's not that deep note #2 — for those who aren't familiar, the title is the name of a hymn and i thought it was funny bc joshua big sexy arms hehehe
as far back as you could remember, joshua was your closest friend.
his father was the pastor of the church your family went to, and as luck would have it you were both in the same grade, so it wasn’t long before you became inseparable. you saw him at minimum three times a week: sunday morning, sunday evening, wednesday evening.
you spent most of your childhood together. sitting next to each other at every service, sharing your bibles with each other whenever one of you left them at home, sneaking donuts away from the box at the table outside the sermon hall that was supposed to only be for the adults.
you did everything together, and told each other everything. that is, until you reached middle school. boys and girls weren’t allowed to sit in the same services anymore, and you had to stay in separate buildings for every church camp and conference.
the worst part was you didn’t even understand why. what did they think you were gonna do with him? kiss him? no amount of money in the world could get you to do that! joshua was your best friend. who else were you supposed to climb trees and build forts and sneak donuts with? kissing was stupid.
when you asked your mom about it, she told you the same thing everyone else did: about how men of god had a different path and needed to hear different messages in order to grow up to lead their own churches one day. you thought it was stupid. what if a woman wanted to lead a church, why are men the ones that have to do it? but she would just shake her head and tell you it's just the way things work in the church, you'll understand when you're older.
you were allowed near him less and less until the only time you were able to see him was at the after-service brunch with his family, and even then that began to happen less and less as the years went on.
and of course it was church rules, so there was no arguing with them because that would mean arguing with god, and who were you to question his authority? there would be no special exception for you, no matter how much you protested to your mom that you would never, ever think about joshua like that. in a fit of anger one day you blew up at her, shouting that she had had friends of the opposite gender when she was in high school, so why couldn’t you? it wasn’t fair. but she had just sighed and stared out the window, clearly ending the conversation. many years passed before she finally told you about her life before she came to church, recalling all the times she had been hurt by men she had loved and trusted. you understood then why she had wanted to keep you sheltered and safe, but you still didn’t agree. but then again, if you had been allowed to do what you wanted then maybe things would never have ended up the way they did. perhaps you have her to thank.
back then, all you could do was hold on to the little time you had with him until eventually you stopped seeing him altogether.
more summers passed and you started spending all of your time memorizing bible verses with your fellow “women of christ”, missing the way you used to spend your time with your best friend.
but then you went off to bible college like had always been planned for you, and everything changed. instead of continuing to follow the strict schedule that was laid out for you, you finally got a little taste of freedom, and you realized what you’d been missing all this time. everything that you’d been taught was sinful, evil, wicked, was what brought you more pleasure than you’d ever known was possible.
you still had to pretend to be a good girl for the people around you, who, for reasons you couldn’t comprehend, were still dedicated to their life of purity. or at least they acted like it. maybe everyone was secretly just like you, hiding their sins behind a friendly smile and a firm handshake every sunday morning.
you weren’t hurting anyone with the things you did in private, and the feeling of rebellion was a kind of satisfaction you didn’t know you were allowed to feel. you were an adult, making your own choices now and facing whatever consequences that came with them.
there was only one consequence. for some reason, all the impure thoughts you had always centered around joshua. no matter what dirty books you read or videos you watched, the man you always pictured giving it to you was joshua.
you hated that after all these years, everything still came back to him. you fought it, tried imagining actors or celebrities in his place instead; characters from your books and movies and shows, anyone but him. you wanted to save whatever memories you had left of him, think of him in a good light like you used to when you were younger, but the way he plagued your mind was worse than the ones in the book of exodus.
but now, in your final year of college, you thought you had finally gotten yourself under control.
that is, until you were leaving one of your bible lectures and all the control you’d convinced yourself that you had crumbled away in mere seconds when you saw a startlingly familiar face standing by the door. a face you hadn’t seen in far too long.
“joshua?”
“hey,” he says with a smile, like no time has passed at all. like it’s been hours since you’ve seen each other, not years.
there are so many things you want to say, so many things you want to ask him, but you’re frozen in place. why is he here? where has he been? how did he find you again?
“it’s been a while,” he says with an awkward laugh when you don’t say anything.
you nod, still in a daze. “yeah. quite a while.”
he smiles. “well, anyway, i’ve got a meeting to go to in a bit, but… i just wanted to see you.”
“oh,” you say. what else is there to say? what can you say to make up for the years lost that you’ll never get back?
he looks at his watch, the conversation clearly coming to an end.
“can i give you my phone number?” he says. a deep shade of pink creeps into his cheeks but he either doesn’t notice or purposely doesn’t acknowledge it. “maybe we can talk sometime, catch up.”
“i– yeah,” you manage. god, it’s so good seeing him again. “yeah, that would be really nice.”
you’ve given up on homework for the night, spending your entire afternoon in a daze since you ran into joshua.
so many years, yet you still can’t get his smile out of your head.
you close your eyes, hand dipping below the waistband of your pajama pants automatically. it’s frightening how easily you’re able to bring up a picture of him in your mind, so much clearer than before now that you’ve seen what he looks like all grown up.
and grown up, he has. you had been too stunned to get a good look at him while he was in front of you, but the way he’d changed was immediately apparent and the image in your brain now feels almost unreal.
his hair was a little longer and a little darker, and he was much taller, with broad shoulders that looked way too perfect in a suit jacket. but his face hadn’t changed a bit. maybe his jaw was a little bit sharper and his smile lines were a little bit deeper, but his eyes were the same ones you had always known.
your hand slips lower and lower until you’re gently running the tips of your fingers over the panel of your underwear covering your pussy, moaning quietly when you feel how wet you are already.
no wonder it’s been so hard for you to focus all day. you’ve been too busy pushing away thoughts of joshua burying his fingers in your tight, wet cunt, cooing about how good you’re being for him and how long he’s waited for you.
automatically you feel your other hand grabbing for your phone, desperate to hear his voice again. you hadn’t said more than a few sentences to him earlier, but you feel like you’ll go crazy if you don’t hear him while you’re in this state. so needy for him and only him, and he doesn’t even know it.
your fingers shake as you press the buttons, knowing you’re about to get yourself into a whole world of trouble but not being able to stop yourself.
“hey.” he answers on the second ring. his tone is deep and husky, and your breath catches in your throat for a second, not used to hearing him talk like that; the last time you heard his voice was long before puberty, and you’re still navigating how to talk to this older, sexier joshua.
your first thought is to wonder if his morning voice sounds equally as sexy, but you’re immediately pushing it out of your head when you hear what sounds like him stifling a yawn.
“sorry, did i wake you? it– it’s not important,” you start, ashamed of how needy you are that you’d call him in the middle of the damn night, unprovoked, like some kind of bible group booty call.
the regret is already starting to set in. he probably hasn’t changed as much as you've built him up in your mind, probably still the obedient gentleman he was before. he’s probably already well on his way to being the head of a church, so of course he wouldn’t be thinking about you like that—
“no. it’s fine,” he says, interrupting your thoughts. “always have time for you, sweetheart. what’s up?”
you shove down the butterflies that flutter up in your stomach at the name he calls you, a nickname he always called you when you were kids because he was taught it was always polite to talk sweet to a lady.
except it feels so much different now. talking sweet to a lady as kids was easy, innocent. but one wrong word now would completely change the meaning behind those pretty words of his, and you aren’t sure how to feel about it.
“i… just– it’s been so long, joshie,” you whisper, surprised at the sudden feeling of tears springing up behind your eyes. you didn’t mean for this to happen— you didn’t mean for any of it to happen. not back then, and certainly not now.
he lets the line go quiet, finally sighing into the phone after a long pause. “i missed you… so much.” he murmurs your name, and the way the rumble in his voice goes straight through you immediately reminds you why you called him in the first place.
your free hand toys with the hem of your underwear again, fighting to keep down the whimper that threatens to escape you. “missed you too,” you breathe out. god, you can’t believe you’re doing this. but for the first time in years, the man you’ve been picturing in your head is right here with you, fulfilling some of your fantasies that you never thought could ever come true.
somewhere deep in your stomach you feel guilty about it, getting off to the thought of him and he doesn’t even know it. would he want to know? would he be okay with it? would he hate you forever if he knew?
he clears his throat, snapping you back to attention and you realize you must’ve been silent for a while, thinking.
“um, so, what are you doing?” you ask, trying to seem casual, but it comes out as anything but. nobody calls anyone this late at night and asks what they’re doing without having a dirty reason for doing so.
all you can do is hope he’s either too innocent to pick up on it, or that he doesn’t believe you’re the type of person who would call for something like that. you wonder if he still thinks of you as that perfect little obedient church girl he grew up with.
“nothing, just–working on… stuff,” he replies awkwardly. clearly he doesn’t want to go into detail about what he’s doing, and you’re already afraid you’ve interrupted his sleep; you’re mentally kicking yourself for all the blunders you’ve made, and you haven’t even been on the phone for five minutes.
“what are you doing?” he asks back, and you freeze, trying to come up with some excuse, anything. fuck, think of something!
“h-homework,” you sputter out, attempting to hide your unconfident answer with a cough.
apparently it works, because he hums in response, the line falling quiet. you hear the rustling of papers on his end, and you press your fingers harder against your cunt, heartbeat racing in your ears.
your fingers brush against your clit a little rougher than you intend, and a little whine escapes your lips, catching you off guard. you slap a hand over your mouth, hoping it had been too quiet for him to hear and he hadn’t been paying attention.
“are you…?” he asks suddenly, and your cheeks flush, caught red-handed in your sinful act.
you clear your throat, praying (both metaphorically and literally) that he doesn’t notice anything off about you. “am i what?”
his silence on the other end of the phone speaks volumes.
“joshua, oh my god, no, i–”
“what did you just say?”
you freeze. “what… did i say?”
when he speaks again, his tone is even. “don’t you know it’s a sin to take the lord’s name in vain, sweetheart?”
that nickname again, and now you know he’s doing it on purpose. innocent, pretty words, completely changed in a split second.
you let out a short laugh, scrambling to find a cover. “must’ve forgot then.”
he hums. “i remember you spent a whole month trying to memorize the ten commandments. we must’ve been what, eight or nine? you wouldn’t have forgotten. i may not have seen you since we were kids, but i’ve still known you most of my life.”
“it was an accident, you know how it is. just slips out. of course i remember them all.”
he tsks, and it feels like your heart stops. “did you forget that lying is a sin, too? you’re two for two now, wanna try for a third?”
damn him! damn his good memory and damn his stupid witty comebacks and damn the way he so quickly manages to unravel you.
you scowl and don’t respond to his question, your silence enough of an answer for joshua to know he’s right.
“why did you call me tonight?” he asks calmly.
you answer truthfully this time. “just wanted to hear your voice again. i really did miss you.”
the phone goes quiet again, and for a second you’re afraid he’s hung up, but then you hear him exhale. “it’s late. what are you doing?”
“i’m in bed, josh. don’t worry, father, i’m not staying up past my bedtime.”
he chooses to ignore your remark. “in bed doing what?”
you give him a half-suppressed laugh. “in bed laying down. what else would i be doing?”
“well, with the way you were trying to hide your moans earlier, i would’ve figured you were doing something more exciting. but if you’re just laying down, then i don't want to keep you long, might as well hang up…”
“no!” you squeak out, cutting him off. you swallow, trying to collect yourself as you repeat the word. “no. fine, whatever, you caught me. but– please, stay.” you can hear the plea in your voice and you know you should be embarrassed at how pathetic you sound, but you aren't. the only thing you can think about is joshua, joshua, joshua, and how good it feels to talk to him again.
“i’m here,” he says softly, and you let your eyes close with a sigh, relieved he’s not going to chastise you. but as much as you’ve both changed as you grew up, deep down you knew he wouldn’t. you figure you could do just about anything and he wouldn’t try to tell you what to do. he’d always been like that, and it’s what you’d loved about him; he never tried to control you or shame you for not acting like the perfect little angel everybody wanted you to be.
you couldn’t say the same about others in the church. maybe that’s why you’d started to drift away from them and why joshua’s friendship coming to an end had left you so devastated. he had been the one and only person you could always count on, and they had not.
“are you still there?” he asks gently, and you realize you’ve been quiet for too long thinking.
“yeah,” you say finally.
“are you still touching yourself?”
you pause, stifling a gasp, taken aback by his forwardness. hearing him say it out loud made everything seem so real, the realization setting in about what you’re actually doing. “n– no.”
and it’s true. your hand has long since dropped away from your pajama pants, too nervous about being discovered to continue.
“well, why not?” he says. “don’t stop on my account.”
your mouth falls open. “i–”
“clearly you wanted something from me when you called. what is it, sweetheart? i can’t help you if i don’t know what it is you want.”
your brain practically short circuits at that, and it takes a very long minute for you to collect your thoughts into a coherent sentence. you want a lot of things, but you don’t know what’s okay to say or not or if he even wants to keep going. which is a silly thought, because he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want to know. it dawns on you that maybe… maybe he’s curious, maybe he’s thinking about you, too.
“what kind of help?” you ask, still testing the waters. you think you have an idea of what he means, but you ask anyway. you’ve never done anything like this with anyone else, only by yourself; not because you didn’t want to, but because you didn’t want it to be with someone who wasn’t joshua.
“you said you wanted to hear my voice,” he says, and you swear his tone has dropped an octave. “then let me talk to you.”
you whine a little, still holding back but not putting in as much effort to hide it. “m’kay.”
“would it make you feel better if i told you i’m hard right now?”
you suck in a breath. “yeah?”
“yeah,” he says. “just thinking about you.”
you feel a rush of emotion at his admittance. pride? satisfaction? whatever it is, it makes your cunt throb, knowing that just the thought of you can get him going.
finally you dare to slide your hand down your pants again, unsurprised when you find your underwear sticking to you with how wet you are. you’re soaking, and you haven’t even done anything yet.
“hold on,” you manage, putting the call on speaker as you set your phone on the table beside your bed, scrambling to shove your pants and ruined panties off and onto the floor.
once free, you pick up your phone and turn off the speaker, holding it to your ear with shaky hands.
“all ready now?” he asks softly, and it reminds you of what he used to say before you’d play pretend games together. always making sure you were ready. he was hot back then, too, and you mentally curse yourself for never realizing it sooner.
you hum. “mhm. comfortable.”
“good,” he says, and you can almost hear him smiling. “go ahead and do whatever you’d like. but i want you to tell me what you’re thinking about right now.”
you squirm a little on the bed as you start to circle your clit with your fingers. “thinking about you, joshua,” you sigh, finally beginning to feel relief.
“yeah?”
“yeah. you look even better than i thought you would,” you groan, picking up your pace a little as you slip your index finger inside your walls.
he chuckles. “oh, really?”
“mhm. god, i never thought i’d be doing this. especially not with you.”
“and why is that, baby?”
the name makes you shiver. you’d imagined him calling you it many times, but hearing him actually say it is completely different.
“because—” you whimper, losing your train of thought when your brain suddenly pictures his fingers inside you instead of your own. “i’m so close already, please—”
his tone is gentle but firm. “i want you to stop now.”
“but– ah, feels so good, shua,” you say, moans spilling out of you, finally letting him hear everything you’ve been holding back.
you hear him curse in that low voice through the phone, and your hand stills for a split second in shock, your eyes widening. as far as you knew, he never swore. but then again, there were a lot of things he never did that you're discovering about him now. looks like you weren’t the only one who changed over the years.
“that’s not my name.”
you sit up a little in confusion, pushing your phone closer to your ear to make sure you’re hearing him right. “huh?”
“my name is joshua. if you’re gonna moan like a sinner about how good it feels when i tell you how to touch yourself, you better use my name properly.” he sounds almost angry, but it only spurs you on even further.
you let his words sink for a second before responding. “yes, sir.”
“fuck,” he moans, he actually moans, and if you weren’t already so far gone you would’ve stopped to listen closer, to ingrain the noise in your brain so you never again forget how he sounds. “what did i just tell you?”
“what, you don’t like being called ‘sir’? thought you wanted to be a pastor, joshua,” you say with a smirk, and you know he hears the mischief in your voice, daring him to give you what you want.
it’s probably a good thing he’s not physically in the room with you, because there's no way you would have been able to muster up the courage to say something like that to his face. you wouldn’t have dared to even look him in the eyes, but being on the phone gives you a head rush. because with only his voice and not seeing his face, you can convince yourself that he still isn’t real, that this whole phone call and even your meeting earlier had just been an elaborate figment of your horny imagination, your denial being the only thing saving your last shred of dignity.
“didn’t realize you’d grow up to be even more of a brat than you were before,” he scoffs, and your cunt pulses.
“what are you doing right now?” you say, a little desperately. the change of subject isn’t very subtle but you don’t care. you won’t lie, you’ve been curious since the start of what he’s doing but he’s been so focused on you he hasn’t said anything about himself. you want to know everything about him— how he’s moving his hands, where he puts pressure, what he thinks about to get himself closer and closer.
he grunts unceremoniously. “i’m fucking my hand and pretending it’s you.”
“me too,” you whimper, closing your eyes as you focus on the movement of your fingers.
after a while he stops responding, and you can hear his heavy breaths over the line matching with your own gasps for air as you curl your fingers inside of you. you figure he must be getting close, but you ask him anyway, because you want to hear him say it.
“yeah– fuck, so close,” he chokes out, and the way his voice gets higher as he lets out a whimper is what finally makes you come undone.
with a moan of his name—his full name—you cum, clenching around your fingers as you struggle to keep your hand moving. your wrist is starting to cramp up a little from the position you’ve been in, but the pleasure coursing through you is more than worth it. it’s almost dizzying, more powerful than any orgasm you’ve had before and when you finally remove your fingers from your aching cunt your head is spinning and your heart is pounding.
you can hear a muffled string of curses through the phone and you know he’s right behind you. thoughts of him sitting on his bed run rampant in your head, imagining his stomach covered in milky cum and his pretty, pretty lips parted as he catches his breath.
the silence is heavy as you feel yourself come back down from your high. you struggle to find something to say after… whatever that just was, so you say the only thing that’s on your mind.
“i really did miss you, joshua,” you say quietly. unlike before, there’s not a hint of teasing in the way you say his name now.
and he sighs contentedly, finally hearing his name on your lips like he always wanted to. “i know. i missed you too.”
you both say your goodbyes and good nights quickly, still basking in enough of the remnants of your orgasms to not be too awkward about it. but after you’re settled in bed (for real, this time) and about to fall asleep, you can’t help but wonder if things between you and joshua will ever be anything but awkward.
a memory surfaces: you and joshua running around at the park behind the church after a sunday evening service, no older than kindergarteners, laughing and playing until you collapse on the grass. your mom called for you both to get ready to go home, and no you’re not allowed to have a sleepover because it’s a school night but maybe this weekend if his mom is okay with it. before you ran off, he thrust his pinky out towards you and you shook on it, making a pact to always be best friends, even when you can’t have sleepovers. it didn’t ever occur to either of you that there might come a day where you wouldn’t be best friends.
you don’t remember what prompted him to make the pinky promise, but you know he’s never broken it. and you can only hope that he hasn’t forgotten it.
it’s a few days later at one of your bible study groups when you see him next, and yet again you’re caught off-guard like a deer in headlights.
you’re sitting with a group of other ladies, annotating material for a test you couldn’t care less about when you hear your name called out– a familiar deep voice you can only pray doesn’t belong to who you think it belongs to.
oh, but it does belong to him, alright. it feels like you’ve gotten the wind knocked out of you when you turn around and see joshua standing behind you, a warm smile on his face that makes you doubt anything ever happened. maybe it really was all just a delirious dream, too many years of yearning built up into one intense wet dream.
he puts a hand on your shoulder lightly, turning you away from the rest of the ladies. “hey, can we talk somewhere?”
and oh shit it was definitely not a dream.
your cheeks burn as you excuse yourself from the table, packing up your bible and pens and shoving everything in your bag as quickly as you can. you can almost hear the snickering already, the gossips whispering to each other that you must have done something unspeakable if the top-student, pastor’s son, joshua hong has to speak with you privately. ah, if only they knew.
you only wish you could go back there and wipe the smirks off of all their faces and tell them about what the perfect little gentlemen they all pretend they don’t have crushes on was doing on the phone with you last night. you wouldn’t do that, not in a million years, but just the thought of it is satisfaction enough.
joshua leads you down the hall to a room that looks like an empty office. he opens the door for you, then closes it softly behind you.
“whose is this?” you ask, glancing around the room.
“it’s… mine,” he says almost shyly, gesturing idly to a little engraved nameplate on the desk. joshua hong, pastor’s assistant. because of fucking course he would be.
“oh.”
he clears his throat, and in that moment you realize he’s just as nervous as you are. “listen…” he starts, taking a pause. “about the other night–”
“are you gonna kick me out?” you interrupt.
his brows knit together in confusion. “what?”
“are you gonna expel me?”
“no?” he says, still looking at you, baffled. “why would i do that? i don’t even think i have the power to, even if i wanted. which, for the record, i don’t.”
you don’t reply, focusing your gaze on the carpet instead.
he frowns. “is that really how you think of me? that i just go around tattling to my dad? from that… conversation, i thought it was clear i’m not like that anymore.”
the tips of your ears are burning at the memory of all the things you said to each other over the phone. but it never occurred to you that maybe he was just as sinful as you had been.
you stay quiet, the silence stretching on as shame and embarrassment and a hundred other emotions swirl in your mind and you struggle to figure out what to say.
luckily for you he fills the silence himself. he exhales, looking down at a stack of papers on the desk. “god, you… you don’t know how much i missed you. i thought about you all the time.”
“so did i,” you manage to whisper. “in more ways than you know.”
he gives you a teasing smile. “oh, i have a feeling i do know.”
you hold back a cough and look away, focusing your attention on a painting of flowers on the wall. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“if that’s how you wanna play this, fine.”
your curiosity piques, and you look back at him. he motions to the seat in front of the desk, wordlessly asking you to sit. hesitantly you do, and he starts to sit down at the swivel chair behind the desk, but you clear your throat and he glances up.
“can– can you not sit over there?” you ask softly. “feels like i’m being scolded.”
his expression softens a little, and he rolls the chair back into place, opting to sit next to you instead. “of course.”
except maybe you shouldn’t have asked him to do that, because now he’s sitting toe to toe with you and the closeness is overwhelming. at least on the other side of the desk there was enough distance for you to shrink and hide behind, but here, sitting like this, he can see all of you. and you don’t particularly want to be seen right now.
the tension is palpable as he takes his seat, still watching you. you take the moment to study his features: the slope of his nose and the gentle curve of his lips, the way the light catches on his long eyelashes and the way his broad shoulders look in that perfectly tailored sunday morning service suit.
“i always liked you,” he starts, and your gaze shoots up to his eyes. you open your mouth to ask something, but he shakes his head and you immediately fall silent, letting him finish. “i was almost glad when they made us go to different sunday school classes, because i wouldn’t have to sit there and pretend i didn’t have the craziest crush on you.”
“joshua, i–” you trail off, not even knowing what to say.
he pauses, as if debating his next words. “and i know it’s wrong, but i couldn’t get you out of my head when i… y’know.” his cheeks are flushed but he doesn’t look away from you, eyes searching your own for any hesitance or any sign that you don’t want this.
it’s then that you realize that the boldness you had felt hiding behind your phone, he had felt it too. saying words alone in your room at night was easy. sitting in public, in the daylight, and saying those same words to his face was so much scarier. and knowing that you’re both feeling awkward and shy and a little uncertain of how to talk about it gives you the confidence to keep going.
“when you would what?” you pry. you already know the answer but you want to hear it come out of his mouth anyway. you’ve already heard him say it, but something about sitting in his office, in a church, speaking such filth ignites a spark in you that’s completely different from the spark you felt a few nights ago.
he clears his throat and looks you in the eye, maybe gaining a little bit of that confidence, too. “when i would jerk off i would always wish it was your sweet little mouth instead of my own hand.”
you inhale sharply, and that’s when he finally breaks eye contact, his guilt-ridden gaze shifting to the wall behind you as his cheeks burn redder. “i didn’t feel good about it. felt like i was doing it without your permission, and i didn’t want that. i–”
“yes,” you say hurriedly.
he stops short at your interruption, instantly looking back at you. “yes…?”
“yes, you have my permission. whatever you want, joshua, always.”
his eyes narrow, almost imperceptibly, but you recognize it. even after all these years, after so much has changed, you still know his tells. you wonder if he still knows yours.
he murmurs your name in response, almost like a warning. “don’t say stuff like that,” he says, letting out a shaky breath.
“why not?” you ask, feigning innocence. but you know exactly what you’re doing, and you know exactly how you affect him: the same way he affects you.
he looks up at you. “you really are just as much of a brat as you were back then, aren’t you?” he says with just a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“why don’t you find out?”
he groans, leaning back in his chair. “do you know how long i’ve wanted to kiss you?” he says finally.
“probably just as long as i’ve wanted to kiss you,” you counter, and he raises an eyebrow.
you both stand up at the same moment, closing the distance in less than a second.
you stare at his chest in front of you to avoid his eyes, until he brings up a hand and gently tilts your chin, forcing you to look at him.
“are– you gonna get in trouble?” you breathe, heartbeat pounding in your ears as you stare at his perfect, perfect lips.
he hums, and it sends a shiver down your spine at the close proximity. “are you still giving me permission?” he asks, and you quickly shake your head yes.
“always.”
he smooths his thumb across your cheek. “then i won’t be in any trouble at all."
and then his hand moves to hold the back of your neck and he's tilting his head and bringing his lips towards yours and then finally, after years of dreaming about it and even more years of denying it, you're finally kissing joshua and there's so many things happening at once that you can't seem to focus on anything because your mind is so full of everything and nothing and joshua and it all just feels so right.
you’re melting in his arms and falling into his touch and enjoying every fucking second of it. your heart speeds up when his hands slide behind your back, wrapping around your body to pull you closer to him, pressed chest to chest.
he pulls away to kiss you again, and again, and again, and you decide you’d be content to be like this forever, standing in his office in the church building making out like you’re the only two people on earth.
but finally his lips leave yours, and he takes a tiny step backwards, heaving out a shaky breath as he looks you in the eyes. “what are we gonna do now?”
your heart plummets, doubts racing through your mind. did he not like it? does he not like you? did you really just ruin everything? why did he stop? why did he ask that—
but all your questions are answered in an instant when he coughs and you look down, finally noticing the prominent bulge in his dress pants. oh. that.
when you look back up at him his cheeks are flushed bright red, and he immediately begins to apologize.
“shua,” you call out to him, repeating his name the way you know he likes. “joshua. don’t worry about it. it’s fine.”
in fact, you find it incredibly flattering, that just a few kisses and gentle touches could get him this worked up. maybe it really has been you all along.
with a surge of confidence, you step back towards him, wrapping your arms around him and leaning to kiss him. “are you busy today?” you murmur, your cheek brushing against his.
he shudders, hands automatically finding your waist and pushing your hips against his own. “no. are you?”
you sigh, kissing the corner of his mouth. “not anymore.”
“fuck,” he curses, his grip on your body tightening “you really want to…?” he asks, almost shyly, as if he’s in denial this is really happening.
“absolutely,” you say, and you’ve never meant anything more in your life.
in a second he’s got you shoved against his desk, sending papers flying to the floor as he lifts you by your ass to sit you down on top of it. your kisses turn rougher and needier, your hands grabbing at anything you can reach to ground yourself: his hair, his shoulders, his back.
finally he breaks free, dropping to his knees in front of the desk. “please, let me eat you out.”
you moan out loud, probably too loudly for the thin walls of the office. but the visual of him on his knees to do anything other than pray drives you mad, and you need more of him, desperately. “joshua, please.”
he pushes your skirt up your thighs, moving it out of his way so he can stare eye to eye with your pussy. you whimper and instinctively try to hide your face in embarrassment, but something tells you he wouldn’t like that, so you resist, keeping your hands firmly planted on the edge of the desk.
“fuck, you’re soaking,” he says, his voice broken. “you’re so perfect.”
his hands reach up to tug at the hem of your underwear, and he looks up at you, silently asking for permission to continue. you nod eagerly, lifting your hips off the desk so he can slide them off of you, revealing your glistening entrance.
he whines at the sight, pretty lips parted in shock? awe? as if he can’t wait to taste you. he pushes his face into your pussy, gently at first, but when you moan and bring your hand up to his hair he dives deeper.
the moment he attaches his mouth to your clit, you jump, gasping as you try to shut your legs around his head but his large hands keep you held open. his tongue explores every inch of you, moving back and forth, up and down, mapping out your cunt with his mouth.
“fuck, never dreamed you’d taste so good,” he sighs against your pussy, leaning away to take a breath after what feels like forever.
your legs are shaking and your cunt is throbbing as you also try to catch your breath. you’re not used to being touched like this and you’re definitely not used to being touched by joshua. so many thoughts running through your head and not a single one of them coherent enough to put into words. all you can do is weakly whine out joshua’s name and tug on his hair, pleading for him to keep going. you need release, and you don’t want it from anyone but him.
he stands up, his pants wrinkled from kneeling on the floor but still tented with a bulge so uncomfortably large you feel dizzy just thinking about it. you don’t even know if he’s going to fuck you or even if he wants to, but god you want to see his cock so bad. too many restless nights spent thinking about it, and now you might finally have the chance to see it in front of your face.
your mouth waters at the thought, and you start to slide off the desk, but joshua stops you. “what are you…?”
you look up at him, eyes blown wide with lust and you don’t even attempt to hide your eagerness. “please let me suck your dick. joshua, please.”
he whines, running a hand through his hair. “god, i want that so bad, but… i don’t think i can last if you do, and i was really hoping to fuck you.”
you close your eyes and roll your head back, moaning at his vulgar confession. but he sighs, and he sounds almost defeated, and you look back at him quickly, afraid he’s suddenly changed his mind.
“i’m not—prepared,” he admits, and you tilt your head in confusion before it sinks in what he means.
“ah. don’t suppose you would have any condoms lying around, would you, mr. pastor’s assistant?” you ask playfully, and he shoots you a glare.
“brat,” he mutters under his breath, but you hear it, and your walls clench in response. “no, i don’t have any. not interested in anybody else, so… no reason to.” he looks like he has more to say, more serious things to say, but he keeps his mouth shut, his eyes searching your face nervously.
your stomach flips at his words, feeling your cheeks heating up. you hadn’t thought you would ever get this far, and especially not with him. because of the kind of school you were at, it wasn’t like the people here were doing the kind of things you’ve been doing—at least not publicly. even if you’d wanted to hook up with somebody (which you didn’t), everyone in your vicinity would shame you for even bringing it up. you may have experience with yourself, but anything with anyone else is completely new territory for you.
you fall silent, not sure how to continue the conversation as all your newfound confidence begins to crumble. what were you thinking? caught up in the heat of the moment, saying things you weren’t sure you meant. you were in love with him: that much you were sure of. but everything that comes after that is too new, too scary, at least for right now. you can barely even comprehend that he just went down on you, but you know you enjoyed it and honestly, you’d give anything for him to do it again. but there’s too much going on inside your head for you to even begin to process that right now.
he calls your name and you blink, looking back at him anxiously. “we… don’t have to. right now, or even at all,” he says gently. the tips of his ears are burning red but his voice is calm and steady.
“joshua, i want to,” you start, clasping your hands tightly together in your lap to give you something to focus on other than the way he’s watching you so intently. “but i– don’t know how.”
“neither do i, baby,” he says. the nickname makes you shiver; even though it’s not the first time he’s called you that, especially after the other night, you’re still not used to it. but somehow it’s comforting, and it makes you relax knowing that he’s still the same person you grew up with, the same person that knows almost everything about you. you’ve both changed so much, but deep down you haven’t changed at all.
he pauses when you don’t say anything back. “we’ll wait, then,” he says and wraps his arms around you, lightly at first but then squeezing when you don’t try to pull away. “we have all the time in the world. no need to rush.”
“we… do?” your voice is laced with uncertainty.
he smiles. “of course. i let you go once already, i’m not letting it happen again. never again.”
you turn your head away from him and hide your face, flustered by how sincere he sounds. he hums, and you can hear the pout in his tone so you fight your embarrassment and turn back towards him to ask the question that’s been weighing on your mind since you first saw him days ago. “this is gonna sound so stupid, but… shua, what are we?”
first you were childhood friends, you were best friends, and then you were nothing. right place, wrong time? and then you were… doing something on the phone together, whatever you could call that. and now you were just sitting on top of his desk, sweating from having almost had sex. how do you even begin to put a label on this?
“well, i’d like to be yours,” he says shyly, and just like that all your questions are answered with six small words. you realize it doesn’t matter what label you have; as long as you have him, that’s all that matters.
“yes,” you breathe, lifting your eyes to finally meet his and you see all the love in his eyes threatening to spill over.
he reaches up to brush a piece of your hair out of your face. “i’m just glad i finally have you back,” he says with a soft smile as he watches you. “we’ll go slow, we’ll wait— whatever you want. whatever it takes not to lose you again.”
you bury your face in his chest with a whine. you’re hiding again, but even the uncomfortable scratchiness of his dress shirt can’t pull you away from him.
“besides, i don’t want our first time together to be in my stupid little office,” he chuckles and holds you tighter against him, pressing a kiss to the top of your head that makes your heart flutter. “you deserve better than that.”
you stay there for a long moment, hugging him like it's the last time you'll ever see him. but this time you know it won't be the last. it's the first, the first of hopefully many, many more.
when you feel like you've been standing there too long, you clear your throat and lean your head back to look at him. "so, um… now what?"
he pauses, those pretty lips turned up in a smile. "do you have plans for lunch?"
"no, i just had that study group you pulled me from. i'm free for the rest of the day."
his smile widens. "perfect. you still like grilled cheese, or did you grow out of that, too?"
you laugh, putting your chin on his shoulder as you hug him. "i haven't changed that much, shua."
after taking a while to collect yourselves (waiting for his erection to go back down so you can leave together without looking suspicious), you walk out of joshua’s office the happiest you've felt in years.
he'd wanted to hold your hand, too, but you were still anxious about anyone seeing you together that you'd refused him until you made it to his car. you were probably just being paranoid and no one would care about two responsible adults talking to each other, but all the time you'd spent hiding from your peers had put you on edge.
so, it wasn't until you were safely out of the church parking lot and in the driveway of his apartment complex that you let him touch you, kissing you over the cupholders with his hands gently holding your neck.
it took everything in you not to climb over the center console and sit on his lap in the driver's seat and kiss him as hard and as deeply as you really wanted, but you knew once you started you wouldn't be able to stop. and besides, he still didn't have any condoms. it didn't bother you either way, since you'd been taking birth control since high school to help with your periods, but if it was what he wanted you'd be more than fine with it.
you don't know what you'd been expecting the inside his apartment to look like; probably some tacky cross-stitch bible verses or a wooden cross hanging on the wall, but his apartment just looked like… a normal apartment. a very clean apartment, actually, though you weren't surprised. he'd always been a neat, organized kid, and it looked like that was one thing he hadn't grow out of.
you watch as he puts his keys on a hook by the door, following him into the kitchen and sitting at one of the chairs.
he grins at you as he opens his refrigerator, pulling out the ingredients for your lunch before taking out a pan.
"shua…" you interrupt him, standing up and walking towards him slowly. "you're not— really thinking about grilled cheese sandwiches right now, are you?"
he hums, eyes following your every movement as the pan sits cold and abandoned on the stove. "there are… other things on my mind, yeah."
"so why are you still trying to make grilled cheese sandwiches?"
by now you're close enough to stand toe to toe with him, and you're sure he can feel the heat radiating off your body when he wraps his hands around your waist, backing you against the kitchen counter. "because i wanna make you lunch. maybe i just wanna spoil my girl a little bit."
a shiver runs down your spine at the new name he calls you. never in a million years did you think this is where you'd end up.
"i think you have all the time in the world to spoil me later, joshua," you mumble, leaning in closer and closer until your lips touch.
in a flash he's hoisting you up and sitting you on the counter. his mouth never leaves yours as you slide your legs around his hips to drag him closer, kisses growing deeper and more desperate now that you can finally be alone together.
his hands slide down your body, tugging at the hem of your shirt and only breaking apart for a second to slide it over your head before his lips are crashing against yours again.
your hands find his hips, experimentally tugging on his belt to see his reaction. immediately he pulls away from you,
cheeks flushed and breathing heavily. "sweetheart, i still don't have any condoms. if you really want to now, then we gotta run to the store first."
“i’m on the pill,” you burst out, hoping he gets the message. maybe he has some other reason for wanting to, but you're too impatient to wait for who knows how long it'll take to go to the store, and you don't think you'll be able to keep your hands off him for that long. you don't think you'll be able to keep your hands off of him for even a few seconds.
his face goes blank as he processes your words, struggling to understand if you’re saying what he thinks you’re saying. “you’d let me…?”
you grab onto his arms, a desperate attempt to pull him closer, to feel more of him. “raw, yes, joshua. just—please, i need you,” you beg him, cunt throbbing with neglect as you wait for him to answer.
he buries his face in your shoulder with a groan, gripping his hands underneath your thighs and sliding you off the counter.
with a shriek you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, holding on tightly as he starts to walk out of the kitchen carrying you. "joshua! what the hell are you doing?"
his face is still pressed against your shoulder, and you can feel his lips tickling your bare skin as he speaks. "i'll fuck you on my kitchen counter any day of the week, baby, but i want to have you for the first time in my bed, please?"
his voice is low and whiny, just as desperate for you as you are for him and it makes you moan with excitement.
he finds his way into his room, stumbling a little when he accidentally runs you into the wall instead of through the doorway, but you just giggle and kiss him harder until he finally drops you on his bed, immediately unbuttoning his shirt.
you run your hands along his chest as he leans over you, feeling the toned muscle that feels almost wrong to be seeing. his physical changes are much more obvious to you now that he's like this, and you know the image will fuel your fantasies for weeks.
your hands move to his belt again and this time he allows it, letting you unbuckle it and toss it away before slowly lowering the zipper. he's already hard again, and your heart races when you put a little bit of pressure on the seam and he lets out a guttural groan in response.
his arms flex as he reaches down to slide your skirt off, and you help him and kick the fabric away, leaving both of you in nothing but your underwear.
joshua pauses, letting his gaze wander your body as you look away shyly. he hums and you look back at him in confusion. "don't hide from me, sweetheart, please," he says, but it comes out more like a whine; not like he's asking, but like he's begging. it's honestly the hottest thing you've ever heard, and even with your nerves he makes it hard to resist.
"dreamt about this for fucking years. years," he moans as he leans over to kiss your chest, reaching behind your body to undo your bra and let it fall away. you whimper when he brings his hands up to cup your breasts, wrapping his mouth around one of your nipples as he starts to slowly grind against your clothed pussy. you can already feel yourself soaking through your panties, and you're sure he can feel it, too.
his hands are like nothing you've ever felt, and you roll your head back against his pillows, arching into him as he massages your breasts with his large hands. you'd noticed them before, but you hadn't realized just how big they were until they were on top of you and made your body seem almost tiny beneath his massive palms.
"shua…" you breathe, tentative hands reaching up to touch his shoulders.
he looks up at you, mouth covered in spit. "yes, angel?"
you whimper at the nickname. no angel you'd ever learned about in sunday school had acted like you are right now, begging a man to fuck you. and on top of that it was before marriage, too; surely if there was a god they would be extremely disappointed in you. but right now you didn't care if the entire universe was disappointed in you, as long as joshua hong wasn't.
it takes you a few more seconds to build up your courage, but finally you open your mouth and tell him, "joshua, please— fuck me."
he slides forward to kiss you again, before sitting back and repositioning himself between your legs. "anything you want, sweetheart."
he lines his cock up at your entrance, and just before you think he's about to push into you, he looks up at you instead.
"i love you, so much," he says, and you have to fight the urge to hide your face as you grin and giggle like a fucking schoolgirl; like the past version of you would have, if she'd had any sense and figured everything out sooner.
and, like always, he asks, "ready?", and you nod, and it's better than you could've ever imagined.
the whines that leave his mouth drive you close to the edge already as he begins to thrust into you, slowly, gently, just a little bit at a time but it still leaves you gasping from his size.
he keeps moving at a snail's pace until you reach up, fumbling to grab at his bicep as tears nearly spill out of your eyes and beg him, "joshua, more, please."
he leans over you, pressing his body flat against yours as he starts to rock his hips faster, and you cry out from so much pleasure and so much emotion hitting all at once.
"wanted you so fucking bad, for so long, and now you're finally here," he whispers, his thrusts never faltering despite how close in proximity he is to your face.
you whine as your hands claw at his back, digging in as you struggle to hold on and he curses again, pushing into you harder.
"you said i was better than you imagined," he groans, one hand coming up to caress your cheek. "but you're even better than i imagined. you're a fucking angel, so fucking beautiful."
you gasp his name, falling into your orgasm from his words alone as you clench impossibly tight around him. you always thought of him as the nice kid, the rule follower, but here he is, fucking you through the hardest orgasm of your life and saying such filthy things in between praises and compliments.
"jo-oshua, please!" is all you can manage, still struggling to recover before he crests into his own high with a whimper. his eyes scrunch up as he releases inside you, eyelashes fluttering and sweat dripping down his temples, and you think it's the most beautiful sight you've ever seen.
a constant stream of curses fall from his lips and you swallow them with yours, kissing him as if you're afraid he might disappear into thin air if you don't hold onto him tight enough.
his breaths are shallow when his mouth falls away from you, resting his forehead on your shoulder with a long exhale.
"god…" he starts, then stops and laughs, and you have to tug on his hair to make him face you again.
"what are you laughing at?" you say, cheeks growing hot when he looks at you with droopy, hooded eyes and a lopsided smile.
"nothing," he laughs. "just god. what a funny word."
"and why is that, baby?" you say as you try to hold back a smile, testing out the nickname.
he grins. "because it gave me you. or maybe it didn't. who knows?"
you finally laugh along with him, remembering what he'd said to you on the phone that feels like years ago. "don’t you know it’s a sin to take the lord’s name in vain, sweetheart?”
the church is humming with activity as you make your way to the front pew, carrying two donuts in your hand. people greet you as they mingle about the hall, talking and laughing. some wave excitedly when they see you, others simply smile and offer their hand for you to shake with a friendly “good morning and god bless!”
being a pastor’s wife isn’t something you ever imagined yourself doing, but then again, a lot of things in your life you never imagined doing. you never imagined seeing joshua again, and you never imagined marrying him, either. you certainly didn’t imagine taking over your father-in-law’s church when he retired and decided it was time for joshua to take his place as head of the church. you always knew he would someday, whether he wanted to or not, but you’d be happy to spend the rest of your life by his side no matter where he was or what job he had.
you’d been almost nervous when you decided it was finally time to tell your parents you had been seeing each other, but to your surprise they had been overjoyed at the news. both his family and yours were “just so glad when it happened to be you!”, saying things like “we’d always known it would happen, back since you were children!”, and “so when are we going to get some beautiful little grandchildren to take to sunday school!”
it had been five long and happy years since that very first phone call, and every minute you spend with joshua has been the best of your life.
you walk up the steps to the stage where your husband is waiting, flipping through his notes for the morning’s sermon. you hand him his donut with a grin, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. he smirks at you, imperceptible to everyone else but you can tell what it truly means.
everybody in the congregation always talks you’re the perfect example of a happy, god-loving couple. such nice looking people, so well put together. but behind closed doors, they’d be horrified by the things you say and do together. wolf in sheep’s clothing, as is your husband’s favorite parable to preach.
it’s not the life you imagined, but it’s perfect to you and him.
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Hope we make it to the Cloud.
♡ bada lee x idol!reader / NSFW❗
SUMMARY: Amidst an identity crisis, you try to adequately prepare for your solo comeback. The lyrics have already been perfected, the song recorded and the visuals pinpointed. However, your creative team is not fully convinced by the choreography you came up with. They decide to send over one Bada Lee to help you finetune your jumbled ideas and bring harmony to your vision. You just have one specific request: the routine must include a trampoline.
WORD COUNT: 10k
CW: eventual smut, bada is 100% a giver and not a receiver in this jsyk (but i promise it makes sense in context), hinted voyeurism.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was meant to be pure smut but it became much longer than i intended ... oops for that . . . lets just roll with it!!1 also the choreo described is heavily inspired by tinashes bouncin.
- you don't care about those 7k words worth of boring build up? skip to this line: <After ten minutes of complete silence, Bada was the one to speak in a hushed voice: “What happened?”>
————— ୨୧ —————
The first thing you notice is how surprisingly gentle her voice is.
“I’m Bada, it’s nice to finally meet you.”
Bada Lee stood tall in front of you, clad in an oversized jersey, cargo pants and a cap hugging her forehead in such a way her eyes were entirely obscured from your view. She promptly bowed after she spoke. Unsure where to look, you dropped your gaze and followed suit; vaguely aware of her seniority and bowing deeper.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” You tried to keep your own voice as neutral as possible, but agitation bubbled in your chest as you felt your manager’s prodding, eager eyes behind you. “Thanks for being here.”
Your team was much more excited about this collaboration than you were.
None of the aggravation you felt was Bada’s fault. It had been three weeks of your creative team dismissing every choreo draft you came up with: Three weeks of sleepless nights at the dance studio, tiring out yourself and your background dancers. Three weeks of browsing through videos sent in by other choreographers across the country, attempting to mix bits and pieces together but none of it ever feeling right. Three weeks filled with reminders of a deadline looming over your head. Three weeks of your team letting you know they had little confidence in this comeback. Your last attempt at showing them what you had come up with had ended up in a shouting match. Your manager, who you otherwise got along with just fine, bluntly stated that, perhaps, this concept simply wasn’t something you could pull off.
It had left you feeling betrayed. Your creative team had agreed it was time for you to approach a more mature concept, something that you felt was years overdue. But it seemed their definition of mature and yours were wildly different. You had worked hard on perfecting a set of songs to choose from, but you immediately butted heads with the rest of the team. You wanted to do the bouncy and playful R&B track. Your team wanted the EDM track. Eventually they relented, but now seemed hellbent on making it as difficult as possible for your vision to come to fruition. Putting together the visual board for the concept photos and the eventual music video was a similarly arduous process. You had to meet in the middle and sacrifice a lot of your initial ideas, but that procedure was almost pleasant compared to what you were dealing with in regards to the choreography.
Every idea you put forward was promptly shut down. Too complicated. Too boring. No TikTok challenge potential. Too sexy.
And maybe it was true. Your formations weren’t as clean as the ones thought up by a professional choreographer, but you weren’t really given a chance at all. It wasn’t like you were a bad dancer either. Far from it. You picked up choreos incredibly fast and had always played an active part in brainstorming past routines alongside your background dancers. You had more experience than most of your peers, yet you were treated as if you were still the same teenaged trainee from years ago.
“Is that really how you all feel?” You had whispered after your manager dropped that bombshell, searching for an answer in the facial expressions of your creative team. Most of them were not even willing to meet your eyes. “We just need to be realistic.” Your manager stated matter-of-factly. “That other song is still an opt—” “I am not changing the song.” You cut him off. Momentarily, your manager looked like a fish on dry land, gasping for air. “Sorry.” You added quickly, albeit a bit flustered. “Look,” He sighed, “We can do mature without shocking the nation. Let's keep it mild for now and maybe after two or three more singles, you can go all out.” “I haven’t been 18 in years, you know.” You retorted bitterly. Something inside you understood where he was coming from, but you had been obedient since your debut- how much longer should you wait? You didn’t want to sacrifice any more of your creativity, so many years into your career. You had even seen one of your own concepts go to a labelmate instead, your own team dubbing you too “youthful” to pull it off. “Okay, how about this,” He began with a frown, “Let us pick one of the choreographers’ drafts for you. You can finetune it with their guidance.”
Their pick had been Bada. You hadn’t even realized she sent in a draft: at one point you were so overwhelmed you just stopped checking your emails. You also hadn’t bothered to watch it before this meeting. You were genuinely too deep in your feelings about that whole ordeal for that. However, now that she was standing in the studio, tall height towering over you, you couldn’t help but feel a little self conscious.
You had seen Bada around.
After all, she had worked with many of your labelmates before. You had also watched a fair amount of her videos. She was one of the best in the business, and whenever you had downtime to practice freely you scrolled through her routines on Youtube to help stay in shape. As you were facing her, even with half her face hidden, you understood why everyone was so stricken with her. When she had walked into the room she oozed with authority, though not in an obnoxious way.
“Great!” Your manager clapped his hands, effectively breaking your train of thought. “Thank you so much for supporting us, Bada. Shall we jump right in?”
“Sure,” She nodded eagerly, hands wringing together as her body turned towards you. “I kind of wanted to see what you had in mind for this choreo.”
That surprised you, and you were certain your facial expression wasn’t hiding it. Your manager held his breath. “Oh! Well—” You chewed on your lip as you vaguely motioned the corner of the room, trying to find the words. “I wanted to use… I wanted to use a trampoline.”
Bada immediately turned her head to follow your gestures, her eyes landing on the mini trampoline set up in the studio. “A trampoline?” In the background, your manager heaved a sigh.
You purposely ignored him and nodded, slowly: “I can show you, if you want.” You had hoped that sounded more self-assured to her than it did to you.
Bada scratched her chin, still looking off to the trampoline, and then nodded along with you. “I’d love to see it.”
You felt the tension in your chest ebb away. There was no malice to her tone; she seemed genuinely curious.
Then, Bada turned her head towards your manager, her ponytail falling off her shoulder. “I hope I'm not imposing but, I would like this to be a collaborative effort between the two of us. I think it would take the pressure off if you…?” She trailed off with a kind smile, one impossible to say no to.
As if he got doused with cold water, your manager stood up with an urgency. “Privacy! I can give you two some privacy, no problem!” He fussed around, gathering his things. “Just let me know when we can sit in on the finished product.”
The both of you bowed to him as you bid your farewells, watching him leave the studio with a wave. Once the door shut behind him, you could feel yourself exhale in relief. You knew that if your manager was going to sit in on every practice, he would go out of his way to shut down all of your ideas. Without him around, you had more opportunity to champion your vision- at least, you hoped so.
You craned your neck, looking up at the ceiling, before letting your eyes fall shut with a sigh, almost forgetting there was another person in the room.
“They’ve been on your case, huh?”
Bada's soft but clear voice broke you out of your spell, and you turned your head to search for a glimpse of eye contact. Tough luck, as her hat was still in place casting a shadow down her face. There was, however, a knowing smirk playing across her features.
“You have no idea.” You muttered honestly. Bada laughed.
“I don’t want to make you dance a routine you don’t fully stand behind. I did mean it when I said I want this to be a collaborative effort.” Bada spoke carefully, but sincerely, her fingers once again intertwining. “I always wanted to work with you, so it’s an honor.” She added.
If you got a penny for every time you were caught off guard today, you could set some humble savings aside for an early retirement.
It is true that you’ve been sought after, but it wasn’t something you had ever internalized. Hearing it come from someone who herself was heavily sought after, made your face heat up.
“T- thank you. It’s an honor to work with you too.”
She bowed her head humbly, glancing over to the corner of the studio again where the trampoline sat, waiting. “Do you feel comfortable showing me what you have been working on?”
You nodded and rushed to the corner to set up your speaker, and then dragged the trampoline to the center of the room. You were oddly aware of your own presence, and almost felt the urge to make yourself smaller as you moved around. In the meantime, Bada was getting comfortable: she had dropped her things on a nearby table and left out a bottle of water. To her it must be a regular working day, but to you this felt scarier than getting up on stage.
Once you stood behind the trampoline, facing the wide stretched mirror filling up one side of the room, you stole a glance at the choreographer who was now crouched on the floor. She had pulled out a small camera and was setting it up on the edge of the table, making sure the lens was focused on your position. Long fingers fiddled with the buttons, and her tongue was prodding the hollow of her cheek. The angle allowed you to finally catch a glimpse of her eyes.
As if on cue, she glanced up at you. Your eyes met in the reflection of the mirror and your heart raced.
She gave you a soft smile and moved to sit cross-legged on the floor, the camera now fully set up. “I usually record everything, so we can watch it back and give feedback.”
Right, of course.
“Yeah, that’s usually how we operate as well.” You spoke timidly, and it was true. Yet something about having her attention on you felt more intimate. Usually there was at least one other person from your creative team looking on as well.
Trying to come across casual, you tied your hair up in a high ponytail. “What do you think of the song?” You asked curiously.
It was now Bada’s turn to be caught off guard. Her smile faltered and she broke the eye contact you had been sharing, clasping her hands together as she spoke. “I like it.” She began. “A lot, actually. It’s why I wanted to play a part in it. There isn’t anyone doing a song like this nowadays.”
Even though her body language was confusing, you couldn’t find any dishonesty in her voice. What she said made you feel relieved, some of your insecurity fading to the background. It’s why I wanted to play a part in it.
You sent a smile her way even though you weren’t sure she was even looking at you.
Proving you wrong, she smiled back.
“Alright, so,” You gestured to the trampoline at your feet. “The idea is, the other dancers and I all do the same routine. I'll be front and center. Four or six other dancers dance behind me, with their own trampoline.” You gave the trampoline a light shove with your foot, making sure it would stay in place, and then grabbed your phone. “Then you have an idea.”
You looked over your shoulder at Bada and gave her an inquisitive thumbs up. “Ready?” You asked.
Bada pressed a button on the camera and mimicked your thumbs up with a smile. “Ready when you are.”
You faced the mirror again and shook your shoulders a bit, forcing your body to loosen up. After twisting your neck a few times, you hit play on your phone, quickly placing it under the trampoline as the familiar synths of the song started blaring from the speakers. You tried to feel the confidence you were usually able to conjure up on stage, closing your eyes and swaying your hips, ponytail moving from side to side.
As soon as you heard your own voice through the speakers, instrumentals going deeper, you got into position. Your eyes opened up to focus on your own reflection in the mirror as if it was a fan in the crowd watching. Mouthing along to the lyrics, a playful smile on your lips, you hit every move as you had envisioned. Once the chorus came up, you dropped to your knees on the trampoline, grappling the edge as you performed the routine. Pushing back against the springs gave you the velocity to keep your moves fluid, your body twisting and turning, flipping over and hitting the next move. You made sure to move your hips deftly, aware that you had enough curves to allow you to pull it off, and kept your facial expressions in line. It had to look effortless.
You felt your ponytail swing along with your movements as if it were an extension of you, and sat up on the trampoline. The chorus came to an end and you used your arm strength to twist yourself around fast enough, gracefully falling back on your chest whilst keeping your toes en pointe in your sneakers. The tips of your fingers were touching the floor as your legs crossed, moving to rest your elbow on the edge of the trampoline and resting your chin atop your palm. You lip synced to the final words of the chorus, gaze alluring as you finished the move, and the music stopped.
You slowly sat up straight on the trampoline, crossing your legs, and slid your hand underneath to hit pause on your phone. You looked towards Bada expectantly, but the question got stuck in your throat. She was staring at you, mouth slightly agape, with an unreadable expression. For a split second you were reminded of your trainee days, when you had just finished a routine and were met by your choreographers’ stern faces; they wouldn’t spare you a single compliment, and instead listed off every mistake you had made.
But then, Bada blinked once and then twice, as if in a daze, and let out a soft “woah”. She started applauding you, shaking her head in bafflement. You felt your shoulders drop in relief.
“That was incredible!” The choreographer took off her cap, fixing her bangs before putting it back on. “You came up with this?”
You nodded slowly, the tips of your ears glowing hot. “I used to be a gymnast.”
“I can tell—” Bada spoke bluntly, but then snapped her mouth shut as if she said something wrong. “I mean, that was really good. Every part of your body was in command. Your team didn’t like it?”
“They think it’s too much, compared to my usual routines.” You had the urge to go off on a tangent, but ultimately you didn’t know Bada well enough. Unfortunately, you were naturally quite expressive and the disapproving frown on your face was on clear display.
“Too much? I kind of wanted more, actually.” She laughed softly, looking down to where her legs were crossed. You felt your heart skip a beat and bowed your head in lieu of a thanks.
Subsequently, the bright green light of the camera caught your attention. It was still recording.
“Hey, I think the camera is still on.” You spoke before you realized, and hoped it didn’t sound accusatory.
“Huh? Oh!” Her expression was almost akin to a child being caught with a hand in a cookie jar, the way she swiped at the camera to turn it off. “Sorry. Good call.” She mumbled shyly, tucking it behind her.
You weren’t sure what to say next, still flustered at her lofty praises, but luckily Bada broke the momentary silence.
“I had an idea…” She began, her hand rubbing at her chin pensively. “I don’t know if you’ve had the chance to watch my draft yet?”
You shook your head abashedly. “No, sorry, I honestly didn’t get to it.”
“It’s fine.” Bada waved her hands dismissively. “Maybe instead of doing the trampoline routine in every chorus, we could only do it in the middle? Exactly as it is. I wouldn’t change anything. And then for the other two choruses, we could keep some key moves but keep it on the floor.”
You mulled it over for a second, glancing up at the ceiling contemplatively. Using the trampoline the whole way through was not an option, according to your team. They had felt you were toeing the line with ‘raunchy’ much too closely. Perhaps you could find middle ground this way, while still keeping the part of the routine you felt most proud of.
“Okay.” You agreed, nodding slowly. “We would need something special for the final chorus, then.”
“I had another idea for that, if you’re fine with it. Would you like to watch my draft with me?”
————— ୨୧ —————
Her draft was good. Really good, actually.
Bada and you were sitting on the floor next to each other, the taller girl holding her phone out in front of you as the draft played on the screen. You were sitting quite closely together, but not close enough to be touching, a conscious decision on your part. You were a bit too aware of her presence, something about her was heightening your senses in a variety of ways. It wasn’t even as if she was stern or unkind, she just had an aura that intimidated you. At least, that’s what you were telling yourself.
A blonde girl you didn’t recognize was dancing your parts. Six other dancers, one of them being Bada, were in formation behind her performing the choreography perfectly in sync as your song played in the background. While you should really be paying attention to the girl in the center, your eyes couldn’t leave Bada’s figure. In the video she was dressed in loose-fitting cargo pants, just like today, and a crop top. Once again she wore a cap covering half her face, and even a face mask, but her hair hung loose over her shoulders.
You were always impressed by the small movements she was able to squeeze in, emphasizing certain parts in ways the other dancers weren’t able to. However, it was the final chorus that had your hands turn clammy.
The final chorus was a duet formation. Bada, with a quiet confidence in her step, and the blonde girl moved towards each other in the center of the room. They were effectively dancing for each other, the blonde girl whipping her head back as Bada stared her down, swaying their hips together rhythmically. Their steps were coordinated in such a way they almost mirrored, Bada rolling her body one way and the blonde girl moving the other; but it still felt cohesive. It was an intimate choreo. There were a few split moments of hips grinding against crotches, but it never lasted long enough to be straight up inappropriate. Still, you couldn’t help but realize you would have to practice this routine with Bada as well, and you felt yourself getting hot under the collar.
The choreo ended with the blonde girl giving Bada a playful shove, and the taller girl backed away slowly, a saunter in her step, before moving off the screen along with the other background dancers. The video ended and Bada dropped her phone in her lap, not looking at you.
“That was good.” You were relieved your voice came out evenly, and Bada started nodding in her trademark way, hands clasped together. “The formations were really clean and— I loved the final chorus.” You blurted.
She smirked, head raising and meeting your eyes for the second time today. You were starting to feel eager, greedily watching.
“I’m glad to hear. We definitely need to finetune the first chorus, line it up with your routine and all that. I really don’t want to lose your input.”
“That sounds great, thank you.” You felt a surge of gratitude in your chest, and shot her a wide smile. “I’m looking forward to working on this together.”
Bada dropped her gaze again, worrying her lower lip. You felt miffed at the brusque interruption of your shared eye contact but didn't show it.
“I suggest we start with practices tomorrow, we will edit the first chorus as we go,” She whipped out her phone, looking at her calendar. “We should practice the duet together until you’ve got a handle on it, and then I can bring over some of my guys to prep for the actual performances. I know someone for my part. He’s worked with some of your labelmates before, I’m confident he’s right for the job.”
You couldn’t tell if you were anxious at the prospect of practicing such a choreo with Bada, or if you were disappointed that the eventual product wouldn’t be performed with her. It made sense, though. If your label was already worried your concept was too mature for the country, having two women perform such a choreography wouldn’t be received well at all.
“Great. Same time tomorrow, just the two of us again?”
“Same time tomorrow,” The third time she was willing to meet your eyes, and once again with a small smile playing across her features. “Just the two of us.”
————— ୨୧ —————
Working with Bada the past few days has been surprisingly easy.
On the first day, she brought some iced coffee for the both of you and presented it with an exaggeratedly deep bow, holding out the plastic takeout bag in front of her as if she was a lackey presenting you a treasure. You giggled, muttering an incredulous “thank you” as you took the bag from her hands. Through sips of coffee, the both of you fast forwarded through the recordings trying to piece the choreography together. You were able to bounce ideas off of her in a way you never felt comfortable enough doing with other choreographers. Bada was attentive, patient and, above all, eager.
On the second day, you wanted to repay your debt and entered the studio with a box of doughnuts. She let out a surprisingly girlish squeak when you laid the box on the table, and barreled over to grab one. That day she was wearing a beanie instead of a cap, something you inadvertently preferred as you could now lock eyes and take in her features. Sometimes you had the impression she was hellbent on looking anywhere except into your eyes, but you didn’t want to mull it over for too long; some people just had a different way of interacting. Everything else about her still left you with a warm feeling.
Sometimes you both took turns performing for each other. She would pull her beanie further down her head as she took the center of the studio, and each time something inside you would brace itself. You could only watch in awe: her movements were sharp and magnetic, her entire body language changing in the blink of an eye. While your attention should be on her footwork, you were instead hypnotized by the sway of her hips, greedily drinking her in. You chalked it up to her being such a captivating dancer.
However, little could explain how much you relished in her undivided attention. When it was your turn to copy the moves, you made sure to give it your all and put on a show. Without a hat obscuring her eyes, you could tell where her eyes were looking and it wasn’t always on your reflection in the mirror. You swore you could feel her gaze burning in your lower back, but you didn’t mind. It encouraged you to hit your moves a bit harder than you usually would.
“You’re a fast learner,” Bada said at the end of the day, drinking from her water bottle as you watched her throat bob. “Keep it up and you won’t need me anymore.”
You didn’t like the sound of that.
————— ୨୧ —————
By the fifth day, the both of you had started working through the details of the duet.
The familiar song sounded through the speakers, the room filled with the sound of your singing voice and the squeaking of your sneakers on the floor.
You were painfully aware of the way Bada closely danced behind you but you kept your eyes down, forcing yourself to keep track of your footwork. You bent over slightly at the start of the next line, your hips popping out and letting your hair whip to the side as you hummed along to the lyrics. In tandem, Bada moved her hips the opposite direction but gyrated closer to you, her hand coming up to tug her cap lower. You spared the mirror a glance for a split second, realizing Bada was much closer to you than you had realized, but you pushed the thought away.
You looked good together.
“Pause real quick.” She spoke suddenly, stepping away from you and bending over to stop the song. You immediately halted your movements at the command, trying to control the heaving of your chest and willing away the warmth of your cheeks.
She stood up again, meeting your eyes in the mirror before steadying herself behind you, body close to yours.
“You’re doing great, but,” A tentative hand slid to your hip, fingers curling over in a loose grip as she subtly urged it to move to one side. Both your eyes remained locked through the mirror. “I think we should move together in this part. Like this.” She repeated the motion, her grasp on your hip tightening ever so slightly before pulling you flush against her pelvis. Her hips rocked along with yours, and you could only follow.
She hummed close to your ear, and you felt her breathe along the side of your face. “Just like that.” Her voice was quiet, gentle even, though her stare was everything but that. It was intense.
In an attempt to sound casual you replied with an “okay”, but it came out softer than you had hoped for.
Her eyes dropped from the mirror, opting to look down at you directly, but you couldn’t find the confidence to return the favor. “You should do that thing again," she continued quietly, "Where you throw your hair back, but look at me when you do it.”
You repeated your steps, but this time both her hands came down to hold your hips in place. You turned your head as requested, your hair falling over your shoulder as your eyes finally met. Her gaze was intense but undecipherable; she hadn’t been looking at the mirror at all this time.
Bada was so close, unblinking and heady. The thought entered your mind before you fully realized: if you craned your neck you could kiss her. In a careful motion, you felt her hands slide up and down slowly, smoothing along the curve of your hips.
“Perfect.” She said, and it sounded so intimate you felt lightheaded. Usually she voiced her approval with an animated smile and a thumbs up, but she spoke to you as if she was scared you would set off running. “You got it. You want to try that again with music?”
You nodded slowly and her hands dropped from your hips, leaving a burning sensation in their wake. As she bent down to turn the song back on, you brought the back of your hand up to your cheek; checking if it was as warm as you felt. Then you ran your fingers through your ponytail, tightening the hair tie with a sharp tug in an attempt to snap yourself out of whatever daze you had fallen into.
It meant nothing. She had merely workshopped a move and there was no need to feel so nervous.
The final chorus of the song began thumping again and the both of you got into your starting positions. Bada’s presence was palpable behind you, but you tried to force your head back into performance-mode. You kept your moves sharp, lip synced as if the voice came directly from your own throat and smiled playfully at all the right lines.
As the instrumentals of the final chorus got louder, you twirled a finger around your ponytail, playing with the imaginary crowd in front of you. Bada pressed up against your back. Your hips moving in tandem just as the choreo required and you could no longer repress the urge to grind back against her. You saw Bada smirk in the mirror, her eyes obscured by her cap, but you could tell she was enjoying your blunt display of confidence. That made you laugh for real, putting an extra ‘oomph’ into the roll of your hips, dropping even lower, and feeling Bada take what you gave her with a great amount of enthusiasm. You heard the choreographer let out a "woo!" and you giggled.
At the very end of the choreo, you were meant to face Bada and push her away; making room for a final solo moment. So you turned around, meeting that familiar mischievous grin and your hand came up to curl into her collar. Bada sucked in her lower lip, greedily towering over you and looking down expectantly.
But something about the giddy atmosphere had you feeling bold, so you tugged her even closer instead. Her mouth fell open, but she followed you down nonetheless, eyes becoming half-lidded. You were mere inches removed from each other, and her breath fanned across your face. For a split second her gaze lingered on your lips, and you held your breath, heart fluttering in an unfamiliar feeling. A fleeting thought told you to bridge the gap, pull her impossibly closer by the grip you had on her collar, but your body acted before your brain could.
You reached for her cap and tugged it off her head, putting it on yourself in one swift movement and then shoved her away as you were supposed to do; effectively breaking the spell. You turned on your heel to look back at your reflection in the mirror, consciously blocking Bada from your periphery and closed out the song. The music stopped.
Now that the studio was quiet you could hear the both of you catching your breaths, and rather than facing Bada while your face was still heating up, you flopped onto the floor, limbs spread out. You moved Bada’s cap atop your face, blocking out the bright lights of the practice room, feeling exceptionally winded.
You felt Bada sit down next to you and she promptly pulled her hat off your face.
“Ow,” You uttered lamely, arms coming up to cover your face instead. Surely the shame you felt was on wide display and you had to save the little bit of the reputation you had left. You could already hear her voice, albeit uncharacteristically, echo in your head: “What was that?” “Why didn’t you just stick to what I told you?” “That was highly unprofessional.” Your stomach churned.
But instead she said: “That was incredible.”
“Huh.” You exclaimed unintelligently. You tentatively moved your arms from your face and were met with Bada staring you down, her hat back in place. It would probably be too weird if you went back into hiding, so you dropped your arms uselessly.
“That was incredible,” she repeated, a fond smile on her lips. “You are incredible. I’m telling you, we’ve got a hit on our hands.” She extended her arms excitedly, as if she had to convey the sheer magnitude of potential you both had crafted.
“You really think so?” You sounded breathless, the warmth in your chest blossoming.
“I know so. Seriously? If your team doesn’t like this, they’re idiots.” Her bluntness kicked a laugh out of you, and you playfully whacked her knee. “No, I mean it!”
“It wasn’t too much?” Slowly you sat up, tugging at the front of your shirt clinging uncomfortably to your body from the sweat.
Bada tilted her head, blinking at you sympathetically as she weighed your words carefully.
“I’ve already told you,” her voice was quiet, as if she was worried someone else might overhear, “I can’t get enough of you. The same goes for the public, by the way.”
That made you want to kick your feet like a teenager, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you fought the impulse to fall into her arms. Instead, you dropped your head with a timid smile hoping that did enough to show your gratitude.
Bada placed a hand on your shoulder with a touch so soft she might as well be reassembling a broken vase, urging you to look at her. “Let's take a break, order some bubble tea and then watch the recordings. Sound good?”
You leaned into the touch with exhilaration. “Yeah. My treat, though.”
————— ୨୧ —————
The tenth day coincided with a photoshoot in the morning. You had gotten up at 4am to get to the location early enough so that there was enough room for your stylists to get to work.
The first thing you noticed was the visual board you had worked on tirelessly a few weeks prior.
It had changed.
Some of the images jumbled around or left out entirely, replaced by ones you did not recognize or even liked to begin with. Even the color scheme had changed. Before you could ask your manager about it, however, your hair stylist beckoned you to follow her into the booth. Still groggy, with just a protein shake in your belly to keep you at bay, you followed without objection.
But then, after you emerged fully made up with your hair in intricate braids and ribbons, you saw the backdrop you were going to work with and the outfits you would be wearing: they looked nothing like what you had agreed on.
Once sown into the baby pink corset, you looked at your reflection in the mirror with a glassy expression, too exhausted to even express the anger that was simmering in your chest.
“What happened to the costume I commissioned?” You asked your manager in a flat voice, fully realizing you wouldn’t like whatever the answer would be.
“Oh,” But he didn’t sound surprised at all, “We didn’t really like how it turned out, so we decided to go with something else. Pink looks good on you, you know.” He added hurriedly.
You blinked, clenching and unclenching your jaw. The last thing you wanted was to cause a scene in front of all the staff. Firstly, it wasn’t their fault; secondly, word got around quickly and the last thing you needed was a trending blind item about diva behavior. With great difficulty you swallowed the venom down your throat and walked over to the camera crew without sparing your manager a single glance. Bowing to everyone separately, you turned on the autopilot. You just needed to get through the day. You posed for the flashing of the cameras, turning your brain off.
“That’s a wrap! Great work, all.” The photographer’s voice snapped you out of your daze, and you slowly stumbled away from the backdrop, blinking back tears.
“Great job everyone, thank you for your hard work.” You hoped your voice sounded even and hurried away to get changed.
Once alone in your dressing room, you bent over the sink with your hands in your hair. You didn’t understand. They had seen the choreography Bada and you had worked on, and approved. They had been enthusiastic even, and it felt like your team and you had finally buried the hatchet. Now you understood why they were so pliant in their acceptance of the final choreo; they had found something else to exert their control over. You didn’t want to cry, so you grit your teeth and untied your hair, fingers smoothing out where the braids had been.
Bada.
In the bustle of the early morning you had almost forgotten you were meant to start your first practice with the entire dance crew today, with Bada as the lead choreographer ensuring everything played out exactly according to your collaborative vision. It had been almost two days since you had last seen her, yesterday being a day off for the both of you, and for some reason it felt like a lifetime.
You wanted to see her, but you weren’t sure if you could dance today.
You arrived at the studio about an hour later, right on time, with most of your makeup cleared from your face and dressed in joggers and a crop top. This time you were sporting a cap as well, hoping the dancers wouldn’t notice the fatigue etched on your face on your first day with them.
Everyone was already there. Some dancers stretching, others practicing and a few watching the recordings while in deep discussion with Bada. Her flannel shirt was bunched up at her elbows as she made grand gestures with her hands, explaining something to the dancers in front of her. As the sound of the door opening and closing filled the room, the tall girl perked up mid-sentence, shooting you a wide smile.
“Hey! I got you some coffee.” She spoke brightly, walking over to you in big strides as her loose braid fell off her shoulder. You had just finished bowing to everyone when you turned to Bada, feeling your chest swell at the sight of her. “How was the shoot?”
She must’ve noticed something. Perhaps it was the sag of your shoulder, the way you bit your lower lip or the exhaustion in your eyes; but her smile faltered slightly when she got a closer look.
“It went alright.” You spoke neutrally, unable to meet her eyes but adding a nod to come across as reassuring as possible. “Thank you for the coffee.”
Bada stood a bit helplessly but seemed to understand that prying any further would be futile. “Of course, it was my turn, after all.” She smiled carefully. “You wanna get started?”
“Let’s do that.” You agreed, hoping that dancing would get your mind off of things.
Bada gathered everyone together and gave a small speech, making a conscious effort to do all the talking so you could comfortably hide the swelling insecurity you felt deep in your chest. You nodded at the right times, smiled at the dancers (some of them peeking at you in awe) and tried to come across relaxed.
Once Bada finished talking, she called for everyone to get in position as she strode to the far end of the room, where she had the most optimal view. You moved to the front, right next to your trampoline, facing the mirror and vaguely took note of a tall guy with a buzzcut who now stood in the spot Bada did when you had been practicing with her. Something about her not being part of the dance anymore, even though you perfectly knew this was going to be the plan all along, made you feel even less secure.
You shook your limbs loose, trying to empty your head for the sake of the dancers who were all blind to your inner turmoil and instead incredibly excited to be here. You did not want to waste their time. Once again, you forced yourself into auto pilot.
The song started playing, bubbling synths building up to your first lines, and you danced. You danced as you had practiced with Bada, but weren’t able to envision the crowd in front of you. Instead you relied on muscle memory, which worked out well enough. Even when the tall guy was behind you for the duet, hips grazing yours, you didn’t feel very aware of your surroundings at all. Sometimes you all had to stop midway when Bada noticed that someone was offbeat or out of position, but you slid back into the moves easily. The team was strong, too. You danced the choreo once, twice, thrice and a fourth time. When you grabbed the guy’s collar, you pushed him back immediately, unlike what you had practiced with Bada, and finished your move.
Bada clapped her hands together with a cheer.
“That was solid, everyone!” She strode over, giving everyone a thumbs up. “Some things we have to smooth over, but we are way ahead on schedule. Let’s take five. I— Are you okay?”
You barely realized your own actions until you felt the warm tears run down your cheeks. You had sat down on the trampoline in such an unceremonious way, body shaking from exertion as you tried to hold back hiccups. Panic began crawling up your body and into your throat. Suddenly aware of the dancers seeing you in such a state, you took your cap off and held it in front of your face.
“Actually, since we are ahead on schedule, let’s make this a short day.” Bada’s authoritative voice declared to the entire room. The dancers nodded along nervously, glancing at your hunched figure with palpable worry. “Great work everyone, make sure to get home safe. Same time tomorrow.”
You croaked out a soft “Thank you, everyone” through your fingers, but your voice was barely audible. You couldn’t face them.
Footsteps rushed around the room, the dancers gathering their backpacks off the floor. You barely registered the hushed voices slowly echoing further and further away from you, until the door shut with finality; a lock sounding in place and silence reigning over the space.
Bada’s hands came to rest on your shoulders as you felt the trampoline sink with her added weight. Then she pulled you into her arms with a tenderness you had never experienced from anyone before. Your arms tightened around her frame in instinct, dropping your cap onto the floor, and your heart constricting painfully as you hid your face in her chest.
She didn’t speak as you hiccupped soundlessly, letting the exhaustion pour out of you with quivering shoulders. Bada’s hands traced comforting lines along your back, her cheek pressed against the top of your head as she waited for the trembling of your body to subdue. In turn, you tried to focus on the steady rise and fall of her chest, her breathing lulling you.
After ten minutes of complete silence, Bada was the one to speak in a hushed voice: “What happened?”
You glanced up at her, tears still running down your cheeks as you choked back a particularly pathetic sob. “I’m sorry…”
Bada let out an affronted gasp, bringing her hands up to cradle your face instead and letting her thumbs wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Please don’t apologize. Tell me what happened.”
“My team,” You began with a slurred speech, “They still don’t believe in me. They don’t think I can pull this off.”
Your voice sounded heartbroken: “They make sure to remind me every chance they get. My manager is certain I am going to embarrass the nation, because there is only one thing I can do and it’s not this. I can’t be sexy. I don’t have good ideas. And maybe they’re right! I don’t have the charisma to pull this off. My fans are going to hate it, because it’s not the person they wanted to support—” There was nothing you could do except keep going, like a faucet running, and Bada let you, “—I can’t even wear what I want. My visual board was cybercore inspired. I had a red PVC two piece outfit custom-made, but they put me in a pink dress and ballet shoes.” You added, horrified; not at the clothes, but at the clear disconnect between your team and you.
Bada, who was nodding along to your words with a serious expression up until that point, chuckled at your words, thumbs still catching tears. “Well I always thought you looked like a pretty princess, but that’s indeed a bit on the nose.”
The follow-up to your rant died in your throat, eyes widening at her words. Your brain was short circuiting. “You think I’m pretty?”
The taller girl scoffed at that, brows furrowing. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”
“Why?” You asked, genuinely.
For a moment she gawked at you, deep in thought and searching your face for insincerity. Bada was unable to find it.
“It’s not the only thing I think of you.”
Something about the atmosphere in the room changed when she spoke, and you almost forgot why you were upset in the first place. She carefully tucked your hair behind your ears, her eyes staring into yours unblinkingly. It reminded you of the way she had looked at you during practice days prior, when you had pulled her close by her collar for the first time. Her attention on you was suffocating, but you were glad to be drowning.
You sucked in your lower lip for a split second, releasing it, and waited with bated breath for her to continue. Her eyes dropped immediately, following your movements. She slid one hand down to the crook of your neck, slowly, the tips of her fingers tracing along your skin and leaving shivers in their wake; her other hand curled under your chin with a loose grip, tilting your head back slightly. Your head felt so heavy you could only lean in closer, wanting more of something you couldn’t even put in words.
But as always with Bada, she seemed to know what you wanted before you could open your mouth and ask for it. She closed the distance, brushing her lips against yours in a soft peck, and it was when you realized she was also holding her breath.
Her thumb trailed along your jawline, breath fanning over your lips. “Is this okay?” She asked quietly. You placed your hands on her thighs to brace yourself, your own lightheadedness overwhelming you, and nodded.
There was a shadow of a smirk on her lips when she kissed you a second time; lips connected with more force this time before gliding together in tandem. She tilted your head to get impossibly closer to you, her hand moving from your chin to tangle her fingers into your hair and cradling the back of your head. When her lips parted and closed around your bottom lip, nipping eagerly, you inadvertently let out a soft noise at the warmth of it all which only seemed to spur her on further.
You curled your hands into the front of her shirt as her back straightened, crowding around you as if her goal was to subdue, the trampoline creaking underneath your shared weight. She seemed to relish in overpowering you, inhaling sharply through her nose when you parted your mouth for her further.
You felt the tentative prod of her tongue, and accepted. The wetness made you shiver as she swallowed your quiet gasps. The hand that was previously nestled against your neck slid lower, began exploring along the curve of your waist and feeling the bare skin your crop top couldn’t reach to hide.
She parted the kiss, and you let out a soft whine. Biting her lip in an attempt to hide her smile, but ultimately failing, her eyes were drinking you in. You could only imagine what you looked like as even Bada was flushed all over, chest heaving from excitement. Then, as if she was reading your mind, her eyes glanced over to the mirror in front of you.
Bada shifted her position behind you, running her fingers through your hair before ultimately placing her palm against the other side of your waist. Steadily, as if she were correcting a move during practice, she turned your body to face the mirror. At this rate you simply accepted the effect she had on you, and wordlessly obeyed her ministrations. She planted her feet on the floor, long legs on either side of you; and ultimately caged you in, nestling her chin into the crook of your neck. Her eyes never left the mirror.
She brushed some of your hair over your shoulder as if she were propping up a doll, and spoke in a hushed voice: “Look at yourself.”
The sight made you feel all the more dizzy. Through half-lidded eyes you barely recognized your own reflection; hair slightly mussed and lips swollen and lovebitten. Someone did that to you. Bada did that to you.
The taller girl, pressed up against you, placed a kiss on your shoulder, fingers running up and down your body and making the hairs on your arms stand straight in exhilaration. You loved the way she touched you, how it made you feel; as if she was tracing the lines on an art piece. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered against your shoulder, “people would kill to see you like this.”
The honesty in her voice made something in your stomach roll. “Bada…” You began, but you didn’t even know what you wanted to say.
“You have no idea how other people look at you.” Her hands cradled the small of your waist, fingertips digging into your hips. “So let me show you how they look at you.”
She began kissing up your shoulder, soft and warm presses of her lips, before parting her mouth against your neck with a tangible hunger that left you sighing. You tilted your head to the side to give her more room and every inch you freed, she swarmed eagerly. Her tongue swirled against a patch of skin, hand flattening on your lower stomach as the other traced higher and higher, along your ribcage, before inquisitive fingertips moved under the hem of your top. As she sucked a mark onto your skin, you clenched your thighs together at the familiar sensation between your legs. Your eyes slowly fell shut as she crept up higher, lips pressing right below your earlobe with a barely-there hum.
She whispered: “Keep looking at yourself.”
You obeyed bashfully, right when Bada reattached her lips to your skin. She had been tracing lines along the hem of your sports bra, enthralled with the way you shivered in her grasp, before slipping a hand under; her hand was warm as she kneaded your breast, but your nipples stiffened at the sensation all the same. You pushed out your chest to convey your delectation, and she rewarded you by sinking her teeth into your skin. Suddenly, with a swift movement, both her hands hoisted up the hem of your top and bra, and pulled it upwards, your breasts releasing from its confines. The cold air made them perk up and Bada’s hands cupped the underside.
She detached her lips from your skin with a wet sound before looking up at the mirror, taking you in with her saliva-slicked mouth agape.
“So pretty,” Bada muttered, bringing your breasts a little higher, “Are you sensitive here?” She wondered loudly before tracing her thumbs right below your nipples. Once again your legs squeezed together, feeling yourself throb from excitement, and Bada picked up on the hint with a wide smile. “You are.”
In your reflection you saw Bada bring her fingers up to your mouth, thumb pressing down on your bottom lip imploringly, and you opened your mouth. She slipped her digit past, pushing it back against your tongue and you sucked obediently. Her eyes were drilling into yours through your reflection, enthralled by how pliant you were under her care.
You released the digit with a wet ‘pop’ and Bada promptly brought it to your nipple, rubbing it in circular motions as her other hand continued to knead your other breast. A quiet moan escaped you, chest rising into her touch and Bada giggled, pressing another kiss on your shoulder. Your own hands ached to touch her, but she kept you firmly locked between her legs; instead you squeezed her upper thighs, feeling her shapes through the baggy cargo she was sporting.
“Give me a kiss.” She commanded, and you immediately twisted your neck to capture her lips.
It was all teeth, wet noises echoing through the room as your tongue swirled against hers; the taller girl groaning into your mouth at the sheer force you exerted. She gave your nipples a pinch before rubbing her fingers over them repeatedly, and she swallowed your breathless moans greedily. You dug your nails into her thighs as she cupped your breasts again, her tongue slipping out of your mouth to trail along your bottom lip instead. Your head was chanting her name, getting drunk on the near delirious attention she gave you. Tilting your head back even further, you connected your lips again even though the angle was uncomfortable. You were starting to feel desperate, hips lightly rocking back against the firmness of her body as Bada sucked down on your tongue.
One of her hands released your breast and trailed down the expanse of your stomach, once again breaking the kiss and instead opt to look at you in the mirror. Her fingers found the knot of your joggers as your eyes met in the reflection, and she pulled on the string; untying it.
“Okay?” Bada inquired meaningfully, and you nodded much faster than you intended. “Let me hear you say it.” The tone of her voice, which was otherwise so gentle and quiet, made your full body shiver.
“I want it.” You spoke breathlessly, squirming impatiently between her legs as her fingers finally slipped down your pants.
She trailed along the sweatband of your underpants before cupping your heat over the fabric, fingers pressing against your folds inquisitively. Her eyes never left yours, quietly measuring your reactions. Unwittingly your thighs clamped around her wrist, breath hitching in your throat as she began to caress you with a touch so gentle it didn’t fit the precarious position you both were in.
“You’re so wet.” Bada spoke coyly, smirking at the way your eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment. She began rubbing circles over your covered folds, feeling your wetness spread as if on command. Your breathing turned into whining, subconsciously grinding back against her hand.
She removed her hand much to your distress, until you realized what she wanted: Bada began tugging the fabric of both your joggers and underpants down as far as she could, before giving your hip a commanding pat. You raised your hips to assist her ministrations, and she pulled the clothing down past your knees before you kicked them off fully.
Your thighs were pressed together when you got back in place and suddenly felt self-conscious at how exposed you were despite your own eagerness. Bada wasn’t having it: her eyes were taking in your figure, hands immediately coming down to smooth along your thighs. Then, she squeezed tightly and wrenched your thighs wide apart, making you expose yourself for her. Before you could instinctively close them, her long legs hooked over your ankles, forcefully keeping them in place. All of it only made you throb harder.
“You don’t want to know how often I’ve been thinking about this these past few days.” Her hands smoothing along your sides in marvel, cupping your breasts once more. The tip of her nose pressed against the shell of your ear. “How many times I’ve watched those recordings and imagined you, exactly like this.” Her fingers fit into your mouth once again, and you sucked on them, letting your tongue swirl along the digits as if you were starving for it. “I think I lost count.”
Her confession made you moan around her fingers, shivers running down your spine. She scooted back ever so slightly, pulling your hips back with her unoccupied hand until it was the angle she needed, and then dropped it between your legs. Her fingers spread your folds and she sucked in a breath, completely mesmerized by your reflection. You were still swallowing around her fingers and she hummed encouragingly, hand cupping your vagina and spreading your wetness across your heat.
She removed her fingers from your mouth and you caught your breath, fingers digging into her upper thighs as you braced yourself. As one hand kept your folds spread, the other, spit-slicked, began rubbing slow circles against you. You gasped at the sensation, mumbling her name in amazement. You raised your hand to the back of her head; grabbing a hold of her braid to simply have a hold of something, but it earned you a particularly sweet noise from the girl behind you. Your hips rocked back against her movements trying to find more friction in the right place, and Bada slowly sped up, moving her wrist up and down to try and find the spot that did it for you. Her lips pressed against the back of your neck so tenderly, and something about the dichotomy between that and the way she was touching you between your legs made your eyes roll back; lids closing as you thrusted back against her hand.
You didn’t understand how she was able to build up to that familiar knot in your stomach so soon, and it almost made you feel embarrassed, until you realized Bada was savoring every second of it. Her eyes never left your form, as if she were studying just another choreography, lips parted in an awestruck way. You had long foregone the urge to keep quiet, vocalizing exactly what she was doing to you: You let a particularly loud moan leave you when she rubbed along your most sensitive spot. Trying to pull more sounds from you, she pressed against your clit with more force and rubbed faster. Your hips could only chase her touch as your lower stomach constricted.
Bada brought her hand up to her own lips and lapped at her fingers, effectively pausing her motions for a split second and thus drawing a broken whine from you; both because her hand wasn’t where you needed it to be and also because she had no qualms about having you in her mouth. It didn’t last long: she hushed you soothingly as she put her hand back where you felt it belonged and used the added wetness to add faster friction against your clit. Your head rolled back and you tugged at her braid, pulling an attractive groan from the girl behind you.
You weren’t far away anymore. Your lower stomach was unbearably tight with desire and you were a gyrating, frantic mess against her hand while her fingers rubbed against you in vertical swipes, her name falling from your lips repeatedly as if you were reciting a prayer.
You managed to utter an “I’m close”, and Bada crowded against you before you could start begging her for release. “Come for me.” She demanded, and then immediately captured your mouth in a desperate kiss, teeth clashing together while she drank your sweet moans.
As if on cue, the tension in your stomach imploded and you gave her braid a sharp pull. You gasped into her mouth, no longer kissing each other but rather breathing each other's air, as your orgasm rippled through you.
You felt your whole body quiver and shake in pleasure as Bada led you through your release, thighs trembling despite the hold the choreographer’s legs had on you. Her fingers hadn’t left your core, but the rubbing slowed down until you were gasping at the overstimulation, yet unwilling to make her hands leave you. As if she read your mind her movements came to a halt, but she pressed her palm against you; almost possessively. She planted kisses along the side of your throat, whispering praises against your skin as you caught your breath.
Once you had the rise and fall of your chest under control, her arms curled around your waist in a fond embrace, and you turned your head to look directly at her. She had already been staring at you, meeting your eyes with a bashful smile. The two of you laughed at each other, and Bada pressed your foreheads together.
“That,” You mumbled, eyes falling shut as you relished in her open affection: “Was amazing, thank you.”
“Was happy to do it.” She responded playfully, rubbing the tip of your noses together affectionately.
“Will this happen every time I get self-deprecating?”
“I definitely intend to do this more often, but you could also just ask nicely.” Bada retorted with a smirk before pecking your lips. You giggled, putting your hands over hers and leaning back into the embrace.
After several more shared kisses and hushed whispers, both of you decided to get a move on: you were starting to get cold in your exposed state so Bada urged you to get up. She helped you step back in your clothes, a smug self-satisfied grin never leaving her face when she noticed the unsteady wobble in your legs.
When you pulled your bra and top back over your breasts, Bada pouted. You gave her a playful shove but she caught your arms instead, bringing them around her neck as her own enveloped your waist.
“Wanna grab dinner?” Her eyes were round and hopeful.
“I would love that.” You replied, and gave her a kiss.
As the both of you tidied up the practice room and gathered your things, Bada listing off food suggestions in the background, your eyes slid to the table at the front of the room.
A familiar device remained perched on the edge, a small green light lighting up proudly.
“Hey, Bada.”
“Hm?”
“Camera’s still recording.”
She stumbled over looking mortified, snatching the device off the table and rewinding haphazardly.
“Oh, fuck.”
#bada lee x reader#swf2#bada lee#bada lee smut#street woman fighter 2#dalla!writes#im sorry in advance bhahaha#idk what i did
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the law is always operating whether you’re experiencing what you want or not, so if you’ve been trying and trying and trying for months and all you’re experiencing is your own trying (and probably frustration/exhaustion), it’s time to stop.
before you throw hands, don’t worry, i’m not gonna tell you to give up on what you want. you’re meant to have it, you already do have it, you just need to operate from the state of fulfilled desire. so, let me help.
your “biggest” desire(s) materialized 30 minutes ago. you were fUcKiNg StOkEd, as you should be 🤭, powerful one, and then the excitement settled, and now you feel……………….
normal?
oop, yeah, all the manifesting stress skress is gonzo.
you no longer “have to” affirm or listen to subs or do SATS or any of that other stuff.
and of course you’re thinking about whatever you manifested, but instead of thinking of it as ~~~out there~~~ it’s now……………..
in your physical realm.
(which is still just consciousness, but whatever).
point is, you’re thinking about it like it’s here.
which it has been all along.
so, tell me, truly, what are your thoughts?
i love (SP) so much. i’m so relieved we are back together.
fuck i really needed that 1,000 bucks. now i can pay rent/put it toward buying my dog.
jk just manifest the dog lol. lord knows i’mma get my hound.
oooohhh baby! ya girl got hired, as she SHOULD. 💋 now it’s time to go get some fire office attire.
you get the idea. you’re thinking from your desire instead of of it.
that’s all that’s required to experience what you want!
so, do that. enter the state of fulfilled desire. whatever feelings/thoughts naturally arise are the “right” feelings/thoughts—because they’re natural, not forced—and otherwise, you just chill. live your life. be the coolest, kindest, most badass version of yourself.
and simply allow what’s already yours to materialize so fast.
now, you might feel a little fear at first, because there’s no way it can be this simple, but, 1) i promise it is this simple, and 2) it’s fine to feel fear. you can feel fear and still experience what you want! you can also look fear in the face and giggle because you know you’re the operant power, and, as within, so without, so like—what’s a silly mind-body sensation got on ya? nothing, that’s what. and, my favorite, you can transmute fear into excitement/gratitude.
but what if it doesn’t happen 😣😣😣 —> it already did happen! let’s goooooooooo 🤸🏻♂️
mmmmk. that’s what i’ve got for ya.
always here to help if you need it, but you probably need less help than you think you do.
you’re so goddamn powerful. know it. be it.
you want it? it’s done.
already written.
ALSO THIS POST DISAPPEARED FROM MY DRAFTS AND I WAS LIKE ABSOLUTELY NOT MY FOLLOWERS NEED IT I’M TURNING MY PHONE OFF AND BACK ON AND IT’LL BE BACK AND IT WAS. BLESS THE LAW. YOU’RE WELCOME.
muah.
#law of assumption#loa tips#loassumption#loa tumblr#loablr#loa blog#manifestation tips#manifest#manifestation#manifesting tips#neville goddard#edward art#live in the end#wish fulfilled#it is done#god consciousness#gods promise#god#desire#fulfillment#quantum leap#spirituality#spiritual journey#law of consciousness#consciousness#imagination#inner power#inner knowing#self belief#self concept
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distraction.
pairings: yunho x f!reader
genre: smut, college setting, fwb(?).
warnings/topics: there isn’t much plot at all, sub!yunho, perv yunho too just bc, praise kink, overstimulation, pussy eating, thigh riding.
a/n: i haven’t posted in so long oops 😭 this fic isn’t as long as usual but hopefully i’ll be able to post again soon with a longer one. enjoy! notes are appreciated ofccc.
wc: 0.8k
you and yunho were surely just friends; which is exactly why he got so flustered when you called him out for the intense stare he had aimed at your frame. the conversation started with an accusatory tone, with yunho struggling to explain himself with his words. the tense atmosphere didn’t last long before you began to realize how the hostile tone in your voice made his ears tint with a darker red than ever before, or the small whimper that left his lips as soon you referred to him as a ‘perv’. only then did you notice the print of his erection that bulged against his sweatpants. so that’s what yunho was into.
that was how you ended up with your back against the headboard of your bed, your shorts long gone and disregarded to the floor, with yunho’s face buried in between your legs, tongue caressing your folds. he had promised he wouldn’t distract you from your studying, which is why you still sat there, textbook being held up by your trembling legs as you continued to annotate and highlight different phrases and important words that you may need to remember for tomorrow. unfortunately, studying while yunho gave slow kitten licks to your clit was just as hard as anyone would imagine it to be; you slammed the textbook closed, throwing that and your pen somewhere off to the side. ‘i’ll just study harder later,’ you thought to yourself as your fingers intertwined with the strands of yunho’s pitch black hair.
“f-fuck, yunho, you’re going way too slow, c-can’t take it,” you moaned, subconsciously pushing his face closer to your folds. It caused the rims of his glasses to slip a little farther down the bridge of his nose, but he couldn’t do anything to push them back up for now— which meant you would just have to deal with the cold material brushing against your skin every now and then until he was done. yunho was so overstimulated just by the feeling of you against his lips and tongue; you loved how much he got off from solely pleasuring you. his hips repeatedly bucked against the mattress once he felt his release getting closer, and you could feel the movements of his mouth get sloppier than before.
you weren’t much closer than yunho, though– with a string of profanities and breathy moans, you came without much of a warning onto yunho’s face; however, he didn’t mind in the slightest, with his tongue lapping up as much of your liquids as he possibly could. when he lifted his face from between your legs, the sight in front of you was just sinful; the fluids dripped down from his lips and down his chin as he panted, completely out of breath. his eyes were glossed with a hazy look on them, and you just knew he was far gone.
“yun,” you called out, straightening your legs out and then patting your thigh, signalling for him to use it to ride out his orgasm. he let out a small hum of compliance. yunho moved to straddle your thigh, immediately rutting against it with the most desperate look you’d ever seen painted on his face. the repeated whimpers that erupted from his throat were surely going to be the death of you. it didn’t help your case in the slightest when he looked up at you with pleading eyes, whining, “y/n, p-please, can i cum now? i c-can’t,”
your eyes widened slightly at the fact that he was asking for your permission; everything you’d found out about him within the last hour were things you never would’ve begun to associate with the male; nonetheless, you couldn’t deny that his submissive side only made him more attractive than he was— if that was even possible.
“yes, yunho, you’ve been so good for me baby, cum for me, hm?” your praise only made a high-pitched moan leave yunho’s lips as he came undone in your lap. he convulsed from the overstimulation for a few seconds, before he moved to lay down beside you. the two of you sat in a comfortable silence as you took a moment to regain composure, all whilst maintaining strong but loving eye contact.
yunho stifled a laugh, his cheeks puffing out slightly with the action.
“well, so much for studying, i guess.”
#ateez#ateez fanfic#ateez fic#ateez smut#ateez x reader#atz smut#atz x reader#yunho#yunho smut#yunho smau#yunho x reader#yunho fic#yunho fanfic#smut
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Hi! Can I request poly hcs of yandere bayverse Optimus Prime & Megatron with fem reader. Could you possibly add some fluff? Thank you, love ur blog! 💕✨
Bayverse Poly! Yandere Optimus Prime X Reader X Megatron
A little longer than I meant, oops-
You’re Sam Witwickey’s sibling. You were more well-read than your brother, and much more polite. When Sam said that he was going to sell your great-great grandfather’s glasses, you were appalled. You immediately snatched them away from him.
“These are antique! So are these!” You snatched other items up. “You can’t sell them, bozo!”
“But I need the money! For the car!” Sam tried to grab them back.
“What if I paid for a portion of it?”
Sam halted his movements. “What?”
You huffed. “I’ll pay for some of the car- but YOU have to make sure to give me rides sometime.”
“YES!” He coughed, “I mean, yeah. Sure. You’re my sibling, of course you’d get rides.”
Then it happened- you met the Decepticons on the way to get the glasses fixed up. You dropped them off at the small antique shop and began your walk home.
A patrol car’s lights went off next to you, and you pulled off to the side into an alleyway. What shocked you the most, however, was when it transformed into a literal robot. You felt dizzy and collapsed to the ground unconscious.
“Frag.” Barricade muttered, pressing his servo to his helm. “Barricade to Starscream. I have the human, but they are unconscious.”
“Bring them to me.” Starscream ordered.
Before Barricade could respond, a loud honk echoed around the alley and a semi slammed into him. Optimus quickly transformed and snatched you off the ground, handing you off to Bumblebee. “Get them to safety!”
Bumblebee drove off with you in tow, and Sam quickly shook you awake. “Sam?” You asked. “What happened?” You suddenly remembered the giant robot that had forced you into the alleyway. “The robot-!”
“Yeah, there’s a few of them. I’ll explain in a bit- where are the glasses?”
“Back at the antique shop… why?”
Right after you went back to grab the glasses, you met the others. The situation was explained to you, and you were scared. You just wanted to go home and sleep. Unfortunately, as soon as you got home, people from ‘sector seven’ were there to take you away.
You sat crying in the backseat as Sam and Mikela tried to comfort you. “It’ll be okay, (Y/N).”
“No it won’t!” Simmons said from the front seat. “Not unless you tell us what you kn-”
The car slammed forward. Optimus ripped off the roof of the car. “Taking the children and (Y/N) was a bad move.”
Optimus scooped you up to sit you on his shoulder, holding their weapons on the aggressors the entire time.
When Sam and Mikela got taken, you stayed with Optimus. Once you all discovered where the allspark was, the Autobots began the journey there- you in tow. You wanted to go home, but Optimus wouldn’t let you. He said it was too dangerous to let you go back home.
During the trip, you and Optimus talked a lot. You both got to know each other really well. Despite it only being a few days, you developed a crush on him.
During the battle, Optimus gave you and Sam an order- push the Allspark into his chest, and kill him. You shook your head as Sam moved to do as he was told.
“NO, SAM!” You snatched it away. You looked at Megatron and brought the cube near him.
A wicked grin appeared on his faceplates, and he held his servo out. “Good, yes, human! Bring it to me!”
A sadness painted your face. Yes, Megatron was evil- but you never wanted to take a life. “I”m sorry,” You whispered. Megatron’s face contorted in rage as you shoved the allspark into his chest.
Before he died, he looked into your eyes. “I’ll get you for this, human!”
You never recovered from taking a life. Optimus was thankfully there for you, and you both grew extremely close. You were one of the few civilians permitted on the base, often helping out. Your official title was ‘liaison’. Even Galloway liked you.
You were visiting Sam when the Decepticon attacked. You were all running for your lives, with you not understanding a thing of what was going on. Mikela’s car was swept up into the air by a helicopter. You were screaming loudly as it took you all away, and screamed even louder when the car was dropped through a roof and sawed into.
Everyone stood up as Starscream spit at you. A deep voice came from behind you all. “Come here, boy.” Megatron hissed. Sam began walking towards him with his hands up. “Closer.”
“Sam, no.” You whispered in fear. Megatron’s eyes met yours for the first time since you took his life. Your body froze as still as you could make it.
Before you could say anything Megatron grabbed you up from where you were standing and held you in his servo. Sam yelled out your name. “SHUT UP!” Megatron yelled and slapped Sam across the room.
“SAM!” You and Mikela shouted in fear. “Don’t hurt him! Please!” You begged.
Megatron simply ignored you and pinned Sam down with his over servo. “It feels good to grab your flesh. I’m going to kill you. Slowly- painfully- but first, we have some delicate work to do.” Sam kept struggling as Megatron mocked him. “Ohhh, I could snap your limbs off.”
You struggled in the servo you were tightly held in. “Wait! It was me that killed you, so let him go! He didn’t do anything!”
Megatron squeezed you tighter in his grasp. “Oh, I have something much better planned for you. Now wait your turn.” You struggled to breath as the air left your lungs. Just before you passed out, he loosened his grip. It was a warning- if you weren’t quiet, he’d knock you out.
You watched in horror as a minicon send a small bug into Sam’s mouth. You had to look away in fear you’d throw up from the sight. In your mind you were hoping for Optimus to find you, to save you.
Your prayers were answered as Optimus and Bumblebee came slamming through into the building firing off shots. Megatron quickly stashed you in his subspace and began fighting Optimus.
You were thrown around in the tight space and you hoped that Optimus would figure out you were in there. Sounds were muffled, but you could make out sounds of blasting. Soon enough, the sounds faded. The subspace opened and you were taken out into the sunlight. It took your eyes a moment to adjust, but when they did your heart stopped in your chest.
On the ground before you was Optimus- a giant hole in his chest. He was obviously dead. You felt tears well up in your eyes as a wail left your throat.
“You’re mine now, human. Optimus will never be able to save you again.”
Megatron took you with him to his hideout. He was originally going to use you to make Sam come out of hiding, but he soon realized why Optimus kept you around. You were smart for your race, and offered fairly good advice (even if said advice was forced out with the threat of violence). The Fallen left you alone, seeing the logic in a living hostage.
In your short time there, Megatron had begun to grow feelings for you. He didn’t bother denying them- he was a Decepticon. If there was something he wanted, he’d take it.
After his defeat and the Fallen’s death in Egypt, Megatron offered Optimus a deal he couldn’t pass up.
“Why don’t we share them? Frag this war, and just hide away?”
Optimus glared at him. “Do you really expect me to believe you?”
Megatron chuckled. “You can either accept it, or never see them again, Prime.”
Optimus had no choice but to accept. They hid out on a small island, inhabited with nothing but animals. You were protected as long as you were with them. You also had plenty of books, food, and water. Anything you asked for, except your freedom, was given to you.
However, at night, when everyone was resting, you were building a raft. You had a book that they gave you that had some basic instructions. When you set off, the raft was surprisingly sturdy. Your supplies were enough to last for a few days- hopefully when you would find someone to help you.
When you heard the familiar sound of a jet, tears filled your eyes. You shouldn’t have even bothered to try. Megatron scooped you up and brought you back. When you got there, Optimus was waiting with a horrible glare on his face.
“Where did you think you were going?” He growled.
Tears fell before you could stop them. “I just wanted to see my family! My friends!”
Optimus and Megatron felt a smidgen of guilt. Megatron held you closer as Optimus lifted your chin to make you look at him, a gentle smile on his faceplates. “And you will see them,” he petted your hair a little, “When you learn to behave. I can’t allow them to take you from me-”
“Us.” Megatron growled.
Optimus glanced at him and back to you. “Us. You are ours. We won’t let you get away.”
Megatron chimed in with a sadistic grin on his faceplates. “If you ever try again, I’ll lock you away so you’ll never see the sun again. Understand?”
All you could do is nod as a soft smile came to Optimus’ faceplates. “Good.”
#transformers#transformers bayverse#bayverse#bay#tfb#optimus prime#optimus#megatron#fallen#bumblebee#transformers x reader#transformers bayverse x reader#bayverse x reader#optimus prime x reader#optimus x reader#megatron x reader#yandere megatron#yandere optimus#yandere optimus prime#maccaddams#yandere bayverse optimus prime#yandere bayverse megatron#yandere bayverse optimus#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere optimus prime x reader#yandere optimus x reader#yandere megatron x reader#yandere megatron x reader x yandere optimus prime#tw yandere
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feeling that way
Joel Miller x transmasc!reader
Lover boy series masterlist
Warnings/Tags/Notes: 18+. for sexual implications. reader is afab/has female genitals, no pronouns used (written with the idea of a non-binary or transmasc reader), reader wears a packer, references made to both readers cock (packer) and pussy, pet names for reader (baby, honey), Joel is really horny for reader and their cock :), Joel sucks the strap (mention), bulge worship big time, love love love, beautiful queer love actually, writer got emotional and made this too personal and not at all about Joel oops. Unedited and unbeta'd. (divider credit to cafekitsune)
Words: 1.3k~
Summary: Joel enjoys a new part of you. He loves it, in fact.
Something is different about you.
Joel feels it the moment he opens the door. He's good at that, at noticing.
You're sitting on the couch watching something on the tv, nothing unusual there. But the way you hold yourself today, even the way you sit. There's an air of confidence to you that's different than usual. A hint of something new.
It excites him. You always find new ways to excite him.
“Hey” He mutters, coming round behind the couch and leaning down to kiss the top of your head. The usual greeting, intimate and caring.
“Hey” you say back with a smile, your head falling back so you can look up at him. There’s a glint in your eyes that belies your cool air.
You’re excited too.
“What’re you up to?” Joel mutters, a gruff chuckle leaving his mouth as he rounds the furniture and comes to sit beside you. It doesn’t take much from there to see what exactly has you acting the way you are. His eyebrow quirks, eyes looking up to meet yours then back down.
“Nothing at all” You grin back, and he understands the joy in your features now.
“Fuck, baby. It came?” He says, watching the subtle lift of your hips.
You’d been waiting for the packer for a while, Joel had insisted you go for something quality, something that would feel real for you and even though it meant a longer wait now you were glad he had done that. He’d insisted on paying for it too, ‘let me spoil you, honey’ he’d whispered in your ear when you’d confessed your desperate yearning to wear one.
It felt good to put on. So fucking good to wear. You had floated around the house in elation, a weight almost lifted off your chest at the new addition to you. Your eyes caught in every mirror, traveling down to your crotch at any opportunity. You didn’t feel like a different person, but you certainly felt like a different you.
Joel has a warm hand on you now, his eyes darkening in lust as he takes in the sight of it. Your cock is sitting just so, making a bulge in your tight jeans that he can’t possibly ignore. It makes his own twitch in need.
“Jesus Christ, baby” Joel groans, his hand rubbing lower towards the front of your jeans. Down, down, down… “How does it feel? How do you feel?”
You’re watching as his big hand skims the button of your jeans, stopping just shy of the swell of you. You barely register his words, mouth hanging slightly open, breath coming a little heavier. This is the feeling you’ve been chasing for longer than you realise, longer than you can even say.
“Feels..right” You finally whisper, something about the admittance making you shy away from his gaze momentarily. It feels like a big deal. It is a big deal to you.
Joel pinches your chin between fingers, tilting your head to look at him. Jesus, he looks desperate for it. For you. He leans in and kisses you, more tender than the kiss you expected. A kiss that says ‘I know’, ‘I’m happy for you’, ‘I’m here for you’. You have to fight back the sudden urge to cry. He’s always been supportive, always. You never expected less.
When he lets you go your head falls back against the couch as finally he makes eager contact with the bulge in your jeans. This new part of you.
And it is a part of you. You feel it when that big hand squeezes gently. You moan for him, breath shaking.
“Looks so fucking good. Feels good too, doesn’t it?” He whispers reverently, and all you can do is nod dumbly and fucking whimper at the sight of him getting down on to his knees, his eyes bright with the wish to worship you for everything you are.
He loves everything you are.
Joel gets between your legs, already spread wider than usual and it’s making his heart hammer in his chest. He looks up at you as he pops the button of your jeans, gives you a look that's so full of desire and absolute need. He looks wrecked and he hasn’t even gotten past the layers of your clothes
“Y-yeah. So good” you murmur as he slowly pulls down the zipper, his eyes flicker from yours and back down to the peek of underwear beneath your jeans. The sound he makes then makes your cunt ache in devastating desperation.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, honey” Joel grunts out, noticing at once that you’re wearing a pair of his boxers - your favourite ones, black with a simple red design, snug against his dick and now against yours too. Your eyes meet again, yours surely glistening with a lust matching his, and the look he gives you makes you clench around nothing. Without a thought your hips cant up to connect the bulge of your cock with his palm again.
“I know, I know” Joel mutters sympathetically, keeping eye contact with you as he very intentionally lowers his head, only breaking away from your eyes when he presses his lips against the firm yet soft barely exposed front of your- his - underwear.
And fuck if your legs don’t start to shake, if your core doesn’t tighten breathtakingly as he plants open mouthed, sloppy kisses there.
“Can feel your cock. That’s your fuckin’ cock, ain’t it?” He murmurs, not moving away but turning his head, his cheek pressed against there and you want to cry again at his words, at the affirmation, at the acceptance of your needs and the love he shows for you even in this filthy moment.
“Yeah, Joel. Yeah…” You stumble out, practically dumbfounded as you watch your handsome, gruff, hardened man worship the bulge of your fake dick like it’s his favourite thing in the whole damn world.
“Say it baby” He orders, voice all grunts and groans as he deftly rubs his nose against you now.
“My cock…it’s my…fuck…”
“Yeah it is” Joel smiles up at you, such a beautiful sight, all pride and joy just for you. God, you love him you think as he moves away for a moment tapping your hip lightly to lift your ass so he can pull your jeans all the way down. He’s all but salivating at the proper sight of you filling out his underwear, both your hearts beating a matching rhythm in your chests
“Gonna let me suck it too, huh? Fill my mouth up all good?” He says, voice gravelly with wild desire that makes every part of you feel on fire - a fire you never want to put out. Let it burn forever, let it burn everything but the two of you.
You watch rapt as he kisses up your thigh whilst his big hand experiments with squeezing your impressive package, facial hair tickling your inner thigh before he moves up again. As Joel practically worships at the altar of you his own member strains against his pants, you can tell from the way he thrusts against nothing - still on his knees, which he’ll regret a little later, hips subtly shifting every time he enthusiastically rubs his face on your crotch.
“I love it, Joel. I feel- feel like me” You finally admit out loud.
“I know” He says back.
‘Thank you’ you whisper, though perhaps the words never make it out of your mouth before he’s drawing away, standing with a groan and knees clicking. Taking your hand in his with a squeeze and all but dragging you to the bedroom.
He takes one moment, just one, to stop in your tracks and look in your eyes. A gentle, loving, caring look that makes you feel so special. Just like he does every day.
“You’re here, baby. You’re here”
And he’s right, finally you are.
#THROWING this out into the world and running the fuck away#Joel Miller x reader#Joel Miller x afab!reader#joel miller fanfic#pedro pascal character fic#x reader#I have no reread so if its as terrible as I think just ignore this okayyy
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The Great War -141, Vladimir Makarov
Based on a request:
with the new mw3, lets do angst, something along the lines of "Somewhere in the haze, got a sense i've been betrayed" coming from us because 141 betrayed us horribly, which ended up in us getting tortured and then we pretennd its fine when it isnt. forget and forgive we lie and when we meet with Makarov, we tell them, 'oops sorry, forgot i was also a enemy at some point, guess its time to betray like real enemies do' and as we set Makarov free, we show that we have been working as his spy ever since they betrayed us. also can this be with a female reader and we also marry makarov behind their backs so thats why we betray so hard? i love u!
A/N: anon knew what they were doing with that ask…anyway, here you go my love…betrayal as a meal <3
--- F!Reader, soldier!reader, enemy!reader, betrayal, mentions of torture and violence
A/N: also, not much of an angst since I don't want to kill Soap in this one...but I hope you like it
[Present day]
File #21712
Name: [Readers Last, First name]
Alias: Grim
Callsign: Bravo 0-5
Gender: F
DOB: [Redacted]
Rank: 2nd Lt.
Affiliations:
-TF 141 (Former)
-Kasper Team (dissolved)
-Konni Group (Current)
Status: Alive. Threat.
Summary:
Deadly, fast and a killing machine. Soldier was trained as a recon sniper and has been trained by allied forces as an insertion specialist. SAS has recognised this soldier as a necessity for most of its joint operations. Decorated with high awards and recognition by all military forces. TF 141 acquired soldier after a mission in Al Mazrah. Capable of killing all those that come between her and the goal, will not hesitate to harm enemies.
----------------------
The file was there, Laswell and all of the men in the team stared at it. What have they done, was all that played in their minds. To betray a soldier that has been wanted by all allied forces, by all teams and now losing you so quickly to a Russian group. To think your hands will be responsible for their demise. One torture room, where you begged as they did vile acts against you. Truth yelled by your gravelly throat, only to have Price ask for more of your blood. "How did he get to her so quickly?" Gaz asked, baffled to have lost you to the man you hated when this all began. "He had her all along," Kate spoke. Nikolai shook his head. "But how? We were her family," a betrayed Ghost said. "We betrayed her first," Price recalls.
[Eight years ago]
There had been suspicion someone within the base was working with KorTac, a double agent. All fake puzzles led to an unsuspecting, then officer cadet, you. Ghost and Soap made sure to tie you nicely to a chair. The same one that watched you bleed the truth as they cut looking for lies. You were always the hunter, never the prey. "Tell us, R/N, why the fuck were you talking to KorTac!" Price made sure to have the young Lieutenant punch you each time you stayed silent. Your blood on the walls of the torture-...interrogation room. "I told you Price, it isn't me!" Your eyes poured the truth they never saw.
"Fucking answer us!" Soap, more than ever hurt, slapped you. You play tough, but this hurts, the people you trusted with your life are now wanting to end it. An oath you hold close to you, now far away, or so they believed. The patch you wore with pride, is now ripped from your uniform. No longer friendly but an enemy. You knew what this meant. Ghost took his knife out, began to approach your neck with the sharp blade and before he took your life, Gaz walked in. A small-figured soldier is being pushed into the room. "Tell them what you told me!" Garrick barked. "I-it's me! I'm the one who is talking to KorTac," voice filled with fear, rightfully so. Ghost let go of the fisted uniform in his hand, and watched as your body fell forward. Soap, look of regret, held you in his arms.
On the way to the medic centre, Ghost was by your side as you kept whispering it wasn't you. The scar he made, is forever to be kept. Days of healing, hours of apologies. Nights when you didn't hear it, but the cold lieutenant apologised with a stream of tears on his face. A blade he cared for, neared your death.
A/N: Makarov's information has been updated for the reboot, so I'm basing myself on that
[Seven years ago]
[Saint Petersburg, Russia]
You visited the country as a civilian and bumped into a man on your way to your hotel. "Sorry, mate," you kept walking and then days later, the same man appeared in the hotel's lobby. Bumped into you and then as an apology for spilling your wine, he offers dinner. 36-year-old Vladimir was still not illustrated, not to any of his future enemies or hunters at least. You learned many things with him that evening, from his young years in the military and how his night had gotten better since meeting you. "It's wonderful, to have such a beauty like you visit such a dull country." He had you blushing and knew how to mess with your young heart.
"You're just saying that, Vlad," a smile on your lips. It was bizarre how he went from Vladimir to Vlad, a short name that meant too much to a man like him. "Well, it's true, my dear," his smile winning you over. He didn't know your real job and you didn't know his. That night, you made a friend, someone you hold dear. That night, he made a lover, a puppet to his future.
[Six years ago]
[middle of nowhere]
"Where are you taking me?" a blindfold on you as your boyfriend, Vlad, took you to yet another date. "You'll see my dearest," he whispers against your soft skin. Warm breeze hit your skin. The ocean, as free as you and him yearned to be. "Suprise my love," his thick accent melting your heart. The blindfold off you, you smile and hug him. This day, all truth was told, no arguments, just two lovers understanding each other's lives. "No no, my love, I would never hurt you," a promise he knows to keep. "And you wouldn't betray me, right love?" His hands cupped your delicate face as you nod. "I would never," you whisper as you feel his lips fall on yours.
From then on, no one knew who he was to you. But to his comrades, friends and family you were the girl who held his heart. The task force all thought you were just like them, stuck to the mission and not to civilian love. Dancing with the devil, making love to him and promising your all. An engagement ring that hangs with your dog tags. Secret love to never be told.
[Five years ago]
"Who is this?" Soap and Gaz looked at the photograph. "Vladimir Makarov, a Russian nationalist, born during the USSR," Laswell responded. "He's the target," her lips said. A knot at your throat, this can't be, you have to warn him. "Y'alright love?" Ghost's hand on your back. You nod. "Yeah, I'm just thinking," you turn to him. He nods, "Right, well, what do you think we should do?" He encouraged you, the new lieutenant of the team, no longer a cadet officer. It was something he pushed you to, to be the best. Proud smile on him when you ran up to him with the news. "I say we start with intel," you look at the photograph once more. It was your Vlad, no doubt. "Right, sergeants with me, Ghost and Grim stay behind for Laswell's next intel ask," Price nodded and left.
Days passed and Operation Golf was established. Ghost taught you how to perfect your ghillie suit. He just liked how you tried to make yours better than his, which always turned into, 'which Lt. wore it better'.
By midnight, as Ghost went to sleep, you left base to meet with Vladimir. Price and the two other men in a different country, looking for him. "What is it, my love?" His gloved hands held your face. "They are now gathering intel on you. They believe you are still in Russia," you spoke in Russian. He chuckles, "Shame that I'm here, isn't it," his lips meet yours. Your nose is cold and now warmed by his kiss. "Don't trust no one, not even Ivan," you warn him. "I only trust my beautiful love," he kisses you again. "Now, let me hold my precious darling before she plays pretend." And that night, was the first of many rendezvous's he took for you whilst you play ally to the task force.
[Four years ago]
You were on an operation with some old teammates from a past squad when Price got a hold of you. "Grim, it's that Captain Price guy!" A teammate calls out. You answer the call. "Prisoner 627 is now in Russia," Price proudly spoke. 627, a number unique to the case the military had opened for Makarov alone. Your wedding ring is hung with the dog tags. "Copy, out." You say over the call. That night, your bedroom was not filled with the call of your dearest lover. It's strange, to play pretend with the family you made as a soldier and to play feign with the man you call home as a wife. All in the name of love and war.
Months pass and you play calmly. No husband, just an enemy in some Russian prison. "Y'okay bonnie?" Soap sat beside you during mess hall. "Yeah, just a bit tired from that training," you lie. The sleepless nights you have thought about your husband. You look around the table, no one knowing you knew what would come next from Konni. In the end, it wouldn't be you who got betrayed again. Not tortured, especially not by the men in your husband's team that guarded your life with theirs.
Mission after mission, you would go to a country near Russia. Have meetings with people on your husband's side, and hear how he would escape prison. Asked you to stay away from his people when the day arrived. Play good, he would remind you. You know the date, time, how and when it would happen. The plan is all memorised in your head. You knew the people that would break him free, you knew it all and yet no one in 141 was aware.
[Three years ago]
On yet another mission, you got news of Vladimir. He isolated himself, prepared for when he would see you again. Sent letters to you occasionally. Details of love no one would see from a man like him. A love for all movie lovers to never witness. You roamed the home he set out to be his and yours, no one, not even his best soldier knew that home existed. It was days like these that you wished to have stayed in bed and kissed his body, all details to be taken in for when you waited to once more kiss him.
The picture of the secret wedding was held between your fingers. A smile he dreams to see as he awaits the prison break. The man who was set to believe evil held your hand and promised an entire lifetime of love. "I'm sorry," you whisper as your gaze focuses on the 141 emblem.
"Never be sorry, never, what they did to you is cruel, you never do that to a woman who was oathed in," fury escaped his lips. It was the night he finally told you all about him. He kissed the scars that the torture room left. In that moment, all else who dared question you, especially the rats of 141 would pay for what they did to his darling. Maybe he did corrupt you, but those scars, the lies they believed and the truths they never heard from you, were way before he met you. He believed in loyalty, good or evil, opposing or not. And the way you told him how you held the oath of being a soldier dear to you, he admired it. He believes that loyalty is essential, and if you are loyal to who you are, he applauds it.
[Two years ago]
A mission gone wrong, a phone call from within the prison. All he sacrificed to just hear you say, "I'm fine, honey." With that oh-so-soft voice of yours. A sigh of relief came from his lips. This was a reminder he would always be around even from within a guarder tower of hell. His men would always guard you, even if they fought 141, you were never the target. KorTac had a target on their backs when Vladimir found out they were the ones responsible for the bullet on your shoulder. "What is it?" He asked the guard. "The girl has been injured, gunfight at some mission." He had people that worked for him within the guards, and when the news arrived to him, that's when for the first time in his life, he feared life and a gun. Vladimir Makarov is a villain in everyone's eyes. In your eyes that hold paradise, he is peace. He is Vlad, your husband.
Whilst waiting for Soap to get cleared from the medics, you played with the ring on your necklace. "Oh, R/N, has some lover?" Gaz was the first to notice. Ghost's stare went to you, eyes wide as he heard the words he never needed to hear. Your blush told the words his heart never wanted to hear.
[One year ago]
[Las Almas, Mexico]
"Are you threatening us?" Ghost asked and in that moment, he made you back away. Guarding you with his body. Betrayal, the first of many he would see with you. That became the night you escaped the shadows of Commander Graves. Soap was somewhere in the city, Ghost and you escaped every chance the shadows had at catching you. Imprisonment is something you got Colonel Vargas out of. Ironic. By the end, you killed him, the man who used his shadows, in some explosion. "You alright, love?" Ghost asked as you went to the aircraft quietly. "Yeah, Mexico just tired me," your head hung as you played with the dog tags. "Who's the lover?" He finally acknowledged the ring. "No one, it's just a silly joke," you lie, something he knew well. "Hmm, yeah...a silly joke," he turned away from you.
[Present day, 21 November 2023 ]
[London, England]
The last time you saw them all as a team, well, now that you were sure you'd be a newfound enemy. With Makarov now out of prison, prisoner 627, your love called for him. As Ghost looked through the CCTV cameras, one of the men in Konni gave you the signal. And as you approached, you caught a glimpse of him. Your heart flutters and then you look at Ghost. He nodded and you pretended to try and fight against Makarov. Czar-9-0 Actual. The callsign of your husband and the name of the man you betrayed them for. Guns blazing, bullets directed at them, not you. Gaz and Ghost, a team, Soap and Price, a team, 141, one unit. You, the wife of the enemy. Two bullets and then, the head hit the ground. Young soldier down. "What are you doing?!" Soap asked as you turned on them. A 20-year-old soldier died within seconds, you knew him from when he joined at 18. James, the man whose blood ran on your gun.
Makarov fired, one of his men held your hand and brought you to your husband. The 141 patch off your uniform as now, you were given the Konni patch. "Welcome back, comrade," a man spoke with an evil grin. Ghost, the eyes that saw the betrayal again. 23 soldiers died, from both sides. 141 on the ground, trying to recover.
--
"C'mon, Grim, you have to trust me on this, yeah?" the young lieutenant that made Ghost told you. "What if we fall?" you asked. "If you trust me, we won't and if I trust you, we will go home and get a pint or two," He smiles at you. From this day on, you and he became close, a bond no gun could break.
--
Ghost swore you were taken hostage. And as Makarov was about to kill Captain Price, one of his men tapped him out. "No time, we will get him later!" Ghost's glare never left yours. He shook his head. This can't be, not his R/N. You looked at him, no remorse behind your eyes. It wasn't R/N, it was Grim that stared at him. The soldier he respected the most. You pointed your gun at one of the other soldiers with them.
It turned into something bigger
Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed
He jumped at you, to not kill you but to bring you back and let Makarov run with Grim. You pushed him, what turned into a fight for his teammate to be back, became a fight against the enemy. You pushed him to the ground. "Ghost!" Gaz yelled as he saw your gun pointed at him. It was never Makarov that would be his demise. It wasn't an enemy. It was you. It was the one he held dear to his civilian self. The woman he would drink poison for. The one he jumped a bullet for when they were young cadets. Stupid, stupid, stupid. His eyes never left yours and for a second, he saw past Grim and noticed the scared R/N that obeyed her husband.
Soldier down on that icy ground
Looked up at me with honor and truth
Broken and blue, so I called off the troops
That was the night I nearly lost you
You put your gun down and turn away, running to Vladimir. His open arms, ready to embrace his darling. Now, all of 141's secrets are with Makarov. It clicked in that instant. How four years ago Makarov knew who Ghost was. How well he knew all their names. It wasn't some file he saw when his hacker got in, no, it was you, the best of all pawns. The train cleaned your tracks. Price and the others stood in fear, all this time, you were part of Konni. Ghost stood in silence.
In every war he was in, you were there. His favourite of all soldiers. From his early days as just Simon to his latest days as Ghost, all witnessed by you. He was the one who asked for you anywhere he went. His life came in a flash, all the Christmas events, the dinners and drinks he had with his friend...no...enemy. The one person who knew Simon liked the palm of her hand, now holding the man Ghost called an enemy.
"How did he get to her so quickly?" Gaz asked, baffled to have lost you to the man you hated when this all began. "He had her all along," Kate spoke. Nikolai shook his head. "But how? We were her family," a betrayed Ghost said. "We betrayed her first," Price recalls. "But that was years ago," Soap comments. "It started years ago," Gaz mentions. "We weren't meant to win this one gentlemen," Kate informs.
"Fuck!" Ghost's blood boiled. He scared them, he knew that well. So when he slammed his fist on the table, he even made the best of soldiers flinch. "Lt," Soap tried to calm him down. "No, Johnny! You don't get it, you don't know her as I do," he approached the sergeant. "She didn't kill you, why?" Kate walks to the betrayed soldier. "What?" His voice is hoarse. "She had the chance to kill you, headshot even, yet she didn't, she ran to him and then when she did, all fire ceased." Kate is after all a mastermind. "She didn't betray Simon, she betrayed Ghost, she betrayed Soap, not Johnny, Gaz, not Kyle and Bravo six, not John." She states.
"She betrayed soldiers, not family," Price came to realisation. Grim did that, Grim killed all that came between the goal. 'Capable of killing all those that come between her and the goal, will not hesitate to harm enemies.' The goal wasn't to kill Task Force 141, it was to get revenge for the betrayal, for torturing you in a room, letting your blood drip. You married a man, something all fools do. But even though Makarov wanted you to pull the trigger on Ghost, you didn't. You ran away and the fire ceased.
There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair
A/N: see what I did there?...mastermind me y'know
Tags:
@tf141glory @liyanahelena @quaritchscupquake @dilfgestivo @thefragmented @scarletdfox @arialikestea @unicorngirly1 @alhaizen @willowaftxn83-87 @koniglovesme @bbyfimmie @mothcelestial @kit-kats06 @palomesa @dheet @dontfearthereaperazura
#cod#mwii#cod 141#ghost cod#mw2 141#141#task force 141#cod x reader#cod mw2#141 x reader#vladimir makarov#gaz cod#vladimir makarov x reader#cod mw3#soap cod#cod ghost#cod price#cod soap#cod modern warfare#call of duty#simon ghost riley#mw2#cod mwii#modern warfare 2#kyle gaz garrick#cod x you#cod x y/n#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty mwii#call of duty fanart
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sup homie it's mouse in the house!!! here asking for not professor lip, but when lip was a ta for youens. shy fem reader confronts lip about a paper he graded, because he gave her a poor grade, and things turn spicy™ -🐁
OHHHH YEAH THIS IS A GOOD ONE. i kinda made this like shy & prissy reader cause ... idk i got things wrong with my brain >:) this ended up longer than i meant oops! sorry not sorry
you text him about it bc he gave his number to the students and he has you come by his dorm, he's got the window open and he's smoking a cigarette, causing you to wrinkle your nose up in annoyance. you stand awkwardly to the side while looks over your paper again, then turns to face you.
"hate to break it to ya, kid, but this paper is shit. you bounce around too much, the content is there but its not organized, an' you brush over like ten topics instead of digging into three 'r four. if you can get me a revised version by wednesday, i can think about changing it. m'kay?"
you pout, listing off your extracurriculars and course load for a major and double minor, but he's not taking any of it. he stands up, rising a bit taller than you and tilts your chin up to look at him and in that split second he can just see the way your eyes glaze over, darting down to his lips, and he just gets this smirk on his face.
"look. you're a smart girl, yeah?" he asks and you blush but nod, and his gaze rakes over your face. "tell ya what. if you can explain this t'me, then i won't make ya rewrite it. but... i wanna fuck you right here over this desk. and if you're not into that, say the word an' we'll forget this ever happened." his hand brushes your hip, he lays the paper down on the desk before pressing lightly between your shoulder blades. "but i don' think you're gonna do that, cause you want this. dontcha, pretty girl?" and you just gulp and nod, letting him push your skirt up and ... yeah
SOMEBODY SEDATE ME.
#if u give a mouse a tumblr [mouse]#maggie’s musings [blurbs]#lip gallagher x reader#lip gallagher smut#kinda. not rlly but the idea is there#lip gallagher
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Walk With Me
❝In love with the idea of loving you.❞
PAIRING : Lee Minho x female!reader.
WORD COUNT : 4k.
GENRE : Smut, Fluff (wow no angst for once.)
WARNINGS/CONTENT : Past angst, established relationship, feelings and emotions, they're in love (to no one's surprise), Minho with long hair, mentioned Soobin.
SMUT WARNINGS : First time together, hair pulling (not the rough kind; minho realises he enjoys his roots being tugged at oops-, this bit inspired by this post by @tasteracha), voyeurism, public sex (late at night, so one witnesses it), unprotected intercourse, sweet lovemaking, so much love and feelings *sob*
A/N : Writting fluff is nowhere near what I'm good at, so feedback is really appreciated. Enjoy, lovelies. ♡
"Everyone can see."
It's a little too late for that now.
But it's not a complaint, not a protest, an objection. It's a simple statement, divulgence of facts, a declaration made by your brain that has long since lost the ability to conjure lucid postulations.
"Let them. Let them see," quickening of thrusts, desperation rearing its head in the most sinful of ways.
"Let me show them how much I love you."
"Meet me outside?"
The laughter of your girlfriends drowns out behind you as you weave your way out of the single room you've all gathered in, despite having been allotted seperate ones.
"Outside?"
"Yeah, outside," you don't need to be next to him to know that he's anxiously bouncing off the balls of his feet, rocking back and forth with his bottom lip caught between bunny teeth you flick your tongue across everytime you kiss him, without fail.
You'd have to make it a point to let him know of your adoration for them the next time he decides to take your breath away with his hot mouth.
And make no mistake, that's what kissing him is like, like losing your breath, like gaining your breath all over again; like being locked in an airtight, evacuated room, like being put on the ventilator with nothing but pure oxygen being pumped straight to your lungs.
It's dizzying either way. Whether it's being deprived of the gush of wind through your airways, or being forced to choke up on all the withheld supply of air all at once, it hurts.
It hurts to be with him. But you'll choose to be hurt, to be on the receiving end of the pain, if it means he's the inflictor, the hand on the trigger.
"Right now?"
"Yeah, if that's okay," he's nervous, something you both are a lot around each other from time to time.
"Uh, okay. Okay, yeah, I'll be out in a minute."
"Okay, good. That's good," you hear shuffling, and imagine him moving from one foot to the other, "I'll be waiting outside the dorms."
"Outside the— what if someone sees you?"
"They know anyway."
Which is the truth. Inherently the private person, you'd asked Minho to keep your newly budding relationship a secret from your peers, a request he'd agreed to almost immediately. Ever the understanding and gentle soul, he'd not once asked to go public with you, even though Hyunjin told you how he sometimes drunkenly mumbles about wanting to hold your hand when Soobin gets a little too close, about wanting to get you coffee on 7 A.M. Tuesday lectures when he knows you haven't slept for more than two hours, about kissing you under the lights on prom night when all couples got their fancy on and indulged in each other after a tough semester.
He wants, yearns, craves.
But you'd been cruel enough to deny him that. Trust issues and fear of commitment aside, you'd been afraid to tell people, to introduce him as your boyfriend, because saying that aloud would make it all the more real, and you'd no longer be able to control the flutter to your heart every time he appeared in your peripheral vision, you'd no longer been able to hold back the intensity of your feelings that seeming only grow with each passing hour, minute, second you spend looking at him.
It had scared you. Understandably so.
Caught up in over your head, you hadn't stopped to consider what it all meant for him, what he might perceive this as. He had no way of knowing what you actually felt, not unless you told him.
It all happened a week ago, when your phone dinged with a notification from Hyunjin. Instead of telling you, he sent you a video this time, a video of Minho slumped back against the wall of the speakeasy you both frequent, eyes shut with his head resting on the concrete.
dumplin [2:57 A.M.]
VID_3653833_219389.mp4
he's been like this for half hr
"I love this place," his intoxicated form had rasped in the video.
Hyunjin who was behind the camera had snorted, asking the reason for the sudden confession.
Minho had grinned, all toothy, bunny smile on display, "I come here all the time with my girlf—" only to stop dead in his tracks, eyes snapping open, neck suddenly ramrod straight with panic all over his drowsy features.
"Your girl..?" Hyunjin had prompted from behind the camera, barely stifling his chortle.
"Uh, my, my. Oh god, I don't know. I don't know what I was saying."
He always was a bad liar. Even in his hazy eyes, even through the shaky video, you could see the hurt, the pain behind his actions as he rubbed the heel of his palms against his eyes, chugged a bottle of water to sober himself up.
"It's okay, Minho. I know. We all know."
"Know what?" he had asked, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.
"We know you're dating the dance society president."
His eyes had widened, a fresh surge of agitation creeping its way onto his otherwise relaxed face.
"No. No, that's not true. Who told you that?"
Hyunjin had chuckled and told him he was the one who introduced you guys, and the other six seated on the table were among the very few people who did know of your apparently secret relationship.
"I don't know what you're talking about. She and I are just frei—"
The video had cut off there and half an hour later, you found yourself asking the local security guard for directions to 'The Late Bite'.
The bejewelled smile he cast your way as you entered the dining space lasted only a fraction of a second, him going back to pretending you were mere acquaintances and your heart had all but given up.
Marching to him, you had gotten him up on his feet. Ignoring the confused, almost frightened look to his face, you had for once asked your brain to shut the fuck up, and finally given in.
You kissed him. You kissed him on the mouth, swallowing the gasp he let out, ignoring the gasps the people in the diner let out, cradling his face with care befitting a porcelain doll, for truly, he was. As fragile as fine china, as delicate as the first rays of sun hitting the horizon.
Not the tough guy he pretends to be, the hard exterior, the unbreakable shell. You know him to be none of those things.
The dazed smile, the look of blatant relief he'd given you before collapsing on you, mumbling a small breathy, "thank you," was all you needed to know that you'd made no mistake. This was how it was supposed to be, always.
And so it had began.
He held your hand when Soobin got a little too close, he got you coffee on 7 A.M. Tuesday lectures when you were running on two hours of sleep, he held your nape and kissed you under the nightlights, because prom had passed by then but it didn't matter to him, he had kissed you, kissed you, and kissed you some more, till your head got fuzzy from the lack of air supply, till it was physically impossible to stay connected for even another second.
And that's how you find yourself here, making your way out of the girls' dorm in the quiet of the night, it being well past midnight by now— not before checking your reflection in the common bathroom once, fluffing out your hair, splashing some cold water onto your face.
He's standing under a street lamp with his hands into the pockets of his fleece jacket, unmatching with the track set he wears underneath.
He's the single most picky person you know when it comes to styling outfits, deciding what goes well with what, which colour compliments the undertones of another one. Well, besides you of course. Your friends teased you both about how you were practically cut from the same cloth, the same material but different textures, so alike in all the places that mattered, so different in all the places that didn't so much.
So the beige jacket atop the cherry red track set stands out a little too much, and your heart thumps a little too fast at the possibility of his eagerness to see you outweighing his need to look presentable at all times.
You shuffle forward, heart picking up its erratic staccato, the same way it does every time he's within a mile's radius, threatening to jump out of the confines of your ribcage, trying to lunge for what was once so out of reach, for far too long.
He's reclined against the street lamp, eyes closed, head thrown back against the cool metal pole, allowing the ombre light to fall straight onto his fluffy mop of hair. It's unstyled, freshly washed. The caramel tone compliments the muted yellow light streaming down his face, painting him, drowning him.
Your heart aches from running a mile a minute.
Or from feeling so full. You aren't exactly sure.
"Hi," you squeak tentatively, not wanting to disturb him when he looks so peaceful. And beautiful. God, he looks beautiful.
His eyes flutter open. Your heart breaks open with them.
He forgoes pleasantries in favour of wrapping his arms around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his chest, and you hold him back, hug him back, squeeze him like you never want to let go. Because really, you don't. Not now, not ever.
"Where's your jacket?" he mumbles into your shoulder, stroking his face back and forth against it, much like the stray cat that visits your dorm room at nights does.
"Mm?"
He chuckles, "It's cold out. Why didn't you put on a jacket?"
"Oh," you pull back, there's pink dusting your cheeks, and you really hope it passes as the consequence of the chilly night, "I guess I forgot."
He smiles wide, affectionate and all kinds of pretty, and the tear in the front of your heart deepens, curling a little to the back, threatening to split it into two.
It's not so impossible a situation, you suppose. Lee Minho is very much capable of shattering your heart into a million pieces with a single smile, then healing it back with a kiss to your temple, breaking it along new cracks, then moulding it back together with the same blowtorch he uses to melt sugar atop his Crème Brûlée, the blue flame made all the more hot with searing kisses, aimed at trapping you into this cycle where he plays with your heart, keeping it with him to do as he pleases.
And you'd let him. Let him have his way with you, to make you, unmake you, only to make you again.
You're his clay, and he's your artist.
You're brought back to the present as a sudden warmth engulfs you, and when you look over your shoulder to see the beige fleece jacket dropped around you, it warms you from the inside too.
"Hey, you'll catch the cold, you have an assessment tomorrow too—"
He shrugs, "I'll live."
"Minho, seriously I'm fine, here take it back—"
"It doesn't match my fit anyway," he entwines your fingers together and begins slowly walking, guiding you along.
It's then that it clicks. Glancing down, you take note that the jacket actually goes with your outfit, and you refuse to pick up on the reason for this coincidence, for certainly, it's not one. It's planned, thought out.
You'll ignore it all the same. For the well being of your poor heart that's working overtime, your senses that are on high alert, your hand, so so warm engulfed in his large one.
"Where are we going?" you ask instead.
"Just a night walk," he begins, and you've spent enough time with him by now to know that his voice sounds bashful, the little shy lilt to it endlessly endearing, "wanted to spend some time with you."
You clutch at your chest with the other hand, exhaling a deep sigh, and squeeze his hand, praying that it's appreciation enough, that it compensates for your inability to verbally acknowledge his thoughtfulness.
But if there's one thing that he's, without a doubt, mastered about you, is your tells.
He knows when you're too abashed to outright admit it out loud that you appreciate him.
He knows when you're too overwhelmed to downright confess you're having trouble staying focussed.
He knows when you're too exhausted to unequivocally divulge your reluctance to anything social.
He just knows. But you don't; you don't know what you did to deserve this, to deserve him.
You still don't think you do, truth be told.
When you snap out of your daze, you both are no longer on campus grounds, walking along a lone street you don't recognise, lit by flickering lights threatening to give out any moment, but in a moment of vulnerability that surprises even yourself, you find you're not scared. Because Minho is with you, and as long as that stands, as long as you're lucky enough for that to stand, you know you're safe.
"Where are we going?" you echo your previous question.
But this time, he grins with a mischievous glint to his eye, looks you over and his pupils dilate, as if merely looking at you is enough to kickstart his heart into overdrive, "You'll see."
And see you do. Twenty minutes later, here you stand, bare feet pressed into the wet sand by the shore, both arms wrapped around his bicep, head resting on the trusty shoulder, humming along to the sound the breeze makes as it whisks past you.
"Are you cold?" he whispers, despite there being no one except the two of you on the beach at this time of day, taking your hands in his and swiping his thumb over your knuckles, assessing the answer for himself, lest you lie to not worry him. "Mm. No, you're not," he hums to himself, guiding your head back where it rested against the crook of his neck, only this time wrapping his own arms around, engulfing you in an embrace that speaks of warmth, of comfort, of love.
But for some reason you aren't sure of yourself, you resist, not taking his lead in going back to your previous stance, instead just staring into his eyes with something you don't know, but it seems he does, for his facial expression turns from surprised to lovestruck in the matter of a second.
He leans in, granting your silent request. Really, you don't know how he does it, almost like you don't have to say anything at all, for he hears you loud and clear without you having to utter a single word.
If what people say about having a soul person is true, he is yours.
And as your lips slot together, the waves behind you crash the loudest they have today, as if the nature is rejoicing, the elements exuberating, witnessing the collision of two beautiful souls, their stitching together into a single bracelet in the form of two bright pearls.
He is the black one, burning passion and quiet peace.
You are the white one, inherent perfectionist and loud existence.
You compliment each other, matching almost every piece of clothing in the wardrobe, neutralising when the other gets too much, burning along when the other gets dim.
"I love you."
You don't know what love means, what it stands for, what it entails.
But you're in love with the idea of loving him.
"I love you," you echo into his mouth, forgoing the "too" at the end because it makes it sounds like a passive confession, a favour returned, when it's easily the truest statement you have had to utter in all the time you've spent thinking about him, him, him.
"I love you, I love you," and alas, once you say it, you can't seem to stop, you want him to know, you want the whole world to know. You want to write it on the stars for the universe to read, that you are his, and he yours.
"I love you so goddamn much."
It hurts, it hurts so much, more than it did an hour ago when you caught sight of him standing outside your dorms. Now that your heart is aware of the gravity of what it feels for him, it just hurts.
When he pulls back, it's to hold your chin in the care of his palm, making you look at him, his eyes glittering with the beginnings of perspiration.
"I love you," he says simply.
To any onlooker, it might have seemed tame, insane maybe, for you two haven't been saying anything except the same three words in the last ten minutes.
But you know, only you know that they aren't the same words.
The first time he said it was to test the waters, to see if you would run away.
The first time you said was to check for yourself, did you love him?
The second and third time you said it was to tell your heart that yes, yes you did, you loved him more than you did anyone before, and it's a wonder how it took him saying it first for you to realise that.
The final time you said it, it was to him, to let him know that you did.
The final time he said it was to say yes, he knows, he knows that you do, that he knows the first two confessions were for your heart more than they were for him, that he's proud you've let down your walls enough to let him in, that he's grateful you've chosen him.
You suddenly find yourself descended on the shore, your back pressed into the cool sand that tickles your nape, Minho hovering over you with a look that can only be described with three words.
I love you.
"Be mine?" he says with wet kisses trailing up your jaw, stopping after every one to take in a deep inhale.
It's silly maybe, to say that when you're already dating but you know what he means, for you feel the same.
"I already am," you say as your body cants upwards, up, up, up, towards him, towards safety.
His hands trail down your body to where the waistband of your sweats sits, tracing along the diameter it transcends, looping his arm to the back to lift you up a tad more.
"Can I?"
You don't know what he's asking for, your motor and sensory neurons having stopped working, still chanting the same words over and over, 'iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou'.
So you nod, letting him undo the knot that rests on your lower stomach, letting him expose you in a manner most intimate, letting him have you for him, surrendering to the onslaught of pleasure.
When he sinks down on you, stretching you open for the very first time, it's with a groan you wish you could record, paste onto your eardrum, for every time a sound reaches the tympanic membrane, it would vibrate, carrying with it the symphony of the voice you want to hear every second of everyday.
As the initial euphoria of letting him in wears off, with him buried to the hilt, you look up at him, his soft brown hair falling down like curtains on either side of his temple, spilling over his nape that's suddenly too narrow to contain all the strands. And it's then that you remember saying you loved it whenever he was too busy and pushed back going to the salon, his long locks a guilty pleasure, your indulgence.
You reach your hand forward, entwining it with his silken strands, just holding, feeling, "Did you grow them out for me?"
"Yes," he whispers without a beat, as though waiting for you to take note of it without him having to say it first.
This time, the tears do trickle down your eyes, staring up at what you only appreciated from a distance.
"I can't believe t-this—" you choke out the last word when he begins moving, ever so slightly pulling back, pushing forward with a little more force, a little more ardour, the veins in his neck all the more prominent with the strain it takes to hold himself back from going faster.
You tug at his roots, a sharp hiss emanating from somewhere deep in his throat, the roll to his eyes evidence enough of how there's now another reason for him to keep his locks long enough to pull at.
He presses his body closer to yours, coming down on his elbows, kissing down the trail of your hot tears on even hotter skin underneath. It's his way of saying he's listening, an unspoken encouragement for you to continue, but also that it's okay if you don't.
But today is the day you've decided to bare it all to him, to not coware back, to let him know what only you have for what seems like forever.
"I s-saw you on the day of the orientation," you barely get out, coherence slipping past your fingertips much like the fine sand particles you're currently making love atop.
He stills, looking into your eyes, searching for something, "The very first day of college?"
You nod, stretch your lips into what you hope is a smile for your tears are cascading down with a current, sweeping anything and everything that dares come in the way of your route to him.
"That was like, five months ago," he seems incredulous, unbelieving that you were, in fact, the first to notice him and not the other way around.
Entangling your other hand into his hair, fingers brushing the one already slotted in there, you chuckle, "Yeah, it was like, five months ago. I had my eye on you for quite a while, pretty boy."
He doesn't buy the distraction you only half hoped he would, tenting his eyebrows into an upside down V, "And?" he prompts, yet again knowing that there's more to what you're saying.
"It's silly," you mumble, turning away from his gaze that puts your well being at risk.
A gentle finger to your chin, a swift sway of your face to pin you under the same gaze.
"Tell me." Simple as that, with no way out.
Maybe you don't want one.
"I-I saw you on the first day, a-and… I just, god you were so pretty, I thought— I wanted you already, but I thought you were a little too pretty, you know? And, and that eveyone would want you too, and you'd have so many options, ones better than me, and I'd have to get in line, and then—"
A firm press of lips, locked together in love and lust, in lieu of reassurance that you know is still coming.
"It was you for me, always," he says when he pulls back, "there's no line, no one else, just you. And me. Just us, hm?"
"Mm," you hum, losing yourself in the rhythm of his hips that have begun moving once again, small whimpers escaping right into his ear that is pressed against your cheek. Whether it's deliberate or not, you don't know.
He grasps onto one of your ankles, winding it around behind him, the space thus created allowing him to push in all the deeper.
"Oh god, Minho—"
His pace picks up when you pull his hair enough to cause a faint sting on his scalp, in addition to being a direct result of the way his name keeps overflowing past your lips.
You gasp, fighting for air, clutching onto his shoulders, afraid he'd slip away if you let go, "Everyone can see."
It's a little too late for that now.
But it's not a complaint, not a protest, an objection. It's a simple statement, divulgence of facts, a declaration made by your brain that has long since lost the ability to conjure lucid postulations.
"Let them. Let them see," quickening of thrusts, desperation rearing its head in the most sinful of ways.
"Let me show them how much I love you."
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Holidays - Christmas
Bucky Barnes x reader (GN)
Summary: An accidental series centered around the various holidays with my beloved Bucky Barnes
Warnings- Alcohol/drinking/intoxication, swearing, Soft!Bucky (a warning bc oh god I love him he's a cutie patootie), mentions/themes of self-doubt and self deprecation.
Word count- 3.6 k (WAYYYY longer than I meant it to be, oops!)
Author's Note- Reading pt 1 is important (I recommend a reread) :)
“GN” for this part is heavily masc leaning (all my gn is written from a male perspective, but there are more tones of “male” in this chapter imo)
!!!Not proof read, if it’s shit just lmk!!!
Colored text are lyrics from different Christmas songs btw
Masterlist
Read Pt 1 HERE
✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°
Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?
You liked Christmas a lot more than Thanksgiving. Sitting on the couch of one of the many lounges in Stark towers, you had a cup of spiced apple cider in one hand and were reaching for a blanket with the other. Mid Friday afternoons were meant to be wasted on doing absolutely nothing… especially when you didn't have a single mission to prepare for.
In the lane, snow is glistening.
With a week until Christmas, Tony had made it his life's goal to make the tower wreak of the holidays. Every room had been decorated with some form of reds, greens, golds, or silvers. Some rooms got a more childish makeover, felt Santas and reindeers, with big faux snowflakes. And the kitchen was a simple winter wonderland, silvers and whites with twinkling fairy lights.
It was truly breathtaking. You’d give Tony that…
The lounge you were in right now was reminiscent of the classic holidays. A large, deep green pine tree stood tall in the corner, adorned with dark red ornaments and cranberry/popcorn garland. The electric fireplace was crackling softly as the TV played the holiday songs you queued up.
You were curled up on the couch, a fluffy blanket draped around your form as you sipped the hot cider. It was a moment of peacefulness that you rarely got to feel anymore. Though, in just a few hours you'd need to go get ready.
A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight,
Of course, no holiday would be complete without a famous Tony Stark party. This was the only one you would have to drag yourself to this season. The big SHIELD party with all the agents, Tony's staff, and more figure heads than you could count. It was going to be
Honestly, you liked the big parties. They were easy to fade into. Get a few drinks, talk to just enough people, and get lost in the vibes… So, you weren't exactly dreading it.
What you were dreading was leaving the room. Well, no, dreading wasn't the right word… Tony had hung up mistletoe on each entry way in the building, including bedrooms.
It was at the Thanksgiving party that Bucky told you he liked mistletoe, you had assumed he was flirting with you, obviously. But once you actually saw mistletoe, you felt the nerves explode in your stomach.
Did he even remember telling you that? Both of you had drunk a decent amount of alcohol. You wouldn't blame him if he had just said that to fill space, it would hurt but you wouldn't blame him.
Dreading wasn't the right word because though you skirted past the flora at inhumane speed, you had a hope lingering in your bones that he'd pop up. That Bucky would point it out and make the move…
But that wasn't his style, and you knew it. Bucky wouldn't wait for some stupid plant to dictate what he did and with whom, if he wanted to kiss you he would. He was bold, took what he wanted, confident and unapologetic. Everything that drew you towards him were the same things that confirmed your worst fears.
You swallowed another gulp of your drink, gripping the ceramic mug a little tighter. It echoed the burn in a similar way to the alcohol at the Thanksgiving party, but didn't leave you feeling lightheaded.
He doesn't want to kiss me, you mentally admitted.
Walking in a winter wonderland
˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧
If you could’ve gone in your pajamas, you would've. Dressing up to the nines was never your favorite, sure it was fun for a little, but once the sweat seeped into the fabric of your shirt you lost interest.
I’ll have a blue Christmas without you,
Still, you knew once you just got there and found a few people to mingle with, you would be fine. You'd have fun! You’d sing and party! You’d drink a lot!!
With a heavy heart, and one last longing glance back at your large bed with the welcoming blankets and book on the nightstand… you fixed the cuffs of your emerald green button up and exited to the hallway.
The lights had all been dimmed, a reminder that you were the last person showing up for this thing. Did anyone notice you weren't there yet? The party really only started an hour ago… a quick peek at your smart watch told you no. No alerts, no texts, no missed calls… not even a Team message.
I’ll be so blue just thinking about you,
“I didn't mean to be the last one,” You mumbled to yourself, pulling out your phone to check the time once more (and to verify you had absolutely no alerts). As you walked a little faster to the elevators, the silence in the tower was eerily welcoming. With the decorations about, you felt like the creature that stirred in all of the old Christmas tales. Walking purposefully to keep the noise to a minimum reminded you of all the times you’d sneak around on Christmas eve to see if you could catch Santa or something similar.
The main rooms aside from the bedroom hallways pulled you from the distant memories. Carpets that switched to off-white tiles made you subconsciously straighten your back and stand a smidge taller.
Your shoes sounded loud on tile, forgoing the muted walking in favor of speed. By habit, you hug the edge of the frame as you step into the elevator, avoiding the mistletoe that hangs above it.
How many times had you passed that while with Bucky? They had all been hung up for weeks and surely the two of you had been under them together at some point? Oh, God… Bucky. He was definitely at the party. Not that you didn't want him to be there! But since you’d been in your head all day about him, he was becoming someone you didn't really want to see.
Decorations of red on a green christmas tree,
As the elevator rose, so did the tense knot in your stomach. Those same nerves that had you fiddling with your buttons and rings were now transforming into something arguably worse. Hunger.
Breathing out a tense breath, you allowed a smile to pull on your lips as you remembered Tony’s promise to the team- his bribe to Steve to let him even throw this thing- Food and drinks from Asguard.
The food wasn't anything truly remarkable, it was like Midguard food but with more complex flavors. Things that lingered longer, tasted bolder, but all in all the same. What was remarkable was the drinks. That shit could get the super soldiers wasted, so it would most definitely spice up your night as well.
Wont be the same, dear, if you’re not here with me,
˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧
Oh yeah! You chuckled mentally, taking another hearty sip of your spiked cider, Asguardian alcohol is just what I needed…
The party was loud- very loud- you could hardly hear yourself breathing over the Christmas carols. Though, the carols were becoming more and more sparse as the night progressed. Interrupted with more club music and modern beats as the hoard of dancers decided they couldn't effectively boogie down to O Holy Night.
Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
Cowards, all of them, you thought to yourself as another remix of some pop song thumped from the speakers. You sighed and rolled your neck, working out the kinks as you tried to shift away from the bar. Your face was feeling warm and the liquid gold of alcohol in your hands wasn't going to get spilt just because of an intoxicated person.
You were on your 4th(?) drink? But this was the first one that was Asguardian. Honestly? You probably should've just been doing this all night! It hit your stomach lightly and was smooth going down, the type of alcohol that would definitely mess you up if you weren't careful… which was probably why they were only letting people only have one drink.
“Woah, ok, I think I’m getting deja vu,” A deep voice chuckles as a familiar man slides up next to you. You hadn't been avoiding him, honestly surprised you’d only seen him just now. His voice sounded wiggly as he placed a hand on your lower back. Mmm, you might be a bit more intoxicated than you thought you'd get… A spark of heat shot through your body at his touch, your spine stiffened as you tilted your head towards him.
Let your heart be light
Has he been looking for you? It might just be sudden wishful thinking, but you couldn't deny the giddiness that fluttered through your veins at the thought. Thanks to the only lighting being strobing red and green fairy lights you really couldn't clearly see his face, but his expressions were always something of an open book to you. Bucky initially held a carefree grin, but after just a few seconds of dizzying eye contact, he looked concerned.
When you didn't reply (instead just clumsily nudging his hand away from your body), he leaned a little closer to ask, “How many drinks have you had tonight?” The playful tone mostly dropped from his voice and replaced instantly with a deep seeded concern.
Dazzling.
From now on, our troubles will be out of sight,
You noticed he had shifted his arm to be just enough between you and some person who was dancing quite wildly. You felt warm, perspiration on the nape of your neck and lower back. The dancing bodies and close confinements weren't helping at all.
“Uhm,” You mumbled as you looked towards the bar. Your brows pulled together as you tried to count the cups you had gone through. “Fffffour….” you slowly said, uncertainty laced in your voice. Your tongue blindly ran over your lower lip, like you were subconsciously trying to remember the taste of all the drinks you had previously consumed.
Though your tongue felt heavy, you'd argue you weren't drunk. Grinning as you looked down at your drink, you would definitely be drunk after this one. Almost instantly, you found yourself forgetting he was in front of you.
Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
“That… doesn't sound right,” Bucky muttered, a wary smile ghosting over his face. His voice cut through your haze, pulling your attention back to him. He gently reached out to tap the side of your cup, the iced brown liquid sloshing slightly, “I think you've had a bit much, hm?”
You wrinkled your nose and sniffed at his declaration, “Four isn't much,” you argued.
“And,” You quickly add, leaning towards him as a smile pulls on your lips, “This is my first one with the good alcohol.”
You notice his lack of drink, and his demeanor is far more sober than you would've expected. In fact, you don't think he drank at all tonight. He mirrored your grin, sucking in air through his teeth as he nodded down to your cup once more.
“Mh, I don't think you need the good alcohol,” He gently teases, "You're plenty drunk as is.”
“Youre not drunk at all,” You counter, his presence was more sobering to you than water was. It was that same feeling of cold water that vividly lives in your mind ever since the Thanksgiving party. You knew why he made you feel sweaty yet freezing all at once, and you briefly wondered if he felt the same.
“Told you I'm not a day drinker,” He says with a sigh, shrugging casually. He gently grabbed your wrist, loose enough that you could pull away if you wanted. When he knew you weren't going to shove him off again, he guided you towards one of the bar stools.
Make the yuletide gay,
You sat on the raised stool, just a hair taller than Bucky now if you sat up straight. The ache in your feet appeared as you finally took your weight off of them.
“... it's 11 pm,” you chuckle as you set your chin in your hand, propping yourself on the bar. Your other hand idly played with the lip of your cup.
Bucky drew you in, he always did. The thoughts of drowning out your feelings with drinks tonight flitted quickly away. It was easier tonight to silence all the noise in the room. The music, people, and noise was all just clutter in the way of Bucky.
“Yeah, on a FriDAY,” He replied quickly with a lighthearted eyeroll. Shaking his head with a faux disappointed expression.
You loudly snort and lightly shove his arm at his stupid pun. You don't think you’d ever heard him make a joke that wasn't dry humor or a cleverly worded insult. It was like a breath of fresh air, and you could tell that it was new for him too. Though, the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes was quickly brought back to concern and care.
From now on our troubles will be miles away,
Your conversation for the next half hour was lighthearted; pointing out those who looked out of place as the night progressed, finding a team member who was getting a little too into the holiday spirit, and those who were very much not enjoying the spirit. Bucky slowly moved a bit closer to you as you talked, close enough that you wanted to believe he felt the same way.
Though the conversation was what you truly needed tonight, your drink hadn't gone untouched. Drinking it a little faster than the others that you had objectively nursed throughout the night. The alcohol definitely hit you harder, but you still felt as tipsy as when you started. By Bucky’s wry looks and the slow build in gentleness of his words, it was clear you were more wasted than you'd ever been around him before.
Here we are, as in olden days,
Happy golden days of yore,
˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧
Though the years I’ve moved a lot,
“I thought you said Christmas was your favorite holiday?” You mumble to Bucky, sipping from the cup of water he had given you once he walked you back to the main kitchen.
It was dark in the kitchen, only the silver of the moon reflecting off the snow provided light in the room. The way it caught the silver tinsel that adorned the cabinets made it look like snow was falling inside as the specks of light reflected off of it and onto the walls.
“It is,” he admits with a small nod. He had been leaning against the countertop with both forearms while he played with some of the fake snow fabric that sat under a tiny ceramic neighborhood, “Well, kind of…”
Different doors with different locks,
“Kind of?” you echo as you arch an inquisitive brow. You gulped down the last bit of water in your cup, holding it out to him to be refiled once more. You bite back a burp that rumbled up your throat, stomach agitated at the water as it mixed with the alcohol.
“Mostly a fan of the mistle toe,” he reminded you, glancing up at a sprig that hung above the door frame just a few feet away. He did not look at it long, the quiet hiss of the faucet running as he filled your cup once more. He slid it towards you, “Last one, I promise, then I'll let you sleep,” he murmured.
Your grumbles died on your tongue as you forced yourself to take another sip, "Didn't take you as a sap for that kind of tradition,” you honestly tell him. Just a few hours ago you would've scolded yourself for saying that without second thought- no - you wouldn't have even let the words leave your lips.
“Wasn’t about tradition, I just never found a good time to kiss you,” he immediately replies. You paused, looking up at him and meeting his light blue eyes. If you were any more sober, you probably would've become instantly flustered. Perhaps laugh it off and deny it.
But somehow Christmas always finds me,
But you weren't sober. And you were a little sick of waiting.
“You can kiss me now.”
Your voice didn't sound like your own. Though you felt confident, feeling like you had nothing to lose, your voice was a timid whisper. Your tongue felt heavy again, and the turmoil in your stomach only grew as your mouth worked faster than your brain.
It’s been a while since I wished,
But Bucky only grinned. He shook his head ‘no’ as he sighed. He stood up and peaked at your cup of water, not much had really been drunk.
“I'm not going to kiss you when you're drunk,” He whispers, taking the cup from you and dumping it down the sink when he pieced together he'd already gotten you to drink all the water he could.
“I'm not drunk” you denied, letting him gently usher you towards your room. Though, your stumbling steps and spinning vision told you otherwise.
For roller blades and pixie sticks,
“You wont remember this in the morning," He teased. The hint of disappointment in his voice wasn't missed by you, “That is enough to tell me you're too drunk.”
Once you made it to your room in one piece, you leaned heavily against your door frame. The welcoming scent of pine and the warm reds of your bed sheets called to you. Only making the fog of sleepiness thicker.
“What if I do remember?” you whispered, face falling as you tilted your head to the side.
There wasn't mistletoe above your door. You noticed it almost immediately when decorations had been put up. Well, in all fairness, no one had it above their bedroom doors, but right now you were extremely disappointed.
“Then we'll find some mistletoe.”
But somehow, Christmas always finds me
˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧˖°✧
Is it too late, too late? To let you know,
Your head only lightly ached the next morning. Pounding back another two cups of water the moment you woke up and mentally thanking Bucky for making you drink last night.
Right…
Last night…
Had… had he really said that? Or was your brain just that desperate for a sappy hallmark-esq Christmas moment?
Well, there was really only one thing you could do.
You did not spare yourself a second glance as you left your room, you already knew what you must've looked like. Hair sticking up in every direction, sleep still in your eyes, shirt crumpled from sleeping like a log.
I can pass it off as hungover, you tell yourself, hardly paying attention as you shuffle to the kitchen. It was early enough that the place was still quiet, a chill in the air from a cracked open window that made you shiver. Everyone else probably drank way more than you did, and they didn't have a super soldier mothering them to drink water directly afterwards.
I can’t quite escape,
Blinking and adjusting to the brightness of the kitchen, you scowled as another gust of wind blew through, Just be vague, but not too vague, you thought as you struggled to pull the window shut.
“Got it?” Bucky asked as he stood from the table, he was sitting close enough to the wall that you hadn't seen him there. His sudden appearance startled a response out of you, pulling your arms back to your body as you jumped slightly.
“I remember,” you quickly blurt out, arms falling to your sides.
You felt stupid as you just stood there, both of you looking at each other for a few silent moments.
How much I need you,
“You… remember last night?” Bucky asks, voice emphasising ‘night’ as he pushes away from the table and walks towards you carefully.
The way he looked you over made panic settle back in your bones. He was just taking care of you, you were misremembering things, you were just drunk and now you're just desperate.
“Yeah, last night…” you dumbly agree. “Or, I at least hope I do” was silently said.
You’re walkin’ towards me now,
“How much water did I make you drink?” He asks, voice low. It was just so that he didn't wake up anyone else. He probably doesn't want to be too loud since everyone else is also hungover…
“Four. One for each drink I had,” I sound stupid, I probably look stupid too, “But I didn't finish the last one.”
Bucky nodded at you, the small smile that pulled on his lips made your mind go blank. God, you'd do anything to see him smile like that all the time.
“And?” He prompted. With each step closer he took towards you your heart hammered louder and louder. How did he look so put together in the mornings? Like he's been awake for hours… Gosh, he looks great all the time-
What am I gonna say? Push my pride aside,
“And… there's mistletoe,” you mumble, finding your voice with only minor struggle. You didn't have to look to your right to know there was a small sprig of the plant pinned to the covered support beam of the ceiling. You had memorized where all of them were, as to be always close to them but never directly under them.
“There’s mistletoe,” Bucky whispered. And in a moment his hand gently cupped the side of your face as he kissed you. His head tilted to the side as his lips were pressed firmly against yours. They were soft as he gently pulled your body closer to him, your own hand falling to his waist and the other grabbing his shoulder.
When I close my eyes, It’s just you and I,
You didn't know how long you were there with him, though you knew you kissed him back instantly. The other thing you definitely knew was that this moment, disorderly standing in the kitchen that was overly decked out in whites and silvers, you weren't going to be forgetting any time soon.
Hell, now Christmas is your favorite holiday.
Well, mostly the mistletoe.
Here under the mistletoe
#bucky barnes#bucky x male reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky x reader#bucky x you#bucky barnes imagine#avengers x reader#avengers x male reader#avengers#marvel#i dont know how to write kissing scenes#bucky my love#its too early in yhe morning for htis shitty writing omfgggg
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