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teeskzagain · 1 month ago

Text

SNAP MISTAKE

» pairing: younger!hongjoong x slightly!older reader

» summary: what happens when hongjoong receives a video from the last person he'd ever expect? and what the hell is in it?

» warnings: nude sending, masturbation (m. & f.), fingering?, power kink (is that even a real thing?), reader is pretty rude to hongjoong, stepcest *evil smirk*, lowkey sub!joong—but also..not (it’s complicated), he cums pretty fast sooo….

» w.c: 4.5k

» a/n: rahhhhh

y/n sent you a snap.

the snapchat notification drops from the top of hongjoong’s screen; and for a split second, he loses all concentration from the current video playing on his feed.

at the sight of your name, he’s immediately grimacing as he shifts around in his bed. with it going on 12 AM, hongjoong finds not a single ounce of fatigue coats his eyes. instead, he feels his chest begin to bubble with the slightest twinge of anger.

what the fuck do you want?

his thumb, without hesitation, swipes away the alert and he returns back to indulging in his video. it’s of a girl strumming chords on an acoustic guitar, and hongjoong seems to enjoy the melody. though when another notifcation comes buzzing through, his peaceful mood quickly turns into annoyance.

y/n sent you a snap.

“you’ve got to be…” scoffing, hongjoong’s eyes do a quick roll as he now begins to sit up. he firstly reaches over to turn on the lamp near his bed, feeling the covers gently slide down and off of him in the process.

then, resting his bare back against the headboard, he brings a single knee up from once being outstretched and rests a forearm against it.

what could possibly be so important you had to send him five snaps? from what he recalled, you were supposed to be pissed at him- he had taken the family-shared car earlier in the evening, despite you calling dibs on it.

and, yeah, he knew you had plans with your friends tonight. he just truly did not care. hence, why you’re angry at him.

with a leisure attitude, hongjoong goes in to finally click on your videos. however, he swiftly pauses and hovers his thumb over the screen. he thinks harder on this memory.

oh, fuck him.

you better not be sending him a minute long rant video because of that. god, you and your yelling fits. if this is the case, he thinks he’d rather get your tantrum out of the way or else he’s positive you’re going to continue blowing up his phone with them.

at times like this, hongjoong always finds himself hating how he ended up with you as his step-sister.

his catty, whiny, always complaining step-sister.

what makes matters worse is you two somehow ended up being close in age; you’re only 2 years apart with him being younger. you both attend the same community college. and, you’re forced to live under the same roof as one another. there’s always constant fighting, constant bickering between you two.

so, hongjoong wouldn’t even be surprised if you really did send him a whole ass tangent about how selfish and shitty he is. it wouldn’t be the first time you did this either. he’s just lucky you’re sending it over the phone versus storming into his room and screaming at him. which for the record, you have done that too.

“whatever,” hongjoong mutters softly to himself, with him beginning to click on your alert.

the press immediately transports him out of instagram and to the snapchat catalog of all of his recent chats. besides your messages, hardly any other reside here. yeah, there was a couple of unopened ones from his chemistry lab group-chat, but being honest, he just wasn’t going to respond to jung wooyoung’s poor attempt at flirting with everyone else.

with this said, he doesn’t waste much longer in terms of responding to you, with him tapping on the purple icon. for a second, the video doesn’t open, almost as if there was a lag.

he tilts his head to the side and lets out a harsh sigh. he goes to click on it again and this time the video quickly fills each corner of his screen.

yet, what stares back at him is not a rant video. there’s no yelling; he couldn’t even see your face. instead, there’s immediate shuffling of your phone in a dimly lit room—your bed room. the video is shaky and blurred, and hongjoong begins to question if there’d even been a purpose to it when the screen begins panning down.

it continues to descend further and further, raking the frame over some large area of fabric, until eventually it lands on your completely bare, naked cunt.

the moment he registers what’s on his phone, hongjoong’s eyes go wide and instantly he starts coughing from shock.

what the fuck is he watching right now?

before he can exit out that video, it quickly cuts off and a new one pops up. this time your pussy is already in full display for the viewer, the camera being only a few inches away from his eyes.

soon, your hand comes into frame, and freshly manicured nails begin to touch at your sex, lightly grazing it.

“what the hell..?” hongjoong’s left starstruck.

even when you ever so slowly, use two fingers to first get a good handle on your thick lips, then proceed to spread them apart—revealing your pink insides, he’s in awe. even when you send a single finger to stroke up the middle of your slit, he still can’t seem to believe what he’s witnessing. even as you detach your finger from your cunt, now sticky with a stringy liquid, hongjoong has absolutely no idea what the fuck to think.

but even as the video rolls on, he doesn’t will himself to leave it. he isn’t sure if it’s from pure shock or downright disgust that’s keeping him intrigued, but he finds himself trained to the screen. not once has he looked away. his gaze remains on your exposure, and without any thought, a pulse rockets throughout his body.

as a new clip progresses, his breathing is turning heavier and more labored. your touch that once started off so airy has swiftly turned into aggressive fingering.

the camera work becomes increasingly shaky the longer the video continues, and now he swears he can see your hips fighting to match pace with your desperate rubbing.

some of the wet spots coating your cunt would glimmer from the light, and yet again that same jolt rushes through hongjoong’s body.

his volume hadn’t been up that loudly, however faint whimpers and occasional moans could still be made out, courtesy of you. he thinks anytime he heard those, an uncomfortable surge courses throughout his veins.

especially since he can already imagine the faces you must be making. your dismissive eye rolls, the frustrated nose scrunches, he feels he can construct your expression right now just because he knows you that well.

fuck. and there he goes with another surge. this time accompanied with a quick jerk of his thighs.

the series of videos eventually come to an end. you were able to get in another hearty buck of your hips, which caused the loudest moan of the night to soar out of your mouth. then after that, the video ends and hongjoong’s whisked back to the message log, now waiting for his response.

slow blinks.

that’s all hongjoong can manage for right now.

slow blinks and a dropped mouth from whatever fucking porn video you—his step-sister—just sent him.

what the actual fuck?

a minute goes by that he’s left you on open. within that time frame, he sees your bitmoji appear at the top of the log, sporting its usual thinking face. three ellipsis are right next to the character which indicates that you’re typing.

soon, an actual message comes up, and as if his brain is on autopilot, his thumb falls down to tap on your notification. he’s instantly dragged back into the chat with you.

y/n:

| no fucking way i just did that

| oh my god

| oh my fucking god

| did i actually just send you that?

why does he feel his heart beating faster? licking his lips, he manages to type out a response.

hongjoong:

| yeah, you did

| what the fuck was that?

y/n:

| NO

| holy fuck

| shit that wasn’t meant for you hongjoong

| i meant to send that to someone else

see, now that thought never crossed his mind. actually, no thoughts did until now. you accidentally sent him a nude? how does that even happen?

hongjoong regards your latest texts in perplexity, all the while your own bitmoji character sits idly in the corner, waiting for his response. about 10 seconds pass when your character darts out from said corner and thought bubbles appear next to it.

y/n:

| hongjoong i swear to god you better not tell another living soul about this

| you’ll be fucking dead. DEAD. do you hear me?

| yah, answer me.

| answer big sister and tell her you won’t open up your goddamn mouth about this.

“oh, my...” murmuring, he flops his head against the wall and scoffs. he hates whenever you do this. reestablishing your dominance—like he’s your pet or some shit. god, you get on his nerves.

he blows out a jagged breath. the pads of his fingers begin to leisurely tap at the screen.

but, fucking hell. why did reading that make his stomach twist?

hongjoong:

| okay i swear i wont say anything

a response from you appears out of no where.

y/n:

| say it again

the tinniest groan gets caught in his throat as his eyes crinkle in anguish. what the hell are you doing to him? do you get off on embarrassing him? he didn’t even do anything, and yet he’s being treated like this.

hongjoong:

| noona, i promise i won’t say anything

| alright? i’m not gonna say a single thing to anyone

y/n:

| yeah you won’t

| don’t say anything

| don’t even THINK about what you saw

his teeth pull his bottom lip inwards, and hongjoong gnaws on it.

hongjoong:

| okay

y/n:

| i’m so serious.

hongjoong:

| i hear you, okay? i’ll forget about the whole thing

your bitmoji sits in the corner, as if it’s gathering its thoughts. then, with one final thought bubble, it spits out the last remaining texts before you completely disappear from chat.

y/n:

| yeah you will.

| fucking perv

| and don’t talk to me at all tomorrow

| i don’t want to see you

| don’t even look at me

| is that clear?

and that was that. after those messages, you never came back, not even when hongjoong replied to your words with a mere, ‘okay’. you didn’t even open it.

with a shaky breath, he exits out of the app and then eventually decides to just shut off his phone.

he sits. waiting for what exactly? hongjoong doesn't know, but he decides to give himself some time to process everything that just happened.

his step-sister was sending nudes to someone else...but accidentally sent it to him?

hongjoong's eyes glance upward as he replays the text messages in his mind. that's exactly what you said. it had been a mistake, those videos.

his gaze travels down as he continues to revisit the whole thing. those weren't rant videos. not like how he previously believed. he had held his breath in anticipation of getting screamed at, yet instead it was practically the opposite.

no yelling, but a quiet stillness. no harsh pointing, but soft touches. rough grunts of frustration were actually tiny whimpers of desperation.

"no way...." hongjoong cups a hand over his mouth as his mind wanders now to the videos, the contents of them.

your pussy was just out. bare. a full on nude.

he remembers your sex was shaven down quite a bit, with hardly any stubble budding out. your skin was nearly smooth. just how hongjoong prefers it- god, what the fuck?

what the hell is he thinking right now? you're his step-sister for fuck’s sake. it's vile of him to think this way about you. it's downright disgusting of him. he knows this.

shaking his head, hongjoong attempts to break away his thoughts, but they're plastered to his brain. no matter how hard he forces himself to think otherwise, his mind is being flooded with recollections of those stupid fucking videos.

your fingers coming down to tease the camera, now he's starting to recall that. how much juice you were leaking out, he can picture the spouts of liquid in his head. your hips fucking your hand with a clear need to get off—hongjoong nearly groans aloud from watching that scene play out.

he's so consumed in these memories; he doesn't even register the fact he's beginning to pull down his pants. he only brings them down till it reaches his mid-thigh, then immediately he starts palming his underwear.

the moment he feels a sense of relief, lips slightly parted as he grips his thick erection in all directions, it's then he realizes what he's about to do. oh, god.

his hand continues to work through the fabric in attempt to satiate the growing desire in his gut. he didn’t want to do this. but, the thoughts kept replaying. those same surges from earlier are coursing through his body before ending with a pulse to his poor cock.

hongjoong huffs a little, this time grabbing the waistband and shoving it far enough to where his hard-on springs up. it’s red and swollen, with tiny drops of wetness leaking from the top, and he doesn’t waste a second grabbing the base to start jerking it.

‘fucking perv’

that had been one of the lasts things you’d texted before disappearing on him. initially it hurt to see you call him that, but as he stares at the hand stimulating his dick, he couldn’t help but allow those words to fuel his drive.

you think he’s a pervert? someone so fucking nasty?

audible breaths fill hongjoong’s ears as he speeds up his pace. going up and down, his fingers curl around his skin for a better grasp.

you probably are repulsed by him, hongjoong thinks to himself, such a disgusting little brother.

quickly letting go, he gathers all the spit in his mouth and propels it towards his palm then returns back to stroking himself. the lubrication makes for a warm sensation, one that hongjoong just melts into. he lets his back relax against the surface as waves of pleasure ripple throughout his cock.

a low grunt topples from his lips, “well, you- you did this to me. all your fault…y/n-ah...”

his pelvis had twitched and bucked upward, causing his hand to squeeze perfectly around the tip and him to softly moan. he didn’t even mean for that to happen, it was just reactive. all because of you.

your stupid cunt flashes in his mind once again, and he feels his hand increase as well. the soft whimpers you produced swirl in his ears which makes his own moans grow louder. you’re the only thing in his head right now, and holy hell, he doesn’t want it to stop. not anymore.

his hips rut faster and faster into his hand, now finding no reason to hold back. your slick pussy that looked so eatable it made him rock hard, he’s thinking about that. he keeps the images of you trapped within his thoughts, no longer wanting them to escape.

“gah…!”

beads of pre-cum dribble from hongjoong’s slit as he finds great elation in the way he’s absolutely fucking his hand. there’s no other way to say it. he truly is fucking his hand, now imagining it was parts of you instead.

your velvet walls would take him so well, he fucking knows they would.

would be warm like his palm and contract perfectly like his fingers. he mimics his thoughts with his actions, and heavy pants waft around in the air.

he feels himself getting close. the sensation that once creeped within him is now present, desperate to spill out.

his stomach convulses as he thrusts harsher and wildly into his hand. fuck, he’d never thought he’d orgasm so fast. he tries his hardest to stop it. he tries to cut back on his pace, but that’s nearly impossible when it’s like he’s in a trance. it just feels too good.

and when hongjoong starts to see white behind his eyes, he knew he wasn’t going to last long. his eyes squint with a grimace, “fuck...fuck…fu-uck..oh, I’m cuh...”

with one final buck, his orgasm hits him straight in his core, and he loses all control. strings of cum shoot out from his tip and land in every direction, his body tensing from the rapid shaking. even as he’s painfully aware of his fingers pumping away at his stiff cock, he’d rather envision it’s your nasty cunt he’s filling up.

a milky overload gushing out of your entrance, he acts as if your pussy couldn’t handle how much cum he had, and so he had no choice but to finish on your pussy lips. the picture is clear in his head, and it makes his eyes vibrate with a roll.

he moans heartily during it all, and even when his dick starts to become overstimulated, he doesn’t care. the pleasure still remains, so he continues to milk out his lasting semen until his hand is drowning in the liquid and eventually no more is coming out.

as he’s coming down from his high, the bliss overtaking his emotions, there’s truly only one thing left on his mind.

just how screwed he is for the rest of his life.

✧

- Bonus -

five days.

it’s been five days: wednesday, thursday, plus the weekend, since you and hongjoong last had any sort of interaction, and you want to make sure it stays this way.

you’ve been avoiding him, that much is evident. while you had told him to not interact with you the next day, you personally just couldn’t do it.

the day after the incident, you whisked yourself out the house and decided to crash at a friend’s place. you were too mortified and pissed to even be in the same room as your step-brother. let alone bear the repercussions of it all.

god. how could you have been so stupid? all it took was one misclick, and the rest of the videos were just sent to that recipient—the wrong recipient. to make matters worse, you hadn’t noticed anything alarming until after the videos were both sent and opened by the absolute last past you could’ve shown. how lucky.

once the following monday hit, you knew it was time to come back home. your parents had been questioning your whereabouts since you disappeared with no heads-up, them constantly texting you. however, even with the obvious shift in tone, it seemed clear they were still in the dark about the reason behind your absence.

good. hongjoong better keep his fucking mouth shut if he wanted to live to see another day.

that also makes for an easier return back to the house, knowing the issue is self-contained. when you pull up in your driveway that morning, it also helps that your parents’ cars are gone. they’re definitely at work currently, so now you can have even more time to collect your thoughts.

you don’t see hongjoong’s car anywhere in sight, either, and now you’re even more relaxed. right, he should have classes around this time, while you on the other hand had the pleasures of having monday’s off.

climbing out of the car, you find the trek back into the house much easier. no one’s home, and they probably won’t be home for at least a couple of hours. meaning, you don’t have to worry about anything as of right now, you are golden to-

the moment you throw in the front door, entering your residence, an ambling body comes trotting down from the staircase, and the two of you instantly lock eyes.

your face goes slack.

what. the. fuck?

with a bare chest out on display, hair messily scattered, and sporting sleep shorts, hongjoong has all the characteristics of the i-just-rolled-out-of-bed attire, and that begins to irritate you. why the hell is he here right now? just like that, you’re back to being on guard.

hongjoong halts his movements for a second before continuing his descent downstairs, this time at a much slower pace. you figured he’d sense your rapid mood change as hot anger pricks at your skin, causing him to avert his gaze from yours.

reaching the bottom of the stairs, hongjoong rounds the corner, your eyes trailing after his body as he makes his way into the kitchen. you aren’t sure what takes over, but soon the fury you’re experiencing has you storming right along into the kitchen, as well.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” you sneer, slamming your hands down on the large island resting in the middle of the kitchen. you wanted answers and you wanted them now.

hongjoong, who’s standing on the complete other side, glances up from the bowl he recently grabbed and towards your power stance. the quick eye contact makes your stomach turn, but you make sure to appear indifferent.

“i woke up late today, then decided not to go to class,” his tone starts off like he’s tired, nearly dejected, but then it swiftly changes to that of something else, “are you finally back from your impromptu trip?”

you cock your head to the side. was that sarcasm you detected in his voice?

“what’s it to you?” there’s a snap to your question, but even that doesn’t seem to faze hongjoong.

he just turns his face away as he goes to speak, “just figured i should know. because if you are staying here….” he pauses briefly before letting out a dry laugh, “then technically i shouldn’t be talking to you, looking at you, or thinking about you,” he twists his head so fast, your attention gets recaptured by his piercing gaze, “isn’t that right?”

those words.

you had said that to him a few days ago out a fit of rage. and now, he’s hurling them back in your face.

your throat bobs uncomfortably as you try to swallow the imaginary thick pill, your demeanor somewhat faltering, “for the record…i meant every word.”

because truthfully, you did. you could not stand kim hongjoong before this whole thing happened, and you surely can’t stand him now. for your own sanity, he needs to keep a distance from you.

with a scowl, his nose turns upright at your statement, “really? but, you can slam your hands down and yell at me all you want? how does that make any sense?”

“i’m your senior, i can do whatever the hell i want.” you hiss right back, “doesn’t matter what i fucking said, all you need to do is listen.”

here we go with this.

“y/n, don’t try to-”

“what was that?” you buck your head forward with a disgusted face.

he takes a deep breath then tries once again, “y/n. it’s-”

“what?” you make sure to enunciate every letter.

hongjoong feels the anger boiling in his chest. with another irritated sigh, he opens his mouth, “noona-”

you stop him from progressing with his sentence, seeing as that word alone proved your point. you’re above him systematically. there’s nothing else to argue. as your younger brother, he needs to accept this fact and just do as he’s told.

“are you understanding now? how this works?” you fake sincerity with your questions, watching his own lividness unravel within his eyes. you don’t care, though. you want to make him feel low, “so when i tell you to not fucking look at me unless i’m talking to you, what does that mean, hongjoong? do you get what i’m saying?”

his knuckles are turning white. he didn’t even realize he’d been gripping the bowl so tightly until a sharp pain rockets through his hand. he lets go instantly, though fails to speak a word to you.

eyeing him up and down, you take the lack of response as a sign of victory. after a beat of silence, you backpedal slightly away from the island. now, after that, it’s time to raid the refrigerator for some breakfast.

while you venture off towards the refrigerator, you register how hongjoong doesn’t move an inch.

the fridge doors open, and with unconscious thoughts tumbling out in a murmur, you mindlessly search around for anything that catches your attention. all the while, an eerie stillness has taken over hongjoong.

you scan around, lowly muttering to yourself, “…wouldn’t even be surprised if he turned out to be a fucking pervert…probably enjoyed watching those videos….getting off on them…..what a—!”

a hand comes in contact the one of the doors, the force making it slam shut. hongjoong slides his way into your proximity, and you can already see the anger emanating off his body. he stares you down menacingly as now you begin to feel trapped.

“you want me to tell you the real reason why i woke up late this morning?” he starts off with narrow eyes. when you don’t give a reply, too busy trying to reel-in from the sudden outburst, he takes that as a sign to continue speaking. he bores his gaze deeply into yours, “ever since you sent me those stupid, fucking nudes, i can’t stop thinking about them.”

wow. your eyes go wide a that, your breath hitching in the process.

he doesn’t waste another second, quickly adding on to that, “they’ve been so intrusive, infecting my thoughts—my dreams,” his eyes scattily absorb your expression, intaking the wave of emotions that wash over your face, “it’s gotten to the point where i’ve been fucking myself raw before bed, just so i can sleep comfortably. every night, cumming over and over again to the thought of my big sister’s pussy.“

he watches the horror override your once sly attitude. and god, does it feel great to finally have you so shocked.

he drops his hand from the metal doors, then begins to step away, “how about it? is knowing that going to cure that rancid attitude of yours, noona?”

just like your previous ones, hongjoongs’ questions are rhetorical. he doesn’t want an answer from you. no, that wasn’t the goal of his confession. he just knew he wanted to make you feel as sick as you did to him.

and there’s nothing sicker than the truth.

hongjoong doesn’t stick around much longer after that bomb drop, with him retreating back to his room upstairs. you’re still in the kitchen, trying to process what the actual fuck you just heard.

he rounds the corner, about to take the first step upwards, when his vision flickers over to you one last time. you’re spaced out in a stare, your breathing regular and even. you’re frozen like a statue.

but when his gaze peers down to your legs, and the slight clutch they do, he knew from this moment things would really never be the same.

#teeskzagain #ateez smut #ateez #kpop smut #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #hongjoong x reader smut #ateez hongjoong #kim hongjoong #hongjoong smut #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez fic #kim hongjoong x reader

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 years ago

Note

hellooo, your writing is amazing so far i love it 🫶🏼

Could you do one for Hobie x fem reader, where the reader is friends with SpiderPunk AND Hobie. But she doesn’t know they’re the same person. And one day lovergirl rants about her fat ah crush on Hobie to him??

First off, thank you for enjoining my writing, I try my best with what working brain cells I have left 🤣

Ooh I love this idea very much! But I might make it a two parter cuz I defiantly went off request…oops…

Part 2

You were just minding your business, chilling on the roof top of an abandoned apartment complex, mind a million miles elsewhere on a certain somebody when a flash of red and blue caught your eye and before you knew it; you company of one had became a company of two.

‘Heya Spidey, how are things?’ You greeted.

He shrugs, ‘the usual but what about you lil missis,’ he playfully nudges you, ‘head so far off into the clouds I’m actually feeling a little neglected over here.’ You laughed, shoving him away by his arm. ‘Oh come off it, will you? I just been thinking about this guy I’ve liked for a while now.’ You admitted and Hobie’s interest was immediately peaked.

For as long as he knew you, Hobie could barely remember the last time you had ever admitted to him in fancying someone, besides from a couple of incidences from way back that ended up backfiring; but other then that, you kinda made it a point not to talk about it, maybe in due to him thinking that whoever you did fancy at the time weren’t worth the effort you’d give had you perused them. You had often called him overprotective whenever you tell him about your crush of the week but Hobie would defend himself by saying he was merely looking out for you and didn’t want you getting hurt by some douchebag.

‘You don’t have to defend me from everything Hobie,’ you once told him as you were patching him up from beating the breaks off of your last crush because they were chatting shit about you behind your back, ‘whilst as sweet as it is but you can’t always be there to look out for me.’

‘Watch me.’ He replied, his view remaining completely unchanged. You sighed, knowing that once Hobie’s mind was made up, nothing you nor anyone else could do to change that. He was an akin to that of an immovable object when it came to his beliefs and views and it was amongst the many things you adored and admired about him most.

‘Oh yeah? And who’s the lucky guy?’ He asked casually leaning back on his arms, watching as you brought your knees close to your chest before resting your chin upon them as your eyes gaze out at nothing in particular; something Hobie noticed you often do when you were particularly in your feelings and needed something to hold onto and ground yourself before you became adrift in your own sea of emotions. It was cute to see you tucked in on yourself so tightly that he couldn’t be more thankful for the fact that you couldn’t see how dopey he must’ve looked beneath his mask.

‘Hobie. Hobie Brown.’

He blinked twice, nah, he must’ve heard that wrong, surely, his hearing must be going all scewiff.

‘Hobie Brown.’ He said his own name as though it was the first time he was ever saying it. Upon seeing the way your shoulders drop and your body becoming at ease upon hearing his name, along with the way you smiled gently and how your eyes seemed to beam with newfound light which all had only helped In affirming to Hobie that he did indeed hear you the first time. ‘What is it about the guy that’s got you all up in knots?’ He asked, trying to act as though you didn’t just indirectly admitted that you’ve got a crush on him to him.

‘Where do I start.’ You started, unable to fight against your own feelings that were swelling up within your chest when an image of Hobie appeared in the forefront of your mind, he was sat on your bed, eyes closed as he allowed himself to get lost within his guitar rifts, his calloused fingers expertly transitioned from chord to chord as it were muscle memory. ‘He’s just so cool and awesome and so forthright and opinionated in his views and beliefs that he’s not afraid to back down from a fight should it come down to it.’ You tell him with a sense of fondness in your voice.

Hobie was quick to notice how your hand fiddle with one of the many handmade pins he’s made you that you always paired up with any and every outfit you ever wore, even if they styles did clash but you didn’t seem to care; Whatever the reason for you reaching for the pins were, whether it’d be out of a need to feel out the closest thing you had in regards to him or it was just something you did out of habit, made Hobie warm within his chest that soon spread throughout his body. ‘Sounds like me and this Hobie guy are more alike then I originally thought.’

Your fingers stopped their fiddling and you suddenly looked at him as though you were just now realising something with the way your eyes bore into him, Hobie thought that you might’ve developed the ability to see through the mask that withheld his identity and into him, so much so that he couldn’t help but make a comment on it, ‘stare at me any harder sweetheart and your stare might burn right through my mask.’ You must’ve been deep into your thinking as you didn’t seem to have noticed that he had spoken at all and Hobie was starting to think that he might’ve been too relaxed with you as Spider-Man that you might have started to have it pieced together in your mind; after all you were smart, more so then what you give yourself credit for.

‘Now that you’ve mentioned it you and Hobie do share some of the same attributes and habits, I’m also pretty sure your similar height wise and even though your mask muffled your voice, it fills me with a sense of familiarity that it’s hard for me to put a finger on.’ You said as you leaned closer to him until you were partially merely a breath away from each other. Hobie didn’t know he was holding in a breath until you shrugged ‘but I could just be grasping at a straws, so I won’t dwell on it as much.’ and moved away from him back to your previous position.

As much as he would’ve loved to have you figure out his identity on your own terms. Hobie would prefer it best if he were the one to reveal himself to you but the moments where he wanted to never felt right and he didn’t want to you in danger by doing so, but he knew that there’d come a time where he would be greeted with a choice in wether to tell you the truth as to who he was or continue living like he has currently and potentially loose your trust because of his lack of transparency; Hobie couldn’t bear to think of loosing your trust but just as he has always done since becoming your friend, he was merely looking out for you and for your safety as they were always his top priorities.

#spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman atsv #spiderman atsv x you #spiderman atsv x reader #spiderman atsv imagines #spiderman atsv fic #spiderman atsv imagine #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderpunk x reader #hobie brown imagines #hobie brown x you #hobie brown imagine #hobie x reader #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown x reader #across the spiderverse #spiderverse x reader

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writers-potion · 1 year ago

Text

Scenes: The Basics🏕️

The Four Chords of a Scene

The scene is a fictional unit that comprises of the following:

Two major chords: Action + Reaction

Two minor chords: Setup + Deepening (be kept to minimum)

A "beat" is a smaller unit within a scene. You can think of this as a paragraph.

1. Action

Action happens when a character does something in order to attain his main objective. In a given scene, he has a scene purpose.

This can include: yelling, shutting the door, fighting, crying, pulling someone back, hugging....basically when your character does something or the other to alleviate the pain or take part in conflict.

2. Reaction

A reaction scene is how a Lead character feels emotionally when something happens to him.

A literary novel may feel like a lot of reaction scens because they are generally more about the interior life of a character.

Reaction is often done in "beats" where the character moves from (1) questioning himself, then (2) providing self-justification to (3) being angry beyond reason, etc.

You can put a "reaction beat" (not a whole scene!) in the middle of action so we know how the character is feeling.

3. Setup

These are things that must occur in order for subsequent scenes to make sense.

All novels need a certain amount of setup to show who the Lead is, what he does and why.

Build in some problem, however slight, to the setup scene. It can be just an alarm ringing or door suddenly opening - something that brings immediacy.

4. Deepening

Deepening is to novel as spice is to food.

This is what you mix to deepen the reader's understanding of character or setting. Make it fresh, drop it in strategically.

Deepening chords are interesting/shocking/fun and kind of in line with the overall theme, but they don't serve a particular purpose.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

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sweetmisery · 4 months ago

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first kiss with piwon | hyung line

pairing: theo | keeho | jiung x female!reader

genre: fluff

a/n: just a little drabble of sharing your first kiss with piwon, hope you like it :) pt 2 with maknae line will follow soon!

part 2 - maknae line

THEO - Between the Strings

The recording studio was dimly lit, as Theo sat there alone, his fingers fumbling on the guitar strings. His brow furrowed in frustration as he plucked and strummed the same chords over and over again. His lips moved silently as he worked through the song under his breath, his fingers slipping once more on the neck of the guitar.

“Come on,” he muttered to himself. He let out a frustrated sigh, slumping over the guitar.

It had been weeks since Theo had felt like himself. The pressure to finish the new album, the late-night recording sessions, and - most of all - the tension between the two of you were getting to him.

He didn’t know why things had become so awkward. At first, everything had been easy - your quick wit and creative eye as the groups stylist had made every interaction exciting, even fun. But lately, something had shifted. Theo found himself tripping over words around you, and he couldn’t ignore the way his heart raced every time you walked into the room.

You hadn’t seemed unaffected either. Your usual sharp comebacks had softened, replaced by a hesitance he couldn’t quite read. Every time you brushed past him backstage or adjusted something on his outfit, he’d catch you looking away a little too quickly.

Theo strummed the wrong chord again, his frustration bubbling over. He cursed under his breath, shaking his head.

Then the door flew open with a bang.

You froze in the doorway, wide-eyed. “Oh god, Theo, I’m so sorry! I thought this room was empty!”

Theo startled, nearly dropping his guitar as he turned to face you. His pulse quickened, the sight of you making it impossible to find his voice for a moment.

“No, it’s fine!” he said quickly, standing up so fast he almost knocked over the stool. “You’re fine. Really.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you said, already backing toward the door. “I’ll just-”

“No!” The word came out louder than Theo intended, and he winced at himself. Clearing his throat, he added more quietly, “I mean, don’t go. I could, uh… use your help.”

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “My help?”

Theo set the guitar down, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Yeah. I’ve been working on this song, but I’m stuck. I just need someone to listen, and everyone else is… busy.” He left out the part where he didn't even ask anyone else.

For a moment, you hesitated, your hand still on the doorframe. Then you nodded. “Okay. Sure. I can do that.”

You stepped into the room, closing the door behind you. Theo swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were as you leaned against the wall.

“I’m still figuring out the melody,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Then he started to play.

The first notes were soft, tentative, but as his fingers found their rhythm, his voice followed. The melody unfurled like a thread in the air, and when Theo sang the first line, you froze.

His voice was rich and haunting, a perfect match for the bittersweet lyrics. The emotion in his tone was palpable, like he was pouring pieces of himself into every word. You couldn’t look away.

Leaning against the wall, you let yourself get lost in the sound. It wasn’t just that his voice was beautiful, though it was. It was the way he sang with such vulnerability, as if baring his soul.

When he finished, the silence in the room felt almost holy.

“That was…” you began, but the words wouldn’t come.

Theo set the guitar aside, shaking his head. “Terrible, right?” He gave a self-conscious laugh, breaking the spell.

“No!” you said quickly, your voice firm. “Theo, that was… incredible. Your voice- it’s-” You stopped, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I mean, it’s beautiful. The whole thing is.”

Theo’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, something passed between you, an unspoken connection that made your heart race. But as quickly as it had disappeared, the tension returned, settling heavily between you.

“I, uh, should probably go,” you said, pushing off the wall.

Theo’s heart sank, but he nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for… listening.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers lingering on the doorknob for just a moment before you slipped out, leaving Theo alone with his unfinished song - and the sound of your voice still echoing in his mind.

-the next day-

The next day, Theo couldn’t get you out of his head. The way you’d looked at him during the song, the way your voice had softened - it played on repeat in his mind like an earworm he couldn’t shake.

He told himself he was imagining things, that he’d misread the moment. But when you walked into the studio again that afternoon, this time deliberately, he felt hope flicker to life.

“Hey,” you said softly, lingering by the door.

Theo straightened up on the stool, setting the guitar down as if unsure what to do. “Hey.”

“I was thinking about your song,” you said, stepping inside. “And I realized… I need to hear it again.”

“You do?” Theo's surprise melted into a small smile.

You nodded, your expression a mix of nerves and determination. “Yeah. I think… I wasn’t really listening yesterday. Not the way I should’ve been.”

Theo’s throat felt dry, but he nodded. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll play it for you.”

He started the song, his fingers moving more confidently this time. But as the melody filled the room, his gaze drifted to you. You weren’t leaning against the wall like before - you were standing closer, watching him with an intensity that made his heart race.

His voice was mesmerizing - angelic, even. The emotion in it was undeniable, raw and achingly real. It made your chest tighten, your breath catching as you took a step closer to him.

By the time he finished, you were standing just a few feet away, your heart pounding.

“That was…” you began, but your voice broke. You took another step forward. “Theo, that was incredible.”

His eyes met yours, his expression soft but searching. “Thanks,” he murmured. Theo set the guitar aside, standing up so that you were just a foot apart.

The tension between you was thick now, impossible to ignore. For weeks, you’d both danced around whatever this was, but now there was no escaping it.

”You know…,” Theo said softly, taking a step closer. ”Things have been kinda weird between us lately.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah, they have.”

“I don’t know why, but…” Theo said, his voice low. ”I don’t want it to be like that anymore.”

You looked up at him, your eyes wide. “Me neither.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air felt electric as Theo suddenly took a tentative step closer, his gaze flickering to your lips.

“Can I…?” he began, his voice trailing off.

You didn’t let him finish. Instead, you closed the distance, your lips brushing his.

Theo froze for a split second, then melted into the kiss, his hands coming up to cradle your face. His lips were soft, warm, and impossibly gentle, and the sound of his breathing mixed with yours, creating a music of its own.

When you finally pulled away, Theo’s forehead rested against yours, both of you smiling through the nervous energy still buzzing between you.

“So,” you teased, your voice still breathless, “guess I should storm into recording sessions more often.”

Theo laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “You’d be my favorite distraction.”

You grinned, your fingers brushing against his as the two of you stayed close. The guitar still sat on the stool behind him, but the song felt complete now, even without another note being played.

KEEHO - Drenched in Love

The rain began as a soft drizzle, cool against your skin as you walked beside Keeho. The two of you had just left the café, where your usual flow of chatter had been replaced by long, quiet stretches. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt different - charged, somehow.

“Guess we didn’t check the weather again, huh?” Keeho said, his laugh cutting through the sound of raindrops hitting pavement. His dark hair was already damp, strands clinging to his forehead in a way that made your stomach do an unwelcome little flip.

You pulled your jacket tighter, though it did little to keep the rain, or your emotion, at bay. Being with him had always been easy, effortless. But lately, you’d felt something else creeping in, something that made you hyper-aware of how close he was or how his smile lingered when he looked at you.

By the time the rain picked up, the two of you had ducked under the awning of a closed bookstore. It was familiar ground, a place you’d stopped at countless times to joke about bad book titles or dream up absurd stories. This time, though, neither of you seemed to know what to say.

Keeho leaned against the wall, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “Hey,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

“Yeah?” You tried to sound casual, but it came out more uncertain than you’d hoped.

“You’ve been…” He paused, his gaze flicking to yours before darting away again. “I don’t know. You’ve been kind of different lately.”

Your heart skipped. Was he guessing at the feelings you’d been struggling to keep hidden? The ones that made your chest ache whenever he smiled at you like you were the only person who mattered?

“What do you mean?” you asked, hoping you sounded more composed than you felt.

Keeho hesitated, one hand lifting to rub the back of his neck, a habit you knew well. “I mean, not in a bad way. Just… I don’t know how to explain it.”

The rain filled the silence that followed, the steady rhythm matching the nervous thrum of your heartbeat. You wanted to say something, to push him to clarify, but fear rooted you in place.

“It’s probably stupid,” Keeho added with a quiet laugh, his eyes meeting yours for a fleeting moment before looking away again.

“It’s not stupid,” you said quickly, your voice firmer than you expected. “Just tell me.”

He turned to face you fully then, and the intensity in his expression made you forget the chill of the rain. “I don’t want to mess this up,” he said, his voice barely audible over the downpour.

Your throat tightened. “Mess what up?”

Keeho opened his mouth as if to answer, but a sudden crack of thunder made you both jump, the sound splitting the air and breaking the tension. You laughed nervously, the momentary distraction easing the tightness in your chest. Keeho’s laughter followed, warm and familiar, and for a second, things felt normal again.

But then his hand brushed against yours - whether by accident or not, you couldn’t tell - and the warmth of his touch sent a jolt through you. He didn’t pull away, and neither did you.

“We should probably find better shelter,” he said, though he made no move to leave.

You nodded, but your feet stayed rooted to the ground. His gaze found yours again, and this time, it didn’t waver. The rain fell harder now, soaking through your jacket and chilling you to the bone, but you hardly noticed.

“Keeho,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?” he asked, stepping closer.

The distance between you seemed to vanish in an instant. You could see the rain clinging to his lashes, the way his lips parted as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how.

“I-” Your words faltered, caught somewhere between your head and your heart.

Before you could gather the courage to continue, a gust of wind whipped around you, scattering rain in chaotic waves. Keeho laughed, reaching out instinctively to steady you as the storm raged on. His hand wrapped around your arm, and the touch was electric, sending heat coursing through you despite the cold.

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you standing there, soaked and shivering but unmoving. The words you wanted to say hovered on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t need to speak them to know they were written all over your face.

So were his.

The rain was relentless now, soaking through every layer of clothing. You and Keeho were still standing there, frozen in a moment that felt like it had been years in the making. His hand lingered on your arm, his warmth a stark contrast to the chill seeping into your skin.

He didn’t let go.

The world around you seemed to blur, the pounding rain and rumbling thunder fading into the background. All you could focus on was him, the way his dark eyes searched yours, like he was trying to find the courage to take the leap you both knew was coming.

“Keeho,” you whispered, not trusting yourself to speak any louder.

His name on your lips seemed to break something in him. He took a small step closer, his fingers tightening slightly against your arm. “I… I’ve been wanting to say something,” he began, his voice low but steady. “But I didn’t know if-”

“Me too,” you interrupted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

His eyes widened slightly, his breath catching in his chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, and suddenly the words came easier. “I didn’t want to mess things up either. But… I can’t keep pretending that I don’t feel this.”

Keeho let out a shaky laugh, a sound of relief and disbelief. “You have no idea how long I’ve been trying to figure out if you felt the same way.”

The vulnerability in his voice made your chest ache. How could you not have seen it? The way he looked at you, the way his hand would linger when he touched your shoulder or brushed against your fingers. It had always been there, just below the surface, waiting for one of you to acknowledge it.

And now there was no going back.

“I guess we’re both pretty bad at this,” you said, trying to lighten the mood.

Keeho grinned, his usual confidence creeping back in. “Maybe. But we’re figuring it out, right?’’

His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The rain poured down, soaking you both to the bone, but the cold didn’t matter anymore.

Keeho’s hand slid down your arm, his fingers brushing yours before settling on your hand. The touch was tentative, like he was waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t.

Instead, you took a step closer, your free hand lifting almost instinctively to push the wet strands of hair out of his face. His breath hitched at the contact, and for a heartbeat, the only thing you could hear was the sound of your own pounding pulse.

And then he leaned in.

It was slow at first, as if he was giving you every chance to stop him. But you didn’t. You tilted your head up to meet him halfway, your heart racing as his lips brushed against yours.

The kiss was soft, almost hesitant, but it was enough to set your world spinning. Keeho’s hand tightened around yours, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The rain continued to fall, cold and unrelenting, but all you could feel was the heat of his touch, the warmth of his lips moving against yours.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your rain-chilled skin. “Was that okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You laughed, the sound breaking through the storm. “More than okay.”

Keeho smiled then, the kind of smile that made you feel like nothing else in the world mattered. “Good,” he said. “Because I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

You didn’t know what would happen next, but in that moment, you didn’t care. The storm could rage on around you, but all that mattered was that you were here, together, no longer hiding what you both felt.

And as Keeho pulled you back into another kiss, you realized you didn’t want to be anywhere else.

JIUNG - Before You Go

The styling room was unusually quiet, the hum of activity that normally filled the space replaced by the soft rustle of make-up supplies being packed into your suitcase. You moved systematic, putting the powder brushes into a small etui and tucking it into the case. The air carried a bittersweet tension; it was strange to think that tonight would be the last time you’d close this door behind you.

Working as P1Harmony’s stylist had been more than just a job. You had shared laughter during fittings, offered comfort during stressful shoots, and your heart ached, not just for the job you loved but for the unspoken feelings you had buried deep inside for Jiung.

You couldn’t pinpoint when your feelings for him started to grow, but over time, his subtle smiles and quiet moments with you had become the highlight of your day. Of course, those feelings could never be acted upon. Being a stylist for an idol group meant following unspoken rules, and dating an idol was taboo.

It wasn’t easy to walk away, but this job could no longer sustain the financial pressures you faced. The offer from another music label was too good to pass up, even if it meant leaving behind the people you had grown to care for deeply.

You sighed, brushing aside the wave of emotion that threatened to consume you. “Just a few more things,” you whispered to yourself, trying to keep the ache in your chest at bay.

Suddenly, the door creaked open. Startled, you turned to see Jiung standing in the doorway, his dark eyes scanning the room before locking onto you. He was dressed casually, a black hoodie pulled over his head, but the way he stood there made your heart race.

“I thought I might find you here,” he said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

“Jiung,” you said, your voice catching slightly. “I didn’t expect-”

“I.. I wanted to see you one last time,” he interrupted, his gaze never wavering. “Before you leave.” His words hung in the air.

You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. The intensity of his presence in the quiet room made it hard to breathe.

You forced a smile. “You’ll be fine without me. You’ve got a great team-”

“Don’t say that,” Jiung interrupted, his voice trembling slightly. He took a step closer, his eyes searching yours. “Do you really have to go?”

His question caught you off guard. “Jiung, it’s not that I want to leave,” you admitted, avoiding his gaze. “I just… need something different. I need to pay off some debts, and-”

“I know,” he interrupted. “But… if it's about the money, I will talk to our boss. I'm sure they are willing to match your new offer. You don't have to leave."

You shook your head, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "It's not just the money. I thought maybe it was time for something new, even if it hurts to leave."

Jiung frowned, his brows knitting together. "But you love working with us, right?"

"Of course, I do," you said, your chest tightening. "It's not an easy decision."

“Please don’t go,” Jiung said, his voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle not seeing you anymore.

His words struck a chord deep inside you. The thought of leaving P1Harmony, of leaving Jiung, had been tearing you apart. But you had convinced yourself there was no other option. Now, standing here in the intimate stillness of the styling room, his plea cracked the walls you had built around your emotions.

"Jiung, what are you saying?" You whispered, barely trusting your voice.

He took another step closer, reaching out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against yours before wrapping around your hand. His touch was warm and grounding, sending a jolt through your body.

Jiung took a deep breath, his gaze locking with yours. "I should've said this sooner, but l didn't know how. I was scared. Scared of what it could mean for me... for us. But now, with you leaving, I can't keep it in anymore."

Your heart was beating fast in your chest as he hesitated, searching for the right words.

"I like you," he confessed, his voice trembling slightly. "No, I- I think I've fallen for you. I don't know when it started, but every time I see you, I feel... I feel something I can't ignore. And now, knowing you won't be here anymore, it's killing me. I had to tell you, even if it's too late."

The world seemed to stop. Jiung’s words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, stunned. Jiung - the person you had been secretly pining for - felt the same way about you?

“Say something,” he urged, his voice cracking.

"Jiung," you said, your voice barely audible. "I... l feel the same way."

His eyes widened, a flicker of hope replacing the nervousness on his face. "You do?"

You nodded, a smile breaking through despite the tears threatening to spill. "I've liked you for so long, but I thought it was impossible. I thought you'd never feel the same."

He let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over him. "I should've told you sooner."

Before you could reply, he closed the distance between the both of you, his free hand gently cupping your cheek. Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was soft, tentative, and full of emotions you had both kept buried for far too long.

The kiss deepened, and you felt a thousand butterflies take flight in your chest. Jiung’s hands gently cupped your face, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. You were both breathing hard, your emotions tangled in a beautiful mess.

“Please stay,” Jiung said, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

You hesitated. “Jiung… this is risky. What if someone finds out?”

“I don’t care,” he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. “I care about you. And I can’t let you leave without trying.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I didn’t want to leave in the first place. But I thought it was better this way. I thought… I thought you didn’t feel the same.”

Jiung smiled softly, brushing a tear from your cheek. “I’ve felt this way for so long. I just didn’t know how to tell you. But now that I have, I can’t let you go without a fight.”

His words melted the last of your doubts. “Okay,” you whispered.

“Okay?” Jiung asked, his eyes lighting up with hope.

You nodded. “I’ll stay. But we have to be careful.”

A relieved laugh escaped his lips, and he pulled you into a tight hug. “Thank you. Thank you for staying.”

As he held you close, you couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in a long time, the future felt bright, even if it was uncertain. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together.

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pricegouge · 7 months ago

Note

Absolutely drooling at the thought of stepcest with price.

Like imagine him meeting and marrying your mother in a whirlwind romance while you’re out of the country. Like most military men it was a speed run through the stages of the relationship and he has a ring on her finger within 2 months.

Because of this, that and the other you weren’t able to make it to the wedding but you’re home now, so eager to meet this new man in your moms life who has her glowing and over the moon at every little thing he does.

It’s a shame he’s such a fucking pervert.

The first time you meet he lights up, a smile so wide it makes his eyes crinkle and you see a mouthful of teeth. He comes in for a hug that lasts a hair too long but you don’t even notice, too caught up in everyone’s infectious energy.

It only snowballs from there. Touches start lingering, hands are placed either too high or too low to be completely innocent, innuendo dripping from every word.

It’s mortifying how it makes you drip.

You’re in your room with your hand shoved down your pants, biting the knuckles on your other hand to try and keep yourself quiet, rubbing/tugging furiously trying to keep your mind from wandering to what John looked like this morning when he was cooking breakfast—shirtless giving your eyes plenty of real estate to land on. His strong body covered in a healthy layer of pudge and hair alike which made you want to lick him.

So now you’re rubbing one out trying your hardest not to think of your stepfather as you make yourself cum.

It works until he opens the door right as you’re hitting that wave, “Hey kiddo, do you—“

The John! that slips out was supposed to be admonishing, a chastisement and demand he leave all wrapped in one word. What actually happens is your voice hitches on a moan as you spasm and it comes out as a long, drawn out Johhhhnn as you cover your fingers, maintaining eye contact the whole time.

You see him swallow roughly before he takes a step inside, closing the door behind him, “You need help with something, sweetheart?”

I’m 🫠🫠🥵

<33

cw: f!reader (chubby if you squint but mostly size neutral). stepcest, implied agegap (reader is legal), dubcon but reader is definitely into it. masturbation. infidelity/cheating. daddy kink. bratting but john is not looking to tame it, stuffie humping, dacryphilia, overstimulation, fingering. slut shaming, if you squint (john is a brat and a slut enthusiast.) some angst, as a treat. abrupt ending

christ but you hate him. the immediate drop you'd felt when you'd met, the high of thinking your mom had finally found someone to make her happy (even if it all seemed a little rushed) to the low of returning from your gap year abroad to find that pervert sitting at the kitchen table, knowing instantly he was no good just based on how he leered at you. you're no stupid, you've seen that look before, but your mom's completely oblivious. doesn't see the way his heavy mits linger on you, or believe when you say he's no good. honeymoon stage, you figure; she'll come around, she's a smart woman.

but john does not let up as time lingers on, and your mom carries on with her blinders in place. you're not sure what's worse, watching your mother continue to delude herself, or returning from break every semester to find a warmer (if not far more inappropriate) welcome in john's arms with each passing instance.

or how it makes you leak like a sieve when he eyes you from across the dinner table your first night back every time, hunger growing with each passing month. you're ashamed to admit you think about it sometimes, the way he chews through your mom's too-though steaks while pretending to listen to you chatter about your classes. his heavy fist flexes around his steak knife when his eyes inevitably flick down to your chest - like clockwork, every fifth mastication, chords of his neck flexing. he breaths heavy through his nose, half-hearted huffs when you say something funny, always a beat too late because he's not listening, but he shares a patronizing smile with your mother when she turns to see his reaction every time and she simpers, always delighted to have her little family all gathered 'round.

she's conveniently absent in all your little fantasies, nowhere to be found when you're biting your knuckle to suppress your gasps, teetering on the edge of another frustrating orgasm in your childhood bed. it's always the same, the release so baddirtywrong good it leaves you breathless and shaking, better than any drunken hookup or tenderhearted ex. but the drop when you realize what you've done (again) kills you every time, drops you down a ravine you struggle to find your way out of for days. you take it out on john, usually, snide comments and pissy frowns. he delights in it, annoyingly. sometimes, much to your horror, he even adopts his concerned father figure voice and asks what's on your mind, kiddo? anything i can do to help?

he knows.

maybe that's why you're a little louder one evening, your mother gone out for some girl's night paint and sip thing you'd avoided like the plague. john looks at you like he knows what you're after when you beg off, but he can't because it's not a thing yet, right? he certainly keeps to himself once you retire to your room, banging around downstairs in his own little corner of the house. so you're not chancing anything when you unmute your video, and there's no real harm when your muffled gasps start leaking past the knuckles pinched between your teeth, dribbles of spit and drool slicking your lips. you're close, fingers working furious circles over your clit when he enters, the tail end of the question he'd had for you leaving in a quiet huff when he registers the sight before him, the way his name sounds from your lips - different here, breathy as opposed to the whines he's used to you spouting off.

it's the last thing you need, his eyes on you. shock and embarrassment seem like distant concepts to you here, at that earthshattering peak you always stave off as long as possible, your pleasure pulled from the man you swear you hate. (your mother's man.)

john takes advantage of your comedown, that mindless period after you've wrung yourself out thinking of him when you're good for nothing but twitchiness and achy, empty whines. he shuts the door behind him, lock pin turning into place loud as a gunshot. it's still not enough to rouse your senses, not when his voice is so low and soothing, his hands so heavy where he drags his palms along your flank like a spooked horse.

"thought i heard you calling for me. you need help with something, sweetheart? need daddy to fix it?"

you're not even sure what you're agreeing to when you nod, chin wobbling because that terrible well of emotions you usually fall into after nights like this is looming. you cling to him like a lifeboat, fingers finding purchase on the band of bare skin at his forearms. his muscles flex in your grasp when he pulls you into his lap, the bunching of his tendons never hardening - barely even trying.

the way he holds you is achingly sweet, not at all the rough treatment you'd always envisioned. it hurts worse somehow, the tenderness feeling undeserved. he doesn't seem to notice your dilemma, or perhaps is better at recognizing it for what it is.

"not what you need, is it? c'mere, let me show you something. good trick for those nights when you're on your own," he winks, far too jovial and conspiratorial as he plucks your big stuffed bear from the foot of the bed and lets it flop pitifully on it's back in the middle of the bed. it's stupid thing, a dumb souvenir he got you when the three of you had last visited the zoo. you're too old for it and you were a complete shit about it when he buckled it into the seat next to you on the drive home, but that doesn't stop you from giving it a place of honor on the bed.

secretly, you'd even named it after him, but you weren't going to make a peep about that.

his palms linger when he guides you to straddle it, some hard grained reaction in you flicking a low simmer of annoyance on in your belly. logistically, you know you're both past that point now but old habits die hard, and revulsion has always been easier to process than -.

well.

"let's see you ride it, sweetheart. show daddy what you've learned off at uni."

"stop calling yourself that," you bite, but it's rendered toothless by the soft feeling of the bears fur against your sensitive clit and john only laughs at you.

"yeah? you wanna sing my name for me again instead?"

fuck it. you'd rather his hands on you anyway, anything but this embarrassing display. "you gonna make me?"

frustratingly as always, john doesn't rise to the bait. "wanna see if you can even get yourself off properly first."

"fuckin' -," you hiss, hips working harder against the yielding fabric. it's not enough, but you'll be damned if you ask him for help, not when you're still balanced precariously on the edge of that deep pool and he's not helping.

john just tuts, swats your ass lightly, like he does when you're in his way in the kitchen. "language."

he doesn't take pity until you're whining, tears of frustration and an unspoken neediness spilling from across your cheeks. he's behind you when he notices, watching your movements with his chin tucked over your shoulder and bull-like breaths spilling across your tight nipples. his face tilts toward yours, soft lips against your temple as he murmurs encouraging words when he tastes the salt on your skin and tilts your head to him with a big palm on your neck, fingers framing the hinge of your jaw. he inspects you a moment, tears shining like jewels in your lashes and the spacey look in your eyes he manages to catch before your gaze flits away. he tuts again, softer this time - aimed at himself.

"oh, honey. can't do it can you? that's okay, i'll help. what you wanted from the start, isn't it? was daddy being mean?" but he's not, not anymore, words more like kisses high on your cheek, palms heavy but gentle as he grips your hips, grinding you down harder against your stuffie. he cants your hips back, arches your spine. it pushes your puffy clit further into the soft fabric and you whine, chasing it with his guidance. when he pulls you back for every downstroke, you can feel the heft of his erection between your cheeks through his jeans.

he says he'll make it up to you, but he lies, his ministrations only serving to drive you more insane, your clit dragging uselessly until your back is arched so hard you've managed to bend yourself back up against him, your shoulders knocking against his broad chest. he's murmuring more nonsense as he licks your tears away but you're beyond listening, too lost in the rumble of his voice and the way it twines with your pathetic begging - his cock, his tongue, his hand, anything.

"you gotta say it first, baby."

you're beyond asking for clarification, but john doesn't seem to need it.

"gotta use your big girl words, ask daddy for help if you can't do it yourself."

"oh, fuck you," you hiss, tension in your spine snapping, letting you sag down to the bed.

john doesn't stop moving your hips, just sidles up closer behind you to rub your seam against the placket of his trousers. "only if you ask pretty. i hear you up here, panting and moaning when you think you're being quiet. think that's the best you can do, sweet pea? won't let me teach you better?"

he's smug when you look back over your shoulder at him, leaning over your with one fist planted on your bed. he looks just as fuzzy as your stuffie with his sleeves rolled up and his chest hair poking out at his throat. you know from watching him mow the lawn shirtless how it carpets his chest and belly, how the plush skin there tightens with hidden muscle when he rakes. you wonder if it would feel as good to ride his belly as it does your bear.

"see you looking," he rumbles after a moment. "you wanna touch me, baby? you can, just gotta say -."

"daddy." john's bushy eyebrow arcs expectantly.

"was that so hard?" his voice betrays how long he's waited to hear it, and despite yourself you cave.

lying, you tell yourself you'd put up more of a fight if you weren't already crying. "daddy, will you fuck me?"

"oh sweet girl," he coos, laying down over you and crushing you into the mattress, his arms folding under your chest to hold you close so he can shower your face in kisses. he's still fully clothed, buttons and flies digging into your skin. "that how those boys you've been with do it? gotta ask for my fingers first, sweetheart. here, i'll show you."

you roll with him when he does, wind up with your back pressed against his front as he spoons up behind you. his calluses catch on the sensitive skin of your thigh when he hooks it over your hip but you're too worried about how exposed you are to mind, your hand ducking to cover yourself futilely before he bats it away. he says he wants to see all of you while groping handfuls of every inch he can reach, wants to see how well he's been taking care of you.

that neediness in your chest pulses with your cunt and you can't help but whine, fresh tears collecting unbidden.

john gentles you with more kisses, sneaks a lick to the pads of his fingers between them. "okay," he soothes, "okay, sweet thing. quit fussin'. i'll help."

and he does, fingers at once gentle and strong as he works soft circles over your clit. you're soaked but he dips down to collect slick anyway, rubs it into your swollen flesh like medication. despite only cumming once, your skin feels overworked and sensitive and his free hand locks like a bar across your hips when you flinch away on instinct, holding you still so he can make you take it as he finally works you through your second orgasm, the crest of pleasure coming embarrassingly quick and leaving you a panting, sweaty mess in his arms, a litany of daddy's the only comprehensible thing you can manage because now that you've said it you can't stop because it's him, it's john.

patience finally (finally, after all these years of testing it) snapping, he doesn't give you much time to recover, his voice gravel-rough and saw hewn as he spouts praises, contrasting his sweet words with a thick, threatening finger at your entrance. you hiccup when he slides in, tears flowing freely down your cheeks because it's sogoodtoomuch and he zeroes in on the spot that has your very womb clenching in record time, two fingers buried so deep in your cunt you can feel his wedding ring when it slips past your lips. it takes you by surprise how good it feels but it shouldn't, not with john's voice in your ear muttering about the boys you've been with being too small and eager to find it.

"but that's okay, sweetheart. daddy's got you now, doesn't he? he'll show you. gotta teach you so no one takes advantage, don't i? show your worth. show you how a real man treats his princess, hm? and we'll have to talk about what a slag you've been later, sweetheart. just a little reminder you can always come to me if you want to try out so much stuff. daddy'll keep you safe."

#stepcest cw #incest cw #stepdad!price #price x reader #dddne #asks #papa price #daddaughter

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dilf-docs · 1 month ago

Text

Champagne Symphony, Caviar Dreams

harry castillo x younger fem!reader

summary: you keep finding harry in these events. how long until someone gives in?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, (eventual) smut, foes to hoes, (one sided) enemies to lovers, angst, rich ppl (yes that's a warning), slowburn, reader may be a bit of a cunt (sorry if this x reader fic is mischaracterizing u), ft. dbf!harry (love this trope so much and had to squeeze it in, my bad)

word count: 1,815 words

side note: hi hello thank u for ur support my citizens!!!!!!! i hope you enjoy this random update even if the fandom is currently in shambles bc of tlou 2 and joel miller sexy old man with glasses atm,, just hi i'm the problem it's me late to the function as per usual. ps. if u want to be added to the taglist just lmk :) <3

part: prev | masterlist | next

The click of black shoes against wooden floors startles you.

"A White Russian, for the lady"

Before you get to ask, the waiter is gone. Rachel arches and eyebrow.

"If this was a bar, I'd be flattered. Right now, I'm just confused"

Your eyes search his in the bustling room, only to find him already staring.

You scoff. "That makes us two, then"

You raise your glass, wearing a daring smile. Drink for over ten seconds, holding his gaze across the room. If he wanted to play, so be it; didn't matter it was your father's birthday.

His eyes shine, amused. Harry Castillo likes to think he knows when a woman is looking for trouble. The faintest of a smile tugs at his lips when you lick yours. He's coming over. You're up to no good when you stare up, saying his name like a pebble on your shoe.

"I hope I guessed it right" it's what he says instead.

You finish what's left in one gulp. "Nothing too special about it"

He grimaces.

"Hello, Harry"

"Hello, Rachel" but he doesn't even bother to look her way, so unlike his manners.

"Dance with me"

As sudden as the shiver that runs down the spine. Rachel gives you a quizzical look when you turn her way for support.

"Alright"

The music is soft, an instrumental. Your dad hired an orquestra to play, the mellow sound of music filling the room he had rented, in the outskirts of the city. Annabelle wanted a DJ, said it was more modern. But your dad was always a classical man, and that was her way of calling him old, one of many. At least, she was older than you.

He guides you, hand on your back.

Somewhere along the sway, your steps get lost in the spaces between the chords of the violin.

"Why?"

You liked knowing. Answers.

"Because the music is nice" yet Harry preferred the unspoken of your relationship, if you could call it that. Strangers who knew too much about the other. Who revelled in the others' falter. Like a contest to win; you've yet decided the prize. "Don't you think?"

"My father likes nice"

Harry smirks.

"Cheers to David" he gives you a little spin, word reduced to a blur. It's just you and him, "and nice things"

You feel his body irradiate heat. Close proximity suffocating.

"We can't have nice things"

Harry shakes his head, something akin to disappointment circling in his brown eyes.

"Only if you allow yourself to"

Rage bubbles up your throat like champagne. This isn't like your father, who makes you feel small. Harry Castillo makes you feel seen, and that's worst.

He steps forward and you step back at the sound of the music.

"What do you want?"

His grip in your hands tightens, and then he drops you, but his hand on your back stays firm. It's like this with him: always on edge but never quite falling. Head centimeters above the floor, hair brushing the wooden floors; almost crushing.

You lose yourself in the white of his smile.

"To dance"

He pulls you up, face so close to yours. A faint smell of whiskey ghosts his breath.

"I think we're talking about different things"

He smiles, sadly so. He too pulls back, and you hate that small voice in your head that misses the proximity.

"You have yet to understand we aren't"

Anger rises again. You let go of his hands.

"Do you think it's funny to go around confusing people?" you spit.

He looks at you, stern gaze as the music stops.

"I've been clear since the first day"

People clap and the music resumes, but all you hear is the beat of your heart, ringing in your ears.

He leaves first.

Harry doesn't know when it started, but he knows the moment he knew.

You were late, sat next to him: with your long hair and tight black dress. Narrowed eyes as sharp as your fresh manicure. Judgmental. Appalled. Fresh out of law school, as David said.

It was during his fourth. Lasted less than a year; Harry can't remember her name.

He heard your venomous spit at his side: I hate weddings. Doesn't know if you were talking to him but listened.

How could he not? It was clear, in the way you reminded everyone what kind of lawyer you were. Jokes too rough, clipped laughs yet you didn't falter. Too obvious, refusal to be pictured in the family portrait when David married Annabelle the next winter.

But Harry too saw when you followed the bride with your gaze, something raw, not practiced nor learnt, imprisioned behind a neutral expression in your eyes.

It was summer when the wedding happened but Harry was drawn to your cold. The way you had mastered the common art to shove down any emotion, because to feel was to be human.

And to be human was to be weak. You loathed being weak.

Which is why, when you turned to him and mumbled a polite Excuse me to walk out during your father's vows, he understood.

There were dying stars in the dark scope of your eyes, begging to be pulled out of their slow death, pulsing with the same moribund sound of your heart. Hiding behind the sharp comfort of knowing no one would notice. A latent desire to be seen betraying the arm's length drive to keep people away.

Harry was one of those people. The type to notice the quiet breaths of the world that reminded of the painful experience it was to be alive.

And in that moment, he knew there was more to the carefully crafted you.

It was easy then, to figure you. To unravel the mystery of the one he had made to be impossible to decode.

You drank and mingled with the crowd, but each sip seemed labored, like you'd wish for it to be poison and kill you. You were focused, loved your career, but when the noise of the court died down, all that was left was mourning, even if he couldn't quite place your grief. You were all disdain and apathy, but hidden among your clipped conversations was the ravenous desire for attention.

Behind every fake smile and mascara layers, Harry saw the corners of your mouth twitch and the tired eyes.

It was there: the little girl he met, hiding behind mother's legs as if you took a step forward, the world would swallow you.

She was gone, and you had changed your approach: now you were to eat the world as revenge.

You could lie to everyone, yourself even, but Harry knew.

He wasn't a patient man, yet for you? He could wait.

Wait until you let him in. Until you take the hand he's been extending your way, hoping you'd take the leap and jump.

"Should I always chase for you?" Harry jokes after finding you. "Either you love running away or have a thing for balconies"

"Nobody obligues you" you turn to face him.

Harry couldn't voice out loud nor explain the pull he felt towards you. Like magnets. Moth to a flame; things meant to happen. Things that are unavoidable. Or just how easy it was to fall into your orbit. You were a black hole sun: burning and consuming.

"You dipped"

You dipped my head so close to the floor I thought I was falling. Dipped after making my skin feel like a burden and not the one I live in.

He's taken back by your barely concealed reproach.

"Would've you want me to stay?"

Life is a game, and you hate how he's the only one who makes you lose.

You scoff. "Bet that's what you would've wanted"

"You still haven't answered"

You rub your nose. "Is it so important for you that I do?"

For the first time, he doesn't know what to say.

"I'm not here to please you"

He smirks. "Do you ever aim to please anyone but yourself?"

"Are you calling me egotistical?"

"I'm not one to throw stones" he shrugs, then makes his way towards you.

"That's all I feel you do"

He let's his body rest against the marble of today's selected balcony.

"Are you accusing me of being disparaging?"

"I guess we're just throwing big words around" you laugh, dryly.

Harry exhales loudly. "Do you want me to go?"

Stay.

"It's fine" you shrug, nonchalant.

Some minutes fly by, the soft orchestral music from inside the only sound to be heard in the aphony.

"How long do you think this'll last?"

He turns to you, but before he asks for clarification, you're speaking again:

"Dad and Annabelle"

"You shouldn't be betting on your old man" he berates, but there's no bite in his words.

"It always ends"

He doesn't like the finality in your tone. Like you knew it all.

"At least you'll never run out of'a job"

"You're not going to correct me?" you snort at his attempt to humor you. "Tell me that love is real or some shit?"

Harry gives you a knowing smirk.

"Has it ever worked before?"

You don't quite smile, but your lips press together.

The music comes to a stop, people clapping and then a microphone turning on. It's your father's voice.

"Guess it's coming to an end"

Now it's his turn to speak. "Like everything else"

You're about to walk inside when he speaks.

"What about our dance?"

Your turn around. A soft breeze passes by.

"What?"

He gives you a half smile. "It hasn't finished"

Harry extends his hand towards you, waiting for you to take it.

"Shall we?"

You don't have the answer, but when the warmth of his hand covers your freezing smaller ones, you feel you've chosen the right one.

His steps are measured, each brush of your fingers and lingering touch deliberate. You lose yourself in the quiet of the night, the symphony of his heartbeat intertwined with yours, alike to that connection that holds your hands together.

"This is nice"

Outloud. You don't realize it's been you who has said it until he stops dancing, lips parted as he looks at you.

"Y/n-"

The brittle vulnerability is fleeting, like the laughs at your father's drunken speech. It comes and goes, the sound drowning each time you look at his eyes.

All words are futile devices. You're the one who knows such thing best.

"Don't"

Don't speak.

Don't ruin this.

Don't make me think of questions I'm too afraid to hear the answers.

"Okay" he coincides. "We won't"

We won't talk.

We won't ruin this.

We won't think about what this is and what it means.

But all the forbidden is lost when his touch and perfume stay in your skin even as you sink down on your lavender sheets and the feeling of knowing something you hadn't before remains.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas / 🏷: @io12n @dowscal @oscar-isaac @joelscowgirl @jxvipike @klarkapascal @lostinmyownmaze @folklore-barnes @alinacecee @sukitruqui @youusunshineyoutemptress @hermionelove @noisynightmarepoetry @ann-gell (comment if u wanna be tagged!)

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bialvindraper · 1 year ago

Note

PLEASE infodump about drake

okok this is specific to the drake/kendrick drama but i can also do a drake one too - im assuming you know basically nothing. & i barely know this shit so correct me if im wrong. also this will be routinely updated so! check in :D

2011 - Take Care (album) by Drake features Kendrick Lamar on the track Buried Alive Interlude

2012 - Drake has Kendrick open for his Club Paradise Tour. The same year they both feature on A$AP Rocky's song Fuckin Problems (also with 2 Chainz)

2013 - Kendrick called out a few rappers (J. Cole, Pusha T, Big Sean, etc.) including Drake. Drake responds saying he had no response, basically. They do this again the same year (Kendrick says shit, Drake doesnt respond)

2016 (ish) - They continue subtle beef (Kendrick saying Drake has ghost writers, Drake saying Kendrick "sold out")

2023 - First Person Shooter by Drake and J. Cole drops (their first collab since 2013). In the song Drake mentions "the big three" in reference to himself, J. Cole, and Kendrick

2024, Mar. - Like That by Metro Boomin' and Kendrick Lamar drops. In it Kendrick responds to Drake, saying "the big three ... it's just big me", implying that Kendrick is above Drake and J. Cole. Drake attempts to ban Like That from the radio.

2024, Apr. - Push Ups by Drake is released. The song is about how Drake believes Kendrick is being extorted - the track referencing the phrase "drop and give me 50".

2024, Apr. - Taylor Made Freestyle by Drake is released, his second diss track at Kendrick. Here Drake disses Kendrick for "selling out" specifically in reference to Bad Blood by Taylor Swift ft. Kendrick Lamar. Drake also used AI vocals of Snoop Dogg and Tupac - this resulted in him almost being sued by Tupac's Estate. Drake wiped the song from his sites

2024, Apr. - Euphoria by Kendrick Lamar is released. The track is 6 minutes long, cut down from its original 19 minutes. The title is in reference to the TV series Euphoria which Drake is an executive producer of - it's also referencing the sexualisation of underage people, something done by the show and (allegedly) Drake himself. Within the track Kendrick makes fun of Drakes accent, how Drake says the n-word, how Drake dresses... and a fuck load more

2024, May. - 6:16 in LA by Kendrick Lamar releases, less than 72 hours after Euphoria dropped. This track specifically disses Drake for having ghost writers/lots of co-writers. He also implies that Drakes friends are stabbing him in the back and selling his info. This track is co-produced by Jack Antonoff, who co-writes and co-produces for Taylor Swift.

2024, May. - Family Matters by Drake is released. I want to be honest with you, i didn't listen to this until i got this ask. This track implies Kendrick beats his wife. Drake also disses other rappers such as A$AP Rocky, Future, etc.

2024, May. - Drake releases a Buried Alive Interlude Parody on his Instagram

2024, May. - Meet the Grahams by Kendrick Lamar is released. In this track (which is by far my favourite of all the tracks) Kendrick calls Drake a deadbeat dad and accuses Drake of having another secret child (apart from Adonis). Kendrick has a verse dedicated to this supposed child in which he basically parents her - teaching her all the things Drake wont. He also implies Drake struggles with alcohol and gambling

2024, May. - Not Like Us by Kendrick Lamar is released. The fourth diss track from Kendrick. In this track Kendrick alleges that there's pedophiles and trafficking within OVO (an indie record label founded by Drake). Kendrick also says that every rapper who's complimented Drake is lying and now hates him for using Tupac's vocals through AI. This track includes my favourite line "Tryna stike a chord and it's probably A-Minor"

#oh god.#anyway i hope this helps!!#kendrick lamar #drake #questions that i'd ask you #anon #k dot

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uncuredturkeybacon · 1 month ago

Text

𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 || 𝚊𝚣𝚣𝚒 𝚏𝚞𝚍𝚍 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which azzi falls for that southern charm

uconn’s campus was buzzing with it’s usual energy. students hurled across the quad, professors paced with purpose, and athletes—well, they were their own kind of busy. but in the middle of all the noise and motion, there was you—a tall, gentle soul with broad shoulders, soft eyes, and a southern drawl so smooth it could butter toast.

you were new to storrs, having transferred in from a smaller school down in georgia. you’d joined the kinesiology program, figuring you’d stick close to the athletic world even if you weren’t playing anymore. you were polite, always holding doors open and tipping your hat (or beanie) to folks you passed. a gentlewoman in every sense—yes ma’am, no sir, let me get that for ya. that kind of vibe.

and it didn’t take a certain princess to notice.

the first time you met, it was purely by chance. azzi had been coming out of the training facility, earbuds in, hoodie up, when she bumped into a firm chest and nearly dropped her phone.

“whoa, i’m—”

“beg your pardon ma’am,” you said immediately, steadying her by the elbow, your drawl as smooth as tennessee whiskey. “didn’t mean to get in your way.”

azzi blinked up at you, a little startled. you had the kindest eyes she’d ever seen. and that accent?

“n-no worries,” she said, managing a half-smile.

you tipped your head, a soft chuckle under your breath. “y’all alright, miss?”

“yeah,” she replied, and then…stood there a second longer than she meant to. realizing, almost annoyingly, that her heartbeat was a little faster than usual.

after that, it was like fate had its own agenda.

the next week, you were in the rec center at the same time as the women’s basketball team. paige, kk, sarah and ice were on the treadmill, doing what they called “light cardio,” which really meant gossiping and people-watching.

“hey azzi,” paige whispered, nudging her. “tall drink of water at 2 o’clock.”

azzi followed her gaze—and there you were, spotting someone on the bench press, your sleeves rolled up to your elbows, drawl audible even across the gym.

“that’s southern hospitality,” sarah quipped, grinning.

kk smirked. “someone’s got a crush.”

azzi groaned, but couldn’t stop herself from glancing again. and then—of course—you caught her looking.

you smiled.

she looked away so fast she almost fell off the treadmill.

it started simple.

a door held open at the rec center.

a soft, “after you ma’am,” that made azzi’s steps falter.

at first, it was coincidence. the kind of passing moment that could’ve meant nothing—but didn’t.

the next time, it was the dining hall. you spotted her scanning for a seat and gave her a nod to the one across from you. “ain’t much open, but this here’s got a view,” you joked, gesturing to the sunlit window behind you.

azzi blinked, surprised. then smiled, just a little. “thanks.”

you didn’t crowd her. just went back to your sandwich and left space for her to settle. she sat across from you, quietly curious, not quite sure what to make of the tall southerner with the soft drawl and easy charm.

after that?

it just kept happening.

in a lecture, she dropped her pen. you picked it up without a second thought.

“don’t reckon that’s yours?” you asked, holding it out between two fingers.

azzi smiled—blushed, really—and murmured a soft, “thanks.”

she didn’t even hear the next ten minutes of class.

then came the library.

you spotted her at a table, looking frustrated. phone blacked out, charger nowhere in sight.

you strolled over with a slow, “need a lil’ juice, sugar?”

azzi looked up like you’d just offered her a miracle. “you’re a lifesaver,” she said, accepting the chord.

“happy to oblige.”

you walked away before she could say more. not because you weren’t interested—but because you knew timing mattered. and you weren’t in a rush.

you wanted her to choose to come closer.

her teammates noticed before she did.

“why don’t you just ask them out?” paige asked during practice, stretching with one eyebrow raised. “you practically melt every time they call you ma’am.”

azzi rolled her eys. “i do not melt.”

“you totally do,” kk chimed in, grinning.

“they’re like—southern royalty or something,” sarah added, tossing her a towel. "you better make a move before southern belle over there rides off into the sunset.”

azzi grumbled, but she couldn’t help smiling.

because the truth was—the little moments meant something.

eventually, it stopped being a coincidence.

you started showing up at her games—not the front row, but close enough to be seen. after one win, you were waiting outside the tunnel, hands tucked in your back pockets, leaning against the wall.

“you looked good out there,” you said, voice low. “sharp. smart. smooth.”

azzi felt her ears burn. “thanks. i’ve been working on—”

“i know. i see you.”

that pause?

from then on, you started hanging out in the quiet ways people who feel something do—without naming it yet.

you brought her a gatorade after practices.

she found herself sending you playlists late at night—“thought you might like this one.”

you left little notes in a phone app specifically made for passing notes:

“eat somthin’. practice don’t run on fumes, sugar.” “proud of you. just so you know.”

and still… neither of you said what was really on your mind.

then came the moment everything shifted.

it was raining after a late practice. azzi was walking back to her dorm alone, hood up, when headlights hit the puddles near her feet. a slow truck pulled up beside her. and then she heard it:

“need a ride, ma’am?”

she grinned even before turning. it was you, baseball cap low, window rolled down, the inside of your truck glowing warm.

“i don’t usually get in trucks with strangers,” she teased.

“then i guess we oughta stop bein’ strangers.”

azzi climbed in.

and neither of your stopped smiling the entire ride.

that weekend, you saw her again—this time on purpose. the two of you were walking back from the dining hall, laughing about something silly, when you stopped in your tracks.

“miss fudd,” you said, our voce a little lower, a little softer. “i gotta admit… i’ve been wantin’ to ask you somethin’.”

azzi raised a brow. “oh, yeah?”

you rubbed the back of your neck. “i was wonderin’ if you’d wanna go out with me sometime? nothin’ too fancy. you and me gettin’ to know each other better.”

she bit her lip to keep from grinning too hard. “you asking me out on a date?”

“yes ma’am,” you said wholeheartedly. “well more like courtin’ you, date comes later. that alright with you?”

she nodded, heart fluttering. “that’s more than alright.”

from then on, it was official. you were her gentlewoman.

you walked her to class with an umbrella when it rained, opened doors without thinking, and bought her homemade sweet tea during film review sessions. she brought you to team events where the girls immediately started calling you ‘cowboy’ and made fun of how flustered azzi got the you so much called her ‘darlin’.’

but no matter how much they teased, nothing could take away the way azzi looked at you—with that mix of affection, admiration, and a low-key awe.

because yeah, you were soft-spoken, a bit old-fashioned, and as sweet as pie.

but when it came to her? you were all in.

as it came close to the time you’d actually get to take her on a date, you’d already memorized her laugh.

it had a kind of quiet joy to it—not loud, but real. like she didn’t give it away to just anyone. so every time she let one slip because of something you said, it stuck with you. the kind of sound a person remembers.

you weren’t the type to rush things. growing up in a small georgia town taught you patience—hot to wait on good things and treat people right when they came along. and azzi fudd? she was a real good thing.

she was smart, focused, and a little shy—but sharp-witted when she got comfortable. she was quick on the court, but off it? soft eyes, slow smiles, and the kind of presence that made you wanna step up your own game just to be worthy of her time.

you’d kept it respectful, always polite. a hand offered here, a door held there, soft compliments that came wrapped in southern sweetness.

but after that night in the truck—when she climbed in out of the rain and you talked for nearly an hour with the engine idling and the window fogged—it felt like something had shifted.

you just had to take the next step.

it was after one of her morning practices. you were leaning against the wall outside the gym, a to-go cup in your hand.

she looked a little surprised when she saw you. “hey,” she said, pushing her braids back and smiling—a smile that makes your heart do that little jump. “what’re you doing here?”

you held out the cup. “sweet tea,” you said. “figured you might need a lil’ sugar after all that runnin’.”

she took it, eyes wide. “you really brought me tea?”

“would’ve brought you the moon if i thought you’d like it more.”

azzi laughed softly, shaking her head, trying to hide the way her cheeks flushed.

you took a breath. “listen, i was thinkin’… if you’re free this friday, maybe you’d let me take you out.”

azzi looked up at you, blinking once.

“i got a place outside of town. real barbecue—none of that city stuff. my buddy’s got a smoker and i got a hammock with your name on it. you won’t have to dress up, just bring your appetite and that pretty smile.”

she smiled, holding your gaze.

“you’re finally asking me out on a southern date,” she teased.

“yes ma’am,” you said, hand over your heart. “with all the fixin’s.”

azzi took a sip of the tea, then nodded. “okay, i’m in.”

you picked her up right on time in your old but polished-up chevy pickup with a blanket in the back and a cooler full of peach tea.

azzi wore jeans and a soft uconn hoodie, her hair tied back in a low bun. she looked comfortable, relaxed, and beautiful. you opened the door for her, naturally.

“hope you like brisket and ribs,” you said with a grin as she climbed in.

“hope you’re ready to back up all that talk,” she replied, already teasing.

the drive was short, about twenty minutes out of town, past green hills and quiet farms. you had music playing low—chris stapleton and some old-school country soul—and you caught azzi tapping her fingers to the beat more than once.

when you pulled up to your buddy’s place, the smell hit her first—wood smoke, tangy sauce, grilled corn, baked beans. your friend waved from the smoker and gave azzi a respectful nod before ducking back to work.

you set up a lists spot under a tree with a quilt, plates, and a mason jar of flowers you’d picked that morning. azzi blinked when she saw it.

“you really went all out,” she said, sitting down beside you.

“i don’t halfway anything when it comes to you,” you replied simply, handing her a plate.

you two ate slow, talked even slower. she told you about her family, her journey to uconn, how sometimes the pressure felt heavy but she carried it anyway. you listened close, nodding, never interrupting.

when she leaned back on the blanket and looked up at the sky, you did too.

“y’all get stars like this in d.c.?” you asked.

“not like this,” she whispered.

you turned your head to look at her. she was staring up, lashes catching the gold of the setting sun, her lips parted just slightly.

you couldn’t help yourself. “you’re somethin’ else, azzi.”

she glanced over, lips curving into a slow, warm smile. “you’re not so bad yourself, cowboy.”

after dinner, you walked her over to the hammock, gently swaying it with your hand.

“i ever tell you how good you look in the golden hour?” you asked.

she gave you a look—playful, skeptical, and slightly flustered. “you practice those lines?”

“no ma’am. they just fall outta me when you’re around.”

you climbed into the hammock beside her, the two of you rocking gently as the sky turned lavender.

she rested her head on your shoulder.

“you really mean all this?” she asked softly.

“i wouldn’t have asked you out if i didn’t. i don’t play with hearts, sugar.”

azzi nodded slowly. “good. ‘cause neither do i.”

that night, when you dropped her off at her dorm, she lingered by your truck a second longer than usual.

you stepped out, walked around to open her door, and tipped your hat a little. “can i walk you up?”

she smiled. “you sure know how to treat a girl.”

“that’s how i was raised.”

and as she slipped her hand into yours, you knew this was only the beginning.

the first date lit a little fire between the two of you—slow, warm, steady. nothing rushed, nothing forced. but it burned bright all the same.

after that, azzi started texting you more. sometimes early, sometimes late—little messages that made your heart jump even though they were simple.

azzi: still thinking about that brisket. you sure you ain’t a chef?

you: only cook for the folks i’m sweet on.

azzi: lucky me, huh?

you saw her more often. sometimes you’d bring her a drink after class, or wait by the gym to walk her to lunch. other times, she’d sneak away with you on a quiet evening just to sit in the bed of your truck and talk under the stars.

she liked your steadiness. the way you didn’t ask for much, but gave everything. the way you’d tip your head and say “yes ma’am” even when she was teasing you—and the way you looked at her like she was your whole world.

it was a sunday afternoon when azzi tugged you into her dorm’s common area, grinning like she had a secret.

“my mom wants to meet you,” she said, already pulling up her phone.

you blinked. “already? i ain’t even—should i change shirts?”

azzi laughed. “you’re perfect. just be you.”

a moment later, her mom’s face filled the screen. elegant, warm-eyed, and clearly curious.

“this them?” she asked with a teasing smile.

“yes ma’am,” you said before azzi could speak, standing up a little straighter. “pleasure to meet you, ma’am. heard a lot of good things.”

azzi’s mom raised a brow, clearly charmed. “well, aren’t you polite. you treat my daughter right?”

“with all the respect and sweetness she deserves.”

azzi covered her face, already blushing.

her mom laughed. “alright. you get my approval—so far. but keep that southern charm coming.”

you tipped your invisible hat with a smile. “i’ll do my best, ma’am.”

you’d been waitin’ on this one. uconn vs. south carolina. big game. sold-out crowd. and azzi had personally invited you to come.

“front row,” she’d said. “right behind the bench. i want to see you.”

you’d never missed a chance to support someone you cared about, and you sure as hell weren’t starting now.

only this time… you left the cowboy hat at home.

you showed up in a uconn hoodie and—at azzi’s request—her jersey, the one she’d handed you a couple nights before with a smirk and a soft: “looks better on you than it does on me.”

it was just big enough to fit over your frame, and it smelled like her—lavender body wash and hard work.

when she spotted you court side, leaning on the railing in her number, she stopped mid-dribble during warmups and just smiled.

a soft, quiet smile.

she balled out.

dropped 23 points, 4 threes, 6 assists. she was locked in—quick on her feet, sharp with her passes—but every now and then, when she hit a shot, her eyes flicked to the stands.

to you.

you were loud, no doubt about that. you clapped, whistled, even shouted, “that’s my girl!” once or twice. paige heard and nudged Azzi on the bench, whispering something that made her roll her eyes but blush anyway.

after the win, she jogged over to the stands, reaching up for your hand. her teammates hooted from behind her.

“awww,” kk called. “is that southern hospitality wearin’ your jersey?”

paige smirked. “y’all gonna kiss in the tunnel or keep pretending it’s casual?”

azzi just ignored them and looked up at you.

“you looked good in it,” she murmured, tugging lightly on the hem of the jersey you wore.

“you looked better playin’ in it.”

you held her hand a little longer than necessary, thumb brushing her knuckles. “you free tonight?”

“i will be.”

“good,” you said, voice low and sweet. “got some peach cobbler with your name on it.”

she bit back a grin. “you’re unbelievable.”

“nah,” you said, brushing her hair back gently with your knuckles. “i’m just fallin’ for you. that all.”

after the game, she climbed into the passenger seat like it was already her spot. she curled up in your hoodie, bare legs from her shorts.

you drove in silence for a bit. not awkward—just soft.

then she looked over at you.

“you always this gentle with people?”

“only the ones i care about,” you said, eyes still on the road.

azzi leaned over and kissed your cheek, lips soft and warm against your skin.

“you’re makin’ it really hard not to fall for you too.”

you just smiled, hand resting between you two, palm up.

she laced her fingers through yours.

your palm was warm in her hands.

she didn’t say much on the drive back—didn’t need to. her fingers never left yours, her body leaned a little closer with every turn. she didn’t let go even as you parked outside her dorm.

you turned off the truck and let the engine settle into quiet. the only light came from the dashboard glow and the faint silver of the moon pouring through the windshield.

she looked over at you, still holding your hand.

“so,” she said softly, “you said earlier you were fallin’ for me.”

you glanced over, watching the way her eyes glinted in the dark. “yes ma’am.”

“why?”

you thought for a second. then gave her the truth.

“‘cause you’re all heart,” you said. “you work hard. you look out for your teammates. you treat people with kindness. and when you smile? makes me feel like i’m doin’ somethin’ right.”

azzi bit her lip, her thumb brushing yours. “you always this sweet?”

you chuckled. “only when i mean it.”

she leaned in—slowly, like she wanted to be sure. but you didn’t move, just looked at her like she hung the stars yourself.

and when her lips met yours, soft and warm and just a little shy?

you kissed her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

because it was.

you texted her late thursday night.

you: pack a bag. no need for anything fancy. just trust me. azzi: …what are you up to? you: gonna show you a little piece of my world.

she showed up at your truck in a hoodie and jeans, duffel in hand, curious but smiling. you kissed her cheek and opened the door like always, then hit the road with nothing but good music and better company.

“where are we going?” she asked somewhere past the state line.

“georgia,” you said with a grin. “gonna meet my folks, get some real cookin’, and show you where this accent comes from.”

azzi blinked. “you’re bringing me home?”

“don’t gotta be serious if you don’t want it to be,” you said gently. “but i’d like to show you the kind of love that raised me. and maybe… what i wanna give back to you.”

she was quiet a long time after that.

then she laced her fingers through yours again and leaned her head on your shoulder.

“i’d like that.”

your mama adored her immediately.

“this one’s sharp,” she whispered to you in the kitchen. “pretty, too. don’t let her go.”

“i’m tryin’, mama.”

azzi helped your aunt shuck corn on the porch, played spades with your cousins, and kicked off her shoes to run barefoot through the backyard with your little niece after dinner.

you watched her from the porch, leaning against the rail, heart full to the brim. she was light, she was laughter, she was home.

that night, you took her out to the old field behind your family’s land. fireflies blinked in the tall grass, and the stars above were brighter than she’d ever seen.

you laid out a blanket and sat down beside her, shoulder to shoulder.

“i ever tell you how beautiful you look in moonlight?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

azzi smiled and looked up. “you always say that.”

“that’s ’cause it’s always true.”

she turned to you then, eyes soft.

“i’ve never felt this… seen,” she murmured. “i’m always the player. the brand. the athlete. but with you? i’m just me. and you still look at me like i’m magic.”

you reached out, brushed her cheek with the back of your hand.

“that’s ’cause you are.”

back in your childhood room, you slept on the floor, giving her the bed without question. she argued at first, of course.

“you can’t seriously sleep on the floor—”

“ma’am,” you said, giving her a mock-serious drawl, “i’ll be just fine down here. southern gentlemen don’t steal beds from ladies.”

she laughed. “you’re ridiculous.”

“only for you.”

azzi leaned over the side of the bed, kissed your forehead, and whispered, “sweet dreams, cowboy.”

coming back to campus after that weekend in georgia felt different.

you weren’t just the southern gentlewoman anymore. you were her southern gentlewoman. and though azzi didn’t go around announcing it, everyone could tell something had changed.

she smiled easier. stayed closer. even when y’all were apart, you caught her looking for you in a room, like she couldn’t quite settle unless you were nearby.

but azzi fudd wasn’t the only one who noticed you.

it was a sunny afternoon. you’d parked your truck outside the rec center and were helping the volleyball team load coolers for their weekend trip—just lending a hand like you always did. nothing to it.

that is, until one of the girls—lexi, tall, blonde, a little too flirty for her own good—leaned in a little close.

“you’re not from around here, huh?” she said, brushing her hand against yours as you passed her a bag.

“no, ma’am,” you said politely, backing up a step. “from georgia.”

“figures,” she smiled. “that accent’s dangerous. you single?”

you paused, glanced over your shoulder—and sure enough, azzi was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“no ma’am,” you said firmly. “got someone real special.”

lexi raised an eyebrow. “shame.”

you didn’t respond. just nodded and walked away.

when you made your way to azzi, she didn’t say anything at first.

but you caught the flicker in her eyes.

“you alright?” you asked.

azzi looked at you for a moment, jaw tight. then, “do people flirt with you like that all the time?”

you blinked. “i don’t entertain any of it, az. you’re the only one i see.”

she nodded, chewing on her bottom lip.

you gently grabbed her chin, turning her head to face yours. “you wanna claim me, sugar? go on and do it.”

azzi rolled her eyes—but her cheeks flushed, and her fingers squeezed yours just a little tighter.

that weekend, you found a note stuck to your truck’s steering wheel.

it was written on a napkin, her handwriting small and neat.

"meet me in the gym tonight. 9 o’clock. bring your boots, not your hat."

you showed up like she asked, boots tapping softly against the hardwood. the lights were low, just the court lights above glowing faintly.

azzi stood at mid-court, her hoodie zipped up and her curls loose. she had a speaker set up next to her.

“you trust me?” she asked.

“always.”

she clicked her phone and music filled the space—soft, low country blues. you raised an eyebrow.

“you learnin’ my music now?” you teased.

“trying to,” she said, holding out her hand. “dance with me?”

you walked over slow, slipped your hand into hers, and pulled her in close.

azzi didn’t really know the steps, but she let you lead. you swayed together, slow and close, boots scuffing against the wood.

“thought i should do somethin’ your way for once,” she whispered.

“you didn’t have to.”

“i wanted to.”

she rested her head against your chest, and for a long time, neither of you said anything. the music, the moment, the feel of each other’s heartbeats—it was all enough.

then she looked up at you, brown eyes shining.

“i’m fallin’ for you too, you know.”

you smiled, leaned in, and kissed her slow.

“i know,” you whispered. “and i got you. always.”

the gym date stuck with you both.

after that night, azzi didn’t just smile more—she started letting you in more. into her routine, her late-night thoughts, even her insecurities.

and you were always there—solid, gentle, never pushing too hard.

which is why it surprised you both the first time you had a real disagreement.

it started simple: you’d made plans to spend the weekend together. just you and her, curled up with takeout and old westerns. but then she texted last-minute friday night.

azzi: sorry. film session ran late. then dinner with the team. rain check?

you weren’t upset at first. you knew how much her game meant to her. you always respected her grind. but by the third weekend in a row that got canceled, it stung.

when she came by after practice the next day, soaking wet from the rain, you let her in and handed her a towel—quietly. She stood in the doorway of your dorm room, eyes scanning your face.

“you mad at me?”

you shrugged, pulling the blanket off the back of your chair and folding it neatly.

“i ain’t mad,” you said. “just disappointed, i guess.”

azzi sighed. “you know how much i’ve got on my plate—”

“i do, az. that’s why i don’t ask for much. just a little time when you can spare it.”

she looked at you then, guilt flickering in her eyes. “i didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t important.”

you met her gaze, soft but honest. “i know you didn’t. but feelin’ forgotten and knowin’ better don’t always line up.”

the room was quiet after that. just the soft sound of rain against the windows.

then azzi crossed the room and wrapped her arms around your waist, resting her head against your chest.

“i’m sorry,” she whispered. “i never want you to feel like you’re an afterthought. you’re not. not even close.”

you wrapped your arms around her, gentle and strong. “just wanna be someone you choose. not someone who waits in the background.”

she pulled back just enough to look at you.

“you are someone i choose. every day.”

later that night, she stayed curled up in your bed while you made popcorn on your hot plate. she was wearing your flannel shirt, legs bare, hair damp from a shower. she looked so natural there—like she belonged.

“you ever think about the future?” she asked suddenly, voice low.

you turned from the counter. “what kinda future?”

she shrugged. “i don’t know. just… one that isn’t all basketball and pressure and media. one that’s quiet. like this.”

you walked over, set the popcorn down, and climbed into bed beside her, pulling the blanket up over both your legs.

“i think about it all the time,” you said. “think about us, sittin’ on a porch swing somewhere warm, dog sleepin’ on the floor, music playin’ low. you curled up with me after a game, talkin’ ‘bout nothin’. that sound right to you?”

azzi smiled, leaning into you. “yeah. that sounds real good.”

you kissed the top of her head and pulled her in close. outside, the rain kept falling—but inside? everything felt calm.

like home.

you didn’t mean to meet coach auriemma so soon—it just kind of happened.

you were helping azzi carry her gym bag out after practice one day when he caught sight of you and raised an eyebrow.

“this the southern charmer?” he asked, looking you up and down.

azzi turned red immediately. “coach.”

you tipped your hat instinctively—even though you weren’t wearing one.

“yes sir. nice to meet you.”

he smirked. “i’ve heard you’re a good influence. keep her grounded. that true?”

you smiled and looked at azzi, who looked both proud and mortified.

“try to be. she makes it easy.”

coach nodded, clearly amused. “alright. i’ll allow it.”

azzi groaned as he walked away. “he’s never gonna let that go.”

you bumped her shoulder playfully. “don’t worry. he’ll come around. just like you did.”

she rolled her eyes, but you caught the little grin she tried to hide.

there was something different about sundays with azzi.

she wasn’t the high-caliber athlete on court. she wasn’t the face of a brand or the sharp shooter the whole world knew.

she was just your girl.

messy curls spilling over your pillow. oversized hoodie—yours, of course—hanging off her shoulder. bare feet tucked under your legs while you sat on the floor of your dorm room, strumming an old guitar and humming something soft and southern.

you didn’t sing for many people, but she asked one morning with sleepy eyes and a whispered: “play something for me?”

so you did.

now it had become a thing. sundays were for homemade breakfast sandwiches, no alarms, and quiet love songs that only she got to hear.

one morning, halfway through a cover of chris stapleton’s “more of you,” azzi reached out, fingers lacing through yours mid-verse.

you didn’t stop playing, but your eyes met hers.

and in that look?

she said a thousand things she didn’t have words for yet.

there was a buzz around campus all week—uconn vs. ucla, a top-three matchup, and azzi was headlining the charge.

you could feel the electricity in the air as you stepped into the arena, dressed head to toe in her colors. this time, you didn’t wear the jersey she gave you.

you wore a hoodie she left in your truck a few weeks back—the one that smelled like her shampoo and still had her name stitched inside the collar. she never asked for it back.

you figured that was her way of letting you keep a piece of her.

she saw you the second she ran onto the court. didn’t wave. didn’t smile. but her eyes lit up—and that was enough.

azzi was locked in. dropped 28 points. hit a game-winner with three seconds on the clock.

the crowd exploded. her teammates mobbed her. but even in all that chaos, her eyes found you.

she didn’t run into the tunnel. didn’t head to the locker room right away.

she walked straight toward you.

you were leaning against the railing, hands in your pockets, smiling like she just lit up your whole damn world.

“come here,” she said.

you leaned in, resting your forearms on the rail, and she grabbed your hoodie with both hands, tugging you down slightly.

“you proud of me?” she asked.

you tilted your head. “i’m proud of you every damn day, az. tonight was just extra.”

she bit her lip—then leaned in and kissed you, right there in front of the whole student section.

“y’all seeing this?” paige shouted from the bench, laughing.

kk wolf-whistled. sarah pretended to fan herself.

azzi ignored them.

she was too busy smiling against your lips.

later that night, after the adrenaline wore off and the locker room emptied, she showed up at your dorm—hair still damp from the shower, her game jersey in one hand, a to-go container in the other.

you were sitting on your bed in a muscle tee, scrolling your phone.

she didn’t say anything. just dropped her stuff and crawled into your lap, curling against you like she belonged there.

you wrapped your arms around her waist automatically. “hey, sugar.”

she tucked her head under your chin. “i’ve been thinking,” she murmured. “about what you said. about choosing someone.”

you waited.

“i choose you too. every day. even on the hard ones.”

you kissed the top of her head, voice soft. “that right?”

she pulled back just enough to look at you. eyes serious. voice even quieter.

“i love you.”

you blinked, heart thudding slow and heavy like the strum of a bass guitar.

then you smiled—big, warm, full of that georgia sun.

“took you long enough,” you whispered. “i love you too, az.”

you kissed her then—not rushed. not frantic. just real.

and when she sighed against your mouth like she could finally breathe?

you held her even closer and whispered,

“got you now. ain’t lettin’ go.”

#paige bueckers #uconn women’s basketball #uconn wbb #azzi fudd #azzi fudd x reader #azzi35 #lesbian #wlw #ucon wbb #paige bueckers x reader #uconn #uconn huskies

384 notes · View notes

reallyromealone · 1 year ago

Note

Please a part 2 to Surprise! You're a dad! Rindo x reader.

Title: surprise you're a dad!

Chapter: 2

Fandom: Tokyo revengers

Characters: Haitani brothers

Fic type: fluff, omegaverse

Pairings: Rindō Haitani x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, mpreg, birthing, male giving birth, Omega male reader

Notes:

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Did you know?

The brother of your baby daddy was somehow more persistent than the actual baby daddy?

Because apparently that was a thing!

Ran bad been persistent despite his brother keeping his distance, popping up randomly to spend apparent quality time with his 'brother-inlaw' and following him around like a lost puppy "do you have ultrasound photos?" He asked curiously as he sat in (name)s little house, Rindō may have not wanted to take a role in the babies life but Ran did.

Ran was deeply obsessed with family, the brothers having grown up without their parents and raised primarily by their grandfather whom they loved dearly "you know... You don't have to do this" (name) whispered, it felt nice to have support even if they were probably doing it out of guilt of their siblings negligence "I know Rindō doesn't think the pup is his and I know you're probably doing it from pi--" "did I ever say I was doing it from pity?" Ran cut the Omega off seriously "I'm not here for pity purposes, that's pathetic of me to do and I stated why I'm here."

The Alpha pointed to the others belly "I'm here for that little pup in your belly and by extension you, I know that kids a Haitani, you think I haven't done digging on you Mr Dean's list? Besides you reak of Rindō" he said simply and (name)s eyes watered, he had been alone for months and having his pups uncle support him made his heart melt "be this pups god father" he said simply and Ran smiled softly, already feeling a soft spot for the spikey omega "I'll make sure that kids cared for"

For the past month and a half, Ran had been a good support while Rindō seethed, he was unsure how to handle the fact he could be a father and outright refusing the omegas claims even if he didn't seek him out.

What if he was waiting to just drop the kid on him or collect child support when the kid was older! Guilt him with a baby!

He wasn't fucking having it.

And he was pissed that his brother would spend money on the Omega and all that shit, ignoring his inner instincts to be near the Omega who had his claim bite and dive harder into work to avoid dealing with the situation.

It wasn't until the dead of night when Rindō went into a convenience store to grab a drink, finding a particularly annoying job as Ran and kakucho waIted outside on their bikes "your total is 2.48, cash or card?" Rindō looked up from his phone to see (name) sitting there bored, staring at him with disinterest s his hand rested o his stomach "why the fuck are you here?" He snapped and (name) rolled his eyes "working? What else would I be doing, hosting the met?"

"It's like two am! Youre an Omega!"

"I'm doing what I must to care for my pup, I don't need your concern" he waved Rindō off, already annoyed and the other rolled his eyes "clearly since you're taking handouts from ran" that struck a chord with (name) who stood up angrily "I haven't accepted shit from him, he comes over to see ultrasound photos and bother me for tea!" The Omega raged "I am not some gold digging Omega looking for a wallet, I was fine before this and I don't need you making wild accusations when I wasn't even seeking you out" (name) was not afraid to go toe to toe with the other, close to baring his fangs the sound of the doors chime went off "Yo Rinny, Kakuchos getting t...ired" ran looked at the angry Omega and his brother and sighed "Rindō can you behave for once? Sorry my brother was an iPad baby" Rindō looked betrayed at his brother who in turn looked at him "I think we need a family sit down" Rindō seethed out and Rindō wanted to pull his hair out.

"Sorry you were dragged here" (name) said to the Kanto Manji man who he learned was named kakucho, offering him tea as they sat in (name)s house, Ran buying the Omega new furniture despite the omegas protests "the fuck is even happening?'" the Haitani brothers were arguing in the backyard as (name) sighed "Rindō is the father to my pup, I don't want him to be in my pups life and he doesn't want to be in the pups life but is convinced I want to baby trap him despite me repeatedly telling him I don't want him in my life" the Omega said calmly and at a semi fast pace "Ran is hell-bent on being the uncle to his niece and keeps buying me things despite me not needing it and I just want to raise my child and not deal with any of this" kakucho was shocked at this as he looked at (name) who looked done.

"Wow"

"Yup"

"Rindō? Really?"

"Yeah..."

"Why don't you want him in the kids life?" Kakucho asked and (name) sighed "you know what job you have, what you do every day and what you're becoming... Could you imagine a child being mixed in that?" He looked serious as he stared at kakucho who didn't hesitate to answer "it would put a target on them" "exactly, my daughter would be targeted immediately... I just want to raise my kid in peace"

"Would you ever let him be in his kids life?"

"If he wanted sure but he doesn't and I'm not keen on someone who blames Soley me for something that takes two to tango" he grumbled and kakucho snorted "well I'm glad the kid has an uncle at least"

"Ran will be a good uncle, he's already obsessed with his niece" (name) joked as the Haitani brothers walked in bruised and quiet "Rindō what do we say"

"Sorry for being an asshole"

"And?"

"I am now aware you have no interest in baby trapping me for money" he grunted angrily and (name) rolled his eyes "glad you joined the party" (name) huffed as he sipped his tea "again sorry you had to be dragged into this" he said to kakucho who was fairly surprised at how calm the other was, being in the same room as some of the most dangerous men in Japan.

"This was surprisingly pleasant despite it all" he said back as (name) tried to get up to walk to the door, taking a moment before getting up triumphantly "thank you again for the tea"

"Of course, drive safe"

"I won't!"

"He's pleasant" (name) said simply as kakucho drove off and the Haitani brothers were sitting on the couch, (name) sitting on the comfy chair as they fell into silence "if you ever decide... That you want to be in this kids life, you're welcome to- don't worry you don't have to pay anything but if you ever decide you're welcome" an olive branch, Ran was already a big part in the pups life and he wanted Rindō to have the option if he wanted.

"I'll consider it when we do a paternity test"

"We can absolutely do one and I can't wait to tell you to pound sand when it comes back a match" (name) said calmly and Rindō glared and Ran sighed, these two were oil in water.

How did they even get far enough to mate?

Beyond him.

It would be six weeks later that (name) went into labor, terrified of being alone as a nurse comforted him as he had a contraction "I'm here for my niece" Ran said calmly, hair cut and in a suit and sunglasses. Thankfully that new tattoo he got covered by makeup as he plopped beside his almost brother in law "oh and you" he teased as (name) glared "not- fuck!- the time right now!"

Five hours it took for (name) to birth a beautiful baby girl, the first thing they noticed was her face, she had (name)s hair and skin but... She looked like Rindō even as a newborn "well we may not need that paternity test" Ran joked and (name) wanted to sleep.

But they did a paternity test and surprise surprise!

Rindō was a dad.

And ran watched as Rindō sat shocked "was there not a thought in your head that you could be the father of that child? You wanted (name) enough to claim him but so easily believed he was screwing other guys"

"I-i just..."

"Do you want to be in your daughter's life?" Ran asked genuinely and Rindō nodded slowly, head in hands "you for some ass kissing, he's not gonna trust you one bit"

"Fuuuuck"

"That's a weird way of apologizing"

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x male reader #tokyo revengers fluff #male reader #omegaverse #omega male reader #x male reader #rindou x male reader #haitani rindou x reader #rindou haitani #anime x male reader #anime x reader

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goblin-jr · 3 months ago

Text

Tell me, where’s your hiding place?

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader, Red K! Clark

Summary: Seven years ago, Y/N crossed paths with a mysterious stranger in the back alleys of Metropolis. He saved her life without a second thought, then vanished into the night, leaving nothing but questions. Now, she’s face-to-face with a dorky reporter who seems all too familiar.

part 1 . part 2 . part 3 . part 4 . part 5

complete

words: 6.7k

💌 💌 💌 💌

The night Y/N left home, the sky was heavy with rain, as if the universe itself was mourning her departure. She clutched the strap of her silver guitar case, her knuckles turning white as she stepped off the creaky porch for the last time. Behind her, the house was dark, the silence inside more oppressive than any shouting match she had endured. Her heart pounded, but she didn’t look back. Looking back meant hesitation, and hesitation meant staying. And she couldn’t stay. Not anymore.

With nothing but the clothes on her back, a handful of crumpled bills, and her guitar, she made her way to the bus station. The wind bit at her exposed skin through her thin jacket, but she barely noticed. Every step forward felt like breaking free from chains that had bound her for too long.

The Greyhound ticket to Metropolis was more expensive than she’d expected, nearly draining her meager savings. But as the bus rumbled to life and pulled away from the station, she felt something she hadn’t in years—relief. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating a future she had yet to figure out. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was leaving.

Metropolis was nothing like the small town she had escaped from. It was bigger, louder, and faster than anything she had ever known. Towering skyscrapers stretched high into the sky, their windows glimmering like scattered stars. The streets were filled with honking cars, flashing billboards, and an unending sea of people. The first night, she wandered aimlessly, overwhelmed and exhilarated all at once.

She spent her first few nights sleeping in bus stations and all-night diners, nursing cups of cheap coffee to keep from being kicked out. The exhaustion weighed heavy on her, but the alternative—going back—was unthinkable. Instead, she tightened her grip on her guitar and pressed on.

Her first gig was at a dingy little bar tucked between a laundromat and a convenience store. The neon sign flickered, barely holding on to its last bit of light. She had walked in, desperate, and begged the manager to let her play for tips. He had eyed her skeptically before shrugging and jerking his thumb toward the tiny stage in the corner.

The first few nights were rough. The crowd barely paid attention, too busy drowning their sorrows in whiskey and half-hearted conversations. But she kept playing, pouring every ounce of emotion into her music, as if she could rewrite her past with each chord. Eventually, people started to listen. A few would nod along, some would toss a couple of bills into the open guitar case at her feet. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Days blurred into weeks. She played wherever she could—street corners, subway stations, coffee shops. Anything to scrape together enough money for food and a place to sleep. But the city was unforgiving. Rent was astronomical, and no matter how hard she tried, the money ran out faster than she could earn it.

She learned to go without. Skipped meals. Slept in parks when she couldn’t afford a motel. She told herself it was temporary, that things would get better. But as the nights grew colder and her savings dwindled to nothing, the weight of reality pressed down on her.

One evening, after a particularly brutal night of playing to an indifferent crowd, she counted her earnings and felt her stomach drop. Five dollars and some loose change. Not even enough for a proper meal, let alone a roof over her head.

She sat on the edge of the sidewalk, pulling her jacket tighter around her as she stared at the blinking lights of Metropolis. Her dream had brought her here, but dreams didn’t keep you warm. Dreams didn’t feed you.

A wave of despair crashed over her, heavier than ever before. She had fought so hard to escape, but now she was faced with a different kind of prison—one built of hunger and uncertainty.

She let out a shaky breath and looked down at her guitar, tracing her fingers over the silver finish. It was the only thing she had left. Her last connection to the girl who believed she could be something more. But belief didn’t pay rent.

A thought crossed her mind, one she had been avoiding for weeks. She could sell it. Pawn it off for enough cash to buy herself a few nights at a cheap motel, maybe even a meal that wasn’t from a dollar menu. But the idea of parting with it felt like cutting out a piece of herself.

Her grip on the guitar tightened. She wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.

With renewed determination, she stood, brushing off her worn-out jeans. She had survived this far. She would find a way. She had to.

—

Y/N had learned to navigate its streets over the past few months, though it often felt like the city had more to take from her than it was willing to give. She had her guitar, a few dreams, and nothing else. No money, no plan. Just the hope that one day, she'd find a stage big enough for her voice to echo across the world.

But tonight? Tonight was different. Tonight, the streets felt colder. The wind bit at her skin as she wandered down a dark alley, hoping to cut through and avoid the city’s usual buzz. She was tired, her back aching from lugging her guitar, and she was dangerously close to giving up for the night.

She was halfway through the alley when she heard it. The unmistakable click of boots on the pavement.

“Hey, pretty lady, you lost?”

Y/N stopped in her tracks, her hand instinctively gripping her guitar case tighter. The voice was smooth, too smooth, and there was something just... off about it. She didn't need to turn around to know that trouble was creeping up behind her. But she wasn’t about to show fear. Not now.

She forced a smile, glancing over her shoulder. “Do I look lost?”

Three men stepped into her path. The leader, tall with a scar slashing down his face, smiled like he was about to enjoy a meal. His two buddies flanked him, eyes sharp and calculating.

“Not really,” the scarred guy said, his voice dripping with malice. “But you sure look like someone who needs some... company.”

Y/N's heart rate spiked, but she kept her composure. “I’m good, thanks. Don’t need any company tonight.”

Scarface stepped closer, his smirk widening. “Nah, I think you do. You don’t wanna be walking around these parts alone, sweetheart.”

The hairs on the back of Y/N’s neck stood on end. She had to think fast—there was no way she could fight all three of them off. As one of the thugs reached out to grab her arm, she swung her guitar case at him, the metal hitting his side with a satisfying thud.

The other two men grabbed her, causing a scream to escape from her throat.

But before she could react further, the sound of someone clearing their throat broke through the tension like a clap of thunder.

“Wow, you guys are real charming,” a voice said, dripping with sarcasm.

Y/N whipped around, her breath catching in her throat. Standing just a few feet away, leaning casually against the alley wall, was a man who didn’t seem fazed by the three thugs at all. His posture was relaxed, almost bored, like he was waiting for something mildly interesting to happen. His clothes were sharp—too sharp for this part of town—and there was a mischievous grin plastered across his face like he’d just walked into a comedy show.

It took Y/N a moment to realize that he was the one who had interrupted the confrontation with nothing more than sheer presence.

“Who the hell are you?” Scarface barked, stepping toward him. “This is none of your business.”

The man—Kal, as he later introduced himself—shrugged nonchalantly, pushing himself off the wall. “Oh, I think it is,” he said with a grin that could only be described as devilish. “Can’t stand the sound of screaming. Really kills the vibe, y’know?”

Y/N couldn’t help but blink, slightly thrown off by his carefree attitude. It was clear he wasn’t here to help for any reason other than his own amusement. He didn’t even look at the thugs as he lazily kicked one of their legs out from under them, sending him sprawling onto the ground.

Scarface was clearly not used to being dismissed. He snarled and swung a fist at Kal, but Kal ducked with exaggerated slowness, like he had all the time in the world. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he sent the thug flying into the brick wall with a barely noticeable push. The sound of a body slamming against concrete echoed down the alley.

The two remaining thugs hesitated, but before they could react, Kal grinned again, this time giving a little wave. “You’re gonna need to hurry up if you’re planning on getting me. I’ve got places to be, and honestly, I’m already bored.”

One of the thugs ran at him, and Kal simply side-stepped, tripping the guy with the toe of his boot. “I should have just gone home,” Kal muttered to himself. He glanced at Y/N as the last thug fell with a yelp. “Honestly, all that screaming was getting on my nerves. Guess I had to do something about it.”

Y/N stared at him, wide-eyed, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. “Are you insane?” she asked, taking a shaky step back. “Who the hell are you?”

Kal stretched like he hadn’t just single-handedly taken down three guys, like he hadn’t just thrown the law of physics out the window with his ridiculous display of strength. “Me? Oh, I’m just the guy who came to save your ass. You’re welcome, by the way.”

He looked at her for a beat, his eyes scanning her face, before his grin widened. “But hey, don’t go thinking this means I’m some kind of hero.” He shot her a wink. “I’m just here to make my night a little less boring.”

Y/N blinked, still reeling. “You didn’t do that to help me?”

“Help you?” Kal snorted. “I just did it so I could get some peace and quiet. Ever heard someone scream for five minutes straight? Drives you insane.”

She couldn’t decide whether to laugh or punch him. “That’s your idea of a rescue?”

Kal looked her up and down with a lazy glance. “You seem fine now. Don’t go thinking you owe me anything.”

Y/N crossed her arms, trying to steady herself, but something about his casual attitude—his complete lack of concern—bothered her in a way she couldn’t explain. He was reckless, dangerous, and completely unpredictable. But there was also something... oddly human beneath it all. Something that wasn’t entirely cold.

He stepped closer, the playful smirk never leaving his face. “You’re lucky, though. Pretty girls like you... well, you know what happens to them in dark alleys, right?”

Y/N’s stomach twisted, but she refused to let him get the upper hand. “I’m starting to think you’re more trouble than those guys,” she shot back, her voice sharp.

Kal’s grin turned even more mischievous. “Oh, I am trouble. You’ll get used to it.” He cocked his head, as if sizing her up. “You sing?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Sing. I saw your guitar case back there.” Kal’s grin turned sly. “You’ve got a voice, right? I could use something to pass the time, and honestly, it’ll be more entertaining than whatever you were planning to do tonight.”

“I don’t take requests,” she snapped, though part of her was curious why this guy thought he could tell her what to do.

Kal didn’t even flinch. “I’ll let you crash at my place for the night,” he said, voice casual as if he were offering her a cup of coffee. “Nice couch. A shower. And I’m dying to hear you play.”

Y/N just stared at him. "And what's the catch?"

Kal waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, you know, no big deal. Just... entertain me. You know, sing, play your guitar, whatever. If I’m gonna let you crash at my place, you might as well make yourself useful.”

Y/N felt her temper flare, but deep down, she knew she didn’t have much of a choice. She was on the verge of exhaustion, and this strange man had just saved her life. Even if he was... well, him, she could probably use a place to sleep.

“Fine,” she muttered, tossing her guitar case over her shoulder. “I’ll sing. But I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for me.”

Kal’s grin was practically ear-to-ear. “Now that’s the spirit.” He turned and started to walk away, not looking back. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here before someone tries to ruin my fun.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her heart still racing from the encounter, but something in his voice—the challenge, the unpredictability—pulled her forward. She followed him, knowing this strange arrangement was only the beginning of whatever bizarre thing was about to unfold.

As she walked behind him, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Kal was dangerous. But there was also a part of her that liked it.

—

Y/N followed Kal through the sleek streets of Metropolis, still trying to make sense of the night. One minute she was being harassed by thugs in an alley, the next, she was walking into a penthouse that looked like something out of a high-end magazine. Kal didn’t seem to care that he had just picked her up off the street—he was just doing whatever came naturally to him, with no hesitation. Y/N, on the other hand, felt like an intruder in his world. But she didn’t have many other options.

Kal led her into the building without breaking a sweat, pressing the button for the elevator’s top floor as if it were nothing. Y/N could only look around, her mind racing as she tried to understand who this guy was. He didn’t look like some rich playboy. He looked... like someone who didn't take anything seriously.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a penthouse that made her stomach drop. It was vast—wide, open spaces, high ceilings, sleek furniture, walls of glass that looked out onto the sprawling city below. This wasn’t just wealth; it was luxury. Everything looked perfect in the kind of way that made her feel out of place. But Kal didn’t seem to notice or care. He walked in like he owned the place, not giving her a second thought.

Once inside, Y/N’s eyes flicked to the massive king-sized bed in the corner of the room. She could already tell it was the only one in the penthouse, and her stomach twisted. Kal caught her gaze and immediately broke the silence, his voice as casual as ever. "That’s my bed," he said, pointing toward it. "Freeloaders get the couch."

Y/N froze, trying not to show how much his words stung. Freeloaders. That was what she was now—she was just here because she needed a place to stay. She didn’t belong in a place like this. The couch, sure, but the bed? That was his domain, not hers.

Her mind was still racing when Kal turned toward her with a small, amused smirk, clearly oblivious to her thoughts. "Anyway," he said, "that’s the couch. Sit there. Sing."

Y/N didn’t have the energy to argue. She grabbed her guitar case and sat on the couch, the weight of the situation bearing down on her. She wasn’t sure what she expected from this night, but it wasn’t this. She didn’t even know what she was doing here.

She opened the guitar case, pulled out her silver guitar, and started tuning it absentmindedly. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this out of place. But playing always helped. The strings felt like home, even if the room around her didn’t.

As she began to strum the first few notes, she noticed Kal standing nearby, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching her closely. His eyes were fixed on her guitar, his lips quirked in the smallest of smiles, but there was something in his gaze that caught her off guard. He wasn’t making fun of her, wasn’t rolling his eyes. He was... listening.

Y/N sang, more for herself than for him. Music was her escape, the one thing she could control. As her voice filled the room, she felt the tension in her body start to ease, her fingers moving fluidly over the strings.

She caught a glance of Kal’s face in the light, and for a moment, she hesitated. He didn’t look like someone who was much older than her—maybe a year or two at most. His face was sharp, but there was something almost childlike about it, an intensity that didn’t belong to someone with his kind of power. How did he afford this penthouse? Why was he alone? Was this some kind of game for him? He didn’t look like someone who belonged in this world, but somehow, he was here.

She didn’t linger on it long. She couldn’t afford to. She finished her song, feeling his gaze on her, wondering if he was going to say something snarky or dismissive, like he usually did. But the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just... there. She looked up at him, waiting for the punchline.

Finally, Kal broke the silence with his usual casualness, though there was something in his voice that made her pause. “Not bad,” he said. “Better than most people I’ve heard.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? Not bad?”

He shrugged, a small grin tugging at his lips. “You’ve got a decent voice. You might actually have something worth listening to.”

Y/N wasn’t sure whether to feel insulted or relieved. She wasn’t here to impress him. She just needed to keep her head above water.

She sat back, letting the tension in her shoulders drain. “So, what now? I did the song thing. You satisfied?”

Kal’s expression turned thoughtful, almost lazy. “Yeah, for now. I told you before. You crash here when you need. But you keep up your end of the bargain, alright? You sing, you stay. That’s the deal.”

Y/N stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge his intentions. He seemed relaxed, but there was something... off about him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she was starting to realize that Kal didn’t take anything seriously. He didn’t care about much—except maybe the entertainment.

She couldn’t quite decide if that made him more dangerous or just... sad.

“You really live like this?” she asked, gesturing around at the luxury of his penthouse. “How old are you, anyway? I swear, you look like you’re still in high school.”

Kal’s eyes flicked to her, and his smirk widened. “I’m a bit older than that, trust me,” he said. “And as for this place? Let’s just say I’ve got a way with... resources.” He glanced toward the window, and for a second, there was something in his expression that wasn’t just cocky. It almost looked... reflective.

Y/N didn’t press. Whatever his deal was, it didn’t really matter. She had her own problems. And, for now, this was her best shot at staying off the streets.

“Fine. I’ll take your offer,” she said, standing up from the couch. “But this arrangement? It’s your idea. I’m just trying to survive.”

Kal shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure, whatever. You’re here now, and that’s what matters.” His eyes flicked down to the silver guitar resting on the couch next to her, and he noticed something. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Hey, Songbird,” he teased, nodding toward the small bird decal on the body of her guitar. “Nice touch. You know, I was wondering if I should start calling you that.”

Y/N blinked at him. “Songbird?”

Kal chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah. You’ve got the whole bird thing going on. You sing, and you’ve got a bird on your guitar. Songbird seems fitting, don’t you think?”

Y/N let out a sharp laugh, not really sure if she should be offended or amused. "You’re ridiculous."

Kal didn’t even flinch. “Yeah, I know. It’s one of my best qualities.” His eyes softened for a second, and there was an almost playful edge to his voice. “But seriously, keep the songbird thing in mind. You might grow into it.”

Y/N sighed, still trying to shake off the weirdness of everything that had just happened. She grabbed her guitar and slung it over her shoulder, walking over to the couch. “I’m crashing here tonight, but don’t think you’re gonna make me your personal jukebox.”

Kal watched her as she plopped down on the couch, his gaze sharp. "Oh, don’t worry. I’m not that predictable." He grinned. “Songbird.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. She wasn’t sure what this weird deal was becoming, but for now, the music was the one thing that made sense.

Kal didn’t respond, only leaned against the wall, watching her with that same cocky grin on his face.

“Just remember, you asked for it,” she muttered under her breath as she made her way toward the couch.

Kal raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable for a moment before he spoke again. “Yeah, I did,” he said, his voice soft but still sharp. “And don’t forget, this is your deal. You play, you stay. Simple as that.”

Y/N sat back on the couch, letting the silence fall around them, the weight of their new arrangement hanging in the air between them. For now, this was enough.

—

As the days bled into weeks, Y/N began to settle into a strange, unspoken rhythm in Kal’s penthouse. She had come to rely on the quiet, the isolation of his apartment that wrapped around her like a cocoon. The city outside felt far away, distant and muffled by the thick glass windows. It was safe here, at least in a way. She wasn’t constantly running from the chaos of her old life, and Kal... Kal was there, too, unpredictable and wild as ever.

But the more she spent time around him, the more she noticed things that didn’t add up. He was strong—unnaturally so. Sometimes it was the way he casually lifted heavy objects without a second thought, or how his muscles rippled when he moved, always so fluid and precise. Y/N had seen strong people in her life, sure, but there was a kind of effortless power to Kal that felt... off.

It wasn’t just his physical strength either. It was his behavior. His sudden bursts of energy, the reckless energy that seemed to have no bounds. One moment, he'd be the careless, cocky guy with a snarky joke on his lips; the next, he'd slip into moments of profound silence, his gaze distant, unfocused, as though he was somewhere else entirely. He’d disappear without explanation, sometimes for hours. One night, he left after she’d fallen asleep on the couch, only to return at dawn, still holding onto that same wild, untamed edge he always had.

Y/N didn’t ask about any of it.

There were questions that lingered, things she couldn’t ignore, but she learned early on that pushing Kal to explain himself only made him retreat into that shell he was so good at maintaining. He didn’t like to be questioned. He didn’t want her to probe into the spaces he kept hidden from the world.

So she didn’t.

There was an unspoken understanding between them: she would stay quiet, and in return, he wouldn’t get too close. She didn’t ask him where he went or why he looked so haunted sometimes. And he, in turn, didn’t ask her about her life outside of his penthouse—about why she was really in Metropolis or what had made her run away from her past. They just existed in their own bubble, two people living parallel lives, barely touching but sharing the same space.

Kal seemed to appreciate that. He never seemed annoyed by her silence, never seemed to mind when she let him keep his secrets. And in his own way, he started to acknowledge the little things she did for him. He didn’t give compliments easily, but once, when she was playing a soft tune on her guitar, he’d caught himself saying, “I like that you don’t ask dumb questions. You’re not like everyone else.”

Y/N had looked up from her guitar, surprised at the sudden honesty in his voice. She’d opened her mouth to say something but closed it again, unsure of how to respond. Kal didn’t elaborate, just gave her a smirk before walking off. But those words stayed with her. It was strange, hearing him admit something that wasn’t wrapped up in sarcasm or bravado.

Despite his gruff exterior, Kal was starting to soften around her. And maybe she was softening, too. She’d never intended for any of this to happen—the closeness, the quiet moments they shared—but now, it seemed natural. She played for him more often, the simple strums of her guitar filling the silence between them.

Kal, for all his chaotic energy, became a steady presence in her life. He didn’t talk much, but he listened when she played. And that, in itself, was something she hadn’t expected.

He would sit on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table, eyes closed, but Y/N could always feel his gaze on her—intense, almost as if he were trying to understand her through the notes she played. Sometimes, she thought he looked at her like he was trying to find something. She wasn’t sure if it was about her or about himself, but it made her uneasy in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

The first time she really noticed it was when she played a song that was more than just a song—it was a piece of herself, raw and vulnerable. The lyrics came from a place of longing, of wanting to escape, of trying to outrun the ghosts of the past. As she played, she felt herself losing control of the music, the emotion spilling out. She was giving him a piece of her, but she didn’t even realize it until it was too late.

Kal didn’t stop her, though. He didn’t say a word. But when the last note faded away, he sat there in silence for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and almost... gentle.

“That was good. Really good.”

Y/N couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Kal’s approval, or whatever it was, felt like a small victory. She didn’t need him to say more, though. It was just nice knowing that for once, he was actually listening. Not to her words, not to the outside world, but to her music.

And that became their rhythm—her playing and him listening. It was unspoken, but it was enough.

Despite his recklessness, despite the way he still kept a certain distance from her, Y/N could tell something was shifting in him. His behavior was still unpredictable—he was still prone to disappearing into the night, still reckless in the way he treated the world around him. But with her music, there was a subtle shift. A softening. Kal found something in her songs, something he couldn’t find anywhere else. He never admitted it, but Y/N could see it in the way he relaxed when she played.

One evening, after a particularly rough day in the city, Kal had come home late. He was quiet, even by his standards, and it didn’t take long for Y/N to realize he wasn’t in the mood for company. She had been playing her guitar quietly when he dropped onto the couch, eyes unfocused.

He hadn’t said much, pacing around the apartment, checking his wrist every few minutes, fidgeting with his class ring like it was something more than just a piece of jewelry. Y/N had been used to his erratic behavior by now, but there was something in his movements that felt... off. She’d tried to get him to talk, but he just shrugged it off with one of his usual nonchalant smirks.

By the time the sun had set, he’d grown quieter, the energy in the room heavier. They were sitting on the couch, her guitar resting on her lap, when he suddenly stiffened. It was subtle at first, a brief wince across his face. But then, his whole body seemed to freeze. He gripped his chest, his breath catching in a way that made Y/N’s heart skip.

“Kal?” she asked, setting her guitar down, standing quickly to move toward him. “Are you okay?”

But before she could reach him, Kal collapsed to the ground, his body trembling violently, the pain clear in his face. He gasped for breath, his hands clutching at his chest like he was trying to hold something in.

“Kal!” Y/N knelt beside him, panicked.

It wasn’t until she saw the faint glow under his shirt, the burn that was radiating from his chest, that she understood. Kal ripped his shirt open to reveal the biggest scar Y/N had ever seen. It looked like it was burned into his skin, pulsing with unnatural light, as if alive, and Kal was struggling to keep himself together under its weight. His breath came in sharp, painful gasps, and the glow grew more intense with every passing second.

“Kal, what’s happening?!” Y/N asked, voice frantic, but he couldn’t respond.

He reached up, his fingers shaking as he tried to pull the class ring from his finger, but it wasn’t easy. His hand was trembling so violently that it took several tries before he finally managed to slip it off. As soon as he did, the glow of the brand seemed to fade, but his breathing didn’t even out.

“Kal, you need to rest,” she urged, lifting his arm to help him stand. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

He didn’t fight her as she helped him to his feet, though he was clearly struggling to stay upright. The moment he stepped forward, his legs buckled, and he collapsed back onto the floor, unable to stand.

Y/N’s heart was pounding. She didn’t know what else to do, so she did the only thing she could think of: she helped him into his bedroom. She guided him to the bed, her hands shaking as she tried to make him as comfortable as possible.

Kal barely registered her touch, his eyes glazed and distant. She could see the deep exhaustion in his face, the way the light from the brand had drained all the color from his skin.

“Just… just lie down,” she whispered, pushing him gently into the bed. He didn’t fight her, but his expression was so hollow, so empty, that it made her chest tighten.

Once he was settled, Y/N stepped back, watching him for a moment. His eyes were closed now, but his body was still tense, his muscles rigid with the strain of whatever the brand was doing to him. It was clear he was fighting something inside of himself.

Y/N took a breath, standing there for a long moment, unsure of what to do. But then, before she could move, Kal’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist.

“Stay,” he muttered hoarsely, his voice raw and strained.

She didn’t hesitate. She sat down beside him, placing her hand over his where it still gripped her wrist. For a moment, they were just silent, her fingers intertwined with his.

She didn’t ask him what was going on. She didn’t ask why he was in pain or what the mark meant. She didn’t ask for any explanations.

Instead, she simply stayed.

Kal’s breathing evened out slowly, his body relaxing slightly as he adjusted to the quiet presence beside him. But something in his expression shifted. His eyes opened, and he looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time in what felt like forever. There was something in his gaze—something vulnerable, something raw. And before she could even register what was happening, he tugged her closer, pulling her into bed with him.

Y/N froze for a moment, surprised by the closeness, but Kal didn’t seem to care. His grip on her was steady, like he needed her there, like he couldn’t quite hold it together without her.

She didn’t protest. There was a strange stillness in the air, one that neither of them seemed to want to break. She lay beside him, the warmth of his body pressed against hers, and for a long while, neither of them spoke.

Kal’s fingers still clutched the class ring in his hand, the heavy metal like a tether between him and whatever he was running from. Slowly, after a few minutes, he slipped the ring back onto his finger.

As soon as the ring touched his skin, his breathing evened out completely, the pain seeming to vanish like it had never been there at all. But the shift in the air, the quiet tension between them, lingered. Kal didn’t move, didn’t try to pull away.

They stayed like that for the rest of the night. Not talking. Not asking questions. Just sharing the silence.

And though there was nothing between them but the unspoken, a new understanding passed between them in that quiet moment. Something had changed.

–

The days following that night felt strangely normal. Despite everything that had happened—the quiet, the unspoken moments, the way Kal had pulled her into bed with him and then slipped the ring back on, the intense weight of everything unsaid—things had just... resumed. They had gone back to their usual, odd routine.

Y/N didn’t ask about it. She didn’t question what had transpired between them. She didn’t need to. Kal didn’t talk about himself much, and she wasn’t in any position to push him. She simply spent her days doing what she did best: writing music, playing her guitar, living in the space Kal had given her, the penthouse that now felt like an odd combination of sanctuary and mystery.

And Kal? He was there, sometimes. He would disappear for a few hours here and there, always leaving with that same cold, faraway look in his eyes, but he’d always return, the tension in his shoulders just a little looser. They never spoke about the night the brand had burned—never mentioned the quiet, strange bond that had formed between them.

And then, one night, she came home to find it all gone.

She walked into the penthouse, humming a new melody she had been working on, the notes still fresh in her mind. She was excited. She had written something that felt important. Something that felt right. She had been itching to share it with Kal, eager to see if he’d pick up on the small changes in her sound.

But when she stepped inside, something felt off. There was no sign of Kal, not a trace of him anywhere. His jacket was gone from the back of the chair, the clutter of his usual disarray absent. The place felt… empty. Unfinished.

"Kal?" she called out, expecting him to appear from around the corner with that cocky smirk of his, but there was no answer.

She wandered through the apartment, heart pounding a little faster, until she reached the living room. Her eyes fell on the coffee table, where two things immediately caught her attention: a set of keys, and a piece of paper.

Y/N’s stomach dropped as she approached, her feet dragging her to the table as if drawn by some force she didn’t understand. The keys were familiar, the silver glint of them a reminder of the penthouse she had come to call home. The paper, however, was what made her stop in her tracks.

It was the deed to the penthouse. But something was different. Her name was written across the top—scrawled in Kal’s handwriting. The deed was now hers.

She reached for it slowly, as if afraid it would disappear in her hands, her heart suddenly too loud in her chest. Her fingers skimmed the paper, her breath caught in her throat. There was no note. No explanation. No message from Kal. Nothing to tell her why.

Y/N stood in silence, the weight of the paper heavy in her hands. The apartment around her felt like a shell, empty and distant. The silence stretched on, oppressive in its stillness. She wanted to call out to him. She wanted to understand, to know why he was gone, why there was no goodbye.

But there was no answer. No sound.

She looked around the apartment again, her heart aching, her thoughts swirling. Where had he gone? Why had he left without a word? And why had he given her the keys, the deed? What had it all meant?

Her mind refused to settle on an answer. All she had were the keys in her hand and the empty apartment around her, like a stage that had once been filled with something important, something real, and now was nothing more than a backdrop for memories she didn’t understand.

Y/N stood there for what felt like an eternity, her thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and questions. She wanted to ask him. She wanted to demand an explanation. But she knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t have given her one.

Kal had never been good at goodbyes. He didn’t need to say anything. His absence spoke louder than any words could.

And as Y/N stood there, alone in the silence of the penthouse that was now hers, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had ever truly known him at all.

—

Seven years later

—

Clark Kent sat at his desk at the Daily Planet, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he sifted through the latest news. His mind was still lingering on the morning’s breaking story when Perry’s voice cut through the newsroom.

“Kent! My office. Now.”

Clark groaned inwardly but didn’t argue. He stood up, straightened his tie, and walked over to Perry’s office, already anticipating whatever mess he was about to walk into.

Perry didn’t even look up as Clark entered, tossing a file onto the desk in front of him.

“You’re covering for Sasha today,” Perry grunted, his voice gruff as ever.

Clark raised an eyebrow. “Sasha? I don’t cover entertainment.”

Perry shot him a sharp look. “Well, you will today. Sasha’s sick last minute, and the interview’s already set up. I’m not sending anyone else, and you have the afternoon free. The subject’s recording a new album, and we need an interview for the front page.”

Clark frowned, his frustration mounting. “This isn’t fair, Perry. I’m a serious journalist. I’ve been covering hard news—”

“You’ll be seriously unemployed if you don’t do this,” Perry interrupted, cutting him off with a sharp tone. He was dead serious, no room for argument.

Clark’s jaw tightened. “Fine,” he muttered, leaning over to glance at the file Perry had handed him. He opened it up, expecting some pop-star fluff piece. What he didn’t expect was the name written across the top.

Y/N.

It didn’t register at first—just another pop star. Another headline. No big deal. His eyes skimmed the rest of the file, reading about her latest album and upcoming tour, but the name didn’t mean anything to him.

He looked back at Perry. “Who is this? Some random pop star?”

Perry leaned back in his chair with an exasperated expression. “Seriously? Forbes 100 most influential people, 4 time Grammy winner?”

Clark stared back with a blank expression. Perry sighed.

Clark threw the file into his bag, frustrated but resigned. He’d cover this like any other assignment, even if it meant interviewing some famous musician who didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

“Get going, Kent. You’ve got an interview to do.”

-- a/n: this is just the prologue. this story has been completely mapped out and is a wild ride. hope you all enjoy :)

#smallville #smallville clark kent #smallville clark kent x reader #clark kent #clark kent x reader #superman x reader #superman #kal el

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bloodstainedsapphic · 6 months ago

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guitar teacher!ellie x smartass!reader thank you for all the meet-cute requests @thatdammchickennugget -- they are my absolute favorite and this one is a classic. i plopped a lot of my real life into this lmao. i kinda wanna do a spicy part 2 here. idk. we'll see!

you wait with bated breath inside the cramped, soundproof lesson room at your local music store, where you signed up on a whim to learn the guitar. it’s an impulse decision, really—all but doomed to be just another tick off the ever-expanding list of random cool skills you’ve tried. at the very least, you hope maybe you can whip this one out to “impress the ladies.” maybe even serenade them with some songs and actually sound good doing it—lord knows many have endured the clunky chords of a red hot chili peppers song from some mediocre man already.

you clutch your new guitar semi-awkwardly, plucking the strings and lightly tapping the cool basswood. you can tell that the tune is off, but damn if you know how to fix it. you wonder if you’ll abandon it after the first 40 minutes, just like most other hobbies you’ve sampled.

in your hasty decision-making, you hadn’t even requested a specific teacher. you’d only ever seen middle-aged men employed here, which is fine. you trust their experience, picturing some warm-hearted old rocker coming in and showing off his tried-and-true tricks. what you don’t expect, then, is when the door opens and a girl your age enters the room, extending her hand to shake yours.

“hi, my name is ellie. you’re the one here to learn guitar, right?”

you shake her hand, eyes glancing over her form, trying not to seem like a dumbfounded creep. jeez, she’s cute. she has reddish-brown hair in a choppy bob, freckled cheeks, green eyes, and a dorky smile. she’s adorned in a faded blue jacket rolled up to her elbows, revealing arm tattoos, and a ragged t-shirt with a band you’ve never heard of. and this is the cutie who will watch you fiddle with out-of-tune strings and act like a complete dumbass? you half hope the ground will swallow you whole.

“yeah,” you manage to reply once you remember how to speak. “that’s me. word of warning: i really don’t know what i’m doing, so i’m, like, a total beginner.”

ellie chuckles reassuringly, likely having heard that tired statement a million times over. she gently picks the guitar up from your lap, inspecting its quality. of course, in her hands, the instrument looks like it was made to be held by her. “hey, that’s fine. everyone starts somewhere, right?” she gets to tuning the strings as naturally as breathing.

“so, what’s got you interested in learning?” ellie suddenly asks, just to fill the dense silence of the room. your mouth runs dry, struggling with a response that doesn’t sound as idiotic as “i’m an obnoxious flirt.” she catches onto your fumbling, adding, “what? wanting to look like a badass guitar god, hm?”

“calling yourself a badass, then?” the tongue-in-cheek question escapes before you can rein it in. ellie pauses her tuning to look up at you, and your heart drops to your stomach. she’s going to kick you out, you reckon.

“i mean… you are staring at me with your mouth open. must be in awe of my guitarist badassery or something. i don’t mind,” ellie replies with a knowing, smug smile, then returns to helping your sorry ass tune up your guitar.

yep, you definitely need that hole in the ground right now.

after that rocky introduction, the lesson takes on a more professional atmosphere, with ellie explaining the basics. she teaches you about the body of the instrument, the strings, and some basic history—you name it, and she knows it. it’s clear that ellie is enthusiastic about the guitar, her interest rubbing off on you, which does not help your case with how cute you already find her.

you try your best to be a good student, which isn’t the energy you typically bring to all your other short-lived courses. there is something special about ellie’s passion—how her lips move as she speaks about it, how her eyes light up, her fingers curling against the strings while demonstrating songs—it compels your attention. you listen respectfully to the multitude of rambles she embarks on and cuts short whenever ellie realizes she has led you too astray from the basics.

at approximately the 38th minute of the 40-minute lesson, you realize that you haven’t attempted to actually play the damn thing. ellie must have come to the same realization, flashing a tilted smile, hoping you aren’t too annoyed that this instructional course devolved into a ted talk, a worry she couldn’t possibly be more wrong about.

ellie assists your clumsy self in positioning the guitar onto your lap, showing you how to hold it correctly. the closeness has your heart racing, and every touch sends shivers through you—you hope the internal gay panic doesn’t translate outwardly. ellie takes her time helping you press your fingers onto the correct strings and frets to play a simple “c chord.” her fingers guiding yours with such precision causes your thoughts to veer into thousands of inappropriate possibilities. the pose feels a tad contorted, your fingers placed in a way totally foreign to you, but her reassurance builds your confidence to try. she crouches before you, making final adjustments before her greens glance back up to you expectantly, waiting for you to try.

you strum the one chord—a passable sound that resonates throughout the guitar. it gets the job done but, of course, lacks the flow that ellie could have had. but ellie is proud, her genuine smile and silly applause flustering you.

you find yourself feeling more accomplished in this single instance than in the last three skills you’ve tried combined.

“good start, guitar god. i’ll show you another one—if you think you’ll stick to a second lesson,” ellie then suggests, an endearing smile on her face as she watches you absent-mindedly fiddle with the individual strings a bit more. an effective bargaining tactic for sure.

“yep, no problem.” easiest commitment you’ve ever made.

"hell yeah," ellie rejoices, reaching out one last time to high-five you. she looks delighted. just happy to have a new, consistent student, of course--that has to be it.

you sign up for another lesson after—and maybe another. and another.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams tlou2 #tlou2 #lesbian #wlw

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kalivodas · 9 months ago

Note

i CRAVE roommate!gaz who lowkey makes your jaw drop everytime you see him chilling on the couch in an exercise tank top and shorts with his stupid little perfect smile

FALSE GOD — kyle garrick

might’ve started drooling i fear roommate trope means everything to me !! enjoy this quick lil thing i spit out

warnings gaz is hot and cocky what’s new

KYLE GARRICK HAD a sickness. an insatiable hunger at the base point of his skull that told him to strum your nerves like raw guitar chords.

he followed it’s beck and call. ignored every one of yours.

that’s why he teased you like this. he needed you to admit the things he saw dance behind your eyes when he called you sweet little names.

his head dipped on the back of the couch, chiseled jaw grinding as his body stretched. a large palm laid flat on his taut belly, thumb hooked just past the waist band of his shorts.

you opened the door, and his stupidly beautiful face split in a grin. it was truly nothing you’d hadn’t seen before, you seemed to always catch kyle at the worst times.

“go take a shower, you whore.” you throw at him, then your keys and bag.

he tosses it to the side with a grunt.

“i’m not a whore,” he says simply, but the way his left eyebrow arches up — you question the validity of the statement. he cocks a forearm up behind his head, flexes it, and you know it’s a lie. he fucking knows he’s hotter than a two dollar pistol. and it irks you.

but damn it, he was pretty enough to lick the sweat off of.

“staring at me like you could eat me and i’m the whore,” gaz scoffs, and some acid bitten laugh falls from your mouth.

“oh, you’ve done it now, garrick.”

you lunge at him, crossing the couch in a few lousy jumps before you start throwing cushioned blows into his abdomen. you ignore that it feels like you’re hitting bricks.

he tips his head back and laughs, actually lets you land some of those strikes before he kicks a leg under you. his hands follow your wrists, pin them together and then you to the couch.

a gasp falls out of your mouth before you can stop it.

your eyes jump around frantically, some pathetic attempt to ease the concrete set gaze he has on you. you struggle against his grip, but it’s unwavering. makes a coil tighten in your stomach.

“kyle, let me up,” you huff, but he’s beaming like a damn cheshire cat.

“no.”

you jerk against the restraint again. “please?”

he cracks, and the bruising of your arms briefly alleviate, but when your eyes find his, he pushes down harder.

“admit you like me,” he coos, and it sounds foreign coming out of his pretty mouth. this six something, two hundred pound man, pinning you to your shared sofa, almost pleading with you to admit something so juvenile.

you laugh. “i don’t.”

“do too,” he rebuttals.

“do not.”

he hikes a meaty thigh between your legs and pushes it against you. something that stings you like arsenic and warms you like whiskey hits the back of your throat. he feels the heat of you against him and has to bite his cheek not to vocalize it.

“do too. i can feel you, lovie.” at least he tried.

your head lolls to the side. you can feel his eyes burning fever onto your turned cheeks. “fine.”

“fine what?” he implores, and his free hand falls to squish your chin, make you look at him again.

“fine, ithinkyou’rehot.”

“hmm?” he’s not having it. prick.

“you’re beautiful and you make me sick when you look that good sweaty as a mug. happy?”

he nods and licks his teeth. you can tell he feels accomplished, like he’d won something out of a claw machine. maybe he had.

“yes.” he grinds his leg again just to see you swallow a whine then releases you from his sick vice. pats your cheek for good measure. “thanks, pretty little dove.”

when he rises to his feet to go off and shower as you’d originally suggested, there’s a twisted triumph etched on his face. it makes your eyes roll. he’s honestly just glad you caved before he had to start walking around the house naked.

a/n : begging someone to ask for a part 2 im drooling

the part 2

#gaz #my beloved #oh my god they were roommates #kyle garrick #gaz x reader #gaz x you #kyle garrick x you #gaz x y/n #x reader #kyle garrick x reader #smut #fluff #cod #cod x reader #cod mw3 #spoilers #fanfic

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garchankdefender · 3 months ago

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The Music of Arcane: Vi’s Motif

This one took some legwork! So strap in, strap on, and enjoy the fruits of my labour: a deep-dive into the musical score of Arcane.

Recently, I posted a link to a list someone made of leitmotifs (musical motifs that represent a character, place, or concept) in Arcane. To my surprise, Vi wasn’t listed - and in the comments, people including OP were speculating that it’s strange she doesn’t have one. But I’ve done some sleuthing.

And she does!

At least, I think she does. Bear with me, here.

"VI'S" MOTIF?

Quick reference: The leitmotif in question

So here’s the thing: I’m not sure that this leitmotif actually represents Vi herself. To me, that appears to be the closest match - but there are some instances where it doesn’t quite seem to fit.

The motif is derived from the chord progression of Goodbye, as I'll explain shortly, so perhaps it represents saying goodbye: loss/death/change/having to say farewell in general?

I’ve outlined what I’ve found below - I encourage you to have a look through and, if you draw your own conclusions, let me know what you think! I don't have much in terms of music theory and music analysis background, so I’m sure there’s much more to unpack here that I haven't even begun to touch on.

THE LEITMOTIF ITSELF

This is the chord progression from Goodbye that becomes the foundation of Vi's leitmotif:

[From Musescore: “Goodbye - Ramsey (Arcane: League of Legends OST) - Piano Solo” by caliko]

Specifically, the top two notes of the first two chords: a minor third (Gb,Eb) to major second (F,Eb). The top notes are the vocal line of “It’s time to say goodbye(Gb), goodbye(Gb) goodbye(F).” This progression, and the disonnance between the Gb and F, make up the Goodbye/Vi leitmotif (for the sake of clarity, I’ll just be calling it Vi’s motif) that I’ve been trying to pin down.

Goodbye makes sense as the foundation of Vi’s motif, because, if you look at the lyrics, this is Vi's song. As @bwat5-blog said in an earlier post examining the lyrics of a couple different Arcane tracks, this song represents “Vi's perspective as her world is completely falling apart around her.” And when we hear the motif in the soundtrack, it often seems to be referencing Vi’s trauma, or her losses (in fact, in my notes, I was calling this the “Vi-has-a-bad-time motif” lmao).

Below are all the instances of Vi’s motif that I caught. For your convenience, I have compiled a list of timestamped youtube links, along with short descriptions of what’s going on in the show each time the motif appears.

LIST OF OCCURENCES

(click the song title for a timestamped youtube link)

Season 1

The first time we hear that dissonance is in Episode 3, The Base Violence Necessary for Change (the one with Goodbye):

Deal’s Changed 0:39 After Benzo and Grayson are killed, Vi watches helplessly from the basement as Vander is knocked out and taken by Silco A Short Reunion 0:07 Vi leads the team on the Vander rescue mission A Short Reunion 1:44 Vi faces down the first of Silco’s goons; Powder sees and gasps; Vander also sees and gasps. Silco gives his dude the go-ahead to attack. Explosion 0:27 Everyone is reacting in slow-mo to Powder’s monkey-bomb hextech explosion (note that the dissonance plays as it pans across Vi and Vander specifically - ALSO, note that it’s intermingled with Jinx/Powder’s leitmotif here)

Revenge 2:25 Silco stabs Vander and drops him off the catwalk while Vi watches (the whole sequence has the leitmotif several times) You’re a Jinx 1:42 and onwards. This song is the lead-up into Goodbye, so it has a lot of this same chord progression. The timestamp is where Vi looks down at her hand in horror after hitting Powder. Goodbye - basically the whole song. It plays at the very end of S1E3 as we’re left reeling over Vander’s death and Vi’s abduction by Marcus, and Powder’s left sobbing in Silco’s arms. Slow zoom out, roll credits, this song plays. Chills.

Episode 4, Happy Progress Day!:

None - also no Vi, she only appears at the very end when Caitlyn goes to Stillwater.

Then in Episode 5, Everybody Wants to Be My Enemy:

Order for Release 2:28 Vi cautiously watches Caitlyn after Caitlyn has her cell door opened in Stillwater.

Episode 6, When These Walls Come Tumbling Down:

How Could I Forget? 0:46 Caitlyn examines Vi and Powder’s growth chart and childhood wall art, just after giving Vi the Shimmer potion. Showdown 3:10 Ekko stops a Firelight from spearing an unconscious Vi after Jinx and Vi get jumped during their reunion - and there’s a second instance a few seconds later, on a shot of Vi being carried by the Firelight

Episode 7, The Boy Savior:

No instances of the motif that I noticed!

Episode 8, Oil and Water:

We Got a Deal, Pretty Boy? 0:39 This is right as Vi is talking about Stillwater with Jayce, asking, “You don’t bother to find out what it does to someone, being stuffed in a stone box for weeks, or months, or even years?”

And finally, Episode 9, What Could Have Been:

She Still Needs You 0:37 This is a slight variation of the motif, but it’s clear enough that I wanted to mention it. Happens right as she stands to face down Sevika once again, after hallucinating Vander encouraging her. (Actually, upon review, I think this instance is more just a part of Vander’s theme)

That’s it for season one! Now onto…

Season 2

Episode 1, Heavy is the Crown:

It’s Your Legacy Now 3:37 Our first appearance of Vi’s motif this season is as she storms away from Caitlyn after turning down her offer to join the enforcers (before she starts drinking with Loris for the first time). The Burden of Responsibility 0:38 After the memorial attack, while Cait and Vi talk about what’s next. (“Maybe you should change that.” “I don’t know how, okay?”) Another neat thing about this one: that cool driving percussion line in the background is one of Caitlyn’s leitmotifs (and it’s one of the coolest, imo) The Burden of Responsibility 1:14 Same song, same conversation. “Every way I slice it, if I go after your sister alone, one of us comes back in a box. It’s all coming apart.”

Episode 2, Watch It All Burn:

Awakening 3:05 Interestingly, this is the one of the few examples I found that doesn’t directly involve Vi - although it is still a “goodbye,” as Viktor leaves Jayce after being revived with the hexcore.

Episode 3, Finally Got the Name Right:

Surprisingly for an episode with so much Vi, I didn’t catch the leitmotif at all here

Episode 4, Paint the Town Blue:

Sevika’s Speech 0:43 This one is during Sevika’s speech to the Jinxers, as the crowd clamors to see Jinx herself. Another instance of the motif where it doesn’t involve Vi. Interesting that we heard it a lot in episode 1, but haven’t heard it for Vi a single time since she joined the enforcers. Losing herself? Is that a stretch?

Episode 5, Blisters and Bedrock:

Blisters and Bedrock 0:34 IT'S BACK. It sounds right as Vi touches the Silco-Vander letter. Also at 1:02 while we hear Vander read “When [Felicia] died, I lost my head.” And at 1:50 while we see Vander’s seeing-red pov chasing down Isha, Jinx, and Vi, and Vi looking nervously down the tunnel. That’s Not Vander - various. It’s not as obvious as in other songs, but the leitmotif is woven into the Vi vs. Warwick song several times.

Episode 6, The Message Hidden Within the Pattern:

Don’t Sugarcoat it, Cupcake 1:06 Vi and Caitlyn talk about what Caitlyn’s doing in the commune - hunting down a murderous chem-beast.

Episode 7, Pretend Like It’s the First Time:

Predictably, none in this episode.

Episode 8, Killing Is a Cycle:

A Second Chance 0:39 This is right after Vi wakes up and talks with Caitlyn after the commune battle injury. “Who decides who gets a second chance?” The motif plays on the shot of Caitlyn looking conflicted/regretful as Vi storms away. A Storm is Coming 0:34 Jayce addresses the assembled governing parties of Piltover and Zaun, and says “we’ll need every hand we can get,” as the motif plays.

Episode 9, The Dirt Under Your Nails

The Bridge (Reprise) 0:49 Just one instance of the motif this episode, and it might be a stretch - it’s the last shot of the show, as Jinx (presumably) flies off in her balloon.

CLOSING THOUGHTS

So there we have it!

I probably missed all sorts of inversions and variations and things, so feel free to let me know if there are more, or if I made any errors.

Also interesting to note is that Vi's motif is similar to an element of Vander’s theme (in fact, it’s possible I accidentally added a couple of links that are actually Vander’s, or are a blend of Vi and Vander together)

I know this was a long read, but thanks for sticking with me, for those of you that did! I find this stuff endlessly fascinating, and I actually really enjoyed compiling this post. It was a fun little mystery to try to uncover (even though I still don’t think I’ve quite gotten to the bottom of it yet). And it was fun doing a truly complete listen-through of the Arcane soundtrack! (I’ll probably do it again, too… probably several times - send help lol)

BONUS LEITMOTIF CONTENT

Episode 9, The Dirt Under Your Nails: You’ve Fought Well This has nothing to do with the Vi motif, just something cool I noticed during my listen-through that I didn’t notice during the show: the music references I Can’t Hear It Now when Caitlyn and Mel finally take down Ambessa, just after Catilyn sacrifices her eye… except now it’s for Mel’s mother, not Caitlyn’s. THIS SHOW.

#this took me thirty thousand years to make #arcane music analysis #arcane music #leitmotif #arcane analysis #arcane soundtrack #vi arcane #caitlyn kiramman #vander arcane #jinx arcane #caitvi #arcane #music analysis

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