#a story is a vehicle for truth
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absolute worst thing it could've been was "and it cycles back to the beginning."
no clear answers. no clear questions. no definitive statements. just more "guess I'll always be insecure, and we're not even sure that's a bad thing, the only bad thing is killing yourself."
I hope this isn't the conclusion they've been claiming it is. Because that was no conclusion at all.
#“And the cycle begins anew” is not a story#a story is a vehicle for truth#and all stories end.#so that had better not be it.#Clancy#twenty one pilots#paladin strait
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this is beautiful
#i miss when shows were good#when they weren't so focused on political messaging#and just told universal truths#they were stories#not propaganda vehicles#(and i mean this for all political/social propaganda not just one side or the other)#the andy griffith show
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I feel like many people have a fundamental misconception of what unreliable narrator means. It's simply a narrative vehicle not a character flaw or a sign that the character is a bad person. There are also many different types of unreliable narrators in fiction. Being an unreliable narrator doesn't necessarily mean that the character is 'wrong', it definitely doesn't mean that they're wrong about everything even if some aspects in their story are inaccurate, and only some unreliable narrators actively and consciously lie. Stories that have unreliable narrators also tend to deal with perception and memory and they often don't even have one objective truth, just different versions. It reflects real life where we know human memory is highly unreliable and vague and people can interpret same events very differently
#the way some people (usually lestat fans lol) talk about louis being an unreliable narrator has frustrated me#i still insist louis' unreliableness is mostly subtle (passing quickly over things he doesn't want to think about#presenting things that factually happened in a way he can build a story that makes sense to him#not knowing what lestat is thinking and feeling so interpreting him differently than lestat himself probably would)#rather than he's telling something that didn't really happen or is under armand's mind control or something#like for example i think it's been made very clear all the abuse really happened they're not gonna suddenly pull the rug from under it#if anything i feel lestat is going to turn out to be even worse than louis perceived him when we hear people who are not in love w him lol#keanu.txt
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Dialogue Strengthening Methods
Dialogue serves as the lifeblood of any narrative, offering readers a window into the minds, hearts, and souls of characters. When executed effectively, dialogue not only propels the plot forward but also deepens character development and fosters emotional engagement.
Authenticity through Observation
Authentic dialogue begins with keen observation of the world around us. As writers, we are avid listeners and astute observers, capturing the cadences, quirks, and real-life conversations. For example, in a bustling market scene, the rhythm of vendors haggling over prices or the melodic lilt of a street musician's banter adds depth and authenticity to the setting.
Character Voice
Just as no two individuals are alike, each character in a story possesses a unique voice that reflects their personality, background, and worldview. Crafting distinct voices involves delving deep into the psyche of each character, understanding their motivations, fears, and desires. Consider the contrast between a grizzled detective who speaks in terse, cynical phrases and a wide-eyed rookie whose speech is punctuated by eager enthusiasm. By infusing dialogue with these individual nuances, characters come alive, resonating with authenticity and depth.
Subtext
Beyond the surface level of spoken words lies a rich tapestry of subtext—unspoken thoughts, hidden agendas, and underlying emotions. Mastery of subtext allows writers to imbue dialogue with layers of meaning, inviting readers to decipher the unspoken truths that lie beneath. For instance, in a scene where a character offers a half-hearted apology, the tension between their words and body language hints at unresolved resentment or guilt. By harnessing the power of subtext, dialogue transcends mere communication, becoming a vehicle for nuanced storytelling and character development.
Showcasing Emotions
At its core, dialogue is a reflection of human emotion—joy, sorrow, anger, love. Capturing the emotional essence of a scene requires a delicate balance of words, tone, and context. Instead of explicitly stating characters' emotions, skilled writers show them through subtle cues—hesitant pauses, clenched fists, tearful eyes. Consider a scene where a parent confronts their child about a secret they've discovered; the trembling in their voice and the quiver of their lip betray a mixture of concern, disappointment, and love. By allowing emotions to permeate dialogue exchanges, writers forge a visceral connection with readers, eliciting empathy, laughter, and tears in equal measure.
Conflict and Tension
Dialogue thrives on conflict and tension, driving the narrative forward with relentless momentum. Whether it's a heated argument between lovers or a tense negotiation between rivals, conflict infuses dialogue with urgency and dynamism. Consider a scene where two political adversaries engage in a war of words, each vying for dominance and advantage. By pitting characters against each other, whether in overt clashes or subtle power struggles, writers create opportunities for growth and revelation.
#writing#writer on tumblr#writerscommunity#writing tips#character development#oc character#writing help#creative writing#writing block#writing advice
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The LaDs Men healing your inner child...
...they accidentally evoke your insecurities and comfort you.
❧ Part III - Zayne - Healing Hearts
Pairing: Zayne x You Synopsis: You pretend to be fine when Zayne is called back to work on his day off. Word count: 901 Tags: workaholic zayne, disappointment, neglect, romance, fluff, comfort Side notes: Wow, are we already at Part III? Zayne's story is actually the reason why I created a mini-series instead of posting all four stories at once. It simply got too long, and I had to rewrite the other stories to match their length. In this part, we address the theme of rejection and neglect, but luckily, we have Zayne to help us realize that our feelings matter. Part I - Xavier ❧ Part II - Rafayel ❧ Part IV Sylus
Beep-Beeeep.
A sharp sound cuts through the peaceful moment as you lie on the couch with Zayne. Still exhausted from yesterday's mission, your head rests on his lap, and you're about to fall asleep halfway through the movie while his fingers softly stroke your hair.
He carefully leans forward to reach for his pager on the coffee table while you rub your sleepy eyes. Noticing Zayne's serious expression you slowly sit up next to him. ''What's wrong? An emergency at the hospital?''
Zayne nods as he stares at the pager, reading the message from Akso Hospital. Today was his day off, and he promised to spend it with you. He takes a deep breath and sighs, sliding the pager into his pocket while he shifts his worried gaze to you. He hates himself for asking you this. ''MC, do you mind if we reschedule our movie date?''
You swallow as your heart drops at his words. You saw that coming.
More people are falling ill since the days grow shorter and the nights become colder. Even doctors and nurses aren't spared, which leads to a shortage at the hospital. Zayne had already told you that he was on call, but you had hoped he wouldn't be needed.
''No, it's fine. I think I'm too tired for a movie marathon anyway.'' You reply with a forced smile, even though you feel like crying. You haven't had time for each other in weeks, but you know how important his patients are to him. Putting your needs aside is something you're used to, and you don't want to be a burden by asking him to stay. Instead, you nod heavily as you stand up from the couch, pretending to be alright. ''Let's go, Zayne.''
The young doctor watches you intently for a moment before responding, his eyes following your movements as you walk over to the coat rack to grab your jacket. He knows you too well and can clearly see the disappointment behind your feigned bright expression.
He wishes he could silence the pager and dismiss it, but the oath he's sworn holds him to his duty. So he clears his throat and keeps a straight face, even though it’s breaking him inside to walk away from you.
''Alright. I’ll drop you off on the way.''
Zayne's attentive eyes are focused on your profile while the motor of his vehicle purrs softly. It's been the only sound since you left his apartment and your silence couldn't be louder to him.
When the signal turns green again, he reluctantly takes his gaze back to the road, his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel as he tries to figure out how to get to you.
Beep-Beeeep.
The sigh that escapes your lips as his Pager goes off for the second time today is not missed by him.
''I apologize that we have to postpone our date. I didn't expect it to end like this.'' You hear Zayne's calm voice as he tries to reach you, hoping for a response. You shift in the passenger seat, staring out the window, not really focusing on anything. Another faint smile appears on your face as you turn to him, wondering whether you should tell him the truth: That you feel rejected and disappointed. That you miss him and want to be with him.
But there is this numbing feeling that you might come off as too needy, as someone who clings and is just too much to handle. ''It's okay; don't worry too much about it, Doctor Zayne. We can always meet again on your next free day.'' You say as you stop in front of your apartment building.
Without waiting for his response, you get out of Zayne's car and close the door a bit harder than you intended. You know it's not his fault and that he didn't intentionally let you down. Yet a crippling feeling of neglect washes over you as you retreat from his sight. Completely unaware of his longing gaze upon you as the engine starts again.
Later that day, you have already resigned yourself to spending the evening alone when you suddenly hear your phone vibrate on your desk. Your heart skips a beat as you see Zayne's name on the display:
''I'm taking the day off tomorrow to compensate for today and bought two tickets for a movie tonight. Would you like to accompany me? I'm waiting downstairs.''
You rush out of your apartment as fast as you can, still in disbelief that he is actually here. Zayne is leaning against his car, and a smile spreads across his handsome face as he sees you running towards him, jumping straight into the arms of your beloved. He chuckles softly as you bury your face in his chest before looking up at him.
''Zayne, about earlier... I'm so sorry for how I acted I-'' Your words are interrupted as gentle, green eyes stare back at you while he slowly shakes his head. ''No. You don't have to act strong all the time.''
You feel his arms loosen around you, and just as you start to panic, his warm hands gently wrap around your trembling fingers. ''It's alright to feel disappointed when things don't go your way. All you have to do is tell me how you feel and promise to be honest. I will accept you, no matter which side you show.''
Thank you for reading! Cherry 🍒 Updated Nov. 20th: Added links to the other parts + fixed formatting.
#writercheri 🍒#cherimoyatea🍒#love and deepspace#love and deep space#love & deepspace#lads#l&ds#love and deepspace zayne#zayne love and deepspace#lads zayne#zayne l&ds#love and deepspace fic#zayne x reader#zayne x mc#zayne lads#zayne x you#love and deepspace fanfiction#love and deepspace fanfic#lads fanfiction#lads fic#l&ds fic#l&ds fanfiction#love and deepspace x you#writers on tumblr
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City of Light
The following is Chapter 10 in the Toy series, but it can (mostly) be read on its own. 🙂
15,477 words.
---
Even in the darkness of near-midnight, Paris was still beautiful.
The sparkling lights contrasted sharply against the decades and sometimes centuries-old buildings they illuminated. Even as you flew by them in the hired van, the weight of history was nonetheless impressed upon you by almost every structure you passed on your way to the hotel.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Hirai Momo says, softly, as though she were talking to herself. You turn to find her similarly entranced by Paris’ lights, even as they painted her soft features in blue and white.
“It is,” you agree, as you return to watching large, particularly ornate buildings fly by your window.
“Some of these buildings must be centuries old,” she continues, her voice surprising you with its depth and thoughtfulness. “How many people have been inside them? How many stories have started and ended in their walls? Kind of crazy to think about. Feels like history is right there outside this window, passing us by.”
It was the kind of statement you’d expected from one of the more introspective members of Twice, but admittedly not from Momo, whom you’d assumed didn’t really give much thought to things like the histories of cities and the stories of the people within them. When she turns to give you a look she lets a slim smile play across her lips, as though she were proud of herself for having surprised you the way she did.
“What?” she prods.
“Nothing,” you answer, “It’s just…”
“Just that that was something you’d expect one of the other girls to say? One of the… smarter ones? Mina or Jeongyeon or… Chaeyoung?”
You are taken aback by how forward she was being - your conversations with her over the past few months were casual at best, and rare outside of the bedroom. Truth be told, though, she wasn’t too far off from the truth.
“Well, yes,” you admit.
“Figured,” she says. There is the slightest hint of disappointment in her tone as she turns back towards the glittering lights flying by the vehicle. “You’re not the only one that would think so.”
She doesn’t seem open to continuing the conversation, and so you leave her be. You ponder her words in silence for the rest of the trip, feeling suddenly guilty for having assumed so much about the young woman next to you.
---
The check-in process at the hotel was relatively painless, much to your relief. You’d come to realize that many of the high-end hotels the girls regularly stayed in had staff on hand that were fluent in English, saving you from having to rely on your high-school level French and a translator app.
The elevator you occupied with Momo opens its doors on the fifth floor, where your room was located. The company had splurged on a penthouse suite for Momo, as it often did with its performers. Despite this, the hotel as a whole was still one of the higher-end ones in Paris, and you were looking forward to grabbing some room service and much-needed sleep in a fancier room than you were accustomed to.
“The makeup people will be here early,” you say with a sigh as you grab your wheeled luggage and get ready to vacate the elevator. It was well past midnight now, and you both had a long, important day ahead of yourselves with Momo’s appearance at a fashion show. “I can give you a call around six, make sure you’re awake-”
Momo stops you, her hand grasping your forearm while you are halfway out of the elevator.
“You’re the only manager here,” she says, matter-of-factly. “So you’re all mine for this trip, aren’t you?”
You find a smile on her lips, and you quickly return it. You knew what she meant, both with her words and the look that accompanied it.
Truth be told, you had settled more into the managerial side of your “job” in the past month or two, and this week-long trip and Momo’s appearances at two fashion shows, five days apart, was your first time as the sole on-site manager with one of the girls. While you were still on-call for the girls’ more physical needs, you also knew this trip was an opportunity to really make something of yourself at the company beyond just being entertainment for the girls. As such, you found that you were more focused than usual at making sure it went off without a hitch.
But as serious as you were about making sure the trip went smoothly from a corporate point of view, you weren’t one to turn down an invitation, particularly when it was shaped like Hirai Momo.
“Of course, Momo,” you relent, stepping back into the elevator and hitting the button for the top floor.
---
Jetlag was a bitch, though.
Momo had decided to take a shower after you’d both entered the luxurious penthouse suite - and you were powerless to resist the call of the luxurious, expensive-looking couch that dominated the suite’s living area. A short nap while Momo unpacked and undressed, you thought, just a quick rest for your eyes, then you’d get up, sneak into the shower with her and give her the pounding of a lifetime-
The alarm on your smartwatch jerks you awake four hours later.
You wipe the sleep from your eyes as you groggily swing your legs down from the couch. The light emanating from the open bathroom door informed you of Momo’s presence in it, and so you drag yourself from the soft, warm, comforting couch to check on her.
“Have a good nap?” she says, even before you fully enter the ridiculously large bathroom. She shoots you a small smile in the oversized vanity mirror, and you manage to return it despite the sleep still lingering in the corners of your eyes.
The smile lingers on her lips as she watches you for a moment longer before returning her attention to the bathroom counter. Before her are an array of cosmetics that made up her daily skincare routine, and she fiddles with the small plastic containers and vials, apparently searching for something.
“Yeah, I’m sorry,” you admit, rubbing your face with both palms as you lean against the bathroom’s doorframe. “I just can’t get any sleep on planes.” Your first-class seats meant you were admittedly more comfortable than you’d ever been on a flight, but your inability to sleep on planes still resulted in fifteen hours of restlessness. Momo, being well-used to such luxuries, slept like a baby, which explained her high energy levels despite dawn being an hour or so away.
“I even left the bathroom and shower door open,” she admits, smile turning sly even as the elusive cosmetic continues to evade her. “Didn’t think you’d miss the invitation.”
The implication underlying her words stir something in you, and you step into the bathroom, drawing close to her. She smells softly like vanilla, and the sweet scent of her still-damp hair finally shakes the last cobwebs of sleep from your brain.
She loosens the neckline of her white bathrobe slightly to dab something against the soft skin of her neck and upper chest. The generous cleavage she reveals is unmissable in the mirror, still moist from the shower. Rivulets of water stream down her perfect, creamy skin. You reach around her torso, placing a hand softly on the knot of her bathrobe.
“Is this another invitation?”
Her gaze remains locked on herself in the mirror as she continues to dab the small cotton pad against the soft skin of her neck, although the smile curls into a mischievous one. You both linger there for a moment in silence - she must’ve taken pleasure in leaving you in suspense - until she finally decides she’d teased you enough. She places the cotton pad back on the counter, finding your gaze in the reflection of the mirror.
Without breaking your gaze, she undoes the bathrobe’s knot at her waist, pulling its folds apart to reveal her nakedness beneath. Round breasts, toned stomach, long, perfect legs - but it’s her eyes that draw you in. Round, full, somewhere between cute and lustful. Irresistible, either way.
You step close, planting your first soft kiss on the newly revealed skin of her neck. Your arms wrap around her body, your fingers finding her flat, toned stomach, and placing your palm flat against it, enjoying the feel of the slightly quickened pace of her breathing at this first intimate touch between you. Her scent, the feel of her skin beneath your palms, the small gasp she makes as you place a kiss behind her ear - it’s all so alluring, so intoxicating.
Her skin is warm, moist beneath your lips and your hands. Beads of water from her shower trace a path down her neck, past the round curves of her naked breasts, and onto the flat plane of her stomach.
“You’re still wet, Momo,” you whisper into her ear. She sighs softly. You drink in the sight of her closing her eyes in the mirror, canting her head to the side slightly to reveal more of her neck to your lips.
“You have no idea,” she whispers, softly. After a few more kisses on her neck, she turns her head so she is looking over her shoulder at you. You share a kiss, and the touch of her lips on yours is pure electricity.
She grasps the hand you’d placed atop her stomach, and drags it down her body. Your kiss deepens when your fingertips brush against the wet, warm heat between her legs.
She was right - she was dripping.
She lets a low, slow moan escape her lips as your fingertips graze the soft, warm flesh between her thighs, your middle finger tracing a slow path upward from the base of her opening to its tip, collecting her plentiful juices on the way.
“Since you refrained from joining me in the shower, I had to get myself started,” she says, softly, eyes still shut softly. Her lips have parted slightly, warm breaths of pleasure leaving them with each soft stroke your fingertips make between her legs.
“Sorry, Momo. Let me take care of you.”
She smiles to herself.
“You’re all mine this trip,” she says, softly, as her eyes slowly drift open, finding you staring at her reflection over her shoulder. Between her legs, your ring finger joins your middle one, tracing slow, careful strokes up and down her opening - barely penetrating, carefully spreading the lips of her pussy apart, preparing her for what was to come.
“All yours,” you say against the back of her ear, breathlessly.
“No other toys, no other girls. Just you and me. All mine, just mine.”
“Yes, Momo,” you gasp, suddenly short of breath. The feel of her slick pussy on your fingertips, that tight, hot body pressed against yours - it was so much to take in. “I’m yours,” you say, “whenever, however you want.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“I am, Momo. I’m yours.”
She grasps your other hand from where it is clutching her hip, and draws it up her torso until it is cupping a full, round breast. Almost on reflex, you capture her taut nipple between your index finger and thumb. She sighs in your arms as you squeeze her breast and tease the nipple atop it, enjoying the heavy weight of it in your hand.
“I don’t believe it,” she repeats, turning her head again to kiss you. Your lips find each other, tongues not long after. Her body writhes like liquid in your arms. Her cunt leaks her juices onto your fingers and between them.
“I am,” you manage to say, between kisses that were quickly becoming heated, more intense. “I’m yours.”
The kiss continues. You’d kissed her before, of course, but never this passionately, never with this much intensity or intimacy behind it.
“Prove it, then,” she says, breaking the kiss just long enough to get the words out from between your mouths. For the first time since you’d entered the bathroom you look directly into her eyes, and not through the reflection.
Dark brown, round, filled with an intensity that takes you by surprise with its depth.
“Momo,” you say, unable to really conjure up more than her name. You can feel yourself being lost to her, feel yourself losing your higher faculties and becoming a simple-minded slave to your base needs. “I’m yours,” you repeat.
“We’ll see,” she relents, even as she brushes her nose and then her lips against yours, teasing a kiss that never comes. “But I still have my doubts. I think you’ll have to fuck them out of me.”
That’s it - that’s what snaps the last vestiges of your self control. You crush her lips with yours, driving them against hers with so much force that it might have hurt her - not that she cared, not when she wanted the same thing.
Your fingers tighten around her nipple, pulling and twisting, squeezing the soft flesh of her breast in your palm. Lower, your fingertips slide inside her.
She moans into your kiss, lips breaking contact for just a second to fill the bathroom with the sound of her pleasure. The kiss continues for a moment more, but she breaks it again when your fingers slide inside her to the hilt.
Her eyes drift slowly open, holding your gaze, even though your faces are touching, your noses and lips brushing against each other as you finger her slowly, sliding your fingers in and out of her slick, hot cunt. Your eyes remained locked on each other as you continue to finger fuck the young woman in your arms.
You’d fucked her before, roughly, sometimes with one or more others sharing the same bed, or couch, or shower. You’d seen her in the throes of orgasm as she’d cum on your cock, heard her spit filth into your ears, watched her as she’d lain there a sweaty, cum-filled mess after one of your sessions - but you’ve never seen her like this. Those were rushed, hard, messy sessions driven entirely by basic lust; this was something else entirely. Momo had never looked so soft, never looked so vulnerable.
It never felt so intimate.
“Mmm, fuck,” she gasps, “that feels so good.”
“I’ll take care of you, Momo,” you say, the words leaving your mouth almost faster than you knew you were saying them, your desires working faster than your brain. “I’ll take care of you this trip. I’m yours. I’ll make you cum, as much as you want.”
“Do it, please,” she replies, eyes fluttering, body writhing in your grasp. The hand over yours on her breast tightens. She begins to quiver, legs losing their strength as the pleasure builds between her legs.
“Please,” she continues. “Make me cum.”
Your hand leaves her breast, wrapping around her torso, pressing her back against your chest. Her eyes dart open for a moment, finding yours in the mirror’s reflection. Her lower lip curls under a tooth as your fingers move inside her.
Her eyes shut again when they find the right spot.
She moans, and the warm, lovely sound that leaves her throat bounces off the hard marble and glass of the bathroom, filling your ears with her pleasure. It increases in pitch and frequency as your fingers work between her legs - slowly building in pace, not too fast, not too much all at once. Just a slow, steady increase.
Her legs are jelly now, the arm you’d wrapped beneath her breasts doing more and more to hold her up against you than her limbs did. She reaches back with a hand to grasp your scalp. She arches her back, throws the back of her head against your shoulder as you pleasure her.
Her reflection in the mirror is sex - that perfect body of hers, perfectly shaped, perfectly fit, just perfect - writhing and quivering in your arms. And her face - my god, her face - wracked with pleasure, eyes shut and brow furrowed, mouth agape as it spills a chorus of moans and sighs from her lips.
Between her legs, she is so wet, so slick that her juices are running between your fingers, staining your palm the back of your hand, some of it dripping down to the cold marble in heavy drops as she makes a mess of you and the floor beneath her.
“Cum for me, Momo,” you hiss. Your lips are pressed against the soft skin behind her ear and while your words weren’t very loud, the effect they have on her is obvious. She tightens around your fingers, begins to pulsate. Her moans reach a new pitch.
“Cum for me, Momo,” you repeat, fingers merciless between her legs. You maintain your pace, no longer moving any faster inside her, simply staying at that speed and tempo. You knew she was right there, right on that delicious edge when building pleasure threatened to become an orgasm. You wanted her to stay there, even as your words tease her, tempt her into throwing herself over it.
“Mmm, no, don’t want to yet,” she says, the words tumbling from her drooling lips in a half-drunken slur, “no, don’t want to cum yet, want, oh fuck, want to, fuck, want to stay here, it feels so good, just like this, just like that-”
“Cum for me,” you snap. “Cum on my hand.”
“No, please, fuck, just a little longer please, don’t want to cum yet-”
You let her have her way - for a few moments more. You savor the sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her entire body is trembling. Her fingers are claws - one digging into your scalp behind her, the other on your forearm. What a sight; you want to freeze it, want to sear it into your memory for a lonely day.
“Yes, yes, so good,” she pants. Saliva drips from the corner of a slack mouth. She is a slave to the pleasure emanating from her cunt. She’s helpless, teetering on the precipice of a pit she wasn’t sure she wanted to fall into, not when the simple danger of it was so wonderful, when the threat of cumming so hard was so hard felt almost as good as actually cumming, when she felt so close to something she wasn’t sure she wanted, not yet, not when she felt so utterly-
“Cum for me, Momo.”
When she cums it is almost violent, the way the entirety of her body shakes and quivers and trembles in your arms. Her legs give way, until only your arm around her torso and fingers inside her cunt keep her upright. She tightens almost unbearably around your fingers. Her moans cut out momentarily, but only for a second, because when she finds her voice again the sound that leaves her throat is nothing short of a shriek.
You hold her close through it all, not moving your fingers inside her, simply holding her upright and letting her ride the waves of pleasure as they crash against her.
It takes a few minutes for her to recover. Longer than usual, not that you minded watching the unbearably beautiful, near-naked woman in your arms recover from one of the strongest orgasms you’d ever given her. She is wet, sweaty, slick. Flushed and pink, breathing heavily. Dripping sex, figuratively and literally.
While she is still recovering, you push forward slightly with your upper body until she finds the strength to brace herself against the counter with quivering arms. Then, placing soft kisses on the back of her neck, you slip your fingers from inside her. They emerge wet and sticky from her cunt.
You bring them to her mouth.
She begins to lick them clean. Eyes still drunk with pleasure, they manage to find yours in the mirror’s reflection. Her tongue gathers her own slick juices, slurps them up as best she can, licking up and down the length of your fingers and between them. She gets her juices onto her chin and cheeks, making them glisten with her wetness. Her eyes never leave yours.
“Fuck me now,” she says, half-moan, half-sigh as the last vestiges of her orgasm course through her veins. She swipes one last time at the juices that stain your fingers. “Fuck me like I want. Like you want. Fuck your cum into me.”
You slip your hand from her mouth, and she sighs at the absence of them. You strip the bathrobe from her shoulders, finally leaving her naked. Perfection in female form, all curves and perfect skin, marred only by sweat and spit and her own juices. Her eyes have never once left yours, locked on yours in the mirror’s reflection, until she turns over her shoulder to look at you directly.
She leans over the counter, arches her back, spreads her legs slightly. Her leaking cunt drips her juices onto the floor between you.
No further words. A few moments pass as you quickly undo the knot at your joggers and pull them down to your knees, revealing your aching, stiffened cock. You step forward, pressing her against the counter. One of your hands reaches out and squeezes a firm cheek of her ass, before sliding up her spine, fingertips tracing a path along the delicious curve there and resting on her shoulder.
Your free hand brings your tip to her dripping cunt. A stroke forward with your hips, and you’re inside Hirai Momo to the hilt.
Her pussy is tight, wet, slick - the feel of her body wrapped around your cock is sublime. Her ass is wide and full, her waist tiny, spine delightfully arched and shoulders possessing the right amount of tone - the sight of her bent over the bathroom counter, fully impaled on your cock, was enthralling, made you shiver with pleasure.
But it’s her face, her reflection in the bathroom mirror, that takes the cake. Her eyes, shut to relish the feel of being filled with your stiffness, slowly drift open before finding and holding your gaze. Her mouth opens to sigh at the feeling of fullness, that wonderful stretch inside her, before her tongue darts out to lick her lips. She says something, and you don’t hear it, but the message on her lips is easy to read, undeniable.
“Fuck me,” she mouths.
You slip your cock out of her halfway. The lips of her pussy clutch tightly to your shaft, not wanting to let it go. You glisten with her slick juices.
One stroke, then two. A third, a fourth. A slow build up of pace and depth and force. She takes it, letting small grunts and sighs punctuate each thrust you make into her body. Her arms brace herself against the counter. Her upper arms bring her breasts together, creating a delicious looking cleavage as they begin to be rocked back and forth with each impact of your hips on hers.
You tighten your grip on her, fixing her, keeping her still, rendering her unable to do anything else other than simply take each thrust you give her tight, wet little cunt.
You reach the rhythm you want, where you are fucking her, giving her long, smooth strokes of your cock. Her sighs turn into soft moans as she settles into your rhythm, matches it with her own with small movements of her hips, driving herself back at you, making each thrust that much more pleasurable for both of you.
You let your gaze wander. Everywhere you look is something you want to never forget - the round cheeks of her ass, her slim waist, even the soft curls and waves in her hair as they are plastered to her neck and upper back with sweat. And in the mirror, more; the dangling, bouncing mounds of her breasts and the tight nipples atop them, that lovely face of hers, soft features twisted and contorted with pleasure in the most beautiful way possible.
“Harder,” she says, softly. You oblige.
You reach forward, grasp her upper arms in your palms. You pull backward, lifting her upper body up off the counter, arching her back.
You resume fucking her.
She yelps at the first few thrusts in this position. She’s truly helpless now, fingers turning into claws as they helplessly search for something to hold on to and find nothing. Her breasts bounce wildly in the mirror, the large, round mounds impacted forcefully with each thrust you make into her cunt. They would be sore later, but she wouldn’t care, not if future soreness was the price to be paid for immediate pleasure.
She throws her hair back, sending sable hair flying. Her eyes roll to the back of her head. Her mouth slackens, able to do no more than moan and sigh. Saliva drips from the corner of her mouth, down her chin as she is fucked, hard, stretched cunt filled again and again with your cock.
You tighten your grip on her upper arms, pulling back slightly until she is almost upright. Throughout it all you are fucking her, pounding her tight little pussy, making her feel everything, giving her everything. Your brow furrows with the effort, your teeth grit.
“You’re so fucking tight, Momo,” you grunt, “such a tight little cunt.”
“Mmmmm, fuck--!” is the response from a breathless mouth. You up the pace. She takes it all, and every wordless moan that leaves her mouth at the peak of each thrust is proof that she loved each one. You fuck her hard, roughly. You take liberties with her body, using her cunt as you wanted, momentarily forgetting that you were there to serve her - and she loves every moment of it.
You’re the first to relent - as much as you wanted to fuck the young woman into oblivion in that position your arms simply couldn’t take much more. You release her upper arms, leaving clear marks on her fair skin, before sliding them up her torso. You cup her tender breasts in each hand, squeezing the heavy mounds, caressing and pinching her taut nipples. She cups her hands over yours.
“Mmmm, so fucking big,” she gasps. “So fucking big inside me, fucking me so good - and all for me, all mine.”
You bury your mouth in the side of her neck.
“All yours, Momo. I’m gonna fuck this little cunt, your mouth, your ass - all your holes, whenever you want. This cock belongs to you. I’ll take care of you, baby girl. I’ll take care of this body of yours.”
“Yes!” she gasps. “Yes. All mine. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re all mine, gonna, gonna fucking cum on your cock.”
You up your pace, but only slightly, just enough to make your impending orgasms that much more wonderful. The slap of wet skin on wet skin fills the bathroom. You let go of her breasts, but your hands don’t leave her, wandering to her hips, her ass, her shoulders - anywhere that let you hold her, grip her, tie her down. Anywhere that you could touch and squeeze.
“Gonna cum, baby,” Momo says to your reflection in the mirror. “Gonna cum on your cock.”
“Fuck, me too, Momo.”
“Cum in me, okay? Give me your cum. I want-”
Her sentence is interrupted with a long, drawn out moan as she nears her orgasm.
“What do you want, Momo? Tell me. Tell me what you want. I’ll give it to you.”
“I want, I want-”
You continue to fuck her. She’s so close, right on the edge once more, and you’re not far off. Your cock fills her cunt again and again and again and she’s losing her grip, and you’re losing yours, and the whole world means nothing aside from the pussy wrapped around your cock, her perfect body and bouncing breasts, the words leaving the girl’s mouth-
“I want- oh fuck, I want---”
“Fuck, Momo-”
“I want your cum inside me,” she spits, finally, right on the edge of cumming. “Cum inside me. Just for me.”
She cums, and you do too.
You have to hold her down, lest the full-body spasm that wracks her pulls you off your cock before you’d had the chance to fill her with cum. With one hand on her hip and the other on her shoulder you pin her down, pushing her over the bathroom counter until her head and upper chest are pressed against the mirror. One, two more thrusts and you bury yourself inside her, your cock spasming, filling her hot, messy cunt with warm, thick cum.
Your world explodes. Her world shatters into a million pieces. Either way, for a few beautiful seconds you’re both powerless. There is only the pleasure coursing through your bodies.
You grip her hip and shoulder so tightly you are afraid for a moment that you’ll bruise her delicate skin. And for a moment, you didn’t care if you did. All you wanted was to hold her spasming, quivering body still while you filled it with cum.
You both lie there, frozen, for a while - whatever a ‘while’ meant when your respective orgasms rendered your mutual concept of time meaningless. Your hands caress her body, sliding up and down her sides, squeezing a firm ass cheek or round, flushed breast, enjoying the feel of shower water and sweat and other juices beneath your hands. You feel hazy, drunk on pleasure, and everything takes on a blurred, unreal appearance, as though you were still asleep on the couch, and this was the sweetest dream you’d ever had.
A knock on the door is what brings reality crashing back into existence.
You both freeze - you’re still hilt deep inside her creamy, messy pussy. You find her eyes, still filled with a post-orgasm haze, in the reflection.
“The makeup staff,” you say, with a surprising, odd amount of clarity. “They’re here,” you add, as though it were some new bit of information that could shed further light on the ridiculous situation you’d both found yourselves in.
Momo squirms beneath you, but doesn’t move any further. She makes a small whimpering sound. It’s you that moves first when the second knock comes, easing yourself out of her cunt. Thick drops of cum and her juices drip onto the floor, and her whimper turns into a soft, low moan as she feels your cock leave her.
“I need to take another shower,” Momo says, softly, the pleasure still coursing through her body still making her feel high, feel drunk. “Tell them I woke up late. I’ll be out in ten minutes.”
“Okay,” you agree, taking a moment to grab one of the hand towels off the rack and giving yourself a quick clean before bending to wipe the evidence of your act from the marble floor.
You pull your pants back up, and Momo sheepishly steps toward the shower on wobbly legs.
You are turning to make your way to answer the door when she stops you with a hand on your upper arm. When you turn, she plants a kiss on your lips.
“Thanks,” she says, before flashing you that smile of hers and hopping back into the shower. Her cheeks are flushed, and she looks like a mess, but she is glowing.
You find a smile making its way onto your face as you turn to deal with the makeup artists.
---
She was bathed in light again.
This time the lights came from dozens of photographer flashes, each one belonging to a competitor vying for the best shot, the perfect visual capture of the young woman at the center of everyone’s attention. She relishes the moment, doing her best to pose the way they want, the way she knows will show off the best sides of her - not that there was any particular side that outweighed the others, because truth be told, Hirai Momo looked amazing from all angles.
“Fuck she’s hot,” Minnie says.
“Yeah,” you agree, your eyes not leaving the girl who was the center of attention of almost everyone else at the party.
“That fit - damn, not just anyone can pull that off.”
“I think you’d look fine in it.”
“Please,” Minnie scoffs, “don’t patronize me. There’s a reason why the cameras are pointed at her, and not me.”
“Yeah, you look like a real three day old bag of garbage,” you tease. You turn to her for the first time to flash her a smile, and she rewards you with a soft punch to the upper arm. In a similarly all-denim fit, Minnie looked pretty captivating in her own right, albeit in a more subdued, cute school classmate kind of way.
“I’m no slouch,” she admits as she takes a sip from her champagne flute, “but I look like a cardboard cutout compared to those curves.”
As much as you liked Minnie - she was close friends with several of the girls and thus you saw and interacted with her frequently - you couldn’t disagree with her. Momo’s all-denim fit, consisting of wide cut jeans and a halter top that was essentially a triangle of denim strapped to her chest that left her back bare, certainly put all those curves on full display.
You are both admiring Momo from afar when an older, well-dressed gentleman approaches you. Next to you Minnie straightens up and puts on her best smile, but she receives only a courtesy nod of the head from the newcomer.
“Excuse me,” he begins, in British-accented english that reminded you a bit of the way noblemen spoke in period pieces. “Am I correct in assuming that you’re Miss Hirai’s company handler?”
“Yes,” you answer, wondering for the millionth time at the series of ridiculous events that led to you being able to answer ‘yes’ to such a question.
The gentleman reaches into his jacket pocket to retrieve a business card, on which he scribbles something onto the back with a fancy looking fountain pen. He passes it to you, and you take a note of the company logo on the front of it - one of the higher-end brands in the fashion industry, that was for sure.
“I’d welcome the opportunity to meet with someone in your company regarding a business arrangement with Miss Hirai,” he begins. “My personal number is on the back of the card, should she wish to conduct that meeting… personally.”
Out of the corner of your eye you notice Minnie give a scoff under her breath before turning away and taking another sip of her champagne. You succeed a little better than her in hiding your disgust behind a smile.
You’d had your suspicions about the man from the second he approached, and his words only confirm them to be accurate. You had no doubt he did indeed represent the company he claimed to work for, but the generally slimy, greasy aura about him rubbed you the wrong way.
“I’ll make sure someone at the company contacts you,” you respond. “Have a good night, sir.”
He seems a little surprised at your curt reply and abrupt dismissal - this was a man not used to being rejected. Regardless, he manages a tart nod towards both you and Minnie before he scurries off into the crowd.
“What a piece of shit,” Minnie says under her breath, the second his back is turned - perhaps she’d wanted him to hear it. She was nothing if not honest with her feelings.
You nod in agreement as you turn the business card over in your hand, glossing over the number scribbled onto the back.
“Still,” Minnie continues, “that’s a fucking top-tier brand. She’d look pretty good in their stuff, not to mention what it’ll do for her career.”
“I’m not going to-”
“Don’t get me wrong,” she says, cutting you off. “There’s no way in hell I’d let her anywhere near that guy. But if you take it to the company maybe they can work something out - something that doesn’t involve slimeball execs luring models back to their hotel rooms in exchange for promises.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” you agree, your gaze returning to Momo, who was beginning to signal to her audience of admirers that she was ready to end the little impromptu photo session. If the photographers picked up on her hints, they didn’t show it - the lights continue to flash, and they continue to call her name in hopes that she’d turn to give them the angle they were looking for.
“Anyway, since there aren’t any high-end brand slimeballs hitting on me, I’ll be in the corner getting wasted on free champagne,” Minnie says with a sarcastic but warm smile. You return it - she was a sweetheart, and you hoped to see more of her.
“See you around, Minnie.”
She gives your upper arm a squeeze and shoots you a smile and a wink before heading towards another corner of the room, where several other idols and celebrities in attendance were congregating.
You stand there alone for a few more minutes while Momo wraps up. She gives everyone small, polite bows and waves as she slowly makes her way towards you, having finally broken free of the throng of admirers and the incessantly flashing lights that accompanied them.
“Who was the creepy old dude?” she asks.
“This guy,” you answer, handing her the card. She makes an intrigued face at the logo on the front before flipping it over and noticing the number on the back. Her curiosity turns into an unamused smirk.
“If you want,” you begin, “we can pretend we never got that card.”
“No, the company will want to know about this,” she answers, with more than a hint of disappointment. “This could be a pretty cool opportunity.”
“I suppose. But you’re sure as hell not dialling that number and meeting with him alone.”
She smiles up at you. Her eyes glimmer in the light of some far-off camera flash.
“Really? Are you going to protect an innocent, naive little girl like me from creepy old execs that want to take advantage of her?”
You smile, and she covers her mouth for a moment to hide her giggle.
“He wouldn’t be the first geezer to think I’d suck his dick and spread my legs just because one of his assistants sends me a bag with a fancy logo on it,” she admits, her giggle fading quickly and turning into a forlorn glance at the card in her hand. “Probably won’t be the last. One of the drawbacks of being super hot, y’know?”
Despite the sarcasm in her tone and the weak smile on her lips, there is a sadness in her eyes that breaks your heart a little.
“Here,” she says, handing you the card with a dispirited look. “You should probably make sure someone in Business Development at the company gets that.”
You draw closer to her and take the card from her hands. You tear it in half.
She looks up at you, the surprise on her face becoming a sweet smile. There is genuine appreciation there, along with something else you couldn’t quite name.
“I appreciate it, I really do,” she says, softly, before returning to a sarcastic tone. “But, like, they’re a pretty big brand. I never want to see that dude ever again, but I like their stuff, so maybe someone from the company can call their company…”
“I can probably… tape it back together?” you say, sheepishly fiddling with the two halves of the card and making a show of trying to piece the two parts together.
Momo giggles again, and amidst the loudness of the event, it sounds like music. “You’re too sweet,” she says, with a warm smile, before she draws close to whisper into your ear.
“And just for the record,” she says, “it’s your cum inside me, your cum that’s dripping down my leg. I don’t want anyone else’s. I just want more of yours.”
She leaves you there, speechless, for a moment that seems longer than it really was. She bites her lip, the slightest bit of ivory poking into soft pink, before sliding her tongue across it.
“C’mon,” she says, finally, motioning towards a corner of the room where Minnie is flagging down another flute of champagne from a passing server. “Can’t let Minnie get wasted all on her own. She’s tiny - so she doesn’t hold her alcohol very well.”
“Right,” you answer, slipping the two halves of the card into your jacket pocket. You’d make sure the guys in Business Development knew to avoid that particular executive when approaching their company.
On your way to Minnie, Momo tugs at your jacket sleeve.
“Hey,” she says, eyes locked on yours, thoughtful look on her features. “Thanks. Again.”
“You’re welcome. I’m yours this week, remember?”
She pulls away, gives you a thoughtful look over her shoulder, and leads you both to where her friend is polishing off her fourth flute.
---
The Eiffel Tower shone like a golden spear, a beacon against the darkness, a monument to man’s mastery over light.
Unlike other monumental towers in other world-class cities, which were often nestled amidst downtown skyscrapers and other buildings, the Eiffel Tower stands alone and unchallenged against the Paris skyline. That made it difficult to miss, and impossible to ignore.
It is a fact you were thankful for. It gave you something to focus on, something to distract you, if even from a moment, from the woman between your knees.
The simple deck chair you are sitting on squeaks in protest as the pleasure slowly building in your body causes you to squirm atop it. Between your spread legs, Momo smiles around a mouthful of your cock as she slowly eases it from between her wet lips.
“Does that feel good, baby?” she asks, knowing full well what your answer would be. But she asks it anyway, because she wants to hear the answer, wants to hear your praise, wants to hear just how much every little move she made was affecting your body.
“It feels fucking amazing, Momo,” you answer, knowing that no amount of profanity could possible emphasize enough how you felt in that moment.
“Good,” she replies, returning her attention to your cock, planting small, soft, almost chaste kisses along its length. She cradles it with her left hand as she continues her kisses down your shaft, placing a few softer ones on each of your dangling balls.
You reach out, run your fingers through her hair. She raises her head from under your shaft and nuzzles against your palm. Her eyes drift closed for a moment and a smile perks up the corners of her mouth as she enjoys the feel of your skin on hers. The hand on your cock begins to pump slowly up and down your length.
“Just enjoy it, okay babe?” she says, softly, eyes drifting open to lock onto yours. “Let me know when you get close - pinch my arm - and I’ll slow down. I’ll go slow. I want it to last. I want it to feel good.”
“Okay,” you answer. Momo gives you a sultry smile before returning to her work.
Her mouth is sublime - warm, wet, tight - that skilled tongue of hers playing around your head at the apex of each movement, pressed against the underside of your cock on the downstroke. Her hand matches her movements, pumping up and down in time with the movements of her lips and tongue.
You feel the pleasure building, and so you return your attention to the Eiffel Tower.
You wonder for a moment at the sheer scale of it, and how such an impressive structure was created without the construction technology of today. You weren’t really sure when it was built - perhaps early in the 1900s? The late 1800s? Regardless of its actual date of construction you knew it must’ve been a long and difficult process without today’s cranes and Momo’s tongue sliding along the underside of the head of your cock, sending another spike of pleasure coursing up your spine-
That deserved a pinch on her arm.
You can almost feel her smile around your cock as she slows down her pace significantly. Her tongue doesn’t pressed as tightly against your shaft, having momentarily retreated from the offensive it was waging on the tip of your cock. You let a sigh escape your lips.
Back to the Eiffel Tower - gee, the electricity bill on it must be staggering. You were a few kilometers away from it, but from here it seemed like every inch of it was illuminated in some way. It glimmered as though it were made of fine gold and brilliant silver.
It must’ve cost quite a bit to have it lit up like it was, every night. But it was probably a cost that the residents of Paris bore proudly - it was the fucking Eiffel Tower, after all. If you’d had something as iconic in your backyard you’d bet you’d be lighting it up as much as you could.
The very tip of the tower contained some sort of slowly rotating searchlight that sent parallel spears of light out into the darkness, as though being a giant lit-up tower of solid gold wasn’t enough to draw your attention to it and Momo’s doing it again, capturing the head of your cock between her lips before swirling the very tip of her tongue around its head and under the sensitive ridge where it met the rest of your shaft. With her right hand she begins to fondle your balls with a light touch; her left hand continues to pump up and down your length and oh my god-
Yeah, a definite pinch on her arm.
She lets your cock leave her lips, and you look down to find an amused smile on her lips. Her tongue darts out, sweeping the spit and pre-cum from them. She can feel that you’re closer now than she’d like, so her hands leave your cock, and she returns to placing soft kisses against your shaft. She nuzzles her face against it, grazing it with her soft cheeks and nose.
The Eiffel Tower, though - wow, what a monument. It was, like, big and stuff, and lit up and it’s so tall and Momo’s reaching behind her now, fingers working quickly at the buckle that held up the ridiculous triangle of denim that was strapped to her chest and now it’s off, and those large, round, perfectly shaped breasts of hers are bare naked, tits you and half the population of Paris had had their eyes glued to for most of the day and now she’s topless and looking at you with lust in her eyes and her hands are cupping her own tits and her fingers are playing with her stiff nipples and and the Eiffel Tower is definitely a thing.
“Jesus, Momo,” you spit, almost on reaction, as the young woman straightens up her back, giving you a full view of her topless form in the low light of the hotel room balcony. You were thankful, not for the first time, that the balcony walls were made of plaster and thus limited any chance of prying eyes witnessing what was happening on it.
Momo’s response is to bring her breasts to your cock, capturing it between the full, warm mounds. She looks up at you, making sure your eyes were locked on her, before she bends her head to spit on the tip of your cock.
Her saliva lands on your tip, before dripping down your already spit-slick shaft. She squeezes her tits around your cock, and begins to slide them up and down your length.
Your head tilts back and you let a sharp, breathless gasp leave your mouth at the feeling of it. There was no relying on the Eiffel Tower, now, not that any monument in the world stood any chance of distracting you from what was happening between your legs.
“Does that feel good?” she asks, another question she knew full well the answer to.
“Yes, Momo. Fuck.”
“Do you want to cum on my tits?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
“Mmmm,” she responds, continuing to slide her warm, full tits up and down your shaft. Warm, wet, slick. “I like you here, though, like this. Right on the edge…”
“Fuck, Momo, please.”
By way of response, she bends her head, does her best to swipe the tip of her tongue across the head of your cock as it appears from between her tits with each slide down your length. You’re getting close now, your limbs beginning to quiver, the pleasure building-
Momo lets your cock slip from between her tits. You sigh at the loss of that warm softness around your shaft. She returns to placing soft, simple kisses on its length.
“I didn’t pinch your arm,” you state, frustrated. You were right there, just a few seconds away, one or two more thrusts between her tits.
“I know,” she replies, a mischievous smile on her lips, before her tongue darts out and gives you a slow, careful lick from the base of your shaft to its tip. “But you look so good like this, all antsy, wanting so bad to cum all over me. So fucking hot.”
“Momo,” you say, her name almost a plea.
She relents - quicker than you were expecting, and saving you from having to beg - perhaps she’d been looking forward to your orgasm just as much as you were.
“Alright,” she says. “I’m not a monster. Don’t hold back, okay? Just cum. Cum for me.”
She straightens her back, slides your aching cock between those full, round, perfect breasts of hers once again. You don’t miss the way she captures her nipples between her thumbs and index fingers as she squeezes the full mounds around your shaft.
She spits on your cock again. Then she slides her breasts up and down your cock.
For a moment your mind flashes back to that very first night with her and Chaeyoung - the night that, without exaggeration, changed your life. The blowjob they’d started with was amazing, of course, but when you started fucking Momo’s tits for the first time - that was when it really sunk it. Before then it had felt like a dream. With her breasts around your cock, and that look of utter pleasure on her face as you fucked her tits - it suddenly felt very real.
And now here you were, in Paris, no less, with that same, beautiful woman on her knees before, your cock between her breasts again as she pumps them up and down your length. But you were alone, now, just you and her, and it somehow felt more intense than even than the first time. Was it the city? The fact that you were alone with her, with no other girls or toys to get in the way? The fact that there was something in the way she’d been acting in the past few days that made you think, for a moment, that this all meant more to her than a simple appearance at a fashion show?
The thought flees your head quickly amidst the pleasure coursing through your veins. It chases almost everything else away, leaving only the feel of her soft, warm tits wrapped around your cock. It feels amazing. It feels sublime.
Momo is sighing now, the pleasure she was giving you inspiring a similar pleasure in her. She continues to tease her nipples, even as she slips your cock in and out between her breasts. She wishes she were naked, that she could slide a hand down her body to the wetness between her legs - but the thought of it, that delicious itch that she wasn’t quite able to scratch - brought her almost as much pleasure.
“Fuck, Momo, I’m gonna cum,” you hiss, between gritted teeth. You are watching her now, hand tight on her bicep and the other woven into her hair. She raises her head to look at you, eyes glazed with almost as much pleasure as yours.
“Fucking cum all over me.”
Almost as if on command, your orgasm hits you - hard, intense, overwhelming. Your cock spasms in the soft warmth of her tits as it spurts thick, warm semen, thick ropes of it landing on her neck and chin, her upper chest, those perfect breasts. You want to shut your eyes, want to relish the pleasure overtaking your brain, but you force your eyes open, force yourself to watch as you paint Momo with your cum.
She lets a long, soft moan leave her mouth from the moment your cum lands on her skin. She continues to slide her breasts up and down your shaft, but at a slower pace now, the added lubrication of your cum making her feel even more slick and wet around your still-spasming cock.
You quiver at the pleasure in a way that you didn’t often during sex. The environment, the circumstances, the utter sexuality of the perfect young woman pleasuring you - it was almost too much to handle.
Your hands leave her body, and you slump backward in your chair as the orgasm finally winds down. Momo finally stops moving, settling her breasts down until they are wrapped around the base of your cock. Her tongue darts out playfully, sliding across your tip. You shudder, completely at her mercy.
Eventually she raises her head, releases your spent cock from between her reddened, cum-slick breasts. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes half-lidded with lust. Thick ropes of your cum paint her body, the white streaks contrasting against her perfect creamy skin, dripping down her chest in slow paths of glistening wetness.
She stands, and without a further word she steps inside the hotel room.
Just beyond her the Eiffel Tower stood proudly, a monument to humanity and everything it was capable of - not that you gave it a shred of your attention as you follow her into the room.
You watch, dumbfounded, brain hazy, as she undoes the buckle at her belt and lets the thick denim fall down her long, perfect legs. The small black lace thong she wore beneath it follows suit as she bends to slide it from her body, leaving her naked.
When she reaches the bed, she turns around and sits on its edge, beckoning you toward her with her eyes. You follow, slave to her, a thrall to her whims.
She lies back on the bed. She spreads her legs as you approach the edge of the bed, allowing you between them.
You reach out, caressing her warm, full thighs. They are flushed and pink, wet with the juices freely flowing from her opening. The slick wetness of her cunt glistens in the low light of the hotel room.
“I should be getting you back from what you just did to me,” you say.
She smiles - a sensual, sultry curve of her lips. “I’d say we’re even, considering what you did to me this morning in the bathroom. And besides,” she says, eyes locked on yours as she captures a rope of your cum from her upper chest with her fingertips, “you liked it.”
She slips her glistening fingers into her mouth, sucking your cum from them.
In response, you place your newly stiffened shaft on her body - the length of it lying atop her shaven mound. She gasps at the feel of it on her.
“What if I want to leave you like this, Momo? Look at my cock. Look at how deep inside you I’d be.”
She glances down between your bodies, to where your aching, stiff cock is lying atop her mound. She bites her lip, reaching down to caress its wet length, imagining it thrusting mercilessly inside her, comparing its length to her body and seeing how deep inside her it would end up.
“You won’t leave me like this. You don’t have the guts. You want to fuck me. You want to ruin this little cunt of mine, leave me here on this bed a little cum-stained, cum-filled thing.”
“Maybe I want to. Maybe I don’t.”
“You do,” she snaps. “And besides, it doesn’t matter what you want. You’re mine, remember? You do what I want - and what I want is your cum in me.”
You feel yourself giving in. How could anyone resist such a sight, such words? She’s perfect - hot, wet, legs spread, your cum is on her chest and she’s irresistible, in every possible way a woman could be.
“Fuck, Momo,” you sigh, defeated.
Her free hand continues to caress your cock, forming a ring with her index finger and thumb and pumping it up and down your aching length. She captures another rope of your semen from her upper chest with her fingers, before capturing the nipple atop her right breast and teasing it with cum-stained fingertips. She moans at her own touch, you gasp at the sight of her. Your hands, caressing her thighs, tighten around the soft, yielding flesh, holding on to the last vestiges of self-control remaining inside you.
“Do you like me like this?” she asks, breathless.
You grasp your cock with your right hand, bringing your tip to her dripping lips before sliding inside her. It rips a sharp moan from her lungs. You linger there for a moment, hilt-deep inside Hirai Momo’s tight, slick cunt.
“I like you like this.”
You begin to fuck her - as much as a part of you wanted to get back at her for the way she’d edged you out on the balcony, the tight, slick heat you were pumping in and out of did much to dissolve any thoughts of revenge from your head. The session in the bathroom this morning, the teasing at the fashion show, the way she’d pleasured you on the balcony - it had all boiled over, leaving no room for things like teasing or taking things slow.
There was only pleasure, now, and the hard, firm pace you set puts you both on the path to achieving it as quickly as possible.
At first she gasps and sighs as you fill her again and again, her body adjusting to the way you were taking her, her cunt stretching around you. She was still so slick and so very wet - perhaps some remnant of the cum you’d left in her this morning contributed to how messy she felt, or perhaps it was mostly her own juices. Either way, she was dripping even before you’d entered her, and now, as you hammer in and out of that juicy pussy, she was almost drenched.
“Fuck, fuck,” she hisses, between gritted teeth. She raises her upper body on her elbows, giving her a better look between her own spread legs where you are pistoning in and out of her body. She looks up at you, and for a few long minutes you stay like that, eyes holding each other's gaze as you fuck.
Her breasts are given a delightful bounce with each thrust into her body. The streaks of your cum begin to flow down their curves, leaving glistening trails behind them. You rip your eyes from hers to watch them bounce, hypnotically, mesmerized by their perfect shape and the way they moved on her body.
She gets the hint - returns her back to the bed, reaches and cups her tits with both her hands, squeezing their cum-streaked flesh, teasing her nipples again with needy fingers, giving you a show even as she pleasured herself.
It works, and the sight of her spurs you. You up your pace slightly.
“Fuck, yes, right there, just like that,” she spits, as you reach a new tempo. “Fuck me like that, fuck me like this.”
She continues to play with her tits, pinching and teasing her nipples, but you want to see them free, want to see them bounce wildly with every stroke into her cunt. You reach forward. Trapping her wrists in yours, you pull back towards yourself.
She is helpless now, her upper arms bringing her tits together and creating a delicious looking cleavage as they are rocked by each thrust into her tight little cunt. Her heels dig into your butt. She wants more, needs more. She’s moaning and sighing wordless little sounds of pleasure, of need. Your cum is on her bouncing, jiggling breasts and her perfect abs clench and her thighs are flushed and she’s so much, all at once, all for you, she’s made of sex and she’s yours to take.
But that’s not enough - you want more, want to see her lose herself to the pleasure, want to see her cum around your cock. You let go of one of her wrists. With your hand free, you reach down and begin to thumb her clit.
The moan that is halfway out her mouth turns into a shriek, a scream, at your touch. Her arm, free of your grip, finds your forearm as it works at her wet, slick flesh. Her nails dig into your skin, and the pain is a delicious spice to the pleasure you find in her cunt.
“Fuck, that feels so good,” she says, words falling from her lips in a tumble. “Fuck, keep fucking me.”
You do just that - hammering in and out of her tight, juicy little cunt as you thumb at her clit. She clenches and pulsates around you and you know you’re building her up to an orgasm that you hoped would be as powerful as the one she gave you on the balcony.
“Oh god,” she sighs, a sign that your hopes had a chance of being fulfilled. “Gonna cum so hard. Gonna cum on your cock.”
“Do it, Momo. Cum.”
“No, I don’t want to,” she says - a theme, now, with her, a kink you hadn’t known she’d had, discovered and out here in the open. She loved it here, right on the precipice. Loved the threat of orgasm, almost as much as when it actually came, for you and for her. She loved being teased about it, loved being goaded into an orgasm she pretended to resist, pretended not to want. Faux-resistance. Pretend. In reality she wanted, needed the orgasm - but every denial of it made it so much sweeter when it finally came.
“Momo, cum. Cum on my cock like a good little girl.”
Her free hand darts up to capture a cum-stained, bouncing breast. She squeezes herself, hard. Her free, bouncing tit glistens in the light with sweat and cum.
“No, no no,” she insists, eyes shut and head shaking no, even as her cunt tightens around your thrusting cock, mercilessly pounding into her, spreading her apart, making her yours. Her pulsating pussy betrays her needs, even as her mouth spits defiance. “Don’t want to cum yet. Don’t let me cum, I’ll be good, I promise-”
Your thumb works against her clit. It brings her right to the edge-
“No, no, I don’t want, fuck, you’re gonna make me cum. You cum first, cum in my cunt, please, cum in me first then I’ll cum on your cock I promise, I swear, fuck, fill me with cum please-”
It hits you all at once. You’d thought you were a ways from your own orgasm, especially since you’d cum on her chest just minutes before, but the sight, the sound, the feel of Hirai Momo is too much. It hits you like a thunderbolt, and it feels like lightning coursing through your veins. You bury yourself inside her and fill her, your cock pulsating with each rope of hot, thick semen it leaves inside her messy, tight cunt.
“Keep fucking me, keep fucking me, please, don’t stop-”
You are struggling to remain at least somewhat coherent given the pleasure coursing through even inch of your body, but her words still reach you, and you still find it in you to obey them. You keep thrusting, keep fucking her tight, cum-filled mess of a cunt, and she loves it, loves each entry and exit you make in and out of her body.
After a brief pause as your orgasm overtakes your senses for a moment, your thumb continues its work on her clit, slowly sliding from side to side across the slick, taut bud.
You open eyes you hadn’t known you’d closed and there she is, Hirai Momo, object of desire and beauty and captured with a million megapixels and bathed in flashing lights mere hours before - now a cum-filled, cum-stained mess, legs spread, skin flushed, moaning and sighing around a cunt filled with hot semen, being fucked into an orgasm she resisted and wanted at the same time.
What any one of her admirers from hours before have given to be you at this moment, see what you see, feel what you feel. But no one else is here - there’s only you, and her, and this sublime, intensely intimate moment between you.
There is only one thing left for you to ask, one thing left for you to say.
“Cum for me, Momo.”
She quivers and shakes when she cums, body submitting completely to the pleasure overtaking her. Her thighs close around your hips. Inside her, her cunt clenches down on your cock so tightly it is almost painful. You let out a groan of pleasure, but it is drowned out by the long, loud moan that leaves her.
The moan ends, and she lies there - quivering, trembling. Her juices and your cum overflow from her filled cunt, dripping onto the bedsheets, ruining them. You release her right wrist and your thumb leaves her clit, and you brace yourself atop her. You’re both breathing heavily, chests heaving, lungs empty.
She’s dirty now, filthy - a far cry from the perfectly dressed, perfectly made-up model beneath the flashing lights of mere hours ago. Your cum stains her body, fills her cock-filled cunt. Sweat glues her once perfectly-styled hair to her flushed face. She is a mess and utterly, completely perfect, somehow all at the same time.
Her eyes glimmer in the darkness of the bedroom. She manages a smile, through the utter exhaustion.
You return it, and bend to kiss her.
---
“Y’know how people call Paris the City of Light? It’s because it was one of the first European cities to use gas street lamps, in, like, the 1860s. So it was, like, literally, a city of light.”
For not the first time on the trip, you are taken aback by the knowledge Momo liked to drop at her whim, at random times, as though she could have told you these facts at any time but was waiting for the right moment to do so. She wanted to catch you off guard with them, at a time you least expected, right when you’d convinced yourself that there really wasn’t much going on in that head of hers aside from wondering what delightful culinary treat awaited her at her next meal.
She is leaning on a railing of the many bridges that traversed the French capital. Overly ornate gas lamps formed a part of the railing every twenty or so feet, and you follow her gaze up to one of them. You wonder, briefly, how many men and women had looked up at it and wondered about its history over the decades, just as you now did. The history of the city around you weighed heavily on you at the moment, as it often did as you wandered its streets.
It was the fourth day of your trip - after recovering from the exhausting travel and her appearance at the first fashion show, you’d both spent the last few days taking in Paris’ sights and sounds. She had another scheduled appearance in a couple of days before you both returned to Korea the day after, but until then you were both free to wander the French capital.
You’d hit most of the usual tourist traps first, of course - seeing the Eiffel Tower up close, visiting the popular museums and art galleries, eating at upscale restaurants and casual cafes. The sex was wonderful, of course, but so was the company of the young woman next to you.
You’d thought you’d figured her out long ago. Every day you spent with her proved you more wrong. Every day you spent with her convinced you that you never really knew her at all.
After a moment you return your eyes to Momo, who is still staring with a mix of wonder and amusement at the lamp, a small smile of amusement on her lips. She notices you looking at her and she gives you a quick look, her smile turning warm. You share that moment for a while.
Eventually your gazes drift down to the river below you, and the banks on either side of it. Despite it being the middle of a weekday, there is no shortage of crowds. Citizens and tourists both have taken up spots on the grassy banks, many enjoying the cool shade under the trees lining the walkways that offered some respite from the late summer heat. Some are enjoying a quick lunch, some are sitting and chatting idly, still others are simply sitting in silence, enjoying the sights and sounds of the city around them.
Many of them are couples. Many are flirting - feeding each other bites of cake or salad, whispering sweet nothings in ears, laughing and smiling at every little thing their partner did in the way young people in love did.
“Paris is the City of Love, too,” Momo says, as though reading your mind.
“I can see why,” you answer, looking around you at the green spaces and blooming flowers, the benches and walkways seemingly built for two, the cute restaurants and cafes. Everywhere you looked there was a place ripe for romance, a place for it to bloom, a place for sparks to turn into fires. Falling in love here would be easy. The city itself seemed to encourage it.
Momo slips her arm in yours, her hand giving your bicep a squeeze.
You are instantly on alert. All it took was one random fan with a phone and an image of one of Korea’s most popular stars would be on screens everywhere, accompanied by the salacious rumors and comments that often came part and parcel with such images. Given your recent experience with the photos someone had taken outside Nayeon’s apartment, you knew full well about what could happen when images of you and one of the girls popped up on the internet.
“Momo,” you say, softly, beginning to slide your arm away. But her grasp on you is stronger than you were anticipating, and she holds on to you.
“You’re mine, aren’t you?” she says to you, a soft look in her eyes and in the smile on her lips. “Let me have my day.”
She pulls you away from the railing, and you continue your stroll down Paris’ alleys and streets, her arm still locked with yours.
---
The crowds were much thinner here, on this random, relatively secluded park somewhere in Paris, some distance from the tourist traps and busy main streets. You and Momo are lying on your sides on a navy blue blanket she’d bought from a nearby craft fair, having just finished off what were probably the best sandwiches you’d ever had in your entire life. Momo had ordered them for the both of you at a local shop, displaying a rudimentary but adorable French accent as she did so.
You are lying on a slope facing a small wooded area, and the trees, greenery, and fading sunlight of late afternoon provided you some privacy. But you could still hear people chatting faintly some distance away, and nothing was stopping an errant child or curious couple from cresting the small hill and finding you both on its other side. Not that that stopped Momo from playing with the waistband of your pants.
“We really shouldn’t,” you say, as her fingers trace the outline of the belt at your waist, both of you knowing your resistance wouldn’t last long. “I can hear people-”
“Mmm?” she hums, as though she weren’t quite listening to what you were saying, or was simply dismissing it. “Want me to stop?”
“If they see us-”
“I see that you’re not saying no.”
You smirk. “Let’s go back to the hotel. We can-”
“I want you here,” she says, eyes suddenly intense. “Now.”
“We can’t - we’ll make too much noise-”
“Then be quiet,” she responds, her hand having undone your belt, the top button soon following suit.
“And will you?” you tease.
“I won’t be the one cumming at a public park.”
“Really?”
“Really,” she says, drawing her body closer to you on the blanket. With her hand she pulls down your pants only low enough to reveal the bulge in your boxers. With a delicate touch, she slides your underwear down to reveal your cock. You shiver as she touches you, her soft fingers closing around your girth.
“So what, you’re just going to lie there and give me a handjob, and that’s it?”
“Well, no,” she admits, that sultry, sly smile on her lips as she bends forward slightly to give you a short, soft kiss. “I fully expect you to fuck me the way I like back at the hotel. I expect you to leave me dripping. But here…”
“-but here?”
“Here, well, I wore this dress for a reason.”
She’s wearing a loose, floral pattern sundress, one that leaves the perfect, creamy skin of her shoulders and upper chest bare. It is daringly low-cut, displaying a delicious-looking cleavage that you’d snuck more than one glance at over the course of the day. Its material is thin and airy, making the outline of the thin white thong she wore beneath obvious to see - as was the absence of a bra.
Her hand closes around your cock, begins to pump up and down in earnest. You reach up, slide your hand against her cheek, and kiss her.
Your tongues find each other, resume the duel they’d been waging on and off in the four days you’d been in Paris. Your hand slides down her neck, lingering there for a moment, enjoying the feel of her pulse beneath your palm. Between you, her hand continues to pump up and down your shaft, fingers tight around your stiffness.
Your hand drifts to her shoulder, sliding beneath the thin spaghetti strap of the dress and sliding it down her upper arm. The dress slips over her breast, baring it to your hand.
You caress the firm, round mound, her nipple already poking into your palm. She sighs into your kiss as your fingers close around her bud and tease, pinch, pull. She breaks your kiss for a moment, and you lie there a while, noses grazing each other, breathing heavily against each others’ lips as your hands play with each others’ bodies. Sometimes your gazes are locked, sometimes one or both pairs close, sometimes they are half-lidded. But they always find each other again.
Her hand leaves your aching cock for a moment, and she brings her hand to her mouth. You hear her spit into it. Her eyes are locked on yours the whole while, until the feel of the wetness of her pumping hand around your shaft sends a shiver up your spine that causes your eyes to shut.
“Fuck,” you hiss, through gritted teeth. Momo’s lips find yours, and you sigh your pleasure into her mouth.
“Does that feel good, baby?” she says, softly. Her hand tightens around you, her pace increasing slightly. “Do I look good for you?”
She reaches up with her free hand, slips the other strap of her dress down her shoulder, baring her other breast. She pulls it down further, until she is naked almost from the waist up. For the millionth time on this trip, you are utterly entranced by her chest - their perfect shape, the weight of the one in your hand, the feel of her soft, creamy skin, the way they sat on her chest and moved slightly with every pump of her hand on your cock.
“You… like my tits, don’t you?” she continues, slightly breathless now. There is a tremble in her voice. It was clear to see in her voice, in the flush on her cheeks, the tightness of her nipples - pleasuring you pleasured her equally.
“I do, Momo. I love them.”
The word elicits a soft, wordless moan from her lips, as though it had triggered something inside her.
“Cum on them, okay? Cum on me.”
Despite the sharp spikes of pleasure that every movement of her hand sent throughout your body, you find yourself surprised.
“Really? No teasing, no edging this time?”
Momo smiles, despite herself, but the relief is brief, and quickly her eyes become intense again.
“No. I want to see you cum. Just for me, please. Just for me. You said you’d be mine. Just mine. Cum, please. Just for me.”
Your hand leaves her breast, finds her cheek, brings it close for a fierce, passionate kiss. You sigh and moan into each others’ mouths as the pleasure she is creating between your bodies begins to reach a peak.
She breaks the kiss to look into your eyes.
It strikes you all at once - the intimacy, the closeness, the vulnerability. You are entirely at her mercy in that moment, heart and soul laid entirely bare. She knows who you are, knows your secrets. You can hide nothing from her, and she knows it.
Somewhere else in the park children are playing, dogs barking, elderly couples going for a late-afternoon stroll, but none of it matters; the entire world is boiled down to the three foot square of the blanket and the wonderful woman you shared it with. Not one other thought - not of the other girls, of this trip, or of the bustling city around you - existed. There was only you, and her, and the pleasure she was creating for you in this private little moment that you two shared. A moment she’d created for the two of you only, that neither of you would tell another soul of - it belonged to the both of you, and no one else.
The past several months had been filled with some of the most intense, erotic, carnal moments in your life - but none as close, as intimate as this.
“Cum for me, please?” she says, almost pleading now, for her as much as for you. “Please, baby. Cum all over me.”
Your breath cuts out, your hand clenches around the side of her head - between you, your cock spasms and spurts thick cum all over Momo’s chest. It lands in heavy streaks across her breasts, her nipples, her collarbones. She sighs with each rope that lands on her skin, the same way she sighed when you filled her cunt - as though it were an equally enjoyable experience for her as it was for you.
“Yes, baby,” she whispers beneath her breath as her pace on your cock slows, fingers still tight around your shaft as she milks each drop of cum from your body. “More, please, more.”
You are drained by now, both of cum and of breath - but your body manages a few more weak spurts of semen that land on the dress bunched beneath her breasts, staining the fabric with thick drops of creamy white. Your hand still clutches at her cheek, your arm trembling slightly as your orgasm winds down.
You open your eyes to view the mess you’d made of her body. It wasn’t the first time on this trip that you’d seen her chest streaked with your cum, but in the fading sunlight of the Paris afternoon it was somehow more beautiful than the times previous. The thick ropes of semen begin to slide down the round mounds, leaving behind glistening streaks that mark their paths across creamy, perfect skin.
Your eyes find hers. To your surprise you find them eyes glassy, as though on the verge of tears. The intensity of the moment you’ve shared hits you both, and you find your eyes watering as well.
“Momo,” you say, because she is what your existence is filled with. In that moment, she is all you know.
“I’m here,” she says, softly, lips finding yours.
---
Morning dawned on Paris. Bright rays of gold bathe the city, make it glimmer and shine. It slowly makes its way across its buildings and roads and parks, inevitable, inexorable.
It makes its way through the open balcony window of the hotel suite you’d shared with Momo over the past week. It illuminates the messy sheets and the remnants of mostly-eaten takeout and room service trays, over your mostly-packed luggage, over the navy blue blanket she would take home and treasure, because it would remind her of a week when she felt loved.
Finally, it illuminates the bathroom - unlit by artificial light, it’s a little dimmer than the rest of the suite, meaning the only light that reached Momo’s naked, wet skin is that of the sun.
But you didn’t need much light. The feel of her body against yours, her arms wrapped around your neck and one leg raised against your hip, heel digging into your backside as you slid in and out of her - that was enough.
You tighten your grasp on her ass, holding her upraised leg up, opening her up further, spreading her, stretching her. Your foreheads press against each other, breathing heavily, moaning softly into each others mouths. You kiss, sometimes - little, involuntary movements, acts of affection amidst the passion. You open your eyes to find hers locked on yours, and the shower water flowing down her face makes her appear as though she’s crying. You need to touch her face, need to cradle it, need to make her feel safe.
You raise your hand to her cheek. Her hands wind through your hair, holding your head, pressing it against her forehead again. Through it all your are fucking her softly, slowly. No teasing or edging here, no playful banter or filthy talk. It is close, intimate, raw.
“I’ll do whatever you want, you know?” she gasps, the rising tone of her voice betraying the depth of her words. “I’ll be whoever you want. Just say you’re mine, please, and I’ll be yours.”
“Momo-”
She presses a finger against your lips. There is need written on her features, of course, and pleasure and lust, but also an genuineness, a realness that you rarely saw in her. Everything about her is laid bare, and the honesty on her lips is plain to see. She meant every word she said.
“Even if you don’t, even if you don’t want me, pretend, okay?” she whispers, barely heard over the patter of the shower on your bodies. “Even if it’s not true, just say it, I need to hear you say it.”
“I’m yours, Momo. I’m yours, I swear.”
The breath leaves her lungs in a long, wistful moan as she cums around your cock. Her cunt tightens, her body quivers. Only your hands on her body keep her upright, keep her back pressed against the cool tile of the shower.
Through the haze of her orgasm she locks eyes with you, her hands cradling your face. There is nothing between you, nowhere to hide, no secrets or mysteries. It feels vulnerable and it feels safe and it feels wonderful, all at the same time.
“Cum inside me,” she says, softly, and soon enough you do, burying yourself inside her, sighing against her shoulder as you fill her yet again. She moans into your ear as you fill her, nails digging into your scalp.
Your orgasms wind their way throughout your bodies, just as they did dozens of times over the past week. But this one doesn’t last as long - perhaps it was the impending end of the week, perhaps it was the words that remained unspoken between you - either way, eventually Momo lets her leg drop from your hip, and you slide out of her body.
You both linger there awhile, the shower dousing you both. Your warm cum leaks out of her, dripping down her still-quivering thighs, joining the water trailing down her leg. She pulls you close, buries her head into your neck. Your arms wrap around each other.
“Momo,” you say, softly, some indeterminate amount of time later. Your flight home was later that morning, and you were already running later than you would have liked. “We have to-”
“I want to stay here,” she says into your neck.
“I know. But we can’t. We have to go.”
Time passes. You remain there, the both of you, breathing heavily against each other. The shower continues to run. The sun continues its advance into the bathroom, illuminating most of it now. Momo turns away from it, nuzzling deeper into your neck, knowing that its appearance signalled the end of the week, the end of the trip.
For many the Paris dawn is beautiful. For Hirai Momo, the light is merciless.
“Momo,” you begin.
“I know,” she answers.
Without any further words or looks, she leaves your arms, leaves the shower and grabs a towel on her way out of the bathroom. You hear the bedroom door shut behind her.
Your gaze follows her, watches her leave. From the doorway of the bathroom you can see the open balcony across the room, where the sun has chased away the last of the night.
Beyond the balcony Paris continues about its day, adding another tryst, another love story - whatever word could possibly encapsulate the last week you’d spent with Hirai Momo - to the countless others it has borne witness to over the centuries of its history.
---
“So yeah, I guess I’ll see you Thursday? We’re filming the next episode of Time to Twice-”
“Yeah, yeah,” Momo answers, leaning on the doorframe of the apartment she shared with Nayeon. As much as she loved spending time with her members, she liked filming these “reality” shows much less - they were when she was expected to act like the hot but utterly clueless bimbo that the world believed her to be.
“Make sure you get a good night’s sleep the night before. I snuck a peek at the script and they need you to-”
“I know, I know,” she repeats. “Play the dumb airhead.”
You sigh under your breath, knowing how much she hated being portrayed the way she was. You wished you could tell her how much you loved seeing that other side of her - the one that was smarter than she let others believe, the one that knew about the gas lamps in Paris and could speak elementary school French.
You both linger there in silence for a while as the words you wish you had to comfort her never materialize.
“Momo, about this past week…”
“Just two fuck buddies doing Paris,” Momo declares with surprising zest, although there was something in her eyes that doesn’t quite match with the words leaving her lips.
“So all that stuff about-”
“Just pillow talk,” she spits, almost on reaction, as though she wanted to cut off that particular line of conversation before it got any further - or if she’d been preparing for you to raise the question and had rehearsed an answer for it. “Just stuff to get me off. Got a romance kink, I guess. Paris, city of love, city of light, you know how it is. That’s all it was. Don’t go thinking I’m in love with you, or anything.”
You aren’t sure you believe her. She felt too honest, too real, too raw on your trip. If she was faking it all - acting - then she was in the wrong profession.
“Okay, then,” you begin, slowly. “I guess I’ll… I guess I’ll see you later.”
“See ya.”
You turn away and begin to head towards the waiting elevator. Midway there you turn to find her still leaning against the doorframe, watching you. A sad smile makes its way onto her lips.
“Hey, Momo?”
She perks up, expectant.
“Thanks.”
Her smile deepens, but her eyes betray her - there is disappointment in them, as though the word that left your mouth wasn’t what she was expecting, or hoping, to hear.
“No worries! See you Thursday,” she says, as brightly as she could, before closing the door.
She leans her forehead against the closed door for a moment, eyes closing, doing her best to process the past seven days. Her heart pounds against her chest, and she places a hand over it, willing it to calm down.
In her pocket, her phone vibrates. It’s Nayeon. She sighs as she declines the call - dealing with her was the last thing she wanted to do at the moment.
With tired legs, she shuffles her way into the living room of her apartment, where Sana is lounging on the couch with Woody, who has fallen asleep, head on her lap. The younger Japanese girl is idly scrolling through her phone, but she sets it down on the coffee table when Momo enters the living room.
“He doesn’t know, does he?” Sana asks as she begins to play idly with Woody’s hair as though he were a pet and not a whole other human being. She’s wearing only a loose t-shirt and Woody is naked aside from the throw blanket thrown haphazardly across his midsection, making it clear what they were up to mere moments before Momo had arrived.
“About what?” Momo replies, sighing to herself as she enters the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water. The trip had left her drained, and without the energy to deal with Sana and her incessant nosiness.
“That you picked him,” Sana continues, finally looking up to fix Momo with a look. “That you picked him out at the concert that night. He should be your toy, not Chaeyoung’s.”
Momo lets out a sharp breath.
“It doesn’t matter,” the older girl replies. “He’s Chaeyoung’s now. He doesn’t need to know anything more than that.”
“But you wish he did.”
As annoying as Sana could occasionally be, she was often more adept at reading a person than the other girls were. Given how much time they’d spent together, she knew Momo better than most, making it obvious to her from the second she’d arrived what had really happened in Paris.
“He’s not hers yet, not completely,” Sana continues. “If I were you, and if you really have feelings for him, I’d tell him how you feel before Chaeyoung does. Wait too long, and she’ll have him wrapped around her dainty little fingers.”
“You’ve seen the way he acts around her,” Momo replies, setting her water bottle down on the counter and bracing herself against it with her hands, letting her head fall down between her shoulders. “He’s probably on his way to see her right now. He likes her.”
“Does he? I think you should fight her for him. She doesn’t deserve him. You do. He should be yours, not hers.”
Momo raises her head, closes her eyes. It was all too much, all too much to think about right now, minutes after getting home from one of the more eventful weeks of her life. She was exhausted, physically and mentally and emotionally.
She looks down the hallway at the door he’d just occupied. She wanted nothing more than to return to that hotel room in Paris, with him, and…
She shuts her eyes and leaves the room, hoping some sleep would at least provide her with a temporary reprieve from the million thoughts running through her head.
When she hears Momo’s bedroom door close, Sana picks up her phone from the coffee table and brings it to her ear.
“Did you hear that?” she asks the person on the line.
“Yes,” Nayeon answers. “That was well done.”
“Thanks, unnie. Don’t you worry - I’ll make sure those two are at each others’ throats. Whoever he ends up with, it won’t be either of them. Then he’ll be all yours for the taking.”
She begins to stand, gently lifting Woody’s head from her lap and placing it on the couch so as to not interrupt his sleep. She is still talking softly with Nayeon as she makes her way to the bathroom.
When he hears the bathroom door close, Woody, who’d been awake from the moment Momo arrived, reaches for his own phone on the coffee table.
He begins to write a text.
---
Author’s Note: lol longest piece I’ve ever written and of course it had to be Momo. she’s the reason why I’m here, after all. :)
Be kind to yourselves and to each other. <3
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Bad Date (1/2)
An oldie but a goodie (I think). Who hasn't been in a situation that you feel trapped in and need an out?
NSFW, Beetlejuice x f!reader
You fiddled with your fork. The droning--the god awful, incessant droning--from the other side of the small table never ceased. The man sitting there, the man who you agreed to go out on this date with, hadn’t stopped talking about himself. The. Entire. Time.
It wasn’t as though he had interesting or fun stories either. He had opinions on everything, no matter the subject, and thought himself an expert of everything too. He worked at a car dealership, for the love of god, and although he bragged about how much money he made and the fancy vehicles he drove, you had a suspicion he was more on the level of a lot attendant instead of a top salesman.
Why did you ever swipe right on his photo?
You slipped your phone into your lap and discreetly checked the time. You’d been at this restaurant for thirty minutes, and although the waiter had taken your orders, you’d only gotten drinks and a basket of bread so far. This was insufferable. How were you going to last through salad and an entree with this guy? You didn’t even want to think about coffee and dessert.
While he continued to prattle on about the border wall or car tires or whatever, your mind drifted.
Beetlejuice had not been happy you’d gone out tonight. He’d expected another lazy evening in, but it wasn’t like the two of you were exclusive or anything! Who knew how many people the ghost had on the side? It wasn’t like you could keep track of him. And whenever you dared try to mention the word ‘boyfriend’ or ‘partner’ or anything of the sort, he stammered and turned a more sickly shade of pale, and found excuses to change the subject. That, or he just left, no matter what the two of you happened to be doing at the moment. Sometimes, for fun, you teased him about it, just to make him squirm.
Tonight you’d give anything for it to be real. Then you’d never be in this mess.
You wondered if typing his name into a text message would summon him.
No harm in trying . . .
With a quick glance up at the guy across the table flapping his lips--oh god, he saw you looking and thought you were encouraging him!--you quickly dropped your gaze to your phone again. Because Beetlejuice wasn’t listed in your phone, you pulled up a cousin’s contact page as a proxy.
Quickly you tapped out, “Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse,” into a new text message.
You hit send. You could explain to your cousin later.
Nothing happened. You gave it a few more minutes while the yammering from your date continued, and still nothing happened.
You decided to try again, with a phonetic spelling this time.
“Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!”
You crossed your fingers this time that he’d appear.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Your date continued to be oblivious to the fact you were completely ignoring him.
Nothing.
Then a tiny ‘ping!’ from your phone!
“What the hell? Is this some kind of safe word?” your cousin texted back.
With a wry smile, you thought your cousin had no idea how the answer to her question was the truth. You also hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until you got some kind of response. You let it out in disappointment that it wasn’t Beetlejuice, but used it as an excuse to leave the table.
“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” you blurted, interrupting your date and getting out of your chair before he could respond. You darted away from the table towards the restrooms.
In the restroom, you ignored your phone and stared into the mirror. Someone else was in one of the stalls, but you disregarded that too; you just wanted help!
Watching your lips form the words, you muttered, “Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice.”
You closed your eyes at the last syllable. When you opened them, he was standing right behind you, his mouth curled into a snarl and his eyes dark under furrowed brows.
You spun on your heel to him.
Before you could tell him that you needed rescuing, he spit,
“What the hell do you want?”
Startled, you couldn’t answer. Typically he was pleased to hear his name--
“I thought we weren’t seeing each other tonight,” he continued in an angry growl. “You had your date, and I was supposed to sit around, twiddling my thumbs, watching reruns of the shit they show on TV in the Netherworld--it’s all garbage like Manimal and My Mother the Car, nothing even entertaining like the Jerry Springer Show--”
“Beej, you’ve got to help me!” you interrupted. “You’ve got to get me out of this date!”
At least he had the decency to stop talking when you said something, unlike the guy still sitting at the table.
Beetlejuice fixed you with an undeniable “I-told-you-so” expression, but it didn’t soften his anger. “Nope. You got yourself into this, you get yourself out of it.”
That was not the answer that you had expected. Beetlejuice was usually ecstatic to rain chaos down on the living. He usually jumped at the opportunity to harass people. And now, at all times, he’d decided to, to . . . make you pay for one measley mistake?
Tears welled in your eyes. Deep down, you knew you deserved it.
You grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter and dabbed your eyes. Okay. He wouldn’t help? Then you’d sit through the rest of this horrible date, pray to god the guy didn’t get handsy or expect anything physical in return for paying, and then you’d take a long hot shower when you got home to try and wash away the memory of this disastrous night.
“Okay, Beej,” you told him quietly. Because tears began forming again, you couldn’t see the expression on his face. You imagined it was triumph. “I’m . . . I’m sorry about tonight.”
With the apology, you reached for his hand, gave it a quick squeeze, and left the restroom. As the door began swinging closed behind you, you heard an old woman’s voice from the stall exclaim,
“I heard a man’s voice! There better not be a man in this ladies room, or I’m speaking to the management--”
The door closed completely, and you never heard a retort from Beetlejuice.
⁂
You made your way back to your table. Your date was there, looking annoyed he’d lost his audience. You sat down again, murmured a quiet lie that your cousin’s dog was sick and she was giving you an update, and your date launched into a diatribe about how veterinarian medicine was a money-grabbing scam.
You went back to fiddling with your fork, feeling miserable. Once or twice you tried to at least look interested in whatever nonsense erupted out of the mouth of the guy sitting opposite of you, but it wasn’t a facade you could maintain.
Luckily, a waiter bumped into your table. It broke your date’s soliloquy, thankfully. Salad plates were dropped in front of the two of you. Your date looked annoyed, but you were just happy to have something else to focus on. You thanked the waiter without looking up.
To keep yourself occupied, you tried to remember and list all the ingredients in a Ceasar salad while you stabbed some with your fork. Now your date was talking about some other fancier restaurant he’d gone to, with grilled romaine lettuce for the salad, and croutons made daily with their own milled flour for the bread, and wild-caught yeast, and, and, and--
Mechanically you chewed. Nothing had flavor.
“--it was nothing like this! These are obviously store-bought croutons!” your date was saying, because he’d suddenly become a celebrity chef along with a veterinarian and car dealer. “Subpar ingredients! I’d hope that they are saving money so the steak I ordered will be higher quality, but I know that won’t be true--what the hell is this?”
You couldn’t even fake enough interest to lift your head.
“What the actual hell?” he exclaimed, then more loudly, he snapped his fingers and called for the waiter. “Hey. Hey! Waiter! Get over here!”
You stabbed another bit of lettuce. As you raised it to your mouth, the waiter got to your table.
“Yes sir? Would you like some freshly cracked black pepper on your salad?”
The waiter’s voice was soft with a bit of a scratch that made it sound like he may have the beginnings of a sore throat. You didn’t look up at him, but from the corner of your eye saw that his trousers were faded black with uneven pinstriping. Wasn’t the rest of the staff in solid black clothing?
“No!” your date admonished rudely. “There is something in my salad and I want to know what it is!”
Curious beside yourself, you looked over the table.
Your date was red-faced and angry, pointing at his plate. You didn’t see anything in it. When he tapped it with his fork, however, some of the lettuce moved on its own.
The waiter reached into the salad with dirty-looking fingernails. In slow motion, everything happened at once: you looked up his arm to Beetlejuice’s face, a decidedly evil grin began to widen his lips, and he plucked a tiny, four inch, black and white sandworm out of your date’s salad to hold it up in front of him.
Time snapped back into proper speed as your date gasped.
Still holding the wriggling, hissing sandworm, Beetlejuice grabbed a chair from another table, swung it around so he could straddle it backwards, and plopped himself down between the two of you. He didn’t say a word to you.
He held the angry sandworm in front of your date’s face.
“This, Matt,” he said, putting an obvious tone of dislike on your date’s name. He grabbed your date by the shoulder to keep him seated, then continued like this was a nature show and he was presenting a fascinating creature. “This is a baby sandworm. Look at the little fellow! See his little stripes and blue lips? That’s because he’s poisonous. He’s warning predators off! But, interesting fact, he’s also venomous. Those teeny tiny fangs’ll inject you with venom and paralyze you so you don’t struggle as he’s swallowing you! Look how mad he is!”
Beetlejuice shoved the sandworm closer to Matt’s face, making him flinch back.
“Oh, he’s so mad you can see his secondary mouth! Usually those don’t appear until they’re older!”
The sandworm writhed and continued to hiss wildly.
“Now. Matt. Listen,” Beetlejuice continued like this was a perfectly normal conversation, even though you could see Matt wanted to bolt. The ghost’s grip was white-knuckled tight on him. “This little guy, yeah. He’d mess you up some. Make you sick if you ate him, or if he got shoved into some bodily orifice. But he probably wouldn’t kill you.”
You imagined you almost saw a look of relief pass over Matt’s face.
“His mother though . . .” Beetlejuice mused thoughtfully. “Sandworms are really protective of their young. This baby gets inside you and his mama is going to come looking for you, and she’s gonna be fifty solid feet long of pissed off.”
The expression of horror on Matt’s face made a small smile crack your lips. Beetlejuice grinned too.
“So Matt, what do you say? You wanna apologize to the lady for being a total d-bag and wasting her evening with your non-stop drivel and an ego that is, to be honest, even impressing me a little bit with its size? Or would you like to see how quickly little Sandy here can wriggle his way into your brain or stomach? He’d fit in an ear, I bet, and if not, definitely down your throat--”
Matt managed to wrench himself away from the grip holding him in his seat. He stood up so fast his chair tipped over as he backed away. That caught the attention of the other patrons, but your date didn’t care. He stumbled through some creative, cussing descriptions of you, Beetlejuice, and the whole situation, his voice growing louder as he continued.
Restaurant staff began converging on the table. You were mortified but felt a little surge of warmth that Beetlejuice hadn’t abandoned you. Beetlejuice’s expression was a mixture of amused and bored. Matt’s voice rose until the ghost stood up abruptly and grabbed him again.
“Apologize,” he ordered, “and don’t even think of contacting her again.”
Being held by what he thought was a deranged man--that observation was surprisingly accurate--with the still hissing sandworm dangerously close to his face, Matt choked out an apology to you. Beetlejuice released him, dusted Matt’s jacket off, and gave him a slight shove.
By then the restaurant’s manager had arrived. Matt, since he wasn’t restrained any longer, continued to swear, trying to describe what just happened to him, talking about the sandworm and being accosted and this establishment going to be shut down--
--he was escorted from the premises.
Before anyone could turn their attention to you and the ghost poorly imitating one of their wait staff, you and Beetlejuice hurried out the door as well.
Outside, you threw your arms around his neck.
“Thank you! You don’t know how much it means to me that you did that!”
Beetlejuice pursed his lips like he was a little disgusted with himself for coming to your rescue, but the quick kiss you planted on him erased the expression.
“Are sandworms really protective of their young?” you asked. “Is one really going to come looking for that baby?”
“Hell no!” he scoffed. The tiny sandworm he still pinched between his fingers had calmed down a little. That, or it was tired from all the activity. “They give birth and then its every one of them for themselves! If the babies don’t bury themselves quick enough, the mother eats them! Nasty little buggers.”
“Ugh,” you agreed. “Well, get rid of it, then. And I owe you big time.”
At that, Beetlejuice looked you straight in the eye and leered. “I’m going to keep you to your word on that, baby.”
He offered you an arm, so you hooked your hand through his elbow, and the two of you left for home.
tbc . . .
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One Summer Day
A road trip, a summer festival, childhood popsicles and Zayne. You have captured the essence of summer in your hands.
── .✦ Zayne x Female Reader (MC)
── .✦ Tags: R16 - MNDI, suggestive themes, summer, vacation, festival, use of Japanese culture and words, fluff, sweet, established relationship.
── .✦ Word count: 2k6
── .✦ Ky Ky's notes: This piece is inspired by Zayne’s text (Top Prize) after completing his story in Adventure above the Clouds event.
Misty Invasion Fan Art Contest Entry - Please support me on X!
── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - closed for the time being.
You stood under your porch with all enthusiasm, feet tiptoeing up and down, eyes fixed on the impending cars. When you recognized Zayne's familiar transport, the smile on your lips immediately spread like flower petals.
“Why are you out here? Didn't we agree to meet inside first?" Zayne inquired as he assisted you in loading the luggage into the back of the car.
"I saved Doctor Zayne the trouble." You responded. That was only half of the truth; the rest was because you were so eager to begin this journey that you rolled about in bed all night thinking about it. This morning, you awoke before the alarm went off. Because your luggage was little, you went downstairs to wait. That way, neither of you would have to waste any more time and could depart right away.
Zayne grinned as if he understood what you were saying and opened the car door to invite you in. Then he sat in the driver seat. The first song on your pre-selected list began to play, and with all your impatience, the three-hour long journey to the predetermined destination began.
Not long after the vehicle drove away, Zayne noticed a rustling close to him. You were opening the package for a snack you had recently enjoyed. Zayne laughed as his car came to a stop at a red light. He turned to face you and said:
“We've only been gone for five minutes and you're already hungry?”
You took a piece of snack and fed it to Zayne, replying:
“For you.”
He obediently took a mouthful while still staring at you, who was beaming with your snack bag. A few curls of hair had fallen on your cheeks, and he tucked them behind your ear. Zayne used the chance to gently stroke your face.
"Someone was so happy that she was unable to rest last night, right?"
You hastily checked the rearview mirror of the car. Aside from appearing too eager, a closer look would expose the weariness from lack of sleep around your eyes.
"Are you sure that person isn't Doctor Zayne?" You commented. Even though he had caught you red-handed, you would continue to deny it.
"Then there were two people who could not sleep last night." You were not prepared for Zayne to admit it so soon. You spotted his brilliant smile just as the green light went on and he shifted his concentration to the road ahead.
Zayne stated that if you were weary, you could take a nap in the car and he would wake you up at the destination. Nonetheless, you were determined to remain awake the whole journey. Every time the car came to a halt at a red light, you swiftly fed him some snacks. Zayne, in return, clasped his hands around yours. You would occasionally hum along to the music being played and see that Zayne was enjoying it. Was it the song or your voice? His fingers on the steering wheel moved gently with the rhythm, as did his head and neck, as if he were swaying to the melodies. But every time he recognized you gazing and was about to say something to tease him, Zayne claimed to be in the dark and made an insignificant remark: "Your taste in music is acceptable."
You burst into laughter. When you were together, he must have heard those songs so many times that he knew them by heart. Zayne frequently took you on outings, but this one was different. He won a lottery at Akso Hospital, resulting in a two-day, three-night vacation for a couple. Although you guessed that everyone had given Doctor Zayne the jackpot after seeing how hard he worked day and night, you were nonetheless overjoyed to be able to accompany him like this.
Zayne was the one to plan everything ahead, always had been. However, you were constantly thinking about all that may happen, while you were both thrilled and anxious. This vacation marked a significant step forward in your relationship; how could you not pay attention to every little thing? You wanted all to be perfect so Zayne could enjoy an unforgettable getaway.
But such things might have to wait a little longer. Your eyes began to close around halfway through and after you had consumed all of the treats. You had a strange feeling Zayne was adjusting the seat to make you more comfortable. He softly touched your palm, saying something like, "Yet someone insisted that she wasn't sleepy..." Then you fell into a deep slumber.
After a series of short, strange dreams, including one where Doctor Zayne transformed into a big cat, you were awakened by a cold touch on your cheek.
“We're here.” Zayne's voice rang out, and all of your weariness vanished as you saw the small, lovely village stretch out in front of you, embracing the foot of the mountain. You hastily exited the car. The fresh wind carried the welcome aroma of grass and trees, making you feel delighted.
It was already past midday when you arrived at the resort. After a light meal, Zayne and you checked in. It was a modest room only enough for a couple with complete facilities, including a tatami-covered floor and a sleeping mattress for two people, known as a futon. The room was simply designed, yet it felt airy and close to nature. Zayne claimed that his prize included the most adorable suite at the resort, which was not an exaggeration at all. Large wooden and matte paper doors opened into the serene alpine view that surrounded the room. Outside was a steaming onsen, and the afternoon sunshine falling on the bottom shimmered like precious gemstones, so it was inevitable that it would be the first thing to attract your attention when you arrived. There was nothing better than being able to soak it up at night and gaze at the stars.
However, you briefly resisted the impulse to soak in it right away because when you opened the wardrobe, you discovered two folded yukata sets waiting for you and Zayne. It was no surprise since you overheard him discussing your clothing size with the resort personnel prior to your arrival. You turned your head back to peer at Zayne, who was averting his gaze, but his brilliant expression indicated that he had planned all of this for you.
The yukata he had chosen for you was light blue, embellished with white jasmine pattern. You enthusiastically tried it on yourself. But even with a handbook in the room explaining how to wear it, you struggled and failed to put it correctly. You sighed and requested assistance from Zayne on the opposite side of the folding screen which divided the dressing space in two.
“Doctor Zayne… I must have done something wrong…”
“Wait for me.”
His voice sounded out. A second later, he emerged from the opposite side of the screen. Zayne put on a yukata that was a much darker shade of blue than yours, dotted with a silver swallow pattern. As soon as you saw him, so perfect in the kind of outfit he had tried for the first time, you lost your breath. It was not until Zayne came closer to fix your dress that you recovered your composure.
“You've put on the wrong layers.” He said gently. “Let me fix it.”
Thus you stood motionless, arms wide out so Zayne could effortlessly alter your attire. Layer upon layer, one by one. It was not surprising to you that he was so skilled, given that this was your first time wearing a yukata together. Because, for you, Doctor Zayne's hands were a divine tool capable of assisting you in all you lacked. After your outfit was complete, the same hands assisted you in combing your hair and placing a jasmine flower on your head.
“How do I look? Has Doctor Zayne overdone it a bit?”
You inquired while glancing in the mirror. Behind you, he grinned pleasantly. “Not at all.”
You carefully brushed the fabric jasmine blossom Zayne had just placed in your hair. True, he had put a lot of thought into this trip. You turned around to look at him, mumbling a "Thank you" before rewarding him with a kiss on the cheek.
When the two of you arrived at the street, the sky was already tinted with dusk. You softly held Zayne's hand and moved in modest steps. You were not entirely comfortable with the geta that went with your attire. He wore a pair similar to yours, yet you were the only one who struggled.
The festival in this little community grew busier at night. Laughter breathed life into the desolate mountains and hills. The street was illuminated by lanterns, and both sides of the sidewalk were lined with vendors offering crafts, traditional games, and foods with inviting fragrances. As a result, after every few steps, you drew Zayne into a food stall to try it out.
You ate so many dishes that your tummy was full, leaving no room for supper at the resort. However, when you arrived at an old popsicle stall, you pleaded that Zayne try it with you.
"This is just like when we were kids, right?" You gladly accepted the popsicle from Zayne's hand. He sat next to you on a bench along the woodland edge, away from the festival noise. The aromatic popsicle looked quite good. You took a large bite and felt numb to the brain.
"Ugh…" You shouted. Zayne instantly reached out to rub your head and temples. He softly said:
"For what reason are you so hasty when there's a popsicle? Are you still a three-year-old?"
You pouted, stared at him and snorted loudly. Zayne softly squeezed your face and added:
“Slow down. With me here, you don't have to worry about your popsicle melting."
"Sure." You nodded. Your gaze fell on the mint-flavored popsicle in Zayne's fingers. Then, as fast as lightning, you leaned down and took a mouthful.
"You—" Zayne protested, but it was a bit too late. You giggled as your head became dizzy from a fresh brain freeze.
He grumbled and proceeded to rub your head. After consuming the popsicle, you stated:
“That's my revenge on you for pinching my cheek! How dare you?”
Zayne clicked his tongue and shook his head playfully. "It seems that no matter how old you get, the way you eat popsicles still remains.”
After that, he placed his thumb in the corner of your lips, softly wiped away the smeared cream, then lingered there forever. His gaze was unable to depart your slightly opened ruby lips. Zayne leaned down to taste the popsicle flavor that persisted on the tip of your tongue.
“Hmm… This flavor combined with mint… It isn't bad at all…”
After the festival, you chose to wrap up the day in comfort by soaking in the onsen outside your bedroom. You removed your yukata and wrapped a towel over your body before stepping out into the warm night, which was filled with luminous stars above. Zayne was already soaking in the hot spring, the moonlight casting luscious honey dews on his bare back as he turned toward the chamber. You approached delicately and sat down to soak your feet in the warm water first.
Zayne turned back to gaze at you. Iridescent drops poured from his hair and flowed down his dominant chest; every muscle fiber that was usually hidden underneath discreet layers of clothing was now displayed before your eyes, even the scars running along his arms. Suddenly, you realized that the water in the onsen was hotter than intended.
“How are your feet?” Zayne questioned as he approached you. The water solely reached his waist, where he was covered in a towel. You replied:
“I feel better now. Those geta are probably not for me.”
The sensation of Zayne's hand on your submerged feet startled you. He took your slightly red foot and gently rubbed it while keeping it under the water. He repeated the same thing with your other foot.
“By doing this, you will feel more comfortable,” said Zayne. You nodded firmly, eyes still fixed on his body. While he was massaging your feet, you kicked the water around, causing him extra soaked. Nonetheless, he simply wiped any water from his face and glanced at you in a patient manner, shaking his head slightly.
You giggled and continued to swing your leg harder. This time, he gently squeezed your ankle and said:
“Just now, someone complained about her feet hurting and insisted on being carried back here. Is she fully recovered by now? If that's the case, she doesn't need my care anymore."
His hands eased on you, yet you quickly wrapped your legs around Zayne's waist and pressed him closer. The bottom of the onsen seemed slippery, causing him to suddenly slide forward. He placed his hands on the ground so he would not tumble on you. His hot breath invaded your left ear. His body emitted a faint aroma of warm wood. Before your eyes, the water-soaked crook of his neck was revealed. Your nose gently rubbed against it.
“Who said she doesn't need your special care anymore?”
You nuzzled him, arms wrapped around his neck to pull him closer. Zayne's breathing became heavier. He maintained his balance, although it was difficult to remove himself from you while you were this close to him. The sweet fruity scent emanating from you was which he had become accustomed to these past few days.
“You're using that lotion again…” Every syllable that escaped his mouth was like fire pouring into your ears. You said quietly:
“Since you seem to appreciate it so much, I…”
Before you could finish your sentence, Zayne seized your waist and lifted you off the onsen edge. You could only lean your body absolutely into his chest, legs clamped securely around his waist to keep from falling, despite the fact that he held you extremely firm in place. Zayne pushed his face against your neck, hungrily devouring the sweet scent flowing from there. His lips pressed lengthy, scorching kisses against your neck, shoulders, and chest.
"Z-Zayne…" You tenderly called his name. Your hand on his neck softly pushed him away. The thin smoke from the onsen veiled your vision, rendering everything as surreal as a dream. In the lake's heat and humidity, drops of perspiration and water ran from Zayne's temples to the back of his neck and torso. But no matter how much you resisted, he would not let go of you.
You lightly nipped his red ear. Only then did Zayne shift away from you, his expression showing astonishment mixed with a little hurt. Had he just done something that made you unsettling?
"Let me down first…" You murmured. Zayne held you with one arm, with the other hand softly drawing circles on the area of your back which was exposed from the towel. He tilted his head and whispered into your ear:
"This is also part of my special care. Are you certain you don't want it?"
His radiant eyes fixed on you, anticipating. You pursed your lips hard before deliberately pressing yourself closer to his body.
“Of course… I want it…”
The corner of Zayne's mouth curled up slightly. He walked to a deeper part of the onsen, allowing both of you to plunge into the water, which became hotter with each touch. He kissed you. It began gently, like calm water; but over time it grew more intense, as if he was slowly melting with you. You always possessed the ability of exposing his deepest emotions and desires. Only you.
For, if he could control it, then it was certainly not love.
#fanfic#love and deepspace#li shen#zayne#rei#dr zayne#lads#lnds#l&ds#lads fluff#lads fanfic#lads x you#lads x reader#lads zayne#zayne x you#zayne x reader#zayne x mc#zayne lads#lnds x reader#l&ds x you#l&ds x reader#love and deepspace zayne#fanfiction#zayne fic#zayne fluff
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Mechanic Wukong and Street Artist Macaque with a poly reader
Artists: pedrinho_lmk (left) and @scotchy-pie-art (right)
Mechanic Sun Wukong
Originally met you when your car broke down for seemingly no reason on your way to work and called a tow company that took your car into his shop. Wukong’s always been a morning person, even though he loves sleeping in, so he’s working down his list of chores with a white tank top covered in spots of grease and oil.
Wukong usually has his hair pulled back and will ask you to tie his fluffy ginger hair back so it doesn’t get caught in any car parts or dirty from oil. Loudly purrs when you comb through his mane, carefully detangling knots and cleaning any bits of dirt or grit.
Whenever you have a day off to stop by the shop he’ll purposely wipe off anything on his face with his tank top which shows bits of his bare stomach. He’ll use any and every excuse to take off his shirt, saying it’s too hot out or he doesn’t want to ruin his clothing which is already covered in oil and grease.
Wukong’s very strong already from training but his job only enhances that because cars are a couple of tons and he has a habit of sticking part of his tongue out when he’s focused which makes your mind wander.
A good part about your mate being a mechanic in addition to being the great sage is that with his powers he can find the issue with the vehicle quickly with the help of his eyes of truth which helps him end the day early a lot of the time and lets him get back to you earlier than usual.
You both love it when he throws and catches you in the air or carries you in an absurd but secure position partially to show off to others and you. You love it because it gives you butterflies and you’re never scared he’s going to drop you because he cares so much for you and he’s not that much of an airhead when it comes to you.
He's a great multitasker cause he can use his tail which comes in hand for both working and at home ;) Unfortunately, it is usually used for the various colors of paint splattered on a car, sometimes in a design or pattern, while his main focus is the engine or undercarriage.
Street Artist Macaque
Speaking of paint, Macaque is a well-known street artist who only leaves a special signature of his and so because of that he doesn’t have to worry about being recognized or harassed by police. All of his work is done with passion and originality, very rarely his art is on private property or people’s belongings and some are inspired by things he’s seen or people that are interesting to him (i.e. you).
However, a fair amount of his work is purposely painted on cars because he knows Wukong’s probably going to be the one to deal with it and adores the groans of agony from his frenemy. You’re kind of disappointed at his smug grin whenever Wukong throws a wrench or whatever is in reach of him at your boyfriend who partially deserves it and shouts an apology to the mechanic who greets you kindly.
He first met you when he was spray painting a unique design about a recent protest to raise awareness in his special way on a sidewall of a coffee shop when you walked out to take out the trash and saw him floating mid-spray as your eyes met his golden ones. You turned your head to call for your manager but got silenced by Macaque’s hand covering your mouth and gave him 2 minutes to explain, long story short you both intrigued each other and started to have dates discussing both of your jobs. Mainly he doesn’t solely rely on his work as an artist but also as a performer and combat instructor.
He does adore it when you sneak out with him to help with his art or to provide company as he paints although he’d much prefer you get a healthy amount of sleep each night even if he feels a bit lonely without you. Your health is a priority to him but if it’s during the day and in a more discreet place whether alleyway or back of the building he’ll bring you with him, often taking breaks to eat lunch while you both talk about certain aspects of that design that could be improved or highlighted.
You’re well aware of his artistic gifts because of the looks he gives you before you leave or anytime you’re near a work of his art and usually the crowd surrounding the artwork gives it away as well. It’s never expressed obviously that it’s you in the piece of art because if it was then you might be questioned about the identity of the rogue artist who is secretly your boyfriend and Macaque wouldn’t want that ever. So a lot of them have the symbolism of you and what he loves about you, some of them having somewhat clear images of your face if you squint and those are personally his favorites.
He assures you he’s very good at remaining hidden when doing his “illegal” street art because of his advanced hearing shadow powers so with both it’s very easy to make a quick escape if he hears the police or sees something that’d get him caught. It also comes in handy when you’re out with him if he’s ever in danger or if someone attacks since it means he can get you out of there quickly. This goes the same for if you run into trouble with him at night since you have self-defense and your boyfriend has helped by giving you tips on how to improve. He’s going to prioritize you if anything happens despite any claims from you and he won’t let anything hurt you regardless if it’s to get back at him or not.
Mechanic Sun Wukong + Street Artist Macaque (poly)
Surprise surprise you met both of them when they were trying to spite one another which as one could guess is when Macaque was trying to get back at Wukong so he spray-painted your car with a crude design and so you had to forget heading to work. That led you to Wukong’s repair shop and saw the very annoyed look on his face when he saw the trouble you were facing, especially since you both found the other very attractive eventually when he was able to remove the paint you both exchanged numbers. He threw out some obvious flirts about how beautiful you were and you couldn’t ignore how he was shirtless surely because of how hot it was showing off how toned and gorgeous he was.
Macaque however followed his “victim” through their shadow and relished in the annoyance he saw he gave the king, turning to see the no-doubt pain on his victim’s face only to see your divine face twisted in a frown and now regretting defacing your car. On the one hand, he was glad he met you but on the other, he already ruined your day and you seemed like a nice person. The fact that Wukong flirted with you only made him annoyed and he already wanted to know you more (after he apologized first of course), spiting him by becoming closer to you was a bonus now since he’d already planned to ask you out and now he had the perfect introduction planned. Shortly after you got out of work, he popped up beside your car and apologized in his own special way, flirting with you with a smirk proudly on his face and genuinely apologizing before getting your number.
Both of them ended up finding out they were attempting to date you and only tried to one-up each other in terms of winning your heart, making it a bit too obvious that you were the center of their affections and trying to make help understand you loved them both. You were able to get them both inside your apartment and sit them down to say that you loved them both dearly and couldn’t choose, all of you agreeing to a polyamorous relationship and ending the night in cuddles.
In your free time, you can often find both of your boyfriends playing their silly game of back and forth which leads to a repeated war of the whole thing. Meanwhile, all you want is to just be cuddled and not pay for excess repairs if it’s your car even with your boyfriend doing it free of cost. It takes little to convince them to give up their squabbles and give each of them kisses or any kind of affection and they’ll melt into your hands. Both of them will protect you from any harm (whether it’s from police from Mac’s illegal art or enemies who want to use you to get to Wukong) and it’s one of the few things there’s never any arguing on, focusing on your safety and taking care of the threat while the other makes sure you’re alright or hidden.
#lmk macaque#lmk x reader#monkie kid macaque#six eared macaque#lmk macaque x reader#macaque x reader#lego monkie kid#lego monkie kid x reader#lego monkie king#lmk sun wukong#lmk sun wukong x reader#sun wukong x reader#sun wukong
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Captured (Kenji Sato x singer!Reader)
A/N: I just wanted to write something after watching the movie. Considering making a proper story but I dunno :P
It had all happened so quickly, the drones surrounding your car and the men dragging you into an unmarked vehicle. Your phone was taken and your secretary was left frazzled as you were abducted by a mysterious group. It wasn’t until you were in the car did you realize who had taken you. The panic wore off as you steeled yourself the best you could. The KDF had acted upon the suspicions you had been warned about. Then you were blindfolded and presumably taken to their base.
When your sight returned, you were in an interrogation room of some sort. It was obvious by the one table and two chairs. Surveillance cameras in the corners and the one way out of the room. If it wasn’t, then it was your prison. The door opened and the tall presence of Dr. Onda entered the room.
“I’m sure you have your questions, so do we” he began.
You kept calm, not wanting to show fear or nervousness. You know why you were here.
“Let’s not beat around the bush, I saw you with the infant kaiju. Where is it hiding?” Onda demanded.
A monitor brought up the event from a few nights ago. The baby kaiju that you had only recently met, it had gone on a rampage at night as Onda had put it. The creature had been attracted to your concert and jumped over the venue walls to join you on stage.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” you said plainly.
“You cannot deny the evidence, it was familiar with you” Onda accused you.
“Hello? I am the number one on the charts right now. I’m sure my music reached the baby at some point. My music videos are being played all over Tokyo” you argued.
“How do you explain your reaction? You didn’t run from the infant” Onda continued.
You kept your face still and calm. In your head, you thought of the baby Kaiju and Kenji. You were determined to protect both of them.
“Dr. Onda, just like with any other attack my fans hold priority for me over my own safety. I was scared, but I needed to ensure my fans had time to evacuate. Even if it meant being in the line of fire. I do this all the time” you explained.
Of course he knew, there was an ongoing buzz in your fanbase about kaijus enjoying your music. It didn’t bother you one bit, especially after meeting the cutest one you had ever seen before.
“Then you sympathize with these monsters? Is that why you hide the infant?” Onda continued to press.
“If the kaiju had attacked me or my fans, I would have felt some sort of way about it. But you can see clearly on the footage, the baby started dancing. It was singing along, not trying to hurt anyone” you said firmly.
Onda paused, letting the camera footage replay once more. You were still singing on stage as the pink baby kaiju screeched and chirped along with the beat. It was clumsy, but the creature had a vague understanding of the choreography. As if practiced.
“If you won’t tell us, I have my ways of extracting the truth from you” Onda warned.
“You can’t hold me here without reason for arrest, I’ll throw the book at you as many times as I have to” you shot back.
“I’ll have you know the KDF acts above the law” Onda smirked.
“And if you knew anything about musicians, you would know we have a reputation of not giving a fuck about authority figures” you said confidently.
Onda must have realized this was going nowhere as his smile fell. He stopped the camera footage and made his exit.
“I’ll give you time to think about it, surely you will make the right choice once you have cleared your head” he said as the door shut.
Now that he was gone, you let out a deep sigh. How were you getting out of this one?
____
It hit him hard hearing that you were kidnapped. Mina had found surveillance footage of you being dragged away. The panicked look on your face made his heart clench. Even the baby had let out a sad screech, clawing at the refined glass walls of her containment unit. The moment Kenji saw the footage end, he was storming to the exit.
“Wait, Kenji!” Professor Sato stopped his son.
“I can’t wait! Don’t you know what they will do?!” he shouted.
“I know that, but you can’t just break in as Ultraman. We need a plan” the professor said firmly.
Kenji could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. As much as it pained him, his father was right. He probably wouldn’t be able to maintain his Ultraman form in this state.
“Then what do we do?” he asked.
“We do what we can, Mina. Hack the systems and get me eyes inside the base” Professor Sato requested.
“Very well” Mina responded.
“Hack? Dad, is that even legal?” Kenji asked in shock.
“Legality was thrown out the minute they abducted [y/n]” Professor Sato said.
Kenji felt a bit of hope, it had been a long time since he saw his dad like this. He watched as the camera feed showed up in front of them. It cycled through rooms until they found you. They watched the interrogation with Onda, proud of your strong reply.
“I knew they wouldn’t break [y/n]” Kenji smiled proudly.
“Reminds me of your mother, tough as nails” Professor Sato agreed.
The cameras began to feed other rooms as Professor Sato mapped a way out.
“It’s possible I can guide [y/n] out of there. It will be difficult and we will have to believe in [y/n]’s ability to make it out. But that's all we got” he continued.
“What can I do?” Kenji asked.
“You are going to be the getaway driver, get ready to rendezvous outside the base” Professor Sato ordered.
“Got it, Mina, keep me in the loop and send camera feed to my watch” Kenji requested.
“Already on it” Mina said.
____
You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but your mind was getting fuzzy. Just being in the room was unsettling and you wanted to get out. You had tried to look for a way out but there was none other than the locked door. The cameras followed your movement, stripping away what little privacy you had left. They gave you back your phone, but there was no reception at all. The device was just a heavy bar in your hand at this point.
“[y/n]!” a familiar voice hissed.
You turned your head to the monitor in the room, it looked turned off but you were sure you heard a voice.
“Don’t look, pretend like you don’t hear us. I’m taking the cameras down in a second so you need to work fast” Professor Sato explained.
You nodded, not wanting to seem suspicious. You waited until he gave the signal and then rushed over to the monitor.
“There isn’t a lot of time to explain, but I am going to guide you out of the base. Follow the map I am sending to your phone-”
“My phone doesn’t have a signal?” you began.
“It’s jammed, I can only shut down the jammer for a second so keep the image up” Professor Sato said.
Sure enough, a strange map was sent to your phone. It looked like a maze to you but there was a portion lit up with a bright color.
“Follow this path, I will keep an eye on you and use their systems to warn you. But you must go now!” he warned.
“But what about when I get out?” you asked frantically.
“Kenji will be waiting for you,” Professor Sato said before disconnecting.
The door to the room slid open and you could hear sirens wailing. Spurred by the thought of meeting with Kenji, you started to run. The halls felt like they went on for miles, barren with solid colors and a few lights. If you weren’t careful, you could easily get lost in the minimalist design of the base. Occasionally, you could hear Professor Sato over the speakers in the base direct you to change paths to avoid guards. However, it was inevitable that you would run into someone.
“I found the captive!” the guard shouted.
You didn’t stop running, charging at the man and sliding on the floor. You used the momentum and the weight of your body to crash into his legs, sending him onto the floor. You quickly recovered, stumbling as you tried to maintain the speed and fix your running stance. The halls began to turn and soon you found yourself in a different area. All you could do was hope that it was closer to the entrance.
More guard appeared and the ground began to descend, a trap to keep you from getting past them. But you let the floor get low enough that you could jump on their helmets like stepping stones to cross the divide. You jumped, just barely making it onto the edge and kept running. Your heart was beating in your chest and your throat burned like it was on fire. You wanted to stop, you wanted to rest.
But Kenji was waiting for you.
That spurred you on until you were sure you were nearing the exit and entrance. Professor Sato’s words of encouragement reassured you as you ran and jumped over the guard’s gate. The sunset blinded you as you kept running, until you heard the rev of an engine. A large shadow filled your vision as your eyes adjusted to the brightness. A hand was extended out to you.
“Let’s get out of here”
You could see Kenji’s smile and grasp his hand tightly. He pulled you onto the back of his bike and you held on for dear life. You kept your eyes closed as your hands dug into his toned body. Your face was pressed into his back and you inhaled his scent. It was all you could do to try and calm yourself. At least until you were sure you were safe. When the ride came to an end, you were at Kenji’s place. You climbed off the bike and Kenji removed his helmet frantically.
“Oh my god! You were amazing, I saw everything! You were so, so-” Kenji’s voice died off as he finally looked at you properly.
Your shoulders were shaking, your hands clasped together but still shaking. Your pupils were blown and your breathing unsteady.
“You were scared…” he finished as he realized the gravity of the situation.
“Kenji…. Ken…” you tried to speak properly.
You reached a hand out, but then brought it back to your body. But it was too late, he had already seen it. Kenji’s larged hand closer around your wrist and he pulled you into him. He had been a bit forceful, making your cheek tender as your face was thrust into his chest. You could hear his frantic heartbeat, it nearly matched yours.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” he whispered into your hair.
“Ken…”
“It’s all my fault, I should have been there to protect you”
“Ken?...”
“I won’t let it happen again, I promise you that-”
You tighten your hands on his shirt, balling his shirt into your fists.
“Can we just… go inside for now?” you asked.
Kenji pulled back, looking deeply into your eyes. He could see the worry still in them, he was being selfish with his guilt and ignoring your anxiety.
“Y-Yeah, yeah! Let’s go inside the house. Dad, Mina and the baby want to see you too” Kenji stammered out as he pulled you along to the door.
You let out a shaky breath, his grip kept you grounded as you felt like you would fall apart in a second. Kenji was your lifeline right now, and you were grateful for it.
#kenji sato#kenji sato x reader#kenji sato x y/n#kenji sato x you#ultraman rising#reader insert#x reader#reader-insert
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Hello! I just wanted to say that your fics have such a distinct feel that it makes it feel like a cinematic masterpiece so moving as each sentence is full of detail and care it’s INSANE
Could you do one where the 141 as a whole are able to go on leave for a few months but reader doesn’t really have a place to go? Like due to thier participation in the military their family has essentially cut contact with them and the military has been a placeholder for their home-life—how would Ghost react?
Once again I love your works and hope you have an amazing day ‼️
The Log Cabin: Pack Light
A/N: Hi, anon! Thank you for your kind words. Here’s the story; enjoy! :)
———————————————————————
You’re at the base’s garage, squatting on the roof of a battle-worn 1994 Land Rover Wolf, welding a rack that had been blown apart during your last mission. It’s quite admirable how these vehicles can withstand anything coming their way and still stand strong after so many years.
How long are you going to stay strong? The sparks dance around you as you manipulate the welding torch, wishing there was a similar way to mend your scars and those you’ve hurt in the past with your decisions.
But these things are far more complex than welding metal; you can’t mend fractured relationships with mere tools. It takes understanding and empathy—qualities that seem foreign to those once close to you.
Or maybe they’re right, and you’re unworthy of their forgiveness…
You close the oxygen and fuel torch valves, lift your welding mask, and wait for the molten metal to cool. You assess the seams and sigh; it needs more work. You put the welding mask back on, reignite the torch, and continue.
As the heat emanates from the torch, glowing around your gloved hands, it suddenly flickers and sputters before its flame eventually dies out. Baffled, you lift the torch in your hands and shake it. You turn towards the valve, only to see Ghost standing beside it, holding the handle. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, though he still wears his mask and carries a rucksack over his shoulder.
“I was calling out for you, but you couldn’t hear me over the...” he trails off, pointing at the torch.
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” you say through the mask, “this thing is a pain to fix.”
Ghost looks at the rack, then back at you. “Does it need to be fixed now?” He asks.
“It does.” You insist, not wanting to disclose the actual reason.
“Liar.”
Your eyebrows shoot up from behind the welding mask. “Excuse me?”
“You expect me to believe that while the rest of the team is on leave and doesn’t require that vehicle, you absolutely need to fix it.” He says.
You look at the torch and then back at him. “I must do it so it’s ready when you guys return.”
“When you guys return.” He repeats. “So, you’re not leaving.”
You forcefully turn to face him. “I am leaving.” You assert.
“Oh yeah?” He provokes you. “Where are you going?”
“None of your business, Lt.”
“See?” He says and lifts both hands, “You’re lying.”
You lower your head and throw the torch onto the roof. “What do you want me to say, huh?” You murmur, “What?”
“The truth,” he replies, “and take that bloody mask off while you’re at it.”
“Why should I take it off?” You sneer and point at his mask. “You wear yours all the time.”
“You can see my eyes, though, can’t you?” He explains and points to his face. He gestures with his head towards you. “Let me see yours,” he commands.
You roll your eyes and lift the mask. He removes his balaclava in return.
“What’s wrong, Y/N?” He asks. “What exactly are you trying to fix?”
‘My relationship with my family,’ you think to yourself and feel your face getting warmer than before when the wielding flames were burning around you.
He stands there with one thumb tucked under the rucksack’s strip. He’s waiting for an answer—a proper, truthful answer.
“This is my home.” You whisper, shrugging and lowering your head.
“What about your family?” He asks, and you shake your head, tears start filling your eyes.
“Any friends?” He asks again, this time softer.
You give him another negative shake of the head, which causes the tears to run down your face. You quickly wipe your cheeks with your gloves.
He removes his rucksack from his shoulder, drops it to the ground and puts his hands on his waist.
“Have you tried talking to them?” He asks.
“I did,” you reply, “but they don’t want anything to do with me. I disgust them, and I’m not proud either...”
“Nobody’s proud.” He admits and puts one hand on the roof’s rack, “But somebody has to do what we do.”
You sniff and rub your nose. “See? That’s why I’m here, fixing that damn rack; somebody has to do it.” You explain. “I don’t have a choice.”
“Not necessarily.” He shrugs. “Not all of us will go see family or friends; Price is travelling to the Caribbean alone as we speak, and I’m off to Scotland.”
“With Soap?”
“Fuck no!” He yells, and a chuckle escapes his lips. “He has no idea I’m going there.”
Your lips curl up, and he returns your smile. He knocks on the vehicle’s roof twice and opens his mouth to say something, but he hesitates and stops. You decide to break the silence.
“Thank you for listening to me.” You whisper.
He bites his bottom lip and pats the roof once more.
“Wanna come with me?” He asks.
Your face warms up again but for a whole different reason.
“T-to Scotland?!” You ask, surprised.
Ghost scratches his cheek and nods. “Yeah,” he replies, “it’s a small cabin in the woods—it has a single bed, an outdoor toilet, and we’ll have to hunt for food. But it has a beautiful pond for swimming and plenty of hiking trails.”
“Wow, wow, wow, one bed?!” You shout, throwing your hands up, “That’s a bit too forward, don’t you think, Lt.?”
“Come on!” He smirks, “As if we haven’t experienced that before. We’ll make it work.”
You look at him, and he returns your gaze. You’re grateful for his offer, but doubt still lingers.
“Thank you, Lt.,” you reply, “but I need to finish that rack.”
“Bollocks!” He shouts and smiles. “How long will it take you?”
“That’s not what I mean-”
“How long?” He repeats.
“Simon..”
He drops the smile and looks you straight in the eyes.
“I’m serious,” he whispers.
“You’re just offering out of pity.” You speculate, and he throws his head up, letting out a sharp chuckle.
“Very bold of you to think I’d invite you out of mere pity.” He says. “I thought you also had plans; that’s why I didn’t offer before. I’m doing it because I found the opportunity.”
You look at him, contemplating his words, then shake your head.
“Thanks,” you say, “maybe next time.”
He picks up his rucksack and begins walking towards the garage’s exit.
“We’re leaving in an hour!” he shouts as he walks towards the door.
“Ghost! “
“Pack light!”
———————————————————————
Part 2 this way ->
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x y/n#simon ghost riley x gn!reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley x y/n#call of duty#modern warfare 2#cod mwii#ghost cod#ghost cod mw2#cod ghost#ghost cod mwii#ghost mw2#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon ghost riley fic
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Transformers Prime: Optimus X Reader. Chapter 2.
The Letdown.
Part 1
Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Family, Optimus is a big, overprotective worry-wort with a soft spot for humans, Reader has more issues than Vogue.
Let me know if you'd be interested in a part 3 :]
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Optimus has always been an honest mech. Even before he was bestowed with the Matrix of Leadership, Orion-wet-behind-the-audials-Pax was about as good at carrying a lie as Miko is at keeping herself out of trouble.
Not much changed after Orion became a Prime.
Deception never came easily to him. Frank and truthful in all he does, there are times when even the principled leader of the Autobots has to concede that sometimes, deceit is a regrettable, but unavoidable necessity.
That doesn’t mean he’s grown better at it though.
Lying, in any capacity, makes the stoic and unflinching mech feel as if his glossa has been dipped in a coat of lead. To his own audial receptors, the insubstantial white-lie he’d coaxed you with sounded clumsy, even stilted – just two more things unbefitting of a Prime.
The Matrix had bucked inside his chassis when he fabricated the story that convinced you to accept his assistance. It had, however, quickly settled down after Optimus reminded himself that this was a lie borne from the best of intentions.
He may be the most fastidious in following his own self-set rule to remain incognito on Earth, but even a stickler like him could hardly ignore a human in need.
And you were in need, he reflects as he tentatively adjusts his rear-view mirror, angling it towards your face as surreptitiously as he can.
The memory of your desolate, beaten expression is bruised right into the forefront of his processor, where it’s sure to remain for some time to come. Bathed in the dim glow of his headlights, you’d stared up at his grill with the same frightened trepidity of a doe peering down the barrel of a hunter’s gun. You’d approached his open door with such caution, your tiny yet vital pulse rabbiting inside the veins and vessels that pump precious blood through your fragile, little body.
You were afraid of him, and it would be remiss of the great Prime to deny that the realisation had plucked at a tender node running through his spark-chamber.
It felt like a rejection.
‘Really, Optimus?’ He can almost hear Arcee’s cool, bemused ribbing now. ‘One human doesn’t like you, and suddenly your self-esteem takes a hit?’
She’d be right to tease him, of course. A Prime ought to be above such concerns.
Yet still…
A human had needed help, and Optimus’s very presence – once described as a comfort by Jack when the boy thought he couldn’t hear – was enough to almost instil a fear in you so profound, you’d have sooner braved the cold emptiness of a desert and your own exhaustion than accept his aid.
Optimus eases his engine to a constant, steady hum as he drives down Highway 49, his weary passenger secured inside his alt mode. Distantly, he notes how some of his custodial protocols have settled back to lay dormant amongst his codes once again, the same protocols that rear their heads like spitting cobras whenever he sees one of the children in danger.
But for now, there is no danger, and so, contented, the Prime allows himself to cruise at a lax pace towards the distant, twinkling lights appearing on the dark horizon.
Jasper.
You mentioned that your journey ends at the dairy pastures out towards the East of town, where well-watered fields of grass are nestled beneath the shadows cast by enormous, twisting rock spires.
But why are you heading there in the first place?
The silence inside his cab starts to grow stifling. And although the quiet doesn’t bother him in the least, Optimus is conscious of your bouncing leg, and the small, quivering fingers kneading anxiously around the straps of the bag you’ve yet to remove.
It doesn’t look heavy… The note you left on the window of your truck claimed that the vehicle is all you have, and he has no doubt that what little else you might call yours is tucked safely within the leather rucksack that’s currently pinned between your spine and Optimus’s seat.
It may not look heavy, but neither does it look particularly comfortable.
Beneath the shell of armour and metal parts concealing his face, Optimus feels his brow plates twitch in their attempt to furrow gently towards one another.
“Perhaps you’d-“ he starts, only to hurriedly cut the feedback to his voice box when you promptly go rigid against his seat, your drooping, crimson-tinted eyes flying open to roll around his cabin like a spooked equine mammal. “My apologies,” he amends contritely, letting his voice drop to such an unobtrusive pitch, it almost mingles with the purr of his engine, “I only meant to tell you, there is ample room in the footwell for your belongings…”
Leaving an indicative silence in his wake, Optimus regards you curiously as you tighten your grip on the tattered, leather straps slung over your shoulders, though your gaze does flick down to survey the space around your shoes.
You may have traded your name for his, but it’s clear you’re still wound up tighter than a coiled spring.
“Oh,” you eventually murmur, and he’s pleased to see your white-knuckle grasp go slack.
As you begin to slowly slide the bag from your shoulders, every movement stiff and uncertain, Optimus nonetheless lets out an approving hum and returns his senses to the road ahead, though his focus remains almost entirely on the soft speck of warmth shifting around in his passenger seat.
Not for the first time, Optimus is struck by how much larger cybertronians are than humans. Even when you lean forwards and lower your rucksack down towards his footwell, his sensors barely register your presence.
At least your weight is more substantial than Rafael’s, he muses.
Once, during a rare but pleasant occurrence in which he was the only bot available to shuttle their tiniest member from school to the Base, Optimus had tried – and failed – to refrain from checking that the boy was still safely strapped in his passenger seat every ten nanoclicks.
Giving his engine a rev to shake himself from the memory, Optimus speaks again, mindful to keep his volume low this time. “May I ask you something, Y/n?”
He watches as you finally relinquish your hold on the bag, letting it drop with the utmost care into the space by your feet. “Of course,” you say genially, turning less and less guarded as the warmth of his cab envelopes you, beckoning you towards a much-needed rest.
“What brings you to Jasper?”
Small talk is hardly Optimus’s forte, but the nature of your unfortunate circumstances had shifted something deep within his spark and left it murmuring unhappily behind his colossal chassis.
Oblivious to the Prime’s concern, you cast another doleful glance towards the driver’s side, leaning back until your shoulders just barely ghost the fabric of your seat. “Only business, I’m afraid,” you offer, vaguely, “Nothing exciting. What about you? Are you based out here?”
“I am,” your mysterious driver responds just as concisely before he swings the topic back around to you, much to your dismay, “But this… Terry-“ He says the name as if it’s entirely foreign to him, like a word in another language that he isn’t sure how to pronounce. “-Is he a friend of yours?”
Puffing out your cheeks, you raise a hand, pivoting it lazily from side to side. “Not exactly…” you eke out. After a moment mulling it over further, you let your hand flop down into your lap again with a sigh. “Actually, no, not at all. He’s barely an acquaintance. I’ve only spoken to him once over the phone when he called to offer me a job.”
Optimus is too slow to mute the heavy hum that rolls through him, reverberating across his cabin and up through your seat.
You must pick up on his apprehension because you quirk one corner of your lips and exhale through a humourless chuckle. “I know… Ironic, isn’t it? I didn’t want to hop in a stranger’s truck, but I’ll travel all the way to Nevada to work for a guy I’ve spoken to once.”
Inwardly, Optimus fights back a frown. Soon enough, his cab is once again filled by his rich, mellow tone, just a few iotas shy of admonishing. “I assume you must have had a good reason for coming here.”
At that, you bark out a slightly louder harrumph. “I have a reason,” you admit before dropping your voice and tugging your brows together until they pucker at the middle of your forehead, gazing solemnly out through the windscreen, “Still haven’t figured out if it’s a good one or not…”
Frowning at the distant lights of Jasper, you miss the way the semi’s rearview mirror twitches microscopically to bring you into centre-frame.
The Prime casts his hidden optics discreetly over your strained expression.
Jaw cinched tight… Hands curled rigidly over your knees. Your whole frame is hunched in on itself, shoulders lifting towards your ears as if you mean to hide between them…
He doesn’t need to scan your vitals to know that your amygdala has just kicked itself up a gear.
You’re scared. And this time, something tells him that he isn’t the cause.
“Perhaps,” he starts slowly, waiting for you to unclench your jaw in response to his voice, “I could offer a third-party perspective.”
Snorting quietly, you reply, “To help me work out if I’m doing the wrong thing?”
“It may ease your troubles to share them,” he offers considerately, having to override the urge to send a soothing stroke through your EM field – or lack thereof.
Sometimes, Optimus finds himself stumped for how to connect with humans on the same level as he can Cybertronians. It’s through no fault of their own, nor his. It simply comes down to a difference in biology.
With the latter, he can so clearly convey a feeling or notion through the electrical impulses cast out by his matrix, and the spark housing it.
Oftentimes, he’ll have to brush his field against Ratchet’s when the agitated medic starts kicking out frustration and, so often, despair. He more frequently does the same to Bumblebee if ever the youngling grows despondent from Rafael’s absence. Arcee’s bouts of fury at the Decpticons, and Bulkhead’s ferocious protectiveness over Miko… Prime has felt it all, brought them into his field, and countered with a presence intended to calm and reassure without having to offer a single word.
But humans… They’re more difficult to soothe.
He has to go by tone and expression alone. The children are easier to read, but adults are a different story; masters at hiding their truest and most vulnerable thoughts behind facades they’ve had years to perfect.
How often has he caught himself trying to wrap Jack, Miko and Raf up inside his solicitous EM field before he remembers they’re human children, not sparklings? They can’t feel his energies like a Cybertronian would.
But regardless, he hopes they know that despite maintaining a poised and collected exterior, Optimus has a spark that’s familiarised itself well with their own, precious heartbeats.
He’s pulled from his musings by your soft, sardonic laugh. “What’re you gonna charge me the going rate of a therapist?” you joke, giving the empty driver’s seat a wry smile.
“I would never dream of charging you for anything,” he insists at once, so sincere that you think he either missed the joke entirely or he’s trying to bulldoze through your defences simply by being nice.
“Good,” you hum, “Because I couldn’t afford a minute of time with a therapist, let alone a whole session. Spent the last of what I had on fuel just to get here.”
“If you require financial aid,” Optimus tells you resolutely, “I would be happy to provide it.”
There are responses you’d expect to hear, and then there are those that make you choke on your own spit.
Lurching upright in your seat, your brows shoot up towards your hairline and you whip your torso around to gawk at the invisible driver. “What!?” you all but blurt, throwing an arm out to steady yourself against the dashboard. “What the- What!?”
The vehicle around you seems to churr apologetically.
“Ah… forgive me,” Optimus hedges, sounding uncharacteristically contrite, “Have I offended you?”
Blinking in rapid succession, you flap your mouth open and closed wordlessly for a few seconds, reeling your heat back up from the bottom of your shoes. “Wh-I… No,” you stammer at last, shaking your head, “No, no. I’m not offended, I’m just..”
Cutting yourself off to huff out an incredulous laugh, you press a few fingers to your temple, rubbing at it tenderly. “Christ, you’re a hoot, Optimus.”
A quick search on the internet only serves to baffle Optimus further. And as he attempts to make the connection between himself and a nocturnal bird of prey, you drag a hand down your face and let out another disbelieving little chuckle.
“Scooping me up in the dead of night, and now you’re offering me money… People will talk.”
Flicking the information on Strigiformes from his HUD, Optimus politely returns his attention to you and asks, “Is it unusual to offer money to those in need?”
“Not if that they’re a charity,” you clarify, the smile on your face turning limp as you shoot his seat a glare that lacks any kind of heat, “I’m not a charity, Optimus. I’m just an idiot who can’t keep a job.”
The truck’s engine suddenly kicks out a guttural growl just as it’s driver firmly states, “You are far from an idiot, Y/n. And… my offer still stands.”
“An offer I’m afraid I’ll have to respectfully decline,” you counter, though the frown on your face is slowly being replaced by a tentative smile, “Look, I appreciate the offer. I do. But you’re already going above and beyond to help someone you don’t know. If you keep being so nice to me, I’ll start thinking you came from the sky!”
All of a sudden, the semi’s brakes dip, only a little, barely enough to jostle you from your seat, but enough that you hastily glance out the windscreen to see if he had to slow for an obstruction in the road.
In the background, Optimus’s speakers give a burst of static before he forces out, “I don’t… The sky?”
“Yeah,” you answer blithely, “You know, like an angel.”
A hush falls over the cab as Optimus processes your words. After a time, the only think of any substance he can come up with is a soft, considering, “Oh…”
The same quiet settles itself over your shoulders, weighing them down, and you start to wonder if you’ve inadvertently insulted your mysterious driver by rejecting his offer too harshly. Before you can open your mouth to try and salvage your standing with him however, he clears his throat and utters, “You flatter me.”
“Do I?” you ask, sinking back into the seat and turning to peer out of the window, glad he doesn’t sound affronted, “Sorry if I seem out of practice, you’re the first person I’ve spoken to in… in a while.”
Optimus goes silent again, leaving you to listen to the rumble of his semi’s tyres travelling over the tarmac for several, lonely moments until he speaks again.
“You’re lonely,” he deduces, so gently and so condolingly that something in your chest gives a squeeze. Then, once again, just as you take a breath to protest his assumption, he asks, “Y/n? Why did you leave your home to come here?”
“… Ah…” Sucking a breath through your teeth, you sit up, lifting your back off the comfortable seat, much to Optimus’s private dismay, “Well, that’s… that’s a long and boring story,” you try to laugh.
As if in response, the truck slows down a few notches until the needle hovers over the forty mark. “I’ll wager it isn’t boring at all,” he prompts, “And I’m not going anywhere.”
The tension in your brows starts to cause an ache, and you stuff your teeth into your bottom lip to distract yourself. “It really is a classic,” you chuckle, wholly intent on brushing his concern aside, “You’ve probably heard it a hundred times before. Straight from the runaway’s handbook.”
Softly, the strange but kind man chides you. “Y/n…”
A lump starts to form in your throat but you force another laugh through it, pulling your chin from your knuckles to aim a look over your shoulder, hoping that his cameras don’t pick up your quivering lip. “Wait… Are you actually a therapist?” you joke, “Is that your day job?”
“Please?”
With a single word, your mouth snaps shut.
Swallowing, you try to bristle defensively, wishing you weren’t so hatefully tired and vulnerable that a simple ‘please’ could knock down a wall of indifference. “Come on, Optimus,” you scoff weakly, “I’m not about to offload my baggage onto a stranger. And we both know you’re not really interested.”
Unheard by you, a strong puff of hot air blasts from the semi’s smokestacks.
“I am loathe to contradict you, youngling,” he retorts, briefly throwing you off with the unusual word, “But I am interested. If you are in some sort of trouble-?“
At once, your spine turns stiff and you cut him off with a scowl, snapping waspishly, “-Who says I’m in trouble?”
Somehow, when he falls silent this time, he manages to exude an air of mild objurgation, and you can’t help but feel like a teenager again, slinking home well after midnight to find your parents still up and waiting for your return.
The comparison humbles you, takes some of the wind out of your ruffled sails.
Optimus’s pointed silence sinks over the cab like a thick, cumbersome blanket, too itchy. You want to throw it off.
Sullen, you swivel yourself back to face the window and lean your forehead against the cool glass, frowning out at the silver-soaked desert drifting by. Your mysterious stranger’s semi drives so smoothly, you can’t even feel the bumps.
But you can feel Optimus’s eyes upon you… somehow, as though he’s just waiting for you to make the next move.
Shifting in your seat, you stubbornly ignore the awkward silence, but it isn’t long before that awkwardness evolves into a kernel of guilt that embeds itself under your ribcage.
Here’s a man who so far, has been nothing but cordial and helpful to you. Hell, even downright generous. All he’s asked of you in return is to hear your reason for being here.
And what did you do?
You threw his – likely genuine – interest back in his proverbial face.
But to tell him…-
‘-Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,’ you scold yourself, ‘You’re not that exciting. You could have been through far worse, after all.’
Resisting the impulse to groan aloud, you knock your forehead gently against the window, considering.
For his part, Optimus doesn’t press you, he doesn’t clear his throat or try to change the subject, he just… waits.
And finally, alongside a great heave of your chest and a woebegone sigh, his patience is rewarded.
“You ever feel… like…” Squinting, you work the sentence over in your mouth before pushing it past reluctant teeth, “Like you’re not living up to everyone’s expectations?”
If you had any idea who you’d just asked that question of, you might have realised what the sudden lurch of his engine means.
Chalking it up to the truck changing gears, you peel yourself away from the window and stare down at your lap, fingers absently fiddling with one another. “It’s like… Okay, so, you know how people around you always say, ‘just try your best, that’s all you can do?”
When it becomes clear that you’re actually poised, expecting an answer, Optimus ventures a careful, “I have heard that many a time, yes.”
“And you want to try your best for them, right? You want to be a better person?”
“Of course,” he says far more easily, only to hesitate when you go still and your face crumples.
“But… you don’t want it badly enough...” you eke out slowly.
“…I’m sorry?”
“You don’t want it badly enough to actually put any effort into being that person, you know?”
This time, Optimus doesn’t offer a response.
You almost want to smile. Of course he doesn’t know. Look at him. Picking up a random stranger in the night to drive you where you need to go, offering a sympathetic ear to listen to your troubles, offering money when you tell him you lost your job… If he put effort into being better, they’d have to make him a Saint.
“I wasn’t… giving my best,” you finally sigh at the centre console, “At my job, at home… I knew I wasn’t giving my best, and I didn’t try to. I had everyone fooled into thinking that what I was giving them was all I had…. But it wasn’t…”
Suddenly, your eyes blur over with stinging, salty tears, and you duck your head at once, frowning angrily at yourself, “Not even close.”
Optimus murmurs your name, but you can’t bear to let him try and say anything kind to you now, not when you’ve just plucked at such a tender wound, and kindness would only rip the scab off sooner than you’re ready to let it bleed.
“I was, um… I was late to work one morning at my old job,” you clear your throat, sweeping a finger roughly under your eyelid, “Overslept. That was grounds for firing me. Lost my apartment because I couldn’t make the rent anymore… When I eventually bit the bullet and went home to tell dad, he…”
Your voice fades out, clogged by the memory of that day so many weeks ago, another in a long line of disappointments you’d walked over your parents’ welcome mat.
But Optimus is still waiting, still reserving his judgement until you finish, so you take a breath, remind yourself that all of this is nobody’s fault but your own, and continue. “I think… it was slowly killing my father to see his kid wasting a perfectly good life instead of being the person he thought I’d become.”
You try so hard to remain aloof, but the late hour, the solitary journey, this stranger’s amicable nature… Something akin to a shard of glass wedges its point under the soft tissue of your heart.
And jabs.
Suppressing a wince, you plaster nonchalance into a shrug and sniff, “So, I figured if he couldn’t see me, like at all, he might… be happier.” It’s hard to admit, just as it was when you made the decision to leave your house that night and set out to find your own way in the great, wide world.
Finally, just as the semi drives past a large, green sign that reads ‘Jasper city limits,’ Optimus’s voice rumbles through the speakers.
“You left your home,” he begins slowly, “Because you thought you might disappoint your father?”
Close.
You left because you knew you already had.
Not just him either.
Partnerless, childless, you’ve been drifting through life by yourself on the path of least resistance, and every year, you grow older, and you watched your mother and father grow older too.
Leaning your head back against the seat, you nearly let your eyes slip shut before remembering you’re supposed to be staying awake, pinning them open to peer up at the blue light reflected off a dark ceiling.
“… Does he at least know where you are?”
You smile sadly, rolling your neck around to your other shoulder and giving the empty driver’s seat a heavy-lidded blink. “He knows I’ll be okay.”
Just then, the seatbelt seems to grow ever so slightly tauter around you, just enough that you can feel it press against your abdomen, but so briefly that you can’t be sure it isn’t your chest hitching.
“He must be worried about you,” Optimus prompts.
Shrugging, you turn back to face the window. “Like I said, he knows I’ll bounce back. I… usually do. I mean I have done so far.”
Another disquieted hum trickles out of the speakers.
“That’s why I had to get to the dairy tonight,” you sniffle, blinking hard as the truck passes beneath the first street-light, bringing you safely within the city outskirts, “I have to make sure Terry thinks I’m worth keeping on as a farm-hand. If I’m late on my first day and he decides I’m not worth it…” Your hands ball into clenched fists in your lap and you grit your teeth, determined not to let your misty eyes spill all over Optimus’s seats.
“I need this job,” you croak, more to yourself now than your invisible listener, “Not sure how many bounces I’ve got left in me.”
This time, you’re certain the seatbelt tightens. You even spare it a glance when it doesn’t slacken again, and you force your fists apart to slide your fingers beneath the fabric, gently working it loose.
Optimus is barely aware of your touch. “You should try to contact your father,” he says at last, “I’m certain that if he hears of your circumstances, and learns why you left and where you are, he’ll be able to help you.”
He watches you blink, frowning suddenly and sitting up to give his side of the cab a baffled look. Slowly, your expression opens up as a realisation dawns on you, one not yet privy to the mech.
“Oh,” you say, mildly surprised, “You think it was only my decision to leave.”
-----------------------------------------
Optimus doesn’t know which is worse.
That you could feel like such a burden to your family, you thought leaving would make them happy.
Or the fact that your family had done nothing to stop you from walking out the door.
--------------------------------------
There aren’t a great many things that a Prime is permitted to regret.
That does not, however, make them incapable of regret. Only the admission of it.
By the time Optimus’s gargantuan tyres turn onto the long, sandy driveway of Terry’s Dairy, he realises he’s added one more contrition to his ever-growing list. He’s gone behind your back, turned a blind optic to your wishes and invaded your privacy in a way that made the matrix in his chassis squirm and howl.
But it’s all he could think to do for you at short notice, he laments, short of carting you back to the silo and ensuring you get some proper rest. Ratchet would probably take one look at your vitals and order a week of inactivity. Then he’d likely tear Optimus a new finial for bringing yet another human into their fold.
It would be counterproductive, he supposes. After all, the Decepticons aren’t aware of your existence, and affiliating yourself with the Autobots will only paint a target on your back.
No, leaving you here is for the best, he reasons, though he resolves to avoid going behind your back again in the future.
He also resolves to make the drive up to the pastures part of his weekly patrol… Not for any particular reason – it’s possible the Decepticons also prowl along these old roads… And if, on his way by, he happens to cast a glance over and see you, well… All the better.
“Are you certain you’ll be alright?” he asks for the umpteenth time as he trundles to a stop in front of a modest, wooden farmhouse, his headlights bathing the little white porch in their dazzling glow.
Giving a jovial roll of your eyes, you haul your rucksack out of the footwell and reach down to press the seatbelt release, having to jab at it with your thumb a few times before it eventually relents and lets go of the metal buckle.
“Don’t you worry about me,” you tell him stoutly as you reach for the door handle. That too, you struggle to open, tugging at it with no success until the lock promptly goes ‘click’ and the door swings open of its own accord.
Clicking your tongue at the temperamental tech, you arduously slide yourself from the seat and swing the rucksack over a shoulder, climbing backwards down the steps. “You just worry about getting this truck in tip-top shape. Sounded like the engine had a mind of its own.”
Dropping the last foot to the ground, your knees threaten to buckle, but you manage to remain upright, stepping back to smile up into the cab before the door tugs itself shut.
Right on cue, the semi’s idling engine lets out a noisy rev, instantly drawing a laugh out of you.
“Ha!” you grin, “Yeah, just like-”
You’re promptly interrupted by an unexpected commotion from the house.
Whipping your head towards the porch, you let out a yelp as the screen door suddenly bursts open, and from the darkness comes barrelling a short, stocky man wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama shorts, a single shoe, and a ferocious snarl.
But most alarmingly of all, is the shiny, side-by-side shotgun held aloft in his arms, the stock braced against his shoulder and one, keen eye staring straight down the sights.
All the moisture in your mouth dries up when you realise those long, glinting barrels are aimed directly at you.
“What the-!?” is all you can bleat out.
Without a moment’s warning, the truck beside you roars to life and suddenly lurches forwards on its wheels, thrusting itself like a wall of metal into the space between you and the gun-toting farmer.
“Wh- Optimus!” you exclaim, trying to stand on your toes to fruitlessly see over the semi’s grill. “Terry!? Is that you!?”
“I told you sons of bitches,” the incensed man hollers, “F’I ever caught you tryn’a mess with my cows again, I’d-!”
“Terry!” Stepping sideways, you attempt to move around Optimus’s semi, only for the truck to roll forwards, keeping you hidden safely behind its bumper.
“Optimus, stop it,” you hiss, planting a palm on the warm, thundering hood and darting around the front of his truck, too quickly for him to move forwards again lest he squash you beneath his radiator.
Lifting your voice, you hurriedly call out, “Terry, i-it’s me! Y/n? We spoke on the phone! About the job!”
You’re met with a stunned silence as you manage to skirt around to the other side of the semi’s bumper, keeping your hand on the metal as if that alone could keep the ten-tonne machine at bay.
Finally, ‘Terry’ comes into view, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you meet his steely glare through the sights.
Then, just as swiftly, he blinks, and the gun drops almost at once, his face bursting open in surprise. “Y/n? That you, kid?” he calls.
The palpable relief almost brings you to your knees. Taking your hand off the truck’s grill, you step forwards, eyeing the gun warily as it dangles at the farmer’s side. “Yeah, it’s me… Sorry.”
“Goddammit, Kid! You about gave me a damn heart attack!”
“I gave you a heart attack!?” Expelling a shaky breath, you card your fingers through your messy hair and add, “Jesus, Terry. Was the gun really necessary?”
There’s a line of sweat beading on the farmer’s wispy brow as he flicks his gaze between you and the revved-up truck lurking behind you. After a moment of squinting, he returns his eyes to you. “Can’t be too careful,” he grunts, “This old thing ain’t even loaded. Just use it to scare away some damn kids who’ve been comin’ round here and spookin’ up my herds.”
True to his word, Terry breaks the shotgun’s barrels, flipping the gun around in his hands to show you the empty chambers.
At that moment, as if he’d been waiting to determine that the danger had passed, Optimus puts his semi in reverse, rolling it backwards over the sand as you turn to watch him leave, absently raising a hand to wave farewell as he turns the truck around.
Just before he does, the semi’s headlights blink once, then twice, on and off, a farewell in his own right, before its wheels carry it around in the spacious yard and it begins to drive, leaving the way it had come, back up the lonely, sand-choked track.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Terry breathes, draping a wrist over his forehead and letting out an incredulous chuckle, “The Angel…” Tearing his eyes off the truck’s retreating taillights, he stares over at you, mouth crooked into a lopsided grin. “How the Hell’d you get a ride with the goddamn Angel?”
“I’m sorry,” you sputter, eyelashes flickering in disbelief, “Angel?”
Terry’s expression morphs from giddy excitement to a wistful, faraway gaze. “The Angel of Highway Forty-Nine,” he says breathlessly, his eyes sharpening once again as he turns them back onto you, “He’s a legend. Just showed up one day in that big ol’ truck of his. Noone knows who he is or where he came from! A ghost, that’s what folks say, who drives his rig up and down the roads around Jasper. Never stoppin’ for gas. Never gettin’ to where he’s goin.”
Suddenly, his demeanour shifts again, and he closes the distance between you, lowering his voice conspiratorially and lifting his hand up to his mouth as if to shield the words from prying ears. Though the only ears you can see are those of the cows watching sleepily from their barn, no doubt awoken by the ruckus. “I know folks who swear, when they drive past him on the road, they look, but not one of ‘em has ever seen a person behind that windscreen!”
“Oh my,” you return, feigning intrigue with a tired expertise, “That’s spooky. But… maybe the glass is just tinted?”
Terry leans backwards out of your bubble, spreading his arms wide and pursing his lips. “Maybe,” he concedes, only to immediately drop his arms again, and you watch in mild concern as his face splits into a wide, borderline-manic grin, “Or maybe… He’s an alien, and that big rig there?” He points the barrel of his shotgun down the farm track at the spot where Optimus had disappeared. “That’s his craft.”
…. Ah.
Paying dutiful attention, you follow his line of sight, eyebrows high on your head and a carefully pensive gaze laid bare for Terry to see.
“His craft?” you echo, “You mean like a spaceship?”
The old farmer’s face lights up and his eyes zero in on you like a car salesman who’s just spotted a clueless customer stumbling into his showroom.
It took twenty minutes for Terry to show you to the little annex you’d be living in from now on. And only another five for you to thank him profusely for giving you this chance, bid him goodnight, shuck off your shoes and rucksack and finally, finally flop face-first onto the bed. A real bed. With pillows and sheets and a blanket. Not the bed of an old pickup truck and a coat tossed over your legs for warmth.
Rolling onto your back, you splay your arms out on either side of you, sending a tiny smile up at the ceiling.
“Alien… Ha,” you laugh softly. Terry’s a character. Decent enough, but the scent of stale beer and hops lingering on his breath when he leaned in close stole some of the credence from his theory.
Now, Angel… you can get behind. Optimus had shown up right when you needed him, after all, even if you couldn’t see it for yourself at the time.
Ah, but Optimus is the good sort. And good sorts tend to drift to where they’re needed, helping out wherever they can. You’re not the good sort. You just muddle on through and go wherever you can, helping out where your help is invited.
You resolve to bite the bullet and just check how much is in your current account. See if you’ve got enough in there to hire a tow, or a friendly farmer with a tractor and a rope…
The passcode screen flicks away, and you’re left blinking tiredly at the figure on top of the page.
You blink once.
Then again, harder.
Then you promptly drop the phone onto the bed with a soft ‘whump.’
Snatching it back up, you gape at the screen, drop it again, then throw your hands over your mouth in abject horror.
There must be some mistake. You’re dreaming, you fell asleep, and this is a dream, surely to god!?
A third check yields the same results, and once again, you toss the phone away from you to the foot of the bed, staring after it as if it might come alive at any moment.
No matter how hard you squeeze your fingernails into your scalp, you can’t wake up from whatever twisted fantasy you’ve stumbled into.
The numbers and words are burned into your retinas, flashing dimly every time you blink.
‘$10,000 has been added to your account.’
#optimus prime#tfp#tfp optimus#optimus prime x reader#robot/human#autobots#protectiveness#gentle giant#Optimus accidentally offers to be your sugar daddy#guns#farmers#drabble
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god there was something so incredible about shrue condemning our inclination to hide behind stories as a means of denial and wilful ignorance, delivered to the listener through the medium of a story. of course shrue was talking more about the lies we tell ourselves to avoid confronting the hard truths and ugly realities of the world we live in than, like, fiction in general, but goddamn. what a fucking meta move. this is a story about stories, about how they can be used as vehicles for both beautiful lies and terrible truths; their limitations as a medium and those of language as a whole. of how we can talk, and talk, and talk ourselves to the end of the world, to the bottom of our self-made graves, but without action, that's all they are, and all they ever will be. words. enough to drown us all beneath the crushing weight of our conviction in them, but not enough to save us.
#🐉#AND THEY PULLED IT OFF!!!#i can hardly speak i feel like i need to tear off all my clothes and skin and walk naked and flayed through the streets#the silt verses#the silt verses spoilers
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Fourth Meal of July
I bet you think you know where the story is going. Maybe it's about your hungry neighbor casually peeking over the fence during the 4th of July cookout. He's been drinking, so have you, so you're all a little friendly. He asks for a little propane and you naturally oblige. Of course when you head into his yard, you go down his throat. You're swimming inside of a beer bath waiting to be digested. All you feel is him slapping his belly with pride.
Or maybe it was your uncle who cornered you during the barbecue. His belly was already big because of burgers and hot dogs. Sure people would look for you, but no one would know that you were trapped inside. The night goes on and while people search, your fat bellied uncle just relaxes on the couch.
Maybe it's a stranger you meet at the bar celebrating the 4th of July. The two of you laughing and cajoling with the liquor warming your face. Red white and blue shots, maybe even a kiss lower your suspicions. After all, he was a charming fellow, what's a little romp? You go back to his place and have the time of your life. You think you're going to be a little sore tomorrow. Unfortunately, he's thinking of having you for a post-coital snack. Your feet wiggle on the outside as he takes the final damning gulp.
In truth, does it really matter? Your neighbor, your uncle, or a stranger. On this day of fourths, you're nothing more than a meal. Just a vehicle to make another man's belly fatter, rounder, and hairier. Regardless of the context, he'll digest you and live on. Maybe you would be remembered, less likely you would be missed. Cherished perhaps, but only every time he slaps his belly.
#male vore#male pred#male prey#m/m vore#vore story#digestion#fatal vore#oral vore#ambiguous vore#incest vore
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When Eight Becomes Nine - Chapter Two
I kinda had more planned for this chapter, but I felt like it was complete as it stands, so no angry Hongjoong in this chapter, but next chapter for sure! Also for context, this story is set roughly in October 2023 at the start, though we are ignoring any events that happen in that month irl, for the sake of the story!
Pairing: Ateez x 9th member!reader Summary: y/n arrives in Seoul, and meets her fellow auditionees. They all arrive at KQ for the first day of auditions and get straight to dancing. wc: 2.4k AU: a/b/o Genre: Fluff/Angst warnings: more mentions of anxiety, anxiety, y/n is nervous, slightly annoyed people masterlist
Y/n couldn’t believe she was on a plane to Seoul right now. Like how did she even get this lucky to have this happen to them? She couldn’t believe she had even auditioned for KQ, let alone that she was one of the few being flown out for final auditions. Though, she was confused on why Ateez never said anything about the new member auditions, the boys must have known about it, yeah? Maybe the company wasn’t allowing them to say anything just yet. She shook her head, stopping themself from wondering further, it wouldn’t do much good.
She could still remember shooting the audition video. she honestly figured it was a shot in the dark, since her skills weren’t really up to par to an idol’s skill level. Before she could worry about anything else, the announcement in the cabin interrupted her thoughts, the captain announcing her descent into Incheon Airport would commence soon. At the announcement, she could feel anxiety starting to bubble up in her stomach, at the fact that she was getting close to the moment of truth, and potentially even meeting Ateez, which was kinda scary as well. Like she never thought she'd ever meet the group of men she kinda idolized.
She could feel herself starting to shake as the nerves built, before she distracted herself by listening to, ironically, Ateez. Despite the fact that she may become one of the singers in the song she was listening to, the omega couldn’t help but listen as they calmed her down, taking away her worries for a little while. She continued to listen to their songs as the plane made its descent into Seoul, ignoring the world around her other than listening to the announcements from the crew.
Making it off of the plane in one piece and with all of her bags, she made her way through the airport, not paying attention to much besides making sure she went the right way. Though she did see a bunch of people crowding around a group of guys. She couldn’t tell who they were, but there seemed to be at least eight of them. She didn’t stay long to figure out who they were though, heading straight through customs and then immigration, quickly being released, and going to find her baggage carousel, needing to find the last of her bags before she could leave. Unlike the last time she traveled, her bag didn’t take long to arrive on the carousel.
Once she had grabbed her bags, she followed the directions given by the company, leading her to the arrivals area where she found what appeared to be a staff member waiting with a sign with her name on it.
She made her way over to them, “Hello, I’m y/n.” She said, smiling nervously.
“Hello. You’re the last person we were waiting on, and now we can go.” Ths staff member informed her quickly, turning on her heels.
Y/n struggled to keep up, with the fast pace that the staff member was walking at, her bags dragging behind her as she half-sprinted in order to stay close to them as they navigated the crowded walkways and outside to the van that she assumed contained some of the others that had been selected as well. Once they reached the van, another staff member waiting outside reached out to take her bags, storing them in the back of the van as she was directed to get into the vehicle.
As she entered the van, a large amount of scents assaulted her nose, and she quickly moved to get settled, bringing up the front of her sweatshirt to try and block out or mute down some of the scents. From what she could tell, a majority of those within the van were alphas, with a couple betas sprinkled in between. She wasn’t sure if this was everyone, or if there were others missing, but she seemed to be the only omega in the group, which made her slightly saddened.
Don’t get her wrong, she got along with any subgender, but there was always something special between omegas, the same as it was between betas, as well as alphas. There just seemed to be a stronger bond between those of the same subgender, probably because of shared experiences. Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she quickly buckled in when she realized everyone was waiting for her to do so, and then the car quickly took off. The staff member in the front passenger seat turned around to look at all of them.
“The schedule for today is as follows. We’re heading straight to the company as because of the delay in some of your flights arriving, we have no time to bring you to your home for the next couple days. Once we get there and you are all registered into the system, we will head right for the practice room to review your dance skills. A couple members of Ateez will also be there to evaluate you all.” She said, but was cut off by whispers and giggles from others as they realized they’d be meeting a few members of Ateez today.
“Before I was interrupted,” the staff continued as she shot stern looks at everyone, and to which y/n shrunk into herself a bit further. She was already a bit put off by all the changes, and to be silently scolded despite doing nothing didn’t help matters. “After that, there may be cuts if anyone isn’t up to standard. Then we will move into the studio, where you’ll work with Hongjoong and Mingi, and they will see if you fit in with the rest of the members vocally, as well as your demeanor and work ethic. And if there is enough time, we may have a select few learn a few choreographies with the group and perform it, to see exactly how well you fit in. No matter what, the final decision will most likely not be made today. So unless you’re cut, you have chances to prove yourselves. Understood?” She finished.
“Understood.” The group chorused back.
The others quickly went back to conversing amongst themselves, and the beta next to y/n leaned over.
“Hi, I’m Aaron. And you are?” He introduced himself.
“I’m y/n, nice to meet you. Where are you from?” She asked.
“I’m from Montana. You?”
“Ahh cool! I’m from Canada.”
“We’re both cold weather peeps then.”
“Yeah, I guess we are!”
They continued conversing, making small talk and getting to know each other during the long ride back to KQ. They learned that they had a lot of similar interests, and spent the car ride debating several fan theories for the fandoms they shared, getting into some very silly arguments at times. This continued until they pulled up to the company, everyone hushing as they all saw the place that decided their fate.
“Everyone out please, we’re here.” The staff member informed them, y/n and Aaron being the first two out of the car, as everyone else got out behind them.
They were then led into the company, up to the reception desk, and they were quickly entered into the system and given badges that allowed them to access a couple of the studios as well as one of the practice rooms.
“Let’s go, we have no time to waste.” The staff member said, leading them away to the practice room, as the omega remembered that she’d be meeting at least a couple members of Ateez today.
She struggled to keep her breathing under control, trying to remind herself that she just needed to focus on herself, and she’d be fine. Today wasn’t the day that decided everything. She just needed to keep up with everyone else, and she’d be okay. Her scent gave her away, at least she guessed so given that she was stuck in her own mind for a minute, as Aaron reached out for her shoulder, touching it softly and she was quickly reminded that she needed to focus on the world around her at that moment.
The staff stopped at the door, causing everyone to stop. Y/n and the others at the front could see through the window in the door that this was the practice room, and y/n gasped when she saw Yunho and San through the glass. She knew that there was a possibility, but she didn’t actually think they’d actually be there. She gripped the bottom of her sweater, feeling the nerves bubble up inside of her. The door is opened, and they’re led into the room, the two idols waving at them and welcoming them into the room.
“Welcome, welcome!” Yunho greeted everyone as they filed into the room, getting smiles in return.
San echoed his fellow member's words, as everyone spread out in the room after they put down their bags and other things they had brought along.
“Okay, we’re going to teach you some choreography, try to follow along the best you can.” San instructed the group.
Y/n was able to keep up with most of the instructions from the two idols, only not being able to keep up once or twice, though thankfully when the taller man noticed she was struggling slightly, he came over to help clarify what she was having trouble with. The omega blushed at the intense attention she received from the tall alpha, slightly intimidated. Her scent must have reflected this, since he tried to become as friendly and kind as possible, and it worked because she felt a bit less intimidated.
He smiled once he watched her do it fully without any mistakes, before rejoining San at the front of the room. The omega felt a couple pairs of eyes on her back, though Aaron smiled at her when she looked over at him. The practice went well, and once they had learned the choreography fully, they were split into groups to perform it full out in front of San and Yunho, as well as one of the other choreographers who had arrived at some point.
“Okay, let’s see what you got.” San said, a smile on his face as he watched the first group get into position.
The remaining groups watched as each group ran through the choreo a couple times, with the two men giving praise and criticism to each person after they had finished. Y/n was in the last of the four groups, though sadly she was alone as Aaron had been put in the group before her. When they called up her group, they all got into position, waiting for the music to start. Since they had been taught Ateez’s latest title track,and she had been given Yunho's position for the first chorus of Bouncy, she quickly moved to the center for her part, once the girl covering Hongjoong’s part was finished. She pushed through, confidence surging through her despite feeling a pit of anxiety in her stomach at performing in front of the two idols.
She completed her part without any faults, a smile on her face as she was proud of her achievement, and she could see once she looked up, that Yunho had a smile on his face as he looked at her. She smiled back at him, before quickly moving back to where she had been standing around the perimeter of the room, grabbing her water bottle for a drink.
“You all did really well. I’m proud of you all.” Yunho praised them, looking around at all of them with a smile on his face. “I hope that no matter who joins Ateez as the newest member, that you all will enjoy the short time you have here, and I hope you do well wherever you end up in life.” He finished, and San echoed those sentiments, and waved to them all as they left the room.
San turned to Yunho after the auditionees had left, “Do you think any of them would be a particularly good fit? Outside of their dancing skills.” He questioned the alpha.
“I think there would be a few, there’s definitely a good few dancers in that group, though whether their talent lies in other important areas is crucial as well.” Yunho remarked.
“Yes, that’s true. You were particularly interested in the only omega of the group.” San poked at Yunho’s focus on y/n.
“Yah! Cut it out. She just needed a bit of help, that's all. And you saw how she shined in that final performance at the end. She looks like you, when you finish a performance. All smiles and confidence.” Yunho said, turning it back on his fellow ‘99 liner.
“Maybe. And she did fit in doing your role, despite the height difference between the two of you.”
“Are we really picking on the height part? In that case, most of them would have a height difference with me. Besides, I saw you had your favorites. The guy from the group before my ‘supposed’ favorite.”
“He did fit in well, and honestly while he might not be the strongest dancer technically wise, his stage presence is amazing. You can’t deny he’d fit in.”
“I won’t deny it, but he’d have to get more dance training in, but I wouldn’t mind it. Stage presence is a huge part of it. If he can bring the confidence, I’m sure it wouldn’t be long before he’s mastering any dance we throw at him.”
Meanwhile back with y/n and the others…
The staff member showed them the other practice rooms and once they arrived at that part of the company, the studios that they would be able to access in order to practice while they were here. Finally, they were brought to one of the larger studios in the company, since they would need the space with so many of them there.
“Hongjoong-ssi, I’ve brought the auditionees here to practice with you and Mingi-ssi.” The staff called out after knocking on the door.
Y/n could feel her heart race, at the prospect of meeting Hongjoong. She knew that if the captain didn’t like someone, they wouldn’t be getting anywhere. If he didn’t like her, she’d be cut quicker than you could say Ateez. The door to the studio slowly opened, and the Captain of Ateez quickly appeared from behind it.
“Ah, hello. You’re the lucky group who managed to make it this far. Come in.” He said, his tone gruff and slightly unwelcoming, though he let the group of them enter regardless.
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HEYY
Can you do a rhea x fem!reader story where rhea and reader are in Highschool and have both had feeling for eachother for the longest time and both haven’t confessed but all that changes because rhea ask reader to prom and they end up kissing and it leads to something else (ifykyk😏) (smut n a lil bit of fluff too🙏)
Starry Prom Night
Rhea Ripley x Fem!Reader
WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT, Kissing, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Scissoring, Praise, Cheek Cupping & Kissing Galore, INSANE PLOT BUILDING FOR NO REASON LOL SORRYYYYYY IM A YEARNER (im serious this is like 67% plot building)
WORD COUNT: 3,731
A/N: this is just pure sapphic yearning on my end LMAO anyways anon i had so much fun writing this even though its all over the place!!!
also can you tell where i got impatient with all the plot building lol
“Rhea, I seriously don’t know how many more of these cheesy signs I can’t take. I think I’m gonna go insane.” You grunted, rolling your eyes to the back of your head.
Prom season was in full swing. It was third period and you had just witnessed what had to have been the seventh promposal of the day. This year would be the mark of your and your best friend, Rhea’s senior prom. Senior prom was a date thousands of dreamed about, wanting to show up and show out one last time before waving goodbye to their highschool years.
Every girl except you and Rhea. You both despised the thought of prom. Why would any sane person spend hundreds of dollars on an outfit just to spend their night drenched in sweat in the school gymnasium?
Fuck that!
“Romeo O Romeo! Will thou spend your Saturday night with I, drinking punch next to the locker rooms?” Rhea mocked, elbowing your arm.
You shook your head, pressing your lips together trying to keep your laughter silent. The commotion of classmates was soon drowned out by thoughts as your eyes met Rhea’s, causing your tightened lips to curl into a small smile.
Rhea’s blue eyes never failed to warm you. Everytime you gazed into those beachy eyes you were brought back to the day you first met the girl. Seventh grade, first period, language arts. A quiet blonde girl sporting a Pierce The Veil shirt was assigned to sit next to you. Nobody knew anything about the girl besides the fact she had just moved basically across the globe. You spent the entire period thinking of what you could possibly say to her, because what do you even say to a kid that was just relocated from South Australia all the way to some shitty suburban town?
“Cool shirt.”
And it fucking worked somehow. You were immediately attached to her hip. The two of you grew closer with each day that passed. You were inseparable. She was everything to you. Sleepovers every weekend. ‘Study’ sessions that were spent play fighting with each other. Singing pop-punk songs at the top of your lungs till your throats were raw. Dying your hair the same shade of blue at three in the morning. She was even at your side while your parents scolded you the morning after for said blue hair.
Jesus Christ. Lost in her eyes again? Snap out of it already!
“Yo, Alice in Wonderland, you okay?” Rhea playfully questioned, breaking your trance by poking at your thigh.
“Just…thinking. That’s all.” You softly chuckled. You were telling the truth, you were just thinking. Just thinking about her. Thinking about her touch, her hands, her pierced nose, her lips, her stupid cool shirts.
══════⋆☆⋆══════
“Jesus, someone’s eager to get out of here.” You laughed, trailing behind Rhea who was booking it over to her small black Lexus.
“Dude, can you blame me? It’s like everyone has some sort of prom fever. I am not letting it catch me.” Rhea complained, ducking into the vehicle.
You made your way to the passenger side of the car before hopping into the seat next to Rhea. “I counted eighteen of those damn signs today.” You babbled, resting your arm on the center console before trailing on, diffusing the topic, “Anyways, let’s go thrifting or something. I don’t wanna go home.”
Rhea shrugged in agreeance before pulling out of her parking spot. She knew things were tough for you at home. You had recently come out as lesbian to your parents. They weren't unsupportive but they weren't exactly supportive at the same time which had built quite a bit of tension in the household. You came out to Rhea just about two years ago, who was more than supportive. She was your number one defender, always there to threaten whichever classmate that dared to ridicule you.
You knew absolutely nothing about Rhea’s sexuality. Hell, even Rhea knew nothing about her sexuality. She only knew one thing, that she liked you. She didn’t even know when she caught feelings for you, it was like the sentiments were there since the moment you first spoke to her. She hoped as time went on the flutters she’d feel for you would pass on but recently she couldn’t seem to even push the mere thought of you out of her head, it was killing her.
The drive to the nearest thrift shop was comfortably silent…silent if you ignored the Black Veil Brides cd Rhea had blaring…
Entering the store the pair of you let out scoffed laughs as the first thing catching your attention was a large display of second hand dresses. Shaking it out of your heads and ignoring it at first you carried on to wander the isles, grabbing whatever caught your eye to try on later although you’d inevitably end back up to the racks of long dresses. You weren't a big fan of dresses but you wanted to waste as much time as you possibly could, so you decided to browse the gowns with Rhea.
She pulled a deep maroon dress, the form fitting glittered bodice was paired with a looser, more freeing skirt. “Try it on!” Rhea pushed, shoving the dress into your arms.
“I’d look so stupid in this.” You gave Rhea a bewildered look.
“Oh c’mon just try it!”
“Rhe’ when have you ever given a shit about this stuff?”
“Dude you’re the one that wanted to waste time here…” Rhea playfully scorned, diverting your question.
“Urgh, I hate when you’re right.” You huffed, shuffling towards the dressing room.
“How ridiculous do I look?” You pouted, opening the door of the changing room before shuffling to the closest mirror.
Rhea stood behind you, peering over your shoulder as you silently studied yourself in the mirror. You looked at Rhea through the mirror as she opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself in her tracks. “I mean it’s cute but where in the world would I wear this?” You shrugged, adjusting the straps as Rhea chewed on her cheeks.
“Wear it to prom.” Rhea timidly broke her silence.
“Why would I go to prom, Rhe’? First of all it would be so lame and second of all I’d have nobody to go with. I’m just gonna put this back.” You mumbled, turning to make your way back into the changing room.
A hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Go with me…” Rhea blurted out, sounding scared of her own words. Her statement caused you to turn to face her with a puzzled expression, Rhea herself even looked surprised at what she just said. Fearing your rejection she quickly added on, “Ya know, like as a joke and stuff. We can make it not lame…”
“As a joke?” Your heart that was skipping beats just seconds ago was immediately let down.
“Yeah. It’s just a stupid idea we don’t hav-”
“No, let's go…as a joke.” You interrupted Rhea’s nervous deflection. “We’ve got nothing better to do.” You shrugged on watching Rhea’s anxieties fade into the distance as her classic cheeky smile crept upon her face.
After you swapped out of your dress you returned to Rhea who was holding up a silky black dress with a deep slit in the skirt. “This’ll work. I’m too lazy to try anything on.” She chuckled while shrugging.
“That's ballsy Rhe-Rhe.”
══════⋆☆⋆══════
Tonight was the night, you were sat atop Rhea’s bathroom counter, finishing up your makeup while Rhea was shuffling around her closet searching for a pair of shoes. It had been four weeks since Rhea ‘asked’ you to prom and you simply couldn’t keep your mind off it. Although you two planned this whole thing as a joke, something shifted ever so slightly between the two of you, maybe it wasn’t a joke, who knows. Rhea had your heart in your throat at every moment and you were the topic of every thought that popped into Rhea’s head. More than ever the both of you were head over heels for each other, just terrified the other wouldn’t reciprocate those shared feelings.
Your parents were completely unaware you’d be attending prom. You had informed them you were staying with a friend before immediately storming off to Rhea’s house. Rhea’s parents hadn’t a clue either, they were under the impression tonight would be just another night of the two of you doing nothing for hours then sneaking out to go for a drive at three in the morning. There truly wasn’t much reasoning behind this secret, you guys just wanted to have this night for yourselves without pestering parents.
“Urgh! At this point I’m gonna go barefoot!” You could hear yet another pair of shoes be tossed to the floor. You slid off Rhea’s counter, stepped out of her bathroom and over to her closet. She was already in her dress tearing through a pile of shoes on the floor. “What has gotten into you Rhe’?” You leaned against the doorframe laughing at the fact that Rhea of all people was stressing over shoes.
Rhea rolled her eyes ignoring your banter. “Would it make me a hipster if I wore converse?”
“Oh absolutely, I dare you!”
“You know I will,” Rhea retorted, picking up a black pair of the canvas shoes.
You chuckled before turning to return to the bathroom, letting Rhea know you were gonna change. You got into your dress with ease up until you came to the zipper on the back. You groaned in annoyance, reaching behind to your back attempting to wiggle the zipper to no avail.
“Rhe’, can you help me real quick?” You asked while popping your head out the door.
“Hm? What’s up?” Rhea turned around and questioned before making her way up to you, trying to keep her gaze from falling down to the hand placed on your chest, keeping the dress from completely slipping from your body.
“Zippers stuck,” You pouted, turning around. Rhea’s hand swept across the base of your neck, sweeping your hair to the side. You watched her through the mirror as she began fumbling with the metal, ultimately getting it to slide up your back.
After an awkward exchange of bashful looks the two of you finished getting ready in each other's company. You sat next to Rhea slipping into your shoes while she tied off her converse, took a handful of polaroid pictures together, then eventually snuck out Rhea’s window to begin your hike to the school.
══════⋆☆⋆══════
“Ouu! Ripley’s got a date!” Was whistled out by a classmate as you and Rhea made your way down the congested hallway, making Rhes roll her eyes.
“Shut up dickhead! We’re here as a joke.” Rhea rebutted, flipping the guy off as she carried on down the hall.
Here as a joke but her flushed cheeks and sweaty hand gripping yours told a slightly different story.
“Dickheads always running their mo-” Rhea muttered, stepping into the crowded gymnasium.
“Shh. It’s fine, you shouldn’t worry about them.” You cut off Rhea, giving her hand a squeeze as you examined the starry night themed room. The area was dimly lit by blue leds and strings of fairy lights. Blue curtains decorated with paper stars draped over the majority of the walls while an array of tables adorned with bottles of fairy lights surrounded a dance floor full of teenagers.
You both seated yourselves near the stage where a live band was playing. Your legs pressed against one another as you fell into an array of conversations. Thirty minutes had managed to sneak by before your meaningless conversation was cut short by your biology teacher.
“You girls gonna sit here and chat all night? Go dance!”
“But dancing is lame, Mr. Brown.” Rhea groaned while you both turned to face the man.
“I promise you that in ten years you’ll regret not doing anything at your senior prom. Seriously, go dance!” Your teacher stood behind you giving his words of advice. Rhea peeked over to you looking for your opinion. You gave her a ‘why not’ shrug before rising from your seat.
“But I don't even know how to slow dance.” Rhea whined to herself under her breath as she stood up. “If we have to dance, we’re dancing in the corner cause I’m gonna look stupid.” She stipulated.
You guided Rhea over to a secluded section of the dance floor near a wall, reassuring her that you also had no clue on what you were doing.
“We’ll just do what everyone else is doing, Rhe’.”
“I think this right,” Rhea unassuredly giggled with a racing heart, taking a hold of your left hand while wrapping her free hand around your waist. You shook your hair to cover your flushing cheeks as you brought your right hand to rest on her shoulder. The pair of you began swaying to the music while trying to hold back laughter, both in slight disbelief at your current situation. Prom was the last place either of you ever expected to be attending.
You were already trailing back into the pit of those sapphire eyes, drowning out all external noise you missed Rhea humming about how beautiful you looked. You were too occupied taking in the essence of your childlike crush to take notice of the grip Rhea had on your waist tightening. You were fully prepared to stare into those eyes all night, but Rhea was eager to run a risk.
A set of warm lips fell onto you abruptly, pulling you by the waist into a desperate kiss. All five senses rushed over your body, sending a rush of adrenaline through your bloodstream, placing you in awe too shocked to move.
Rhea forced herself to pull away, letting a sigh of relief out before the panic settled in, “Shit. I, god I’m so-”
Your thoughts had just now grasped what just happened.
This was a kiss that spent years in the making…you were not just gonna let it end like that.
Your hand slipped to the back of Rhea’s head, pushing Rhea back into the kiss, forcibly putting an end to her apology. She immediately fell back into your lips, closing her dilated eyes. While her tongue slid across your bottom lip begging to deepen the kiss, her hands slid up to cup your cheeks. Time slid away as the two of you fell into each other in your isolated corner of the gymnasium.
Rhea pulled herself from your lips breathless, her parted lips forming an open smile. She wanted more. You attempted to collect your thoughts while catching your breath. Both of you were attempting to draft a response while gazing into each other, because what do you say after tasting your best friend of five years?
“Cool.” You nodded
Rhea shook her head scoffing out a laugh, still making an attempt to regulate her breath. She took grip of your hand, giving it a squeeze before beginning to pull you into the hall without speaking a word.
“Wher-”
“Just follow me!” Rhea cut you off, rushing through the halls as she dragged you behind herself, both of you trying not to stumble over your dresses.
She halted in front of the nurses office before fiddling with the keypad on the door, “God bless modern technology,” She muttered, managing to get the door open as you watched in disbelief. “Don’t even ask.” She chuckled, scanning the hall to make sure you were in the clear before tugging you into the room.
Once Rhea’s foot forced the door shut her lips directly got to work pinning themselves to your neck, nipping at the delicate skin.
“Shit Rhe’, there might be cameras.” You pushed through a stunned whine.
“There's none…” Rhea couldn't even pull her lips away from your skin as she spoke, “Wouldn't stop me either way, I’ve waited too long for this.” She grunted, dragging her kisses to your collarbone. “Now please tell me I can keep going.”
“I don’t think I could ever tell you to stop.” You pulled Rhea’s face to meet your eyes, whispering your confession. There was no need for Rhea to open her mouth, the look on her face alone told you that was exactly what she needed to hear.
“You have no fucking clue how long I’ve waited for this.” Rhea growled, grasping your cheeks as she pulled you over to the nurses twin sized treatment bed.
She brought her legs to straddle over you, lowering her chest to hover over you. Rhea was attached to you like a dog, her lips were sloppy against yours as her hands snuck to pull up the skirt of your dress.
Rhea brought herself between your legs, in a rush to finally get a taste of your core.
“Please…I’m begging you, please don't make me wait more than I already have.” Rhea looked up at you pleading.
Your heart was in your throat as you fervently nodded. “I wanna hear your voice,” Rhea begged, whispering out your name.
“Rhea, please just do anything, I need, I need you.”
With that said she hurriedly slid your panties down your legs, tossing them to the foot of the bed. Rhea was making it clear that tonight was her time to shine.
“Fuck, you’re perfect…” Rhea murmured, awed at the sight of your soaked cunt. Her arms tangled themselves around your legs. After years her tongue finally made contact with your delicacy, she preached a string of curses, finally getting what she was after. You propped yourself on your elbows to catch the sight of Rhea exploring your brand new world. You could feel a smirk between your legs as her eyes met yours, thirstily watching you watch.
“Tastes so good.” Rhea praised, sweeping her tongue through your folds before bringing herself to round your clit. You chewed on your cheeks to hush the moans escaping your throat as Rhea wrapped her lips around your sensitivity, allowing her to lightly suck at your skin. Your legs made an unsuccessful attempt at wrapping around Rhea’s head only to be overtaken by her hands, prying them open, giving her full access to devour your aching heat.
The stealthy addition of two fingers into your emptiness was only amplifying the wobbly knees her mouth alone had created. Her fingers began steadily massaging into you, causing an arch to form over your back. The mixture of Rhea’s roaming tongue and grinding digits already had a knot forming in your stomach.
“Fucking Christ Rhe’, where the fuck did you learn all this.” You struggled out through moans. Rhea let out a soft chuckle as she continued to take your clit into her mouth, rolling her tongue piercing over your sensitivity.
Rhea gave your cunt one last kiss before she brought herself to face you. Now that Rhea had finally gotten a taste of your mouth she couldn't get enough, she had to return for more. Your lips once again blended together, your moans now slipping into Rhea’s mouth as her fingers curled inside your core.
“God, you sound so beautiful.” Rhea admired, pressing her warmed forehead against yours while her digits continued toying with your clenching walls. Her thumb was soon added to the mixture of pleasure as it rubbed rhythmic circles over your bud.
“Rhe’, I want to feel you against me,” You opened your eyes, pulling from her kiss while your hips rolled against her working digits. “Please.”
Rhea nodded, her eyes full of adoration, she’d do whatever it took to please you no matter if it took minutes or hours. She let her fingers come to a declined pace before withdrawing from your warmth. She stood up, licking her fingers clean before riding her dress up her legs and dropping her panties. She rushed to return to the bed pulling your leg into the air before propping a leg of hers next to your hip.
Rhea settled her heat against yours, letting out a heavy breath. She gradually started rocking her hips against you, mixing your slick together. You watched as the new sensation of pleasure washed over her, causing her jaw to drop open and her eyes to roll to the back of her head.
“Just…just like that.” You whimpered as you began to grind your hips at a matching pace, chasing towards your climax. Rhea’s arm clung to your leg that was situated in the air for support as the sound of quiet moans and the rustling of dress fabric bounced around the room.
“Feels so good, fuck.” Rhea quickened her motions, moaning out the nickname she created for you through heavy breaths.Rhea pushed herself further against you chasing her own high as you squirmed beneath her grinds.
“Rhe’, I’m gonna cum.” You whined out, reaching for a hand to cling to. Her hand met you halfway, instantly taking you into her grip she pulled you up to meet her face. She was back to those oh-so passionate kisses she could now never get enough of. “Please, Rhe’!” You cried against her, her movements bucking against your cunt.
Rhea nodded into your kiss signaling for your release, her own climax just seconds away. Your series of moans brushed against Rhea’s lips as your orgasm washed over you, hers quickly following. Muffled whines echoed around the room as Rhea’s thrusts against you faltered.
After riding out your highs together, Rhea squeezed herself next to you on the tiny bed and rested her hand on your thigh, giving it a soft squeeze. “I swear to god if you say cool.” Rhea looked over at you giggling.
“Unfair!” You joked, resting your head against Rhea’s chest. You both fell into silence simply taking in the moment, reflecting on everything that had just happened. Rhea peppered small kisses to the top of your head as you toyed with the fabric of her dress.
“We should probably get outta here before somebody finds us.” Rhea suggested, breaking the silence.
“Wanna go dance again?” You teased as you turned to face her.
Rhea quickly shook her head, “I’m never gonna dance again. I was so bad.” She laughed, “How about we go find a parking lot and makeout under the stars, hm?”
“I seriously would have never expected you to be all smoochy, Rhe’.”
“Look, I have like five years of kisses to make up for!”
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