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worldsover · 2 years ago

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Hourglass ft. Saerom

length ✦ 15.6k

genres ✧ anal; fwb!Saerom

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Your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth, lips parched. Though you asked Saerom for water, you didn’t need to be directed. You remember the important things. Cups in the third cabinet from the right. The water pitcher in the fridge. Everything else about her home is slightly off in your memory. An experimental flick of a switch, so she has yet to replace the lights in the range hood, and now they blink instead of being merely dim. Turn that back off. A different blender, no doubt more robust for all the shakes she makes. New polaroid photos of Saerom and her members on the fridge. Even pictures with Gyuri, but nothing recent as nine as you expected. So that’s what one year looks like.

"Are you gonna hang out in my kitchen all night?" Saerom asks as she walks in, arms crossed and smirking. For all that's changed in Saerom's home, how little has changed with the woman herself? The blunt bangs are new and of course, you’ve never seen this outfit, the flattering blue tube top and denim skirt, but you expected as much with all the clothes she went through. Beneath it all, though, was the same supermodel-esque Saerom. Emphasis on beneath. Beneath, what you were most intimately familiar with. Beneath, what you’re imagining at this very moment.

"Wasn’t planning on it. just taking in how long it’s been," you say. "I like the new painting in your living room, the one with the flowers."

"Thanks. I made it, actually. Little hobby I picked up in our… downtime. But yes. You're right. It has been long." Her words are sharp. The next one is sharper: "Bedroom."

Saerom’s eyes fill in the rest of the directive. Now. We’re going to fuck. Stop wasting time. Dumbass. You didn’t realize how many words could fit in a gaze. Or some of those meanings are conveyed through her narrowed eyelids. You weren’t fluent in the language of the unspoken, but that wouldn’t stop you from trying.

In the time it takes to decrypt the whole one-word message (she’ll at least let you grab that drink, right?), you realize you’re gazing back.

Saerom shakes her head and laughs to herself. "It’s like you’re doing this on purpose."

She walks away, but this lingering look of yours is deliberate. Saerom knows it as she looks back and now her smile is much naughtier. She might not know that you’re first staring at her bare shoulders. You want to touch them, massage them, lick them, kiss them, everything.

Water wouldn’t help your thirst anyway, so you follow Saerom to the bedroom. The familiar last room of the hallway, on the left, its location is seared in your brain. You’d know it sober but horny, and drunk but hornier, so you path in the same footsteps you always did. You only lag behind Saerom for self-evident reasons, your eyes on the target of desire, her pert rear. This time, with the close fit of her skirt, you can make out the shape of your favorite shape to make out with. Her cozy, pillowy thighs look perfect as ever to rest your head upon as well.

The mere act of walking into the room stirs heat in your core. You can’t help but associate this room with the carnal. The only lights in the room are the moonlight filtering through the window and the warm lamp in the corner, and the dimness reminds you of your many restless nights.

Saerom sits on her bed, those thighs settling down and squishing in just the right way. Heat turns to pressure, in turn, turns into a cock imprint on your pants.

"I still don’t like how you just stand there," she says.

Her words make you shift weight from one foot to the other. You should sit, approach, anything, but no, you continue to stand. "You leave me speechless sometimes. I can’t help but watch."

"That’s sweet." Saerom gets up and walks up to you until there’s barely any space between you and her. "But I need you to do more than watch. Especially since you’ve taken this long to see me again."

"You changed your number," you say. But you already knew this was a flimsy excuse.

"And you could’ve DM’ed me. Texted any of the other members." Saerom scoffs. "You could’ve tried. Anything. Apparently it took us literally bumping in the mall to meet again."

A centimeter from making out, minutes away from sex, this wasn’t the time or place to bring it up. However, you had to bring it up at some point. When you hold her hand, Saerom freezes, caught off guard.

"I’m sorry," you say. "You know me, how I overthink things. It’s not like we were dating or anything. just, you know, friends that did a bit more than friend things."

"In that case… " The vexing half-smile, half-frown on Saerom confirms your self-awareness—at least you know that you’re overanalyzing the shape of her lips. "You could’ve been a better friend."

Why do you talk at all? What a mistake speech can be. As you look down, away from Saerom’s eyes, your grip on her hand loosens. Despite being in this beautiful and blatantly horny woman’s bedroom, you think about walking away in shame—

But her fingers clasp.

"Not this time."

Words into actions, Saerom grabs your shirt with the free hand and pushes you toward the wall. No, there is no escape, when you look down into the intoxicating image of her cleavage, when her breasts press up against you. Your cock hardens in your pants and pushes up against her waist, turning the rest of you into a melting painting (in which you’ve become modern art and don’t care to debate your artistic merits). All the worries disappear in a heartbeat as you recall this exhilaration. At one point, this was an addiction for the two of you: you were both in the middle of promotions and found time to fuck every day for a week straight. You learned her body inside and out.

Time to relearn.

It’s 9:03, the clock above her bed.

You gently place your hand on the back of her head, the other hand between her tube top and skirt, feeling the warmth of her back.

You lean in.

The lesson starts with the taste of her lips. It might be sweeter than usual, or it could be time twisting the taste, though either way, the flavor honeys you in deeper. The focus of your touch is split between melting into her mouth and gripping, relearning, the various parts of her perfect body. What was a gentle hold becomes a clingier clasp of her hair, and she does the same to you. Another pull, Saerom grips the neck of your shirt, clamoring for you to somehow get closer (space between the two of you is at a premium). Your hand on her back follows the groove of her spine—no, make a detour to get a feel of the muscles in her lean back, lats, and all that. You end up under her top where you tempt to pull it off, but no, not yet, you’re getting a feel of things, reacquainting yourself. Warm skin becomes warmer, becomes the canvas for subtle beads of sweat. Get used to that too, because you’re guaranteed a full-body workout tonight.

Warmth spreads to her breath, or at least you gain a keener awareness of its heat on your lips, its subtle nostalgic taste. Awareness becomes a small thorn: you and Saerom need to breathe, so you draw back.

9:07, but it feels like 9:03 and thirty seconds give or take leaning on the side of give. When you look into her eyes instead of the clock, it’s not a matter of seconds or minutes—months that have passed you are coming back in these familiarly firing nerves, where spikes of bliss rewind you to the visceral parts of your memories.

With how Saerom’s hands are latching onto your clothes, under your clothes, she might as well rip them off now. While your lips return to hers, your hands are taking a more subtle approach, your fingers drawing and memorizing the lines and curves of her body. Starting at her forearm, you track her muscles, from her svelte but sturdy biceps to her firm delicious shoulders, the sum of her efforts working out. You remember her habits as a welcome contagion that’s spread to you, the stretches she’d do after an intense session of fucking, the ungodly huge jug of water she’d gulp down—simple things in your daily life that you took for granted. Then, her eager tongue slides into your mouth and you’re back in the moment, your digits moving toward the crook of her neck. She always had a particular sensitivity here, a simple press of your fingertip into her skin earning a surprisingly loud moan, though it might also be your tongue pushing back into her mouth.

You want to pretend that you can keep up this momentum of appreciating the small details, want to remind Saerom of your dexterity; however, your hands find themselves on her tits, over her tube top. Your squeezing and groping are only recompenses for Saerom’s mounting lack of restraint. She’s rubbing her crotch against your erection—does she want to make you unload in your pants? Because she could, easily—she has one leg hooked around you, and she’s making your massaging of her breasts seem tame in comparison to the nails starting to dig into your back.

Saerom and you have never kissed like this. Never kissed like you were trying to escalate from a little scrap to an all-out battle royal. It’s not tongues sliding, but tongues dancing, not hands feeling, hands taking and sinking and grabbing as if you might lose yourselves another year—why bother with what was lost, but instead, the things you will lose. The time, your mind, all control. Don’t try. Let go.

You’re only kissing, so why is there so much saliva? Each escape for air is made a mess by more and more thin bridging strands of spit between your lips, and more is exchanged when your mouths converge again. And you only take breaks for Saerom’s jaw or her cheek or her nose, giving each sculpted feature the kisses they deserve, and Saerom only takes breaks with her thumb on your lip—she sticks out her tongue, showing off the bubbly spit she’s pooled in her mouth, and you’re happy to receive before these breaks have to take a break: you need to kiss her again/she needs to kiss you again.

You’re only kissing, so why is there so much noise? A deep guttural noise nearing growls from out of your mouth meets the unexpectedly cute high-pitched moans out of Saerom at the lips’ points of contact, maybe amplified by the meeting of tongues or the lewd exchange of spit. But the erotic makes way for the romantic, and the two of you resonate in a shared low hum as you slow your pace, control your breathing, trade smiles and giggles and longing looks, no need to rush.

But then, there’s no need to rush, and you’re only kissing, so why is your heart racing out of orbit? And this isn’t close to the first time you’ve kissed, so why can you feel Saerom’s heart beating the same hurried way? The answer is obvious in hindsight. The past is an eternity and the present is infinitesimally small, contained to a single point; that is, your hearts are making up for the lost time.

(Only kissing, yet pulses inside you already threaten to end it here, how embarrassing. (But then on second thought, absolutely nothing to be ashamed of with Saerom's unfair allure.))

All this in a kiss, in a pair of lips upon another. Two selves are reduced to two bodies, flesh and all. Look at Saerom when you pull away, and you’re back to two selves, mind and all. Swipe away the long hair that’s fallen on her face, and help fix her thick bangs. She smiles at you.

Glance at the clock again, and it’s 9:18, closer to 9:04 in your mind. You might have discovered time travel.

She pulls you off the wall—you didn’t notice that you were sagging against it, that you’ve lowered yourself nearly face to face with Saerom—and then she brings you toward her bed. A light push knocks you off balance, though you land on her mattress.

"Smooth," you say, and Saerom giggles.

You reposition so that you’re sitting on the edge of her bed. Soft, springy, doesn’t make too much noise even when two people are testing the limits of its suspension—you remember all that well. The sheets always dried surprisingly quickly if you hung them outside overnight. Plus, it’s the exact height for you to place your feet on the ground, and for Saerom’s head to lean against your thigh. There, kneeling, as if home inside her home, she watches your cock twitch under your pants when she paws at it experimentally.

"And you’re frustrated when I watch," you say.

"Hey, you can’t say I’m just watching." Saerom rubs you up and down over your pants and your jaw clenches. "But you’re right."

When Saerom gets a hold of your shirt, you raise your arms.

"You’re still in good shape," she says, smiling proudly.

"Thank you. I definitely don’t miss the diets, but I’m happy they got me in the habit of working out. Plus, you gave me plenty of motivation."

"Mhm." She traces your abs. They aren't washboard muscular (read, photoshopped) since you’re not lifting your shirt for audiences anymore, but they are decently taut, hinting at a six-pack. As you said, you were over the sort of daily sweet potato diet to keep that up. But for this reaction, Saerom's half-lidded eyes gazing at your midriff, you’ll gladly keep up your other routines.

Saerom then tugs your waistband, taking both your pants and boxers an inch down, then another, teasing you with the incremental progress. You can only sit still and keep your hands on the mattress’ edge. When your cockhead pokes out, she smiles, then forgoes any inhibition, stripping you straight down to your ankles. Your shaft springs free, and it nearly hits her face, but Saerom instinctually dodges it. Saerom ducks under your dick, centering it over her face, and she lets out a long exhale. Warm air flows around your length, though the jolts racing up your body are cold.

"I miss this cock. None of my toys compare." With a light frown, Saerom rests her head on your thigh again. She lightly and playfully traces your shaft with one finger.

"You really know how to boost an ego—ahh." Your jaw is wide, breaths ragged when her fingertip circles around your frenulum, the spot sensitive to her agonizingly light touch.

"Oh. Is that precum? Already?" Saerom’s narrowed eyes change focus from the slight pulses of your cock to your transfixed gaze, and that alone earns another white drop. Her finger traces up, and now she’s drawing circles at the top of your cockhead, smearing stickiness around.

"God, Saerom. You’re so fucking hot." Her touch pulls the truth out of you. It didn’t need to be spoken, but by her smile, it’s always worth stating the obvious.

She licks her lips, cleaning a bit of drool. Breathily, Saerom says, "Fuck. Should I just make you cum like this? With my fingers? It’s only fair. It’s only been me and my fingers all this time."

As much as you want to fuck her every hole open, you can’t deny that the prospect of being brought to the brim with her deft touch alone is tempting. "I said I’m sorry."

"Maybe if you say sorry enough, we can fuck." Saerom puts one hand around your cock and she’s barely doing anything, a lazy twist here, a half tug there.

"Sorry," you say, your upper teeth latching on to your lower lip. "Seriously. I miss you. I should’ve at least tried a little harder."

"Oh, we’re getting sappy now?" Saerom adds another hand—one isn’t enough to wrap fully her fingers around you—though it’s still awfully insignificant motions, sending erratic sparks throughout your body.

You shiver, hiss, and tense up. "Sorry. Please."

"Fffuck, I like the sound of that. the way your voice catches in your throat." She reaches down for your balls, jumpy at the faint graze of a nail. "What if I just milk out everything? I know how much you can cum. That would be so hot. When was the last time you came? Were you thinking about me?"

A week ago, and yes. Of course. You don’t want to admit those, and neither will you admit that a whine is coming out of you, yet even if you were silent, your hips are bucking on their own as you fuck yourself into Saerom’s hand.

Saerom says, "Oooh, are you—"

"I can’t take it anymore." You pull her up then push her back down onto the mattress, then you’re on top of her. You support yourself above Saerom with one arm and look at her carefully. Her face is a masterpiece, her body the work of a master craftsman. At your obvious overflowing lust, she looks to the side, bringing her wrist up to her mouth in a gesture of embarrassment you’ve never seen from Saerom.

Saerom’s reactions renew your confidence as if time never happened, so doubt’s seed could not have grown how it did, and you carry a sure smirk inspired by the cockiness once found on stage. You’re reminded that despite your indecision everywhere else—why the two of you never progressed past mere acquaintances—you were a man of action in the bedroom. That’s what Saerom wanted out of you. Saerom being shy might be an act, might be sincere, but it works either way. With this new upper hand, you grab Saerom’s wrist to unblock her face, too pretty to be shy about.

"We’ve done this plenty of times," you say, pinning Saerom’s arm to the bed.

She turns her head toward you but she can’t make eye contact. "It’s been a while."

"You're right. It has been long." You go in for a kiss, and she closes her eyes; however, you dodge her face.

"Fuck you." Saerom hits your chest and pouting. Then, her lips transform to a different contortion when you go straight for the neck. "Hnn, not too much. Remember last time you left hickeys on me? My makeup artist wouldn’t stop teasing me about it."

"Maybe I should mark you enough that makeup won’t be enough," you say, and her eyes go wide. "I’m kidding. Just a little payback for teasing me with your hands."

So instead, you aspire to leave your small marks on the other parts of the body. Where no one else but you will see. First, a softer kiss on the end of her collarbone right under her neck. With the floral notes of her shampoo mixed with the fainter sweetness of her body wash on her soft skin, your nose is tempted as you kiss along the rest of her collarbone up to her shoulder; from there, you’re led down to her armpit.

"Your body is perfect, Saerom."

She’s already ticklish from the playful kisses of her armpit and her ribs, but something about that crook under her arm compels you to lick—it’s the scent of her body wash once again, as well as a hint of vanilla, possibly from deodorant. Saerom is also starting to sweat, lending a barely noticeable musk and salty taste, and that only fuels your tongue further.

"Stooop, nh, nuh, no, why do you keep licking there? It’s dirty," Saerom says, squirming and laughing. This high-pitched tone is unfamiliar, easier to imagine coming from one of the maknaes such as Jiheon or Nagyung instead.

"It’s not." You’ve slathered her armpit in saliva by now. "Kisses aren’t enough. Every part of you deserves to be worshiped. What if I worshiped your whole body with my tongue? Gave you a tongue bath?"

Saerom can’t look at you anymore, yet she can’t stop smiling. "Wh-whatever you say."

You soon leave her armpit to fulfill your promise. You’re leaving a light trail of saliva down her arm, you suck each of her fingers, the knuckles, the interdigital folds, leaving no stone unturned. Returning up to Saerom's shoulder, you realize your folly of asymmetry, having only licked and kissed the right side of her upper body. You swipe your tongue across her neck.

"I don’t know what it is, but I can’t stop thinking about your neck or your shoulder or your collarbones. Should I take my cock out right now and jerk off onto them?"

She bites her lips, and her thighs rub together.

"Just imagine your neck and shoulders all drenched with cum. Dripping down to your tits. I swear I could leave a whole river of thick white semen down your cleavage, make a mess of your tits just as collateral damage," you say as you finish your job of licking up Saerom’s left arm, shoulder, armpit.

With your rising initiative, Saerom’s hands can’t lie inactive by her sides. She first adds to the rubbing of her thighs with her hands—not enough—reaches between her legs—not enough. You know this, have seen this, enough to understand she’ll be on a tortuous brim for as long as you’re not inside her. And so be it, her decision to make, because you’re happy to let her dance on that dizzying outskirt as you pull her top down to her midriff and kiss and lick her breasts. Going in a circle around each one, you find yourself lingering much longer here, again covering her skin with saliva as you sense every goosebump with your tongue. Here, on her sizable tits, you’ll leave the marks that she’ll think about when she’s on stage. Under whatever stage outfit she’s wearing will lay your claim, your worship, and no one else will know but you and Saerom. Sweet secrets, another unspoken language.

The noises that come out of Saerom when you suck on her nipples aren’t speech but they’re too loud to count as unspoken. Your tongue, lips, teeth, and every part of your mouth partake in playing with the nubs as they harden but before long, you pull the top back up. You’re carefully slow because you want to see her breasts squish against the deep neckline of the clothing before it’s hidden.

Slow breaths and raised brow, Saerom glances at you with your sudden intermission.

You tell her frankly, "It’s a cute top, and I want to watch how your tits jiggle when you ride me."

Her quiet, acknowledging "mm" becomes a longer hum when you move downward. You take time leaving a kiss on each rib before worshiping her perfect abs with your tongue. Though you can feel Saerom writhing under you, you’ve been too focused on your task, so you look up to see her reaction. However, as you tongue at her belly button, she doesn’t look down at you in return; instead, Saerom is arching back and looking straight up at the ceiling. Her hands flatten on the bed, right by her head, elbows up. Every muscle is stretching, tensed.

"I didn’t think you’d like this as much as you do."

At your words, Saerom finally looks at you, her eyes unfocused, and she only nods, lips tight.

When you’re done with the upper half of her body, you decide to multitask. If she could form words, she’d be begging for you to move up instead of down from her thighs, but you’re also removing her skirt while you move down to her feet. After you unbutton and throw the skirt off to the side, you give her toes the same treatment as her hands. A thorough tongue washes each ridge, each sole, until her body is tongue-bathed top to bottom as promised.

All except for one part. Looking at the dark spot on her blue panties, it’s safe to say your mouth has plenty of cleaning left. You don’t mind doubling back with your trail of kisses up her leg, especially since it earns more cute strained noises from Saerom’s lips, and then it’s a third and final path down her legs.

"Saerom, watch."

She mouths "fuck" as you bite the waistband of her panties and gingerly pull.

From her waist to her knees, the panty-pulling with your teeth was careful and teasing. You want to say you kept your eye contact the whole way through like a suave playboy, but a glint in the corner of your vision steals your attention. Saerom is immersed in the whole range of light’s temperature, the cool ambiance of the moon, the dim yellow of her small lamp, yet it seems all of light has collected onto her dewy slit. The thought of tasting her nectar hurries you. You stop using your teeth, your now feral hands damn near tearing them off from her ankles.

"Woah, careful with—"

Then Saerom’s mouth seals when you seal your mouth around Saerom’s pussy without hesitation. This feels right, home, the past in the present, between Saerom’s thighs with your face right at her crotch. You don’t feel a drop of shame because there’s too much dripping already. Two dark pink wavy folds—you set your thumb on one, index finger on the other to hold them in place. The destination of your voyage of kisses and licks, you give plenty of passes of your tongue to the swelling nub of her clit, passes of your lips to her lips. Are you drooling? Or is that Saerom’s boundless juices? Either way, they mix in your mouth, the salty flavors, the addicting musk, and the slightest metallic tinge.

"Fuck, that’s delicious," you say while you gauge her response. You didn’t notice until now that Saerom has two hands in your hair, or that she’s pulling and pushing you to return to your station. You delay a moment to tell her: "Am I remembering wrong? I’ve never seen you this wet."

Saerom first works through her ragged breaths before she can talk. "Yeah, agh, I haven’t cum in a couple of months. You’d be surprised. How busy I’ve been. And, I guess, I was hoping, this exact thing would happen."

"You know you could’ve called too, right? DM’ed me, whatever." You’re surprised you had the wherewithal to bring it up while Saerom’s slick is on your chin and lips.

Saerom whispers, "I’m sorry." Then she closes her mouth. Her grip on your hair loosens.

Of course, it’s too late for regrets and apologies now. You revisit your favorite place to taste in the world—fuck a restaurant, fuck a bar, everything you need to taste and drink is right here. And quickly, there’s no way Saerom can keep her mouth closed or her hands off your hair with all the oral pleasure you give.

"So, so good, good, ahh, fuck." Saerom’s tongue can’t stay in her mouth, dangling casually as her jaw opens wider in bliss.

As your right hand spreads her folds again, your lips suction and your tongue laps at the top of her cunt, servicing her clit, as well as below, digging deeper at the source of all the wetness. You lick exhaustively, collect every drop you can—you can't. Too much leaking fluid to avoid making a mess of her sheets.

"Fuck, fuck, goddammit, fuck."

Though your free left hand is mindlessly on your cock, stroking, there’s no actual need to touch yourself. You could be as hard as steel as long as you’re eating Saerom out. You heighten Saerom's stimulation, sinking your fingers into her thighs, kneading and massaging—earn a few giggle-infused moans—then you move to where your face is being turned into a canvas, a girl-cum rag. There, you add a finger, then two into her slit. Now your mouth and digits are working in tandem, pumping in and out, exploring her pussy, relearning, to turn Saerom’s brain into mush.

You could’ve been doing this for two minutes or two days, fuck the clock, fuck worrying about time and its immaterial decay on the world. It’s only when you hear Saerom’s profanities die down that you slow down too.

She works up the ability to talk again: "S-stop. I love how you eat me, but I need to ride you. Now."

One last kiss on her pussy lips. "I was thinking the exact same thing."

In honesty, you were also thinking about how your jaw is tired or how your neck is strained, but those would’ve been fine sacrifices to make for Saerom. If you needed to stay there an hour to make her cum three times, you would’ve done it—maybe that would’ve made up for a lost week? So just over two straight days to make up for a whole year? No matter.

Saerom nudges at your shoulder and gestures for you to get up. It takes a while for you to reorient yourself—right, she’s just lying in her bed as if it were any other night, except you’re in between her legs. She sits up and scooches over so that you can replace her reclined position. Listening to Saerom recollect her breathing and watching her stare at your erection pointed straight at the ceiling, you realize she’s also reorienting herself. Don’t give her time: you grab Saerom’s hand and she falls right on top of you, hands at your sides. A mirror of your stances moments ago. She’s surprised at first, her mouth in a circle, and then her smile grows. This smile deserves awards, and more light, if only you had a floodlight on your face. All you get in this room is a dim ambiance, but you’ll take every photon you can get.

Traveling in time, you think about when you and Saerom fucked the first time. Five years ago, you were both rookie idols without the luxury of a bed. Far bolder back then, Saerom was riding your cock in the dark corner of an empty sound stage, and your hands and back were meeting the cold hard floor, the two of you risking your careers for a spontaneous fuck.

Now the two of you are in different places in your life, yet you end up in the same place regardless.

Guess it’s 9:34:40—you can’t actually look at the clock above and behind your head as you lay in bed, and Saerom’s hair is in your face.

A breath, and then you’re overwhelmed by Saerom, her tongue in your mouth, her hand on your cock. You’re happy to lose control at this moment. For the rushing thrill of the idea of this beautiful idol fucking you, or for the physical manifestation of this desire, her pussy embracing your cockhead in the first penetration and the weight of her body and her kiss all crashing into your heart, you gladly sacrifice this exact minute for the compressed eternity to compress further, too much to contain, and it uncollapses—what was a single point containing all the beauty and warmth in your head becomes a cascading chasm, a pointillistic cloud, each little dot a snapshot of all the sensations. Beyond thrust for thrust, your thoughts flash ripple by ripple.

Saerom’s cunt slowly slides down as she pushes against the girth of your cock. Your hands are trying to compete for tightness of grip on her asscheeks, but they’ll never compare to the closeness with which her labia grasps around your cock. The tangy taste of her juices lingers on your tongue, mixes with her mouth's taste when you kiss—mostly the saltiness of saliva at this point, though you’ll drink up every last drop. You smell sweat and the trace of sex against the sweet scents of her skin and her hair. Listen to the slow squelch of her soaked hole because for once you’re both silenced by this kiss, deeper than before; open your eyes, watch Saerom’s need in action, and take in that every stimulated sense is but a small part of the single motion of Saerom lowering her ass into your crotch.

It was never that deep was it? It was just sex, just a basic carnal act. There was longing, there was the low light of the room, there was a closeness you forgot, and none of it mattered. For all this thinking, there is no real thought or purpose. There’s nothing so profound about it except for how much happens all at once, and in that inundation of self, the simple profane is newly profound. Balls slap against her ass. It is that deep.

Guess it’s 9:34:45, and it doesn’t matter what the time really is for the rhetoric either. The seconds have been stretched like Saerom’s pussy around your dick. The dots have danced.

She takes in the feeling of your length all the way inside of her, her eyes wide when she looks at you as you stop making out. You have to resist the urge to spank her ass, to start pounding up, upside-down jackhammer, so your hands slide up to her waist holding her.

Saerom feels her midriff, and you notice the slightest bulge of your cock against the slimness; she rubs it. "Fuck. I miss this. I miss you."

Somehow you find it in yourself to snark: "We’re getting sappy now? While I’m this deep in you?"

She growls quietly and holds your jaw. "Shut up." And if her words weren’t enough, she’s back at it with her tongue finding residence in your mouth.

Saerom then pulls away from Earth’s gravity, lifting her ass. It isn't nearly as slow as the insertion, but it's just as serene a sensation. All the pulling and pushing, it’s everything you remember with Saerom—it’s more. Riding your dick becomes effortless for Saerom, gravity barely a nuisance as her bouncing hastens. Second nature returning in seconds.

You’re becoming less of an active agent, more of a recipient of pleasure, barely holding on by Saerom’s waist. While you certainly feel like you're pounding her pussy, she’s the one putting in all the work. You can imagine it’s tiring for Saerom, but if it’s half as good as it feels for you, then any amount of exhaustion doesn’t matter.

Her unbridled passion eventually subsides though, replacing the forceful slams of her butt with slower and more conscious motions. Though she still has her lips on yours, it’s a lazy placement. Not as much of a kiss. You'll take it. Saerom also isn't bothering to support herself with her arms by your sides, opting to lay on your chest instead. Your cock goes in, tick, tick, tick, out, tock, tock, tock. Many beats, many seconds, and many breaths between each plunge. Then, even the slick sliding of Saerom’s cunt on your cock gives way to more of a grinding motion. She twists her hips, bringing her ass around in erratic ellipses. A whole new host of euphoric sensations on your cock. You’re reacquainting with her tender inner muscles, clenching on your shaft. Your fingers around her midriff press into her skin, your eyes roll back, and you have to tense your jaw.

A grinding halt.

Saerom is inert, warming your cock. Her head is on your shoulder, mouth on your neck (while not actively suctioning, the sensation of her plump lips sends shivers throughout your body regardless). She stirs, straightening her back again. There’s no way you want to let go of her waist, want to have her stop kissing you, want to remove the weight of her tits and whole body on top of yours—Saerom’s curves are ergonomic with how well they fit on you—however, she sits up, her knees on each side of your waist, back straight. Your dick is a stanchion, its tip poking at her entrance, and you don’t mind trading the feeling for the image.

A grinding start.

Instead of only feeling the twisting and the back-and-forth movements of her hips, now you get to watch it, doubling the thrill. Saerom’s eyes are filled with lust and she’s biting a finger, her other hand on your shoulder. Everything about Saerom hypnotizes you, and you can’t keep your hands idle. You return to sinking your fingers into the mass of her ass, then you’re exploring her curves again in this new context.

There's a large mirror leaning against the wall across from you, right in position to show off Saerom's backside. This is the first time this year and this night that you've got a good view of her bare butt. Perfectly round (you'll redefine circles to be second place if you have to) and ample enough for your digit to make a significant crease. Her ass is a famed masterwork, lusted over by many but not seen in true pure form except by the incomparably fortunate you.

Upon your renewed vigor and thirst, Saerom restarts her ride, the chaotic grinding becoming a focused lifting and dropping of her whole self. She has to hoist her knees up to squat on your cock. The image is accompanied by sounds, making the trade worthwhile. The flesh of her ass slapping and slamming against your crotch echoes her bedroom, some slick noises in there too. Her hands clench into fists by her side as she savors the stretch of her pussy.

This brings you back to the last time you fucked: a year ago, in a love hotel, a careless drunk hook-up. Saerom rode you cowgirl expertly then, and it seems she’s only gotten better now. You’d think the self-admitted lack of practice would show—but once more, she proves that time hasn’t passed between this year and last.

While Saerom seats herself into your perfectly plumb penis repeatedly in her cowgirl ride, not missing a beat or bounce, you get exactly as you wish: the hypnotizing view of Saerom's tits jiggling in the confines of her blue tube top. You get the most beautiful demonstration of physics with each bounce of her breasts. Then you take physics itself into your own hands, grabbing each breast and squeezing over the fluffy fabric. At your rough fondling, Saerom lets out some higher-pitched whimpers in between her constant pleasured groan. She rides down into your cock harder, and you let go to see how wildly her breasts can bounce. Saerom's mouth is open in bliss; yours is more in awe, her breasts bouncing up and down as if wanting to be freed of the top themselves. You'd be inclined to agree.

Thus, with a grunt that gets Saerom's attention, she stops bouncing and lets your dick rest guts-deep inside of her. She shudders. You sit up, a burn in your abs that you cast aside. Saerom raises her arms and you pull upward, watching her boobs squish, then pop out from under the tube top. You're tempted to re-clothe her just to see that again (squish, pop, boing, immature sounds accompanying the sight in your head). However, with the article of clothing already around her elbows, you might as well finish the job. No more hesitation, you toss the blue top right into her laundry basket (nice shot).

Saerom pushes your chest, returning you to your recumbence. You don't mind her forcefulness—in fact, you cherish whenever Saerom handles you roughly. You know exactly what that leads to. She lifts her entire body up, unsheathing your glistening cock, then drives herself back down. This first bounce is deliberate. She's watching your reaction, no doubt giving you a satisfied smile because of your weak groan or your face twisting with pleasure before she restarts her ardent riding.

Yet again, all these places for your eyes to land upon—her thighs jiggling as she springs up and down, your cock appearing and disappearing inside Saerom, the thin sheen of sweat covering the entirety of her flawless skin—yet there was only ever one possibility after flashing through those equally addicting sights. You're fixated on Saerom's soft tits, unrestrained by the shackles of clothing. They freely ripple, rise, fall, rise again, her nipples drawing some invisible erratic path in the air like the chaos of a double pendulum. There is no predicting the movements, but you're staring as if you're trying your damnedest, knowing that you'll fail. Happy that you'll fail.

"What do you like better, hmm? Watching my tits bounce with or without clothes?"

What an intriguing question. (You're jealous of her ability to form cogent thoughts in this situation.) You're not sure. Obviously, seeing her tits completely exposed, her brown nipples in plain view is a sight you never want to relinquish. However, the bounce of her tits within the tube top is oddly compelling. It's the sort of view you could get equally as an audience member or as an average fan replaying the same three seconds of a fancam—you get the privilege of getting to see this Saerom from a whole new angle.

Not even the most advanced camera can capture the full extent of your senses being. The perfect POV video of Saerom riding cowgirl will never convey the heat of Saerom's core, the constant clamping of her cunt around your cock.

But then, if you had a camera and had to hold it right now, you'd have to let go here in confusion.

Saerom leans forward and places her hand palm down on the bed by your sides.

You're surprised at her action and, at her hitherto wordlessness, you're also surprised at her saying "I'm going to ride you as hard as fucking possible."

What an intriguing declaration. Wasn't she already doing that?

She lifts her ass and does not lie and rides you as hard as fucking possible. Never doubt her. You knew intensity came in the form of horny Saerom, didn't know it could lift your soul past the stratified layers of atmosphere above this very home, where jet streams blew past and didn't compare to her speed or didn't compare to the air knocked out of your lungs.

Wanting to hold back from cumming, you slow down—well, you want to slow down, but it's not really up to you, judging by Saerom staring off into space with a slack jaw, by the insistent motion of her hips. Maybe she'll ride your cock until you both die or neither of you may die and she'll be fucking you cowgirl until heat death? She's in a trance, cock-drunk, lust clouding her brain, and you have the same fog, though the fog is also pulsations that you want to delay. Now a dynamic duo, heat and pressure cook inside of you, and you could unload and breed and fill Saerom any second now. You have to physically hold her from fucking into your cock.

It isn't until your fingers grip hard—you might even be leaving traces of nail marks—that Saerom is pulled out of her rhythm, panting. She whines and pouts and after brushing her long hair aside, looks at you with an empty-headed expression. "Wh-what?"

You try your best to maintain composure, but really your whole body is dedicated to clenching every muscle so that you don't orgasm on the spot, despite her now sitting still. "Reverse cowgirl," you say, keeping up your false resolve.

Saerom nods mindlessly, raising her ass. It's more honest of her, commendable, to eschew the pretense that she had anything in her mind. She gets into position for reverse cowgirl, kneeling with her legs hooked under yours, her ass placed right in your lap. Instead of a reflection a few meters away through the mirror in her prior cowgirl stance, now you get a perfect close-up. Sweat, pores, goosebumps, all that texture in the dim lighting of her bedroom. More than ever, you want a spotlight—having no such device, you aspire to paint bright red with your hand—smack, a loud one, like a whip on her right cheek, and at once you get the vividness you want.

She gasps and looks back, the vixen smugly grinning as if to say "one more".

It's too easy to fall in, to give her what you want, and her left cheek recoils nicely in the same way. It's tempting to keep going, to keep submitting to the little diversion that makes this moment and night last forever. But if the shape of her ass is tempting, her tight asshole is a drug to an addict, and you've unknowingly abstained for far too long. Right now, do it, take your cock, align it with the entrance, and thrust into her. You want to… but you also know better than that.

Besides, Saerom takes the matter into her own hands—hand, as she reaches back to hold your cock. She softly places your shaft between her supple cheeks and after a quick wiggle of her hips to situate herself, she starts sliding her ass up and down your length. This buttjob alone is enough to make your balls twitch, to make you jumpy at the prospect of cumming early once again.

Her rhetorical words don't help—"You know how many times I’ve thought about you and fucked myself in front of this mirror?"—because now, you're picturing it, and the images overlap in your mind. In the mirror and in your imagination alike, her deft fingers are teasing herself, crawling between her legs, and rubbing her clit. In this imaginary world, the juices from her cunt are being wasted on the floor or on the sheets or on a towel if she were so poised; in the real world, there is no waste, as this nectar finds its way onto your cock, whether it be dripping right into you or by her moist hands reaching back to keep your shaft in place.

The undulation of Saerom's hips is much gentler than her previous ride—she must have recognized why you wanted her to stop in the first place. You'll happily take the sparks of pleasure that this lazy friction gives you, your cock neatly nestled in the crack of her backside.

"I can even show you later," Saerom says.

"Show me what?" you ask.

"Ahh, don't worry about it." Once more, she grabs your cock behind her, but this time she's twisting her whole upper body to look at you. There are so many targets for your inevitable cumshot: her arched back has the perfect valley for your seed to run down, toned muscles to paint white; the thought of cum streaking down her tits could make you bust on the spot; and sullying Saerom's alluring face is naturally a favorite pastime of yours, especially making her sharp jawline drip with cum as you feed your load right onto her lips, or maybe you should make a mess of her bangs.

Anyway, what were you supposed to be worrying about? Whatever it was, it wouldn't matter compared to Saerom aligning your cockhead at her entrance, plunging your whole length at once, at twice, at thrice, and then it's a blur of bliss.

You want to say it's the same as a few minutes ago—after all, what's the difference except turning around—but her velvety walls surrounding your cock feel completely novel to the regular cowgirl position. Your shaft is pointed at an angle different enough to give you whole new sensations of pleasure, and if not for the momentary reprieve of the teasing buttjob, you'd climax in the first few thrusts. That doesn't include the whole new visual stimulation of her perfectly perky ass lifting and dropping in rhythm, its fleshy weight ricocheting with each downward collision.

Again, you feel inert, more like a toy being used than a person having sex. In a way, it's fine, natural even with Saerom's eagerness. There's only so much touching and fondling you can do until it seems a waste of energy—you don't need to do anything to keep Saerom bouncing on your cock as long as it's hard. And for your part, you're getting sweat and moans and jolts of pleasure extracted out of you without any effort. However, naturally, you want more participation, to feel more involved.

Therefore, your first course of action is to sit up, breaking Saerom's rhythm, and she looks back at you, her breaths heavy and sporadic. It reminds of you the classic ending fairy, her chest rising and falling, but you get to watch her breasts in their full bareness moving with each exhalation. Then, you grab her with two hands by the waist—by now, a gesture you've repeated a hundred times, and thus you know exactly where to put your fingers to have her held still, like her hips are handles. Keeping up this tight grasp and never fully unsheathing your cock, you reposition the two of you until you're both kneeling, with you behind Saerom.

Her back rests against your chest, and her long hair is right in your face. You take a moment to smell Saerom. Maybe her shampoo is lavender or rose—you're a Flover, not a florist—but for certain, you haven’t smelled it before. Then, you brush her hair with your fingers, all disheveled by the continuous bouncing and riding.

You take a nibble of her ear, and you can see the whites of Saerom's eyes for a moment in the mirror, your face next to hers. "My turn," you whisper into her ear.

Saerom gulps, barely maintaining eye contact in the mirror.

This position, inspired by JAV, is perfect for your goal: repay Saerom's passion by getting the leverage to piston into her pussy as hard and fast as possible. It starts by taking her arms, hanging listlessly at her sides, and pulling them behind her back.

Caress her face one last time—call it the moment's final tranquility. The silence save for the air passing your lips. The darkness save for glimmers of light, the night in the window.

Your hips snap into place, back and forth, cock going in and out, rhythm accelerating all at once, drag racing. You're already at your top speed, your peak strength, fucking your whole soul into Saerom. Clap, clap, clap, the audience and the performers on the stage of the bed are the same. The uproarious applause cannot be conceited because neither of you has your hands free.

Saerom yelps and moans, and you can't tell which is wider between her mouth and her eyes. The observational task through the mirror becomes harder as her hair swings wildly, long dark strands haphazardly strewn about her face, plus you get distracted by her breasts swinging even more wildly.

At least you now have an answer to Saerom’s previous open question.

Each of your words is punctuated by one or two or three thrusts (actual punctuation omitted for readability): "Can’t believe I haven’t fucked your tits yet or your throat or your tight little—" Well, these plunges are powerful enough—CLAP, CLAP—to merit the interruption, as it completely breaks the flow of what you were saying "—asshole. Fuck!"

Asshole, fuck—you want nothing more than to do that Saerom right now, temptations and jitters and dry throat as you look down and see that vulgar entrance, and it completely breaks the flow, slows down your thus-far dogged pace.

Her hands are shaking so you let her wrists go, and you expect her to fall forward (you’re looking forward to that, aren’t you? Saerom face down ass up, a lucid dream’s image); instead, her limbs limp at her sides, and she leans into your chest, returning the warmth and sweatiness and softness of her back—firmness of her lats and shoulder blades.

She takes a deep breath. You nuzzle your chin onto her neck, and Saerom giggles—then she’s silenced when you wrap your arms around her: one arm around her tits, compressing them while you toy with a nipple in your hand, with the other arm around her neck in a stranglehold. You aren't aiming to asphyxiate Saerom (the force of your cock can make her as light-headed as you want her) but rather, to have her whole body in your complete control, manhandling her like a plastic sex doll.

It’s fair play to how she rode you mere moments ago (or maybe it’s been much longer; the clock might tick above you, but its count is worthless in this situation). You didn't need words to know how much she enjoyed this push and pull. You could hear it, see it, every sense attuned to your mutual pleasure. You’re not just fucking Saerom’s plush cunt. You’re pinching and rolling her nipples. You’re sucking on the back of her neck.

Emboldened by the few weak moans that escape Saerom, you’re back to that ardent rhythm, though long and deep strokes of your cock are replaced with quicker and shallower drives. Two people can’t get any closer than this. Your dick is repeatedly entrenched in Saerom’s cunt while the rest of Saerom’s body is held tight in your embrace. Close but there’s distance: she can’t look at you, her pupils rolling up.

This hold becomes tedious, even with Saerom having the defined abs to give her core strength for days. What would be a relaxed position—the two of you kneeling, Saerom in your lap—becomes tiring when it involves the exercise routine of sex. You take all the pillows from behind you, place them in front of her knees, then push her down with a hand on her back with the pile of pillows for support. You're positioned perfectly so that her face is at the edge of the bed, more importantly, visible to the large mirror opposite to the bed.

Look at yourself. You're exhausted, crease lines on your face, sweat on your brow.

Saerom's exhaustion is more beautiful—if not beautiful, compelling (it is beautiful, don’t philosophize now). It makes you want to pump harder, to find out if you can drain her of her stamina first. A tall task, you've seen the woman's more intense workout sessions too, experienced it first-hand in your past marathon weekends of fucking.

Hissing, you carefully extract from Saerom, then smack her reddened sore buttcheeks with your shaft. Her fucked cunt gets some cock-slaps too, a tactical delay that earns a few cute yelps from Saerom. If you’re going to cum, you’ve decided it’ll be here, with Saerom face down, bent over pillows, her ass up for you to squeeze, watch jiggle, and plunge into. Doesn’t mean you’ll cream her cunt in one more stroke. Savor this as long as you can.

One more hit of her pussy lips with your dick. A dripping string of her juice flicks off.

A fistful of hair, you pull while you begin slamming your hips forward. You shove your cock inside, again and again, a slow rhythm, no rhyme, like there's a point you're trying to make by fucking Saerom into the bed. If there had to be a point, it’s that your dreams materialized too easily because even your lucid dreams didn’t go this well. And further, though not much further, following this logic, you fuck Saerom’s pussy with thoughts of another hole. An even tighter hole, somehow. Too tight. Visions of Saerom’s anal grip have your fingers digging into Saerom’s back, have you pushing too hard for this denouement. You have to be measured about your penetration, needing to pull her into you. If nothing else, ensuring she doesn't slump past the edge of the bed. Saerom is the pile of pillows underneath her, soft and lifeless and you wouldn’t mind spending all day in her.

Burying and unburying yourself into Saerom, your dick is soaked in slick and raw, sore. All this pounding is getting to you. A heady mix of hormones and heat. You’ve done your job. Saerom can barely keep her eyelids up, her every breath heavy and slow. She doesn’t even move.

This is your final ramp-up, the pace almost numbing, and then the internal throbs come out of nowhere—you can’t delay your end much longer. These past few minutes have been completely devoted to your stimulation, so it was only a matter of time. You push your knees down into the mattress now, having to hold onto yourself as much as Saerom. (What part of self you’re holding onto is a question you won’t or can’t answer.) feeling the familiar pulses of climax in two of your strokes, you're tempted to clamp down on her waist and keep your cock buried inside.

But then, you look at her ass. The roundness is so perfect and, like with her face, the only thing worth doing to perfection is to flaw it.

Here begins the end of all journeys.

Here, in this beautiful moment, you understand, the dots, tiny prickles of pleasure were grains of sand. They return in an overbearing way. Your mind is an infinite beach, where time stands still and then gives way to waves and the tangy orange sunset. This is sweet and fruitful perfection, the orgasm temporary but more real than any existence can claim. The shape of Saerom’s body, the sandcastles, the nostalgic memories, you’re damn near tears at the thought, but this is a cry of bliss as you moan and let everything out.

A long first short of semen lands on her back, creamy white streaking down the dips. With Saerom bent over, the cum runs down toward the back of her neck in the central valley of her spine. You're tempted to keep unloading there. But, after seeing her ass rise and fall, you then aim for her buttcheeks, giving each one an equal amount of love, mixing sweat with seed. You watch them clench as Saerom feels the warm sticky load, watch them ripple as heavy breaths make her whole body lurch back and forth. How hypnotic the pendulum. You cum more ropes than you expected, absolutely drenching her backside. You only know that Saerom is awake because she brings her hand to her neck, where your semen collects, then licks her hand to taste.

The two of you catch your breath. You want to sit against the back of the bed, your body slack and lacking energy, but you take the initiative to grab a big handful of tissues and clean the mess you've made on Saerom's backside.

Eventually, you and Saerom lie on the bed. She holds your hand. You look at her and let quiet wash over you both for a while.

To break the silence, you ask, "You okay?"

The end of the journey is only the start of a new one. Cyclic. Possibly infinite. Saerom’s answer to your question is a question: "Do you want to fuck my ass?"

You pause. Definitely infinite, judging by time's nonmovement. The answer is obvious, your "yes" breathless and nearly the neediest you've found yourself.

"I’m gonna shower," she says. "Also, I’ll need you to get hard for me again."

"I’ll help you clean up then." After all, what could re-spark your erection more than soaping Saerom down, watching water drip down her curves? But when you get up, she places a hand on your shoulder.

"I have a different idea." Saerom grabs her phone, opens up photos, and goes to the hidden album.

Your jaw drops while she smiles, stands, and heads to the bathroom.

Top left of the screen, 10:04, but never mind the time. You’re not sure where to begin, so you open the latest. A simple selfie in her bathroom with naught but a towel around her waist, the steam of a hot shower in the air. You didn’t think a selfie could be art, and then you see her wet hair and the droplets of water making trails down her tits, and you’d proudly have a print of that hanging in your living room.

Careful, don’t go crazy stroking yourself—wait, when did you even start doing that?—keep a casual pace of your hand up and down your shaft.

Spoiled for choice, you tap the gallery at random and find a video of Saerom on her bedroom floor. Her clear suction dildo is attached to some large book, weighing it down. Clever. (Note that the proxy cock is about the same size and shape as your real one.) She aligns its silicone tip, looks at the camera, wasn’t lying—your name’s but a whisper as she sinks down into the toy. Then she starts riding, and you understand her practice was studious. It’s like a dance perfected, how she makes her body move on her knees, tits bouncing, eyes unwavering. The same way she was riding your cock earlier. So that’s where she got the practice.

There are plenty more racy images, particularly artful ones of her nude silhouette as a shadow against her wall and less than artful pictures of fingers spreading her perfect pussy lips. Other short videos arouse you equally: a 2-second video of Saerom pulling her jeans down to her thighs, enough to show off the squish of her butt cheeks; an 8-second video of Saerom taking off her shirt in a public toilet to flaunt her bralessness to a mirror before running to a stall at the sound of the door opening; and an hour-long video of a cheerful Saerom dancing to various songs, nude in her living room. Actually, that video was only 7 minutes long. Felt like an hour though.

The sound of water flowing from the bathroom stops. Saerom should be coming out soon. You didn’t realize how tightly you were gripping your shaft.

It’s unbelievable the sheer number of pictures and videos there were in the phone’s gallery. Had to be at least one for every day since you last met her. It’d be difficult to quantify which was your favorite, and which one you would masturbate to the most.

However, the answer was clear. The hottest video, or set of videos, was yet another dildo. This one isn’t as girthy as the clear suction dildo, as she holds it in her hand. Two key differences. First, this pink phallus had little marks on it. Each subsequent video had another mark, a centimeter deeper. In some of the videos, she’d be fully nude while in other videos, she’d have a hoodie or oversized shirt on, but nothing else, leaving her bottomless. Sometimes it’d be daytime, birds chirping, sun shining into the room, and other times, it was at night, dimly lit as the room is now. Second, and more importantly, is that every video had the same format: she sat comfortably in her bed, legs spread, then she took lube, coated her fingers (initially one, but then it became two, three), and slid them in her ass—the fingers were only the start though; afterward, she kept her anal entrance relaxed as she spread lube onto the pink dildo, then slid the toy inside herself at an extremely gentle pace.

She had already been able to take your dick in her ass, though it wasn’t the most pleasant experience back then. You enjoyed it visually, but seeing the strain and discomfort on Saerom put you off of it (not to mention the wrenching tightness for you, barely inserting a third of your length). You thought you’d have to save the anal experience for another day. Didn't think it'd be today. Plus, the mere concept of progress here, the enjoyment she’s having, is somehow making you harder than ever, as if you didn’t just cum five minutes ago.

You can even find where Saerom hit a plateau in the middle of the collection of anal training videos. She had a pout on her face and rolled her eyes when she couldn’t push the pink dildo deeper inside her asshole. In the next video, she tried the same length but with a bullet vibrator on her clit—even used tape to hold it. Not only did it help, to get the toy deeper inside, but she also squirted all over her phone camera.

The door opens, greeting Saerom to the sound of her moans from her phone until you quickly pause it in surprise. Nothing on but a towel. Picturesque. In her hand, a bottle of lube.

"Oh, hey. I remember buying that," you say, pointing to the bottle. "Did it expire?"

"I didn’t think about that." Saerom examines the bottle. "January 2024. Should be fine."

She stands in front of you, drops her towel, and you thoroughly examine her figure. The hourglass curves, you want to make her toss and turn, forget the time. The sole sure sign of the time's passage is that night falls differently, moonlight mixing with the small lamp—now on the ground, not sure when that got there—casting subtly new angles of shadows on Saerom. In all lights, she looks ethereal, contrasting her casual attitude. A light smile, she dusts off her bookshelf. A light step toward her desk, she readjusts a potted plant. Like she forgot you were here for a moment, a light giggle as she remembers your presence and takes her phone back.

"I take it you liked what you saw?" Saerom declares, rhetorical.

Right, you should nod here. So nod. But you’re holding your breath too, nodding emptily. You’ve decided she doesn’t look ethereal; she is ethereal, immaterial, of another world. You can’t touch her even though you did, consequences of ethereality you can hardly endure. Endure you shall because you must. Her nude form is unmatched. Her ass is unmatched. Your hands on her ass were a ghostly dream.

Saerom walks around the room, cleaning more. You’d offer to help but you’re simply awestruck, your eyes like a hawk. She fixes the lamp, the pile of pillows, and the clothes laying around on the floor.

Returning your gaze, she eyes your erection. Saerom points, and you’re back in position, and she's back to the floor, lube still in hand.

You sit on the edge of her bed. Soft, springy, doesn’t make too much noise even when two people are testing the limits of its suspension—now you're sure of it. With the wet mess, hopefully, the sheets dry as you remember. Your feet are right on the ground, but there's something different this time. The tension and doubt of earlier are silent; if you had to take a stab at it, you've never seen this sort of raw hunger from Saerom as she's kneeling between your legs. Your cock twitches, free in the air, when she licks at it experimentally.

"You don’t have to do this. Your pics kept me hard as a rock." Look, a statement as dumb as not contacting Saerom.

You're fortunate that Saerom is set on getting your dick in her mouth. "Shut it," she says, "you know how much I love sucking this dick."

"Right… but remind me."

A smirk tugs at the corner of Saerom's lips, then a soft exhalation. The warm breath sends tingles through your cock to the rest of you. What is there in the rest of you? You can only wonder when Saerom starts to give the same licking worship to your cock as you did to her whole body, spending as much time bathing you in her saliva. Her tongue is soft, wet, and all over your shaft, and the smooches on your cockhead plant your feet down into the ground. Your fingers curl. Five into the air, five into her hair. Let her go. She has work to do.

Saerom, relinquishing her momentary trance, opens the lube bottle. She squeezes a dollop onto her hand, can barely match the amount of saliva that she’s already drooling. Saerom tries her best to go to work, to give you a blowjob while applying the lube at the same time. Her palm rubs the cool lubricant onto your shaft, fingertips work all the half-viscous fluid around your whole cock—makes sure plenty is under your tip (does that part even need to be lubricated like that, or is she just toying with you?)—then she uses her dextrous tongue to spread the lube further. Pulling back, Saerom seals her lips on your cockhead, cheeks hollowing as she sucks and uses both hands to stroke you up and down. She’s diligent, but all that lube ends up being washed away by the excess of spit from her eager mouth bobbing down into your length, impulsively taking you into the back of her mouth. A waste, though you’re going to buy new lube for her soon. She has work to do, and you’re not stopping her for now.

You can tell that taking you into her throat isn’t on purpose; however, Saerom is so captivated with sucking your cock that she ends up gagging a couple of times. You're worried at first, pulling your hips back, but Saerom looks at you with puppy eyes and a pout on your cock—as if to ask why you took away her favorite toy, and imagine a harrumph for theatrical measure. At the unexpected, unspoken brattiness, you raise your hands. If she wants saliva streaming down her chin to get your full length into her throat, so be it. So be it that she wants her eyes to water.

A question Saerom won’t answer, too busy: you've already given her what she wants, so why is she whining and humming on your cock like it isn’t enough? Then you realize she knows what she's doing, knows how the vibrations are getting from your cockhead to your real head. knows how the foamy slobber makes her lips feel extra soft and pillowy. Amen to all the fluids, holier than water can get.

Having eaten her out however many minutes ago, you empathize with how tiring oral service gets. When Saerom finally pulls back from your dick, she exercises her jaw, moves it side to side, and stretches it.

Fix the thick strands on her forehead, putting the bangs back in place. She might have just showered, yet you could easily have mistaken her damp locks for being wet with the mess she’s made in her blowjob.

Saerom wipes the excess of saliva and licks her palms, then grabs the lube. This time, she’s more careful. More handiwork spreading lube than mouthy work as she kisses and tongues your tip with greater restraint.

In such a sensitive state—your previous orgasm wasn’t that far in the past—even the faint grazes of Saerom’s tongue draw out involuntary moans from you, and your mouth is a tight contorting curve. Something of a smile, something of a frown. You manage to ask regardless, "How does it taste?"

"The lube? It’s a little sweet, but not the best flavor. Here." Saerom squeezes a drop onto her hand and offers her finger to you.

You wrap your lips around her middle finger, and you forget you were supposed to be tasting something as you made eye contact with her. Saerom smirks back. Is it a fruity flavor? Maybe it’s flower yet again, to match her shampoo. Doesn’t matter. You keep her finger in your mouth, and she laughs when you give it a soft bite before she takes her hand away.

"I, for one, prefer the taste of this cock." Saerom licks in a circle. "It’s musky and sweaty and salty, and I love it. Especially when pre-cum comes out like this—" she tongues at your cock’s slit, and you shudder.

Pretend that time is unwavering, a force inerrant, yet your mind can do so much to trick you, to make the past/present/future all toys in the same room converge. Turns to dots, to visions. You could be sitting here as you are, a passive man for the rest of your life (for all you know, this night will be the rest of your life), or you could be making good on promises.

You have work to do. This is the unthinking reverie of a man possessed by visions of a single thing you’ve been waiting for, for a year, for a lifetime, for dreams eternal. Don’t call it a reverie. Your actions are not light. You pull Saerom up from her kneeling stance, a hint of unnecessary rabid strength. This force is used in place of words, forgoing language in a new way. Your grip on her hand says something. If only you could say what it is. And she never liked when you just stood there silent, but her mouth is open and her eyes are needy.

Her brows are raised when you shove, and her yelps are unsurprisingly filled with surprise when you bring her to her desk, unforgiving in how you lever her arm back, grab wrist, animal thoughts, smack, one, two, the orbs of her ass jiggle. You’re in a human place, a human still. Posthaste, clearing the haze in your head, you clear out the stationery from the middle of the desk. There’s the rest of her, perfect, yet it middles to the true perfection of her asshole. You lay your cock between her asscheeks, left hand cupping their heft.

Saerom needs something from you, but she’s so beautifully compromised. Her arm is bent back, her wrist tight in your grip. Her legs are straight, but you see the buckle in her knees—it’s taking active effort from Saerom to keep her ass lifted in the air for you. All the while, her face is right on the desk, and she twists her head to look back. She’s pleading with her eyes. Put it in, put it in. Why say it out loud when the soft whimpers tell you as much.

Despite all the primal force and exhibition, you’re no animal. As much as you want to dive straight in and impale your whole length at once, she needs to acclimate even with her diligent practice with toys. Besides, it gives you an excuse to admire her ass when you push your lube-covered cock’s tip against her tight sphincter. Leave it there, for a breath, for two. Deep breaths. Long breaths. Breaths that let you stare at Saerom’s ass until time ends because you’ll never tire at the shape outlining sublimity, the weight so perfect, the firmness of the glute muscles, the smooth and light skin marked red by your hand and beginning to bead with sweat, the crease into her equally ample thighs. Your tip is at the start of anally penetrating Saerom, and all you can think about are the two surrounding cushions. You will never tire of staring at Saerom's butt.

You do tire of having only your tip in the chokehold of Saerom’s tight entrance. So eventually, you push in, a glacial rate, a tectonic rate, eras, timescales for scientists. The minutes dilate like you’re pushing against a law of physics, a speed limit, even if your length is plunging into Saerom’s ass as slow as it can. New paradoxes, record it. The waves propagating throughout your body, at one inch, at two inches, three, four, five, etc, record them. The snug ring of her asshole is almost at the base of your shaft, yet there’s a complete saturation of bliss, record it. All this pleasure must be recorded rigorously in your mind as charts and tables flash by in an attempt to put numbers down to the innumerable.

Saerom’s back arches on this first penetration, her eyes rolling up into her head, where she isn’t thinking about anything, and now you aren’t either. Saerom’s anal walls are built like a cocksleeve to hug and clamp around your shaft. With this inexorably tight hold, you can’t move, a statue, marbled by pleasure.

Looking back at you, Saerom frowns, her thinking returning. She doesn’t speak but she says why the fuck aren’t you totally inside, and you can hear it out loud in the bedroom only filled with ragged breathing. In frustration, she lifts her ass higher by tiptoeing, and you have to grab something, the edge of the desk, her waist, whatever you can. You look down, and her legs are trembling now. Long groans escape you and Saerom when you’re finally guts deep, finally inside her ass with your whole length. Never have you gone this deep inside Saerom; the last anal attempt was more half-assed. Now you're stretching Saerom in places she didn't know she had, content with her warming your cock.

You pull back, squeeze a bit more lube on your cock for good measure, and begin anally fucking Saerom in earnest. Can’t let patience rule you. Her pussy is tight; this ass has a complete throttlehold. To ram into Saerom’s asshole means you succumb to the constriction and thus what would be a torrid rhythm is turned spasmodic—fierce, yet subject to fits of paralysis, where you return from fleshly lust to scientific observation. Metrology in mind, you measure the precise amount of your dick inside of Saerom's butt, calculate the forces with which her asscheeks jiggle.

Nothing so surgical about your hands as you pull by her hair bundled in your fingers, enough to lift her head off the desk. Saerom looks at you with a nearly crazed frown—no, that’s her smile upside down—mad lust in her eyes, and teardrops every time her asshole is impaled by your shaft, down to the balls.

As much as you’re fucking Saerom, Saerom is fucking you. Regardless of her submissive position bent over the desk, she backs that ass up into you, and her smile shifts from smug to wild to docile and pliant with every thrust.

Thrust back and you see her gaped asshole, the width and consequences of your cock's pounding. It’s winking, at a rapid rhythm somewhere between her breaths and her heartbeat.

Who cares that you're in the middle of fucking Saerom’s unmatched ass—you can't help but get on your knees.

"Oh, fuck," Saerom says, "what are you—ohhh."

Your tongue finds itself in Saerom’s used and stretched-out hole. One hand is holding an asscheek with a firm grip while the other hand is teasing her pussy lips. You drive your tongue deep enough that her asshole can’t just relax, can’t just ungape itself from being this well-fucked—it’d be a waste of effort and time, and you haven’t eaten out this perfect ass yet. The flavor is foreign but welcome, or whatever. Your lips refuse to release from her widened hole regardless of taste, and your tongue will rival Gluttony’s sin in your relentless analingus. If you do release, it’s only to kiss each of her plump cheeks, to give them the love they deserve, but her anus deserves more love with the bliss it sends to you. Give that love, and romance is returned in a thrumming moan, vibrating through the wood of the desk on which Saerom’s head lays.

In search of deepening that pleasant noise, you fully focus your hands’ attention on her leaking cunt. There were already clear strings leading from her slit to her thighs, from between her legs to the floor, but when you begin to insert fingers into her untongued hole and circle her clit, the leak becomes a whole-hearted drench. Saerom near crumples, slumping at the desk, your active hands keeping her from totally sliding off. The pitch of her voice heightens, and her whole body shakes.

"I’m f-fucking, cu-cumming!"

Your fingers are battering into her pussy, your tongue is sloppily tending to her asshole, and you’re kneeling next to a puddle growing as the spray from her cunt reaches its maximum pressure—

Catch her. As she shudders and limps into the floor as you envisioned, you hold Saerom as you two sit and inhale and exhale and inhale and—and slowly now, exhale.

"Slowly now, exhale," you say.

Saerom turns her head, eyes like a stray cat fed. Look deeper, and it’s more like there’s nothing there past the sclera’s white, the iris’ dark brown, dim of her pupils. The colors and shapes are all in the right places, sure. Nothing. Stroke her cheeks, its high bones, and her nose and her jaw. Be careful with those. Don’t get a cut on their sharp edges. The thought evolves: how sharp can she be? Her words and glare can cut, at times. Here, she’s feathers. She’s clouded; no, she's clouds. She’s fur. Looks back at you, the quietest smirk, like this one doesn’t say anything—she can be a cat, sure.

Though your breaths are now steady, you have to carry her as you relocate your two bodies to the bed. While Saerom’s orgasm has racked her, you are not faring much better. Truly flagging, it takes a whole minute until you’re both lying on the mattress—the clock you forgot or pretend not to care about said 10:28 with its longest hand up, then 10:29, longest hand up again when you look again.

Your arm under her neck, Saerom looks at you. "So we’re done for the night?" she asks.

You laugh weakly. "You’re asking like we’re not."

Saerom rolls her leg over your waist, hooking your erection between her calf and thigh to make a point.

Again, your laugh has little air to it. As much as you want to go on forever, spend all the moonlight fucking Saerom’s ass, you don’t have the energy left to move. You close your eyes, sorry in your heart for ignoring her succubine advance for a final round.

You’re going to sleep. One or five or thirty minutes pass. Can’t tell. The internal hourglass is too tired. Sand won’t even fall. There should be an ending here regardless.

Weight. Instead of an ending and empty darkness of sleep, weight, and heft, the now intimately familiar but always welcome warmth and plushness of Saerom’s butt against your crotch. You feel her hair scattered on your face, tickling and itching, and you half open your eyes, but you stay stock-still. Instead of next to you, Saerom is lying on top of you.

You should’ve known this would happen. It’s not the first time she’s done this to you, not even the first time on this bed. When you were stressed from the responsibilities and the changes of your new non-idol occupation, you answered a Saerom booty call, expecting to have fucked out your tension and worry. However, the moment you lay on her bed, you fell asleep—then woke up to Saerom sliding down onto your cock like it was a bomb that would explode at the slightest bump.

You didn’t complain then, and when you watch Saerom apply lube on her thighs, making them shiny and wet, you don’t complain now. The muted glimmer of her pale skin, her thighs giving way to your cockhead as it pokes out with each slide, yet those don’t compare to the loving caress of her flesh on your shaft.

Saerom must know you’re awake. There’s no way you can ignore the coolness of the lube on your tip, or her finger smearing the small beads of seed on your slit. She carries on yet, the sluggish up-down motion of her legs becoming a back and forth: she moves forward to slide your length against her pussy lips, then moves back to give your shaft her thighs' full embrace.

You buck up into her labia, her thighs, and that’s when she gives up the game, a chuckle as she shakes her head, moving hair off your face.

"Look at you," she whispers, "pretending to be asleep."

You groan when she grasps your shaft carelessly. "I didn’t want to interrupt."

She sits up, grabs the lube, applies more to your length by stroking and twisting, then guides your cock into her asshole before leaning back into your chest.

Kiss her neck. Lightly, with pecks, you didn't forget. It matches the verve with which Saerom fucks her ass into you.

That is to say, none.

Unlike with the desk, this is the laziest anal sex you’ve ever had. Every few seconds, a deliberate rolling of her ass. In, out, this piston couldn’t drive a toy car. There’s purring like a car anyway: guttural sounds from deep within your throat, Saerom matches them, still not used to the brute stretching of her asshole. If her pussy is a natural moist velvet that enveloped your cock, her asshole is the closest thing you can imagine to a sex toy, made to wring your cock out, lube fully necessary for the tightness. She's almost stuck on your shaft, making each act of pulling out a whole grippy ordeal.

After enough of this lethargic penetration, you endure the ordeal and unsheathe fully.

There's only one way this can end. You truly understand how this night is a cycle. The giver becomes the receiver; the subject becomes the agent—the push and the pull are bound in sequence.

Never any words to communicate the time to switch where they aren't needed and are a waste of oxygen by now. (You, the liar or the fool, must know you're fluent by now.)

You peel Saerom off your cock, setting her aside on the bed. You're not so gentle when you flip her over. She sits up, kneeling, facing away from you (facing the dear enemy, the clock, above the head of the bed). Hands on knees, she wiggles her ass and looks back at you. The soles of her feet are equally inviting, toes wiggling. (You want to bite them.) She bites her finger. Never fails to make you act.

You're quick to your feet, standing by the edge of the bed, and then grab Saerom's waist and pull her toward you. Falling forward, she gets on all fours.

Push.

If the rest of your life could be defined by pushing and pulling with Saerom, that would be fine by you.

Cock in her asshole, nothing more.

Fine, there's a little more. You're holding your shaft, your thumb on your tip, and you tease Saerom's anal entrance one last time. even if this hole has acclimatized to the exact mold of your dick's shape, evidenced by its continued gape, you can't help but savor a final time. You rub your tip around in a circle.

Enough of that. You push an hour into a minute, pull a minute into a second, push a second to the wayside. There is no truly timing in the animalistic act of doggystyle, especially not with Saerom. Hands in her hair, hands on her back, hands spanking hard against her ass, hands cupping her breast as you bend over and kiss where your fingers dug in, every thrust consolidating into one. You're under some self-made thrall, and Saerom is in that same complete thrall. With her feet keep kicking up at the sheer bulldozing force into her very guts, you take one moment of not having her ass in your hands to knead her soles. Then you're back inside, making sure that mold-tight hold of her asshole is perfectly set, or whatever was there is being rearranged. How you're fucking Saerom on all fours, it's like you're rushing for an ending, and you get what you want soon enough.

A single fiber of your being and your soul (in other words, hormones and nerves) becomes a quivering fire, then two fibers, then four, and the pretty pattern flowers into something equally pretty in its chaos.

As this night can't last forever, the doggystyle position can’t last either.

She falls back down, face onto the mattress, and she spreads her legs in a split. You keep pounding, your false energy like the retreating soldiers of a battle sounding off their final shots, and as you do, you massage her ass. Saerom shouts into her pillow at your throes, though it's equally spaced with satisfied hums at your unfailing handiwork. Hands are the only part of you that fail to fail. You want to fill her insides with cum, to destroy the crumbling dam of your restraint. Want to paint her guts white. Want becomes need. You’re fucking her hard enough to turn the necessary into the truth.

"Saerom, I’m…" Finish your sentence. You can’t.

Saerom has her own idea about this ending anyway.

She pulls herself off you. Her tight anus is reluctant to let go of your pulsating cock (you empathize). Saerom rushes to your waist, crawling down to the floor and onto her knees in front of you. It gives you a second to breathe—no, it doesn’t; Saerom’s lips are sealed around your cock already. By the look in her eyes, she wants to suck your soul out. All uncertainty thrown aside, she pushes herself down into your length with a repeated rhythm. Each loud and forceful gag of her self-throatfucking comes with a mess of spit that stains her bed, waterfalls onto the floor.

However, you have the final say.

Grab her hair, pull your cock out of her mouth, and stroke yourself as you aim down.

The first shot hits her chin, dripping, but the other jets of cum cover her neck, her shoulders, and her collarbone, exactly as promised. There are no revelations in this orgasm—unfortunately, you haven’t been superhumanly recharged. The edge of your sight blackens and your knees halfway give out. For this is purely physical. Pure hormones and static sparking pleasure to your body as you stroke your cock to Saerom’s visage and form, and quivering fire is jittery lightning when you cover all that unblemished skin in sticky cum, vulgarizing, fulfilling promises sexy.

Your mouth is dry. Everything else too.

A phone is handed to you. A picture is taken. A smile is on her lips. (A final lesson, smiles don't drip the same way cum does.)

There should be an ending here, but see, climaxes are the true ending, and the true ending is just a necessity. As you and Saerom cuddle, there is an understanding. Comfortable, but uncomfortable. The future, a future, between the two of you exists in some uncertain state. The two of you might find something deeper in this bond, or might never know anything more than friendship and sex. Don’t think too hard for now. It exists unspoken, for now. Whatever would exist is far away from the confines of this bed, and this hold on her body, and eyelids lowering with the understandings between you intertwining—not solved, but trying; if it were solved, then you would just say it right now. We’re together. We’re not together. We’re just fucking. Who cares. If it were solved, there would be no ambiguity to the ghost touch of Saerom’s fingertips on your back and a breath trying to let a word out but letting that warm air become past sand in the glass bulbs and the upper bulb is damn near empty.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

#fromis smut #kpop smut #male reader #reader insert

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jazjelspen · 2 years ago

Text

amor eterno

(miguel and platonic!reader)

(spanglish speaking mexican reader/silly cursing/full sentences in spanish here and there/not proofread/kinda rushed/female reader)

(Happy Father's Day everyone!)

(may make a pt.2 but not sure yet)

(you are Miguel's biological daughter in a different universe and you had to watch your father pass and get buried in your younger years.

you, now an older teenager, have been mastering your spider powers to help the city and your community till all of a sudden you get sucked into another universe where... you see your father again.)

the entire first half of your day was pretty chill as per usual, you just came out of school. you are in a rush inside your home and have been currently getting a few things for your "after school activities". your Tia May always reminding you to stay safe and be careful while Peter, your adoptive brother/guy in the chair, tried to casually dismiss May to let you out faster by asking you to bring him an iced coffee when you get back. once you ran out excusing yourself that you "cannot be late" you then hid behind a secluded alley way to change out of your normie clothes to switch into your spider-themed attire.

It was a normal rest of the day for you, being a crime-fighting spider themed vigilante casually swinging and leaping through your city while taking on a few thieves and even a villain to help your community before resting on top of a roof with a photo of you and your father while munching on a light snack and talking with said photo.

"octo was such a migraine today 'apa.." you scoffed before you took a bite out of your food. "pretty sure I might've broken a small bone or two..somewhere.. but I'm not really sure," you chuckled as you continued "and I know you'd tell me, ten mas cuidado mija, por pendeja te vas a quebrar la cabeza la proxima ves." you spoke as you talked directly to the photo of your smiling dad and you both catching butterflies on a bright sunny day. you imagined what else he'd do right now if he saw and heard you like this, maybe scold you, hug you, curse you out for being reckless then hug you. imagining all this just made you tear up as you stared at his face that you miss seeing everyday, oh how you missed it when he got mad at you. you'd rather him get mad at you a thousand times if it meant to have him back. "I miss you so much.." you let the tears run a bit yet you continued too down your food to calm down the nerves.

after awhile you calmed down and the sun was set with the stars barley getting into view as you peacefully finished the last few chews on your delight whilst enjoying the moment. after crying a bit and relaxing the environment was just so calm and so peaceful in that one second that you even felt as if you were floating, literally. you could practically feel yourself slowly coming off the floor of the roof and your snack basically almost floating out of your han-- oh.

wait.

you are floating.

your eyes then noticed ominous lights of blue, pink,..purple.. and turquoise-- glowing from up above you.

"ay caray..." you mumbled

you quickly snapped your head to look at the direction of the now glowing portal with black specks now growing in size.. you caught on that this portal was trying to suck you in!

"WHATHEFUCK!!"

you immediately shot two spider webs at the ground, one on the floor and one at the photo of your father and you to immediately tuck into your spider outfit to prevent from losing it-- these actions unfortunately forced you to let go of your delicious snack though. you held on as tightly as you could but to no avail your web detached itself from the surface and you were sucked in by the portal with your limbs scrambling to get back out but it closed right in your face.

as you traveled while screaming your lungs out all you could see was a complete endless void of galaxies and glowing blue constellation-like spiderwebs everywhere, your body continued to be sucked into different directions until you were spit right through another portal.

it was all incredibly blurry until you noticed you were heading face first into a group of people who all didn't seem to notice you until the last minute.

"AGUAS AGUAS WATCHOUT--" then they all exclaimed in pain with you as you crashed head first into them. as you all groaned while getting up.

"god that hurt.."

"what was that?--"

"seems like it's a spider-person.."

" 'don't seem like someone we have in the society."

you stayed on the ground still trying to process what just happened but once the figures started becoming clearer and your spider senses started tingling like crazy you then immediately scrambled to crawl away after you realized that-- they are all spider people! just like you!

"what the-- who are you people??.. where am I wh--.." you looked at all of them but a girl of fair skin, blue eyes and blonde hair, one side longer and pinker while the other was half shaved, stretched her hand out to you.

"hey hey... I know this might seem confusing--" she spoke "but right now you have nothing to worry, you're in the spider-society!.. so we don't intend to hurt you.."

you hesitantly took her hand as you got up, looking at her and those behind you up and down for any bad intent, which you didn't get but you still wouldn't let your guard down.

"my name is Gwen Stacy, those behind me are Hobie and Pavitr." each name she mentioned either nodded you 'hello', or gave you an exaggerated 'hello' wave.

you let go of her hand and took a step back, you recognized her last name but decided to think nothing of it "my name is _____... where am I?, I know you said the spider-society and clearly there's more than one... me." you sighed "but did I travel into another part of the world or--"

"oh no you're in another universe."

"what."

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it's been a good few yet long minutes being shown around the Spider-Society HQ and you've got to say you were getting along pretty well with these new spiders. You have been chatting with a few other spider people along the way and you were starting to really dig some of these guys, mostly because of the title and job but it was really starting to sink in. there were people out there in the vast multiverse that were just like you, held the same goals as you.. you felt like there really are people out here that are able to understand you the way your father did.

"and that's the lunch room, oh and theres the gym room but for some reason it's name is much longer than necessary since the leader of this whole organization is a bit of a drama queen. for understandable reasons but still it doesn't help much." Gwen spoke exasperatedly while leading you through the halls, Hobie and Pavitr following close behind yet kind of mingling between each other instead.

" tu leader? theres a whole leader to this entire mess?" you asked while widening your arms to emphasize the size of this entire organization.

"you bet, Miguel isn't the easiest person to get along with but he does his job really well in protecting the multiverse and all the worlds that live in it." she shrugged while speaking.

your body froze on the spot, the blonde took a few steps after you before noticing your slight missing presence and looking behind herself to see you with a worried look on her face. "you alright there?.."

"Miguel." you paused "Miguel." you repeated "that's... sorry that's my dad's name." you let out a sigh with an awkward smile "he died when I was younger but-- " you then couldn't help but chuckle slightly in embarrassment "ah, just missing him a lot lately."

Gwen smiled faintly as she walked up to you and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, which you flinched at a bit but relaxed when you saw she was just trying to comfort you.. in her own way. "I'm sure he was a good man, _____. considering how many universes there are I'm sure that in one of them you and him are living happily... somewhere out there."

that phrase gave you a sense of comfort, you smiled and nodded as you gently patted the hand that was on your shoulder.

that was until in the same hand she hand on you her watch shined and emitted a small hologram of a person, a woman. she asked for Gwen and her group to go to Miguel's "office" for an overview of a mission that has to take place.

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you weren't exactly supposed to be there with them but you insisted to join them, using the excuse that you just wanted to know more about this whole society right from the source. but really you just wanted to see how this Miguel person was.

your spidey senses tingled in anticipation as you were expecting a whole different person entirely until you finally looked at the face of the man in front of you, once he turned to look at you and the entire group and all you could do was stare.

as he was speaking he noticed your staring but ignored it trying to get to the point into why he called his most trusted spiders in here. the thing is your staring made him lose focus since your eyes burned into his skull and he forced himself to stop mid convo to look at you face to face.

"what is it kid? what's your problem?" the man who calls himself Miguel O’hara. the same man who raised you but died in front of you. it was as if he was right in front of you back from the dead but just.. in a blue spider-man suit.

in a split second you felt your body just run up to him and hug him. everyone else gasped while you just sobbed and he immediately grabbed your shoulders and pushed you away but he paused while still holding onto you since you called him the word his own little girl used to call him by, " 'apa.. no sabes quanto te extrañé.. te juro que todo este tiempo siempre estoy regresando a la chamba tratando de ayudar a mi communidad y asciendo mucho mas. exactamente como tu me pediste papito..."

the man tensed up and looked at you and utter confusion yet with a mix of hurt just from being called 'apa',

"who are you?" was all he asked.

you wiped off all your running tears before answering "mi nombre es _____ O'hara. y yo vi a mi papa, Miguel O'hara, morir enfrente de mi para que yo podia vivir otra dia mas." you sniffed as you tried to relax "and I became Spider-man to keep his memory alive."

Miguel's eyes seemed to have widened, as if he wasn't sure what to think. his late daughter's name was Gabriella.. not ______.

once the man continued to stare at you in thought you continued to blabber your mouth out "his.. his name was Miguel O'hara." you repeated as you scrambled to get the photo of you and your dad that you held onto just awhile ago and showed it to him, basically presenting it right on his face "he raised me alone after my mother died giving birth to me, he loved empanadas y.. y--"

he gently took in the photo with one hand and the other he continued to hold onto your shoulder. while he stared deeply into the photo he seems to be inspecting it for authenticity. it took a minute of him just looking at you and then the photo and it seemed he recongnized the resemblance of the little kid in the photo to be you. for a split moment it seemed as if he was about to pull you in for a hug until he pushed you further away and letting you go "I'm not your father, kid. he and I might've shared the same name and the same physical features," he gave you a cold and hard look as he carefully returned the photo to you "but I'm not him."

"he's gone."

and just like that he said that one last phrase before he turned to then proceed to ignore you and return to talk to his team, whom were all awkwardly standing there from the scene they just witnessed. he spoke of some mission.. an anomaly.. and who knows what else. all you could think of was how this variation of your father was cold and distant. you hoped for a split second that this variant would at least recognize you, care for you the way your father did. but you should've known better, you know better, that this man was more than right.

he wasn't your father, no matter how many traits, features, or names they shared. you couldn't use this variant of him as a replacement.

not like there was ever a way to replace the man that raised you before May did anyway.

(tried to add some mexican slang and phrases that my family and I use on the daily, as well as trying to make this somewhat relatable to my fellow mexican/americans out there! T-T also sorry if my spanish grammar is a bit weird, not exactly used to writing dialogue in spanish but ill get used to it for sure <3)

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ateez-himari · 1 month ago

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[241113] GANGSTER OFF-DUTY

[NEW MESSAGES FROMM HIMARI]

[AM 1:09] Ice on my teeth on my, white teeth ✨ Atiny, are you ready for the comeback ? It's one of my favorite concepts

[AM 1:09] I like the pink hair too! 🩰My hair was already bleached grey for the concept photos so I figures that I might as well try another color

[AM 1:10] Omg yeah! My outfit was so cool...I felt like an actual crime boss when I put it on for the first time. I mean a lace bustier and Versace suit jacket ? Come on

[AM 1:10] I actually made the lariat necklace myself because I thought it would go well with the deep v-neckline, the rings were mostly gifts from Donatella

[AM 1:11] Ahh you guys noticed ? It's true, for the first time since our debut I'm the main producer on all tracks and I'm so glad our team trusted me so much

[AM 1:12] I know, I cried too when Sannie oppa sang 'Enough' on Leemujin Service (I went with him to the recording)

[AM 1:12] It's a very personal track because the lyrics are speaking to the version of myself that was in pain, so it's practically raw, kind of like my lines in 'Mist'

[AM 1:12] When I was recording the demo for the members, the 'God Damn' wasn't written into the song, it just came out naturally because of how I felt and I kept it in

[AM 1:13] I watched Arcane too, Yunho oppa and I binged it last night! I can't believe they let me make the song 'Paint The Town Blue' for them...

[AM 1:13] Yeah, singing in English was challenging but I think it turned out well! You can't really hear my accent that much since I practiced for a long time

[AM 1:13] You're right there's a lot of side projects that Tiny didn't know about ㅎㅎ But they'll stop for a bit, since I work in the music industry it's not always good for my hearing to be around noise constantly, so most of what's going to come out has been recorded before my hiatus

[AM 1:14] My instagram caption...? 🤔It's just a random sentence I don't know why you guys are looking into it so much

[AM 1:14] Ohhh! I didn't know that was part of G-Dragon sunbaenim's hidden tracklist now I get why everyone's been so suspicious of me lately

[AM 1:14] It would be nice to work with him...Too Bad I'm on external work break 🐉

[AM 1:15] Right now ? I was just reading a book that RM oppa sent me before I decided to talk to Tiny, then I'm making dinner for our dorm

[AM 1:16] I was originally supposed to room with Jongho oppa and Wooyoung oppa, but then they realized no one in the third dorm could cook so they moved me there

[AM 1:17] ㅎㅎI just saw someone say that they made Viktor attractive in the new season, you're right...the emo phase hit him well

[AM 1:17] Of course my boyfriend is way more attractive, there's no comparison 🤧But a girl can have her fictional crushes you know...

[AM 1:18] I'm so happy someone noticed! They put small grills on my canines because they look like little fangs, so it made them even cooler

[AM 1:18] Nuh uh I didn't steal the lip chain accessory from the MV set, I just borrowed it to take some pictures afterwards

[AM 1:18] I wasn't trying to tease you guys with it 🥺Just make a spoiler that no one would think twice about until the video came out I'M SORRYYYY

[AM 1:19] I sooo wasn't naked in that instagram post...I just wasn't wearing pants, there's a difference. But the members never wear shirts anyway!

[AM 1:19] Did my brother tell you guys to reprimand me about this ? Well for the record tell him to stop showing his tits off on my feed 🤧

[AM 1:20] Well...no I'm not wearing any pants right now...but it's my sleeping outfit! My underwear is really cute though it has a little ribbon! I got them yesterday with Mingi...Seonghwa oppa wanted to come until I told him what I was shopping for

[AM 1:20] Of course I'm not drunk! The boys talk about their underwear all the time so I'm gonna talk about mine 😤

[AM 1:20] One second, I'll show you guys where he is...I just got out of the shower a few minutes ago and found him like this, I'll have to wake him up to eat soon

[AM 1:20] Oh, this is Kyo. He's a stray I brought home not too long ago and he usually sleeps in my bed, even when Mingi's here

[AM 1:21] I didn't do much today, I just went to see a few industry friends, got some painting and sketching done...even with dance practice it's one of the most peaceful days I've had in a while

[AM 1:21] You're right, not working feels great ㅎㅎ Anyway, I need to get started on dinner now Tiny, I'll talk to you guys very soon!

[AM 1:21] I'll do my best during our promotion schedules so be ready ♡ Love you so much, kisses!

Translated from Korean by Google

#ateez au #ateez imagines #ateez 9th member #ateez extra member #ateez female member #kpop oc #HimaSocial♡#HimaFromm♡

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theswordwrites · 3 months ago

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PART THREE (the alchemy)

Juniper Greyson signs a contract, putting her into a PR relationship with Aemond Targaryen.

tw: nothing crazy, lowkey power imbalance, my sweet junie girl :(

word count: 2.4k

PART THREE

Juniper Greyson considered herself a rational person. She loved to make lists: pros and cons, to-do’s, her favorite things. But as she walked up the steps to Aemond Targaryen’s townhouse, she felt anything but.

She hadn’t told her friends—hadn’t told anyone—what Aemond had offered her. Edith and Arianne believed that he would simply deny the rumors, and the media storm would blow over as quickly as it had begun. June figured there’d be a nondisclosure agreement buried somewhere in the contract, so she hadn’t yet thought much about how she would explain things to them when more photos, more headlines, and more attention inevitably followed. Her borrowed time of anonymity wouldn’t last long.

Aemond, ever calculated and cunning, would surely coach her on what to say when that moment came.

The night before, she’d done her research. It was only smart to be prepared, though clearly, Aemond had one-upped her on that front from the start. She’d spent hours scrolling through his campaign footage, galvanizing speeches, and a mountain of articles on the infamous rift between his family.

When his father was ousted from his seat as Prime Minister, Viserys urged his advisors to consider his daughter as the next face of the party. Westerosi men being… well, men denied his wishes. Claiming that Rhaenrya, despite her law degree and experience as a legal aid, was too inexperienced to run for office. She was cast aside for her uncle, Daemon Targaryen. While he had the experience and the prowess, his ideology created a rift between within the Black party. Viserys’ closest aides left in protest, throwing their support behind the emerging Green party—promising fresh ideas and a better future for Westeros.

By then, Aemond had already earned two PhDs, completed a clerkship with the Westerosi courts, and championed multiple activism organizations across various causes. Politically, he was the perfect candidate. He was progressive enough to win over younger voters with promises of change but aristocratic enough to appeal to the establishment that was disillusioned with the Blacks.

Personally, though, he had an image problem. Or rather, a lack of image issues. In every article, every video, every think piece, there was nothing about his personal life. No wife, no scandals, no hobbies—just politics. His brother Aegon, on the other hand, was a walking headline with a string of scandals, a modeling contract, and a very active Instagram page. His sister Helaena kept out of the limelight for the most part, choosing to advocate for environmental conservation and animal welfare on the coast.

June even tried to find out how he’d gotten the scar over his right eye but came up with nothing beyond a Reddit page full of wild theories. A boating accident, a fight with his cousin, a jilted lover.

The door opened, snapping her out of her thoughts. Aemond stood there, dressed in a knit sweater and jeans. It was the most relaxed she had ever seen him—normal, or at least as close to normal as the silver-haired, one-eyed Targaryen could be. In the daylight, she noticed the slight difference between his natural eye and the artificial one. The glass eye was a pale blue, missing the subtle violet undertone of the other. Again, she wondered what had happened to him.

“Hello, June,” he greeted her, his voice soft but focused. He gave her a once-over, a near-imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Her pulse quickened. She had spent an hour hidden away from Arianne, agonizing over her outfit and rehearsing what to say. What does one wear to sign a contract for a fake relationship with one of the most well known men in Westeros?

She hadn’t the faintest idea, so she settled on a simple dress with a sweater layered over it. It seemed to pass his inspection as he nodded and stepped aside to let her in.

The last time she’d been here, she’d been too inebriated to appreciate the decor. But now, in the late afternoon light, she noticed the understated elegance of the townhouse—the art on the walls seemed more vibrant, the details more intentional. She chalked it up to her sobriety.

“Your home is beautiful," she managed, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress as she glanced around.

“Thank you,” Aemond replied, a hint of pride in his voice. “I’d like to take the credit, but my mother had a hand in it. I’m not one for all the pomp and frills.”

He walked ahead, leading her through the house with the grace that seemed intrinsic to him. In the kitchen, her eyes landed on a neat stack of papers on the pristine marble countertop—the contract, no doubt. Her stomach lurched at the sight of it.

Gods, am I really doing this? She thought to herself.

“Coffee?” Aemond asked, already reaching for two mugs.

“Yes, please.” She nodded, her words clipped and polite.

“You were much more talkative the night we met.” he remarked, a playful ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as he poured the coffee.

“Apologies,” she replied, mirroring his smile. “I couldn’t find an etiquette manual for how to interact with your fake-boyfriend whom you know nothing about.”

Aemond laughed, a soft, brief sound that broke through his usually stoic demeanor. She found she liked the sound of it.

“That’s fair,” he conceded, his tone losing some of its edge. “I know this must be—” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “—challenging and overwhelming. But I think we could be friends. Or at least come to some sort of understanding.”

“I would hope so, since we’ll be contractually obligated to spend time together.” Her tone was wry, but she softened slightly. “I think we could be friends. I could teach you about some of the art in the foyer. You have no idea the significance of the water lilies piece. It’s probably worth more than this house.”

“I’d like that,” he said, his gaze lingering on her. “I don’t have many friends—well, I have some. But I’ve always been the type to keep to myself.”

Aemond’s admission caught her by surprise, and she saw the slight tension in his posture. She felt a small pang of empathy for him, but that didn’t stop her curiosity from getting the better of her.

“Is that why there's nothing about your personal life? Anywhere?” The question left her mouth before she could stop it and she tugged her lip in between her teeth in embarrassment of her brashness.

He only raised an eyebrow at her, “Stalking me?”

“Please,” she quipped back with a grin. “I didn't tell you my name before you showed up at my apartment. How’d you manage that?”

“Aegon told me.” he admitted casually.

She nodded and he slid the contract towards her, along with the mug. Her nimble fingers thumbed through the pages, the headings leaping out at her.

I. DURATION

II. RULES

III. CONFIDENTIALITY

IV. COMPENSATION AND BENEFITS

V. TERMINATION

Each word seemed heavier than the last.

He began, “Duration-wise, I’d suggest at least until the election in four months. If we find the arrangement works, we could extend longer into the first part of my term. The termination clause allows us to end it whenever we see fit, with some stipulations, of course.”

June’s eyebrows arched slightly. “Stipulations?”

“If you decide to terminate,” Aemond explained, “you’d have to sign another confidentiality agreement stating that you won’t speak to the press. The benefits change with each month—my lawyer calls it an incentive to continue, but I think it’s fair for the time commitment.”

She only nodded, “And the rules?”

“We’d need to be seen together, obviously, sparingly and privately at first. But you’d be expected to attend campaign events, galas, public events eventually. We’d have to be seen on dates and with friends. Like a normal couple would. My publicist has worked out a schedule that will intensify as the months go on. Leading people to believe things are getting more and more serious.”

He continued, “We won’t be seen with other people. No secret hookups or affairs. No real intimacy between the two of us outside of the public eye. Hand holding, small touches would be appropriate but I’m not expecting you to snog me on the street.”

June’s eyes skimmed over the section marked RULES, but her focus stalled on a single phrase: intimacy in public. Her stomach twisted. She was expected to hold his hand, look at him like he was her boyfriend, touch him like it meant something.

Her breath hitched slightly, the pen momentarily forgotten in her hand. Could she even do that? Fake a relationship so convincingly that people wouldn’t see through it? The very idea of pretending to care—of pretending to feel something for someone she barely knew—made her chest tighten. And the idea of physical closeness… holding hands, even the suggestion of small touches, left her feeling exposed, like her skin was too thin. It wasn’t that she was completely inexperienced with relationships, but she wasn’t someone who offered affection easily. Intimacy wasn’t just about the physical act; it was the vulnerability it demanded.

She stared at the page, her heart hammering as a thousand doubts rushed in all at once. What if I can’t pull this off?

Aemond spoke about public appearances like they were part of a play, something to be rehearsed and executed. But June didn’t know if she could act. Would she be able to hold his hand, let alone lean into him for a picture, while pretending to be someone she wasn’t?

Her fingers traced the edge of the contract again. No real intimacy outside the public eye, it said. But even in public, the thought of being close to him—this man who seemed all edges and secrets—made her pulse quicken with a different kind of fear. Wouldn’t her body betray her, show the awkwardness, the discomfort? How could she look at Aemond like he was hers, when the very idea of such closeness made her stomach twist into knots?

She had spent years building walls around herself, carefully keeping others at a distance. Now, she was being asked to tear them down for the world to see, even if it was only pretend. She swallowed, the dread thick in her throat.

June’s eyes flickered down to the compensation section, and she paled at the figures listed. The sum was staggering, more than she had ever dreamed of. For that amount of money, she would hold his hand, touch him and let everyone think it was real.

Who would turn down that offer? An idiot. She thought. With that, her decision was finalized in her mind.

“This is really happening,” she said, her voice soft.

Then, she leaned against the counter, signing in swooping, cursive letters.

Juniper Greyson

“So, what’s next?” She slid the contract back to him, watching him repeat her motions and ink her name next to his.

“I’ll have my publicist send you our calendar. Any time there’s an outing, a car will pick you up or I will. I have a guest bedroom here, when it’s necessary and I can have my assistant buy any essentials you need while you’re here. Send him a list.” He pushed a business card toward her, their fingers brushing briefly. “We’ll start with something casual—a private dinner. The restaurant will leak photos afterward. Are you free tomorrow evening?”

She nodded.

“Any dietary restrictions?”

“No.”

“Well then, Juniper Greyson,” he said, a playful glint in his eye as he leaned forward slightly, “would you like to go on a date with me?”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The rest of June’s day and the next felt like a blur under the weight of what she had agreed to. A date. A full-blown fake relationship. A chance at a prestigious career. She hadn’t told anyone that she had seen Aemond, much less about their arrangement. The non disclosure agreement she signed was airtight, with a list of consequences so long she didn’t even think about breaking it.

She figured that she would tell Arianne, and the rest of her friends, before the date. June would play the coy, crushing fool and gush how Aemond had apologized for the photos and invited her to dinner as an apology. “He’s actually… sweet, you guys. More normal than I ever thought.” Practicing in the mirror felt stupid, laughable even, yet she found herself doing it anyway. It made the guilt creep in faster, overtaking the excitement she would never admit to feeling. She hadn’t been on a date in ages and as she put on a pop playlist and sipped her wine, she decided she felt happy. Happy to dress up and feel pretty, happy with the deposit in her bank account that hit earlier in the evening and happy to make a new friend, strange as the circumstances may be. Arianne still wasn’t home from work. so she sent a text to their group chat.

JUNIPER: I have something to share with the group

Her phone dinged once. Then twice. Then a third time.

EDITH: SPILL!!!!!

SERAPHINA: if it’s about the guy from the library I totally saw him snogging a guy yesterday

ARIANNE: Does it have anything to do with your disappearing act yesterday?

Her heart beat faster at the last text. Of course Arianne, of all people, would have noticed her avoidance the day before.

JUNIPER: Well kind of. Aemond invited me over for coffee to apologize about the photos.

They released a statement this morning, he explained that the press has been hounding him about his dating life and they’ll bite at anything

But… he may of invited me to dinner because he felt so bad

And I might have said yes

SERAPHINA: oh i was not expecting that

EDITH: Omg

JUNIPER: He promised his security would take care of any paps and the restaurant would be super private.

He was really sweet and more normal than I expected.

Doesn’t hurt to have friends in high places right?

ARIANNE: I’m not sure if getting involved with him is a good idea.

June let out a breath. Arianne had no clue exactly how involved she was about to get. She quickly responded.

JUNIPER: I wouldn’t say we’re involved!

She put her phone on do not disturb after that and took a large gulp of her wine. Although she felt a bit of relief that they knew something, the guilt of lying quickly washed over her.

They would do it too, she told herself as she finished her makeup.

It will be worth it, she told herself as she slipped on her coat.

I’ll be fine, she told herself as she got into the sleek, black SUV Aemond sent her

an: okay now we’re getting into the good stuff!!! i hope junes indecision comes across as genuine; she knows that the benefits of agreeing to help aemond would greatly improve her quality of life, her career, her status etc. but she is also very aware of it being a bad idea. like there’s no universe where it just goes well but a girl cannot turn down a dollar sign and a pretty man. im excited to play around with the friendship dynamics, and i hope you got a little peek of that in this chapter :) thank you for reading!!!

#aemond targaryen #theswordwrites #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #modern!aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfiction

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seeingteacupsindragons · 1 year ago

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I keep thinking about this photo and the way Miyoshi characterized them with their new, modern outfits so well.

Miyoshi has talked actually quite a bit about the character designs for the characters in this series, and it's very obvious how much thought and care was put into each of them--to the point of having Billy designed before chapter one.

And I think that's really reflective here, even in these normally impossible outfit choices.

Let's start with Louis: He's the only brother wearing color (blue jacket, orangey-brown boots), as William and Albert are both in head-to-toe neutrals. Louis has a lot of that, too, but Louis has this thing going on where...none...of his clothes...quite...go...together.

He's wearing what looks to be joggers??? With a very nice ribbed turtleneck sweater. Just wildly clashing formality levels here. And a nice hooded duffle jacket, which falls in a weird formality level between those two extremes and doesn't quite work with the turtleneck. A hooded jacket and turtleneck is, ah, not what one would consider a particularly "fashionable" choice. And then's he wearing what looks like hiking work boots. Those are not fashion boots, either, and they're not sneakers.

My point is, what even is this combo? He looks like he got dressed in the first things his hands grabbed out of the closet and then shoved the only pair of shoes by the door on his feet on his way out of the door--his pants are tucked into them, but lazily. The shoes have fake elastic laces, which look childish and are also lazy. He does not care.

And Louis has never been one for looks over practicality: he scarred his own face because it was expedient and useful. And yet there's a pop of color and life to him that his brothers and their mental issues don't quite have. A childishness to the rushed mismatch of things and the most casual clothes any of the brothers have.

William will be quicker, mostly because I already talked about the fact that's he's dressed like a beatnik, a subculture known for its focus on art, anti-commercialism, and equality. So. Yeah.

But William also looks a little like Louis in that he probably doesn't care much about his appearance: he probably has a closet just full of all black clothing he can always match and a neutral, plain trench with no adornment.

He's also dressed to attract as little attention as possible. He's attractive, of course, and his clothes look nice and fit well. But they're incredibly unremarkable, with no accessories or styling to them. No sparks of bright colors. Just there, fitting in, going unnoticed, much like his regular ol' suit in the main canon. If he dressed like Louis, it would attract attention by being different so he puts a little more effort in.

And last, Albert. Albert is the only one of his brothers wearing accessories: that scarf is a fashion scarf, not a functional one (for all that it seems a little chilly, as they're all wearing coats over what appear to be sweaters). He has gloves. I think I've seen those fashion booties in the Women's department. His collar is popped and his pants are cuffed.

But none of those are flashy, expensive accessories. He's not got a 2k dollar watch or cufflinks or furs or even any color. He's in neutrals just like William, and his clothes are rather plain. But the focus with him is on the way he wears them: he's put effort into the scarf and gloves and making sure those very closely fitting pants go OVER the boots and then cuffed them to show off the boots even though they don't appear long enough to need the cuffing for height (and he's mfing tall, like, finding pants for those legs must be hard enough). He looks nice, he looks fashionable and neat and well-cared for...but he doesn't look like a dandy. He's not trying to peacock around. It's a very subtle, classy way to look well-dressed without feeling like a misuse of funds or rubbing it in anyone's face.

None of Louis's items of clothing go together, but it's all very practical and it functions, and that's what matters, right?

All of William's clothing goes together because he bought the blandest items possible because he doesn't want to think about himself or have other people think about him. He's busy thinking about Math and Sherlock.

Albert wants to be classy and subtly fashionable without being an ostentatious asshole.

And it all just works really for their personalities, and I just love the attention and care put into things like that to make sure you can really feel and recognize the characters from a glance (like when Miyoshi was discussing the importance of giving William and Sherlock such distinct silhouettes despite being the same size and width).

It's a lot of work, and work well done, so I want to appreciate it all with you.

#Moriarty the Patriot #Yuukoku no Moriarty #William James Moriarty #Albert James Moriarty #Louis James Moriarty #character design

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starrygetou · 11 months ago

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(banner art)

thinking about how soft fem!stsg would be in the beginning of their relationship. satoru would plan all these cute dates and make the cutest picnic foods, usually spending way too much time on making small animal shapes out of their apple slices and buying cute cookie cutter sets off amazon so their sandwiches look like tiny bears. suguru would always pick her up on her bike and they’d head over to a more secluded park, just because they both know they don’t like huge crowds but don’t want to spend even more money (that satoru definitely has and is more than willing to spend) on restaurants nearby.

suguru would bring plenty of picnic blankets and a couple pillows to make sure they’re both comfortable for the next few hours. that was another thing, they could never go on a simple date. it always turned into a mini event that inevitably lasted all day. neither of them cared though, now that finals were over and they were graduating college in the following days.

they would cloud gaze after eating their lunch, holding each other impossibly close while suguru lightly runs her hands through satoru’s hair. it would be quiet most of the time, broken up by a random thought one of them had that they just had to share to the other. this would go on for hours until the sun went down, exchanging quick glances at each other as the sky changed colors. suguru snapped a few pictures with and without satoru knowing, admiring how the dusty rose sky complimented satoru’s baby blue outfit.

once they got back to satoru’s apartment, she pleaded for suguru to stay a bit longer. of course suguru said yes, she’d be an idiot if she said no.

satoru gives her girlfriend some space while they change, opting to make some tea while she waits. suguru of course packed pjs because she definitely didn’t plan on staying the night (satoru is very predictable from previous study sessions they’d do together). once suguru is all changed she comes to the kitchen, wrapping her arms around satoru and peppering her shoulder and cheeks with soft kisses. they work together on the small mountain of dishes from picnic prep, enjoying the silence between them with occasional glances and stolen kisses when satoru passes the wet dishes for suguru to dry.

suguru would sit on satoru’s bathroom counter as she did her skincare routine, watching as satoru makes a concoction of serums and moisturizers before applying everything to suguru’s face. suguru never really understood why satoru used so many products, but if satoru told her to try this new serum, you best believe suguru was SPRINTING to the nearest sephora the day after to get a sample bottle along with another full bottle to gift satoru.

they’d cuddle in bed for hours, holding each other close as they watched videos on their respective phones. suguru typically falls asleep first, which satoru fully takes advantage of to take the cutest photos of them together. she saves them to a special folder in her camera roll and on different apps just to make sure she’d never lose them if somehow her phone broke. after staring at suguru for at least 30 more minutes, she finally decides to close her eyes, resting her head on suguru’s chest. suguru wakes up slightly, placing one more soft kiss on satoru’s head then sliding her hand down to hold satoru’s before drifting back to sleep with a slight smile.

#jjk #satosugu #stsg yuri #they make me so ill #this was truly MY jujutsu gaysen #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #jjk geto #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jjk fanfic #gojo x geto #sugusato #fem!stsg #starrygetou drabbles

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tomwambsmilk · 2 years ago

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Okay, so I've been cataloguing and connecting the succ trailer outfits, and I think I've managed to connect a bunch of scenes into episode 1, Logan's birthday (titled Listen Here, Lady, if the rumours are correct). This is a long post so I'm throwing it below a cut:

Okay. Starting off, we have logan in that blue sweater with the checked shirt. It's shown up before, too - that's what he's wearing in the first teaser when he stares out the window. Let's look at where else he wears it:

He's wearing it in this shot, where he's leaving what appears to be some kind of study. And this is where we can start connecting some outfit dots. Take a look at this Greg outfit:

That's the same outfit Greg is wearing here, just with the jacket done up:

It's also the same outfit Greg is wearing here (which fits, since Tom's outfit looks the same as the one in the above shot where Logan walks away):

So, we know that this study shot is the tail end of a long event - one with several invited guests, including Connor and Willa. Plus - that's the same outfit Nick Braun was wearing in the instagram post he made about the start of s4 filming, and there were set leaks in the first couple days (around the same time) of the cast singing happy birthday to Logan. So, my guess is that all these scenes are from Logan's birthday in episode 1. Additionally, all the other gatherings in the trailer appear to be for other purposes, and the 1% dialogue feels to me like establishing dialogue. (That also means Greg seems to have gained some kind of girlfriend over the break, who disappears as the evening drags on. Interesting.)

Now, some people have suggested this Tom outfit is the same one he wears in the argument with Shiv:

But while it does look similar... I hesitate. Because here's what Shiv's wearing:

But let's circle back to Logan's outfit from this event in a different scene - this convo with Kerry:

Kerry is wearing a blue blazer here - a blue blazer which is the same one she's wearing in this scene of the teaser, where she's on the phone with the Roy siblings:

But while she's on the phone with them, Shiv is not only wearing a completely different outfit from the tomshiv confrontation - she's in a different time zone:

It's late at night where Kerry is, and it's daytime where the siblings are, so it's reasonable to assume that they're in California at this point. That seems to be backed up by this shot, where Shiv appears to be wearing the same brown jacket while getting into a car with a palm tree in the background:

Kerry's outfit here is far more distinctive than Tom's - Tom's worn several white shirt-blue blazer combos before, so I think it's more likely for Tom's outfit to be either a repeat or a very similar outfit than Kerry's. Alternatively, it's possible that the kids are in California, and then fly back, and Shiv changes her outfit. But that makes the timeline of the event a bit screwy, imo.

Oh, but let's take another look at this same Logan outfit, in a scene he shares... with Tom.

You can see the design on Tom's shirt more clearly here, and there are faint stripes which aren't on the shirt he's wearing in the tomshiv confrontation - again, making that seem like something from a different event or episode. (The outfit from that confrontation, though, IS the same one he's wearing when he greets Logan on the tarmac. More on that later.) If I'm right about the context of this event, that means this is, again, and episode one conversation between Tom and Logan. It's also during the day, and there aren't many people around. Did Tom come to Logan's birthday early? Was he invited early? Could togan.... be re- *gunshot*

One last thing. Where does Logan go when he leaves the party? Well, according to the BTS photos... to dinner with Colin:

Based on the booth design and the outfit, this is the scene with Logan's dialogue about being 100 ft tall, ect:

Anyways, let's circle back to the kids. Those outfits are distinct, so we know where else we've seen them:

Unfortunately, this location only shows up in this shot, so this is where the trail goes dead. Except...

Kendall's wearing the same outfit here, in this shot of the theatre. What's going on? Who knows. I have no guess. But - they do seem to be connected.

There are still lots more outfits to catalogue, but this is what I have so far! It's all coming together....

#succession #season 4 spoilers #trailer connections

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myjelllybean · 4 months ago

Text

Hating you

This is a chenford fanfic I immediately wanted to write down when I had the idea for it. English is not my first language so there could be a few mistakes.

I hope everyone who reads this enjoys it. If anyone has feedback, I am open for it. <3

I don't have any other ideas finished and don't know what to write so I really beg you to send me requests....

Summary: Lucy had been bullied for years when she was younger, and was about to start a new life to get over it, but it turned out that her new boss was the person who made her life a living hell when she was younger.

She pulled out a million clothes out of her closet. She didn’t even know why. Yes, she had a new job she was going to start today, but as a police officer she would have to wear a uniform.

Still, she wanted to look good. Lucy took her phone from the bedside table. She sent a photo of three possible outfits to John Nolan and Jackson West, hoping they would help her to choose one. Only a few seconds later it was Jackson who answered first.

The second looks the best. Not as if you have tried too hard but it still shows the job is important to you.

She slipped into the dark blue jeans and the short sleeved and a bit oversized black blouse she loved. In addition, she also took her favorite earrings that she was gifted from West and Nolan after finishing the police academy. She looked into the mirror. Did she look too fat? No, she doesn’t. She is pretty the way she is. For the last ten years this was something she regularly had to tell herself.

Should she change into something different? No. She knew from the moment she got up, that today wasn’t a good day. She just wanted to get some more sleep. She didn’t feel good; neither emotionally nor physically. She woke up with cramps in her belly, realizing she got her period, which wasn’t a great start in a new job.

But she couldn’t stay home at her first day of work.

So, she put on her shoes, poured coffee in her pink thermos and checked her bag that she didn’t forget anything. When she made sure she got everything she needed, she went to her car, where she immediately put on the air conditioning.

She absolutely didn’t look forward to wearing the long-sleeved uniform the rookies had to wear. It was 34 degrees Celsius outside; definitely too hot.

She stepped into the precinct, and immediately went to the women’s locker room. Lucy closed her locker and changed into the uniform. It was definitely more comfortable than she anticipated. But it was hotter in it than she thought.

She also swallowed a few pills of ibuprofen, hoping that it would dull the ache in her abdomen.

When Lucy stepped out of the locker room, she spotted John and Jackson, who were standing in front of the conference room.

“Hey! Are you guys ready for today?” Jackson looked quite nervous while he asked the question. “I am definitely not because I heard that our TOs are not really kind.”

“I think I am. I handled much more in my life than idiots who think they are powerful and let everyone around them feel it”, Lucy said even though she wasn’t so sure. Yes, she’d been through a lot but she was scared that she might relive it all again.

“I am not sure if I am ready. I am probably going to be older than my Training Officer so they are definitely going to make fun of me.” Nolan looked a bit worried but Lucy knew he would get through the time as a rookie.

“Nah. You can do this, Nolan. I promise”, Lucy told him.

***

A few seconds later they were the first ones to go into the conference room. They took place in the first row, something the rookies were supposed to, and waited.

The room filled quite fast and only one row was still empty. When the three last people stepped inside the room, Lucy held her breath. She felt her heartbeat becoming faster and faster.

This can’t be happening. This is not really happening, is it? Jackson nudged her shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

But all Lucy could do was sit there, frozen in her position. She knew that guy who had just taken place in the free row. The man who was staring at her with cold, bright blue eyes. His face was unreadable. He was older now. Looked more adulterous. The same cold, piercing eyes. But she remembered him. And she doubts she could ever forget him.

***

As she rounded the corner onto her street, Lucy saw him leaning against the fence, his grin sent a shiver down her spine. Tim Bradford; ten years older than her, seemed to take pleasure in plaguing her whenever he could. It had started innocently, but it had escalated over time.

"Look who's here," Tim said, his voice dripping with faked pity as he stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "Fat Little Lucy, all alone. What are you gonna do, cry?"

Lucy tried to go past him, but he moved with her, his presence threatening. "Leave me alone, Tim," she said, her voice trembling with fear.

Tim chuckled darkly; his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Or what? You gonna tell mommy and daddy? Oh, that's right, they don't care about you, do they? Just like nobody else does."

The words hit Lucy like a punch to the gut, and she felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her roughly by the arm, his grip bruising and painful.

"Let me go!" Lucy cried, struggling against him, but he only tightened his hold.

"Not so fast, princess," Tim said, a grin spreading across his face. "I think you need to learn some manners."

With a swift motion, he pulled out a pocket knife, the blade glinting in the sunlight. Lucy's heart pounded in her chest as she stared at the weapon, her mind racing with fear and panic.

"Please, Tim, don't," she begged, her voice barely a whisper.

But Tim just laughed, pressing the blade against her skin with a cruel smirk. "Scared, are you? Good. Maybe now you'll think twice before crossing me again."

The pain was sharp and searing as Tim carved a deep cut into Lucy's thigh, leaving behind a trail of blood. She cried out in agony, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to break free from his grasp.

But just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Tim released her with a final shove, sending her stumbling backward onto the pavement. He looked down at her, his blue eyes looking like ice.

"Remember this, Lucy," he said, his voice low. "You're nothing. And no one will ever care about you.”

***

Jackson nudged her again.

“Is everything ok?” Lucy finally felt like she could move again.

“Um… Yes. I am ok. I was just reminded of something.” She shook her head as if it could just delete the memories her brain was playing over and over again. Her hand wandered as if by itself to the scar on her thigh, that was currently covered by her uniform.

It wasn’t the only one she got while she was bullied by Tim and his friends. She has never told anyone, as she didn’t think anyone would believe her. Tim made her feel worthless. And it still sticked to her. She often had days when she wasn’t able to look in the mirror, being too ashamed by herself.

Sergeant Grey stood in the front of the room, but Lucy wasn’t really able to listen.

“West! You are with Lopez in the next months. Nolan, you are with Bishop and Chen, you are with Bradford.” The rest of what the Sergeant said, was just a blur of words to Lucy. All she could do was staring at the ceiling, begging her tears to not flow freely. She couldn’t have a breakdown. Not here. Not now. She blamed her hormones on that, as she always was more emotional when she was on her period.

She felt a presence beside her and looked up to see Tim standing there, his expression unreadable.

"Officer Chen, right?" he asked, his tone professional.

"Yes, sir," Lucy replied, struggling to keep her voice steady.

Tim nodded, glancing at his notes.

"We’re partnered up. Ready to hit the streets?"

Lucy swallowed hard, her mind racing. "Yes, sir," she repeated, praying her voice didn't show off her fear.

How would she survive that day when she already panicked now? For a short moment, she considered going to Sergeant Grey to tell him she needs another TO, but Lucy feared he would just laugh and won’t believe her. Tim was a cop now? Nobody would believe her, a rookie, that an officer would have bullied her a few years back.

“Faster, boot! I don’t have all day to wait for you!”

Lucy got up from where she had been sat, and hurried after her TO. Her smartwatch vibrated and with a short look at the display, Lucy recognized the alarm. She had a pulse of 124! When only one single minute with Tim triggered her like that, what was going to happen after a whole day?

“Boot! Here you can get the bags and everything else we need, also the body cams. You’ll get these to the shop, never call it car, every single day, did you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” Lucy took the two bags after she attached the body cam to her uniform and followed Bradford to the car… no… shop.

She put the bags in the trunk, before taking place on the passenger seat.

After they drove through the streets of the city for quite a while and nothing has happened yet, Tim suddenly started to yell.

“I’ve been shot! Where are you, boot?!”

Lucy looked at him; confused. Why has he been shot? She couldn’t see a wound where a bullet could have hit him?

“I’m bleeding to death, you have to call for help, where are you?! Where are you?!”

She leaned out of the car in an attempt to see a name of the street they were onto.

“Now I’m dead. It’s your fault.”

“What?” Lucy’s voice trembled. She didn’t do anything! Nothing has happened!

“Get out and walk. You can get back in when you know where you are.”

Panic threatened to overwhelm her. Fuck! Not now! She took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure.

Slowly she tried to open the door, still trying to breathe. In her head, she tried to remember the way they have been driving. But before she could remember where they were, she felt nauseous. She got hold on a tree next to the street and doubled over. Why did she have to puke in this moment? As if the situation wasn’t already embarrassing enough.

“Chen, are you ok?” She was clearly not ok! If she was, why would she stand in the middle of the sidewalk and throw up everything she has eaten today.

Lucy retched until she knew for sure that her stomach was empty by now.

“Do I have to get you to hospital, Chen?” For a short moment she considered the advantages of this idea. But what would she say in the hospital? My boss bullied me years ago and I am still not over it so I had a panic attack because he yelled at me because he doesn’t remember anything what he did?

No. She can’t do that. She shook her head.

“Ok. But at least we go to a café now so you can drink and eat something, ok? I can’t let you do the job when you are like that.”

Lucy slumped back into the passenger seat.

“Baxter Street”, she mumbled as she closed her eyes for a moment in an attempt to relief the sharp pain behind her eyes.

“What?” Tim looked confused at her.

“We’re in Baxter Street.” Tim nodded.

“Right.”

Only a few minutes later they sat in the next Starbucks. Tim reported dispatch that they would need a break. He didn’t tell the reason, but it looks like the dispatcher knew it would have to be something important if it was Tim who called in a break.

He couldn’t help but worry. Lucy said she needed the toilet, so he sat on the small table without her. Had he been too hard on her? He had been in the army; he knew that panic attacks don’t just happen. They are always triggered by something.

He couldn’t deny the fact that he worried about Lucy. When he has first seen her, he thought she was a strong woman, that could really be a good cop one day. But he had to do a few Tim-Tests on her. He always did; with every rookie he has had so far. He needed to know what their weaknesses were.

That was his job, right? Still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he had done something wrong.

Lucy reminded him of someone; he just couldn’t quite remember who she reminded him of.

Lucy returned from the bathroom. In the meanwhile, Bradford had already ordered coffee and a piece of chocolate cake for each of them.

Tim could see that Lucy must have cried. Her eyes were red and swollen, but he decided not to say anything about it. She didn’t cry alone in the bathroom just so everyone could notice when she came back.

“Thank you”, she said with her voice barely above a whisper when she realized Tim has ordered food and a coffee.

“I didn’t know how you’d like your coffee so I took a guess. It’s caramel macchiato I thought you may like it.”

Lucy smiled. The caramel macchiato was her favorite drink. It was her comfort beverage which she always drank when she was stressed out.

She took a sip of the hot coffee; closing her eyes as she took in the sweet taste, that was on the verge to too sweet.

“You like it?”

Lucy nodded again.

“Yes, again, thank you.”

Did Tim really become more… adulterous? Yes, he had been very harsh before, but right now he was quite kind. He ordered her a drink and food, although there was an unwritten rule that the rookies are supposed to pay for the bills.

Lucy took a bite from the cake. The chocolate melted on her tongue and it was just perfect. From her bag, she took the small container of ibuprofen she luckily remembered to pack for today. The cramps were back and she didn’t want to seem weak to Tim.

She really thought he had changed but she still didn’t want to take the risk of him using her weaknesses to hurt her.

Tim eyed her as she popped the pill into her mouth and furrowed his brow.

“Are you ok?”

Lucy nodded.

“Yes.”

Tim narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He could sense something was going on, but after the panic attack she has just had, he didn’t want to make her more uncomfortable than she already seemed to be and maybe even trigger another attack.

She finished the cake and her caramel macchiato.

“Do you feel a bit better?” Tim really looked a bit worried and it didn’t seem fake.

“A bit. But it’ll be better.”

“Good. Are you ready to hit the streets again?”

Lucy nodded and plastered a forced smile on her face.

“Then, let’s go.”

As soon as Tim called in that they can go on calls again, they were sent to a call.

“7-Adam-15 on our way.”

They found Nolan and Bishop, who were already on site. John tried to calm an upset man who was standing on a car and hit the windshield with a baseball bat.

But the man ran off and Nolan immediately ran after him.

“Go, Chen! Chase him first”, Tim shouted and Lucy immediately ran off.

She managed to get to the man before Nolan did, but only because John got stuck in a gate. Talia and Tim made fun of him while Chen put the man who just ran off in handcuffs.

“Well, not bad”, Tim said after the man sat in the back of the shop. Lucy smiled a bit to herself. A real smile. This was the first moment today where she felt really happy. Like she did something right.

She looked out of the window, as she didn’t want Tim to see her smile like that and destroy this moment.

But she didn’t notice that Tim smiled at her. He couldn’t get over the fact that he liked the way her nose scrunched when she smiled and how her eyes seem to become a bit smaller.

God, he was her TO! He shouldn’t feel attracted to his boot! Get back to the hard TO who makes Tim-Tests and drives the rookies insane, he told himself. He took a deep breath and forced himself to look back at the streets.

When they drove through a small alley, Lucy spotted a guy, who was called in to be searched for robbery just an hour or so ago.

“There! This is the guy they are searching for”, Lucy exclaimed.

Tim turned he sirens on and they got out of the car, standing behind the door for a bit more safety, but in this moment the guy drew his gun and began to shoot. Only a few seconds later, another man appeared, also with a weapon and began shooting too.

Immediately, Lucy and Tim shot back.

“Stay low!” But just as her TO finished talking, he let out a loud “fuck!” and fell to the ground.

Lucy slowly rounded the car, paying attention so she wouldn’t get shot too. She packed Tim and pulled him to the back of the car so they weren’t in danger to get shot by these idiots.

“Don’t stay. Shoot back”, Tim commanded while his face was scrunched up in pain.

Lucy reloaded her gun and shot back. She managed to hit one of the men and the other one ran away as another police car appeared in the alley. John and Bishop got out of it and John immediately followed the man who had just run off while Bishop put the other in handcuffs.

The wound he got from Lucy shooting him wasn’t too bad, the bullet only grazed him and he had a small scratch on his lower abdomen but still lay crying on the street… men, Lucy though watching him.

She turned her attention back to Tim who lay on the street as well, blood pooling out of a wound in his abdomen. Lucy put her hands on the wound to apply pressure to it; hoping it would stem the bleeding at least a little bit.

She glanced over her shoulder, to have a look if the paramedics have already arrived and in the exact moment an ambulance arrived.

A woman exited and immediately ran to them.

“He… he got shot in his abdomen. It‘s bleeding heavily”, Lucy told the paramedic who had a name tag on her uniform with the name ‘Nune’ on it.

“It’s not that bad… just a scratch”, Tim said and Lucy just shook her head and rolled her eyes.

There were two types of men. The ones who cry when they get touched because it ‘hurt so much’ and the ones like Tim, who are lying on the concrete of an ally with a bullet in their abdomen and say ‘it was just a scratch’. There wasn’t something in between.

“Well, good job, boot. Now go chase the guy. We don’t want Talia to get him, right?”

Once again, Lucy rolled her eyes. This man can’t just let others win. But either way, she got up and after Nolan.

She caught up quite fast and ran the man to the ground. She handcuffed him before she pulled him to his feet and dragged him along with her. She led him to Talia’s car where she pushed him in the chair in the back of the car, before she shut the door closed.

Bradford, who was now placed on a stretcher nodded at her. She just took it as a compliment.

“To which hospital are you going to bring him?”

The paramedic told her the name of it before getting into the driver’s seat.

In that moment, Sergeant Grey appeared in the alley.

“Officer Chen. You are allowed to get home. I’ll organize another TO for you for tomorrow so please be on time.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Grey. Am I supposed to drive the car back at the station?”

“I don’t think so”, the Sergeant said with a glance at the car.

“Oh.” The car… no shop… was… damaged. Like really damaged. Was it… on fire? Oh shit…

“But Chen?”

“Yes, Sir?” Lucy turned around again.

“Bradford has a daughter. She is at daycare and Bradford won’t make it to get her home. Could you get her and maybe bring her to hospital so she can see her dad? I will see who can take her for over the night.” Lucy looked confused. Tim? A dad? Ok…

“Ehm… I can take her over the night if that’s alright?”

“That would be great. Thank you.” Lucy nodded before turning around to get a Taxi.

“Wait, what’s her name?” She didn’t know the name and she was going to need it to get her form daycare.

“Olivia. Olivia Bradford.”

Before Lucy went to daycare, she drove to the station, where she got changed and got her bag.

***

“Hello. I am here to get Olivia Bradford.”

“Are you Olivia’s mom?” The woman looked at her quite suspicious.

“No… Her dad had an accident at work and I am supposed to get her to hospital to see him.”

“Mhm…” The woman still didn’t look completely convinced. “Then, I need you name and any ID you got with you. It’s a safety measure.”

Lucy nodded and got her ID out of her bag to show it to the woman.

“Lucy Chen.” She nodded.

“Ok, I will get Olivia for you.”

Just a few seconds later a young girl appeared in the hallway.

“Who are you?” Lucy smiled at her.

“I am Lucy. I work with your dad. He had a small accident at work so I was told to get you so you can see him. Is that ok with you?”

Olivia eyed her; clearly considering if she could trust the woman standing in front of her, but then taking a step towards her and taking Lucy’s hand.

“Hm. I think so. If you work with my dad you have to be nice. I am Olivia and so old”, she held 4 fingers in the air, “but I don’t like my name so everyone calls me Livy.”

“Do you want me to call you Livy too?”, Lucy asked. She knew better than to just call her that, knowing that kids often just say stuff without meaning it.

“Yes, that would be nice.”

“Ok.” Lucy nodded. “Then… let’s go to your dad.”

Lucy sat the girl in the car seat for kids she got from Tim’s car.

The drive to the hospital was quite fast and Livy told Lucy of her day at daycare. In only 3 minutes, Lucy knew all the daycare-gossip, Livy’s friends and what the girl had for lunch.

“Miss Lucy? Can we get food? I’m hungry.”

“Of course, sweety. What do you want to eat?” Lucy looked at the girl through the rearview mirror and laughed at the way her nose scrunched while thinking what she was craving.

“I want chicken nuggets and fries. Dad barely buys it for me because he says it isn’t healthy and I need healthy food to grow and become strong but it is just so yummy!”

For a moment Lucy considered if she should buy her the wished food if Tim was clearly against it, but who was she to withheld it when Livy’s dad just got shot. And she had seen Tim eating a burger today.

“Ok, let’s go. We can get something at the drive-through and you can eat it in the hospital, ok? Maybe your dad wants something too.” Livy nodded happily while she had a broad smile on her face.

***

Only 10 minutes later they sat in Tim’s hospital room. He was still asleep, so Lucy sat on a chair with Livy on her lap while they were eating the food they had just bought.

“Thank you, Miss Lucy. I like you.” The girl grinned with her mouth full with fries

“Just Lucy. I am not Miss Lucy that makes me sound old.” Livy looked at her.

“But you are old.” Lucy gently nudged her shoulder.

“Hey! I am not! You know, you dad is quite a bit older than I am.” She pouted.

“I know. My dad is like really old.” Lucy laughed at Livy. She loves this girl.

***

Tim slowly started to wake up. In the first moment, he didn’t even know where he was, but remembered as soon as he felt the slight burning sensation on his abdomen. He was at the hospital.

He could see two silhouettes on the small table on the window. The light was dimmed but he could still recognize Lucy but he couldn’t quite recognize the other silhouette.

“Lucy! Daddy is awake!” Lucy turned around.

“Then go hug him. But be gentle he was hurt today.”

Tim grinned as he could see his daughter running to him.

“Daddy! Do you feel better? Lucy said a bad guy hurt you.” Livy stood next to his bed, clearly wanting to get up, but she couldn’t as the bed was quite high and his daughter was really small. Lucy appeared behind the girl and lifted her to the bed, careful not to sit her anywhere near the stitches so she couldn’t accidentally hurt him.

“Mhm. Feel a bit better now. Are you ok?” Livy nodded.

“Lucy bought fries and chicken nuggets!”

Lucy gently nudged the girl’s shoulder.

“I thought we agreed not to tell your dad.” Lucy wasn’t serious. Tim could tell by the way she smiled that the girl had her wrapped around her little finger. But he really couldn’t blame her. He knew that his daughter had that effect on every person she has ever met.

“I have also bought something for you. The food in this hospital tastes like shit so we have a burger and fries for you. I don’t think it is allowed on the ICU so you should eat fast.”

Tim nodded. He didn’t really have much energy to talk at the moment. He still felt drowsy from the anesthesia and the pain in his abdomen didn’t help.

“Could you call a nurse, please? Need some more meds.”

Lucy nodded and returned only a few minutes later with a doctor and a nurse.

“Officer Bradford. The bullet hit your spleen we had to remove it in surgery. It is normal to feel pain but we can give you some meds to help with that. You need to take it easy in the next few weeks and have to stay in hospital for around 5 days. Your stitches are most likely going to be removed in 10 days or more that depends on how good the wound heals.”

Tim noticed the nurse giving him a medication through the IV; probably painkillers. At least he hopes so.

“I need to organize something where my daughter can stay. I can’t stay in hospital for 5 days…”

Lucy interrupted him.

“You can and you will! I can take care of Livy, right?” The 4-year-old nodded and grinned.

“I can’t have you taking care of my daughter. I don’t even really know you and you don’t know me and you have work to do and probably have to study for the next test.” Lucy waved him off.

“I already cleared it with Grey and the daycare. I can leave earlier than usually and Livy can stay in daycare until I get her home. We will have lots of fun.”

“Thank you, boot.”

Lucy couldn’t hope but shake her head. She knows him. He knows her. Maybe he doesn’t remember but she remembers ever single moment. She remembers how she got the scars that cover her body. She remembers the reason why she now has two fine scars on each of her arms.

“Ok, come on Livy. We really need to let your dad rest and it is already late so you have to go to bed.” Lucy lifted her off the bed.

“No! Wait!” Livy ran back to her dad. She hugged him tightly and Tim let out a groan as it hurts his stitches how tightly she held onto him.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, baby girl? What’s up?” He could see tears glimmering in his daughter’s eyes.

“Are you gonna die, daddy? You are not allowed to. Mommy is not here and you have to stay with me because if you don’t, I don’t have my daddy anymore.”

Tim shook his head while he hugged Livy.

“No. I won’t leave you here. I am going to be back to normal in no time and then we can have long movie nights and eat tons of ice cream, alright?”

The girl nodded.

“Ok. Bye!” The girl ran back to Lucy who had to fight back tears. She didn’t know what had happened with Livy’s mom, but she couldn’t imagine how it felt for a little girl who doesn’t really understand what happened to her dad.

Before Lucy left the room, she turned around one last time.

“I do know you. And you know me. Better than you might think.”

With these words, she left the room and went to her car.

***

At 1 am, Lucy heard a soft knock at her bedroom door. Confused, she got up and opened the door, just to see Livy standing in the doorway. She had her stuffed rabbit they got from Tim’s home, together with clothes for Livy, pressed to her chest.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Ok. Come here.” Lucy scooped the girl up and went to the living room. On the floor laid a mattress. Lucy took the blanket and wrapped Livy in it before going to the kitchen, still having Livy in her arms.

She placed the girl on the kitchen counter, before getting milk, which she warmed up in the microwave. She mixed it with cocoa powder and handed it to Livy before scooping her up again and placing her on the couch.

“So, what is your favorite TV show?”

“Paw Patrol.” Lucy smiled.

“Excellent choice.” Lucy switched on the TV searched Paw Patrol and turned some random episode on. She placed Livy on her lap and wrapped her even tighter in the blanket.

Livy sipped on the hot chocolate every once in a while, while watching the short episode of her favorite show. While watching TV, Livy told many stories about her dad.

Lucy couldn’t help but begin to like Tim. He seemed like a great dad. Still, she couldn’t help but feel scared of him. Yes, he was a great dad but was he also a good friend? Partner? TO? Has he changed over the last years?

In that night, she decided that she had to talk to him. She hadn’t felt safe with him today when they were involved in the shooting.

She has to talk to him about it. She deserves a talk. A real talk where they can talk about her future as a police officer. Maybe she really has to ask Grey for a new TO.

***

The next day was terrible. She overslept and was late for work. Luckily everyone was understanding, as they already knew that she took care of Livy.

The girl had insisted on calling her dad to make sure he was ok, which had also taken really long.

Her TO for today seemed annoying and she was glad as she was finally back at home. She made food for Livy and herself before they drove to the hospital. Lopez was already there. It looks like Angela and Tim were good friends, Lucy had already assumed it the day before when she had seen them talk at lunch.

“Officer Lopez? Could you please go outside with Livy for a moment?” Lucy had to talk to Tim now. She couldn’t wait longer. He panicked about this talk the whole day and had to get it behind or she was going into another panic attack.

Before she could start talking, Tim opened his mouth.

“What did you mean yesterday, when you said you know me and I know you?” Tim raised an eyebrow, his confusion turning into a smirk. "What, did I steal your lunch money or something? I was quite the troublemaker back then."

The remark hit her like a slap in the face. The casual way he joked about it, as if it was some harmless prank, made her blood boil. Lucy's eyes narrowed, and she clenched her fists at her sides, fighting to keep her composure.

“You really don’t remember me at all, do you?”

“Sorry, I really don’t; have I slept with you years ago I had a player phase a couple years back.”

Lucy shook her head trying not to cry. He had been bullying her for years! Four fucking years of torture and he didn’t even remember.

“1537 West Sunset Boulevard. I lived there. 1543. Your address. No. You didn’t steal my lunch money. You hurt me. I have scars. And not just mentally. You insulted me! Every single day of my life for almost five years! I almost killed myself because of you. And you don’t even remember me. I am still in therapy. Still have problems with my body. I have days I can’t even eat properly because you have told me I was fat so many times I stopped counting after 37 times. I have 13 scars all over my body because of you.”

Tim stared at her; his face unreadable. He remembered. She doesn’t just have a similar face like someone he has met before. She wasn’t just a one night stand he didn’t remember. Fuck. What had he done?

“Yesterday, when we were involved in the shooting, I was scared to death with you next to me because I couldn’t trust you!” Lucy started crying and her whole body was shaking but she couldn’t stop just yet. “And now I took care of your adorable daughter for one night and she told me all these stories what a great dad you are and I started liking you and I hate myself for it! I spent years in my life hating you and one night makes me like you?”

“I am sorry. Really. I am sorry I didn’t remember. I am sorry I did that to you. Really. I was an idiot back then. Had family problems and didn’t now what to do so I did the things my dad did to me to others. Tried to compensate everything.”

Lucy looked at him. Tim didn’t really understand that look.

“You really use ‘family problems’ as an excuse for tormenting me? Are you serious? You broke me! And as if it wasn’t bad enough that you were my new TO you were quite kind when I had that panic attack! You bought me chocolate cake!” Lucy felt like she was being ridiculous and overreacting but she had to let it all out now.

“Come here please.” Tim made place on his bed and pointed at the free spot. Without thinking about it she sat down on the bed and started crying. Tim rubbed gentle circles over her back.

“Like I said, I am really sorry. If you want another TO, I would understand that. But I hope you can forgive me at some point because I have changed. At least I think so. I know you can’t trust me overnight, it’s a process. And just so you know, you are damn pretty. When I have seen you in the conference room yesterday the first thought I had was ‘wow, that woman is pretty and looks so confident’. And I don’t think I broke you. Maybe but you have healed and like a bone that just gets stronger when it is healed again, you are stronger too. I have seen it when I was patrolling with you. You are a strong and damn hot woman, Lucy.”

Tim hugged her. Gently so he wouldn’t frighten her.

In that moment, the door opened and Lopez stepped inside with Livy. It was obvious that Angela heard the whole conversation, and Livy seemed to recognize the tension too, which wasn’t hard with Lucy who was still crying in Tim’s arms.

Livy ran to her and patted her cheek with her small hand.

“No crying, Lucy.” She hugged Lucy with her small arms and she couldn’t help but smile at the adorable girl.

Maybe she couldn’t trust Tim just yet. But maybe after she spent the next days with the 4-year-old and her stories about her dad it would be a little easier.

#the rookie fanfic #the rookie #chenford #tim bradford #lucy chen #lucy chen x tim bradford #chenford fanfic

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dmercer91 · 1 year ago

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for opposites attract i feel like reader would be in like a dark outfit and mary janes and dark makeup next to sunny sweet luca but luca just thinks they are so so adorable!!

oh absolutely - turned this into impromptu draft day hcs cause i love them

you allow adam to sit next to luca purely cause you know they’re gonna have an hour long cuddle session on live television once adams name is called

you hug adam for the second time ever and maybe you’re a smidge proud of him so you smile with teeth and everything

adam teases you about it while he’s doing his rudimentary good luck ritual of messing up your bangs

“you’ve got a pretty smile,” “oh shut up,”

as soon as he starts making his way down you steal his seat and take lucas hand

he’s more than aware that the camera is panning to him while they’re talking about adam and you’re not so aware

he has every gif or picture of the two of you holding hands he can find saved

this is probably the first time the internet is getting a good view of you because you downright refuse to let him post your face at this point in the relationship

even when he hard launched you it wasn’t your whole face, he’d just tagged you

a lot of people are a little.. perplexed at the contrast between you and luca

i’m picturing a long sleeve dress and black tights, still formal enough for the draft

hair down and in loose curls

^ i’ve always envisioned very long, either really dark brown or black hair with like the thin fringe bangs

and light (layer wise) makeup, still matching the darker colour scheme

meanwhile luca is in the light blue and he’s just being luca

the chain he has with the moon ring on it is out where people can see it and he’s fidgeting with your sun ring

he absolutely wants a photo shoot before you leave cause he thinks you look so pretty

he almost definitely has a friends/family instagram or something that has essentially become a you fan page

tonight is no different and those who follow it have given up on watching all the stories

cause he will not shut up (before it starts and after the draft is over) about how beautiful you are and how proud he is of adam and it ends up being one of those days where he’s got so many posts the story lines are dots (seriously everyone’s sick of him)

he even got one of you and adam together and you’re leaning your head on his shoulder cause that’s your newly acquired honorary brother and you want to show him you’re happy for him and this is the way he accepts you’re gonna do that

luca loves that you love adam and that adam has basically accepted his role to you as lovingly pesty little brother

you don’t really keep up much with hockey other than luca and adams whole situation, so you very discreetly eye fucking luca once you’re pretty sure they’re done talking about adam cause you’re not familiar with other people and you don’t want to look bored

you do watch out for gavin’s name

honestly confused protective mother vibes when he isn’t called (however you will not ever tell anyone that. ever.)

his parents love you even though you’d hardly met just because not only is luca head over heels and constantly praising you but adam has started mentioning how you’re warming up to him and just the fact that he’s proud of himself for that tells them they want you to stay around

clothes last about .47 seconds max once you and luca are back at the hotel room courtesy of a couple drinks after the draft

this is longer than i thought it was gonna be but my brain kept thinking things and i’ve gotten so much sun today so if this is word vomit my apologies i cannot contain the luca and reader love

#opposites attract au !#luca fantilli

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batsplat · 6 months ago

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This isn't the usual kind of ask you answer, but I've been working my way through the videopass archive sequentially and have been thinking about the historic/vintage livery that the teams are going to be using in Silverstone after the summer break quite a bit. Personally I'm very fond of the West Honda Pons' black and white livery especially with how they had the names of the riders on one side and the team name on the other, and obviously the gauloises and camel yamahas are iconic. But you've obviously watched a lot of the older seasons, so are there any liveries you'd like to see/which ones would you personally pick for the teams?

I too have been having thoughts about this! I do have some of my faves in a wee folder, and initially my picks were a bit limited in terms of range of years and teams. BUT let's do this properly. all eleven teams. my hot take for each and every one of them

CAVEAT NUMBER ONE look I don't know how 'design' or 'colour theory' or even 'taste' work. most of my reasoning doesn't extend beyond 'I thought this looks nice'

CAVEAT NUMBER TWO I also don't... quite know how this works in terms of who's allowed to use which livery? like not just the sponsor stuff, but would teams be able to use liveries from... idk, a different satellite outfit that was in the sport before they were? this ask mentions the pons liveries.... could honda teams actually use those? what if you don't have a lot of history? is anyone allowed to use mv agusta liveries? would teams go for special liveries, or just the regular ones? how strict are the rules for what you can use?

so. y'know. I'm really just guessing here what's even possible, which meant that for... uh. some of these teams. I did have to reach a bit to come up with a viable livery. let's just make clear this is all vibes and go from here

HONDA

they should have no problem with coming up with plenty of options. let's start with the west honda pons, which the ask references:

excellent pick, anon. if they can use this one, I'd very much support it! we're missing black bikes on the grid currently... this one's simple, it's classy, it's got a little bit of identity with the name written on the side. the dark red highlights work nicely. it's also a livery that, unlike some of the ones to follow, should still work well on the current bikes without losing its identity too much - though maybe you'd have to put some thought into how you'd place the actual name. should still be plenty of space though! and it'd be easily recognisable to fans who are familiar with the old livery, which I reckon is also an important metric

while we're on pons, shout out to the ducados honda pons livery:

nice shade of blue! nice design of the leathers! pleasing shape of the numbers! just has a lot of character and charm to it

anyhow, let's get to the factory honda team. the VERY first pick that popped into my head was the special livery for aragon 2011:

so I get that sense that plenty of people hate this livery and think it looks 'childish' and I'm sorry, but if you think that, congratulations on having bad taste. it's cute! honda barely ever has fun! look at how orange it is! look at the stars! there's a star on the leathers too! I'm fond of the way the front of the bike looks too, how the numbers are placed kinda messily on the star. this one's just, y'know, a bit more creative, something that's just different from how we usually expect liveries to look. screw classy and stylish, give me something with a bit of charm

moving back in time a little further, here's the valencia 2003 livery (valentino's last race with honda):

isn't she gorgeous?? I'd put that bike in my bedroom. lovely from every angle. if you look it up, you can find more photos to show it off properly - just see the sun on the top of the bike. really nice mix of the traditional repsol orange with the yellow, it all just works together. bright like the sun

and one more special livery from the early noughties (if not from the factory team), here's mugello 2001:

hardly a controversial choice, people love this one for a reason. it's pretty!! blue flowers!! this one should work reasonably well on the modern bikes too and obviously most fans should be able to recognise it. again, I don't know what the stance is on special liveries - but hey, it'd be fun to give a certain someone in your factory team a livery from this era

and going back further still, here's eddie lawson 1989:

yes, it's rothmann's honda, yes, I've decided not to care. this is my personal top pick for honda. it should be recognisable even on the current bikes, it pays tribute to honda's long history by not just sticking to something from this century, and it looks cool. clean cut colours that are nicely separated out - I really like the yellow highlights on either side of the bike, plus the way the separation of the blue and white is handled on both the bike and the leathers. it's all quite clearly demarcated, but with nice details to give it character - those stripes on the front of the bike and on the the leathers. the touches of gold. the rider's name on the side of the screen. the number on the back of the bike. cool bit of history, too, like they stole that man away from yamaha and it certainly worked out for them. it's fun!

and one more jump to the past to hailwood's late sixties honda:

this one is proper honda #heritage and I'd totally get if they go with that. my main issue is... I'm not quite sure how it'd work on today's bike, shape-wise? like, the charm here is really the simplicity, the way the orange-gold spreads over the silver. does that work if you have all the bits sticking out everywhere? maybe somebody with a better understanding of design than me can figure it out, and I do like this one. the numbers look nice. idk. it's neat

LCR

well. I guess you'd want to go with one of the cecchinello liveries here? my problem with lcr is that they seem to generally be pretty big on their retro liveries anyway - the first one I thought of... basically looks like the 2021 lcr livery anyway? boring! done that! then there's a few years that are like... silvery, but, and I know this is an unfair way to go about this, I kind of feel I've already gone silvery with a few of my other picks and they're all nicer. so, here's my pick from 2000:

it's a bit busy, but that's kinda the fun of some of these older liveries. big chunk of red, some blue, the nice bright yellow number, even all the logos are kinda fun... I like the weird shape of the white line that separates the red and the black. I don't know, it just works for me as a complete package in a way some of the other lcr liveries don't

YAMAHA

yes, gauloises yamaha. my beloved. everyone's a fan for a reason

can't not mention it!! I do think valentino's version specifically works the best because of the extra bit of flare the yellow highlights provide here. but also the GO!!!!!! thing works on every version. it's fun! sometimes it's okay to go overboard with exclamation mark numbers! this one kinda hits the sweet spot as being proper classy but also joyous, enthusiastic. just overall very much a vibe

on camel yamaha, I do like the livery, but personally I do just associate it more strongly with camel honda? which was literally the same livery. that might not have been the factory team, but those were still serious frontrunners during the early noughties... and, well, it just doesn't feel specifically yamaha to me idk

okay, I'm going to restrain myself here on the valentino livery front. yes, I too liked laguna and valencia 2005. I have only 30 images to play with here and I'm not going to blow half of them on valentino special liveries, so I'm going to stick to my two faves. assen 2007 and catalunya 2008:

they're just! fun! when it comes to liveries in general, my basic criteria are a) can I easily figure out who's riding them, and b) do they make me smile. elegance is boring, give me something more quirky and memorable and FUN. assen is just. a lot. lots of colours, such a bright and cheerful livery that still works as a complete package. the bike's fun, the livery's fun, fabio would look fantastic in this one. and catalunya (in honour of the italian national team) is just a cool idea! the football helmet! the mock shirts! the pink sleeves! there's a real creativity and charm to this one - and at the same time, the base design of the bike is actually really lovely and stylish. also I associated both of these liveries with extremely fun valentino races that I'd definitely recommend (literally two of the top six vale/casey duels), which... well you can't say that about the two 2005 liveries I mentioned above is what I'd say

now, I know I just said forget laguna 2005, but of course laguna 2005 was in itself a reference to a past yamaha livery. so cut out 2005 and just pay direct homage to the iconic late seventies design, feat kenny roberts:

another one everyone loves for a reason! it's a nice shade of yellow, it works well with the white and black... the black dashed line thingies are of course iconic and they just make the whole thing quite dynamic and snazzy

and one more. marlboro liveries do unfortunately slap, plenty of them are fan favourites... look at this red one, feat. eddie lawson 1984:

it's very. blocky. you've got the red bits the white bits the yellow bits. they have nice shapes. nice lines. the yellow bits where one's a circle type thingy and the other one's whatever you call that shape and then you've got the numbers on them. please don't read these descriptions. there's plenty of the marlboro liveries over the course of yamaha's time, but this one's my favourite. and it's the one I'd choose! I know it's super iconic but we already did a tribute to the 70s one back at laguna 2005. do this one instead! it's very yamaha but also a little more creative than the most obvious picks

DUCATI

well. if we're talking marlboro, then yes, of course the old marlboro ducati livery is very memorable:

this is a bike that looks good. there's not much more to say about it (or, well, there probably is, but again it should be obvious I don't know how design works). it's a nice shade of red, I really like how the front looks... my issue with this one is that low key it is the marlboro logo that makes it particularly distinctive. kinda feels against the spirit of the whole thing, damn those tobacco companies and their lovely bike designs

here's mugello 2006, which in itself is a retro livery. I'll allow this one and I do think it's just?? very nice??

really pleasing dull colours, three shades that work together well, got something old fashioned to it. my main problem with this one is... I don't feel like it'd look as good on the current bikes? I don't know, this one works because of the kind of... soft curves of the front of the bike. I do also think quirky and a bit in your face just suit the current bikes better than trying to keep things too classy?

my general problem is that ducati history in motogp is like... we're working with a limited sample size. and when I go through the options I do find them a bit. meh. the thing is, right, the red bikes are nice, I do like the marlboro design, but it's also still essentially a red bike. and if you translate these designs to the current bike shape, it's not going to look THAT different to the bike they're riding any other week. the mugello 2006 probably does better on that account, but I don't know. I think I am kind of committed to making them all actually switch around colours here

so I was wondering if maybe you could delve into the superbikes archive? you could go for the 2001 livery, feat. bayliss (also a motogp race winner):

I think the silver pairs quite nicely with the black leathers... also I like it whenever the bit on the front where they put the number on has a slightly quirky shape. I'm not going to pretend like this is my all time favourite livery, but I do like it well enough! it'd translate well to the current bikes, would give us a proper switch-up, works quite nicely imo

and one more from superbikes, this from 2012:

this one isn't happening for a bunch of reasons, not least because I doubt the effenbert team is one that's remembered particularly fondly by ducati. still, it passes the 'does it look distinctive' test to me, making a 'what if you threw a pint of beer over a motorcycle' livery is at the very least something different

PRAMAC

there's a few different ways you could go here, but I'd just keep it simple and go for one of the years where the pramac logo is big on one side of the bike. here's harada in 2002:

not a bad logo! you've got the arrows and everything! you've also got another more subtle silver arrow in the middle of all the white, makes the whole thing feel quite dynamic. simple colours, very pramac. bold and brash

(you could go for the 2018 mugello livery too but I philosophically reject having a 'retro' livery from 2018)

GRESINI

another satellite team that's been around for a while, and my suspicion is they'll go for one of fausto gresini's liveries. none of those... really appeal to me... so I wanted to suggest one from their telefonica movistar days back in the mid noughties. that's right: I'm talking sete's livery:

in practise, this livery does deeply annoy me in 2004 to 2005 because - despite not being in the same factories - you've somehow managed to get both title rivals in pretty damn similar liveries. like, can I tell them apart? sure. but especially with the poorer video quality, is it really necessary to make it this tricky? well! no! but also sete had this livery before his title rival switched to yamaha, so he came first. I like this one a lot! I like the way the yellow is integrated, the chequered bits around the telefonica movistar logo, good helmet too. slightly unusual patterns for the win - there's quite a lot going on with the lines on this design but it all kinda comes together. I actually think you could make this one look really good on the modern bikes, and it has a real spark and flare to it. also I would find it narratively pleasing if marc rides with sete's livery

but if gresini wants to go another way, shout out to their 2010 livery (several of the early 2010s look quite similar):

I'm not the biggest fan in the world of white liveries, but the style of this one pleases me idk. there's a slightly unusual shape on the side of this one, which I've already said I approve of. it's a nice shade of red to pair with the white. not my first pick, but I'd settle for this one

VR46

right, this is one where I really have questions. ... are they allowed to use just any of valentino's old liveries? what are the rules here? I think to maybe keep things straightforward here, I'll avoid his actual honda and yamaha liveries (those kids are not getting the gp11/12 let's be real) and stick to the lower class ones. now... those are aprilia liveries, and if aprilia wants to use some of those then please have at it. otherwise: vr46, lads, this is the way you want to go. here's 1999 (though 1998 also looks lovely):

one where the leathers and helmet really feels like a part of the design, like that's the bit that really completes the look. the dark grey base tone works as something you can layer all the fun stuff on. the font of the numbers! the warm reds and yellows! the stickers! this one's just FUN, it has a real adolescent verve and joy to it

and of course there's the mugello 1999 special livery:

she's so pretty!! recognisable! I don't even know what to say about this one apart from. look. it's fun. just something youthful and joyous and energetic to the whole thing... keeps things pretty straightforward on the colour front, the dark orange-brown highlights really brings it all together. or something

APRILIA

so. here's another question. are we just stuck with premier class liveries here? because if so, it's pretty slim pickings... but look, thirty images, we're not getting into everything they've been up to in the lower classes

luckily, aprilia do have quite a nice 2002 entry in the premier class:

dark colours are fun sometimes!! I like the shape of the ms logo! it's a bit chaotic, but in a fun way! it feels very aprilia, somehow. this would be my pick I think, I could easily transpose this to the current bikes in my mind's eye. aprilia kinda feels like it's supposed to be a bit chaotic, all those bits sticking off. love the red sleeves of the leathers

you could also go for the 2004 livery:

I'm not personally? super into the white and gold as a combination? definitely prefer the darker base colour of 2002. but it's quite distinctive - the red sleeves actually pop out more in this one. it's neat!

TRACKHOUSE

uh. um. uh. are they... allowed to run petronas colours? I mean it's basically still the same team? maybe they can borrow some aprilia ones? if not, then well they're the rahh rahh america team. I would ask ducati very nicely if maybe they could use this indianapolis 2009 livery in honour of the late nicky hayden:

I know you probably can't do that, but well! if you could, that'd be my pick for them! I like stars, america has stars on their flags, this is very rahh rahh america. the helmet and liveries are also fun and have stars on them. that's all I've got, sorry

KTM

okay, we've got an even bigger problem than aprilia here. these guys have NOT been in motogp long enough. my idea here was... so obviously ktm just do not have a suitable back catalogue of liveries, but aren't they like basically red bull? and red bull did like. a one off partnership with suzuki for laguna 2005, and suzuki isn't even in the sport any more so it's not like there's a CLASH there. I don't know how this works! whatever. I think it's nice!

it's not the most exciting thing I've ever seen in my life, but the red bull logo works well on the black. looks classy! and if suzuki gets mad then well red bull can just chuck money at them idk

the other option is... doesn't ktm own mv agusta now? go for one of those! they look quite similar for much of a decade, so I could have included another hailwood photo here - but I'm just going to use the early seventies mv agusta instead:

it's very simple, very basic. I'm not... sure this works on bikes these days. anyway I chose this one over its predecessor because I do like the stripes on the leathers, very adidas coded. if you can figure out how to make this whole design look good for the more complex bikes of today, then this would be a good pick imo. I like quirky shapes to put my numbers on... but sometimes circles are also good

TECH3

so. for a while, these are running the gauloises yamaha liveries, which we've already covered. maybe they could take the fortuna yamaha liveries instead that they used, especially if the factory yamaha squad doesn't want the kinda similar ones they ran at certain points. basically they're the red yamahas in the noughties. I'd go for 2004 tech3, which... y'know, the fortuna font is just quite nice, they're stylish liveries, they're just bikes you look at and go 'wow that sure is a nice bike'. and yes, we do need to at this point also mention the estoril 2004 spiderman livery

all I'm saying, if pedro acosta does not show up to silverstone on the spiderman bike. a part of me will be disappointed

otherwise, I thought the dunlops in 2007 were quite nice?

yes, yes, it's another yellow and black yamaha livery. but hey, it's a bit different from the one they referenced at laguna 2005, keeps things fresh. wouldn't mind this one

IN CONCLUSION

might add to these at some point, but those are kinda the first picks that come to mind! a lot of these are annoyingly recent, because most teams on the grid aren't that old. not quite sure what the rules of the game are here! which does mean that, as much as I enjoy the recent designs, I kinda hope honda and yamaha don't go for liveries from this century and dig a bit deeper in the archives

basically, what I'm looking for from the teams is a retro livery that a) is clearly recognisable to anyone familiar with said past livery, b) works with the actual shape of the current bike, c) looks different enough from their current livery, I want colour swaps, and d) looks cool. also, they should coordinate. istg if half of the grid shows up in white liveries... hopefully at least some of the teams will go for the fun ones!

#i don't feel like with old streams i ever SEE the liveries particularly clearly so some of them are a bit wasted on me #BUT my twitter for you page shoves like. so many photos of old liveries at me. so i've basically developed my takes through that #oh and obviously i know all the valentino ones. partly because i have my very nice reference book with very nice photos #also there's been a reddit thread on this like. once every two months for the past decade. that'll help #some of these are a REACH. ktm and trackhouse in particular but look that's all I could come up with #if ONLY suzuki were still in the sport #motogp #//#brr brr #batsplat responds #collected my photos during the race today which was nicely calming #anon icl I'm not sure there really is a type of question I usually answer. a wide range of stuff hits my inbox #I LOVE rating things even when I don't have like. sophisticated opinions. I'm just going colours pretty!!#I hate myself for this but when I saw the news I immediately went!! sete + marc livery!! gresini heritage!!#get that man in blue and yellow!!#also if anyone wants to add their own faves please feel more than free to. the thirty image limit really hurt with this one

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lovesosweeet · 1 year ago

Text

KNOW IT ALL x THE BAND CAMINO

part 3

a calum hood songfic

read part 1 / 2

two years ago

Michael’s birthday had come and gone, but the whole thing had been planned by his fiancée. He loved her and he loved the weekend that she’d planned for them, but he wanted a proper weekend of being an idiot with his friends, rather than being on his best behavior and having a picture-perfect weekend that Crystal could share on social media.

Cal could tell that Mike wanted a chance to be a blubbering idiot for a night or two. He knew that they’d all have to grow up eventually and stop doing the dumb shit at some point, but this year wasn’t the year that they grew up. They all knew it, but Cal was the only one who took action.

He booked an AirBNB in downtown Montreal and found a ski resort about 30 minutes outside of the city to spend a day or two on the slopes, knowing they’d spend the better part of the weekend drunk and acting like fools with each other at dive bars and singing karaoke.

The place he booked was huge, so he told Michael to invite anybody he wanted. Because it was a bit last minute, not a ton of people were able to join. It ended up being the band, Roy, Brian, Tillie, and Tillie’s guitarist that they’ve all befriended over the past year and a half, Marco.

Even though they were all flying in from LA, they all arrived at different times of the day. Cal had flown in last night to make sure everything was ready to go. He stocked up on booze, went grocery shopping, and scouted out the ski resort to make sure it would be suitable for a few “celebrities” to spend time at.

Mike and Tillie had flown in together, of course, and it made Cal jealous. He’d been a sucker for Tillie since the night they met, but she was either entirely oblivious to it or simply uninterested. He hoped she was just oblivious, but he tried not to figure out which it was, too scared to truly consider the possibility that she wasn’t into him at all.

Tillie’s contact photo lights up his screen as she calls him, and he answers instantly. He hopes it comes off as just being expectant of them, rather than someone who’d pick up as soon as humanly possible whenever she calls. Both are true.

“Hi, Matilda,” he answers, smirking at the use of her full name, knowing it would make her annoyed. Tillie was fun to tease, but only if you weren’t faint of heart. You had to be ready and willing to be met with twice the amount of insult that you doled out if you wanted to talk shit to Matilda Beckett.

“Shut the fuck up, Thomas.”

“Nice to hear your voice, too,” he dryly says.

“We’re here. Come let us in or we’re gonna go have fun without you.”

“Coming,” Calum answers, already halfway to the door. He wants to spend the whole weekend by Tillie’s side.

Calum makes his way to the front door of the condo and then rides the elevator down to the lobby, where he finds Michael and Tillie dressed in nearly identical outfits. Both are wearing black joggers with black sneakers, along with black hoodies layered over turtlenecks. Tillie’s currently blue hair is partly hidden under a red beanie, whereas Mike’s blonde hair is topped off with a black baseball cap.

The only other difference in their outfits is the white satin sash across Michael’s body that says “bride to be.”

“What the fuck is that?” Calum asks through laughter, his eyes focused on the sash.

“This idiot isn’t planning on having a bachelor party, so I’m forcing him to make this a bachelorette weekend.” Tillie says it so matter of factly, as if Calum should’ve known the reasoning without her explaining it. She’s already stepping into the elevator with her black suitcase rolling behind her and Michael following suit.

They ride up to the floor they’re staying on and while they walk, Michael is on the phone with Crystal, talking about some “emergency” with their wedding planning. Tillie side eyes Calum, trying not to laugh at how little Mike obviously cares about the satin tablecloths Crystal wanted that are unavailable.

Michael retreats to the balcony when they get to the AirBNB, leaving Tillie and Calum in the living room with their luggage. Tillie reaches into her hoodie pocket and pulls out a baggie of colorful candy.

“Brought eddies. Want one?” She asks and pulls out a small gummy to offer it to him.

Calum eyes the candy. “Maybe later? Once everyone is here.”

Tillie rolls her eyes. “You’re no fun.” She doesn’t say anything else before she heads toward the bar cart in the corner. She grabs the bottle of Casamigos from the top shelf, pops the lid off, and then takes a few gulps of the tequila. Wordlessly, she holds the bottle toward Calum.

He’s already turned her down once, and he fears that, if he turns her down again, she’ll stop offering things. Thus, he takes the bottle from her and swallows a mouthful before handing the bottle back to Tillie.

She’s smiling at him, a glint of cockiness in her eyes. “Didn’t expect you to be one to give into peer pressure so easily, Hood.”

Truthfully, he wasn’t, but something about Tillie has him completely willing to do whatever she says. He’d jump off a cliff if she told him to.

“C’mon, Tills. You know me better than that. A shot of tequila is nothing for me.”

She raises an eyebrow and then holds the bottle back out to him. “Okay, then take another.”

Calum hesitates before doing what she says.

He’s practically squinting under her intense gaze, her blue eyes piercing into his skin in a way that’s painfully pleasant to Calum. He’s grateful when Mike reenters the room, hanging up his call with Crystal.

“Okay, crisis averted. I’d like to go get a beer and a snack, if you guys are up for it,” Michael says. He notes the bottle of tequila in Calum’s hands but doesn’t question it. When Tillie is involved, substances are involved, and she’s known for being a bad influence.

Calum doesn’t get a chance to speak before Tillie does.

“Whatever the bride-to-be-slash-birthday-baby wants!” Tillie cheers.

Michael rolls his eyes. “Tillie, you’re younger than me. Why do you always call me a baby?”

Tillie smirks her classic smirk that makes something in Calum’s chest tighten. “Because you act like one. You’d all be so fucking lost without each other like babies are without their moms. Don’t worry, Mike. It’s cute.”

Calum watches as Michael’s eyes roll again.

“Don’t test me, Matilda. This is my weekend, remember?”

Tillie cackles and shakes her head. “Yep, I know. Bachelorette trip in Montreal. Let me get changed and then we can head out?”

Calum and Michael wait in the living room while Tillie goes into a bedroom to get dressed and freshen up. Calum uses the time to text the rest of the gang for the weekend how to get into and out iof the AirBNB and shares his location with them so they can find the trio wherever they end up.

When Tillie re-enters the room, she’s still wearing all black, but this time she’s wearing a long sleeve, black corset style top that has the tiny tattoos on her collarbones exposed, and tight black jeans cover her legs. She’s kept on her black sneakers and taken off the beanie, her hair now just laying straight over her shoulders. She threw on some makeup but not a ton, but, if you ask Calum, she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

“Close your mouth, Thomas. Let’s go.” She walks up to him and lightly smacks his face, headed straight for the door without looking back.

Michael snickers as Calum blushes, both of them following the sassy girl out of the condo once more.

Countless shots of tequila, beers, and a few bites of Tillie’s edibles later, the whole crew is now in Montreal and well intoxicated at a dive bar. Tillie had coordinated with Ashton to bring more “bachelorette” items with him, so everyone is now wearing satin pink sashes that say “bride tribe” to match Michael’s. Some of the boys are wearing sparkly pink headbands that have penises attached like antennae while Michael has a veil clipped onto his baseball hat. They all look like fools, but Calum is happier than he’s been in a long time.

Tillie is standing on a booth bench with Luke while they scream along to “Everytime We Touch” by Cascada. Calum is just staring, the weed gummy hitting him hard and he feels like his head is floating, smiling contently at the girl he’s been crushing on, hard, for so long.

“Tommy!” Tillie yells. She’s incredibly high, but not too drunk. Drunk Tillie is talkative, whereas High Tillie is smiley and goofy. She’s had a cheesy grin on her face for the last 30 minutes.

Calum waddles over to her, feeling like he’s wading through a pool. He used to hate that she almost exclusively calls him by his middle name, but now he loves it. She has a nickname for him, even if it’s not all that creative.

“What’s up, Tills?” He asks. He barely has to look up at her, even though she’s standing on the bench. She’s so tiny.

“If you’re gonna stare, you might as well do it up close,” she says, only loud enough for him to hear her. It makes his heart thud quick and hard in his chest and he blushes, but he doesn’t look away from her blue eyes.

Tillie holds her hands out to him, offering to pull him up to stand next to her and Luke. He takes them, feeling on cloud nine because of the way she just flirted with him. When Calum is standing with Tillie, she doesn’t let go of his hands and moves them around while she continues to scream the lyrics of the song.

Calum is over the moon at the physical contact and relishes in the moment, singing and dancing along with her. The bar plays “Dear Maria Count Me In” next, then “What’s My Age Again,” and then, as soon as the opening notes to “Sweet Caroline” start playing, Tillie scrunches up her face in disappointment.

“I’m not white enough for this shit,” she says, craning her neck to make sure Calum hears the words she says. “Wanna go to the patio?”

Calum, bewildered by her suggestion that they step outside, just the two of them, just nods quickly. “Yeah, sure, that works.”

She looks up to him with her eyes wide and a smile tugging at her lips. “Go get me a PBR and meet me out there?”

Once more, he’s stunned, but wordlessly nods, stepping down from the bench before helping Tillie down to the floor. She mumbles something along the lines of ‘see you out there’ before she disappears, and Cal hurries to the bar to order her beer and another for himself. He also orders a shot for himself, needing an extra boost of liquid courage.

As he’s walking out toward the patio, Ashton stops him. “Where are you going?”

Cal’s cheeks flush. “Tillie and I are going to the patio.”

Ashton widens his eyes in surprise. “Oh, that sounds nice, I’ll join—“

Calum cuts his best friend off with an expression that begs him to shut up.

Ashton then smiles and shakes his head. “Fine, I’ll give you your moment.”

“I’ve only been trying for two fucking years,” Calum mumbles while grabbing the two beer cans from the bartender. “It’s under Hood,” he say to the bartender, who nods.

“Good luck, Cal. She’s a tough nut to crack sometimes.”

Cal glares at Ashton. “No shit.”

He’s walking out toward the patio before Ashton gets a chance to say anything else, a smile reforming on his lips when he sees Tillie outside, taking selfies with the city lights behind her.

“Need a camera man?” Calum asks as he approaches her. She rolls her eyes and takes the beer from him, gulping down a few sips.

“Nah, just wanted to post a picture to my close friends story.”

Calum nods. He sips from his own beer can. It’s not silent, since he can still hear the music inside, but now that it’s just him and Tillie, he doesn’t know what to say. She makes him so nervous, but he’s so excited to have her to himself, even if it’s just for a moment.

“Mike’s really glad you threw this whole thing together,” Tillie says, filling the air with conversation easily.

Calum smiles. “He’d do it for me, so it’s only appropriate.” He gazes at Tillie, noting that her hair is now pulled up into a ponytail, a little sweaty from her dancing and being surrounded by so many warm bodies. Her lipstick is faded, almost completely gone, and her eyes are tinted pink. “I’m sure he loves the bachelorette shit you’re pulling, even though he’s being grumpy about it.”

Tillie smirks at him. “Yeah, well, can’t let you steal the best friend title from me.”

“Excuse me! You stole it from me first!”

“Can’t help it that I’m cooler than you, Calum.”

Calum frowns. She called him Calum, not Tommy and not Thomas and not Hood. He can’t disagree with her though. She’s far cooler than he’ll ever be.

“Maybe we can just share?” He asks.

Tillie smiles. “I don’t share, Thomas.”

Something comes over Calum and the words he says shock even himself. “You’d never have to share me, Matilda.” When he realizes what he’s just said, his whole face turns bright red.

Tillie doesn’t say anything, she just nods. She keeps drinking her beer, but when she pulls the can away from her mouth, Calum realizes she’s smiling.

“You know,” she starts, “I thought you were scared of me for a very long time.”

Calum laughs. “I was. I mean, hell, I am.”

She grins. It’s a wicked grin that makes her eyes sparkle. “Good.”

Calum snorts before he and Tillie both fall into a fit of giggles.

“It’s a good scared, though, Tills. Makes me want to talk to you even more, even if it scares me.”

Tillie’s expression turns unreadable and she keeps sipping from her beer can. Her eyes focus on the metal tab, and her fingers follow suit, fiddling with the small piece of metal. Eventually, she sighs.

“I feel like you have me on this pedestal, Cal. And I haven’t earned it.”

Has Tillie always known I’ve had a crush? Calum thinks.

“I don’t have you on a pedestal, Tillie. I just…” he trails off. He wants to say he’s practically in love with her. He can’t say that, so he just doesn’t finish his sentence.

She shakes her head. “However that sentence ends, I don’t deserve it.”

Calum is bewildered. Tillie, the confident, snarky, sassy girl that he’s spent countless days with, is insecure. How had he not seen that? How could she be insecure when she’s so… Tillie? Tillie is loud. She’s sure of herself. She doesn’t give a shit. She does what she wants and doesn’t care what anyone else thinks.

As if she can read his mind, Tillie continues. “I’ve done some fucked up shit, Calum. You’re too… nice for me.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I’ve done some fucked up shit, too, Tillie,” he counters.

Tillie snorts a laugh. “Yeah, sure.”

Calum shakes his head. “Tills, we’ve all made mistakes.”

Her lips press together, her mouth forming a straight line. She debates dumping all of her past on him, right then and there. She won’t lie. She’s wanted to pursue Calum. He was kind and funny and she’s never slighted the fact that she found him incredibly attractive. She just thought he was way too good for him. He should’ve been with a person with way less baggage than she.

“I’ve made too many big ones, Cal. Far more than it takes to disqualify me from being a good person.”

Calum wants to scream. He doesn’t care if she thinks she’s a good person. He knows she is. She’s a good friend, a wonderful companion. She’s thoughtful and he thinks she’s the funniest person he’s ever met. Her confidence is irritatingly high, but he loves that about her. It’s a quality he wishes he had.

“I don’t believe you.”

Tillie rolls her eyes. “Whether or not you believe me, Cal, it’s true.”

Calum takes the chance to roll his eyes back at her. “I don’t believe you. I have zero confidence that it’s true, Tillie. Your heart is too big.”

She has to hold back from pouting out her lower lip. “I’ve fucked up, big time, too many times—“

“Try me,” Cal says, cutting her off

“What?”

“Try me. Tell me one of these big bad things you’ve done and I’ll tell you if it makes you a bad person.”

Tillie looks like she’s on the brink of tears, and Calum suddenly feels horrible for pushing her to this point. She takes a big, deep breath before she speaks again.

“No judgment?” She asks. Her voice is smaller and more shy than he’s ever heard it.

Cal shakes his head. “I could never judge you, Tills.”

She takes a deep breath. “My sister got kicked out of our house because of me.”

When Calum doesn’t say anything, she takes it as a cue to keep talking.

“My parents found a stash of weed in our bathroom. It was mine. We both knew it was mine, but I was young and dumb and I said it was hers. I found a picture of her smoking with friends on her ‘finsta’ and showed it to my parents as proof. I didn’t think they’d kick her out. I thought they’d be pissed, ground her maybe, but I didn’t think she’d be kicked out.k”

She lets the words sink in for Calum, but he seems unfazed.

“And you were how old?”

“Like 15, but—“

“Tillie, you were young and stupid. You clearly regret it. Sure, it wasn’t a good thing to do, but it doesn’t make you a bad person.”

Tillie still looks upset, but she puts on a front and smiles. She’s good at faking it, and it makes him wonder how many times she’s done this around him and he hasn’t detected it.

“I haven’t talked to her since the night they threw her out,” she confesses. She’s staring at her beer can.

“Have you tried to reach out and apologize?”

“She calls me like every other month and leaves a voicemail. I just don’t answer.”

Calum’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Why don’t you answer?”

“I’m scared.”

“Tills, it sounds like she just misses her sister if she’s still calling you regularly,” Calum tells her, trying to reassure the girl that she has no reason to be scared.

Tillie doesn’t say anything in response. Her eyes stay trained on her beer. Calum wants to hug her or hold her hand, but he doesn’t know how she’d react, so he keeps his hands to himself. He’s already making leaps and bounds in his quest to pursue her by simply being alone with her. He doesn’t even care that it’s cold as shit outside. He’s with Tillie and she’s telling him things.

“I’ve never told anyone that,” she says to break the silence.

“That you’re scared?”

“No. Well, yes, but the whole thing. I’ve never told anyone what I did.”

Calum tries not to lose his shit. She trusts him. She trusts him enough to tell him something she’s never told anyone.

“It’s not good to keep everything bottled up, Tills,” he says. “Thank you for telling me.”

Tillie laughs quietly and shakes her head. “You’re just so… nice.”

He raises his eyebrows in response. “Thank you?”

She giggles then, and Calum is happy to hear the sweet sound. He’s not used to her being anything but lively and confident. The insecure and scared girl he just saw for the first time wasn’t the Tillie he knows.

“You’re so soft. I feel like I’ll break you if I look at you the wrong way.”

“I’d let you break me any day of the week, Matilda.”

That must’ve been the right answer because before he knows it, Tillie’s kissing him, her hands tangled in his curls. He’s taken aback but entirely happy about it, kissing her back instantly.

He has no idea what he’s just gotten himself into.