#but i have to say this thing about her music video is so ridiculous

[magical-girl-trucy]

Sorry my brain is being silly and it just went "how would the aa characters use a youtube channel" so now here's your list of that

Phoenix: you would think he wouldn't have one, but he does and the only thing on it is the ad he and Maya made in the anime Maya: Runs a Steel Samurai analysis/review channel called Real Pink Princess that has over 100k subs. The most popular video is one that features Will Powers as a guest. Sometimes there will be unexpected breaks and when she gets back she's like "sorry guys I got arrested!" and at this point none of her subs know if she's joking or not. Pearl: Does not have a youtube channel but likes to help Maya and Trucy with editing. Ema: Her youtube channel is only a mirror for her tiktoks. Those tiktoks being incredibly ridiculous, sometimes dangerous science experiments and also explaining how forensics stuff work. Trucy: Posts her magic acts on her channel and has some videos teaching people how to do some more basic tricks to try to get people more interested in magic. Generally good vibes

Edgeworth: Does not have a youtube channel but is a frequent guest on Maya's channel. The fans love him. Kay: Makes clickbait videos called stuff like "BREAKING INTO THE CHIEF PROSECUTOR'S OFFICE!!!!" and has millions of subs. Was notorious during the prank era of youtube despite never doing anything harmful. Also has a gaming channel. Apollo: Only has a channel in name. Nothing is posted on it, but he is subbed to a lot of law-based content and an astrology channel. By nature of being Trucy's magic assistant, it goes without saying that he is in a lot of Trucy's videos. Klavier: Ran the official Gavinners youtube channel up until Turnabout Serenade happens. Afterwards made a new channel for his own music but has kept it very lowkey. Athena: Has a vlogging channel that she started when she was 14. She has a small but supportive fanbase of people who are rooting for her in her lawyer/psychology endeavors. In the DD and beyond era she makes more videos about law and psychology but never full out stops with the vlogs (those Khura'in videos must've been wild) Simon: Makes a channel after getting out of prison. It's low quality videos of Taka and nothing else. It goes viral and someone tries to get him "cancelled" by exposing his criminal history but it fails spectacularly Bonus: Once out of prison, Godot also makes a youtube channel, which is how to make every single Godot Blend. It's not popular but the people who come across them are concerned for his health

[dollfacefantasy]

Video Games

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, oral (f receiving)

summary: you're playing video games when leon feels a little needy

word count: 1.9k

a/n: hi everyone, i'm back with another piece. thank you so so much to everyone who supported my last post (especially if you reblogged and/or left a comment, hugging you through the screen rn). And if you followed me, hi! happy to have you here :) it means a lot to me, and i hope people find some enjoyment in this post as well. this post has nothing to do with the song video games, but i love lana and wanted to use that picture so idgaf. also, all the games mentioned are ones i really loved when i was younger. i'd love to hear some you guys like if you want to share. again, feedback, likes, follows, and reblogs are appreciated! <3

You were so excited when your parents called you and told you they were bringing by your old Playstation 2 today. They were cleaning out the garage and found the dusty, old box that contained the system and all your favorite games from when you were young. Leon was sitting on the couch, watching you wander around as you spoke into the phone. He had returned from a difficult mission recently and your joyful presence alone made everything seem brighter. He smiled at the ways your eyes lit up when you laughed and recalled old memories. He’d gently reach out and stroke your hip when you’d walk past the sofa, lost in your conversation.

About an hour later, you were rushing out the front door to retrieve your box of nostalgia. Leon trailed behind with his eyes full of love for you. He takes the box of stuff as you briefly talk to your mom and thank her for making the stop. He carries the box back into the house for you. It wasn’t that heavy. You definitely could have done it yourself, but he couldn’t get enough of how that sweet smile would spread across your face when you said thank you and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.

The two of you set up the console together in your living room. His strong arms hold the tv at an awkward angle as you snake behind it to plug in the cords in all the different ports. His eyes can’t help but run along your body. He can’t help but notice how your shorts ride up as you bend over or how your back arches while you strain to reach the back of the screen. He’s snapped out of his lustful daze when he hears you say “Got it!” and pull back from behind the tv. He puts the monitor back in place and you hug him from behind, pressing soft kisses to his back while thanking him again for his help.

“It’s nothing, Baby,” he says softly, turning to face you and kissing the top of your head.

You smile up at him before eagerly pulling him to sit on the couch with you. You rifle through your box of old games, pulling out your beaten-up copies of Sly Cooper and Silent Hill. Your eyes sparkle with excitement as you gush to him about your favorite parts and all the fun you used to have playing them with your friends. His heart aches with the love he feels just from hearing you speak with such passion.

“Why don’t you show me some?” he suggests as you continue looking through the box on your lap.

“You want to watch me play video games?” you ask as if it’s the nicest thing you’ve ever heard. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to be bored.”

He laughs slightly like even the idea of being bored while spending time with you was ridiculous. “C’mon, you’re all excited over this stuff, and you’re not gonna play?” he asks, “I’ll be fine. Maybe you can teach me your tricks.”

“Yeah, I’m a real pro,” you joke sarcastically, but your smile remains genuine. You decide on playing Tomb Raider and hop up to put the game in. Again, Leon can’t help how his eyes are drawn to the fabric of your bottoms tightening around your ass as you squat to insert the game. You return to your seat and get comfy against his side with his arms around your shoulder.

You start playing, your smile widening as you hear the familiar music and begin remembering the controls like the last time you played was only yesterday. Leon watches the screen as much as he can, but his real focus is on you. The way your fingers frantically mash at the buttons while fighting an enemy, how you tense and press against him when you think you’re going to die, your half-assed justifications for mistakes you make, blaming the age of the controllers. He loved you so much that his limbs nearly trembled with want for you. Everything about you drove him wild. You smelled so good and your body was so warm nestled against his.

He keeps watching you, and it’s becoming overwhelming, his desire for you. He leans his head down, brushing your hair away, and starts gently kissing the open expanse of your neck. You bite your lip as a knowing smirk rises on your face.

“I knew you’d get bored,” you tease, tilting your head a little to give him more room. He takes the invitation and moves his lips with more intent. 

“I’m not bored. I just need to feel you,” he defends between kisses, “You keep playing.” He adjusts on the couch so he’s lower and has a better angle on your neck. His arm that isn’t around you caresses your stomach slowly.

You try to focus on your game, but it’s difficult when you have his hands and lips coasting over you, his hot breath on your neck. Your own breathing hitches when his hand on your stomach slides up to fondle your tits. Your fingers start feeling useless on the controller, fumbling between buttons as you try to continue playing. His teeth scrape along your neck. It’s the last thing you can take before you make too many mistakes and die. The menu comes up to reload the game and your head falls back against the cushion.

“Leon,” you whine playfully, “You’re making me die.”

“‘M Sorry, Baby,” he mumbles, “Just can’t get enough of you.” He continues kneading your breasts and showering your neck with kisses as you try to survive the level you’re playing. Heat spreads through your body and slick begins collecting between your thighs causing you to squirm a bit. Leon smirks against your skin, sensing the effect he has on you.

He kisses your neck a few more times before he moves his mouth down your arm while easing himself onto the floor. He presses a final tender kiss to your hand gripping the controller before settling on his knees between your legs. You know what’s coming, and it causes your cheeks to tint a soft red. The sight only excites Leon more. His fingers tuck beneath the waistband of your shorts and slip them down. He lifts your lush thighs to rest on his shoulders and pulls you closer so that you're slouching against the cushions.

“Leon, I’m gonna have to start all over again,” you say, your voice softer from your arousal. You try to seem focused, but your attention to the game is waning with each of his touches.

He works his mouth along the smooth skin of your inner thighs before dragging his nose along the cloth covering your center, inhaling you. The scent sends his blood rushing to his cock. He lays a kiss to the fabric as he hums in response. “I’ll make it up to you, Sweetheart. Promise.”

He hooks his finger around your panties and pulls them off. You feel his breath against your wet cunt, the sensation sending a chill through you. You take your lip between your teeth again while keeping your eyes on the television. In your peripheral vision, you can see him staring into you, gazing at you like you’re a work of art. He starts rubbing his thumb up and down your folds slowly, not with enough pressure to give you real pleasure, just the right amount to tease.

“You’re fucking soaked, Angel. Gotta have a taste,” he murmurs before swiping his tongue through your pussy. You let out a short moan at the feeling. Leon wraps his arms around your thighs, keeping you in place as he starts to make out with your cunt. His tongue flattening and dragging against your dripping core, lapping up every drop of you he can.

Your eyes roll back and your fingers spasm on the controller before you put it to the side and grab Leon’s hair. He groans as you tug him closer, his lips wrapping around your clit and sucking. You whimper and buck against his face. He knows all your attention is on him now. Knowing he made you feel so good that you had to focus on him had his pants feeling even tighter. He looks up at you, his eyes clouded with lust and your slick coating his lips. 

“Taste so sweet, Baby,” he breathes, thumbing your clit as he speaks, “Could do this for hours if you let me. Have your pretty pussy cumming over and over.” 

He buries his face back into your cunt and fucks his tongue into you. You gasp and writhe above him. Your head pushes back against the couch cushions. Your thighs start to squeeze around his head, and he loves it. He pushes even deeper, nose bumping your clit as he works. You whine and your hands fly up to cover your face as your cheeks feel hot.

He gives your thigh a quick pinch and pulls back. “No hiding, sweet girl. Wanna see and hear everything you give me.”

You slide your hands down and off of your face. Before you can even think of a response, his tongue is back to flicking against you. You moan a bit louder and your eyes flutter as the band of heat in your belly starts to tighten. Your thighs quiver, and Leon’s grip on you gets stronger as your hips try to shift.

Your chest heaves with your heavy breathing as your hands press into the couch cushions. His eyes are fixed on your face, savoring every sweet noise and expression. Your body shakes harder and you know the finish is near. You look down into his eyes, and the sight of his face buried between your thighs with that intense gaze trained on you almost makes you cum on the spot.

“Fuck, Leon. I’m gonna cum. Can’t hold on,” you whimper, your eyes squeezing shut as your voice breaks into moans.

“Look at me, Baby. Let me see those gorgeous eyes while you explode,” he says before working his tongue with even more dedication. You give him what he wants, looking into his eyes as you reach the peak. You cry out and claw at the couch cushions as you release. Your hips sputter against his face and your thighs clamp around his head. Your eyes stay locked on his, letting him see how he unravels you. You hear him groaning and feel his body rolling a bit as he devours you through your orgasm.

He keeps lapping at your folds as you come down, getting a final taste before he pulls away. He plants one last kiss on your clit before rising up and leaning down to kiss your lips sweetly. You kiss back and softly moan as you taste yourself on his lips. You grab his wrist as you pull back. “Need me to return the favor?’ you say and give him another kiss.

“No, Honey. I’m satisfied, trust me,” he hums and kisses back. You notice the dark spot forming on his pants and your blush returns. The thought that he could feel such pleasure simply from pleasuring you made your stomach flutter. He pulls back from your lips and strokes your bottom lip with his thumb, admiring your features. “I’m gonna change my pants, and then you can show me some more of your game. If you want to,” he says.

You glance back at the tv which had been displaying the reload menu for a while at this point. You give him that smile that he loved so much and nod.

[shixcherie]

Switch Me Up Like Nintendo | Jeong Yunho ☆

~ ~ call me chérie ☆

Navigation | Kinktober List

☆ Day 09 : Riling Up, Public Sex

↬ [ Synopsis ] : Riling Yunho up has its dangerous consequences, but you can't resist the thrill, especially when you know his rewards will leave you craving more. Angry Yunho = GodMode unclocked!

Word Count : 2.1k Genre : Smut, Gamer Au. Pairing : GammerBF! Yunho x GamerGF! Reader

WARNINGS : Established relationship, riling up, angst, dom/sub undertones, soft dom! Yunho, unprotected sex (don’t do it kids, wrap it up), internet cafe public sex, praise, pet names, size kink (its Yunho, so ofc).

Tag list OPEN! - let me know if you want to be tagged for this Kinktober list

☆☆☆ NOTE : Day 09 is here with our fav puppy boy, Yunho. ma chéries, I enjoyed writing this so much, hope you love it darlings.☆

Yunho isn't usually a sore loser when playing video games,well, maybe just a little. But repeatedly losing can test anyone's patience, and if you had a hand in his defeat, it's bound to become a problem. A problem you're more than happy to endure, especially when it comes to facing the consequences.

An intense match of Valorant is unfolded between San and Yunho, but with a twist—it's a blindfolded battle. One player is blindfolded while their teammate guides them to take down the opponent and secure a kill. The first team to reach 10 kills wins the match.

It’s you and San versus Yunho and Yuna, and let’s just say your guiding skills are a little too effective, enabling San to successfully kill Yunho every single time. After all, you didn’t reach Immortal rank for nothing.

The first two kills were a breeze, Yunho and Yuna weren’t quite prepared, as Yuna was still warming up to her role as Yunho's guide. Meanwhile, you and San, having played countless matches together, secured easy kills. Yunho wasn’t too bothered at this point, after all, it wasn’t the end of the match yet.

But then came the next five kills. In a flash, you directed San through a series of crazy, sneaky attacks from ridiculously clean headshots, one-tap kills, and to even a jaw-dropping knife kill that sent the crowd into a chorus of cheers. The score was now 7-0, and let’s just say Yunho's patience was wearing thin.The whole internet cafe erupted with cheers as you looked around for familiar faces of your freinds as Wooyoung, Hongjoong and Jongho’s face came into sight.

The match was intense, the tension in the room thick. Yunho was laser-focused, determined to turn things around, while Yuna, now fully in sync with him, guided his every move. But even with San blindfolded, you were in control, leading him with precision, knowing exactly how to push Yunho’s buttons.

“San, let’s take our time… no need to rush. We want to savor every moment before we finish them off.” you whispered, just loud enough for Yunho to hear. The tease in your voice was unmistakable. You heard him let out a low groan, oh…music to your ears. Riling him up slowly and steadily was exactly how you enjoyed it.

With the score at 9-0, you couldn’t help but smirk. You knew exactly what you were doing. Each time San landed a perfect headshot or a sneaky kill, you could see Yunho’s frustration building.

“Sannie, let’s get in close, really close… I want them to feel our every move.” you said, your smirk evident in your voice, a smirk Yunho could almost picture behind his blindfold, one he was eager to wipe away.

It wasn’t just about winning anymore, it was about making him squirm and enjoying the way you were getting under his skin, after all that is when you gonna get your sweet reward, as an angry and frustrated Yunho is a sight to behold. And when he fucks you crazy with your eyes rolled back as he devours you with wet kisses, choking you with the perfect amount of force, a point where pain turns into ecstatic pleasure while overstimulating the heck out you yet not letting you cum.

But as much as you enjoyed riling Yunho up, you didn’t want him to leave completely defeated. There’s a fine line between being playful and harsh. So, as the next round started, you decided to give him a chance.

“San, hold on a moment” you said, your voice carrying a hint of concern. You paused deliberately, giving Yunho and Yuna a chance to catch up. With Yuna’s guidance, Yunho managed to slip through and land a shot on San, finally getting a kill.

The score changed to 9-1, and Yunho’s face lit up with a mix of triumph and something else, he knew what you were doing. Despite being blindfolded, he shot you a playful glare and said, “I’ll be keeping this in mind for later.” His frustration turned into a competitive grin. You’d given him a small win, but it was clear he was plotting his own revenge, a sweet revenge at that.

In the final round, you decided it was time to end the match. With San blindfolded, you guided him with intense focus, directing his every move with precision.

“I love how you follow my every command, San. Now, let’s show them how perfectly we work together.” you said, earning a confident “Fuck yeah! lets finish them off” from San.

“I see you’ve got quite the skill. Maybe I’ll need to have a closer look at your talents later.” Yunho teased, his voice laced with playful intrigue. While his mind was fully focused on the game, his body ached to get up and take you right then and there. The crowd’s noise faded into the background as his thoughts were consumed by you and your sweet voice guiding San, effortlessly overshadowing Yuna’s commands.

“We’re not done yet. Let’s see if you can really finish this.” Yuna shouted, bringing Yunho back to his senses. He tried to focus on the match as much as he could, but despite his efforts, he struggled to keep up.

The tension built as you carefully led San into position, like a predator waiting for the prey you were up with a perfect shot lined up for Yunho - Yuna.

In a dramatic climax, San took a deep breath and landed a flawless single headshot, securing the final kill. The match ended with a thrilling 10-1 victory.

The room erupted in cheers as Yunho and San removed their blindfolds.

San enveloped you in a warm, bone-crushing hug, which barely went unnoticed by Yunho as he thanked Yuna for her guidance. As Yunho made his way toward you and San, his eyes were fixed on yours, a mix of challenge and affection in his gaze. San and Yunho exchanged their usual fist bump and hug, as they always did after game nights.

You’d won the game, but you knew the real victory was yet to come later, when it was just the two of you, and Yunho had the chance to get his sweet revenge for all the teasing you’d put him through.

But for now, you basked in the victory, knowing you’d managed to rile him up just the way you wanted.

—

The party was in full swing as the internet cafe you competed with Yunho celebrated its seven-year anniversary, unaware of the real celebration occurring behind the closed doors of Minho’s office, the owner of the cafe. Music blared at full volume while you and Yunho’s friends danced the night away, sipping on their bottles of soju, completely oblivious to the rhythm in which Yunho was moving his long, hard length against your aching core.

Yunho’s lips moved in perfect sync with yours as his length rubbed in a precise back-and-forth motion against your throbbing core, sweet juices leaking in his wake. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your back pressed firmly against the wall, clothes discarded in some dark corner of the room.

“Yuyu… I-I can’t… I nee-need you,” you stammered, barely able to form a coherent sentence as his slow, delicious movements against your aching core clouded your mind. “Too much,” you whimpered, a soft cry escaping your lips. Yunho’s mouth nibbled on your earlobe, making you squirm, your cries muffled by the loud music outside.

“Too much? That’s cute, baby. Didn’t you say something about savoring the moment to San earlier?” he teased, biting your earlobe and earning a sharp yelp from you. “That’s exactly what I’m doing—savoring you bit by bit,” he chuckled, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Yunho, I—” you tried to protest, but his pace increased, the friction intensifying as he moved back and forth faster, making your toes curl. Soft, desperate moans escaped your lips like prayers, as if calling for angels.

“Speechless already, baby?” he mocked, pulling his head back to touch foreheads with you, savoring every expression on your face. Your eyes were tightly shut, cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, and your lips, still swollen from the earlier kiss, were now caught between your teeth as you bit down to control the sounds of pleasure his movements brought you. The sight of you—lost in the moment—was almost enough to finish him, but he decided to drag this out just a little longer.

“Tell me what you want, and maybe I’ll give it to you, pretty,” he asked, offering a flicker of hope that he’d finally give in. But then he added with a teasing grin, “Just like you gave me one chance.”

“I want you, Yunho… buried deep inside me, so deep I’m seeing angels,” you panted, your voice trembling with desperation. “F-fuck me harder than ever before. Make my legs give out, make me go completely dumb. I don’t care; just please, make me cum already. I need you more than I need to breathe.”

Your words tumbled out in a messy, breathless rush, a plea so raw it felt like you were confessing your deepest desires. Yunho’s low chuckle sent shivers down your spine as he gripped your waist tighter, teasingly brushing his lips against your ear.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he whispered, voice full of amusement, but his gaze was anything but playful. "I'll give you everything you're begging for... and more." With that, his teasing finally came to an end.

Lining himself up perfectly at your dripping entrance, Yunho slowly pushed in, his thick tip stretching you inch by inch. The sharp sting quickly melted into pure pleasure as you struggled to adjust to his monstrous size. No matter how many times Yunho had fucked you, it was always a challenge for your small body to take him, especially when he was angry. But that never stopped you from teasing him, pushing his buttons whenever you could.

Your nails dug into his back as waves of pleasure shot through your body, your walls gripping him tightly as he bottomed out inside you. Yunho’s mind short-circuited at how tight you were, like it was the first time all over again, no matter how often he took you.

“You’re so big, Yuyu,” you whined, your voice trembling. “I might break apart.” His slow, deliberate movements inside you were torturous, teasing you to the brink, but you could feel the anticipation building for what was coming next.

“Keep up, babygirl,” he groaned, his breath hot against your neck as you clenched even tighter around him. “You’re taking me so well... I might just lose it and empty myself deep inside you.” His voice was thick with lust, wanting to completely mess you up.

As Yunho’s pace quickened, each thrust grew harder and deeper, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. His fast rhythm made your mind hazy, every movement driving you closer to the edge, while his lips left soft kisses along your shoulder.

“You take me so well, baby,” he groaned, his breath hot against your skin. “I can feel you trembling.” He pressed another kiss to your shoulder.

You could barely form words, your body already teetering on the edge, each thrust pulling you closer to the breaking point. “Y-Yunho, I’m gonna—”

“Not yet,” he growled, pulling back slightly before driving in even deeper. His hips snapped against yours, sending tremors through your entire body. “I want to feel you cum around me, baby. Give me a taste, won’t you?”

The intensity of his words overwhelmed you, pushing you right to the edge. His deep, rhythmic thrusts filled you perfectly, and with each stroke, your moans grew louder, your body unable to resist any longer.

“Now, baby,” Yunho whispered, his voice laced with satisfaction. That was all it took for you to fall apart, the tension inside you unraveling in waves as you cried out his name, your release crashing down hard.

Feeling you clench tightly around him, Yunho groaned deeply, his movements growing more erratic until he thrust one final time, releasing inside you. Good thing you were on birth control, because with how intense it was, this day you would’ve definitely ended up pregnant with his baby. You both stayed still for a moment, breathing heavily as the aftershocks of pleasure slowly faded away.

After a while, you both made your way out of Minho’s office, fully dressed and somewhat recovered from the intense make-out session.

You rejoined your friends, continuing the party as if nothing had happened in that room, like you two had never played your own intimate game of switching moods like a Nintendo console, moving up, down, left, and right, enjoying each other's pleasures.

~ ~ Chérie ☆ signin’ off

DISCLAIMER: This is totally fictional and not a real depiction of the ATEEZ members. It's all just for fun only so please don’t take anything seriously and keep the mood light around here.

© ShixCherie.

[tomurawr44]

I have a request!!

Shiggy wins reader the giant plushie she wanted from the claw game of the arcade (he says it’s all rigged but she begs him to help her because he seems like the type to be good at these games “hey, what’s that supposed to mean?!”) and she watches his slender fingers skillfully move the controls and he wins the derpy giant plushie for her in one try.

But then she can’t stop thinking about how those fingers would feel inside of her, and wants to reward him…he’s probably the type to be into knee socks and plaid mini skirts…and she did want to thank him for the plushie…she’s going to rock this virgin’s world.

(Go wild with NSFW plz we’re all a bunch of perverts)

A/N: is it too tmi if i say i did what happened in this fic irl

Warnings: nsfw!! hand kink..finger suckling, face fucking, dangerous sex..

"So close...!" you groaned as you saw the plush fall out of the claw machine again, whining against the glass you pressed against the glass with your fingers clawing at it, sliding down before you rested against the controller. "Why even bother? all these claw machines are rigged y'know." he'd speak up, sipping on his drink while he watched you bent over the machine and crying about some ugly plushie. he was confused and thought you were stupid. as per usual.

"you don't get it! I need this thing and i need it now!" you whined like an immature brat as you stared at it, it was a derpy off brand hatsune miku plush, and it made you want to cry with frustration, with only a few coins left. you turned to him as he scoffed, his irritation only growing. "your blowing all your money on something we could get online for cheap." he stated while he looked around, you knew you looked ridiculous, you knew that you could just buy it but the experience, memories and the challenge is what makes it such a memorable piece to remember. that's why you wanted it so bad, plus, it was hatsune miku, who wouldn't want a hatsune miku plush? but he couldn't lie he found it a little funny. "besides, i could win that easy peasy, there's a bunch of tips i got from online." your eyes lit up upon hearing that, of course Tomura of all people knew how to beat a game meant for kids.

with the clack of your shoe against the floor, you gripped onto him by his shoulders with a pleading pout. "please Tomura please! i-I'll do anything i swear! I'll give you anything you want or a reward for getting me that plush!" you pointed at the derpy miku as he tried to hide the blush on his cheeks, anything he wants? a reward? life couldn't be any damn sweeter for him, and he gets to finally show off cool stuff he's saved from the internet. he pulls out his phone and looks for the tutorial video again before he places coins against the slot and the game music started beeping again.

he moved his fingers delicately, trying not to decay the machine as he fiddled with the joystick almost randomly as he rapidly tapped on the button, the way he handled the machine and the way his slender fingers moved against it made you bite your lip a little as you watched him, a dork in his natural environment. you could see his focused reflection in the glass of the machine as you snapped a quiet pic, god he's adorable. you watched him fail before he angrily put in more coins, rocking the machine a little as he handled it more roughly, mumbling curses while he tried for that miku plush again, the way he was so quick and rough made you stare a little longer than intended before you heard the victory music and the plush gently fall into the slot. a wide smile appearing on your face, he couldn't lie, it found it rather..cute.

"YES! yes! Thank you so much Tomura! i love it so much you don't even—" he stopped you with a cocky grin. he looked so nerdy doing this. "yeah, whatever. what's my reward?" you pause to think over it before you just smiled at him and locked arms. "a hug." was what you said but what really wanted to leave your lips was alot more than just a 'hug.' you could feel your underwear stick to your panties as you let out a small huff, smiling softly at him, poor boy doesn't know what's coming. he kept walking as he truly thought his reward for showing off his awesome hand-eye-coordination was just a hug. "I'll get Kurogiri to warp us home, he isn't home right now so i guess you can hangout awhile longer."

perfect.

when you arrived and stepped out of the purple fog, at the dingy bar, there was no one keeping it and it was empty as always, Tomura led you to his messy room as he plopped down on the bed and watched you cuddle the derpy miku plush. "why do you even like it so much?" he questioned while he ran his fingers against his neck while eyed you up and down with a curious look. "it's ugly, but cute, ugly cute y'know?" you giggled softly before putting it aside and crawling closer to him. "You still waiting on that reward?" you whispered as you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and brought his open hand to your breast. he immediately got the message and nodded his head reaching for his gloves before you stopped him. "no, not yet."

"what the hell do you mean 'not yet'? are you suicidal or something?" he looked at you as if you were stupid before you only giggled and brough his hands together, dropping his right one before you pressed the tips of his left fingers against your lips. "Maybe, not really thinking with my head here." you whispered before you parted your lips and licked them, watching him shiver before you began to slide his middle and pointer finger in and letting your tongue play against them. you let out a few soft moans as he watched you with eyes blown wide. his cock aching painfully against his jeans as he let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. "wh-what the hell are you doing..? i-..you know that-" He was cut off by the sound of you pulling away with a small pant, letting the pade of his fingers rest against the flat and soft surface of your tongue. "can't I appreciate these pretty hands in peace?" you chuckled. "You can't appreciate them if i dust you.."

"but you won't, right pretty boy?" is what you whispered before you slid his fingers back into your mouth, sucking on them like you would with a cock as you even pulled them barely all the way out before you swirled your tongue against the tips before sliding it all the way back in, letting drool leak down your throat as you maintained eye contact with him. he tried to reach down and undo his buttons, grabbing his dick and pulling it out as he jacked off to the sight of you doing that to him, letting out small moans and biting his dry lips while he stroked himself to the sight. "i-i fucking knew you were kinky but..this is new.." he tried to match his pace to your mouth as he felt like absolute heaven.

you pulled away just before he was about to cum, letting his fingers barely connect to your lips with a string of drool before you pulled him to stand up while you got on your knees. you saw him put on his gloves before he let his pants pool around his ankles as he shoved his needy cock into your throat. "G-gah! if this is– wh-what i get for winning...!" he groaned as he thrust into your mouth, grinding against you every now and then. "Fuck- take me to the arcade every weekend- please! let me win for you..!" he babbled as he thrust into your face, his cock sliding against your tongue as you tuned him out a long time ago and let him use you like a fleshlight. it didn't take long for him to shove himself as deep as he could down your throat before cumming, giving you no option to spit out or swallow, besides, who would be spitting him out? certainly not you. he panted as he twitched in your throat, watching you pant as he pulled away and let his saliva soaked dick rest on your face as it leaked remnants of his load onto your cheek.

"What do i get for buying you a cosplay?" he whispered as he looked down at you with a crooked smile, his cock pulsing on your face as you smiled back. this was going to be one..long and spoiled night for you. don't tell All For One why he blew his allowance on clothes that seemed so expensive, or Kurogiri for that matter.

—Ake 2024

[macfrog]

if i had a gun cowboy like me chapter 12.5 (joel's pov)

long-awaited, pain-packed, and sealed with a bow by yours truly. i love y'all. thank you for being so patient and kind with me on this one. this chapter is joel's experience of the end of illicit affairs and all of hits different. you might wanna check those chapters out before you indulge in the angst-fest that is this one. hope you enjoy 🧡

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: walk a mile in joel miller's shoes. see if you'd do anything different

warnings: more heartache, more angst, lois, alcohol + drug consumption, mention of reader being roofied, very brief mention of joel punching knox, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 9.8k

terrible news! there is no more taglist! make sure you're following @macfroglets w notifs on if you wanna be buzzed when i post 🤍

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Right. Sorry. It’s just…we kinda have a…situation, here.” It’s you. He fucking knows it’s you. His heart begins to hammer. He doesn’t give a fuck whether she puts two and two together or not when he asks – “Where is she?” “We’re still at Frank’s,” Anna says, sniffing. He can hear the booming bassline of music, muffled; the sharper chatter of voices. She’s on the street. In his head, he can see her shoulders hunched; her bare arms wrapped around her body for warmth. She goes to say it again. “We’re still at –” “’n where is she?” Joel cuts, and she finally cracks.

You’re still fast asleep when he lifts his head.

You’ve had this argument plenty before. I do not snore. Yes, baby, you do. I’ve heard you. I don’t! It’s alright, it’s okay that you do. It’s a cute snore. Joel, I don’t fucking –

Right now, he’s pretty certain you’re snoring. He just wishes you were awake to hear yourself.

He thinks about pulling his phone, taking a video so that once you’re up, you can hear the little bursts of air, the tiny rasps from your nostrils as you snooze. But if he ever did record anything like that – just like the Hillcrest pictures, until you’d found them last night – he’d keep it for himself. Wouldn’t offer it up so easily.

Just something for him to have, for all the time he spends without you.

Your hair’s still all over the place. Tangled in Joel’s right arm, still smelling of chlorine and sex. Your head rests softly on the crook of his elbow like it’s a pillow; your lips and eyes are puffy, tired. You have this ridiculously strong vice grip on his left arm; during the night he felt you wrap your wrists around it and pull it into your chest, tucking it gently under your chin until your entire upper half was drowned in his.

His chest snug against your back, his arms encasing you safely, and his hips…his hips lined with yours. His now semi-hard cock buried between your legs – he’d slept inside you last night, and it was like, after forty-eight years, someone finally took him by the shoulders and said: This is how you do it. This is how you rest.

He was out as soon as his head hit the pillow, soon as his eyes fell shut. He stirred only to feel you maneuvering his arm, and then fell straight back asleep.

He felt comfortable. He felt safe. Big, old, tough guy Joel Miller. Never let anybody in since Sarah’s mom left. Alone for almost seventeen years, and fine with it. His cheeks heat at the idea of needing – of wanting to feel that. Safe. But then you came along, and he realized he’d been waiting his whole life to feel it. Didn’t even notice he’d been missing it.

That’s how these things go, right? Can’t miss what you don’t have, and all that.

But now he has it. Now he has you.

And you make him feel things he’s never felt before, or if he has, it was so fucking long ago that he’s forgotten. You drive him fucking insane. Keep him up at night, wondering what the hell he’s gotten himself into. Make him do stuff that his reflection glares at him over. Are you being serious right now? Make him…different. New.

The night before last, when he’d picked you up from Frank’s after rodeo night, he promised to make you a big breakfast in the morning. Compensation for not swinging by McDonald’s on the way home. But then your dad called, and you had to take off before Joel had even properly woken up.

When he eventually rose from the bed, he went straight to the store. Stocked up on eggs, flour, sugar, bananas. He’d printed a recipe from his computer while you were gone. Marked the items off as he meandered through the store. Stood for ten minutes deliberating over which gluten-free flour would be best, before an assistant asked if he needed any help.

I’m good, he muttered, and then, as the kid wandered off, cleared his throat and said, Actually –

Greg – the kid assistant in question – had suggested the red bag. Said it’s corn flour, instead of wheat. Joel can’t pronounce the brand name. He just knows it’s tucked behind a box of cereal in the cupboard downstairs – he hid it there so you wouldn’t find it and snuff out his plan.

His plan, which he now has to put into action. Without waking you. He’d lie here forever just staring at you, if he hadn’t sworn to himself to make good on his promise and cook you some damn pancakes.

So he slowly pulls his left hand from between yours, loosening your death grip, and steals it back across your waist. He does the same for his right arm – more careful, though, so he doesn’t tug on your hair. Like some kind of wild cat creeping through the jungle, every moment calculated and careful.

He bunches the comforter up a little at your back, so that if you do stir, it might feel like he’s still there. Still a weight, curving around you. He takes a good five minutes just to travel the length of the room – the lightest he’s ever walked, dodging the spots on the carpet that he knows make the floorboards squeal.

When the door gently clicks back into place, he heads downstairs. Cracks out his frying pan – non-stick, obviously – and all his ingredients, pulls the printed recipe from its hiding place between two cookbooks and lays it out on the counter, flattening the creases and unfolding the corners. And gets to it.

His first egg cracks messily over the lip of the bowl. The yolk runs down the outside, and he curses before swiping it back up with his index finger. The second egg empties fully inside the bowl, but drags with it tiny fragments of shell. Joel spends five minutes focusing on picking every single piece out of the mixture. He crouches to make sure he’s poured the exact amount of milk, eyes level with the top of the liquid, and he double checks every step before he follows it.

This has to be perfect. Has to be. For you.

The entire time, all he can think about is you asking to sleep with his body inside yours. Wanting him closer than you’d ever wanted him before, as close as he could physically be. Your sleepy voice circles between his ears on loop – want somethin’ else. That safe feeling creeps up on him all over again.

He knows he shouldn’t. He can’t. He’s spent the last month purposefully pushing those feelings down, dampening them anytime they rose to the surface. Only allowing himself to feel them, to acknowledge them, when you’re around. Because he can’t fucking help but acknowledge them when you’re here – they stare him straight in the face.

So he’d been making peace with letting the floodgates open just a little bit at a time – one quick rush whenever you’d give him one of your meaningful glances, when your hot skin would brush against his, when your mouth would fall open at the feeling of his first deep thrust inside you.

And then he’d bolt them back up.

Except that, now…he’s not sure the dam can hold much longer. There are cracks he’s not repairing quickly enough. Unintended consequences hammering against the other side of the stone in the form of angry white waves.

He’s staring at the beige circle of batter in the pan, swept off with the waves into someplace far from his kitchen, when the sound of your voice draws him back.

“Joel? You down there?”

The floorboards at the top of his stairs creak. You’re leaning over the banister.

“Yeah, darlin’, I’m here.” He slips halfway out of the kitchen door, closing it over his body in hopes you won’t smell the pancakes. You ask what he’s doing, and he says, “Just makin’ a coffee. You want anything brought up?”

“I’m good,” you reply. “’m gonna take a shower.”

“Alright, baby. There’s probably some stuff in Sarah’s bathroom you can use.”

He listens closely as your footsteps recede, waiting to hear the hum of his shower before he relaxes again, flipping the pancake over. It sizzles away as he runs one thick finger along the inside of the bowl and tastes his handiwork. Pretty damn good, he thinks. He’s sucking his finger clean when his cell goes.

Joel swipes to answer, and before he can utter a Hello?, your dad’s voice is screaming down the line to him.

“Mornin’, pal! You in? You up?”

He figures this is the infamous speakerphone you rambled for ten minutes about last night. Like a fucking foghorn, man. I’m deaf in this ear now.

He doesn’t wait for Joel to respond. “I was just passin’ by, remembered you got that leakin’ pipe, or whatever it is. Under your sink, right? You good for me to drop in ‘n take a look?”

“Uh – uh, I’m –” Joel stammers his way through a sentence he doesn’t know the ending of, slotting the phone between his cheek and his shoulder and giving the pan a rattle against the stovetop. He slips the spatula under the mixture, and when he flips it over, the pancake is charcoal black. “Fuck.”

“What’s that?” you dad roars, deafening in Joel’s ear. Fuckin’ speakerphone.

“Nothin’, it’s…” He sighs, accepting his new-found position: backed into a fucking corner. What’s new these days?

“Yeah, I’m up. See you in a bit.”

He hangs up the phone midway through an Alright, buddy from your dad, and whacks the chargrilled pancake on top of the pile. His phone surfs across the counter in a blur of blind panic, before Joel’s taking the stairs two at a time to get to you.

The door’s ajar. He can hear you quietly singing to yourself. Same song you’re always fucking singing, always trying to coax Joel into singing along with you. You’re humming the guitar solo when he whips the door open.

“Hey, hey,” he’s panting, taking your towel in one hand and reaching for the shower door with the other, a blur of movement before his eyes like he’s not in control of his own body. “Out.”

“Huh?” you reply, blinded by the soap suds running down your forehead and into your eyes.

“Baby,” Joel whispers, desperate, “you gotta get out. He’s here. Your damn dad’s here.”

He drags you over to the first place he spots: his closet. He knows it’s no fucking good, but he can hear your dad’s car squealing to a halt in his drive, and he’s in a blink panic wondering what artefacts, what evidence of your being here lie dotted around his house. Your bikini’s hanging up out back, there’s probably a hoodie still strewn over the back of his couch.

He doesn’t have time to think, though, because in the midst of his mental scan of every room whilst explaining to you what’s going on, your dad’s heavy boots just thudded onto his doormat.

“Miller?” he calls up the stairs. And Joel closes the closet over.

----------

He stands by the front door watching your dad’s car purr off down the street, waiting until it turns left and disappears behind the Dawsons’ back fence to shut the door. When he turns back into his hallway, the house is uncomfortably silent. You’re still up in his room.

The weight of your phone pulls at the waistband of his jeans. He slips his hand into his back pocket, fishes it out, and takes one step toward the stairs. The screen lights in his palm.

There’s a cluster of notifications from some film class group chat, a couple Snapchats from Sarah. A reminder to take your birth control from some pink-icon app, and then –

I’m heading over to Joel’s to check something out for him. Wanna meet me there?

He stares at it until the text burns into his eyes. Blinks, and it’s seared into his lids. His breath leaves his chest in a heavy, burdened sigh. It trembles as it pushes from his lungs. He feels something burning under his skin. All over.

He’s angry. And he’s trying to keep it contained.

Keep it where it lies, keep it beneath the surface. Stop it from pooling right behind his lips, collecting in the light of his eyes. Keep it from revealing itself. But when his foot lifts to the first step, it’s like a deadweight in the air.

He’s angry. But he’s fucking exhausted.

The bedroom is empty when Joel pushes the door open. You’re still hidden in the closet. You don’t look up at him when he pulls on the shuttered door, letting light flood across your hands, still covering your face. There are flicks of dripping wet hair peeking out from under the towel on your head.

He wants to put his arms around you. Wants to kiss you all over. Tell you, It’s okay, it’s alright. He didn’t see nothin’.

But he can’t. Because neither of those things are true.

Your dad saw the cowgirl hat. Hell of a lot like a hat my daughter has. It sent a sharpened bolt of panic through Joel’s body the second the words came tumbling out. He might’ve seen your bag lying at the bottom of the stairs. Might’ve passed your car on his drive here. There are so many loose fucking ends.

And more than that – harder to accept: maybe this isn’t okay anymore. Maybe it hasn’t been the entire time. And maybe, despite all his good efforts and the fucking way you make him feel, despite it being weeks now of tiptoeing and lying and covering your tracks – maybe you finally crossed a line.

He can’t look at you a second longer. His heart’s in his throat. If he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll probably choke. Break down. So he walks away.

You follow him downstairs a few minutes later, fully dressed and silent. Your touch sweeps across his shoulder blades, and it takes everything in him not to turn to you then and there. Come here, kiss me. Pretend none of it’s happening, just for a moment.

He sets your plate down in front of you. He’s taken the burnt pancake. He follows a pattern: cuts into the food, glances out to the backyard, and back to the plate. It’s the only thing keeping the words from rolling out onto the table in front of him. The only thing stopping him from –

You kick his leg. So gently, he barely feels it.

“You gonna eat?” he asks in response, chewing on the smoky flavor of burnt batter. Your hands hesitate, and he feels his own flinch as if to take them, rub them, squeeze them. And then he watches as you drag your knife through your own breakfast.

He wants you to yell at him. He wants to give meaning to the guilt he feels. He knows what’s coming, and he isn’t so sure that you do.

This is…impossible. It has been, from the start. Always sneaking off, coming up with excuses. So many fucking excuses, he can’t even keep them straight in his head anymore. She’s here, droppin’ my flannel off. Now we’re upstairs, I’m showin’ her my guitar. Need her to help with decorations. Your TV’s broken, did you know that? Don’t mind us, just sat in this private corner of my backyard, out of view of fucking everyone. I’ll pick her up from her rodeo night, take her home. She’s at Anna’s all day today, right?

And your dad – kind and naïve, or maybe just so fucking gullible that every single one lands like the flour did in the egg mixture. Just gracefully floats down into his brain, absorbs itself and folds perfectly into place.

So, yell at him. Get mad. Make him feel like the fucking asshole he knows he is. Leading you on, and letting you get close to him, and then when it gets too hard – pushing you away. Doesn’t matter if that’s what he did or not; doesn’t matter whether he did or didn’t mean it. He wants you to be mad at him. To justify what he’s about to do.

He slides you your phone. Motions for you to read it.

“Fuck…” you whisper, and then he thinks you get it.

But then you say, “…he didn’t see me, though. Right?” and his heart sinks.

No. He didn’t see you. But he saw so many little pieces of you, that Joel finds it impossible to consider that he isn’t already seeing the entire picture. He’s picturing your dad at home in the living room, one hand on his hip, the other running through his hair, adding two and two and two and two and –

You’re bickering. Actually arguing. He doesn’t know how to navigate it, save for letting the frustration take the wheel and drive the point home: you came too close to being caught.

You’re smarter than this, he knows you are. He knows that you can see plain as day, everything that he can. The bag, the hat, the fucking home-cooked breakfast sat on his kitchen counter. He’s watching you argue your point, hands dancing in the air animatedly, eyebrows lifting, eyes widening. Hear me out. Listen to me. Hear me out.

“I didn’t fucking mean to let him see the b–”

“That’s not the point,” Joel says, before he has time to stop himself.

“Then what’s your point?”

He feels his voice carry off into the air with the images racing around his head. Hank’s shadow under the door. The roar of voices downstairs as you climaxed. Your body pinned under Joel’s on your couch. The way the morning light screamed into the house as your front door burst open.

He doesn’t sound like he has much of a point, even to himself. He’s in it just as much as you are. He’s lied and he’s hidden just as much as you have, and made mistakes that are…worse, as far as he’s concerned.

And the worst one of all sits directly opposite him. Head low, eyes boring into the wood of his kitchen table. He can see the tears swelling across your waterline. Can feel the heat from here as it spreads across your face. Anger thrums through his chest again, and his teeth grit.

He murmurs, pushing himself up from the table and away from you. Tells you there’s some stuff he needs to see to. You’re mad about it, like he knew you would be. Like you should be. He promises he’ll be back in a couple hours; promises you’ll talk when he gets home.

And then he leaves.

----------

Clark’s is on the other side of town. It takes him nearly forty minutes to get there, and more than half of that time is spent staring at the tail lights of a Honda in front of him. Some accident up ahead. His eyes bore into the burning red strip of brake light until it’s singed into them, a blur of blue when he finally rips his glare away and stares up at the white sky.

He thinks about calling you. Saying, Hey, I’m stuck in traffic, talk to me, but he doesn’t. He just…doesn’t.

Instead, he wonders what you’re doing. Whether or not you’re still at his place. He wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t. But if you are – and he hopes you are – what are you doing?

He thinks: She’s on the couch. Bundled in blankets. Grey’s is on TV. She’s rewatchin’ her favorite episodes.

Least, that’s what he wants you to be doing. Wants you to be making yourself feel better, because he knows he was a complete ass earlier. You didn’t deserve any of it. Nothing that he didn’t deserve himself, just as much, anyway.

He thinks about coming home, and you hitting pause, pushing yourself off the couch and sauntering around to him. Wrapping him in the blanket until your bodies are pressed together under the woven red, and kissing him. Kiss me kiss me kiss me.

And the thought of you, standing on your tiptoes to press your soft lips to his, your fingers sifting through his hair, is like a cold pack on a searing wound. Dulls his anger, even if it’s just for a second.

His wide tires crawl silently across the smooth lot of the plant hire, parking right in front of the wire fence. The truck door slams shut when he gets out. He doesn’t mean it. Maybe he does. But he does it without thinking, and with a hot head, a temper sharper than nails, he strides over to the glass-paneled door and swings it open.

She’s sat behind the desk, same as always. Dark, deep auburn hair, groomed and set to perfection so that when she looks up, it doesn’t move an inch. Curls around the sweetheart shape of her face, smooth and shining. Her blue eyes twinkle in the glaring light from outside, and she stands.

She tugs lightly on the hem of her white blouse. You’d probably elbow him and say, That’s cream, not white. She smiles at him and it doesn’t look a thing like your smile. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw your smile. Fuck, he thinks, when did I last make her smile?

And he’s still wondering, when Lois says, “Hey, stranger,” and puts a gentle, pale, red-nailed hand down on the desk. “Long time, no see.”

“Yeah,” Joel grumbles, clearing his throat and glancing at the man in a pair of thick, steel-toe boots, sat in a waiting area to his left. He thinks it’s probably polite to ask how she is. It’s been seven weeks since he blew off her hint for a date.

“Good, thanks,” she replies, cheeks swelling even more. They’re lightly shaded crimson, a soft shimmer to them against her snowy skin, dappled with light freckles. “You?”

He nods once. “Good,” he echoes, not sure what else to say. He’s lying, and she doesn’t seem to figure him out the way you would.

No. Instead, Lois steps back, straightens up, and twirls the pen in her fingers. “What can I do ya for?”

“Got some equipment I’m after,” he mutters, hand slipping into his back pocket for his phone. Lois’s eyes flit up and down his body as he taps his passcode in with his thumb.

She asks him something, but it sounds like she’s speaking through a closed door. He’s elsewhere.

The phone unlocks, screen lifting to reveal the last open app: his camera roll. His thumbs hover over the screen, tracing where yours would’ve tapped last night.

The video’s muted, she won’t hear it even if he let it play, but he swipes away the second he recognizes the tangled mess of your hair, his fist locked tight in it. His own hair, salt and pepper buried deep in the crook of your neck.

Something in his chest aches. Pulls tight, hurts his heart. He takes a deep breath and scares the feeling away. He’s staring at his camera roll. Staring at twelve little square thumbnails – couple of them work stuff, couple of them lists of supplies he has to remember to pick up – and then. Then.

You. At the Hillcrest. Dimples in your cheeks. That’s what made him take his phone out. The soft dips in your skin that appear anytime you smile, laugh, sometimes even just when you talk. He’d first noticed them when you had a mouth full of pizza, chatting animatedly about Meredith and Derek, and he’s noticed them every time since.

He’d seen them, as you posed with Sarah for a selfie at lunch. And his hand had slipped into his pocket before his brain even had the chance to finish the thought.

His quiet way of marking how he felt in that moment. How his chest seemed to fill as if with air, or something thicker. Sweeter. Like it was trying to push words up, a comment to tell you how beautiful you looked. Trying to make him move, run his thumb light as air across that tiny valley in your cheek and look at you with eyes that translated the words hammering behind his eyes.

But you had company. And all he managed to do was take two fucking photos.

Lois talks again, and this time, there’s no closed door.

“Huh?” Joel’s head snaps up, takes a few seconds to focus on the red hair in front of him. “Sorry, Lois, sorry.”

“’s alright. You okay?” She’s smiling so warmly, so sincerely. And there are no dimples in her cheeks.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “just checkin’ for the address.”

She holds out a pad, a stack of hire agreement forms hovering between her body and his, but he’s not looking. He’s still scrolling through his phone, thumbs searching your dad’s text thread for the information. Lois lowers the pad to the counter, places the pen on top. Fiddles with it until it’s lined up with the top of the form perfectly.

Then Joel looks up, and she smiles again.

“Not for you, then?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “Just the messenger.”

“Got it. Well, you know what you’re doing. Let me know if you need anything.”

Lois takes a step back, eyes still on Joel, who smiles politely, then swipes the form from the desk and takes a seat between Steel-Toe Boots and some tall, leafy plant that he has to bat away when he sits down. He’s copying the site address, phone resting on his thigh, when the receptionist speaks again.

“How’s Sarah doin’? She home yet?”

“Yeah,” Joel replies, “been home a couple weeks now. She’s been in Nashville this weekend.”

Lois lifts her head, blinking slowly. “Nashville. Nice. So, you’ve had a weekend to yourself.”

He scoffs. “Yeah,” he croaks.

“And what does Joel Miller get up to when he has an empty house for a few days?”

His fingers squeeze around the pen, pushing deeper into the paper. His expression hardens. “Nothing excitin’ enough to share. Sat by the pool yesterday. Was nice out.”

She agrees. “Sure was. You have company?”

Joel shakes his head once. Blinks the image of you and your red bikini from his vision. Focuses on dragging the pen one digit at a time across the line labeled Phone Number. If he cared enough, he’d give the obvious hint a couple seconds’ consideration, even just to protect Lois’s pride a little.

But he doesn’t care. And right now, he ain’t interested in protecting anyone but you.

“Nope. Just me ‘n a few beers.”

“Better off that way,” a hoarse, forty-cigs-a-day voice rasps from his right. “Less fuckin’ problems.”

Joel’s jaw rotates a degree towards the work boots; notices the folds of dry, leathery skin piled atop the raised gray eyebrows of their owner, and then turns back silently.

Lois clears her throat awkwardly. “Well, I spent the day with my book. I’m readin’ a Colleen Hoover. Adam’s at camp, so – quiet house for me, too.”

Joel finds himself nodding. Autopilot. He’s pretending he’s listening.

You’re still in his sight, wandering over from the sliding kitchen doors, a bottle in each hand. He can hardly see you when he looks up, the sun’s so bright. You hold a beer out, condensation dripping down your fingers towards Joel’s when he takes it, and then you slump down in the sun lounger next to his.

His arm reaches across, and your small fingers wrap and then unwrap around his, running across his knuckles, nails lightly scratching his worked hands. And he’s smiling, and he doesn’t even notice it until his eyes meet yours and you laugh, and he asks, What? through a chuckle, and you say, Nothin’, you just look happy.

Your dimpled blush blurs back into checkboxes and scrawled handwriting. You’re gone again. He’s in a white office, and the gentle lapping of the water on the pool’s edge fades into the headache noise of a fan humming, and he feels the warmth of your gaze on his skin turn into the cold, harsh spotlight glare of Lois’s eyes on him.

He looks up. She’s still smiling. At this point, he finds it fucking unnerving.

He rises from his chair, swings a wandering leaf from that ugly green plant out of his way and paces back over to the desk, sliding the pad back across to her. Their hands brush as she takes it from his grip, and he pulls his wrist close to his body. Lois doesn’t seem to notice.

She’s running the pen down the form, checking everything he’s filled in. Her tongue moves around the inside of her cheek, sucking on a hard candy. “Delivery on Friday?” she double checks, and Joel nods. “Alright,” she says, tearing away his copy, “we’ll call ya.”

“’ppreciate it,” he mumbles, folding the paper into his back pocket.

She turns, reaching to slip the form into a blue tray, and Joel pauses. Thinks to say something – he hopes Adam has a fun time at camp, or that Lois enjoys the rest of her quiet week. But then he sees you sat opposite him, staring fixedly at the plate before you, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. He feels your hand laced in his, hears your laugh still ringing in his ears.

He misses you. He should never have left you. You matter more to him than some equipment for a site. Matter more to him than anything. He should’ve never fucking left.

Joel nods. Reaches for the handle of the door. Glances back to Lois. “There a florist anywhere near here?”

----------

He pulls the truck in alongside the florist. Teal window frames, a little pink door. He can hear you now. How fucking cute is that store? Give me your phone, I gotta get a picture. Mine’s is in my bag in the back. Look, the traffic’s movin’, Joel, give me your phone – quick!

His fingers hook around the silver door handle. He pats his jeans once – wallet’s right there – and goes to pull, when his cell vibrates from the center console. He can see himself in the glass screen, your dad’s name written across the reflection of his forehead.

He bites down on his lip. Hard. Glances up to the road ahead. Blinks. And decides to answer.

“Joel,” your dad chirps down the line. “Sorry, buddy, you’ll be sick a’ the sight ‘n sound of me today.”

Joel manages a convincing laugh. “What’s up?”

“Just makin’ sure you’re rememberin’ to put Friday’s date down for delivery on that order. We’re gonna need the stuff over the weekend, so.”

“Yep. Just been to do it right now. Friday’s date, Harvey’s site, your card details ‘n everything.”

“’attaboy. Good job. You’re all grown up.”

“Funny.”

“Thanks, pal. I appreciate it. There wasn’t no chance I was gettin’ time to do it myself,” he lowers his voice, “I’m still stuck here with Kelman.”

Joel’s fingers trace around his steering wheel. “Oh, yeah? He keepin’ you busy?”

“You bet. Had to haggle with ‘im just to get a lunch break. Speakin’ of – I swung by the house and that daughter of mine wasn’t home. Haven’t seen or heard from her since yesterday mornin’. I’m just checkin’ she ain’t stop by to see Sarah or som’?”

His fingers lock tight around the leather. “Sarah’s still in Nashville, she gets in tonight. Couldn’t tell you where yours is. I’m not home yet, so.”

It’s a half-truth. He could wager a pretty good guess, but he can’t be certain, can he?

Your dad chuckles down the line. “She spent the night at Anna’s. My house must be like prison to her – she’s never around anymore. I’ll hear from her soon, I’m sure. Alright. Thanks, again, Joel.”

He drops the phone back into the cupholder with a sigh, leaning back against the headrest to stare at the roof of the truck. He’s still picturing you in his living room, head turning to the street at every sound of a car door, or tires rolling by. And then the image is marred by your dad, peering in the window back at you, catching you wrapped up in a situation you shouldn’t be in.

He doesn’t want your dad to find out. For obvious reasons. Because it would mean the collapse of their friendship, the collapse of the world they built between them – for you, for Sarah, for themselves. Comfortability, and normalcy, and routine and order all thrown to the wind on account of some month-long fling.

But more important than all of that: it would mean dragging you into all of that, too. Fucking up your relationship with your dad. Making things weird between you and Sarah. Ruining whatever’s left of what you and Joel had, before you both took it too far.

And if he doesn’t want all that – if he doesn’t want your dad finding out – then something has to change. Something’s gotta stop.

His fingers wrap tight around the key and turn, and the truck jumps to life. He turns away from the teal-colored florist as he pulls off.

----------

You take it about as well as he reckoned you might. About as well as you should, given the circumstances. He isn’t surprised, and he doesn’t blame you. He’s probably on your side, when you argue back with him.

“You’re not serious, right? Joel. You’re not –”

“Kid, I…”

“No. What? Because of a fucking bag?”

He lifts his gaze and pleads with you. “Because of the lying.”

You’re right, with your response: it’s never been an issue until now. He’s been more than fucking happy to sneak off, take you as his own, and then return with a satisfied grin and a mouth full of excuses to feed your company. He almost agrees.

It’s just: this time, your dad’s at your heels like a bloodhound. A little less sharp, maybe. Blind as a fucking bat, sure. But he can smell something’s up. And he’s circling it, nose to the ground, drawing nearer and nearer to the pair of you with each step.

You ask if he wants to tell the truth. That thought scares him just as much. Knocks him back a few steps. No, he doesn’t want to come clean.

The words fly back and forth like a tennis match. Too fast for him to keep control of what he’s saying and how you’re hearing it. He wants to break it off – is there anything to break off? – but he doesn’t want to lose you – how can you lose something you never had? – and then: did he ever have you in the first place?

You’re standing over him, between his knees. “End it,” you tell him. “I’ll go.”

There’s a casualness in the loose shrug of your shoulders that scares him more than the prospect of you actually leaving. How easy it looks like it could be, for you to just wander out. Sling your bag over your shoulder and revert back to the start of the summer, when he was just a ride home after a rainy day at work.

Forget how to touch him the way he’s certain only you can, forget the secret language between you, forget every stolen glance and whispered word and every thought that ever translated from your brain to his as easy as they would pass between your lips.

“You don’t mean nothin’ to me? That what you think?” He’s laughing. Disbelief, fear, shock. Whichever one it is, it pulls across his cheeks painfully. Somehow, you’ve ended up at the foot of his bed.

“Well, what else am I supposed to take from this, asshole? That you’re fuckin’ in love with me?”

It’s cold water over an already-dying fire. The words smother into ash on his tongue. No more come to the front. He just stares at you. His phone starts to chitter out into the silence between you.

You take a step forward. Your voice is low. “You don’t get to do this, you know. You don’t get to pull me in and then drop me…once you’re done with me.”

“Don’t.”

It’s not much, but it soars from the pit of his stomach, through his throat and past his lips like a final arrow. All he can muster up.

“Don’t.”

There’s a weight where the words originate from. Something deep in his gut, an ache pulling its way upward, swelling across his chest. His ears are screaming.

Of all the things you might think – he’s an asshole, he’s a liar, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing – the worst one would be that he spent this entire time leading you on. Making you feel special. Making you think you were something to him.

You are something to him. You’re – you’re fucking everything to him. It’s why he’s doing this, right? Going against every instinct, every gut feeling. To protect you. To do what’s right by you. He’s not fucking done with you. He wonders if he’ll ever go another day in his life without thinking about you.

“I can’t read your mind anymore…” you whisper, and his lungs steal a breath. His lack of response flattens your expression.

Joel might not be done, but you are.

He can feel you slipping from his grasp like sand through his knuckles. Each grain rocking itself loose, choosing to throw itself to the depths below rather than spend another second wrapped in his clutch.

He’s trying so desperately to hold onto you. Listen to me, he thinks, and he knows you can’t hear him anymore. Because now you’re really going – you’re tripping out of his room. Your heel catches on the threshold, like one last-ditch attempt from fate to pull you back into him, but you stop yourself and spin, fleeing down the hallway.

He takes a loose grasp of your wrist, fingers barely meeting on the other side of your skin before you tear it away from him like he’s scalded you. The look on your face makes him think for a moment that he might actually have done it – burned you. Pained you. Raised the skin below your gentle palm in a furious, red glow.

He’s swapping words out like they’re tools, each one immediately breaking and being flung back into the box. He’s trying any combination, any useless, futile order of words to make you stop in your tracks. You know how much I care about you, ‘s why I’m doin’ it, baby, come back, we can talk about this.

And he opens his mouth to give voice to the only words he knows would stop you – the reason why he’s doing it in the first place, the only thought he’s had anytime he’s looked at you for the last couple weeks. He opens his mouth to say it, or say something like it, when the machine silences the ringtone and the pair of you, too.

Her voice is like ice down the back of his shirt. He stares at the machine, red light blinking like a rag to a bull. He could walk over to it and smash the ever-loving fuck out of it with his fists until it’s dust on his coffee table. Until it shuts the fuck up, stops interfering with his fucking business.

And then he thinks about Lois, and her cream blouse, and her red nails, and her big, blue eyes, and her soft drawl and everything about her that is so entirely opposite to everything about you.

And how much – despite how nice and friendly, or funny and good-natured she is – how much he hates her right now, and how much he fucking loves you.

But you’re gone, now. Washed away by the tide. No more sand in Joel’s palm.

He tries to stop it. Tries to wind back a little, tries to make the sea cough up what it just stole from him. Give her back, you fuck. His eyes are stinging like salt water. Why are they stinging? There’s a roaring in his ears – the waves laughing in his face. Sickly and deafening.

He’s doing his best to keep a hold on his trembling voice. He knows he sounds pathetic. But yours is louder, stronger, steadier. And when you talk, it’s with an air of finality. Like you’re turning over the horizon. The last time he’ll ever see you again.

“I’ll see you ‘round, Joel.”

----------

He doesn’t call or text you that night. He doesn’t know what he’d say. Doesn’t even know where he’d begin. You’re mad, and Joel figures you got every right to be. This entire thing – today, this weekend, the whole month you’ve been together – is one big fucking mess.

He spends the afternoon hunched over his kitchen table, trying to distract himself with work. Twirling a pencil between his fingers, reading three, four, sometimes five times over the same building plans before deciding that the words and numbers won’t fucking sink in. He leaves them strewn across the table, wanders aimlessly upstairs and takes a cold shower.

Sarah’s flight gets in at 8PM. Joel’s sat curbside, truck engine humming, scanning every single figure that walks out of the airport building. When he spots the gray hoodie, the brown hair tied back with a pink scrunchie, the much-too-big-for-four-days-away suitcase rolling at her heels, he gets out.

She hugs her friends, they nod in passing greeting to him, and she skips over.

“Hey,” he breathes as she wraps her arms around his waist. “How was your flight? Saw you comin’ in.”

She shrugs in response. “I’m hungry. Wanna go get McDonald’s?”

Joel grumbles, slotting her case in the back of the truck. “You don’t wanna get home? Take a shower first? You smell like plane.”

“Ha! No.”

She opens the passenger side door and hoists her foot up on the seat, retying her sneaker. Joel’s already in and buckled up, hands on the wheel, watching her blue nails loop the laces.

“There’s one, like, ten minutes away.”

He’s shaking his head. “We got food in the house.”

Her gaze lifts. Her foot drops. “Oh, c’mon, it’s on the way home. We’ll be, like, five minutes. I just got off a two-hour flight, dude, right through dinner. I’m starving, I –”

“Would you just get in the damn truck, Sarah?”

It’s shorter, snappier, angrier than he meant. But he’s parked in the middle of the packed pick-up area, and the rattling of suitcase wheels and the whistling of cab drivers and the fucking roaring of planes overhead are making the headache behind his eyes worse.

Sarah freezes, one arm still leaning on the doorframe. “Jesus. What the fuck?”

“Sorry,” Joel mutters, shaking his head. “Sorry. Just – get in.”

“No need to be an asshole about it,” she murmurs, pulling herself up into the passenger seat.

Joel’s face is in his hands, elbows atop the steering wheel. “I’m not tryna be an asshole,” he says into his palms.

His daughter looks at him. Concerned. “Somethin’ happen? While I was gone?”

He shakes his head again.

Nothing happened.

He’s quiet the rest of the night. The rest of the week. Sarah notices, he knows she does, because she pries. In her own way. She’s smarter than he is. Less obvious.

She’s already up and in the kitchen when he rises on Tuesday morning. Spins around at the toaster, tells him the machine’s ready for his coffee. Asks if he wants her to make it. Asks if he wants any breakfast.

Thanks, kiddo. No, I’ll get it. No, you’re good, thanks.

They sit opposite one another in silence, save for the crunching of Sarah’s toast. He can feel her eyes on him, same way he felt Lois’s. Trying to burrow deep inside, take a look at his brain. Catch a glimpse of the words he’s thinking over and over and over.

There ain’t no words, though. It’s just images. Video replay of your back as you strode down his driveway, the way the wind caught your hair and brushed your cheek, the way your hand came up to wipe your tears. And the way he stood there, like a fucking idiot, and did nothing.

His chest hurts any time he thinks about you. Pulls in, knits itself together in knots. He’s good at pushing feelings down, good at turning them away from the sunlight like faded pebbles. But this is different. It’s a different kind of hurt.

It’s unresolved, it’s an open wound. It’s you. And it’s every time he hears REO Speedwagon, every time he pulls a flannel over his shoulders and catches the scent of your perfume on it, every time he’s flicking through the TV and catches a flash of a hospital setting, it’s a pair of hands deep inside the wound, pulling it a little wider.

It aches. It stings and it aches and it winds.

And then he turns the pebbles around. Back to the shade. Over and over and fucking over.

On Wednesday night, he caves. Asks Sarah if she’s spoken to you.

She’s chewing on a slice of pizza; licks the grease from her fingertips before she answers. “Not really. She’s been quieter than usual. Why?”

“She’s been quieter than usual?” he repeats, playing off the way his head shot up by looking straight back down at the pizza box.

Sarah narrows her eyes. “Yeah. I figure she’s working a lot.”

“Right. Right.”

“She gets tired of being in the house all the time, I think. Getting treated like a kid still. So I guess the more time she can spend outta there, the better.”

Joel nods slowly. He already knows that much.

Sarah studies him. Watches his hands as he dabs a pizza crust into the dip. When he tosses it in his mouth, he looks back up at her.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says. “You want the last slice?”

“You take it,” he mutters, sitting back and wiping his hands on a napkin. “I’m stuffed.”

She hums, reaching forward. “Whatever it is,” she says, pulling the dough apart, “that’s got you this down –”

“Ain’t nothin’ got me down, kiddo.”

“– whatever it is,” she continues, “I bet it works itself out.”

Sarah stands up, taking her water with her, and wanders out of the kitchen.

----------

Joel struggles through another sleepless night, Thursday through Friday. His eyes don’t close over once. He hauls himself out of bed early in the morning, forces a black coffee down his throat, and heads off to work.

He’s up at some new client in Waco. Andrew Curtis – or, well, Andrew Curtis’s father, but Joel’s been dealing primarily with the son, and the guy’s a fucking imbecile. Doesn’t know his head from his ass, probably. And he has a voice like nails on a damn chalkboard, and his shirt’s untucked around the back, but Joel ain’t got a tone kind enough, or half the wordsmanship, or an ounce of energy to tell him.

Anyway – he spends all day at this dusty site, trying to work and instead, thinking about whatever the fuck you’re doing. Wherever you are, whoever you’re with. It’s almost seven by the time he’s leaving, packing up his truck and watching Andrew Curtis across the yard. He’s spotted his own shadow; he’s twisting around to reach the ducktail poking out from above his belt loops.

Joel thinks to call you about it on the way home. Tell you all about the guy: his dry conversation, his flannel, the fact he kept calling Joel Joe all day. He figures it would make you laugh, least the way he’d tell it, and he reckons that’s exactly what you need right now. That’s exactly what he needs, right now.

When Clark’s call him, he dials your dad. Has his ear blown half to hell by the speakerphone. Learns midway through the conversation that you’re right there in the car, too, and bites back a stream of incoherent, senseless words. Settles for a quiet reminder: he’s right here if you need him.

He doesn’t expect you to take him up on it. Knows you got better things to do than deal with some asshole who’d rather break your heart than have a few difficult conversations. You’re probably having fun, probably finally feeling good again. You’re probably fine.

But still. He doesn’t sleep that night, either.

It’s just gone two when Anna calls. He’s lying in bed, some shopping network on loop on the TV. His tired eyes bore into the screen, defocusing over the pixels, not watching nor listening and barely fucking breathing until he picks up the phone. Her voice is panicked, shrill, and shaking so much he wonders if his own phone is trembling with it.

“Mr. Miller?” she asks, and Joel sits up. “Got your number from Yelp. ‘m sorry it’s so late, it’s…oh, fuck – it’s, like, 2AM.”

“Anna,” Joel says hoarsely. Get to the fuckin’ point.

“Right. Sorry. It’s just…we kinda have a…situation, here.”

It’s you. He fucking knows it’s you. His heart begins to hammer. He doesn’t give a fuck whether she puts two and two together or not when he asks –

“Where is she?”

“We’re still at Frank’s,” Anna says, sniffing. He can hear the booming bassline of music, muffled; the sharper chatter of voices. She’s on the street. In his head, he can see her shoulders hunched; her bare arms wrapped around her body for warmth. She goes to say it again. “We’re still at –”

“’n where is she?” Joel cuts, and she finally cracks.

In one long, drawn breath, she spills. “She was fucked from the second we walked in here; she drank too much too quick, Mr. Miller – Joel,” she says when he corrects her, “and then she just – I dunno, she just – fucking disappeared with these guys, me ‘n Kara never saw ‘em in our lives – and they went upstairs we think, and she came back smelling like weed, and then this guy – he just, like, scooped her off, Mr. M– I mean Joel, like, totally dragged her away, and then –”

“Who–? Anna – Anna, wait,” Joel says, shushing her between her rambling, trying to rein in what she’s saying. When she finally shuts up, he speaks slowly and calmly. “Who dragged her away?”

“We don’t fuckin’ know!” she almost shrieks down the line. It cuts out for a second and Joel’s heart stops dead.“– so we don’t know,” she says when her voice filters back through into his ear, “but Sam said he saw the dude drop something in her bottle when he turned away. A pill or something.”

Joel’s body tenses. Freezes solid, with the blood in his veins. His eyes fix on one spot on his dresser: the loose handle that sits a little squint. He stares at it until his peripheral starts to blur.

“He – say that again?”

“He roofied her, we think. But we can’t fucking find them. Sam and Kara are in there just now looking. The guy pulled her away, that’s what I’m tryna say!”

“Right,” whispers Joel, nodding. He drags a heavy hand over his eyes, tries to push the image of you in danger out of his head for one second so he can figure out what to do.

Anna doesn’t hear him. She keeps talking. “…and then Sam said she told him not to call her dad, but I had to call someone, y’know? You’re the only person I think she wouldn’t – I think she wouldn’t mind me callin’. Please.”

He’s already halfway down the stairs, arms pushing through the sleeves of his shirt. He keeps the phone against his cheek when he bends to reach for his boots, ties them loose and grabs his keys.

“You call me as soon as you find her, you hear? I’m on my way,” he tells Anna, and hangs up.

He’s panicking. Fear, transferred between her cell and his, creeping over his shoulders, wrapping long, cold fingers around his throat. He’s panicking. He’s panicking. He never panics. Where the fuck are you? Who the fuck are you with?

There’s barely any traffic on the road, but the drive takes for-fucking-ever. The lights at the side of the road blur into long, thin streaks of orange. His hands are tight around the steering wheel, his jaw clenched. Your name lies loose on his lips.

He pulls up right outside the bar. There are small clusters of people, congregated tight together under the streetlights; cigarettes hanging from lips, bottles loose in hands. He shoves by them on his way to the door. Some guy shuffles out of his way, looking up to cuss Joel out and quickly dipping his head again when he locks eyes with the grizzly expression.

He shoves the door open with his shoulder, and spots you instantly.

----------

His knuckles are throbbing. Skin stretching anytime he moves his hand, searing hot and sharply stinging across the bone. Your touch is the only thing soothing them right now.

He got two good punches in. Just two. Burst the guy’s nose. He would’ve kept going, had he not been in a bar full of people – people who knew who he was – and had you not been stood behind him, body liquid-like from how much you were swaying.

But he has you home now. Up in your room, settled in bed. You’re safe. You’re with him.

You’re fucking wasted. Like, can barely lift a glass of water to your lips unaided wasted. He spent the entire drive watching over you, stealing glances when your head turned or your eyes lulled closed, checking you were still awake, still talking, still fucking breathing.

Whatever that asshole gave you, you don’t seem to have had enough for it to do too much damage. The alcohol is the real culprit. Though you were cognitive enough to yell at him over Lois in the kitchen, which relieved him for a second before it fucking crushed him. He’s lying awake right now – listening to the sound of your snoring – replaying the argument in his head. Over and over.

You’re an asshole and a liar. Just stringing me along this whole time.

He’s some awful cocktail of angry and terrified and fucking heartbroken. You’re lying inches from him, your hand resting softly on top of his, and yet – you’re miles away. The space between you both – fragmented, treacherous.

In a perfect world, he’d have wrapped his arms around your shoulders. He’d have pulled you against his weight, against his strong, steady form. And he’d have walked you, as slow as you needed, out of the bar and to his truck. Maybe laughing. Maybe singing.

He’d have told you everything was fine, told you he loved you, told you he was gonna get you home, make you feel better. He’d hold you until the sun came up, and then hold you until it went back down.

He’d love you. And you’d let him.

Maybe that world doesn’t exist, Joel thinks. And maybe that’s for the better.

It fucking hurts, though. Stings like a hot blade through his chest. All this time, messing around, pretending there was nothing more to it. Letting his feelings through like water in a fucking dam. It was bound to break eventually.

And maybe he really thought, even just for a fleeting moment, there could be something here. Something worth holding onto. More than two idiots messing around, more than sex and secrecy.

He didn’t even realize. Didn’t notice the shift. When did he start feeling…more? When did it cross that line?

He’s staring at the end of your bed. Thinking about you under him, gripping onto his shirt, his hand between your legs. The very first time. And every other fucking time since then. Which one was the threshold? Who pushed who?

His ringtone bursts through the silence, making him jump. His arm swings to fish it from the nightstand, swiping to answer before he’s even read who’s calling, just to shut the thing up.

“Hello?” he murmurs.

“Hey, Joe? Uh, I mean, Joel? It’s Andrew Curtis here.”

He rolls his eyes. For fuck’s sake. “Mornin’, Andrew.”

“Hi. Sorry, I know it’s super early. I’m just checkin’ we’re still good to go. I got my guys ready, we’re rarin’ to get goin’ whenever you are.”

Joel clears his throat, pushing slowly off the plush mattress, resting your hand on the sheets. “Yeah, uh…” He slips out of your room, hopping over to the bathroom and closing the door over. “…I had a, uh…a family emergency durin’ the night. I’m gonna be a little late, but I’ll be there.”

“Oh, gee, I hope everything’s alright?”

He phrases it like he wants Joel to clue him in. He considers for a second actually saying, Yeah, my best friend’s daughter – who I’ve been sleeping with for the last month – got plastered at a bar – Frank’s, local place, you heard of it? – because I broke things off with her – but I didn’t want to, I was just tryna be fuckin’ noble – and I went and picked her up, punched a guy who was tryna hurt her, because guess what, Andrew – I’m in fuckin’ love with her.

He sums it up with: “Yeah. Everything’s fine now. Thanks.”

“Alright, well, great news! Call me when you’re twenty minutes out, I’ll have the guys here for you arrivin’. Safe journey, Joe!”

Joel breathes an Uhuh and hangs up, holding the bridge of his nose. He has a headache, like he’s the one who’s been drinking. It’s only going to get worse, too, heading off to go spend his Saturday with Andrew fucking Curtis and his loose flannel.

The sun’s rising slowly, lighting the hall in a warm glow. Joel pads quietly into your room and pulls the cover back over his side of the mattress. You stir; your head jerks only to move some hair from your face, and then you sigh, sleep pulling you back into its arms.

He watches you for a second. Wishes he could run a light hand down your cheek, kiss your head. Whisper a goodbye, the same way you did to him almost a week ago.

He shakes the thought, collecting his boots from the floor. His hand hovers over his shirt for a moment. And then he lifts it by the collar, lays it neatly on the pillow by your head, and leaves. You can keep it, trash it, burn it. But it’s yours. Everything about him is yours.

In the kitchen, he stands by the sink, nursing a cup of coffee. It’s a quarter to six. This early on a Saturday, he figures he’ll be in Waco by seven, seven-thirty latest. His eyes fix on the spot you two stood last night, yelling back and forth about Lois. She seems so far away, now. He can barely remember the shape of her face, the sound of her voice.

His grip tightens around the mug. He places it in the sink, and grabs his keys. As he passes the stairs, he pauses. Leans on one foot, head tilted to listen out for any sound of life. Any fucking sound – the creak of a floorboard, the squeak of a door handle. Anything to keep him here. Anything.

Nothing comes. No sound, no movement, no you.

He closes the front door gently on his way out.

----------

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[theflashesoflove]

obstacle I

Larissa Weems x f!reader (nsfw) – series

part I :: part ll :: ao3

summary: Could you be more careless? Talking to a stranger online and sharing the most intimate moments of your days with her? The way you trusted her was almost ridiculous, but the way she talked to you made you sure that this grown woman wouldn’t even consider harming you in some way. One would think you were a fool who would regret her messages one day, one would even point a finger at you and say how perverse all of it was. Luckily, no one knew. Except for Lydia, your mistress, to whom you granted not just your body, but also your heart.

a/n: i always dreaded writing series, but this woman inspires me so much that i'm finally up for the challenge. i hope i will be consistent with my writing enough to bring this story where i want it to be. filthy, angsty and gentle. i think there will be two or three more chapters and it is also crossposted on ao3. btw i have a vague idea of what architects do so if you notice some factual mistakes let's pretend that in my silly imaginary world things work this way. the names of the chapters are lyrics from interpol's 'turn on the bright lights' album (it's brilliant, a huge recommend if you like male manipulator music like i do haha). proofread, and i hope it doesn't sound as broken as i think it does. (bracing myself) let's set this little bird free into the wild.

general warnings/tags: unhealthy online relationship, dom!larissa x sub!reader dynamics, sexting, nudes, masturbation + angst and all that stuff to come

chapter word count: 4k

Part I: you are linked to my innocence

Sitting on the balcony, you admired the sun slowly crawling up from its slumber, painting the sky with faint yellow and pink shades, warming up the cool earth. The view before you made you smile. Perhaps having trouble sleeping had its benefits – you could admire such a beautiful sunrise and feel at peace for at least the next hour, before the world would wake up and start swirling around you, overwhelming and demanding. 

Thinking of someone who was also so very demanding, you pulled out your phone and started recording the serene scenery. You tried to hold your phone still, though it was hard because of the chilly wind that made you shiver. Ending the video, you opened the messenger and sent it to a woman who made your heart sing just like the morning birds sang, greeting the sun.

You scrolled up your message history with her for a bit, smirking. What a sweet little relationship you had, one time you would send her a beautiful view out of your window, the next time – a picture of you touching yourself in the most sinful way.

Couldn’t sleep again? and What a lovely view, she replied an hour later. Not as lovely as you, though, she added after.

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Her name was Lydia and she had just the right way with her words. She would text you, Send me a picture, and you would rush out of your meeting to the bathroom to send her a selfie. She would text you, What a beautiful shirt you are wearing, unbutton it for me, and you would spend a bit more time in the bathroom sending her picture after picture. 

You didn’t know what she looked like. She rarely sent you pictures in return, and you had only one 10 seconds long video of her touching herself. Her fingers were slender, her nails were painted a burgundy red colour, and she had those plush thighs that you wanted to squeeze with your hands. She was a woman of exquisite taste – taste in music, in foods, in lingerie.

You never asked her for more. It was entirely your choice to reveal your face on one of the first videos you sent her. She once told you, Don’t call me by my name on those videos, call me your mistress. You obliged. You always did. An impulse to ask the woman if she could reveal her face bubbled up inside your chest from time to time, but you pushed it away, never willing to make her uncomfortable. Perhaps there was something she didn’t like about herself, perhaps she wanted to be more mysterious and enticing, perhaps she just needed a bit more time – and it had been a year! Never being a selfish one, you suppressed your questions and played by her rules. 

She knew a lot about your life. You didn’t realise that you barely knew about hers. You knew that her work was stressful enough to make her speak to you in an especially dirty way in the night, urging you to send new videos for her to let off steam. You could only imagine her, spread on her bed to your sinful sound and pleas. You would tell her, i wish i could see how pleased my mistress is right now, nudging her to send you a picture in return. The woman would just answer, Don’t doubt it, I am very pleased with my darling girl, thank you and end the conversation until the next morning. You knew that she played piano and was popular in high school, though a bit overshadowed by her best friend at the time. You knew that she liked long walks in nature, ice skating and that her favourite season was autumn. She never pressed you to share any details about your life, but you did it nonetheless. 

It all started rather accidentally, and you told her millions of times how glad you were that she found you. There was an old record player that you wanted to sell online, and you even gave out a Fleetwood Mac vinyl in addition to it for free. The woman contacted you, anonymous at that time, though she contacted you too late, and the record player was already sold. It didn’t stop the two of you from continuing the conversation, talking about music and antique pieces of furniture she adored. After that, everything escalated quickly – topics changing topics and bringing you into dynamics you didn’t know you would enjoy this much. She teased you a lot, and at first you acted shy and hesitant, bending under her dominance and unravelling your own fantasies over time. She wrapped you around her finger, and on one particular evening you sent her your first video. The woman made it clear that she was hopeful to receive more of those in the future. 

Could you be more careless? Talking to a stranger online and sharing the most intimate moments of your days with her? The way you trusted her was almost ridiculous, but the way she talked to you made you sure that this grown woman wouldn’t even consider harming you in some way. One would think you were a fool who would regret her messages one day, one would even point a finger at you and say how perverse all of it was. If you told any of your friends about Lydia, they would tell you that you went nuts. They would tell you to stop texting her immediately and delete the chat to destroy the blackmail material that you’d shared with a stranger. Luckily, no one knew. Except for Lydia, your mistress, to whom you granted not just your body, but also your heart.

Back in the day, you suggested moving the conversation from reselling website direct messages to a more convenient messenger, one that the woman hadn’t heard of before. It took her two days to create an account for contacting you there. Her profile picture was a bush of red flowers, her personal information included just a lyric of a song she liked, and all of it was only for your eyes to see. Not much, but her empty profile on an app which she signed in just for you never aroused any suspicions. Well, sometimes it did, but then she would ask you how your day went and the sweetness of the texts the two of you shared washed your worries away. 

In fact, it wasn’t all about sexting. You could see that she was genuinely interested and caring, and you didn’t send her pictures and videos every day, after all. Maybe… three times a week? Five if she was desperate. She woke up earlier than you if you managed to fall asleep the night before and always brightened your day from its beginning with a sweet ‘Good morning, darling’ message. She always wished you a good night and checked in throughout the day, answering your texts and moving the conversation forward. Sometimes she would even send you flowers, and a delivery man would call you and ask for the address. The man would appear on your porch with a delicate bouquet later, a card attached to the wrapping would say, ‘To my favourite girl – L’. You could only giggle and smile to yourself for the rest of the day. No matter how hard you tried to get her number to send something in return, the woman would always brush you off. You can send me a picture in return, she would text you. That was exactly what you would do next. 

You’d always start with pictures. On days when you felt especially good about yourself, you didn’t even wait for her to ask. Undressing, you would send her several pictures, losing yet another piece of closing on every photo. Sometimes it would take her too long to reply, and you would record a video for her in advance. There wasn’t any surface in your house that wasn’t caught on camera while you would thrust your fingers inside, making it all pretty and appealing to look at. The sounds you made were an absolute turn on for her, and you always ensured that you put on a good show. It wasn’t even necessary to try hard, you would just recall all the dirty messages she sent you over the course of your relationship, you would imagine how it would feel to be held by her, how those long fingers would pound into you, how her lips would tease your flushed skin. You had a good imagination, and it was enough. The tiniest bits of her that were available to you – all of it was enough, that was what you were trying to convince yourself of. A hopeless romantic you were, blindly expecting that one day she would surprise you and reveal herself, and tell you how much she wanted to meet you in person. Still, it never came. That day never came, and you tried not to overthink it. You were supposed to be grateful for what you already had, after all.

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I have a very important meeting today and I just know that it won’t go easy on me. Can you please bend over your desk for me this evening, dearest? Lydia texted you a few hours later after receiving the video. 

of course, mistress, you answered playfully. your boss doesn’t give you a break, huh? ;)

Thank you, darling girl, I’ll be waiting, she replied, ignoring the message about her boss. 

You made sure to text her during your lunch break, checking if she didn’t forget to eat in between her piles of work. She told you that she had a snack and it was very nice of you to bother. A couple of hours later she asked how were you feeling since you didn’t get any sleep last night. You told her that you were running on energy drinks and green tea and she jokingly scolded you for the energy drinks part. It made you bite your lower lip, how caring she was for you in return.

The desk in your office was never neat. Scattered papers, your laptop always on charge, heated up with architect software. You hunched over the plan with a pencil in your hand, making sure that the plumbing system of the building made sense at all. Working in a reconstruction and restoration company, you never really got a chance to do the part you studied for in the first place. Always checking other architects’ plans and fixing their mistakes for them, not having the opportunity to do something of your own. Your days were filled with somewhat ridiculous tasks yet even those managed to make you feel the struggle of workload.

The surface of your desk shuddered when your phone buzzed with a reminder about forthcoming meeting, and you straightened, feeling a familiar ache in your lower back. You threw on a jacket, took your phone and notebook and left your office, politely smiling at coworkers passing by. 

The meeting went as smoothly as always – at least you enjoyed the working atmosphere of the company. Your boss talked about the updates in the company policy and proceeded to inform the staff about upcoming projects. He announced that the Principal of Nevermore school contacted them for the reconstruction work, and your coworkers didn’t even try to hide their opinions on outcasts and how infamous the school was, especially after the causality that happened a few months ago. Not paying attention to their grumbling, you thought it would be a great opportunity to finally show your skills, and your boss thought so too.

“Y/N, you will take over this project. I’m passing you the papers with details, I feel like the time to shine has come!” he said, approaching your seat with a folder in his hands. Some of your coworkers sighed in relief, glad that they wouldn’t be involved with Nevermore. It made you wince – you never thought badly of outcasts like the majority of others did, the idea of being hostile towards someone just because they were different made you nauseous like it would do to any decent person. “The Principal insists on cooperation, and I have to warn you – you will probably have to visit the site more times than would be necessary for a usual project. I hope it won’t be a problem,” he said with a light smirk.

You smiled and bit your cheek, anticipation tingling on your fingertips. “No, it won’t be a problem. Thank you,” you uttered, taking the folder. “When am I supposed to start?” 

“Next week. We arranged a meeting with Principal Weems, she said it was very important for the school, and I quote, ‘to thoroughly negotiate the reconstruction process’.” 

The school was enormous, but the work was connected to a relatively small part of it, a tower that was destroyed recently. You spent the rest of your evening studying the documents – an old plan of the school that included the tower. It was impressive how old this building was. Besides, you would be taking part in preserving and reconstructing the historic site, the whole prospect of reconstructing a part of Nevermore ensemble sounded like a dream coming true. The fact of such a project being granted to you to work on would be unbelievable if deep down you didn’t know the reason for it. It seemed that no one from your company wanted to work with Nevermore, but the school was about to pay generously, so they had to find someone to 'deal with the outcasts'. How foolish your coworkers were for declining such an opportunity, you thought, smiling to yourself.

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Back home, you didn’t bother to change into your indoor clothes, knowing full well that you would need to be completely naked soon anyway. Having had a quick meal and relaxed on the couch, closing your eyes for a little too long than you planned, you finally entered your bedroom and started setting a scene. Sometimes the lengths you went to make a perfect video for Lydia made you embarrassed, but how could you do it any other way? The woman’s attention was worth all of your efforts. You cleaned up your desk, returning previously forgotten mugs to the kitchen, shoving papers into the desk drawer and moving the pile of laundry laying on the floor out of frame. The curtains had to be closed for the last sun rays entering your bedroom not messing with the lighting on camera, the cosy shine of a garland and the dim light of a bedside lamp would be enough to illuminate your form in the most lovely way. You checked your reflection in the mirror and wiped away a few particles of mascara from under your eyes. For a second you tensed, your insecurity taking over. Would Lydia like you as much if she saw you in person? Wouldn’t she be disappointed that a flawless image you tried to create for her wasn’t as flawless in real life? Perhaps that was why she didn’t want to meet up in the first place? Did she already know that wasting the time of her busy schedule would completely disenchant her perception of you? You took a deep breath and shook your head, backing off from the mirror. It was alright. She liked you. Still you desperately wanted to be perfect for her. 

The next thing you did was distract yourself with having fun and a bit of a struggle with setting up a phone stand out of books. After you were sure that your phone wouldn’t slide down halfway through the recording, you set a 10 seconds timer and started slowly unbuttoning your shirt to catch the process on camera. The photo turned out just the way you wanted from the first try, revealing the right amount of skin and a glimpse of your lingerie. It didn’t even matter in the end, but you were always attentive to details. Completely taking off your shirt, you grabbed your phone and took the second picture – a close up of your lacy bra, nipples visible through the fabric, collarbones calling to be showered with your mistress’ kisses. The sound of timer counting down rang across your bedroom once again, you unhooked your bra to send it down onto the floor and stepped back, already topless, unzipping your pants and craning your neck to the side with a soft smile on your lips. Oh, how much you loved spoiling Lydia even if sometimes it stressed you out to the point of worrying about your imperfections. Your pants made their way onto the floor as well, out of the frame, of course, and as the next timer started counting down, you rushed to your desk to bend over it prettily, exposing your cheeks for the last photo. Then, you returned to your phone and sent pictures to Lydia, smiling to yourself at the thought of her ending her tedious day of work and seeing your message.  

It took you a fair amount of time to warm yourself up for the video by bringing yourself to the edge with a vibrator, uncomfortably sprawled in your chair and growing hotter with every second. You barely managed to stop yourself from climaxing, removing the vibrator from your clit and standing up on wobbly legs to continue your filming session. The phone was settled into its makeshift stand again, the sun finally settled, not peeking through the curtains anymore, which made the scene look especially intimate in the dimmed lights, and you were ready to absolutely ruin yourself for Lydia. After pressing the record button, you bent over your desk once again, and massaged your cheeks, squeezing and pulling to reveal your glistening sex. Having satisfied your need to tease the woman a little more, you spread your legs wider and took a toy that rested on the desk the whole time.

Teasing your wet entrance with the toy, you pleaded into the silence of your room, “Oh, please, fuck me… fuck me, mistress, please…”

By the time you finished, you were worn out – the position was rather uncomfortable, especially when you had to work with your hand from behind. You pressed the side of your face against the surface and sighed happily, “Thank you, mistress, you are so good to me.” There was a deep red mark of the edge of the desk on your knee, the wood was digging into your skin almost the whole time you were filming after you decided to move your leg higher for better access and view. The awkward scene of you grunting as you lifted yourself from the desk and padded over to your bed to stop the recording was cropped out later. 

An hour passed by, and Lydia finally answered your messages, saying that she was done with the meeting and work for the day, ready to witness you coming undone for her. 

You look absolutely ravishing, dear. Let me see how you used that toy on your pretty pussy?

are you already in bed? You asked, trying to withhold the sweet video a little longer.

No, darling. I’m taking a bath right now, she answered, arousing the urge in you to ask her if she could give you at least a glimpse of her body basking in the warm water. You didn’t ask her. 

I need you, came a text seconds later, and you couldn’t resist her anymore. 

The video went on for about 11 minutes, you didn’t know if you should have made it shorter or longer for her liking. You wondered how long it would take her, you wondered what she would use to pleasure herself and how it would feel to be with her in that moment, spreading shower gel all over her breasts and teasing her with your thigh pressed against her core. You wondered how it would feel to just settle in her lap, wrap your hands around her shoulders and hide your face in her neck, revelling in her presence.

The waiting after sending her those kinds of videos was the most tortuous one, you didn’t yet know if she liked the video or not, you didn’t know if it met her expectations, you didn’t know if it even made her wet and eager to pleasure herself. Sometimes you were afraid that she wouldn’t even bother to watch it or to reply to you ever again. Fifteen minutes later, you got a response – 1 attachment. Your heart somersaulted against your ribcage, and you hesitated for a moment before tapping on the notification, prolonging the excitement of not knowing what she sent you.

Those beautiful thighs. Oh, how much you thought about them wrapping around your head, how many times you rewatched the only video she sent you, remembering the patterns of stretch marks along her skin. She looked especially soft and rosy, her wet pubic hair neatly covered her sex, and the foam melted around her body, glistening on camera. The water was steamy and her hand rested on the rim of the bathtub – you could only assume that she was completely spent. 

i would eat you out until those gorgeous legs are shaking, you texted after a while of staring, unable to think straight.

Not before I would be done edging you for hours, she cheekily answered. And before you could think of a suitable response in the same dirty fashion, she sent her next message, Thank you, dearest. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.

A smile spread across your features, so wide it almost started to hurt. You plumped down on the bed and nuzzled your nose into the pillow, vainly seeking her scent that was never there in the first place. Contented that the woman felt about you this way, you closed your eyes and tried to imagine her. Imagine, imagine, imagine – it was the only thing you could do. In that moment, you hopelessly wanted to press yourself into her, to cling to her body and dissolve in her warmth. How much you yearned for her to give you real proximity, to caress your sides as she would bury her face in your hair and fall asleep next to you, breathing peacefully. Or she would let you lie down on her chest and listen to her calming heartbeat, holding your hand and circling your skin with her thumb. 

A couple of red heart emojis were sent Lydia’s way and you locked your phone, turned on your back and looked at the ceiling. Fulfilled and deprived at the same time.

by the way, i was given a new project today! You texted Lydia five minutes later, remembering that you forgot to share the exciting news. i’m so happy, they finally gave me the big girl stuff to do haha

That’s amazing, dear. I’m very proud of you, Lydia answered, making you blush. 

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The next Monday you were on your way to Nevermore – it felt very exciting to leave the office for once to see the site of reconstruction. To your surprise, it wasn’t that long of a ride, you expected the school to be more distant from Jericho than it was. Driving along the road that was framed by thick forest made you want to pull over for a second to take a picture of towering trees, branches tranquilly swinging in the wind, the sun peaking through the leaves. However it would be a bad idea, unless you wanted to be late for the meeting more than you already were.

The building of Nevermore astonished you from the first glance. A dark fantasy, elaborate decorations and old-fashioned high ceilings. You arrived at the brink of evening – Principal Weems didn’t have time for the meeting until 5 p.m. – and the golden hour made the school look even more otherworldly. You didn’t need a tour since you had an insight on what the building was like inside, and the location of classrooms and halls didn’t really change over decades. Approaching the Principal’s office, you adjusted the collar of your shirt and fixed your hair – this was serious, you had to make a good impression on the client. 

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a/n: oh, larissa... honey, you've got a big storm coming

[knightyoomyoui]

Dahyun x M/F Reader - "Die With A Smile"

NOTE: This story is inspired from the recently released song a week ago featuring a collab between two of tgreatest artists ever, Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga titled "Die With A Smile", just like the name of this story. Everything also that you're about to read are loosely based from one of the horror films I've watched and I thought about it as another fitting music video for this song if it features a storyline. So yeah, try to listen along while you imagine the story inside your head.

WARNING: Contains violence, expect gore and blood. 

(Ooh, ooh)

I, I just woke up from a dream Where you and I had to say goodbye And I don't know what it all means But since I survived, I realized

At the beginning of the song, a vivid image of hands separating from each other's grasp amidst the white foggy surrounding can be seen. The girl, revealed to be Dahyun, looks at you regretfully and heartbrokenly. She slowly lowers her hand just as her distance shrank.

You abruptly woke up from your bed, catching your breath. You rubbed your hair and face, groaning in reaction after having your precious sleep disrupted by that nightmare. The acoustic guitar from the intro is accompanied with soft "oohs" from Bruno Mars' sweet adlibs.

The next scene was you being alone in the dressing room, checking yourself out on the mirror with the exquisite tuxedo suit you got after what the tailor had made for the special occasion of your life. While straightening the fabric and the necktie wrapped around you, your face showed discomfort and fear after recalling those bothersome glimpses of the nightmare you had last night.

It was weird. Why did you have this a vision of seeing your woman, Dahyun, letting go and bidding goodbye to you? It's one of the worst things you wouldn't want to happen to you ever, especially since you and her are just about to embark into the next chapter of your love story together today.

You just shook your head to get rid of that ridiculous and unpleasant thought. It is better to remain focused on what's about to come today and only hope for the best, as you and her truly deserve it, just like every other wedding couple should. Calming yourself with a broad grin, you looked at the reflection of yourself in the mirror one more time before walking away.

Wherever you go, that's where I'll follow Nobody's promised tomorrow So I'ma love you every night like it's the last night Like it's the last night

On the pre-chorus, the scene shifts to the wedding currently being processed. The chapel was packed with lots of visitors. The priest was standing in front of the altar along with you, the bridesmaid, and your best man. Everyone present was looking at the door opening, revealing the bright lights from outside behind the figure of your lovely bride, Dahyun, in her breathtaking wedding dress and face covered in a white veil.

The next was you and her standing face-to-face in front of the altar. You kept on watching and listening to Dahyun give her oath for you, made from the words in heaven. Remembering what you just experienced a while ago before the wedding started may have gotten you curious about what it might mean, but you are certain that you'll do whatever it takes to prevent that from happening.

Adding another promise within your heart, mind, and soul, along with the oath you've taken before her, you swore that you'd be there by her side always.

The scene then cuts to the reception, where the visitors are now celebrating you and Dahyun being newlyweds. The married couple talked happily with your parents when suddenly the party was interrupted by a scream from one of the guests.

Your heads are directed to where it came from, and to your shock, one of your family's close-friend who is a veterinarian and an elderly guest of yours has his body now hanging dangerously on the terrace before he completely slips down, sending him down and crashing on the ground, which made everybody yell in surprise.

As the wife of the man who fell from the second floor came in a hurry to check on his condition, the man suddenly rose from the ground and pulled his wife closer. Everybody shouted in horror when the man started to bite his wife on the neck, which caused all of the guests to get back away from the strange couple. The beats of the drum at the end of the pre-chorus coincides with the shot of the man biting the bloody, torn skin and creepily staring at everyone who is looking back at him.

If the world was ending I'd wanna be next to you If the party was over And our time on Earth was through I'd wanna hold you just for a while And die with a smile If the world was ending I'd wanna be next to you

As the chorus began to play, everyone started running for their lives, which caused a stampede, which panickedly made you and Dahyun separate from each other. Both of you scream for each other's names in the middle of the chaos ensuing in the room. You ended up in the kitchen along with your cousin, Dahyun's sister, and the photographer for your wedding. Some of the guests who turned out to be looking infected with rabid behavior were located at the door.

The square glass in the middle of it got shattered, and Mr. and Mrs.'s hands started to sprawl out. You found a vent to hide in and intended to make everybody get in there before the door opened. After successfully entering the vent, you wondered why the photographer hadn't joined yet. Despite your panic, the photographer instead commanded the three of you to keep moving forward, as he confirmed that he couldn't fit inside the vent due to his size and that he'd be the one to block the infected off.

Appreciating his sacrifice, all three heads went on to escape. The three ended up outside and found a police car parked. Your cousin led the inspection, and it turns out there was a deceased policeman inside the driver's seat. While he did a closer look, the policeman suddenly sprung up and bit your cousin on the cheek, leaving you no choice but to cry in pity for your cousin and leave him there as Dahyun's sister forces you to continue escaping.

Through the final lines of the chorus, you and Dahyun's sister came to a halt when you heard Dahyun's voice speak over the speakers. The utmost joy and relief he felt after she ensured that she's currently fine was replaced quickly by surprise when Dahyun additionally announced that she's pregnant and she needs him right now as soon as possible. You proceeded to search for her afterwards.

(Ooh, ooh) Ooh, lost, lost in the words that we scream I don't even wanna do this anymore 'Cause you already know what you mean to me And our love's the only war worth fighting for

In the second verse, the scene then presents Dahyun on the other side of the story, being joined by the priest, her bridesmaid, and one of her closest friends. They hide in a surveillance room. As they discuss their plans, some of the infected guests arrive and see them through the glass panel on the wall.

They hurriedly left the room and were successful, unlike the priest, who had his coat caught by the hands of the infected. He hastily took it off from his body, but the force of the infected pulling the cloth made him slip while attempting to run, resulting in him facing the ground and looking at them frighteningly before he embraced getting eaten out by the infected.

Meanwhile, you arrived at the surveillance room 10 minutes later and discovered the mess that happened in here, and Dahyun is nowhere to be found. Viewing through the monitors, you and Dahyun's sister had a look at what seemed to be a festive and lively celebration transformed into a hellish, gruesome environment. You watched some of the lifeless guests get consumed by the now aggressive infected, and you have no idea how all of this became possible.

Realizing that this must be the dream he had now coming true in real life, you desperately wanted to come and save Dahyun immediately. Back at your wife's situation, Dahyun, her bridesmaid, and her friend stopped through their tracks when they unexpectedly met someone along the way.

Dahyun was distraught, recognizing her mother now being a completely transformed brain-eating cannibal. She stood there frozen, in disbelief at the horrid sight of her mother. It was about to charge at her, but the bridesmaid stepped up to snap Dahyun's senses back, killing the mother with a large branch of a tree.

Dahyun cried and begged for it to stop, but her friend came to comfort her. As the bridesmaid was about to be done, several infected people came towards her, and her distraction caused her to get bitten by them. They ran away, but the infected had their attention stolen when the speakers activated and played a familiar tune. Dahyun's expressed a tearful chuckle hearing their wedding song being played by you back in the room.

Wherever you go, that's where I'll follow Nobody's promised tomorrow So I'ma love you every night like it's the last night Like it's the last night

The second pre-chorus focuses on the scene where Dahyun and her friend locate a storage room in the middle of the woods, where they luckily find a chainsaw and a working TV. They switched it to a channel showing a news report about an ongoing contagious virus spreading through the main cities of South Korea.

Dahyun then learned that the virus was believed to originate from the combined effects of a hazardous chemical and strong signs of leptospirosis in a rat and rabies, which particularly were detected in a cat based on the statements of one of the survivors. Health authorities subsequently received a complaint about a certain veterinary clinic going wild, and the owner is currently being searched.

They found a huge metal lid beside the exterior of the room and opened it just as the infected spotted them on sight. They quickly opened it but had no other time to close it as they became closer. As they reached underground, Dahyun prepared herself by tearing off some of the cloth on the lower portion of her dress to help her move faster.

The drums from the instrumental hit hard and fast, matching the growing intensity as Dahyun and her friends stand on their places while they wait for the infected to descend one by one and launch at them.

If the world was ending I'd wanna be next to you If the party was over And our time on Earth was through I'd wanna hold you just for a while And die with a smile If the world was ending I'd wanna be next to you

The 2nd chorus plays right during Dahyun and her friend's killing spree through the infected, chainsaw slashing every limb, blood splashing everywhere, and an axe buried deep down through the bones.

Unfortunately, her friend got bitten on the shoulder while struggling to finish another one. As they managed to empty the sewer, Dahyun understood his request and was forced to kill him by slicing his head off with a chainsaw.

Meanwhile, you and her sister grabbed some armors and makeshift swords from of the displays inside the manor before sprinting as both explored across the hallways, avoiding the infected chasing you both along the way. Trying to fight them off with whatever foreign object could be seen, Dahyun's sister attempted to lure away some of the infected chasing behind but was overpowered as she got pulled and bitten.

Devastated, you complied with her subtle request to go after your wife. Dahyun saw a ladder through another lid, dropped her chainsaw due to its weight, and climbed it, but noticed that it was locked. She tries to bump it with all the strength she has, but is unsuccessful. Almost losing hope, you suddenly appeared in front of the lid, unknowingly ending up in the same area as her, much to her surprise.

Both of you said each other's names in delight but were cut short when an infected appeared below Dahyun. You quickly found a way to open the padlock just in time for Dahyun to exit and shut the lid to block the infected. 

Right next to you Next to you Right next to you Oh-oh

You and Dahyun exchanged stares and nodded in agreement. You took a few long breaths before removing your body weight to unblock the lid and gripping Dahyun's arm.

The instrumentals played loudly while you and Dahyun made a run for survival out of the estate against the horde of infected chasing your innards. Losing and decreasing some number of them with your defenses, you reached the garden together and continued your moment of rekindling with her, hugging Dahyun tightly.

A time like this will never allow anybody to have their sweetest moment to rest, not until this is all over. Dahyun got alerted at the approaching infected from your back that appeared on the corner of the bushes. She pushed you off and blocked herself with her arm as the infected lunged off for an attack.

She reaches off for your sword and slowly cuts her head off using it. She raises her arm and observed the bite wound she received and instantly demanded you to cut it off right away.

Despite your hesitation and concern, you grabbed your sword and smashed it through her laid arm, causing her to shriek and growl in immense pain.

If the world was ending I'd wanna be next to you If the party was over And our time on Earth was through I'd wanna hold you just for a while And die with a smile If the world was ending I'd wanna be next to you If the world was ending I'd wanna be next to you

At the final chorus, you and Dahyun have reached the front gate and noticed that all the metal bars are barricaded with plastic barriers. Both were fascinated to see that the authorities had quarantined the area.

As you stopped rotating after finding out where you had been led, what you discovered left you frozen in distress.

Dahyun glances at you with her crinkly lips, bleeding nose, pupils and eyes reddening, and teeth becoming grizzly. Based on the obvious signs of her infection, it means that your attempt to prevent the spreading of the virus across her brain has failed.

You lost any care anymore; she remains important to you just as much as the promise you made for her. Carrying Dahyun's weak and collapsing body in your arms, you walk ahead through the exit as personnel in hazmat suits watch the both of you make your way out.

The soldiers began aiming all their heavy guns at your emergence with your dying wife in your arms. Looking at her with pure affection and no disgust or terror, you shed a teardrop for her and kissed her on the lips.

It lasted for seconds until you felt a stinging pain in your mouth. Your eyes widen as Dahyun rips off your tongue. She stands in front of you, now posing in full infected form with amputated arm, yelling uncontrollably at the soldiers while you voicelessly suffer with your damaged mouth.

The soldiers immediately fire their bullets straight at both you and Dahyun. After they all emptied a half of their mags at your helpless carcasses, you and Dahyun crashed on the ground, front and back first, respectively.

Extending their arms one final time to crawl their fingers through the top of their hands and grab them with the last bit of strength left in their body. You and Dahyun held each other for a while until both finally died with a smile from their multiple wounds.

The song is already finished, and an extra clip features your eyes opening and rising from the bed again, cupping your chest and thumping fast. You stared at your hands, letting out a breath of relief, seeing the engagement ring on your finger.

Looking below to your left, Dahyun is still sleeping heavily beside you. You gratefully smiled at the sight of your fiancée being completely fine.

(Ooh, ooh) I'd wanna be next to you

Laying back down on the bed, you positioned yourself sideways to cuddle your soon to be wife in your arms whilst wrapping her delicate hands onto yours and kiss her crown.

You wished and prayed mentally for God's guidance that you can manage to keep her along with your future child safe and secured like this under your protection after the wedding tomorrow and so on.

Whatever scenario it may occur in the future, not even a virus that can cause an outbreak cannot oppose to the unbreakable love between them.

ADDITIONAL NOTE: Yes, it's a sequel to another one-shot featuring Momo from Set 4 titled "The Fight Of Our Lives", it shares the same universe and occurring at the same time as the predecessor. I know you are sharing the same name as your character with Momo, but let's just pretend that you're playing a different one with a same name as you.

[sterakraffulz78]

Stolas...

I already saw that musical... that damn musical that I now consider to be one of the worst videos I have ever seen on the entire YouTube platform.

To summarize all this, it's just Stolas being the victim and the usual sad boy, it's just a video to feel sorry for this dirty and ugly bird.

Throughout the video we are shown how Stolas is a pathetic misunderstood who only wants the attention of his """blitzy""", and how? If all this time this little shit bird has been treated as a toy, threatened by his family and fetishized to a sick point that only cares about his cock and nothing else, this is so horrifying and disgusting...

"I don't care that you're of lower status"...really?...how dare you say that while treating your so-called toy's friends like shit including your own butler, you're just a dirty rat

There is barely one, ONLY ONE, mention of Octavia, and 99% of the video is only based on how she cries to Blitz like a pathetic, sad and failed simp, while your own daughter who has been more present in your life and She has needed you like never before, she suffers from loneliness, depression and since she only wants someone who understands her, this """Character""" is only interested in someone she barely met for just once in her life.

This is the purest definition of what you should not do with a character, how to make a character that at first would be interesting become the most irritating, ridiculous, stupid, and poorly pathetic thing just for the convenience of our dear friend and animal abuser Vivianne Medrano aka "Vivziepop"

I never thought I would say this, but this is not only one of the worst characters in animation (and possibly fiction), but this Show... this show that has such good animation, all that potential is wasted by a wet fujoshi who just wants to see how her two boys just want to fuck, fuck, fuck and FUCK, why is that what she wants while she mistreats, abuses and overexploits such talented people to make her crappy

id I'm fed up, I'm totally fed up, all this just makes me stressed, wishing the worst of evil on this woman... how many people have I harmed just to seek their own satisfaction?...

Please stop watching this series... stop giving money to this sick woman, the only thing you are doing is giving benefits to a stupid woman who is only interested in herself, the fetishization and stereotyping of LGBT people...

[musicfranchisetournament]

propaganda under the cut !!

paradox live :

ive seen my friends talk about it and also theres this really pretty girl i thibk her name is anne? i wanna kiss her mwah

The world is set in the future where the hip hop artists have these cool Phantom Metals that produce cool illusions as they perform with the downside of the performers reliving their worst trauma after using it. Every group has their own theme, aesthetic, and music style Every character has canon trauma which perfect for angst Found family It's still going on They do April Fools on the fandom every year (2024 being an ad for a cat game)

charisma house :

genuinely what the fuck. i don't think i've seen a song franchise as bonkers as charisma house and i doubt i ever will. it's so entertaining and the characters are all unhinged in the best way possible. none of them are 100% good people at the end of the day and i think this just makes the whole ordeal even funnier. are you kidding me you have some random 19 yo who invites people to go live in a random house one day and they just go. the songs are so so good (most of the time. stares at my two exceptions) and whenever it's a full group song? they're always parodies of another common popular song which is so funny to me every time i hear them. i love charisma house and will defend it to the days end

It's so silly and entertaining:) the songs are sick and super catchy . The visuals are super unique .. and the concept of these eccentric crazy guys all living in a house together with the power of charisma has some super hilarious interactions.  Also charisma is the power that can save the world.. and if these guys get too overpowered with their charisma they go through yugioh style transformations and break out into song... so there is that little detail<3

they're just ordinary guys. music part aside the story is funny until it gets serious and then it's funny AND heartwrenching. music part?? group songs are based on nursery rhymes and they fucking suck but also go so hard. their solo songs all have their own genres and they're so. Aodhajhfhdhfbd Stream viva la liberation. 

Funny gay people living in a house together and all their songs parody children's songs, and all their music videos are like Cocomelon on crack. They're funny and they have a lovely found family dynamic. Very silly guys, I'm so normal about them.

Never in my life have i seen a piece of media change me this much as a person while doing the bare minimum. Perhaps the fact that it is the bare minimum and i still fell for it regardless says more about its power than any words could ever begin to describe. So utterly ridiculous in the most perfect way possible and so weirdly deep in also the best way possible but without forgetting its still fucking ridiculous. The appeal of Charisma House is that its Charisma House, and that same thing manages to be both its strength and its weakness, but its weakness is so grand it ends up becoming a strength, and perhaps its biggest strength by far. Talking about Charisma House makes me feel insane emotions because you cant describe it as good but you still know fully well its not bad either despite that being the easiest way to describe it. Sooner than later after so many episodes you'll end up realizing you have fell in its trap. Once you start caring. Once you start analyzing the miniscule tid bits of plot. Once all of that starts occurring you will soon come to realize you have been another victim of the mystical power Charisma House has on every single person that watches it. Or perhaps you just dont fucking care after 5 episodes and you leave it at that. This is perhaps the best option for everyone in the world. I wouldn't recommend this to anyone but the fact that i still do from time to time is because i want everyone else in the world to experience the unknown horrors of this media project until each and every one of them realize they have fallen down a hole they will never be able to escape. also Awwwww ohsebso cute i like ohse aaawwwww so cute 😍

[cookiesupplier]

Watermelon (nsfw)

pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

summary: Thanks to tiktok trends y/n has an idea she needs Noah to help her with, but then Noah gets his own idea he just can't resist.

cw: 18+ Minors DNI, Smut, Oral Sex.

author’s note: I started this before I was supposed to move, but thanks to the recent photos of Noah and this thighs adding to the idea for the ending of reader asking about him and a melon lol, it was just begging to be finished NOW...

~~ Holy hell, she knew she wanted to do this the moment she saw the tiktok videos started to surface.. Okay, no, that wasn’t quite true. At first she’d thought it was ridiculous watching those videos. Seeing those women with those watermelons clenched between their thighs, squeezing them.. And half of them were pathetic little stick women. They were nothing. But then, then she’d started thinking about the fact that she could do that, well, probably could, in her sleep.

Maybe.

Well.

She thought she might be able to. Y/N could try anyway. She really wanted to try. Of course, this was only going to be a one time deal, even if she might need more than one shot to actually get it done, there was no way she was going to try to go at this more than one session, no way. Y/N was not going to risk screwing up and not getting the shot that she wanted. It was all, or nothing. That was where Noah came in. Needless to say, he’d been a bit surprised with the request she’d had of him. Maybe more than a bit really. Not only about what she wanted to do, but how she wanted him involved. The two of them have been best friends almost as long as he had known Nicholas, she’d met him shortly after him, hell, she’d met him through Nicholas at school actually. The boys were always great fun to hang out with. She wouldn’t want anyone else. In the years gone by she’d watched those two go from dorky idiots that made music in the garage, and rocket up to stardom, and she couldn’t be happier for them both, for all of them actually. As close as she were to Noah and Nicholas, she’d happily fallen in with Jolly and Folio as well when they’d come into the band, not to mention every other member of the crew. Sometimes y/n felt out of place, considering she didn’t actually do anything to make the band better in one way or another. But that didn’t matter, they were her friends, and she’d always be her friend’s, she’d always be there to cheer them on. This, however, was something completely off the wall. For all the things that Noah thought would test their friendship, he’d had thought it would be the fact that he was away for months of the year. How much he missed the nights cuddled up on the couch watching movies, laughing over a few drinks, snacks, hanging outs. All the time he would lay awake wondering when the moment would come that she’d have enough and wash her hands of them, of him. He couldn’t imagine his life without her as one of his closest friends. When she’d asked him for a favour, he’d agreed without even asking what it was, and then she’d told him, and he’d been shocked, but he hadn’t taken it back. So here he was, watching her lay out the tarp on the floor. The tarp was well, this was possibly going to get messy. He watched as he sat on the tarp with the watermelons, y/n’d lined up a few, and he just was thinking about what she was about to try. He’d always looked at her, while yes, she was one of his best friends, but seeing those thick thighs of hers, did something to him… Now, watching her, seeing her sit on the floor as he held the camera, starting to film just as she wanted him to as she moved the watermelon between her thighs. The muscles of her legs tensed as she started the squeeze at the fruit, and immediately his mouth went completely dry. FUCK Hearing her groan as she shifted the melon to try again. Y/N had to take a few tries to make it work, and each time her thighs clamped around that watermelon Noah swallowed slightly. His throat bobbed as he struggled with how dry his mouth had become. He had always been body positive about your size, he knew how self conscious you were about being thicker than a lot of girls, especially your thighs, never in his life did he think he would consider it as anything more than friendly support. Just like you supported him being healthy with his working out, and bulking up. Yet he stood there filming her as she grinned at him victoriously as she crushed that watermelon between those gorgeous thick thighs, and fuck he wanted to be between those thighs. Hell, crushed like that melon even. Looking up from the viewfinder of the video camera in his hands he looked to y/n, Noah’s eyes darkening.

“Did you get that?”

Y/N asked carefully, Noah’s dark brown eyes were watching her, intensely, and she couldn’t help but squirm, it was making her nervous under his gaze.

“Yea, oh yea.”

Ending the video, Noah swallowed, only tearing his eyes off of her to set it down on the desk. Now was the time to clean up all the mess that had been made, that was why the tarp had been laid down to make it easier.

While y/n was doing that Noah tried to calm down, tried to rationalise that, that what he was feeling didn’t matter, that they were friends, they were friends. Fuck that, they’d been friends for so long, but had he were they really just friends if he wanted to eat her out and let her suffocate him with those thick gorgeous thighs of hers?

No. The answer was no.

So while he could he was splashing water on his face from the guest bathroom.. He was in the guest bathroom because it didn’t have the shower you needed to clean up after being covered in all the watermelon mess. The shower that was running in his ensuite right now, his shower, not that it was even the first time that she was in his shower..

Shit shit shit.. Thinking about her in his shower was not helping his hard-on right now. Looking to himself in the mirror as the cold water dripped down his flushed cheeks, a few deep breaths he closed his eyes, trying and failing not to picture you in his shower and palming his cock through his jeans, fuck.

Making his way back to his room just as she was coming out of her bathroom, dressed in a fitted tank top that practically showcased her ample breasts, and then it seems she pilfered a pair of Noah’s Omens Varsity Shorts for those beautiful thighs. Fuck, he wanted his hands on them. He wanted to be between them and not just his pants to be on her.

“Y/N, so, I ah, I had a thought.”

Taking in a deep breath as he looked to her, she looked up to him, Noah always had towered over her, making her feel small even when she knew she was anything but small. That wasn’t what made her nervous though, she was used to that, it was the way he was looking at her, that fierce look in his eyes, the kind of look he got when he was fixated on a song, and it made her wonder what was going through that head of his.

“Let me guess, favour for favour, huh? Okay, what was this going to cost me?”

She assumed that getting him to film her meant that whatever he was about to say was something he wanted from her in return..

“Oh no, that's not what this is, Princess, hear me out,”

Her stomach twisted when he called her that, it wasn’t the first time, it started with him teasing her and then it just became a nickname that he used whenever he was just playing around with her, between the two of you.

“No cost, no favours..”

Stepping towards her,

“You trust me, Princess, don’t you?”

Smirking as he stopped in front of her, and she stood as tall as she good, looking to him a little warily at that look in his eyes, she’d say it was almost hungry,

“I- of course, always Noah. bu-”

He didn’t let her continue when, one moment she was trying to figure out that intent look in those dark eyes and the next he was grasping her thighs with those large hands and literally picking her up and wrapping her legs around his waist. Noah couldn’t help himself, kissing Y/N like she was the very air that he needed to breathe. She gasped against his mouth, shocked and yet, it would be a bold faced lie to say she’d never thought about this man like this.

She’d had a crush on Noah forever, but he was one of her best friends, her best friend that she never wanted to even consider risk losing, and here he was, kissing her like he wanted to fucking devour her. Not to mention, here she was, kissing him back, and yes, she really did want to devour him she decided, because how could she not? She was so distracted kissing him that she didn’t realise that he was carrying her into his bedroom until he was dropping her down onto his bed, hands gripping her thighs as he panted against her mouth.

“Don’t you dare hold back Princess.”

Before she knew it, he was tugging the shorts and her panties from her body, she wasn’t sure but she might have heard a pull of the lace seams of her underwear, they were not her best ones. Wearing her good panties today would have been ridiculous considering what they’d been doing,

“Oh my Go-”

A moan was ripped from her cutting off her words when Noah delved between her legs, he’d parted her inner thighs with his hands, settling between her on his chest and brought his mouth right to her pussy. He was a man on a mission, and his grin wry and wicked as he pulled back only to remark,

“Noah is fine, but that works.”

Kneading at those glorious thick thighs he couldn’t stop touching, bringing his tongue to her clit as he pulled y/n’s thighs over his shoulders and sucked.

Y/N couldn’t help but roll her hips against his face as she felt his fingers push inside of her while he sucked on her clit, it was all she could do not to tense, her thighs starting to shake as she moaned. Her fingers were tangled in his hair as her body arched from the bed when he curled those sinfully long fingers inside of her until she was clenching down as he scraped his teeth against her clit when her orgasm hit.

“N-Noah?”

He wasn’t stopping though, pumping his fingers into her again, twisting them slightly as he sucked at her clit harder, his eyes flickering up to her as her fingers pulled at her hair as she groaned, sensitive now after she’d just cummed. Whimpering as she looked down to him, the sight of him between her legs,

“Come on, Princess, you can give me more than that, I know you can. You killed that melon, don’t hold back…”

She’d fucking squeezed the life out of that thing, she’d couldn’t do that, to.. He wanted her to.. Looking down to him.. She smirked,

“You want me to do this, it's happening one way and one way only. On your back.”

Climbing off of him. She literally pushed him onto his back on the bed, and almost as if a light went off in his head he was more than eager to comply, the fact that she seemed to be on board with what he wanted, he wasn’t going to say no. Her legs were still shaky from her first orgasm.. Was she really going to do this?

Yes, yes she was.

She was climbing over him first over his chest, and then over his shoulders until she was kneeling over his face, and his hands were hooked over her thighs. When she looked down to him, her hair falling around her face, hesitating, he grinned up to her from between her legs,

“Just sit on my face, Princess, you’ve got this.”

Pressing down, his tongue delved up into her and fuck if this wasn’t even better as her hips rocked against his face. She had more control, riding his mouth, lips, tongue, for all they were worth. Noah’s hands were practically holding her thighs down to keep her on him too, kneading and massaging those gorgeous muscles and she moaned at the feeling of every little thing he was going to her all over..

She didn’t come just once more, but twice, and but after the third orgasm of the day she was almost sobbing, she’d never cum that many times in a row without a break, and there were tears in her eyes as he laid her back on the bed.. Noah leaned over her pressing kisses to her face, completely ignoring the fact his pants were a sticky mess and he was dying to rub one out just from the sight of her cuming on his tongue.

Imagine her cumming on his cock.

“Hey Noah,”

“Yea, Princess?”

“Have you ever tried crushing a watermelon with your thighs?”

Her grin wicked as she looked up at him.

Shit.

[sunflowerhae]

The Flops™️

Y/n

A 22 year old professional dumb ass with a side gig in being comedic relief. Y/n is easy to understand; she loves video games, loves her cat, and loves pasta. And well..MAYBE she loves her fans too. Y/n is what you could call an “unstoppable force”. She’s going up in the online entertainment world, and has no plans on stopping soon. After having JUST passed her 4 million subscriber milestone on YouTube, y/n believes her life is just near perfect. Which is exactly why God needed to humble her, she thinks. Because WHO kicks someone out of their apartment (3 months before their lease ends, might I add) because of a “miscommunication” if not compelled to by God Himself. So, now Y/n has to move all of her things..AGAIN..to a new place…AGAIN…and pray to God (who we’ve found does NOT have a soft spot for her) that this one sticks - at least for a little bit. Everyone around y/n quickly learns that it’s not her who’s the comedic relief, but instead her life which is so ridiculous, that you can’t help but laugh.

Giselle

Giselle has two main interests. She is a fan of music, and a fan of y/n. She got the music part covered by being one of Korea’s leading superstars. AND she has the y/n part covered by being y/n’s absolute ULTIMATE best friend. When she’s not hypnotizing a whole country with her melodies, she’s dreaming of hanging out with her friends and, maybe hot Greek men. But be careful! This kitty bites, and if you poke too hard at her, you’ll understand why they say she has claws.

Winter

When winter isn’t focusing on her (some would call it) obsession with animal crossing, she’s focusing on her blossoming career in the mukbang community. If you can name it, Winter can eat it. She’s still pretty new, but she’s gaining a steady following by her charming personality and, quite frankly, insane ability to hound a plate of food faster than you can utter an insult. It of course doesn’t hurt her new following that she’s good friends with some of the most influential people of her generation, but that doesn’t mean much to her. With a laugh and bite - winter is a happy girl.

Jisung

Jisung would never call himself a streamer. Sure, he plays video games for people to watch. Sure, he gets viewer numbers up to the thousands. SURE, he makes money off it and has a weekly upload schedule. But no, Jisung would NEVER call himself a streamer. So y/n does it for him! You might think the whole “bicker like siblings” thing is an act for the camera, but that’s just the nature of these two friends. When she’s not nagging him about how much he eats and yet never goes to the gym, Jisung fills the space by laughing and bullying y/n’s gameplay choices. Some newbies are convinced they actually hate each other, but OG’s know these two love each other fiercely, the difference is they show it in their own..unique..way.

Jaemin

Ah..Jaemin. The irony of Jaemin befalls all his friends. He is, by far, the most outgoing one of the bunch. Jaemin sees a new person as a new opportunity for a friend. He laughs in the face of introverts, while also hugging them and giving them a free bag of chips. Jaemin knows just what to say, and just when to say it. And it pains them all that he’s the ONLY “normal” one of the group. Jaemin is currently studying business at SNU, hoping to one day open a cat cafe. His nonchalance towards being in the most envied and admired friend group of their country confuses Jaemins classmates. And what confuses them even more is that, when asked if he feels lucky to be friends with them, his reply is only, “those idiots? More like what crimes did I commit in my last life to be cursed to know them”. But fear not for little old Jaemin, for he is probably the sneakiest of the lot. And if you don’t know what I mean, I’m sorry, but it’s already too late for you.

Jeno

Jeno is a model. It’s really that simple. Jeno is a model - and also so much more. He’s Jaemins best friend, he’s winters boyfriend, he’s the “glue” of the group (as y/n would put it), and he’s just genuinely a nice person. If you have an issue with anything - he’s there. A leak in your roof? Call Jeno. You’re missing a final ingredient for a recipe you’ve been dying to try? Jeno will find it, or die trying! Need a shoulder to cry on after a nasty breakup? Jeno is at yours with a tissue one minute, and an undisclosed location with a gun and some rope in the next. He’s the fiercest and loyalist friend you’ll ever have; who just so happens to be a model.

GG! (Good Game!) 👾

Notes: does anybody actually read my character descriptions bc I actually think I popped off w these ngl. Also not them being a hype house lowkey (without the house part)

☆ Masterlist ☆

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[beybaldes]

I know why we had to say goodbye like the back of my hand

summer sleepover masterlist

jamie tartt x gn!reader

summary : “am i supposed to just let you go?” / “for what it’s worth, i really am sorry”

content warning : technically a part 2 ‘I’d go back in time and change it but I can’t,’ can be read stand alone, more protective!roy and bestfriend!colin, Jamie’s past is held against him and it hurts his feelings because he has changed, two uses of yn, jamie being clueless, angstyish

an : can you tell I’m obsessed with Taylor’s music? Better man is one of the best vault tracks to exist fight me I listened to it the whole time writing this fic.

Christmas and New years come and go and when the first day back at the dog track comes around you’ve almost forgotten about Jamie entirely.

You haven’t spent a single minute of the holidays thinking of him, and yet, he’s spent every single minute of it thinking about you. In no more then 10 seconds, you’d shattered whatever hope he’d had left that maybe, just maybe, he could heal things over between the two of you. And even after that, you’d still wished him a merry Christmas. He was going to get fucking whiplash if things carried on like this.

It was exactly that which had brought him to Keeley’s doorstep at 6am on New Year’s Day. Roy answers the door and he’s still in what he assumes is lasts nights clothes. Even though Roy doesn’t particularly like Jamie, not after what he did to you, he knows Jamie wouldn’t show up here without reason, so he invites him in. He guides Jamie through to the living room and says he’s going to get Keeley but that they’ll be right back. Jamie knows he must look rough if Roy wants to sit in on the conversation too.

There’s glitter on the floor after the party Jamie wasn’t invited to. He’s knows you were here last night. You may still have him blocked on everything, but Colin doesn’t, and fuck, does Colin love posting you. Posting pictures of you all dressed up for the new year, looking perfect as ever, posting videos of the two of you on his story, taking shots together or dancing ridiculously around Keeley’s living room. Part of him knows that in another life, one where he had been a better man sooner, it would’ve been him in Colin’s place; dancing with you at a party, sharing drinks with you, and if he was really lucky, maybe even sharing a kiss at midnight.

“Jamie! Hi! Hey! What are- what are you doing here, babe?” Jamie can tell she’s just as surprised as Roy was to find him here, but that doesn’t deter him from why he came. He knows there’s only one way that he can become a better man, and that’s by trying. “Here, have a pillow.”

Keeley makes sure each of them have a bright, pink pillow in their laps before she encourages Jamie to talk, leaning forward across her own pillow to show Jamie she’s really listening. Even Roy seems open to hearing him out, stretching his arms out across the back of Keeley’s sofa.

“I need to know how I can make things better with yn.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Jamie’s barely got his words out when Roy’s growled at him and Keeley’s smacked Roy in his chest. He takes her hand gently in his and holds it in his lap and Jamie almost winces at the sweet nothingness of the action. “I mean, they’ve told you to leave them alone, so, leave them alone.” Jamie thinks Roy’s changed too, until a mere second later, he lets out the fakest cough known to mankind. “Prick.”

“Oi, I didn’t come here to get bullied by a pensioner, I came here for actual advice.” And just like that Jamie had slipped back into the shell of the person he’d been trying to leave behind. People like Roy made it all too easy, picking on his weak spots with the smallest of words, and causing all his progress to come crashing down.

“What Roy means…” Keeley interrupted, breaking up the bickering before it could ever even really begin. “Is that you made your bed Jamie, now you’ve got to lie in it. If they don’t want to forgive you, or most on from the past, then that’s their choice. You can’t force anyone to forgive you.”

“But everyone else has.” Jamie whined, head thrown back against one of Keeley’s many throw pillows as he took to lying on the settee instead. “I don’t understand why they won’t. I’m trying so…” Jamie paused, sucking in a long breath. He was trying so hard to be better and he couldn’t say that because strong men didn’t need to be better, strong men didn’t want to change for the people they loved. The smaller voice, the one that grew a little louder day in and day out, said the opposite; strong men do change for the people they love, they apologise and they acknowledge their mistakes (even when it hurts to do so). “I just don’t get why they won’t forgive me when almost everyone else has.”

“Did you happen to forget that, out of everyone, yn is the one you actually, literally, cheated on?” Silence fell over Keeley’s living room for the first time in almost 24 hours, and Jamie was sure he’d never heard something so loud in his life. “That maybe, more then anything, more then an apology, what they want is for you to explain why you did what you did?”

“No one wants to know why.” Jamie scoffed, thinking of the multiple apologies he’d make to partners in his lifetime. Each and everyone wanted an apology, he would give it to them, they’d fuck one last time, and then break up on ‘mutual’ terms claiming that it was ‘for the best’. Obviously, he didn’t want things to go like that with you, he wanted to really apologise and for you to really forgive him, and then for the two of you to work on building a friendship between the two of you. But that didn’t mean he’d ever have expect you to want to know why he did what he did. “They want an apology, and for you to seem sorry, and then that’s usually it.”

Keeley eyed him suspiciously, eyes like daggers in a way unusual and unnerving to Jamie. “You don’t know why you did it, do you?”

Jamie can feel Roy’s hand curl into a fist from across the room and he’s sure that if he was any closer he’d be able to hear his blood boiling. “No.” Jamie answers instantly and honestly. “No. I don’t. That’s just who I was then.”

“That’s bullshit.” Roy’s been speaking more then Keeley has and Jamie’s wishing he’d come over for the help at a different time. “You had a year? Two years? To come up with a reason, and that’s all you’ve got?”

Jamie wants to argue. It’s his instinct to argue. To get in some brutal back and forth debating which of them was right about the matter, ultimately say something he shouldn’t, and upset Keeley by upsetting Roy just so he can get out of the conversation. The smaller voice inside his head that’s getting louder tells him the right thing to do, the thing a good man would do, is be honest. So that’s what he does. “They really cared about me, more then anyone ever had, yeah?” Jamie sits up on the sofa, leans his elbows against his knees and hangs his joined hands between his open legs, pulling at his fingers. “Do you know how scary that is? Everyone who was supposed to care about me just ends up hurting me. So, I beat them to it. Hurt them before they can hurt me.”

Keeley and Roy try and get more out of Jamie but he decides he’s been vulnerable enough today and that he has a lot to think about. He spends the remainder of his time off before the season begins again hiding in his bedroom, and thinking about what he did wrong like a told off child.

He decides that on the first day back at the dog track, he’s going to explain everything to you. He’s going to fully embody the better man he’s been trying to become, the man he knows, that once upon a time you knew, he could be.

Thankfully, you have a very peaceful first day back at the dog track. Colin and Isaac come and eat lunch in your office with you, Will hangs around throughout the afternoon helping you with some errands, and Roy brings you coffee at 4 when he knows he’s heading out for the day but you’ve still got some work to do. You’ve barely taken a sip of the saving grace when Jamie enters your office and locks the door behind him. You simply ignore him, continuing to tap away on your laptop and blocking out the image of his puppy dog eyes from your brain.

“Look, can we just talk, yeah?” It seemed Jamie had a way of making you angry by even suggesting he had a right to your time; you stopped typing even though you didn’t mean to. “I want to apologise, and explain, and even if we can’t be friends again, I just don’t want things to be weird anymore.”

“And who’s fault is it that things are weird?” You asked, closing your laptop and leaning back in your chair, creating as much space between the two of you as possible.

“I know, mine, just let me talk, yeah?” Jamie knew he had to get the words out before you interrupted him again or he’d never say them, never give you the explanation Roy had explained, and Jamie had come to understand, you deserved. “I hurt you because I didn’t want you to hurt me. You know what my dads like, what the other people I’ve dated have been like, and every single one of them leaves. And you didn’t, and you didn’t look like you were going too either.” Jamie took a deep breath, holding his own hands to stop them from shaking. “That was so scary, to me, to have someone care about me like that. And, I don’t know, my brain made me think, like, that you were just waiting to hurt me sooner or later, so I should hurt you first.”

You’d fallen completely silent and it entirely unnerved Jamie. All of it made too much sense and a part of you felt so bad for the way you’d acted these past few months. However, you also knew that while Jamie’s insecurities was an explanation to why he did what he did, that it wasn’t an excuse.

“And I couldn’t just break up with you, because I didn’t want to, and I know my actions might not have show it, but I really loved you. And, yeah, I should’ve talked about it instead of sleeping with someone else and getting you to end things, but I didn’t know how to do that back then.” Jamie sucks in a shaky breath and a part of you yearns to hug him, to tell him to not get worked up about it, but you stay in your seat. “And it fucking sucked because I got what I wanted. And I felt so good about it, that you’d hurt me by breaking up with me and that I’d been right, and then I just felt sad.” For the first time since entering your office, Jamie looks at you. “And I just wanted to let you know, that it was never your fault that I did it, it was mine.”

A long silence took over the office, neither you nor Jamie speaking or even breathing as you took in the weight of the words just said to you. Everyone had been telling you for months now that Jamie had changed and you’d been so adamant it was a ruse, but here he was, pouring his heart out to you with the best apology you think he’s ever given, and proving he was a better man.

You stood from your chair, grabbed your bag and half drunk coffee, and tucked the chair under the desk. As you grabbed your laptop and notebook to take home with you, you finally spoke up. “Thank you for explaining Jamie, you don’t know how good it is to hear that after everything. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jamie brow creased and he moved to step closer to the door, stopping you from leaving immediately. “What? So, that’s it?” When you didn’t answer, Jamie took a step forward, reaching his hand out for yours and finding himself surprised when you didn’t push him away. “Am I supposed to just let you go?”

“You know, Jamie, I missed you every minute of every day for the first 8 months, and then I just wished you had been better.” You squeezed his hand gently and for a moment Jamie felt like he’d woken up from some bad dream and he was still where he was 2 years ago. “And then, I woke up one day, and I didn’t think of you at all.” Jamie knew he’d been a dick, he knew he’d hurt you in a way no one deserved to be hurt, he knew you loved him and he pushed that love away like you’d been offering him a loaded gun instead of the key to your heart. “You would’ve been the one if things had been different, but they weren’t different. And that’s okay, but that means you need to let me go.”

Jamie felt sick to his stomach, god, he couldn’t imagine anything worse to happen to him, and yet, he’d done it all to himself. “Im always going to love you, J.” For 2 years Jamie had imagined you saying those exact words to him, forgiving him for his mistakes and turning things back to how they used to be. It shouldn’t be breaking his heart to hear what he’d hoped, and dreamt, and spent sleepless nights praying for.

Jamie let you leave then, stepping away from the door with a downcast look across his face, and finally pulling himself away from your touch. What if he never got to touch you so softly again? What if this was the last time he ever heard you tell him you loved him? What if this was the last time you let him in your door? “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry.”

“I know Jamie, I am too.” You took a step forward, but not towards the door, wrapping your arms gently around Jamie, humming against his neck when his fingers clawed into your shirt and his lips trembled against your temple. “I am too.”

You left your office together and walked Jamie to his car, you said no when he offered you a lift home and he didn’t beg you to accept it. Even if you had said yes, you doubted he knew the drive from the dog track to your new place, and you didn’t want to hurt him more by letting him find out he didn’t know you like he knew the back of his hand anymore.

Tomorrow morning the team will be surprised by the fact you say good morning to everyone including Jamie, but for right now, alone in the empty Nelson Road car park, Jamie finally gets it, and he finally mourns the love he once lost.

[fionaapplerocks]

The Long and Winding Road That Leads to Fiona Apple

By Tyler Coates 2012-05-31

“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” So goes the oft-quoted line from William Faulkner’s Requiem for a Nun. Time is circular, and our relationship with our own personal histories is ever changing. This is a concept with which the enigmatic Fiona Apple is deeply familiar.

The 34-year-old singer-songwriter is about to release her fourth album—the first in seven years—aptly titled The Idler Wheel is wiser than the Driver of the Screw, and Whipping Cords will serve you more than Ropes will ever do. The spinning wheel of time cranks back and forth for Apple, who continues to re-examine her past while trying to keep up with the present. Like most artists, however, Apple finds that her fans cherish the past more than she does.

In 2000, a 16-year-old fan named Bill Magee approached Apple after a show in Upper Darby, Pennsylvania with a request: he told her he was a member of his high school’s gay-straight alliance and hoped that Apple could write a few words of support. “[I] was much more interested in interacting with a celebrity than building an alliance between gays and straights,” he admitted on his blog 12 years later where he posted a scanned image of the letter he received less than a week after requesting her response.

Apple wrote: “All I know is I want my friends to be good people, and when my friends fall in love, I want them to fall in love with other good people. How can you go wrong with two people in love? If a good boy loves a good girl, good. If a good boy loves another good boy, good. And if a good girl loves the goodness in good boys and good girls, then all you have is more goodness, and goodness has nothing to do with sexual orientation.”

“My brother was the one who told me about it,” Apple tells me just weeks after Magee posted the letter on his Tumblr, which was then picked up by various sites like Jezebel and Pitchfork. “I was like, ‘A letter I wrote to someone when I was 22 has made its way online?’ That’s the scariest thing I could possibly hear in my life. And the subject matter was so important—I know how I’ve always felt so I knew it wasn’t going to be a bad letter, but I was like, ‘What did I say?!’”

The letter’s sudden popularity online is indicative of how much has changed since Apple released her debut album, Tidal, in 1996.

For starters, she was then a 19-year-old singer-songwriter signed to a major record label and churning out emotional and dark odes at a time when her contemporaries were singing bubblegum-pop love songs.

She made headlines after appearing in the video for “Criminal.” Shot in a seedy apartment, the video featured a scantily clad and emaciated Apple, sparking criticisms of the exploitive quality of the images (and suggesting that she had an eating disorder). In 1997, when accepting her award for Best New Artist at the MTV Video Music Awards, Apple infamously shouted into the microphone, “This world is bullshit, and you shouldn’t model your life on what we think is cool, and what we’re wearing and what we’re saying.”

While the speech was replayed and parodied on TV for years following, Apple was lucky enough to have said those words before the days of blogging and YouTube; had she given the speech 15 years later, it may have turned into a career-damaging viral video and sparked a few thousand snarky tweets.

She also has the luxury of being a successful artist who doesn’t need to promote herself online. “They want me to tweet now, but I don’t,” Apple tells me of her label reps. “It doesn’t feel natural to me. But I do find it actually more interesting to see people posting ridiculously mundane shit. I like to hear about what people had for breakfast or what they did all day. It’s interesting because I don’t know how other people live.”

While Apple is hardly a recluse, she’s made few public appearances in the seven years since the release of her third album, Extraordinary Machine. The excitement following the announcement by Epic Records of the late-June release of The Idler Wheel speaks to the loyalty of her fan base. (And as for that long-winded title, it’s a callback to the much-maligned 90-word title of her acclaimed sophomore effort, universally shortened to When the Pawn…)

The Idler Wheel does not deviate from the familiar sounds of Apple’s earlier records; the songs are still layered with complex instrumentation, and her reverberant voice still takes center stage in each tune.

The album was produced nearly in secret over the last few years—a surprising move from an established artist with the resources of a major label at her disposal. But Apple explains that her experience with the label system is what allowed her to feel free to work on her own. “It was very casual, and I wasn’t fully admitting that I was making an album,” she says. “I got to use the time in the studio to inspire me to finish other things rather than feel like I was finishing homework to hand in. It wasn’t a lot of pressure. And the record company didn’t know I was doing it, so nobody was looking over my shoulder.”

Most might take that mentality as a reaction to the restrictions of her record label, especially after the drama surrounding the release of Extraordinary Machine. After collaborating with Jon Brion (who produced When the Pawn) to create an early version of the third album in 2002, Apple then decided to rework all but two of the songs with producer Mike Elizondo.

The original version of the album leaked online, and Brion suggested in interviews that Apple’s label had rejected the demo and forced her to rerecord the songs (a claim that Apple later denied). Still, it incited an uproar among her fans. An online-based movement called Free Fiona organized demonstrations outside of the Sony headquarters in New York, and protestors sent apples to the label’s executives.

The final version of the album was released in 2005 and received positive reviews and earned Apple a Grammy nomination. “I ran into the guy who started Free Fiona after a show in Chicago,” she tells me. “He apologized to me! They didn’t get the story quite right, but they did help me get my album out. I felt so bad that he had spent all this time thinking I was pissed at him—I had a physical urge to get down on the floor and kiss his shoes!”

It’s an intense reaction (she admits she didn’t bow to her fan because “it would be weird if I did that”), but Apple is still a very intense person. Dressed in a flowing skirt paired with several layers of spaghetti-strapped tank tops that reveal her slender frame (which seems healthier than in her early days, giving the impression that she must spend most of her downtime on a yoga mat), Apple fidgets in her seat during our conversation, often giving off an infectious giggle.

But she is surprisingly comfortable to talk to, not much like the somber young woman who sang of heartbreak and disappointment. “I don’t think I’ll ever have an idea of what I look like to the rest of the world,” she replies when I ask if she ever worries that her lyrics, which are sometimes in stark contrast to the up-tempo, progressive sounds of her songs’ instrumentations, give off the wrong impression of her personality. “It’s all your own perception. I could easily be concerned with how I’m taken and then have all the good stuff filtered through to me and choose to believe that. For the rest of my life it’d be the truth for me, but not the whole truth.”

Born Fiona Apple McAfee Maggart in New York City to Brandon Maggart and Diane McAfee, Apple’s musical destiny was settled at birth. The McAfee-Maggarts are, while not reaching Barrymore-level name recognition, an entertainment family; Apple’s father was nominated for a Tony for his performance in the Broadway musical Applause, both her mother and sister are singers, and her half-brothers work in the film industry—one an actor and the other a director.

She’s a third-generation performer, as her grandmother was a dancer in musical revues and her grandfather a Big Band-era musician. While Apple’s auspicious introduction to the pop world had critics calling her a prodigy, she crafted her early songs as a cathartic necessity. (“Sullen Girl” from Tidal, in particular, is about her rape at the age of 12.) “Over the years it’s transferred more into a craft,” she says. “I use myself as material because that’s what I’ve got. But these days I write less than half of my songs to get myself through things. I have to find other things to be meaningful— otherwise I’d just be miserable all the time.”

Her songs are still extremely autobiographical, which is perhaps their charm. Following in the footsteps of other singer-songwriters, especially women who emerged in the early ’90s and expressed their emotions in particularly vulnerable ways, Apple’s openness has always had an empowering appeal. Her songs seem to suggest that feeling a variety of emotions—sadness, glee, despair, insanity—is not only normal, but, like those self-reflective musicians before her, she also gives permission to her listeners to feel the same way.

Even for Apple, her older songs are relics of another time, and she now makes them applicable to her life in the present. “They all kind of become poems after a while,” she says. “You can take your own meaning out of them. It’s been a very long time [since my first albums], and I can apply those songs to other situations that are more current in my life.” She admits she has changed greatly since she started writing songs in her late teenage years, especially when it comes to how she portrays herself. “I don’t feel comfortable singing the songs that I wrote. I used to blame other people and not take responsibility. I thought I was a total victim trying to look strong.”

And she is much harder on herself in the songs on The Idler Wheel than she ever was before. Sure, she admitted to being “careless with a delicate man” in “Criminal,” arguably her most famous song, and in When the Pawn’s “Mistake” she sang, “Do I wanna do right, of course but / Do I really wanna feel I’m forced to / Answer you, hell no.”

On The Idler Wheel, Apple examines her own solitude and neuroses as well as their effect on her relationships with others. “I can love the same man, in the same bed, in the same city,” she sings on “Left Alone,” “But not in the same room, it’s a pity.” On “Jonathan,” a somber love song layered with robotic, mechanical sounds that’s presumably about her ex-boyfriend, author and Bored to Death creator Jonathan Ames, she urges, “Don’t make me explain / Just tolerate my little fist / Tugging at your forest-chest / I don’t want to talk about anything.”

But performing, as a central requirement of her career, still takes precedence. “Some nights I’m very, very nervous, and some nights I’m not at all,” she tells me. “I think, ‘This is ridiculous. I’m not a person who does a show, I’m a person who should be on a couch watching TV.’ But then it’s like I get knocked into another state of consciousness, and then I’m left behind, and the person that’s doing the show is there and there’s nothing else in the world existing other than the note she’s singing. It’s such a joy to do, but I forget about it until I’m on the stage.”

Apple has lived in los Angeles since Tidal’s release in 1996, although she admits that she’s “not an L.A. girl.” “I was supposed to stay in New York,” she tells me. “I remember being 17 and asking if I could record in New York. How did I end up here? It’s 15 years later… How did that happen?” Apple doesn’t seem to process time like other people. When I ask when she began recording The Idler Wheel and when she knew it was ready, she has a complicated answer. “It must have started in 2008. Or 2009. I don’t know! I have no idea. It’s weird to think that there was 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011.” Her big blue eyes suddenly look to her right as she furrows her brow. “Where’ve I been? What was I doing? What was that year about?”

Maybe the solitary nature of living in L.A. contributes to her aloof tendencies. “I’m not a social creature,” she says, “I don’t go to parties all the time because I’d probably just wonder why I’m there in the first place.” Her preference for being alone may also stem from the kind of personal criticisms that people tend to throw at female musicians. “I’ve gotten so used to being misunderstood. Nobody’s ever really said anything bad about my music, but when I’ve had albums come out there are always people making fun of me. ‘Oh, she’s back?’” She didn’t even expect the comments (mostly online) when the full title of The Idler Wheel was announced. “I didn’t stop to think that anyone would call it ridiculous, but people did. I thought, ‘Ahhh. My old friends.’ I’m not sure what’s ridiculous about it, but that’s what they’ve got to say.”

I cautiously mention the infamous acceptance speech from the VMAs, a moment early in her career that defined the public persona of Fiona Apple as an angry, ungracious woman. “I’ve never been ashamed of that,” she replies immediately. It was the first moment, she says, in which she felt like she could speak up—to break free from the shyness that defined her childhood and early teenage years. “I genuinely, naïvely thought that I was going to put out a record and that was going to make me have friends. I expected to give it to people and they would understand me; no one would say to me, ‘We don’t want to be your friend because you’re too intense or too sad all the time.’” It wasn’t necessarily the case.

“Do you still think the world is bullshit?” I ask when we talk about the VMAs. She laughs. “It’s not the world!” she exclaims. “Of course people think that ‘the world’ is the whole world. I felt that I had finally gotten into the popular crowd, and I thought, ‘Is this what I’ve been doing this for?’ I felt like I was back in the cafeteria in high school and still couldn’t speak up for myself.”

These days, Apple spends more time focusing on her own art rather than the reactions to it. With age has come calm and decreasing desire to pay attention to her detractors. “I’ve decided it takes too much energy to try to avoid it,” she tells me, brushing aside her freshly dyed crimson hair. “I’m not going to hide from the world.”

Source Archive.org:

https://web.archive.org/web/20120603033544/http://www.blackbookmag.com/music/the-long-and-winding-road-that-leads-to-fiona-apple-1.49114

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 18 Prompt: Classic Christmas Songs

Tags: Eddie Munson Hates Christmas Music, Steve Harrington Has A Crush On Eddie, But He Doesn't Know It, Rewriting A Song As A Means To Flirt, Robin Buckey Is A Great Friend, Jewish Eddie

wc: 1230 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

“Christmas songs again?” Eddie groans, stepping into the warm air of Family Video. Unfurling the scarf he begrudgingly wears after Ms. Henderson went through the trouble of knitting him one last year, he moseys his way to Steve and Robin who are slouched over the counter.

“If we did do you think we would be listening to Christmas songs right now?” Robin asks, lifting her head from where she had it buried in her hands. “I’m one “Last Christmas” loop away from becoming the Grinch.”

“Hey! Don’t disrespect Wham like that!”

Eddie snorts, shaking his head. “You would love that song, big boy.” Pulling his gaze away from Steve and the annoyed pout he’s currently sporting, he locks eyes with Robin. “Quick Buckley, name the worst Christmas song.”

“Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” obviously.”

“What!” Steve gasps from beside her. “It’s romantic!”

“It’s predatory, Steve! He’s holding her hostage!”

“Sorry, Stevie, but I have to side with Robin on this one.”

“You two are ridiculous,” Steve says, rolling his eyes as he goes back to checking in returns.

“I see your “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” and I raise you “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” Eddie says. 

Robin hums in contemplation before tilting her head. “Not a fan of birds?”

“Honestly, the birds are the least offensive part of the song.”

“Oh no,” Steve groans, turning around in his chair to face them. “I smell a Munson rant in our future.”

“Good thing we have all the candy we could ever ask for,” Robin muses already fishing out a container of gummy words from the candy counter to her left. “Let's hear it, Munson.”

Eddie takes a moment to gather himself, takes a big inhale of air, and then launches into his practiced rant about how “Twelve Days of Christmas” is the worst Christmas song to ever be created. Sure, it doesn’t have predatory connotations like Robin’s song, but it does have a shit ton of birds that no person would ever want to be gifted. And that’s only the beginning. He rants about the unbearable upbeat music, the repetitive nature, and all the other stupid gifts this unnamed person gets their so-called true love.

But his biggest qualm with the song comes at the end of his nearly fifteen-minute rant.

“And no one even questions why there’s suddenly 12 days of Christmas! Christmas is one day not twelve. It’s encroaching on Hanukkah,” he huffs, hands thrown in the air nearly knocking over the pile of returns Steve was previously working through. “Multiple days of celebration is our thing, but oh, no, the Christmas crew had to come take it.”

“Huh. I never thought about it like that.”

“Glad I could enlighten you,” he says, bowing in her direction. When he comes back up from his dramatic, he turns in Steve’s direction. “What about you, Stevie? Have I changed your stance on Christmas songs?”

“I mean, yeah… “Twelve Days of Christmas,” you know is a stupid song, but I mean Wham’s “Last Christmas” isn’t.”

Eddie thunks his head against the counter at the same time Robin lets out a groan. As far as Eddie’s concerned, there’s no arguing with Steve on this one. It’s best to cut is losses, rent the movie Dustin requested for the first annual Hellfire Movie Night, and get out of here before he has to bear witness to whatever Steve’s face looks like when Wham blasts through the shitty speakers.

“Take me with you,” Robin pleads, hand clasped around his wrist.

“Sorry, Buckley. You’re on your own with this one.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“So far I have a dreidel, latke, and eight candles shining. But I still need five more things.” Groaning, Steve tips his head back, narrowly missing the neon Family Video sign. “This is harder than I thought.”

“What exactly are you doing?” Robin asks through a mouthful of gummy bears.

“M’trying to rewrite “Twelve Days of Christmas” into “Eight Nights of Hanukkah” for Eddie.”

“Aw, Steve,” she coos, rolling her chair over to him so she can give him a playful pat on the back. “You’re finally going to tell him you like him with a song!”

“What?” he shouts, head whipping forward. If he wakes up with a kink in his neck tomorrow, it’s entirely Robin’s fault. And he’s going to make sure she knows it. “I don’t like Eddie!"

Robin scoffs. “Right, so you’re just writing him a song because…”

“Because, his little rant was inspiring, okay? It’s not fair that Christmas has all these songs and Hanukkah only has that dreidel one,” Steve grumbles. “Maybe if he had his own song to sing he wouldn’t hate mine so much.”

“Alright well, good luck with that,” Robin snorts before quickly disappearing to help the sole customer in the store.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Steve spends the next three Family Video shifts rewriting “Twelve Days Of Christmas” into a Hanukkah-themed song worthy of Eddie’s praise. Reluctantly Robin pitches in on the second day, reminding Steve that the lyrics don’t have to be about Hanukkah since birds have nothing to do with Christmas.

The revelation is the key to breaking the writer's block he was facing and by the end of their third shift of the week, Steve has a perfectly crafted “Eight Night of Hanukkah” song ready for Eddie’s eyes.

When Eddie strolls in five minutes before they close, Robin starts goading Steve into delivering his present. She wants him to sing the song to him, but he’s not about to

put himself through that embarrassment — especially not in front of Eddie who can actually carry a tune. Instead, he passes Eddie the piece of paper he carefully transferred the final lyrics to this afternoon and watches with bated breath as Eddie takes it in his hands and begins to read it.

The silence is unbearable and Steve’s three seconds away from jumping over the counter, retreating to his Beamer, and running away from Hawkins so he never has to see him again, when Eddie clears his throat.

“You wrote this?” Eddie asks and Steve nods, bile rising in his chest. “For me?”

“I mean, yeah? I just… I couldn't stop thinking about what you said and—“

He’s cut off by the feeling of Eddie’s arms tugging him forward. His hip collides into the counter, but its all worth it when Eddie leans forward, wrapping himself as best he can around Steve.

He’s warm, warmer than Steve thought he would be. The scarf he’s been wearing for weeks now smells like cigarettes and something woodsy — a cologne or aftershave if Steve had to guess. Steve can feel the rise and fall of his chest as Eddie rocks him closer.

It makes Steve feel… well it, makes him feel something.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” Eddie admits, finally letting go of Steve.

“It was nothing, man,” Steve shrugs and ignores the way Robin rolls her eyes beside him. At least she has the decency to hide her scoff behind an impromptu coughing fit.

“Nothing? You wrote a song! That’s not nothing! Seriously, thank you. M’gonna go home and put music to it immediately. None of that upbeat “Twelve Days of Christmas” nonsense though. This deserves real guitars.”

“Will you play it for me?”

“Course! We’re co-creators on this bad boy now!”

Steve likes the sound of that.

Maybe more than he should.

[st0r-fruit]

I love Tatsuya Endo sm.

Props to the one in charge of the music in season 1 part 1 like. What a genius choice to choose Comedy by Gen Hoshino as the intro because WOW.

At first like, you may think it's just a brilliant choice of music BUT NO. NOOOO. it's more than that, perchance. Mayhaps.

We all know spy x family as the perfect fake family, and we all just know they're gonna end up as one right? Coincidentally, Comedy by Gen Hoshino is also about FOUND FAMILY. Literally expressing how they came from a rough background, feeling alone, and realizing that THEY have to build a place for them to belong. ("They" as in like gen hashino on in the music video)

and that's EXACTLY what spy x family is. Loid come from war backgrounds, Yor was little when her parents weren't there and she had to take care of Yuri and herself, Anya having being experimented and not treated like human. And they all HAVE to pretend. They come from rough backgrounds, and they met each other (Loid -> <- Anya -> Yor) and they SLOWLY build this relationship that is soft, warm and loving, even those they deemed it as "pretending." (Which it's not, we all know lmao).

And in the near end video, Gen Hoshino and the fluffy monsters hangs out alot, coming as a family, doing fun things together. The lyrics says in english:

Shall we search for eternity?

Wanna live for as long as we can?

No matter what happens in the future

I’ll want to talk to you about it

Forever and ever

In these days we shared

In a comedy with you

Rolling around in laughter

We'll keep on with our ridiculous everyday life

LIKE UHH. There has to be a reason that Tatsuya Endo accepts this as the season 1 outro right. This is so Spy x family coded song. I THINK THEY'RE GONNA BE A REAL FAMILY, THEY HAVE TO. THEY'RE GOING TO REALIZE THEY NEED EACH OTHER AND LOVE EACH OTHER. I THINK SENSEI ENDO HAS IT ALL PLANNED-

THE "No matter what happens in the future, i want to talk to you about it, forever and ever." THEY'RE GONNA HAVE THEIR TRUE IDENTITIES REVEALED AND THEY'RE GOING TO ACCEPT EACH OTHER FULLY. THEY'RE GOING TO CONTINUE THIS RIDICULOUS LITTLE LIFE THEY HAVE BUT THIS TIME, IT'S REAL, IT'S MORE FEELINGS, IT'S TRUE AND THEY KNOW IT. TATSUYA ENDO DID YOU PLAN THIS. YOU BETTER.

I SWEAR TO GOD IF THE FINALE SEASON OF SPY X FAMILY ISN'T THEM BECOMING A TRUE FAMILY AFTER SO LONG WITH THE OUTRO OF THEM HAVING NEW MEMORIES WITH COMEDY BY GEN HOSHINO BUT REPRISED I WILL RIOT. i might be going too deep for this but i really hope it's what's gonna happen.

[earthtoharlow]

Faux Love

Chapter 2

masterlist

“Should I wear this cream colored sweater with these pants or this pink one?” Jack asked, lifting up both sweaters in front of him. Jean let out a small giggle at her text and replied without looking at him. “The cream one, like I told you ten minutes ago!”

“Who are you texting?” He asked, tossing the pink sweater on the bed next to her before pulling the cream one over his head.

“No one”

“Yes, you are! Who is he? I wanna meet him.” Jack said, looking at her through the mirror as he tried to tame his curly hair.

“Absolutely not! You chase away every guy I introduce you to!” Jean said with a pout, she couldn’t remember the last time he actually liked one of the guys she was dating.

“I don’t chase away all of them, just none of them were good enough for you.”

Jean rolled her eyes and texted something witty back, trying to play hard to get. She threw her phone and stared up at the high ceilings of Jack’s apartment. She looked over and saw him still struggling with his hair. “Jack come over here and sit down, so I can help you.” Jean said before sitting up.

Jack sat on the edge of the bed as Jean got up to grab a comb. As she runs her fingers through his curly hair, she asks, “So, tell me about this lucky girl you’re going on a date with tonight. What’s she like?”

“She has dark hair.” He says with an eyebrow raise

“Oh, shocker!” She said sarcastically before hitting him lightly on the top of his head with the comb. “Ow!” Jack said in laughter.

“Where’d you meet her?”

“I met her during my music video shoot yesterday! She’s an extra, so you know she’s ridiculously hot.” He joked.

“You’re an idiot, but here you go I’m done.”

Jack looked up at the mirror, inspecting his hair. It looked perfect. “Thanks, Scout.”

As they made their way downstairs to the kitchen, Jean perched herself up on the bar stool and took a look around the dining area. Nothing looked ready.

“Um, are you sure you have a date tonight? Where’s the candles, wine and soft music? She should be here soon, right…you’ve lost your touch!”

“No no, this is part of the plan.” He says and then continues. “Once I let her in I apologize for running late. She’ll see how extravagant things are but not think that I was waiting around all day for her to show up! I’ll finish everything in front of her while we talk, I’ll pour her some wine, kiss her on the cheek dangerously close to her mouth and then the night begins!”

Jean couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous her best friend sounded. She picked up her phone when she heard it vibrating, signaling she had a new text.

“Oh c’mon, who is this guy!”

She laughed again. “Relax, I promise he’s just some guy. No big deal. Now, I should probably go before your date gets here.” Jean hopped down from the stool, and grabbed her purse.

Jack pulled her keys from his pants pocket as he always holds on to them because she tends to lose things.

“Thanks, bestie.” She said as she took her keys from him. “Have a good time tonight.”

“I will!” He said with a wink, and pulled Jean into a hug. “What are you going to do, it is Saturday after all.”

“There’s some UFC PPV coming on tonight, gonna go watch at Urban and Brielle’s house.”

“Oh.” Jack muttered. “Well, have fun.”

“Jack…just come with me. Cancel this silly date and come have fun with us! Brielle and I are going to make party snacks while Jasmine pretends to help!”

Jack shook his head with a pout. “Nah, I have plans.”

“Ugh, you suck! But okay, call me tomorrow.”

“Night, Scout!” He yelled behind Jean as she walked down the stairs. “Night, Jackman!” She yelled over her shoulder.

Jack and Jean had been friends for a few years now, it started when Jack flirted with her at a coffee shop and the rest was history. Except they decided they were better off as friends, as they were freakishly the same person. Jean knew that he would never be anything more than her best friend.

Over the years, Jean had become close friends with his younger brother Clay and his other best friend Urban. Since she’s known them, they had both been in long term relationships. Clay just got engaged to his high school sweetheart, Jasmine and Urban has been happily married to Brielle for two years now.

With everyone being so close, they constantly hung out together. Jean has been rumored to be “Jack Harlow’s hot girlfriend!” for years now. What was funny about that was that Jack hasn’t been in a serious relationship for a long time. He was enjoying the rest of his twenties and being a hot bachelor. Which wasn’t exactly a crime.

***

When Jean arrived at Urban’s home, she knocked on the door politely, waited a few seconds and proceeded to open the front door.

“You’ve gotta stop doing that.” Urban said as he walked towards her holding his arms out for a hug.

“Y’all should just make me a key at this point.” Jean replied with a shrug and walked into the hug. “Hi, Urb, Jack says hi by the way.”

All Urban could do was sigh. “He’s not coming?”

“Nope, sorry to disappoint you. But you’re just going to be dealing with me tonight.” Jean said with a smile.

Urban laughed. “Brielle and I just wanted everyone here but it’s okay. She's waiting for you in the kitchen, by the way.”

Jean nodded and skipped towards the kitchen. “Oh it smells good in here!” She sniffed the air and stood next to Brielle trying to see what she cooked. “Hey, B!”

“Hey! Is Jack with Urban?” She asked, trying to peek from the kitchen. “Actually, Jack’s not coming.” Urban answered as he walked in the room.

Brielle immediately put her mixing bowl down, visibly upset. “What? We were—“

“I know, but we should still tell—“

“Telling everyone without him here? It won’t feel the same. He’s basically your brother. We were going to ask him to be…” Brielle trailed off, not finishing her sentence.

Jean raised an eyebrow and looked towards Urban to see if he was going to finish her sentence like he usually did.

“Can you two just spit it out!” Jean exclaimed.

“Spit what out?” Clay asked as he walked into the kitchen holding Jasmine’s hand and a bottle of wine in the other hand.

Jean immediately walked to the cupboard to grab some glasses and placed one in front of everyone. When she got to Brielle, she began to shake her head. “No thanks, I’m not drinking tonight.”

“What?! I bought this just for you, it’s your favorite!” Jasmine said with a whine.

“I’m sorry!” But Brielle didn’t look sorry at all as she glanced over at Urban with a huge smile. “Doctor said I can’t drink for about 8 to 9 months!”

“You’re pregnant!” Jean squealed, lunging towards her. Brielle laughed as Jasmine joined in the hug. “Oh my gosh! This is amazing! Jasmine, we gotta start planning a shower immediately!”

“Already on it, I think I have a venue in mind!” Jasmine said, pulling out her phone to begin planning.

Urban walked over and wrapped his arms around Brielle’s waist, nudging his nose against her cheek. “We wanted to tell you all at once.” Urban admitted. “I’ll hit up, Jack tomorrow I guess.”

Jean noticed the sadness in his voice as Clay crossed in front of her to give Brielle a hug and congratulate her.

“Congratulations, daddy!” Jean said with a giggle. “You know, Jack would’ve loved to have been here!”

“And yet, he’s with some girl who he won't even talk to anymore by this time next week.”

Urban had a point. As Jack’s 30th birthday loomed closer, he caught himself in a whirlwind of dates with different women, not wanting to be alone. He wasn’t ready to settle down, like his brother and Urban were. Jack wanted to enjoy life while he could.

As Urban and Clay retreated to the living room to watch the fight pre show, Jasmine and Brielle cornered Jean. “So, Jean…” Jean sighed knowing what was about to happen. “When are you and Jack going to get together?”

“I was just talking to Jack before I got here and we decided the week after NEVER would be a good day!”

“Oh c’mon Jean! It’s like a match made in heaven!

“Think about it. You two already have such a strong bond. You understand each other so well…” Jasmine tried to stress.

“Look, I love Jack. He’s my best friend. Completely platonic.”

“That’s exactly it! Sometimes the best relationships start from friendships!” Brielle exclaimed

“Ok, you and Urban have been watching too many romcoms.” Jean said giggling, before continuing. “We wouldn’t work out, we tried, remember?”

“That hardly even counts, and the sooner the two of you figure that out the happier everyone will be! Especially those two.” Jasmine said, nodding towards the living room.

“Especially Urban. He’s really disappointed he’s not here tonight.”

“Clay too.” Jasmine added

Jean sighed, hating when they did this. “Ugh, I’m the best friend! Why don’t you go find some girl to hook him up with and maybe they’ll hit it off!”

“Hello?! That’s what we are doing!” Brielle exclaimed

“Just sleep with him already so he can realize he’s in love with you! I mean, you already think about him naked.”

“WHAT?! No! You guys are insane! We’re ending this conversation!”

“Fine but we’ll gang up on you with the guys during every commercial break!”

And they stayed true to their word. The four of them have been trying to get Jack and Jean together since the day they met her. It’s not that she wasn’t attracted to him because, c’mon the dude is hot.

Jean was very attracted to Jack but their personalities were too similar. They thought too much alike and Jean knew too much about him to ever have real genuine feelings about him.

***

As Jean walked into her apartment after leaving Urban’s house, she was met with an unexpected crash in her kitchen. She immediately grabbed her phone, ready to call Jack just in case she needed backup. Her heart was pounding as she crept closer to the kitchen, she grabbed the nearest weapon she could find—an umbrella.

Jean braced herself to confront the intruder, but as she rounded the corner, her grip on the umbrella loosened, and her eyes widened in disbelief. There, standing in her kitchen, was none other than Jack himself, stirring a pot on the stove.

“Jack?!” Jean exclaimed, relief flooding through her as she lowered the umbrella.

Jack turned around, startled by her sudden appearance, and his expression morphed from surprise to amusement. “Hey, Scout. You scared me for a second!”

“What the HELL!”

“What’s with the umbrella?” Jack asked, confused.

“I thought you were a burglar or something! You scared me half to death,” Jean replied, still trying to catch her breath.

She walked closer to him and saw he was making a double decker grilled cheese sandwich. His kitchen was ten times bigger than her own, she would never understand why he insisted on using her kitchen when he was hungry.

“How was your date?” Pulling two glasses from her cupboard and grabbing the milk from the fridge.

“She left, had to be up early in the morning for work. Thank god, she was boring. So I decided to come here. You want half?” Jack asked not waiting for an answer and slicing the sandwich in half.

All Jean could do was shake her head at him as he turned the stove off and followed her to the bedroom with the sandwiches while she held the glasses of milk.

Jean quickly changed into her pajamas and wiped the makeup off her face. She climbed into the bed with Jack, she thanked him as he held the cover up so she could slide in and handed her a slice.

“I hope you don’t mind but I used your shampoo.”

She took a bite of her sandwich before responding. “I had a feeling your curls looked better than usual. Also a quick question, are you capable of using any of the things in your own house?”

“Hell nah, now how many times did you get the talk?” Jack asked before grabbing the remote and turning on cartoons.

“Just a couple.” she said with a shrug. “It definitely would’ve been more if you were there. We missed you tonight, the guys were sad you weren’t there. Brielle is pregnant!”

“Seriously?! I’m gonna be an uncle?” The biggest smile formed on Jack’s face as he always loved kids. “That’s amazing! I’m really about to be an uncle.” He frowned a bit. “I saw Urban yesterday and he didn’t say anything.”

“They just wanted to tell us all together, but you know Brielle, she couldn’t hold it in! They’re so excited!”

“I’m excited too, wow” Jack said with a smile. “A whole baby!”

Jean smiled at him and offered him the last bite of her sandwich. Jack of course bit it off her fingertips and finished both glasses of milk.

Jack stayed for a couple more hours just making sure Jean fell asleep before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before leaving to go home.

For some reason, Jean was disappointed when she woke up and he was gone.

***

AN: thank you for reading!!