#first they all gathered but they know better than to go past the door

[ultros]

my cats are so fucking funny bro.. they aren't allowed in the stairwell and I left the door open when I went downstairs to pick up a delivery and this was them when I turned around to come back up

[estaticheart]

ᥫ᭡. THAT’S MY SISTER YOU BITCH

Summary: Despite Sarah and Rafe’s volatile relationship, that’s your sister.

Warnings: Violence, illusions to sex, swearing.

You had a great day so far. You'd woken up to Rafe in between your legs, waking you up in the best way possible before he made you both breakfast as you watched him from the island. Sometimes you just liked to ponder on how lucky you were to have a boyfriend like Rafe. To everyone else, you were far from lucky but you liked it that way- knowing only you got the real Rafe Cameron.

Now, you were on your way back from grocery shopping, planning to make Rafe a romantic meal when he arrived back from work. Blasting music from your car speakers, you were completely in the zone. Until you drove up to the City Hall, glancing ahead you saw Kelce's red truck, which you thought nothing of until you saw him and his idiotic friends surrounding John B and Sarah.

Alarmed, you pulled up next to the truck, gathering the attention of everyone. Despite being a kook yourself, you were far different from the rest of them. You didn't care about pogues, to you they were like anyone else, in fact often you preferred the pogues in the Outer Banks to the kooks. Rafe's circle exclusively consisted of kooks, meaning you often received a lot of respect from kooks even though you spent a lot of your time arguing with them. Rafe didn't mind it, you were his girlfriend and lover, so if you wanted to yell he wouldn't stop you.

"Problem?" You asked, slamming your car door shut behind you. Just as Sarah hit the ground. Immediately you rushed towards Sarah. Yeah, Rafe and Sarah had problems they needed to get past but to you, Sarah was still as important as she was 2 years ago. You were proud of her for finding her true love and true friends, and you always let her know that you would always be there for her. And this time was no exception. Putting two and two together, you saw Ruthie standing much closer to Sarah than the other kooks who looked at her in shock.

They all stood stunned at your arrival, to be honest, you were probably the worst possible person to show up at that exact moment. Everyone knew your opinions on the Pogues were far more empathetic than the other kooks. "No, no problem" Kelce muttered, beginning to pull Ruthie and the others back from Sarah and John B, to which they happily obliged. Not on your watch.

"Oh no, don't stop on my accord guys. Please whatever you were going to do next. Do it." Walking over to them, Ruthie stood stunned at your arrival. Since she started dating Topper, you got a lot of joy out of berating her, publically. For once, she didn't back down at your words. "She needs to watch herself. She pushed me first, it was self-defence." Ruthie said, glancing behind you to see John B pulling Sarah to her feet.

Snorting you replied, "Ruthie, I'm not Shoupe. Don't start pleading your case, I don't care." She stalled at your response, for a moment thinking that you were on her side for pushing Sarah before you pulled her back to reality. Walking closer to her, edgingly slow, you pressed, "You think you're all big and mighty for pushing Sarah? She's 19 Ruthie, you're what? 21? Don't you think you should play with someone your own size?"

Behind you, John B and Sarah smirked at the group. Unbeknownst to you, Sarah was pregnant and John B was far too occupied to make sure Sarah was okay than to pick a fight with Kelce and his goons today. But you happily would, and even better so because who was going to fight back against the kook princess? Definitely not these ones.

“Well?” You pushed, as you stood toe to toe with Ruthie. You were growing impatient, Rafe would have finished work by now meaning that soon he’d come looking for you- and you’d rather give Ruthie a good couple punches before Rafe showed up.

“Okay times up.” Before she could even think, your fist sent her backwards onto the floor, just how Sarah had been when when you arrived. Groaning, she lifted her hands to cover her nose, assumably bleeding- hopefully broken if Rafe’s self defence lessons had done some good. “Oh my god- I think you broke my nose. You bitch.” She shrieked, pulling her hands away to reveal blood beginning to pour from her nose.

Ruthie was nothing but a bully, a bully you’d had enough of tormenting the island. Your legs either side of her chest you crouched over her, “Don’t worry you still look just as bad as before.” You muttered as you flew your fist back into her face that she left unguarded. Idiot. Her screaming began again, as you moved off from her, deciding that your two punches had done enough damage. Wow, you’d really have to thank Rafe for those lessons.

“Just wait until Topper hears about this, he will deal with you.” One of the other kooks muttered from behind Kelce. “Yeah I’m sure Topper will be sure to deal with me.” You laughed, Topper wouldn’t touch a hair on your arm as long as you were dating Rafe- everyone knew that.

“You want to fuck with someone, not Sarah.” You spat at them, watching Ruthie sadly pull herself to her feet, with the help of no one. “That’s my sister you bitch. Now fuck off.” At your command, Kelce briskly walked back over to his truck, as the others followed just as fast, allowing you to turn back to John B and Sarah.

You were greeted to their smiling faces, both as grateful as each other. But you noticed, a twinge of emotion still lingering on Sarah’s face. Hearing you call her your sister in combination with her pregnancy hormones, was due to set her off to cry. Before she could get out any words, you spoke for her. “You are my sister regardless of whatever is going on between you and Rafe. You’re family.” Turning to John B, you continued, “That extends to you, hubby.” You winked looking down at the ring on his finger.

With a red blush covering their faces, they praised you in thank yous. “Don’t need to thank me for doing something I’ve been wanting to do for months.” Glancing back to see the red truck had disappeared.

“Now, you can thank me for warning you that Rafe will be here any minute and I’m not sure you want to see him.”

—————————

“Baby, please be more careful next time.” Rafe muttered, as he wrapped your knuckles in bandages. He was more than shocked to find you outside the city hall- alone- but with bloody knuckles. Only with the explanation, that you had an altercation with Ruthie, surprisingly over Sarah. He was confused to say the least, he wasn’t even aware that Ruthie had a problem with his little sister. But the more he thought about it, of course she did- Topper still hadn’t gotten over her.

“In fact, there will be no next time. Ever.” Kissing your knuckles, he pulled you onto his chest as he lied back on your shared king bed. Stroking your hair, he let his mind wonder. Should he have been there to protect Sarah? But they hadn’t had a good relationship in years, he couldn’t just suddenly start caring for her. He also couldn’t let you get into situations that could get you hurt over protecting Sarah.

You noticed his body still and you knew instantly his mind was wondering thinking about Sarah. Without moving your head from his chest you spoke, “Rafe. I love Sarah. I know you have a difficult relationship at the moment and whilst you can’t protect her I will.” Letting the silence sit between you for a moment, you decided to continue.

“She’s our only family, Rafe.” He didn’t move, but you both knew how right you were. She was all you had left. “I know baby, I know.” He whispered, laying a kiss on the top of your head, before he let his mind slip back into imagining how he can rectify this broken relationship with his sister.

[nereidprinc3ss]

strange perfections

in which spencer reid and fem!reader meet by accident at a coffee shop. and then they keep meeting there. they've really got to stop meeting like this. (no, seriously. hotch is pissed.) / do you believe me now? bonus chapter!

series masterlist

fluff! warnings/tags: meet cute:) some dark humor, romantically inexperienced reader, spencer reid graduated from caltech, mit, and the derek morgan school of rizz a/n: this can absolutely be read as a standalone BUT it was written as a prologue for my series do you believe me now? to explain how spencer and r met! completely optional, if you're only here for the smut no worries! reading this bonus chapter might make the next chapter better though as it contains discussions of how they met:) anyway, I LOVE YOU!! let me know if you like this silly little random thing! kisses

The café door opens again. A blustery wind raises goosebumps on your arms and makes your bones ache again. You look up at the latest intruder—a hobbling elderly man in a newsboy cap and a knit red scarf. 

Stupid scarf, you think. 

Stupid door. 

Stupid wind. 

Your mug is empty, and the table you’re sitting at is sort of sticky and rickety, and there are so many papers in front of you that you wonder why the hell you thought it’d be a good idea to print the PDF out and annotate it that way instead of just doing it on your laptop like a normal person in the 21st century. Nothing is going right today. It’s the third café you’ve tried in the past few weeks as you attempt to find some place that feels homey, lucky, but this one just feels… inconvenient. 

You look at the stack of papers and sigh. 

Stupid Lord Byron. 

Stupid cafe. 

Usually, cafés are relatively quiet and peaceful—a refuge for the overworked to bask in the luxury of quiet jazz and the smell of dark roast as they continue to overwork themselves. This particular establishment, however, today hosts a group of teenagers—presumably playing hooky—who have commandeered a big booth in the back and keep walking right past your table because apparently they couldn’t have just ordered their drinks at once and they all have to do it separately and loudly. 

One of them has an incredibly irritating, gratingly pubescent laugh, and they think everything is hilarious. This whole situation is unbearable. 

Just as you’re gearing up to go, of course the fucking door opens again. This time, it’s accompanied by a particularly strong gust. 

Strong enough that Lord Byron doesn’t stand a chance. 

Your printed copy of his works blows off the table, at first page by painstakingly annotated page and then before you can even process it, all at once. 

Yeah. This is definitely not your lucky café. 

As you curse and go to stand up, you run into one of those dumb kids. His huge ceramic mug goes flying, careening against the edge of your table and completely splattering you and all your stuff in 16 liquid ounces of scalding espresso and milk. 

It’s silent for a second, save for a few drips from the puddle on your table to the floor, before the kid is apologizing profusely and turning red as a tomato. You can’t even respond—you look down at your ruined favorite sweater, and then around at the pages of Byron littered with color-coded sticky notes, overflowing with angry and purposeful red ink that you spent so much time on, scattered all over the floor. 

Eventually the boy catches on that you’re not going to forgive him and he skitters away, back to his friends, who whisper and giggle profusely. Only a few of them get up to start gathering the fallen pages with you. Several other patrons end up helping as well, so the sheets of paper are gathered and returned into your sticky hands fairly quickly. You thank each person without looking up as they hand you their respective stack. All you want is to get out of here. 

“Here—I’m really sorry about this,” someone says—a tenor-ish male voice, distinctly sympathetic as he holds out a rather larger stack of papers than anyone else had bothered to pick up. 

“I’ll live,” you sigh, straightening up. “But thank… you.”

The man standing in front of you is the kind of man who makes you want to untuck your hair from its usual spot behind your ears, and to stand up straighter, and to try and not stare even though you want his attention. He’s gloriously beautiful in a way that repels and attracts you. He’s the type of man who wouldn’t have given you the time of day in high school and probably wouldn’t now. Instantly you feel both insecure and reduced to a former version of you who would simper and fawn over boys who wanted nothing to do with her. You feel like going to the other side of the café and sitting in the best light and staring out the window poetically and hoping he’s looking at you. 

“On the one hand, I feel bad for being the person who opened the door and let the wind in. On the other… I feel compelled to say at least they’re not covered in coffee like the rest of your table is?”

You laugh vacantly, a second too late, positively coveting the awkward smile on his angular face. Then you make eye contact, and his eyes are so the opposite of angular—they’re huge and inviting and the warmest golden-brown you’ve ever seen, and they’re looking right back at you—and you have to look down. Fuck. You hate when you do that. 

Think of something normal to say!

“Yeah, true. Now I just have to reorder 264 pages. That… that don’t have page numbers.”

You shuffle through the papers. They are hopelessly scrambled. Your heart sinks just a bit.

“Um… I might actually be able to help with that, if you want?”

You frown, glancing up. What kind of sex trafficking ploy is this?

“That’s okay. Might be easier with just one person.”

He laughs—it’s similarly awkward, similarly endearing. 

“Do you mind letting me just… try? It’ll only take a minute.”

Only take a minute? Is this beautiful man deranged? Why are the hot ones always crazy?

But, perhaps because you’re a pushover who can’t stand up to people, much less beautiful people, much less beautiful men who are paying you undue attention, you find yourself giving in. You hold the stack out. 

“Sure. Give it your best shot. I’ll be impressed if you can even figure out what page one is.”

He’s already flipping through the papers with a drawn brow, walking away with them, and barely looking over his shoulder as he mutters, “I have Byron memorized. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

You follow him, because hello, he has all your annotations. He’s definitely insane, you think, as he sits down at a table and starts rapidly sorting the sheets into separate piles. 

All you can do is stand awkwardly behind him as he stacks papers seemingly at random, barely glancing at them before deciding where they go. 

Maybe a minute, maybe a few go by, each of which have you progressively more flabbergasted, before he’s tapping the edges of a stack of paper on the table and standing, handing them to you with his lips pressed into a thin pleasant line. There’s almost a glow about him—like he couldn’t be more in his comfort zone. 

“There you go. Should be in order now.” You sport a frown bordering on a grimace as you take the stack and flip through it a bit. Sure enough, it seems that everything is in order. You keep looking between the man in front of you and the papers, incredulous as you wait for something to be in the wrong spot. 

“How did you do that?” 

His cheeks turn slightly pink. 

“I know Byron really well. I know how each passage ends and begins so I put them together like puzzle pieces.”

“How did you read that fast?”

“Uh. I’m a speed-reader?”

You scoff, taking another look through the stack. 

“I think that may be underselling it.” A thought occurs to you as you’re grazing over one of your longer annotations—full of expletives and strong opinions. “Oh, god. You didn’t… you didn’t read my notes?”

The man’s eyebrows raise as if he was waiting for you to mention that and he smiles like he doesn’t quite know how to break it to you gently. 

“Maybe a few,” he eventually decides, laughing under his breath. “I appreciated the commentary on his relationship with Augusta. It was… colorful.”

Heat rises in your cheeks as you mumble. 

“Yeah, I had a hard time appreciating the romantic poems. They’re less cute when there’s like a fifty percent chance he’s writing about his sister.”

“Half sister,” he corrects. You give him a look. 

“Does that make it better?”

“… no,” he realizes. “Not even a little bit.”

You laugh, relieved that his face looks as warm as yours feels. 

“Well… thank you, for the help,” you say after a silent second. 

“Of course. Sorry, again. I, um—I hope your day gets better?”

“Yeah, well. I feel like statistically it has to, right? It’s kind of a low bar.”

He smiles, a perfect, perfect smile, and gives you a little wave as he leaves. Without coffee. Checking the clock on the wall, you realize it’s approaching one in the afternoon. If he’d been here on his lunch break, he sacrificed it to organize your stupid Byron texts. You smile to yourself. 

He was totally in love with me. 

And he can’t prove me wrong because I’ll probably never see him again. 

All things considered—this coffee shop does seem pretty lucky. Maybe you’ll stick with it for a while. 

The next time you see the mysterious sexy speed reader is four days later—though you’ve been here every day since. He catches your eye right as he walks in, and his brows jump in pleasant recognition. You smile. He smiles back, before going up to the counter and ordering a coffee with a ludicrous amount of sugar in it. 

I should take note for when I make him his coffee in the mornings, you think to yourself, and then you snort at your own delusions, shaking your head at your book. Obviously you’re not that divorced from reality, but you’ll entertain the fantasy forever until one of you stops showing up to this café. 

What you’re absolutely not expecting is for him to walk up to your table with his to-go cup. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi!”

Jesus. Tone it down, girl scout. 

He gestures to your stack of papers: now secured in a three ring binder. The cup says Spencer. 

Spencer. Spencer. 

It feels important. 

“I see you’ve upgraded.”

“Yes! Yes, I did,” you laugh self-consciously, still struggling to meet his eyes. “Thank you for the help the other day. I would still be sorting through all of this if it weren’t for that, so… yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course! I’m glad I could be of use.”

“Spence!” Someone calls from the cafe door. You both look up to see a stunning blonde beckoning him away. 

Ah. Naturally. The girlfriend who is one trillion times prettier than you. 

Spence. 

Reality sets in. 

“Coming!” He replies, with all the eager compliance of a child, before turning back to you. “Um… well… I’ll see you?”

It’s an awkward way to say goodbye to a stranger, but you suddenly don’t care enough to dwell. Instead you nod once, less enthusiastic now that you know he has a 10 waiting for him on the sidewalk. 

“I am a creature of habit.”

Another wave as he walks away. 

The two disappear from the doorway, but the perpetual breeze seems to carry a snatched bit of conversation your way. 

“Who was that?” 

“Uh… I don’t actually know.”

Yeah. Reality definitely sets in. 

Over the next few days, you break your café streak. Life is busy. There’s not always time to artfully ponder Romantic poetry and drink a six dollar coffee while waiting around for certain people to show up. 

Okay, so… maybe it has more to do with him than you’re letting on. But you’re not going to do that thing you do again, where you become limerently obsessed with a man you don’t know and who is way out of your league just because you can’t form an actual attachment to anyone to save your life. Besides, you remind yourself; we probably wouldn’t be compatible anyway. He’s probably a huge loser. Or secretly a douche. Or chews with his mouth open. Obviously nobody that attractive can also have a good personality. 

Not to mention he has a girlfriend. That should put you off, too.

But you hadn’t been lying when you’d proclaimed to be a creature of habit—you return to the café once you feel sufficiently detached from this Spencer character. 

He’s there. Of course he’s there. Why had you been expecting for him to not be there? It’s not like he was a figment of your imagination. 

This time he’s accompanied by a different blonde woman—a bespectacled blonde with a big floral headband and a patterned dress and a red cardigan and tights and heels that look self-injurious. She’s quite eye-catching; you want to keep looking at her, but you seem to draw her attention, too. Her big eyes widen minutely and briefly you wonder if you’re supposed to know her, but certainly you’d remember meeting a person like that. She doesn’t seem easily forgettable. Both of you look to Spencer at the same time, who’s looking between you with an almost panicked expression. 

“Oh! Th—” the woman whispers, cutting herself off when she realizes how loud she’s being in the otherwise silent establishment. “Ah! Okay, right. Never mind.”

 Spencer sighs. You want to laugh, but you’re baffled by the whole thing. So you go back to reading. 

Ten minutes later, they draw your attention once more. 

“Go, go ahead! It’s more problematic for you to be late than me. I’ll be like, thirty seconds tops.”

You don’t look up as Spencer leaves the café—but are you supposed to gather that these two eccentric individuals are coworkers? And what of the first blonde woman, who you’d presumed to be his girlfriend? Where is she?

While you’re wondering all of this, the new blonde teeters her way over to your table. 

“Hi!” She says pleasantly, waving a purple-tipped hand and wearing the biggest grin. 

“Uh… hi?”

“I’m Penelope. You’ve met my friend Spencer. He just left.”

“Oh—sort of,” you smile weakly, closing your book. “Not formally. I didn’t know his name.”

That’s a lie, but maybe feigning non-chalance will make it real. 

“Well, I just wanted to come over and say I love your bag. And your jewelry and your coat. I love your whole look. I bet you’re a really cool person.”

“Um—thank you!” You perk up, smiling genuinely now. The compliment warms you—you didn’t think your look was all that interesting today. “You too. I love your outfit.”

“Great! You’re—you’re great. This is good information. Um… just out of, like, sheer curiosity, could I get your name, age, and occupation? Oh—and your zodiac sign?”

What kind of convoluted sex trafficking ploy—

“Garcia!”

Spencer is at the doorway again, looking adorably miffed. 

Adorable? Get a grip. 

“Wh—I’m just making a new friend! Is friendship illegal, now?”

“This is the kind of friend-making that gets you a restraining order,” he urges. 

You look up at Penelope Garcia, enamored by their whole dynamic. They clearly care for each other, despite the squabbling. What kind of job do they have where they talk to each other like this?

“It’s fine,” you smile, introducing yourself to her.

“That is such a good name!” She says, and you’re getting the sense she’s kind of always this enthusiastic. “So now we know each other’s names—we should probably definitely be friends, right?”

“Yeah! Um, definitely!”

“Yes? Oh my god! I love this! Okay, um—we work at Quantico, so, we’re like, 10 minutes away—but this is better than the coffee shop that’s closest to the building, so we come here all the time. Usually it’s just us and five grouchy old men, which makes this is really exciting.”

“Quantico… that’s the FBI academy, right?”

“Other stuff, too,” she nods, still smiley. 

Oh! Cool. So they’re FBI agents. 

So that’s cool. 

You’re cool with that. 

Her phone starts ringing—she locks eyes with Spencer. 

“Hotch?”

“Ooh, we are in trouble,” Penelope sing-songs, leaning down to write her number on your notebook without asking. Not that you mind, of course. She adds a little heart and a smiley face next to her name before capping your pen and toddling away. “Bye, new friend!” She calls over her shoulder, waving goodbye with just her fingers. 

“Bye,” you manage, though it’s probably too quiet. 

Spencer flattens his mouth into an approximation of a smile and waves again. 

You accidentally find yourself mirroring his goodbye, facial expression and all. Fuck. You hope he doesn’t notice. You hope he doesn’t read into it. 

Nah. Boys are dumb. 

You text Penelope later that afternoon—a simple greeting so that she can save your number—and then you forget about it. 

It’s not until five days go by without sign of any of them—the two blondes, Spencer, this mysterious and foreboding Hotch figure—that you start to seriously question your sanity. Did they drop off the face of the planet, or what?

But of course, just as you’re sitting at your usual table, Spencer walks in. Alone. 

He sees you immediately, but instead of the wave you’d come to expect, he immediately flushes, looks down at his shoes and hurries into the small lunch-rush line. 

Weird.

You corner him at the coffee bar, where he’s adding more sugar to his coffee. How are his teeth so nice if he does this to himself every single day?

“Hey,” you say, affecting casual confidence as you bus your empty mug. “… Spencer, right?”

It’s comical how you’re pretending you haven’t turned that name over and looked at it from every angle hundreds of times since the first time you heard it. 

He nods, only glancing up at you as he stirs. To your surprise, he knows your name, too. When you give him an odd look, he smiles almost apologetically, finally looking at your face for longer than half a second. 

“I heard you introducing yourself to Penelope. Sorry if that’s…”

“No, no! Is she around, today? I texted her last week, but she never responded...”

“Today is operating system update day, so I don’t even really have a way of knowing if she’s alive in her office.” It’s funny to him, but you just smile, baffled. He notices your silence and catches on, scrambling to explain himself. “She’s our tech analyst. There are 243 computers in our building and she has to update them all remotely, which requires getting every agent to agree to not touch their computer at the same time for an hour or so.”

“Oh… does the FBI not have, like… an IT guy, or something?”

He laughs again—the way his eyes crinkle when he does it makes you a little breathless. 

“You should say that to her. I think you would become her favorite person.”

It’s hard not to smile when he’s smiling because of you—however indirectly that may be. Quickly you realize you’ve both been standing in front of the coffee bar for too long. 

“Alright, well… tell her good luck, for me?”

“I would, but I’ve been kicked out for an hour while she does the updates.”

Your brow furrows and you laugh. 

“From the whole building? You just can’t keep your hands off your computer for an hour?”

“Not if I want to do my job, no. And I am kind of obsessive about my job. I’ve been the reason she had to start the whole process over again before and I’d rather not be that person again.”

You say it before you can think too hard. 

“Well, if you have an hour to kill… there’s an open seat at my table? No pressure, obviously.”

And that was the first of thousands of hours you would come to spend with Spencer Reid. 

After that, it sort of becomes a regular thing. He comes almost every day—except for occasional week or so long stretches, which you have discovered are a part of his absolutely fucking insane job—and sits with you, sometimes with Penelope, once with the other blonde, JJ, who you’ve since deduced is not his girlfriend, most often alone. Usually he can’t spare more than ten minutes, but he begins pushing it, little by little, until thirty minutes go by and you think surely his boss (the great and all-powerful Hotchner) must be beginning to notice. 

One day, during your usual lunchtime rendezvous, his phone rings. He talks right on through it, like it’s not happening.

It ceases. And then it starts again. 

Your head drops to your shoulder, something like pity or regret softening your features. He catches your eye and melts slightly, mid-sentence—like he knows you’re about to tell him to be responsible. 

“Do you think you should…”

His hands drop from where they’d been enthusiastically positioned mid-air. 

“They’ll be fine if I’m late from lunch one time. I’m usually more punctual than any of them.”

You roll your lip between your teeth—it’s not that you want to tell him to go; in fact, those delusions you’ve been harboring about your future life together are only getting worse with each inexplicable minute he entertains your company. 

But his job is important. 

“What if you have a case?”

“Then I would have gotten more calls from more people by now.”

Your head tips back as you laugh lightly at his unwavering insistence.   

“I’m flattered that you so enjoy my company that much. But I can’t with good conscience keep taking up your work hours like this.”

As the laughter fades, he just… watches you, lips slightly parted, eyes intense but not entirely present. 

“You’re probably right,” he finally breathes. “Maybe… you should start taking up my other hours, instead?”

Spencer Reid, you unexpected charmer. 

You balk.

“Like… we would hang out? At a different time of day? Not here?”

“Those are the basic premises, yes,” he chuckles, nodding affably. “I’ve never actually seen you anywhere else. For all I know you could be a ghost eternally tethered to this building.”

“Where would this hanging out take place?”

Fuck, you’re totally being weird. His brow knits. 

“I don’t know. Where else do people hang out?”

He’s not genuinely asking you, he’s gently turning you in the right direction. You charge forward blindly. 

“Restaurants.”

There’s that pretty smile of his again, the one that makes all the thoughts drain from your head like cold bathwater. Though, there’s a sort of mischievous edge to it now that you haven't seen before.

“That’s certainly an option. If I asked you to hang out with me at a restaurant... would you say yes?”

You look down. God, your face feels warm. 

“Would you be asking me out on a date? In this hypothetical scenario that we’ve constructed, I mean.”

Spencer seems to think about it for a moment, which fills you with unexpected panic. When you look back up anxiously, he has the same smile on his face, but his eyes are a little softer now. 

“I would.” 

More panic sets in—just a bit. But you don’t let what is undoubtedly a tidal wave of anxiety break through the emotional guard-dam. Keep it together. This is a good thing. This is what you wanted. 

Unfortunately, you are perhaps more transparent than you’d realized. Spencer begins to look slightly worried, leaning forward in his chair. 

“You don’t have to say yes. I know we don’t know each other very well, I just—”

“No!” You find yourself assuring him, though you curse yourself because you kind of want to know what he was going to say. “I would say yes. I’ve just, um—god,” you laugh gustily, self-consciously. “Sorry I’m being so weird. I’m out of my depth. Nobody’s asked me on a date before. I don’t really know the etiquette.”

Spencer chuckles. 

“You’re doing great. Don’t worry about it.”

Not, what?

Not, you’ve never been on a date before?

Not, that’s crazy, or that’s weird, or how have you gone your whole life without being asked out?

With the implication being, you’re odd. Different. Maybe not in a good way. 

He says none of that. 

“But I should probably actually ask you, huh?” His cheeks turn pink as his laughter is redirected inwards. 

“Sounds like a good first step.”

Spencer is still smiling as he says your name and it sounds so good from his mouth. It makes you sound so real. 

“Will you go on a date with me?”

Butterflies in your stomach doesn't begin to brush what you're experiencing—your entire abdominal cavity is like a Monarch sanctuary.

“I’d love to.”

He seems genuinely relieved as he beams, slumping back in his chair. 

“Oh, thank god. I was so nervous you’d say no. I never do that. Thank you for not saying no. Not that you couldn’t have said no—it would have been completely fine and obviously within your rights to—”

His phone rings again. Both of you are relieved that he was interrupted—but admittedly you thought his rambling was super cute. 

“I should—”

“You definitely need to go.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a still-breathless smile. “Um—what’s your number?”

You look around fruitlessly for pen and paper. 

“I don’t—”

“Just tell me. I’ll remember.”

He’s so weird. 

A breeze hits your skin as he opens the door. You’re already writing your wedding vows in the back of your mind as you watch him go. 

-

part four

[steviesummer]

inspired by and as a direct follow up to this post by @strangersteddierthings:

Eddie is horrified. He remembers the day Steve is referring to, though clearly not as well as Steve does. He calls out as Steve raced up the stairs and hears his door slam.

“Fuck.” He stares blankly at the wall in front of him. He can’t believe things went so bad so quickly. He’s been trying to get to know Steve better, get closer and damn if he didn’t just blow the hole thing. He’d shown up early, told Steve he needed to prepare as an excuse to spend some time with him. Despite everything that happened over spring break, Steve had remained guarded, standoffish no matter what Eddie tried. At least now he knew why. He’d fucked things up before he’d known there was something to fuck up.

He feels even worse about calling him a bully. Sure, Steve had looked the other way and even laughed at some of the mean jokes others had made, but he was far from the worst. That dubious award went to Billy Hargrove, but even without him, there was plenty of people who did far worse than Steve did. Especially because Steve is right. He did hit first, metaphorically at least. He can justify it all he wants as trying to protect himself, but that doesn’t make it right. Steve all but admitted that as he said the same thing. He feels nauseous at the realization that maybe he was just as bad as those he decried. That for all his talk about accepting outcasts and defying convention, he was just as prejudiced. Swallowing hard, he heads back to the dining room and looks at the clock. There is no way he is going to be able to run the campaign today. He’s not going to be able to focus or even play without thinking about how things might have been if he hadn’t driven Steve off all those years ago. He grabs the phone and dials Gareth’s number. “Emerson house, Sheryl speaking.” “Hi Mrs. Emerson, it’s Eddie.” Eddie is proud that he manages to keep his voice even. “Is Gareth there?” “Oh, yes! Let me go get him for you.” “Thanks Mrs. Emerson.” Eddie focuses on breathing while he waits. “Eddie? Hey man, what’s up?” Eddie breathes out. “Hey Gareth. Look, I know its last minute, but we’re gonna have to postpone Hellfire. Something came up.” He could hear Gareth’s frown through the phone. “Postpone? What happened, did Harrington do something?” As if he couldn’t feel worse. “Nah. I’ll explain later, but can you call Jeff and Frank, let them know? I gotta call the freshman, too.” “Alright, but I’m going to hold you to that.” “Fair enough. Talk to you tomorrow.” Eddie promises before hanging up. He weighs his options for how to tell the Party. Eventually, he decides on calling Mike, know that the younger teen won’t push too much. He’s dialing the Wheeler home before he can second guess his decision. “This is Mike.” Eddie feels a rush of gratitude that Mike is the one who answered, rather than Nancy or one of their parents. “Hey Mike, it’s Eddie. Listen, Steve’s not feeling great and having Hellfire here isn’t going to help. Can you call the rest of the Party, let them know we’re gonna move it to another day? I’ll keep an eye on Steve.” Eddie knows Mike is a confused, given how adamant he’s been in the past about not canceling or moving Hellfire, but as he expected, Mike accepts what he says at face value. “Sure. Need us to bring anything?” “Nah, I’ve got it. Pretty sure he just needs some peace and quiet so he can rest. But thanks.” They say their goodbyes and Eddie puts the phone back on the hook.  With that done, he checks that the door is locked and faces the stairs. Now for the hard part. He’s not sure what he’s going to say, if there is anything he can say that will fix this, but he has to try. Even if doesn’t change things between him and Steve, Steve deserves at least that much. Every step feels like it takes effort, chest heavy with guilt, but it only takes him a few moments to get to Steve’s door. It’s closed, which doesn’t surprise him. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before knocking. Nothing. “Steve?” If it wasn’t for the quiet sound of Steve’s breathing he could hear through the door, Eddie would think he had left. He glad that he at least didn’t drive Steve out of his own home. He rests his forehead on the door. “I’m sorry.” Eddie hopes Steve can hear how much he means it. “You’re right, I fucked up. I made an assumption and took out my anger at other people on you. And that wasn’t fair and it’s not okay. But I want you to know that I’m sorry. Even if it wasn’t you, I shouldn’t have done that.” He lets out a hysterical laugh as he realizes - “And despite that, you still humor the kids when they talk about D&D and agreed to let us play here and didn’t punch me in the face, which makes you a better man than I.” He falls silent, listens as Steve’s breathing slows. He isn’t sure how long he stands there. He wonders how many other people he hurt this way, without even realizing. Knows he wants to do better, be better. He sighs, feeling his shoulders slump. “Anyway, I canceled Hellfire for today. I told everyone something came up, don’t worry about that. I’ll make up some story, make sure they know its not your fault. And uh,  let me know if you want to hang out again or something. I know I’ve been around a lot; didn’t realize that I was making you so uncomfortable, which is probably another thing I should apologize for. Anyway. Yeah. I’ll see you around, okay?” He waits a moment for an answer, but when none comes, he backs away from the door and walks downstairs to gather his stuff. It hurts, but he knows Steve deserves space and to be the one to initiate contact. He has some thinking to do, anyway.

[plussizeficchick]

Breeder’s Digest! | Nanami x Chubby!Reader

Summary; Nanami’s always wanted kids, but there’s something about you taking care of your nieces and nephews that just get him going.

Warnings; smut(breeding kink(like huge), pregnancy kink?, cunnlingus, P in V, cockwarming(mentioned), ooc!Nanami?, not proofread(y’all know what it is))

Sn: This was originally requested by @shadofireshinobi but friend I could never do it justice like how you requested😫but I hope you like it boo💕

He truly doesn’t know what came over him.

Nanami prides himself on his self control. Sure, there are times when it becomes too much, you’re a bit too tempting, but he’s always been able to keep himself in check.

So where the fuck is that same composure?

Really, he should’ve known better when you said your nieces and nephews would be at the gathering your family was having for Christmas, he just didn’t think it’d result to this.

It just became too much, the sight of you holding your baby niece to your chest, the way you so carefully cradled her, making sure to position her head right.

It just came so naturally to you.

The way you were able to calm her when she was getting fussy, the soft way you cooed at her when she did just about anything, it was getting to him. 

The want, the need, to fuck you full of his cum, to see you nice and round with his child.

He simply couldn’t wait.

— —

You aren’t sure what’s come over Nanami.

You thought everything was fine, you were at your parents house to spend time with them and your sister, along with her new bundle of joy but as you spent time there, Nanami started to act off.

You two had broached the topic of children briefly in the past. It was a mutual agreement that you both wanted them, just when the time was right.

So you’re confused as to what spurred this reaction.

After your niece was put down for a nap, Nanami gave your family a poor excuse as to why you had to leave earlier than anticipated and all but carried you out the door.

You tried to ask what came over him, but he merely shut you down with a searing kiss, stealing your breath away. “I need you.” He groaned against your mouth. He was struggling to hold himself back, desperate to get you squirming in his cock.

You whine against his lips, pulling back just enough to ask him what happened, when he pulls you right back into him, mumbling about getting you home.

— —

After narrowly avoiding crashing, you both managed to stumble into your shared home, Nanami hoisting you up to grind your clothed core against his. “Feel me, pretty? It’s all f’you.” He murmurs against your lips, the taste of you too addicting.

You grind against him, your panties accumulating an embarrassing amount of slick as you feel his hardness. “Need you, Ken. So bad.” You whine. The friction on your clit is delicious, but you need more. 

“Gonna fill you up.” He promises, walking you to your shared bedroom. “Gonna get you nice and full of my kids.” Your heart thrums at the mention of this, pussy clenching involuntarily. Nanami quirks a brow at that, a smirk making its way to his face. “Oh? She likes the sound of that, hm?”

Your heart just about falls to your ass.

He places you on the bed and strips you both of your clothes, kissing and sucking your most sensitive areas before finally placing his mouth where you need him most.

You gasp as he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue laving over the bundle of nerves as one of his hands to reach up and tweak one of your sensitive nipples. He uses his other hand to push one of your knees up, giving him a bit more access to your center. You cry out as he licks a bold stripe up your core, his eyes demanding contact. 

“You taste so good, pretty. I wonder, will you taste different when you’re swollen with my child? Will you taste even sweeter?” He works a finger into you, thrusting shallowly at first, but as you grind your hips into him, he picks up the pace. “I can’t wait to see your tits swell with milk. You won’t ever have to worry about them being too heavy, I’ll help with that, my dear.” Your mind is too clouded to understand the double meaning behind his words, too focused on chasing your orgasm. “Please.” You beg, though, you don’t really know what you're begging for. Nanami does, however, working in a second and third finger as his tongue works wonders on your clit.

It doesn’t take long before you cum, body spasming underneath him. He works you through it, pressing tender kisses along your body before making his way to your lips. “Need to fuck you, princess. Gotta fill you up.” He murmurs against you, cock grinding into your sopping cunt. You whimper as he strokes himself through your folds just right, tip bumping against your clit every so often.

He eventually takes pity on you, slowly stretching you around his thick length as he sets a steady pace. He pulls back a little to get a good look at your face. Drool spilling down your kiss-swollen lips, eyes hazy as he has you creaming around his cock, tits bouncing deliciously as he fucks into you.

So pretty.

“Can’t wait to see my baby in you.” He groans, the image of you round and your tits swollen making him that much harder inside you. He picks up the pace, angling his hips to hit your g-spot as he thumbs your clit. “Cum for me, Princess. Make a mess for me. Please, baby.” He practically begs. His cock is near to bursting the way you're clenching around him. 

You’re tearing up, the feeling of his cock inside you almost overwhelming. Just as you begin to cry out from your orgasm, Nanami captures your lips in a messy kiss, tongues mingling together sloppily. “Gonna cum f’you, princess. Gonna fill you up and I don’t want a fucking drop spilling out. Understand?” He practically snarls in your ear. And for some reason, it has your pussy clenching. 

He spills his seed deep inside you; a deep, guttural groan escaping him as he fucks deep into you, eager to paint your womb. His large hands roam the expanse of your tummy lovingly before he’s flipping you both over so you’re laying on top of him. He presses soft kisses along your neck even though you’re both spent, basking in each other’s warmth. 

Nanami knows that it’ll take a while before you’re showing, but as you lay there cockwarming him, he can’t help but be excited for what the future will hold.

— —

Taglist: @xogabbiexo @kinq-sleazee @dabilovesme @blkchxrryblyss @tenyaiidasslut @luna-indigoduh @bookwormsenpai @bl--ankhaeji @thicksimpx @namjoonswifeyy @nasty-quillz @musicisme333 @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @celi-xxmoon

[spiderb00]

Crazy Girls - Part #2

Lara Raj x reader 

“Your girlfriend always gets jealous, but this time, something was different” 

Genre – Fluff   Warnings – None  (request)

Now playing – Ocho Ríos, by Daniel Caesar 

part 1 | part 2

Being a music producer was a dream, you had dreamed of this profession practically your whole life, you loved music and all the doors it opened for you. One of the things you liked most about your job was the connections you made over the years, you started in the music business at just 17 years old, producing songs by small artists in your basement, until you were discovered by Hybe and your life turned upside down.  

Annually, music producers liked to have small gatherings, more like crazy parties. After a wave of younger producers took over Hybe's positions, things seemed much lighter, it was the new generation coming in and building their names. 

You loved the meetings/parties that the producers organized, even more so when you could bring your girlfriend with you. It was almost New Year's Eve and you and your girlfriend were still in Japan, Katseye finally got a break from their busy schedules, which led Lara to spend more time with you.  

When you mentioned the party to your girlfriend, inviting her to be your date, you didn't imagine the disaster that this night would be. When you and Lara walked through the door of the bar where your producer friends organized the party, you felt a strange sensation, as if fate was telling you to get out of there at that very moment. Thinking it was just in your head, you walked in, greeted your friends, introduced Lara to them, everything was going well, until you saw her. 

Kim Hyung-so, or BIBI as she was known professionally, or better yet, the girl who broke your heart, played with your feelings, manipulated you, and freaked out when you said you wanted to break up, as if she was the victim. The relationship of the two of you was never healthy, you met her through a blind date arranged by one of your producer friends, who was also a friend of Hyung-so. 

 At first glance she seemed like a nice woman, she was six years older than you and that scared you a bit at first, but your friends quickly convinced you that dating an older woman was simply heaven, and you fell for it. Unfortunately, that's not quite how it happened. The older woman tried to control everything you did, who you talked to, where you went, what clothes you wore, and after a few months it started to get very tiring for you. 

The fights were constant, and it always ended with you apologizing and having to do everything to please her. At that time, you were only eighteen, while Hyung-so was twenty-four. So, you took everything she said as law, after all she was older, she knew what was best for you. It was only when you turned nineteen that you finally had the courage to end it all with the woman, your entire relationship dissolving into screams and objects thrown in your direction. 

 You were able to get back on your feet after moving from Korea to Los Angeles, settling down and having a good life, meeting Lara and making friends who really gave you good advice and were reliable. 

 You ignored her, she was part of your past, you didn't even know why she was here. You spent the night glued to Lara, chatting with a few co-workers here and there, but your hand never letting go of the Indian girl's hand next to you. 

"Baby, can you get more water for me, please?" Lara says, turning to you with a fluffy pout on her lips.  

Giving the shorter girl a kiss on the lips, you took the plastic cup she had in her hand, heading towards the open bar that was nearby.  

"Have you stopped drinking?" You heard the voice coming from behind you, catching you off guard and causing you to pour some water into your hand. 

"Damn!"  

"Hey, you don't have to be nervous, baby. I just asked one question." The sarcastic laugh, the tone she always used when addressing you, everything about her remained the same. 

"It's not for me, not that it's any of your business." You said, looking back slightly, before returning to focus on the action you were doing before. 

 "Wow, teddy bear, you used to be kinder to me..." Hyung-so said, making you close your eyes tightly before turning your body towards the older woman.  

"What do you want, Hyung-so?" You asked, irritation dripping from your words.  

"Nothing, sweetie. I just wanted to talk to an old friend, didn't you miss me? You've been away for a long time..." The older woman said, the typical smile she used to wear with you plastered on her face. Approaching you, the woman made you get trapped between her and the counter. 

"Baby, I just wanted to see why you were taking so long." Lara said, approaching as if she were your guardian angel.  

"Baby?" Hyung-so repeated, looking between you and Lara with an eyebrow raised, her stupid smile still being displayed to everyone. 

 "Sorry, I'm Lara, Yn's girlfriend." Lara said, grabbing your left arm as if her life depended on it.  

"Oh, I'm Hyung-so. Yn and I usually go on adventures together, but she got boring." It was the only thing the older woman said before leaving, leaving the worst atmosphere in the world between you and your girlfriend. 

After you regained all your consciousness from everything that had just happened, you looked at Lara, who was already three steps away from you, walking towards the exit of the bar. Running towards the Indian girl, you called her name, which was duly ignored, making you hurry up your steps and finally catch up with the girl.  

"Lara, what happened?”  

"Yn and I used to go on adventures together." She says, repeating Hyung-so's line. "YOU THINK I'M FUCKING STUPID?!" 

You looked around, trying to see if you had caught anyone's attention. Luckily everyone was too busy with their drinks to notice your girlfriend's screams. 

 "Look, baby, I know what you're thinking, but I swear I didn't know she was going to be here." You say, looking desperate to end that argument.  

"Take me to the hotel." Lara said, turning around and heading towards your car.  

"Lara..." 

 "Please, take me to the hotel!" 

Lara spoke firmly, the girl's words at no time hesitating, but you knew she was about to shed tears. In silence, you drove to the hotel where you were both staying, Lara stared at the window the whole time and that made you feel horrible. You always saw an aggressive Lara when you were jealous, but you never saw that side of her. The Indian girl wasn't yelling at you, she wasn't telling you you were hers, she wasn't doing anything but looking out the window and taking a deep breath. 

 When you finally got to the hotel room, everything was quiet, you were leaning against the door while watching Lara do the things she normally did before bed, but now there wasn't those sweet and fun conversations you shared, there was only silence. 

"Baby, talk to me, please." You ask, sitting on the bed, looking at Lara lying with her back to you.  

"Do you still like her?" You heard Lara ask in a whisper. 

 Lying on the bed imitating the position of the red-haired girl, you hugged the girl's waist, placing your body behind hers.  

"Lara, I wouldn't be here, right now, if I still liked her." You replied, hearing a loud sigh coming from the girl in your arms.  

Lara gently turned, the faces of the two of you were now close, and looking better at the girl, you could see some tears streaming from her eyes. 

"She's so pretty-"  

"I love you, Lara." You said, your hand reaching the side of the girl's face in front of you. "I'll never prefer someone else, I want to be with you forever." You said, the tone of your voice and the looks you were giving Lara made her believe your words.  

"I think I felt a little afraid. She's older, she already knows you..." The girl spoke, her gaze conveying a painful uncertainty. 

 "No one knows me better than you, Lara. You are the woman of my life, with whom I want to spend the rest of my days by my side. I'll never choose any other girl, it'll always be you!" 

You joined your lips with hers, all the love you felt being transmitted by a single seal of lips, sweeping all uncertainty and insecurity from your girlfriend's mind. Lara's chest calmed down in the face of the situation, all doubts slipping from her head as she enjoyed the moment.  

"I love you, Lara Raj." You say, looking deep into the girl's eyes.  

"It's better..."  

"There she is, finally my girlfriend is back."  

"Shut up... I love you too." 

Hi guys, how are you? One more request "delivered" ;)

I have some ideas for Fam out, I'm really excited to start writing this. Have you seen the new character of Fam out? What did you think?

Did you guys get the little tip I left about her sister? Anyway, I think that's it

xoxo, Spider. 

[ilovekittycats2]

New Years Eve

Fred Weasley x reader

(use of y/n)

In which,

Fred and Y/N share a moment, almost, as the clock strikes midnight.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Burrow was almost always bustling with the sounds of laughter and love. It practically spilled out of every window, drenching anyone who visited in its warmth. The crooked house stood tall and proud, an unmistakable testament to the life and joy that thrived within its walls. In other words, it was evident that the Burrow, and the red-headed family who lived there, were brimming with love from top to bottom.

Every year, Y/N spent her winter break with the Weasleys. Her own parents and siblings were always traveling—caught up in their own busy lives—and somehow, they always forgot to include her in their plans. Y/N didn’t mind much, though. Christmas and New Year’s at the Weasleys’ was always more fun than being in her empty house. Molly Weasley had practically adopted her, insisting on knitting her a jumper every year and fretting over her like she was one of her own.

Tonight was no exception. The living room was alive with laughter and shouts as the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, and Y/N gathered around the fireplace, playing a Muggle board game she’d gifted them for Christmas. The twins had been suspicious of the game at first, convinced it would explode or do something wild—because what fun was a board game if it didn’t?—but eventually, they were all engrossed in the competitive chaos.

“HA! Take that, Ronniekins!” Fred crowed as he claimed yet another victory.

“It’s not fair, you’re cheating somehow!” Ron huffed, glaring at his brother, who was grinning smugly. “Don’t be a sore loser Ronniekins,” Y/N teased, nudging Ron with her shoulder.

As the clock in the corner ticked closer to midnight, the game slowed. Molly and Arthur had retired to bed, and Ginny was half-asleep with her head on Hermione’s shoulder. One by one, the others began to drift off, until only Y/N and Fred remained, still sitting cross-legged in front of the fire.

“You’re not tired?” Fred asked, leaning back on his hands and watching her closely. “Not yet,” she replied, her voice soft. “It feels too perfect to end the night just yet.” Fred tilted his head, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Perfect, huh? Well, I know how to make it even better.”

Before she could ask what he meant, he stood and extended a hand toward her. “Come on.”

She hesitated for a moment but eventually placed her hand in his. Fred’s grip was warm and steady as he led her through the house, careful not to make a sound as they crept past creaky floorboards and closed doors. “Where are we going?” Y/N whispered, though she couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto her face.

“You’ll see,” Fred whispered back, his grin widening.

They climbed a rickety staircase that led to the attic. Fred pushed open a small window, gesturing for her to climb through. “Are you serious?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Deadly,” he replied, the sparkle in his eyes daring her to say no.

With a laugh, she hoisted herself through the window, and Fred followed close behind. They found themselves on the roof of the Burrow, the cold winter air crisp against their faces. Above them, the stars stretched endlessly, their light reflected in the snow-covered fields below.

“Wow,” Y/N breathed, hugging herself against the chill. Fred shrugged off his jumper and handed it to her without a word. “Fred, you’ll freeze,” she protested. “Nonsense,” he said with a wink. “I'm a Weasley. Built to withstand anything.”

They sat side by side, legs dangling over the edge of the roof. Midnight crept closer, and the air between them felt heavier, charged with something unspoken. “Thanks for staying up with me,” Y/N said quietly, glancing at him. Fred looked at her, his usual playful demeanor softened. “Anytime,” he said, his voice unusually gentle.

As the clock struck midnight, the sound of distant fireworks filled the air, their colorful explosions lighting up the sky. Fred turned to her, his face inches from hers, his breath warm against the cold night.

“I think this is the perfect moment,” he murmured, his eyes flicking down to her lips.

Y/N’s heart raced as she leaned in slightly, the world around them disappearing into the sparkling night. But just as their lips were about to meet, the window below them creaked open, and George’s voice rang out.

“Oi, you two! Thought you’d sneak off without me, did you?”

Fred groaned, pulling back and shaking his head. “George, you absolute git!” Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, the spell broken but the warmth in her chest still lingering. Fred joined in, his grin as bright as the fireworks above.

Maybe next year.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

happy new year guys!!! part three to the high maintenance series is coming soon but i'd thought i'd give my fred weasley girls a lil blurb while i work on the other piece. love you all so much have a great new years.

[twice-inamillion]

The Company

Red Velvet

Smut (anal, creampie, caught during sex, first time sex, mentioning of virginity)

Chapter 10

1935 Words

(OC wants to claim his prize for debuting Irene’s group. Not everything goes according to plan, and sacrifices are made.)

“Unnie, we’re excited to debut! Can’t believe it’s actually happening!”

“You girls deserve it.”

”It's all because of you, unnie,” say the members in unison.

”How are we debuting earlier than the other girl group?” asks Wendy.

“Irene unnie has pull with the CEO, that’s why, haha,” says Joy jokingly.

”Shhh, don’t even joke around; if the other trainees hear you, they are going to complain.”

”Don’t worry about what people say, you girls deserve it. As the oldest, it's my responsibility to take care of you girls.”

”How about we celebrate later tonight?” asks Seulgi.

”That sounds like fun,” replies Wendy.

”What about, unnie?” asks Joy.

”I wish I could, but I need to get some things done. You girls celebrate without me. Here, order some food with this,” Irene gives Seulgi the company credit card.

“Haha, we are going to eat!”

Irene then exits the room and pulls her phone out to see the text message she got during the gathering. “What does he want now?” She reads the message, “IU is out abroad, so get cleaned up; I’ll be stopping by your place later tonight.”

Later that evening, the members celebrate their upcoming debut by ordering some takeout and participating in around of round karaoke. Everytime they take a selfie they send it to Irene but get no response. “We should take some food to unnie. I don’t think she has enough time to cook food after working so late these past few days,” says Wendy.”

”You’re right, let’s surprise her.”

”Yes, maybe we can bring some party streamers and surprise her, haha,” says Joy.

The members pack some food in tupperware and head to Irene’s apartment. They try to be as careful as possible not to get caught by the staff who look for trainees violating their curfew. They exit the elevator and turn towards the hallway to find her apartment. Standing in front of her door, they try to remember her key code from the time they visited her a while back.

The door unlocks, and they all enter her apartment and place the food on the countertop. They look around, but there is no sign of Irene until they hear some noise coming from the room at the end of the hallway.

Curious, they slowly tiptoe and see the door slightly open and look through the little slit and are shocked at the scene. They see Irene, their oldest member and the mother-type figure of the group nude, getting pounded on all fours.

“I’ve missed this ass so much,” as you give it a nice smack. You spread her ass cheeks wide open, giving you a nice view of her pucker hole.

Irene whines,“Just get it over with.”

You align your cock to her pucker hole and slowly press it into her hole, causing her to grunt. She tries to hold her composure but can't when you grab hold of her hips and slam your cock all the way inside.

“Oh fuck! You're being too rough!”

You don't pay any attention and begin to thrust rapidly. Irene buries her head onto the pillow to muffle her expression. You slap her ass continuously, leaving your handprint on her ass.

Minutes pass, and you pull out and say, “How about I claim my present right now?”

Irene lifts her head and turns to you, “No, please, I'm not really yet. Just give me some more time to prepare.”

“Why should I? Remember the deal we made a while back?” as you trace your thumb against her folds.

“Yes, I remember and I'll do it, but just not today.”

“Then when?”

“How about after our debut? Give me a few more days.”

You rub your thumb against her lips and say, “Alright, but this is the last time I'm going to wait.”

“Okay.”

“Be thankful I'm patient with you; someone else wouldn't have done the same.”

“Yes I know, thank you.”

“Now raise up your ass; I want to cum inside.”

Irene positions herself a bit better and raises up her ass. With one hand, you spread her ass cheek and insert your cock back inside, “Fuck, to think that you offered your own virginity for the sake of your group, haha.”

Irene groans as she feels your cock stretch her ass completely and buries her head into her pillow to prevent herself from moaning.

On the other side of the door, the members watch as the oldest gets fucked from behind. They come to the realization of Irene's commitment to them, even at the cost of giving her own virginity.

Joy then whispers, “Unnie, let's go; I don't want to see what happens next.”

“Same here; I want to go.”

Seulgi responds, “Let's be quiet,” and the three of them turn around towards the exit.

Suddenly, they hear a loud smack and a shout, “I'm going to cum inside you!” They hear Irene yell out loud and try to cover their ears. The members rush back to their dorm and try to take in what they just saw.

“I can’t believe Irene unnie and the CEO were doing it” says Joy.

Wendy responds, ”I know; Irene said she was busy, so I thought she was working.”

”Maybe it was an excuse,” says Seulgi.

”I don’t know. Doesn’t seem like she was doing it because she liked it. I always thought Irene unnie liked girls and hated men.”

”What if she’s being forced by the CEO?” asks Joy.

”You have a point; he said something about a deal in exchange for her first time,” says Seulgi.

”Do you think she made a deal so that we could debut first?” asks Wendy.

The members look at each other in disbelief at the idea that Irene could do something like this. “We should try to talk to Irene about it. Tell her that it’s not worth it, we can always debut later.”

”How do you think we should bring it up? Are we going to tell her that we walked in on them having sex? There is a reason why she didn’t tell us” says Wendy.

”All I know is that we should do something about it” says Joy.

“Let's try to talk to her tomorrow morning before our schedule,” suggests Seulgi. The members agree and nod their heads.

The next day, the members are woken up by a sweet smell and make their way to the kitchen. They see Irene wearing an apron and holding a bowl of pancake mix, “Good morning! Take a seat, I’m making some pancakes.”

The members sit on the stools and look at each other, trying to figure out how to bring up what they saw yesterday.

“Sorry I wasn't able to join the three of you, I was so busy with work that I ended up falling asleep when I got back. How was your celebration?”

“It was good. We ate a lot and even saved some for you.”

“Aww, thanks. Maybe we can celebrate after our debut!”

“We'd love that. They try to find a way to bring up the subject, but instead Irene leads the conversation.

After eating, they arrive at the dance room and practice one last time before their debut tomorrow. “Alright girls. This is our last performance as a trainee group. Tomorrow is our big day, so let's call it a day and rest a bit. I'll see everyone later today.”

“Okay!”

Irene leaves the practice room and meets up with the managers to talk about tomorrow's schedule. The other three discuss their plan for the day when Wendy asks, “What are we going to do about Irene unnie?”

Seulgi responds, “I don't think we should get involved; maybe we didn't get the whole picture.”

“Seulgi is right; what if they were role-playing, and we caught them in one of those moments,” says Joy.

“Remember when we asked if anyone had a person they liked? Irene said she couldn't see herself liking a man but blushed when we asked if it was a possibility with a girl.”

Yeah, I remember.”

“I can't see her doing it with anyone, especially a guy.”

“Let's just wait until she tells us herself, we don't want to get involved in her personal life, especially if it's with the CEO. He can disband us if he wants to.”

“You're right, we don't want to get kicked out just moments before our debut.”

Exhausted with the situation Wendy replies “Okay, I won't bring it up anymore.“

The four members wait behind the main stage as the MC gets ready to introduce them as the new girl group. They hold each other’s hands and hope for the best before heading onto the stage.

”Give a big applause to the new group. Let’s welcome, Red Velvet!”

The audience applauds as the four of them walk on stage. They give a warm smile and wave, “Thank you! We are so glad to be here.”

They each look at each other and nod, “Happiness! Hello- We are Red Velvet!” The music starts and they begin their performance.

”Thank you, everyone for your support! We'll perform much more” as the members wave goodbye. They bow and watch as the stage light goes dark.

“Good job everyone. You all did so well. Let's keep it up!”

“Thank you Irene unnie.”

“Let's go celebrate!”

“Yes, let's get some food!”

After a night of celebration each of the members are back in their rooms.

Everyone is asleep except one, she makes her way to her closet and grabs her bag and a trench coat before heading out. Her mind is set; she can't let her unnie care all the burden while the rest enjoy the easy life and exits the apartment.

You're going over at some last-minute documents when you hear the doorbell go off. Curious about who it might be, you get up and check the security screen. “What is she doing here?”

You open the door and ask, “What brings you here this late?”

“I came to take Irene unnie's place.”

Surprised, you respond, “I'm not sure what you mean.”

“Like I said, I'm here to take her place” and opens her trench coat, revealing her nude body. “What do you think?”

”Not bad.”

“You can do anything you want as long as you don't bother her anymore. Just let her keep her virginity, and you can have mine.”

Not being able to contain yourself, you place your hand on her soft and tender breast, giving them a faint squeeze. Wendy's eyes squints, adjusting herself to being touched by a man for the first time.

“Are you sure you’re willing to take her place?”

”Yes, I’ve made up my mind.”

That’s all you got to hear as you grab her hand and let her into your apartment. You stop at the living room and say, “Let’s get you comfortable and take off that coat.” Wendy slowly lets the coat go, revealing her whole body but still trying to cover her shaved cunt.

“Move your hand, I want to see everything.”

”Okay.”

You walk around, inspecting 360 degrees, before grabbing her hand once more and lead her into the bedroom. She walks into the neat room and sees the large bed in the center of the room. Wendy takes one last breath before shutting the door, preparing herself for what she’s about to do.

[terry-perry]

okay I need some more alastor x Carmella’s daughter!

can we have an imagine this time of that situation?

A Business Proposal

“First the Princess of Hell, and now you've gone for one of Carmine's brats? You really have no shame, do you Alastor?"

Right on cue, Vox was ready to confront Alastor after the last Overlord gathering, not caring that everyone was still around to watch. It was just like the Vees to want an audience. Had it been anyone else, Alastor would've torn the obnoxious picture box to shreds and have his torment recorded for his next show. Vox wasn't worth the effort, however. In fact, Alastor knew of a better way to destroy him.

"My friend, there's no need for such jealousy," he started with the nonchalant tone he knew drove Vox crazy. "It's not my fault my natural charisma led to such powerful allies while all you can conjure up are underlings who do nothing more than feed your fragile ego."

That certainly struck a nerve since Vox began to grind his teeth as his stare grew more intense. Alastor simply stayed calm as he subtly carried a tone of smugness. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to have lunch with my lady love, whom you will not disrespect again," This was the only time he chose to strike actual fear in Vox's heart as he switched to his Radio Demon persona by darkening his eyes and letting his figure grow into a form that better radiated evil. "Not unless you wish to be a new voice for my broadcast..."

Vox could only stare in bewildered silence as Alastor threatened him. The jab was bad enough, but the last statement stunned him enough to merely nod.

"Darling?" A third voice that differed with its femininity and lack of intensity came through. "Ready to go?" Y/N asked her boyfriend, bearing no mind that he was in almost full demon mode.

Alastor snapped his head around in her direction, calming down instantly. He supposed he made his point, and he was rather famished.

"Ready as always, my dear!" He replied, offering his arm to her which she happily accepted. "I know a lovely little bistro that serves excellent venison."

They walked past the still-emasculated Vox who was doing his best to refrain from buffering.

"Always fun catching up with you, old friend!"

----

Alastor would be lying if he said he wasn't caught off guard by Carmilla's sudden invitation to her home. She may have been Y/N's mother, but he rarely interacted with her sans a few polite greetings whenever they saw one another. According to Y/N, she did approve of him, it was just hard to gather since for every jovial "Hello!" he'd give her, she'd return with a small nod and acknowledging hum. It could be rather off-putting for someone like Alastor who thrived on other's reactions to all he did.

Some feared him, which always brought a certain giddiness within him that bordered on titillating. Some believed they could outmatch him in the battle of wits, which he was always ready for with a good put-down.

Months ago there was that precious giggle his dearest Y/N let out to alert him that she carried a torch for him. He knew right away that was something he could use to his advantage. Working with the heir to Hell's throne was already advantageous, but being involved with one of the daughters of an Overlord with the largest assembly of weapons in the city was something that could make his position all the more concrete. Pestering gnats like the Vees, even with their childish disrespect, knew opportunities like this don't just come every day. It was most likely why Vox tried to provoke him like he did.

So this was why Alastor had to be sure he had Carmilla's approval since it would cement him further in his current position. For someone who believed a smile could go a long way in keeping many guessing, he was certainly thrown off his game by her lack of expression. He could only hope this invite to whatever this was could keep things favorable for him.

Alastor was welcomed in by no one as the door opened on its own like always. He stepped into a large sitting room which contrasted with the one at the hotel as the latter was bright and rather tacky. The Carmine household was more gloomy, yet rather welcoming. He thought it was because the room he was directed to had walls completely covered in books. No doubt his bookish Y/N inhabited this room often, having the habit of sticking her nose in one. Currently, however, sat her mother in an armchair, staring passively at him like always.

"Alastor," Carmilla greeted him, waving him forward. "Glad you came. Please sit."

She gestured him to a sofa next to her seat that he accepted, along with the glass of bloodred wine she offered. Sadly it was just that - wine. It will have to do.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I called you here so unexpectedly, without Y/N," she began, all business and direct, as always.

"If this is about my altercation with Vox this morning, I apologize," he said. He wasn't really sorry for putting the noisy picture box in his place, but whatever kept him in Carmilla's good graces. "As you know, he's an old acquaintance of mine. Things between us can get rather-"

She held up her hand to stop him before taking a sip of her wine. "That's not why I called you here. I've learned not to pay the Vees any mind long ago. No, I wish to speak to you about your relationship with Y/N."

At this, he kept his smile intact as always, but it held a certain wariness, a curiosity. He hoped she couldn't tell how he was preparing himself for whatever she could mean. She sat further back in her seat, studying him it seemed. When he chose to stay quiet, she continued. "I understand you're a busy person, as am I, so I'll do us both a favor and jump right to what I wish to discuss," without hesitation, she did just that. "I want you to marry Y/N."

Alastor could barely cover how he winced at that - the static emanating from him didn't help. Even with all the theories he conjured for this meeting, he didn't imagine this.

Carmilla must've noticed how she caught him by surprise since this was the first time he saw her look amused at the situation. She seemed to want to play with him since she took her time with her next sip before deciding to reassure him. "This doesn't need to happen any time soon," she said. "I don't expect you to get engaged tomorrow. I only want to give you my blessing if that's where you two end up. I find it beneficial for you to know beforehand because you're a businessman before anything else. You won't do anything unless you know it'll benefit you. It's why you're with my daughter in the first place, right?"

Well, there was no use denying it, so Alastor shrugged. The wariness, however, remained. "Y/N is quite a lovely lady with a certain sweetness and intelligence that I find endearing. If she so happens to come with a powerful family, then who am I to not want to get closer to someone who can mean a lot to me?"

Carmilla once more studied him stoically, which had Alastor's wide grin falter. "If I were in you, I'd do the same, I suppose. Which is why I know you'll continue to treat her well. You'll continue to meet her, talk with her, and if it gets to that point, marry her. If not, you'll go about your business like nothing. You're smart enough to know that you should treat this like any other transaction. If any issues, deal with me. Are we clear?"

Oh, she was making this too easy. Alastor almost wanted to let out a cackle of triumphant laughter. Had she stuck out her hand to shake he would have. For now, he'd settle for the clinking of glasses that signified a toast.

One marriage, coming up!

[seancekitsch]

Hazbin Hotel—Lucifer x Reader where he’s a love struck fool for reader? May or may not be inspired by that little imagine you posted not too long ago \(//∇//)\

uhhh this kinda got away from me. enjoy!!

You’d have to be a fool not to notice how the King of Hell acts around you, even Angel and Husk told you that. But you’re not blinded to situation, you know exactly what’s going on. You rest your elbow on the bar next to Angel as Charlie gathers the hotel residents and staff, a job not unlike herding cats. Everyone trickles in slowly, waiting for the next odd trust bond activity Charlie has come up with now. Last week was heartfelt letter writing, and the three of you at the bar had not taken it seriously. You handed Husk a comedic inner monologue about how much you needed to pee, Husk handed Angel a surprisingly detailed made up story about a talking whisky bottle, and Angel handed you a list of what roles he’d cast the entire hotel in a porno.

“What do you think they’ll have us do this time?” Husk mumbles to you, topping off your drink.

“Honestly, not a fan of the way Princess is smiling right now,” you answer.

Charlie waves everyone over, and Vaggie smiles uncomfortably, ready for everyone to start.

“Okay Good Afternoon,” Charlie starts, practically bouncing, “Today we’re going to try to form new bonds!”

Immediately, she’s met with groaning and mumbling, but thats never stopped her and it won’t today either.

“So what better way to do that then having a buddy for the next twenty four hours!” She shouts, and Vaggie’s face immediately makes sense.

“I’ve separated everyone from their regular group so they can build these bonds and be open!”

“…got something you could open…” you hear Angel mumble under his breath.

Charlie gives her dad a thumbs up.

“The first pairing is… my dad and Y/n!”

The Morningstar family sucks at being subtle or lying.

“So what did you have planned for the day?” Lucifer asks while sitting beside you, his voice short and clipped, his entire demeanor like he’s on high alert. It’s cute, really.

“Ah don’t worry about it,” you shrug, “What does the areat King of Hell do with his day?”

Lucifer rubs his neck, fidgeting under your question.

“It’s not… Its not actually all that interesting,” he admits, “You’ve probably got something cooler going on.”

There’s something he’s avoiding besides your gaze, but you don’t press the issue.

You look across the lobby to Angel, who pauses his conversation with Vaggie to mouth something that looked like the word “fart” to you, and then wink.

Your art gallery. Right.

“Have you ever been to Pentagram City’s biggest art gallery?” you ask him.

Lucifer is a gentleman. You understand how he stole the first man’s first two wives from him. Sure, he’s stumbling and stuttering and a nervous wreck, but he’s holding doors open for you and asking about your thoughts and feelings about the pieces on display, he’s accidentally on purpose almost held your hand three times now. Next time he does it, you’re just going to grab his damn hand.

You stare at the sculpture in front of you, noting that you should have someone move this to a different room. In fact, there’s a few things you’ve noticed while showing Lucifer the art that you should have moved around. Maybe you’ve been neglecting the gallery a bit more than you thought now that you live at the hotel.

“Hey, Can I ask you about these?” Lucifer’s voice booms from the next room over. Sighing, you type a quick note into your V-Phone and turn.

Oh shit.

Lucifer found THAT room.

You cross the threshold into the room you never go into, the room with your own work. Honestly, it’s not even curated the way the other rooms and floors are. This is where you put anything that you think can leave your studio. He’s in front of one of your biggest paintings, and one of your newest. It’s an abstract piece about your feelings about redemption, about your past sins, about adjusting to the hotel. Which it sounds stupid when you put it like that, but it made sense in the moment and you’re proud of it.

He turns and smiles before looking back at the painting.

“Is the uh, is the artist willing to sell this piece?” he asks, his cheeks and the tips of his ears turning red.

Now it’s your turn to get nervous. You’ve never actually sold any of your own pieces before.

“I uh- I’m not gonna sell it to you,” you tell him, “You can have it.”

It would be weird to take money from Lucifer, even if he is offering. You like him a decent amount and a transaction between the two of you would make it weird. It would feel like you owe him, even though your art would technically satisfy that. If he was one of the Vees or someone you dislike, you would have immediately taken money.

“But the artist-“

“Me,” you clarify, and you finally remember you don’t tag your own art. Lucifer’s jaw drops at your admission.

“I’d really like to support your work, it’s magnificent,” Lucifer insists, and you feel your cheeks burning. He turns to gesture to another piece, and his knuckles brush your own.

Fuck it. You told yourself you’d do it. You grab Lucifer’s hand in your own, a bold move.

“Just think about it as a gift,” you tell him, “A thank you for the lovely day we’ve had.”

You inwardly cringe, knowing that when you recount today at the lobby bar your drinking buddies are going to tear you a new one for that corny line. But it fits for Lucifer; he’s bringing out a side of you that you really haven’t seen in a while.

“Thank you uh, gorgeous,” he tacks on the pet name like even he isn’t sure about it, and with his hand still in yours, attempts to lean against a sculpture, stumbling as he misses it and bringing you along with him. He tugs you by the arm, jerking you closer to him. He’s majorly out of practice.

“I have a studio upstairs if you want to see more?” you offer, not really sure if you thought that through.

“More art? Absolutely!” He recovers quickly, enthusiasm dripping from his voice.

You smile as you pull him towards the hallway, butterflies in your stomach as it dawns on you that he’s going to be the only person besides you to see the studio.

You and Lucifer end up staying there until Charlie calls him the next morning.

You notice paint on his chin after you get back to the hotel.

[moonstruckme]

Ok James but him and his slytherin girlfriend seem to come out of nowhere and the boys are supportive but are more mad at James for not telling them? Idk I loved your other fic SO MUCH

Thanks for requesting <3

part 1

cw: mention of injury, no details or anything though

James Potter x Slytherin!reader ♡ 1.5k words

You hesitate outside the doorway to the infirmary at the raised voices coming from inside. 

You don’t need to be here, strictly speaking. James told you his injury wasn’t bad, and he has his friends to help him if he needs it, but…you can’t settle yourself down. You hadn’t liked the way he’d limped off the field, nor the tiny grimace on his face when Sirius had wrapped a bracing arm under his shoulders. It would be just like James to downplay how hurt he is to make you feel better, and the longer the game had gone on without him the more your guts twisted themselves into knots over the idea that he was in pain. 

You’d seethed at yourself and your stupid soft heart all the way to the infirmary, where now you’re frozen just outside like a coward. Something inside you is coiled tight with tension at the idea of going to see James Potter, on purpose and in public, even though that’s dumb because now everyone at Hogwarts knows about the two of you anyway. Your sappy display on the quidditch pitch made sure of that. But now that you have official and widely-known claim to the girlfriend title, you have just as much right to see him as anyone else. You shove your anxiety back into your stomach where it belongs and open the door. 

As soon as you’re inside, the voices become clearer. “—like this isn’t a big deal. The Prophet’s going to be all over the two of you by tomorrow, and we had to find out with every other fucking bloke at the school!”

“Pads, you don’t think I would have told you if I could?” James sounds exhausted, and something mutinous throbs in your heart. It’s followed quickly by the more familiar twinge of irritation at the use of those moronic nicknames they all have. “She made me promise not to tell anyone, including the both of you.” 

They’re talking about you. Of course they’re talking about you. What else could possibly be more important after James has fallen a good twenty feet off his broom than his dating life? This is why you hadn’t wanted to tell people. Hogwarts wears away at private lives like dementors at souls, and the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin is too strong for your relationship with James to have any hope of remaining untainted once the gossip mill got ahold of it. 

Your instincts are screaming at you to turn around and leave before they catch sight of you, but you force yourself to keep walking. If you start letting what people think about you and James affect you now, you’ll never be able to get past it. 

Remus is the first to spot you, going still as if you’ve come to hex him, but James’ face splits into a lopsided grin that has the knots in your gut loosening very slightly. 

“Especially you,” you say to Sirius as you brush past him, perching by James' pillow and weaving your fingers into his curls. There’s a wrap around his middle. It’s very hard to appear calm and blasé when you feel like you’re going to rupture something if he doesn't promise you he’s okay right this instant. “You’d have had all of Gryffindor talking about us within an hour.” 

Sirius bristles but visibly shoves his temper aside, his voice matching your coolness as he says, “If I’d told anyone, Y/L/N, it would have been to inquire about whether anyone’s noticed you gathering ingredients for amortentia recently. James doesn’t keep things from us. Artificial infatuation is the only explanation for why he’d tolerate you and your secrets.” 

“Oi,” James says, but you pat his head placatingly. You can fight your own battles. 

“That how you got this one?” you jut your chin towards Remus, who’s looking somewhat entertained as he watches the two of you spar. “If I’m ever in need of the recipe, Black, you’ll be the first person I come to, but I don’t need to resort to such measures myself.” 

Sirius glowers at you, and James sets his hand on your shoulder just as Remus wraps a pacifying arm around his boyfriend. “Alright, I think that’s enough,” the taller boy says in his usual calm manner, and though Sirius is still tensed for a fight, he allows himself to be drawn into Remus’ side.

James nods in agreement. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys, really. I thought I’d get a chance to before everyone found out, but…” He turns up his palms helplessly. “Things didn’t go as planned.” 

“We’ll get over it,” Remus says, Sirius quietly fuming beside him. “Won’t we, love?”

Sirius looks up at Remus' face, which is clearly a mistake, because he softens like butter in the sun. “Yeah, yeah, just gimme a bit,” he grumbles halfheartedly. “Anything to keep our Prongsie happy, right?”

James beams, so clearly relieved at the settlement of the conflict that you feel a bit guilty for participating in it. He kisses you on the cheek, chuckling against your skin. “You stink.” 

“Some of us stuck around to play the whole game,” you reply.

“Ouch,” James says, but he’s grinning. “Couldn’t really help that, could I?”

You give him a look to let him know you haven’t forgotten how his negligence had gotten him hurt. “Debatable.” 

You hear Remus chuckle but don’t take your eyes off James’ face, inspecting it for signs of the pain you suspect he’s hiding. “How bad is it really?” you ask, softening your voice even though there’s no chance of his friends not hearing you. 

James worries his lip, big brown eyes looking into yours guiltily. “Pomphrey says I broke three ribs and bruised my tailbone pretty badly. Minor concussion, too, but nothing serious.” 

Sounds serious enough to you. You ghost a hand over the back of his head as if you’ll be able to find and fix his hurt. He leans into your palm though, so it’s not for nothing. “I’m sorry I walked away out there,” you all but whisper. “I should have stayed with you.” 

James eyebrows pinch together. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he promises just as softly. He knows what it costs you to talk like this in front of people, like you’re turning yourself inside out for them to judge and stab at as they please, but James has no such reservations. He dots a kiss, feather-light, at the top of your cheekbone, wrapping an arm around you protectively. “Thanks for coming, I mean it.” 

You clear your throat. “Yeah, and in my fucking quidditch gear,” you say in your normal voice, attempting to banish the heavy mood. As if your heart isn’t still beating, hummingbird-fast and fragile, in your throat. “We both need to change and shower, and then you should rest. Did Pomphrey say you could leave?”

James nods, still looking at you like you’ve cracked open in his hands (he might be right; it feels like you have, and it wouldn’t even be the first time today). He rubs your upper arm affectionately, but his voice is easygoing when he says, “Yup, I’m good to go.” 

Sirius steps forward, as though to remind the two of you that he is, in fact, also present. “Great. We’ll walk you back to the room.” 

You turn to him, not quite ready for your time with James to be up and aching for the opportunity to dote on him in private. “That’s okay, I can take him.” 

Sirius’ eyes narrow. “You can’t even get into our dorms.” 

“Please, like Gryffindor’s riddles are so perplexing.” 

“I don’t need an escort,” James interjects. He pushes himself up with a grimace. 

You halt him with your hands on his shoulders and Remus says, “Don’t be stupid, Prongs, you can barely walk.” 

“I’ve got him,” you say firmly. Sirius stares you down, but you don’t flinch from his stony gaze. You know he doesn’t trust you. You don’t think he’d willingly trust any Slytherin. Since you’ve been at Hogwarts, the talk in your house has always been that Sirius Black shuns his family because they’re all Slytherins. Although James assures you there’s more to the story than that, it’s still obvious to anyone that he considers his friends his true family. He won’t entrust just anyone with James’ safety. But maybe that’s one thing you can agree upon. 

He must see something of this in your face, because after a minute Sirius relents, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he says. “I wanted to stop by the kitchens anyway.”

James is looking between the two of you curiously, aware that something has transpired but not quite sure what. 

You don’t give Sirius a chance to change his mind. “Alright,” you say, gripping James' forearms and helping him to stand. “Let’s go, pretty boy.” 

James drapes his arm across your shoulders gamely, and the two of you start out the door. “I don’t think that’s the insult you think it is.”

[fluentmoviequoter]

Surety of Ghos-ti

Requested Here!

Pairing: Dominique Luca x pregnant!fem!reader

Summary: You are held hostage, and Luca and his team have to save you and your baby.

Warnings: angst, violence, threats of homicide, comfort/fluff

Word Count: 2.8k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Luca Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“Hondo!” Luca calls as he enters SWAT HQ.

Hondo stands immediately, his eyes wide as he asks, “She’s in labor?”

“No, man, and she won’t be for a while,” Luca replies with a smile. “I thought I was supposed to be the nervous, jumpy one.”

“Give it a few more weeks,” Deacon interjects. “It gets easier after the first one, though.”

“We ain’t all like you, Deac,” Hondo teases. “What do ya need, Luca?”

“50 Squad’s serving a felony warrant with the Marshals in Santa Clarita, so Hicks wants us to be ready to pick up the slack.”

“They better not go to Magic Mountain without me,” Street grumbles from the other side of the room.

“Priorities, Street,” Deacon reminds him.

“Yeah, they’re sorted.”

“I have to be at the party supply store before they close at 9,” Chris says. “As long as our shift ends when it’s supposed to, I can let Rocker slide this one time.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Luca responds.

Chris turns to stare at Luca, and after a moment, he concedes and raises his hands. The team decided to throw you a baby shower, besides the one you had for friends and family, because you are part of 20 Squad, and you’ve gained another family. Luca expected Annie to be the one who took the reins of the shower. He has seen how well you and Chris get along, so he shouldn’t be surprised by her insistence on making the party perfect.

“When does she learn the gender?” Street asks. “If it’s a boy, Streeter has a nice ring to it.”

“They’re not going to set the kid up for failure before birth, my man,” Hondo calls.

“Her appointment was supposed to be today, but the doctor had to reschedule,” Luca answers. “She’s not sure she wants to know, though.”

“Chris works for a niece or nephew,” Chris points out.

Luca laughs, then remembers that Hicks asked him to review a new strategy with Hondo and, despite his preference to continue discussing you, he focuses on work.

Los Angeles has every kind of store you could ever need, but when a new handmade baby goods store opens a few miles from your place, you know you must visit. Luca is at work, you’ve done everything Chris allowed you to for the upcoming baby shower, and even though you’re 20 weeks pregnant, you’re restless. So, you gather your phone, wallet, and keys, then lock your front door and begin the short drive to the store.

The pastel blue façade welcomes you after you park, and you run your hand under your growing bump as you enter the store. A handwritten “Cash Only; Sorry!” sign is displayed on the counter, and you mentally thank yourself for asking Luca to take you to the bank over the weekend. He’s the best part of your life, the love of your life, and his insistence to help you prepare before giving birth has been a godsend.

“Hi!” a smiling employee calls. “Welcome in, let me know if you need anything!”

“Hello,” you reply. “Thank you. I’m just looking for now.”

“Awesome! There’s so much cute stuff in here, take your time.”

You smile, then trail your eyes around the store. It’s larger than it looked from the outside, and you decide to start in the back corner and work toward the front of the store. There’s a small cart return area at the front of the store, likely from the building’s past resident, now blocked off with a sign that says, “We got you, mamas. If you’re shopping alone and need assistance, let an employee know and we’ll keep your stuff behind the counter so you can relax and focus on finding the perfect items.”

As you reach the back of the store, there’s a corner filled with onesies and toes relating to parents’ jobs. A pair of pajamas catches your eye, embroidered with a police van that reminds you of Black Betty and “Relax, my dad is a police officer.” You lay it over your arm, then laugh at the one behind it. With both secured, you continue walking around the store. The employee from earlier checks in with you as you walk past and graciously offers to take the items from your arms and hold them behind the counter for you.

“Thank you,” you call as she uses a dry-erase marker to write your name on a plastic bin beneath the register.

“Of course!” she replies.

She waves to another employee, returning from somewhere, and you continue shopping. You look at some BPA-free bottles and specialty pacifiers rather than looking up when the bell over the door rings.

“Welcome in.”

You hear the strain in the cashier’s voice and shift your attention quickly, reaching for your phone when you see a man dressed in all black blocking the doorway. He puts his gloved hand against his hip as one of the women places her hand against the edge of the counter, her fingers underneath the lip. You assume she presses a panic button and stay behind a shelf as you click your screen to find Luca’s contact.

“Empty the register,” the man demands.

“Okay, okay,” one of the women mutters, opening the register and dumping a few bills and loose coins onto the counter.

“Where’s the rest of it?”

“That’s all. We just took most of it to the bank, we only have enough to make change.”

“Open the safe!”

“Don’t have one.”

The man jerks his head to the side quickly, then pulls a black gun from his waistband. You forget about texting Luca and press the button to call him instead. The man pulls his black cap off, running his fingers through his hair. He turns toward you after his arm falls out of his peripheral view, suddenly aware of your presence.

“What are you doing over there?” he yells, aiming the gun at you.

You raise your hands quickly, but not before setting your phone behind a bottle on the shelf and praying Luca answers. “I was just shopping,” you answer as you step away from the shelf.

“Give me your money, too!”

You swallow as you pull your wallet out, then hand over the cash you have. The man holds the gun on you with one hand as he counts the money with the other. He sighs, then backs toward the door. He twists the lock until it clicks and flips the sign on the door to say Closed.

“This isn’t enough,” he says as if he’s having a normal conversation and not threatening lives over less than $500. “What are we going to do about that?”

“What about a bottle warmer?” Street asks, scrolling through a baby registry on his phone.

“Got one,” Luca answers without looking up. “I told her to make her own registry.”

“Towel warmer for Mom?”

“I bought her one,” Hicks interjects. When the team turns toward him, he shrugs and says, “New moms need comfort and new things, too.”

Luca smiles and shakes his head as his phone begins ringing. “Speaking of new moms,” he murmurs before answering the phone. Luca doesn’t hear anything, so he repeats your name several times. Just before he hangs up, he hears muffled speech.

“What’s up?” Tan asks, noticing the concern on Luca’s face.

Luca gestures for him to be quiet, places his phone on speaker, and turns it up.

“I was just shopping,” you say, your voice growing quieter like you’re stepping away from the phone.

“Give me your money, too!” a man yells.

Hondo reaches across Luca’s chest and mutes the microphone to ask, “Where is she?”

Keeping the phone call connected, Luca navigates to your contact and reads your current location so Street can type it into the computer.

“Home Grown Baby, it’s a handmade baby goods store,” Street says. “The silent alarm was activated less than a minute ago.”

“Maybe you should put the gun down,” another woman says. “We can help you.”

Someone screams, and you plead, “Stop, stop.”

Hicks raises his own phone to his ear, whispering hurried commands. “I called off local PD. That’s a hostage situation. Luca, if you need to sit this out-”

“I’m good,” Luca assures the team. “Let’s do this.”

“Luca,” Deacon calls, stopping him on the way to Black Betty. “Your girl, your unborn child… he’s going to try to use them as insurance, a surety that things stay in his control. We need to you think with her if this is going to work.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Luca answers, letting his training override his emotions. At least until he gets to the store.

You hold a hand against your stomach as you sit beside the employees, tucked under the front of the counter as the armed man paces before you. Glancing over, you see that the woman who returned from the bank, Elizabeth, is looking better. He hit her over the head with his gun, but her color is returning, and the blood on her temple is drying.

“Is-" the other woman, Jane, begins. She stops when the man turns toward you. When he turns away again, she whispers, “Are you really with a cop?”

You nod once and squeeze her hand in a silent promise that your cop, your love, your Luca, will get everyone out of this building alive.

“Guns blazing,” Hondo suggests.

“I doubt he’ll like that,” Deacon argues. “He clearly wants to be in control based on the phone call.”

“They haven’t spoken since he made them sit,” Street adds, Luca’s phone pressed to his ear. “Not loud enough to hear at least.”

“We can’t risk spooking him into hurting anyone,” Luca agrees. “Try hostage recovery, talk him down, then go from there?”

“Thirty seconds,” Tan alerts from the driver’s seat. “Lights and sirens?”

“Lights only,” Hondo answers. “Park right outside the door, I want him to see us.”

Hondo takes a deep breath, then stops. He passes the phone to Deacon and nods once. Deacon dials the store number and waits for an answer as he trades places with Street to sit in the front.

“Hello,” he says after a moment. “I’m Sergeant Deacon Kay with LAPD SWAT. Who am I speaking to?”

“How’d you know I was here?” the man demands, in stereo for Street, listening to Luca’s phone and Deacon’s call.

“It’s a busy parking lot, someone got suspicious,” Deacon says carefully. “Is there something we should be worried about?”

“Yeah, there is!”

“What’s going on, sir?”

“I need money! She took everything from me, I can’t even see my kid and now I’m going to lose my apartment.”

Hondo holds up his left hand and taps his empty ring finger. Deacon nods, then takes a dramatic breath.

“I get that,” he replies. “My ex took all three of our kids, told the courts I would neglect them because of my hours as a cop. They- women take and take.”

“I need $1,200 but there’s only $300 here!”

“Listen, you come out, and I’ll help you with a plan to get the other 9.”

“No, no, I walk out there, I lose it all anyway. That isn’t how I’m ending this.”

“The women in that store didn’t do anything wrong, Mr.?”

“Kirkfield,” the man says quietly. “Keith.”

“Alright, Keith, my name’s David. I can help you, but not until I know the other people inside are safe.”

“I got a cousin who’s in jail for assault and battery, he called this part ghos-ti, you know what this is, David?”

“No, I don’t.”

“It’s like the root for our word hostage. I’ve got three ladies in here unwilling to cough up the cash I need.” He raises his voice, likely so you and the employees can hear, and adds, “If they’d listened, I’d be gone already!”

“Keith,” Deacon begins.

“No, I’m thinking you don’t get it either. So, remember next time you call without my money that ghos-ti also sounds a lot like a dead baby.”

Luca’s eyes widen as he grips the non-lethal gun across his chest. Hondo informs them they can’t get the money quickly, and Street shakes his head to communicate that Keith isn’t talking.

Suddenly, Deacon’s phone rings again.

“Change of plans, Sergeant,” Keith says. “Ten minutes, or I start shooting.”

“That won’t-“

The line beeps, and Luca tightens his jaw as Hondo begins brainstorming a plan to get inside.

You hold your hand against your mouth, growing nauseous from the stress of your situation, pregnancy hormones, and hunger. It’s been eight minutes since Keith gave Deacon ten minutes, and you know that the team is working to get inside if they’re not already.

“What are you doing?” Keith asks. “Move your hand.”

“I’m getting sick,” you explain before pressing your lips together.

“She’s pregnant, her blood pressure is probably too high or her sugar’s dropping,” Jane says. “I have snacks in my bag behind the counter, please just let me-“

Keith fires one shot into the wall, and you drop your head to cover your ears, fighting the rolling sensation in your stomach.

“Hold,” Hondo commands after the shot. “Street?”

“He-“ Street looks toward Luca. “He was talking to her, and one of the women asked to get her a snack. No one’s talking.”

“Stay here,” Hondo tells Luca.

“Absolutely not,” Luca argues. “We’re wasting time, Hondo.”

Luca’s chest tightens; he feels like taking a full breath would kill him, and this time, he can’t rely on his training. He heard the shot but no screaming, so he has no idea what they are about to walk into. Maybe Keith shot on accident, or maybe there’s a bloodbath. Regardless, you’re inside, and he will not sit on the sidelines.

They move silently through the back room of the store, pausing against a wooden door separating them from the showroom.

“I’ll give you my credit card, whatever you want, just please stop,” one of the women pleads through tears. Street thinks it’s Elizabeth, and as they review the thermal scan of the room, he tries to find where your phone could be.

“He’s pacing,” Tan says quietly.

“When he turns toward the front again, we’re breaching,” Hondo decides. “Don’t give him a chance to get another shot off, Chris.”

“I won’t give him a chance to pucker,” she mumbles as she moves into position.

Tan watches the image, raising his fingers to countdown from three. Hondo pulls the door open, and Chris shoots Keith’s upper leg before he even turns all the way around. Luca calls your name, rushing toward the counter as his team finishes their job. When he sees you, your arms wrapped protectively around your bump, he drops to his knees and pulls you against his chest.

“He’s cute,” the woman beside you – bloody woman Luca notices after – whispers.

You nod against Luca, carefully moving your arms to hug him. As you thank him repeatedly for coming, Chris and Tan haul Keith to his feet and take him toward an approaching patrol car.

“You hid this well,” Street applauds as he extends his phone toward you. “That microphone is nice, I should get one.”

“Priorities, Street!” Deacon yells from the back of the store.

“Thank you for coming,” you tell Street. “I need to pay for my stuff and then- I actually need to get up first.”

Luca holds your arms carefully, and Street lays a hand on your back as you stand. Once you’re on your feet again, Luca wraps his arm around your waist.

“These are so on the house,” Elizabeth tells you, passing two bags over the counter. “I’m going to the hospital with Jane but thank you for everything.”

“Thank you,” Luca tells her, pulling the bags to his side. “Now, we’re going home.”

You smile and lean tiredly against Luca. As he helps you into the passenger seat of your car, Street runs over and hugs you. Luca shoves him away from the back door before sitting in the driver’s seat and sighing.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he tells you, holding your hand against his thigh. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you reply.

“Isn’t it cute?” you ask, spreading the police van onesie over the table before you.

“Not cute enough to risk you getting shot at,” Luca mumbles against your temple. “But very cute.”

“Then you’ll really like this one.”

You pass the folded cloth to Luca, leaning harder against his side. He unfolds the onesie, reads it, and laughs. The sound feels like home, and as you curl up beside Luca, you know you and your baby will always be safe.

“Proof my mom loves policemen,” Luca says after a few minutes. “That’s funny.”

“And true.”

“Prove it,” he requests, smiling as his lips brush over yours.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Teen Villain Alliance Chapter 6

When Fenton had given Damian his task of attending classes and picking a team, he hadn’t expected to start enjoying it. 

Which was a miscalculation on Damian’s part. Damian had always enjoyed learning; his mother had been indulgent with what he learned as a child, sending tutors in everything that caught his interest, from art to world history to veterinary medicine. It wasn’t until his education in assassination began in earnest–around his 7th birthday–that his interests were stifled. And when he’d been sent to live with Father, it ground to a halt.

It took months for Father to deem him “tamed” enough to introduce him to the public, and even then he was  not allowed an education. While Damian was grateful that he wouldn’t endure public schooling, Father didn’t even allow tutors on the premises. Instead, Damian attended “online school” which consisted of video lectures and multiple choice quizzes on topics he’d covered years ago. In addition to the online school, he had daily lectures on “ethics” and “societal norms” from either Pennyworth or Grayson, neither of which were experts in the area. He’d asked. 

The TVA was different. Better, if he were honest, but he’d never admit it aloud. The teachers were ghosts, experts in their fields. Who else could say that they learned chemistry from Maria Skłodowska-Curie, or battle tactics from the first Amazonian, Pandora? The ghosts around him were not stuck in the past, nor apathetic to life on earth; instead, they kept learning, kept evolving, with a careful eye on the world outside the Infinite Realms. 

And despite himself, Damian even enjoyed having classmates. No class was large–most didn’t have more than 10 students per teacher–and many classes involved a debate aspect that allowed them to get to know each other. Just the other day, Damian had spent over an hour discussing the methods for creating a locked door murder with Shadowblade, a 14-year-old ninja from Japan. 

There was no competition, with the exception of combat classes. In the League, and at Wanye Manor, he was always competing. To be the best so he wouldn’t be replaced, to be strong to live up to the name of Al Ghul. Competing for Father’s attention, his approval, over the ingrates that make claims to a birthright that is not their own. With Grayson, Todd, Cain, Drake; each of them stronger, faster, better trained, better behaved. 

Trusted. 

Was it any wonder that Damian had jumped at the chance to prove himself?

Dr. Fenton–Danny, the man had insisted–trusted him. He wanted Damian to lead his team in the field. In his hand was a list of all the members he would work with, and the paper was tacky with sweat. Taking a deep breath, Damian knocked on the door to Fenton’s lab. 

After a few minutes, Fenton opened the door. He looked frazzled, hair astray and lab-coat half on. “Damian!” He said, smiling brightly. “I wasn’t expecting you, come in! I just reached a good stopping point for my latest project.” He invited Damian into the lab. “What can I help you with?”

Damian held out his list. “These are the four members of the TVA that I thought will work best as your infiltration squad.” He’d thought long and hard about who had the skills to join and, more importantly, who he could tolerate working directly under him. 

Fenton smiled. “That’s great! Have you started talking to them? Making friends?”

“...Some,” Damian decided on, thinking back to Shadowblade. “Everyone on that list has skills or abilities that would enable easy information gathering. I have yet to approach them though; I thought you’d prefer to determine if I’ve made the right choice.”

“Fantastic! I’ll give them to Jazz in a bit, see if there’ll be any conflicts. How’s everything going for you? Have you enjoyed all your classes?”

Damian nodded, but looked away. There was another reason why he was here. “May I… ask you something? I’ve encountered a conundrum that I could use advice for.”

“Of course! I’m always willing to ask. But if I may ask, why don’t you ask Jazz? She’s mentioned that she hasn’t seen you in her office once, and she gives fantastic advice.”

Damian made a face. “I see no reason to submit myself to brainwashing when I am already a loyal member of this organization. There’s no need for me to attend.”

Danny’s eyebrows rose. “Okay, we’ll come back to that eventually. But what’s bugging you, Damian?”

Damian swallowed. Suddenly, all the anger from the thought of therapy drained out of him and he sagged. “Is it… bad? That I am happier now than I was before?”

“What do you mean?” Danny asked, leading Damian over to a couch near the entrance of the lab. It was clearly a recreational space, with a gaming system in front of a TV. Damian sat beside him as he considered his words. 

“I… enjoy my time here. I like it more than I’ve liked anywhere else. And I should not. I shouldn’t be enjoying this life while leaving the people who raised me behind. My mother, my grandfather—this feels like a betrayal.” His father would be so disappointed in him if he learned how affected these villains made Damian. 

Danny’s face softened. He took in a deep breath, turning in his seat to face him. “I can understand that. Did something similar to my folks when I joined Phantom, you know.”

“...Really?” No one knew about the Wolves' pasts. Many of his fellows speculated, but no one knew for sure. The top theory for Fenton was that he was a mad scientist on the run from the government. 

“Yeah.” Danny nodded, glancing down for a moment before meeting Damian’s gaze. “When I was your age, I... betrayed my parents too. Not in the same way as you, but... my parents were ghost hunters. They spent their lives teaching me and my sister that ghosts were dangerous, evil. And for a long time, I believed them. But then they built a portal to the Ghost Zone, and ghosts starting coming through, and Phantom happened, and…” He looked away, swallowing. “I realized how wrong they were.”

He paused, gauging Damian’s reaction. The boy was listening, quiet but intense.

“I ended up siding with the very things they want to destroy,” Danny continued. “They want to indiscriminately massacre an entire species. They even co-authored a law that makes it legal to experiment and execute ghosts in American territory.” 

“What?” Damian couldn’t believe what he was saying. There couldn’t be a law that so blatantly breaks the Metahumans Protection Act, right? The Justice League–Father–would never stand for it. 

“It’s true,” Fenton said, as if to counter Damian’s thoughts. Damian boosted his mental shields just in case Fenton was a telepath. “There’s a whole government organization dedicated to ‘researching’ ghosts. Of course, they’re more interested in dissecting them.” Damian shuttered. “See? It’s clear that they’re in the wrong in this instance. That helps me some, when I keep thinking about how I betrayed my parents. But even knowing I was doing the right thing, it still hurts. Sometimes the people who are supposed to protect us and put us first end up hurting us the worst.”

Fenton placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “You’re a good kid. You’re so smart, and you have so much potential. But what your grandfather did to you was wrong. What your mother did was wrong. And you have every right to distance yourself from any situation where you feel unsafe.”

Damian looked away. “They were just trying to make me stronger,” he muttered. 

“Would you ever do what they did to someone else? Even to make them stronger?”

Damian’s lips pressed into a thin line, his mind swirling with memories of training, the endless demands for perfection, the blood on his hands. He thought about how much he had been shaped by the League, how much he had been forced to be something he hadn’t chosen. And then there was his father. He had felt so out of place, constantly trying to meet expectations he didn’t fully understand, let alone agree with.

“No,” Damian whispered, the answer clear. “I wouldn’t.”

“Then there’s your answer,” Danny said, smiling gently. “It doesn’t matter what they wanted for you. You’re not betraying them by living a better life or by choosing a path they wouldn’t have chosen for you.”

Damian stayed quiet for a moment, absorbing Danny’s words. A small weight lifted from his chest. He didn’t need to feel guilty for enjoying this life—this better life—away from the constant pressure of the League, or from the expectations of his father.

Danny leaned back again, folding his arms behind his head, the familiar goofy grin returning. “And hey, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing pretty awesome here. You kicked butt in those combat drills last week.”

Damian flushed, suddenly embarrassed. “You saw those?”

“Yup,” Danny popped his lips, grinning smugly. “Sam and Phantom are so jealous you’re on my team instead of theirs. They’re planning to poach you, but I trust that you’ll dismiss their bribes.”

A small, rare smile tugged at Damian’s lips.

[guess-my-next-obsession]

the alchemy | iii. the conversation

pairing: no outbreak!dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

chapter rating: Mature [18+ only, minors dni, dbf/secret relationship, age gap (joel is 34, reader is 24), reader is described as curvy & only has one parent--all else is open to interpretation (we are POC friendly over here okay!!), steamy makeout, one mention of f!masturbation, talks of being cheated on in the past]

summary: you and joel talk about your feelings and then go on a date.

wc: 4.2k

the masterlist | next chapter

You woke up along with the sunrise from the worst sleep you’d gotten in months. Joel’s texts replayed over and over in your mind, the words burning holes into your eyelids so that every time you closed them, it was all you could see. 

He wanted to kiss you. He was going to kiss you, and he would’ve if only Tommy hadn’t walked in. 

That fact was as thrilling as it was nerve wracking. 

You had a million questions for him. When did he start to feel this way about you? Had he always, and just kept it to himself like you did? Or was it just a matter of jealousy that drove him to want you the way you’d wanted him since you first met? 

It was impossible to try to sleep with all these questions floating around in your head, and so you decided it would be an early morning. 

You got out of bed, freshened yourself up, and slipped on a gym outfit. After all, what better way to distract yourself than by putting your body to work? 

You hadn’t always liked going to the gym. In fact, you still didn’t really like it. Between the air of masculinity and judgment in the building and the simple fact that working out fucking sucked, you loathed everything about the gym—everything except the high you got once it was all over. That’s the only thing that kept you going twice a week—the bliss of a clear mind. And there was no better time for clarity than today, when in just a few hours you’d come face to face with the man who featured in all your dirtiest fantasies. 

It took an hour of running and using the weight machines before you allowed yourself to call it a successful trip, and by the end of it, most of your anxiety about seeing Joel had faded into something akin to eagerness. Instead of feeling heavy with doubt, you felt light with hope. Finally, you’d get to have an honest conversation with him without the risk of your dad, or Sarah, or Tommy barging in and forcing Joel back into his guarded state. That same hope allowed you to believe that he’d be honest and open with you, as well. That he’d drop the gruff mask for once and tell you what’s going on in his head, and what’s been going on all these years that you’d known him at a distance. 

Today would be the start of either a new beginning, or the end of a fantasy that you’d be able to let go knowing that, at the very least, you were able to tell him how you felt. 

That in and of itself was a win you’d take. 

It was around nine when you made your way over. You didn’t send a text to ask if it was alright—it felt silly given that he was just twenty or so feet from you. Instead, you carried over a plate of breakfast, leftovers from what you’d made for yourself after the gym, and hoped it would be consolation enough if your knocks managed to wake him up. 

You’d chosen a simple outfit, one of your favorite summer shirts, a pair of jeans, and sandals—a perfectly appropriate outfit to visit your neighbor in case nosy old Mrs. Jacobs was out watering her lawn and spotted you. Besides, today wasn’t about impressing him or seducing him, it was just about talking. 

But you still wore a matching set beneath your very appropriate clothes just in case. 

With a breath of hesitation, you lifted your knuckles to the wood of his front door, biting your lip as you tried to gather the courage to knock. But just as you found it, the door opened for you, presenting a freshly showered and dressed Joel Miller. 

“Hey,” he breathed, his eyes darting between your own. “Was just about to come over to you.”

“Oh,” you said, arching an eyebrow. “Sorry.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, this works. I was just…awake. Been awake for a while.”

You chuckled, nodding in understanding. “Yeah, me too.”

He smiled, letting out a puff of air that was close enough to a laugh to make your heart skip a beat. “Come on in.”

You accepted the invite, brushing past him as he held the door open for you. You swallowed your nerves as you surveyed the room as if it were your first time being here before remembering the foil-wrapped plate in your left hand. “Oh, I, uh, I brought you breakfast. But you’ve probably already eaten.”

He shook his head, sliding the plate from your hand into his.

 “No, I’m bad at rememberin’ to eat breakfast. Sarah usually has to remind me,” he chuckled, though it was clear he was just as nervous about today as you were. Lifting his brown eyes to meet yours, he offered you a soft smile. “Thanks for this. Nice of you.”

“No problem,” you assured, biting your lip out of habit. The tick seemed to draw his attention there, his eyes growing a shade darker before he remembered himself. 

“You, uh, want some coffee?” he asked, leading you into the kitchen. You mumbled a soft sure, but truthfully your mind was sidetracked as you watched him move over to the coffee pot next to the stove. Next to where he almost kissed you yesterday. “Should be ready in a few.”

“Sounds good,” you managed, though you doubted you’d be able to drink more than a sip. Your appetite hadn’t gone away, necessarily, but it had certainly shifted. Now, your body only craved one thing, and it was currently staring at you with a pair of soft, attentive, round eyes. “Could…could we maybe go sit in the living room?” 

Joel’s brows furrowed for a moment, but he obliged your request without asking for an explanation. 

Thank god, because how on earth would you explain that if you didn’t leave this room right now, you’d end up doing something extremely stupid like kissing him?

Joel took his seat on one end of the sofa and you took the other, leaving a good two feet between the two of you to prevent you from doing any of the reckless things your body was shouting at you to do every time his eyes met yours. 

“I, uh, I don’t really know how to start this,” he admitted after a few beats of tense silence. “I’m not really any good at this whole thing.”

“Talking, you mean?” You chuckled, the sound shockingly sincere as it left your lips. Joel grinned in response, his head nodding. “Well, questions are always a good start.”

He took a moment to think, his jaw ticking back and forth as he stared down at the carpet. You’d almost grown impatient enough to start asking your own questions, but he finally decided to put you out of your misery. “Do you know what you’re gettin’ yourself into? Bein’ here with me?”

Your brows furrowed as you nodded slowly. “Yeah. Of course I do.”

“Your dad ain’t gonna like any part of this,” he said, gnawing on his bottom lip. 

“My dad doesn’t need to know. At least for now. I mean, I don’t even know what’s happening here,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “Have you…always—“

“Always,” he interjected, his tone so sincere it cut through you like a knife. “I mean, I never thought anything would ever come of it, you know. You were away most of the year, and so that helped, but every time you came back, it…yeah. I always had a thing for you.” 

You twisted your mouth as your smile threatened to grow into a grin, your eyes now locked on your lap. “That’s nice to know.”

He chuckled, seemingly relaxing a bit. “What about you?”

You lifted your eyes to meet his, your lip caught between your teeth as you smiled. “Always. But I thought you couldn’t stand me, so I didn’t spend too much time dwelling on it.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” he said, his smile fading into something guilty. “I was just tryin’ to make it easier on myself. That was wrong, and I own up to it.”

“No, it’s not like you were a dick or anything,” you assured. “Just figured you didn’t think of me beyond being Sarah’s babysitter and your friend’s daughter.”

“No, I’ve done a lot of thinking involving you, and most of the time it has nothin’ to do with any of that.” 

Your smile faded, not out of offense or anything negative, but because your body seemed to glitch out in response to him confessing that he’d fantasized about you just like you’d fantasized about him. 

You were half convinced this was a dream until you pinched yourself and realized that you were very much awake. And very, so pathetically, close to crawling onto his lap and turning those fantasies into reality. 

Thank god for the coffee machine chiming out, otherwise, you might’ve done just that. 

“I’ll go grab it,” he said, giving you a second glance before chuckling at himself as he walked into the kitchen. 

You used your time alone to have a minor freakout over your current situation. 

Joel was into you, had always been into you, and now, he was pouring you a cup of coffee. 

What god did you need to thank for this turn of events?

“I didn’t know how you liked it, so I just brought the creamer in case,” he said, setting both the mug and the bottle of creamer down in front of you on the coffee table. 

“Very gentlemanly of you,” you said, giving him a playful smile. 

“I try,” he said, sitting a few inches closer to you than he had when he first sat down. “I, uh, guess we should talk about the elephant in the room.”

“And what’s that?”

“My brother,” he said, arching an eyebrow at you. “He likes you. Enough to complain about it well into midnight last night.”

You winced at that, not exactly sure what to say. 

“Listen, I don’t care what happened between the two of you. You sure as hell don’t owe me your side of the story, but…I just wanna make sure I’m not stepping on anybody’s toes here. Especially not Tommy’s.”

You took a deep breath and let it out before speaking. “Tommy and I went on one date. He asked me out when I came home to visit last summer. I don’t know why I agreed to go, but he’s nice and I knew he wouldn’t try anything, so I thought why not? But there were no sparks or anything like that on my end. It was just like going out to dinner with a friend. We kissed at the end of the night, and that’s when I was sure that there was nothing there. And so I asked him if we could keep it between us, and he agreed. I didn’t know until yesterday that he went and told you all about it, which…wasn’t great news. I figured you wouldn’t want anything to do with me afterwards.”

“No, I don’t care about a kiss,” he said, his eyes trailing down to your lips. “I just thought—the way he told the story made it sound like maybe you felt somethin’ for him and just didn’t know how to act on it, but I should’ve known he’d embellish things. He likes to do that.”

“I don’t feel anything for him,” you said, your own eyes falling to his lips. “Now, you on the other hand…I’ve got some feelings.”

“Yeah?” he taunted, the question coaxing and breathy as he leaned closer. “What kind of feelings?”

You leaned in too, close enough that you could spot flecks of amber in his dark eyes. Smiling, you reached a hand over to trace circles on his knee. “Scandalous, filthy feelings.”

Joel’s soft exhale made you dizzy with need, as did the brush of his nose against yours as he filled the distance between the two of you. Just shy of pressing his lips against yours, he spoke, “You have no fuckin’ idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”

“I think I do,” you purred, trailing your hand up his thigh. “So…are you gonna kiss me, or are you just gonna—“

He didn’t give you the chance to finish your sentence. As sweet as you always dreamed it would be, he pressed his lips against yours, soft and careful as if he were still afraid of rejection. It only made you more sure of him. 

Pulling him closer by the cotton of his t-shirt, you deepened the kiss, molding your lips to the shape of his. Joel groaned as you laid back against the sofa, bringing him along with you. He fit his hips between your thighs, his hands roaming up the curve of your hip before giving your waist a squeeze, tugging you closer to him. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, trailing kisses down your chin and jaw to your neck. “Taste so sweet, baby.” 

His praise had you sighing, your back arching into his touch as he focused his lips and tongue on your thumping pulse. “Joel.”

Your incoherent plea had him pressing his bulge into your clothed cunt, the feeling of his body pressed against yours turning you drunk. 

“We should stop,” he mumbled against your collarbone, though he made no move to do so as he brought a hand up to cup your breast through your shirt. “Fuck, I was s’posed to take you on a date first.”

In a moment of clarity, you realized he was right. You didn’t want to start this off with a hasty, quick fuck. You’d been there and done that, and it never ended well. So, using every bit of willpower you possessed, you placed your hand over his and guided it up to your face. 

“Y’okay?” he asked, eyes lidded with lust and chest heaving. 

You nodded, giving him a drunken smile. “Yeah, just…don’t want to rush.”

He exhaled through his nose, resting his forehead against yours and nodding. 

“Yeah, probably smart,” he said, chuckling at himself. “Sorry for gettin’ ahead of myself.”

“No,” you hushed his apology, pulling him back down for a kiss. “I want this—want you. Just maybe after that date you mentioned?”

He smiled, nodding his head against yours as his thumb stroked over your cheek. “How about tonight?”

“Eager, are we?” you teased, earning a playful eyeroll. 

“Was talkin’ about the date, smartass,” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “I’ve already decided I’m gonna make you wait for the other stuff. Don’t want you thinkin’ I’m easy.”

You laughed, the sound bubbly and light and…new. It had been so long since you felt giddy over anything, let alone a man, but something about Joel just brought it out of you. 

You couldn’t say you minded it, either. 

After making a plan to meet at one of Joel’s favorite taco places for drinks and dinner, you allowed him to get back to his renovations upstairs. He invited you to stay and “supervise”, but you knew yourself all too well to ever think that you’d be able to keep your hands to yourself. Especially around a sweaty, competent Joel. 

So, you marched your way over back to your house to continue sorting out your things, all the while trying desperately to not imagine what else that soft, warm mouth was capable of doing to you. 

It took all of an hour before you found yourself in bed, writhing from the thought. 

Your dad came home at around four in the afternoon, a smile on his face and a certain youthfulness to his gait. Though it was still not easy reconciling that he’d moved on, you were happy for him. It couldn’t be easy, letting go and moving forward. 

If there was anything you understood so well, it was that. 

He’d found you in the kitchen, cleaning in hopes of keeping your mind distracted. 

“How was your weekend?” you asked, a playful lilt to your voice as you glanced over your shoulder. 

“It was alright.” You knew he was playing it down, that he was as giddy as a lovesick teenager. The stupid grin he wore was proof of that fact. “We went to the zoo.”

You turned, giving him an arched eyebrow and a smile. “You hate the zoo.”

He blushed, pulling up a seat at the dining table. “Yeah, well she works there. Loves animals and all, so I figured I’d humor her.”

“Ride any camels or pet any giraffes?” 

“The whole nine yards,” he said, smiling. “What about you? See any friends?”

You bit your lip and turned back around to hide your smile. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Oh, no.” He feigned a sigh. “That means there’s a boy.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “A man.”

It was his turn to laugh now. “Yeah, well I’ll be the judge of that whenever you decide to bring him around. And I would like to meet him, you know, whenever you’re ready.”

The thought alone filled you with dread and, oddly, guilt. He had no clue what he was asking for. 

“I’ll, uh, think about it,” you said, shrugging. “It’s new, though. Tonight’s our first official date.”

“Oh?” 

You shut the water off and turned around, resting against the counter. “Yeah. I actually should start getting ready.”

He only nodded, his eyes looking everywhere but at you, but he’d always been this way where boys were involved. Something about dads and talking about their daughters dating lives always meant a bit of awkwardness. 

“I’ll be home later on,” you said, hoping to coax him back to his giddy state. “Maybe then you could finally tell me more about this girlfriend of yours.”

“Yeah,” he said, giving you a soft smile. “I’ll keep the light on for you.”

Joel was standing outside his pickup in front of the taqueria when you pulled in, wearing a button-down flannel with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of dark wash jeans. Simple, and yet something about it had you salivating. 

You hopped out of your beat-up sedan with one last glance in the mirror, butterflies swarming in your stomach. He came over, a boyish smile on his face as he took you in. 

“Well, don’t you clean up nice,” he drawled, his eyes scanning you head to toe before settling on your face. “Y’look good enough to eat.”

Biting your lip, you smiled and took a step closer to him. “So do you.”

He rolled his eyes and chuckled, settling one hand on your waist  and the other on your cheek as he tugged you closer. Leaning down, he brushed his nose against yours. “Been thinkin’ about you all day.”

“Yeah?” You struggled to believe that this was really happening, that all those years of secretly pining for him had finally paid off. “Thinking about what, exactly?”

“I think you can probably guess,” he said, kissing you softly. He hummed at the taste of your lips, his body pressing into yours out of instinct. “But I’m supposed t’be a gentleman tonight, so no battin’ those eyelashes at me. I’m a weak man and I’ll cave.”

You tossed your head back with a laugh, feeling lighter than you had in months. Years, even. 

After promising to be on your best behavior—a promise you would surely break—he walked you into the taqueria with his hand resting on the small of your back like a perfect gentleman. He stole glances at you as the two of you waited to be seated, a smirk tugging at his lips every time he was caught. 

When the two of you were seated, drinks and food ordered, the real fun began. 

“I want to know everything about you,” you declared with a girlish grin, your foot playing with his beneath the table. Joel groaned playfully, hanging his head. 

“Give me a place to start,” he said, lifting his amusement brightened eyes to meet yours. 

“Hmm.” You took a moment to consider. Where would you start? Childhood seemed too far back a place to begin, and you weren’t entirely sure you cared to hear about his more recent history—namely that breakup your dad had mentioned. “How about what brought you to our neighborhood?”

Joel nodded, sipping his beer. “Me and my ex-wife had just split up, and she kept the house in the divorce. I knew I didn’t want to move Sarah too far away from her, even though I could’ve since I got full custody, but it didn’t feel right. Even if I can’t stand the woman, that’s her mom.”

“What happened there, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He weighed his head to each side before shrugging. 

“Lot of stuff. We got pregnant young—your age, actually—and it wasn’t planned. I’d actually been debating on breakin’ up with her before we found out, but that all went out the window once I knew we were havin’ a baby,” he said, picking at the label on his beer bottle. “We’re just real different people. She’s a social butterfly, and I’m…well, you know how I am. But I thought maybe it’d work out if I just committed to it.”

“Except…”

“Except she decided that instead of stayin’ home with me and Sarah, she’d sneak off with other guys,” Joel said, giving me a half-smile that hid his hurt poorly. “For our entire marriage, really. I’d finally had enough when I caught her upstairs with one of my work buddies. Sarah was in the next room, and all. I knew I’d never get over that, so I filed for divorce and asked for some custody. She agreed. She never really wanted to be a mom, not as much as I’ve loved bein’ a dad. So, we went our separate ways and have been usin’ Tommy as a middle-man for the last five years.”

“Jesus.” You shook your head at the thought of anyone hurting him in that way. Hurting Sarah in that way. “Well, I think the two of you are better off this way.”

He smiled, reaching for your hand to stroke his thumb over it. “Yeah, I think we are.”

“My, uh, dad mentioned something about a breakup you went through recently,” you said, locking your gaze on the wood grain of the table top. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Another cheating story to add to the list.”

You frowned at that, at the way his lips pursed at the memory. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting more than you.”

He gave you a soft, sad smile and shrugged his shoulders. “I always figured there was somethin’ about me that was lackin’. Still haven’t figured out what it is.”

“No.” You shook your head and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s them who’re lacking.”

“Maybe,” he said, leaving it at that. “Well, now it’s your turn to talk.”

“What do you want to know?”

He shrugged. “Everythin’. Whatever you want to tell me.”

“Give me a place to start,” you said, echoing his words. 

“Boyfriends?” he asked, lacing his fingers with yours. 

“I’ve had a few,” you said. “Mostly assholes. Couple cheaters. All bad in bed.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “In that department, I think I’m in the clear. We’ll get you nice and satisfied soon enough.” 

You bit your lip at his promise, your cheeks heating. 

“What about college?” he asked, sensing your fluster. “What did y’major in?”

You told him all about it, about how you still second guessed your choice of career, but how no matter what, you always came back to it. He listened when it mattered, asked questions when they came to him, and most importantly, he never once made it about himself. It was as refreshing as it was arousing, being around a man that seemed to be so genuinely interested in learning you the way that Joel was. 

“So,” Joel started, the two of you lingering by the tailgate of his pickup. Both of his hands held yours, your fingers dangling together. “What’s the verdict? Do I get a second date?”

You thought back to your date with Tommy, how it only took a few minutes for you to know there was no spark between the two of you. 

This was the polar opposite. 

If anything, you wished you liked him less. It was dangerous to want someone as much as you wanted Joel, dangerous to have the amount of hope you did. But you didn’t want to shy away from it. You’d embrace these ravenous feelings and the potential hurt that came along with it if it meant having Joel. 

“Definitely,” you said, tipping your head back to silently ask for a kiss. Joel leaned down, his hand curled around the nape of your neck to hold you in place as he took his time kissing you. 

It was the slow, dizzying kind that left you wanting—no, needing—more. The kind that had you holding onto his shirt for purchase. The kind that had your mind and body reeling and aching to feel his lips on every inch of your skin. 

When he pulled back, his eyes were glassy and hooded, his lips parted as if he were staring at a goddess. 

You didn’t need a mirror to know you looked just the same. 

“I’ve got work all week, but don’t be afraid to sneak over in the evenings,” he said, his thumb brushing against the back of your ear as he held you. “I’ll be on my best behavior. Until you tell me not to be, at least.” 

You chuckled, lifting your hand to card your fingers through his curls. “I have a feeling that won't take very long.”

[nonphoto-blue]

Lucky Lucky ꕤ Cho Hyun-ju x Reader [1/?]

Read on AO3 Masterlist Summary: After your previous manager runs away to America with the funds meant to kickstart your debut, your band 4tune is left to pick up the pieces in an impending scandal. The new manager, Cho Hyun-ju, says she’ll do everything to ensure your debut is successful, but it’s a long road until she gains your trust, especially when her own secrets come to light. Or, the kpop/krock/band AU no one asked for.

Warnings: Slowwwww burn. Kind of an inherent power imbalance but reader isn't taking bs from anyone, and reader is 20+. Reader is AFAB and uses she/her. She's implied to be Korean/from South Korea but no physical description is used.

A/N: So I've had the horrible idea of a kpop au for Squid Game since the first season came out. Originally I'd thought of a Sangwoo x Reader fic but it felt in bad taste at the time. Season 2 came out and I can't stop thinking about Hyun-ju so uh. You're getting this.

Five years. You’ve been in trainee hell for five years, learning the ins and outs of PR, songwriting, language, appearances, how to fucking smile at a camera when all you wanted to do was sing and play guitar and look out at a crowd with more people than you can count on your hands. All for your dreams to be stolen away, packed up in bags and expedite-shipped to the United States. 

If you could go back in time to tell your past self to save herself the trouble and give up music altogether, you’d consider it. Or at least tell her to flip off the agency scout the second he approaches. Sure, you’d still be busking on the street, but you’d be spared this bullshit and continue life with hope still. You don’t want to be an idol. You want to be– you are a musician, and the evidence was going to be your debut.

Your band, 4tune, is slated to record your debut in a month, and begin promotions just a couple months from now, but thanks to your no-good-money-stealing-piece-of-shit ex-manager, the money set aside for appearances and advertising is no longer in the company’s bank account. With grim faces, you, your bandmates, and a few members of the company higher ups gather around a table in an emergency meeting.

“It’s ridiculous,” Se-mi crosses her arms across her chest, huffing her bangs out of her eyes. “What a coward.” She stands, crossing to a floor-length window and staring at the skyline of Mapo-gu, disbelief written on her face. 

Your mouth forms a thin line. “Who just… takes the money and runs? How was he allowed to take all of it anyway?”

“That’s all we know,” the CEO, Hwang In-ho, murmurs. He laces his fingers together and scans the rest of the band’s faces as you take in the not-quite-death-sentence he delivered your group. “We’ve got the police in South Korea and the United States investigating, but they haven’t found him yet.”

“So what does this mean for 4tune? I mean, are we… still going to debut?” Young-mi asks. 

“We don’t have a manager, we don’t have money, we don’t have a debut.” Jun-hee puts a hand on her forehead, closing her eyes in exasperation. 

“Actually,” In-ho raises a finger. “We do have a new manager for you. She couldn’t make this meeting, but she’s coming up from Busan after lunch. You’ll meet her tonight or tomorrow.” He leans forward in his seat, and rests both arms on the table in front of him. “Rest assured, you will debut.”

You can’t help but feel your lips curl into a sneer. A new manager? Who’s to say this one won’t make off with whatever scraps of money are left? You hear Se-mi scoff from the window, her thoughts echoing your own. Jun-hee looks hesitant, but Young-mi looks up at In-ho with hope.

“What’s her name? What’s she like?”

“Cho Hyun-ju. She’s an old acquaintance.” Looking over the group’s faces, In-ho stands, and begins to make his way to the meeting room door. “I’ve known her for a long time. She’s a good person.” Hardly glowing praise, but you suppose anyone would be better than the ex-manager. The other company members follow In-ho out of the room, meeting adjourned, leaving just your group members with their thoughts.

Your gaze lingers on the frosted glass door they left from. “Great. A manager, but no money. She can drive us around and shit, but we have nowhere to go. What’s the point?” Your words are bitter, spat in sorrowful resignation. 

Young-mi, ever the optimist, takes your hand in her’s. “Let��s give her a chance. In-ho sajangnim vouched for her, I say we see how she clicks with us before giving up on her.” She smiles meekly at the other members. None of you share her optimism, but with a shared side eye, the rest of you begrudgingly hear Young-mi out and agree.

“Fine,” you offer. “But if she does anything remotely shady I’m clawing my way out of this contract.” ꕤ

Despite the sudden wrench in 4tune’s future plans, you all have a schedule to uphold, so you go through the motions as if nothing was wrong. After a short break for lunch, language classes, pose training, you finally make it to the only part of training that doesn’t feel like a chore: rehearsal as a whole band. 

The rehearsal space is intimate; a small room with warm wood-panel flooring and a three-person couch in the corner. Se-mi’s drum kit is already set up on the drum rug, as is Young-mi’s keyboard and three amps, one for Young-mi’s bass, one for Jun-hee’s guitar, and one for yours, as well as a vocal mic on a long arm. Stepping into the space brings an energy you thought would be lost following this morning’s bad news, and you place your guitar’s hard case down with a determined vigor.

You unlatch the case, and pull out your guitar, a Fender Lite Ash Telecaster. The strap rests perfectly on your shoulder, the neck fitting perfectly in your left hand, a guitar pick in your right. The quarter-inch cable plugs into your guitar with a satisfying click and the amp hums to life when you switch it on. You set upon tuning your guitar, but it doesn’t take much adjustment for any member of the band, and soon your group is playing the first notes of what will be your title track for your debut.

It’s an upbeat song, and the lyrics are inherently hopeful and optimistic. You feel the stress pouring out of you as you hear how well the band plays together. From the wailing of Jun-hee’s guitar, to the machine-like precision of Se-mi’s drumming, to the effortless jumping from keys to bass by Young-mi, pride fills your heart knowing that you’re collaborating, and creating something beautiful in spite of everything going wrong.

You play rhythm guitar and sing. Closing your eyes, you pour your heart and soul into the high-energy chorus, the softer verses, and everything in between. As the outro plays out and you all play your final notes, a soft applause that crescendos into a quick flurry of claps breaks through your reverie. 

You hadn’t noticed when she came in, but at the door stands an unfamiliar woman. She’s tall, and seems a bit younger than In-ho. Her hair is cut at her shoulders with blunt bangs reaching her eyebrows. She’s dressed well, and she’s not standing timidly per-se, but there’s an awkwardness to how she holds herself, like she’s unsure if she’s allowed in this space.

“I’m sorry,” she smiles at the band. “I was told you were in this practice room and I heard you playing. You all sound amazing.”

Young-mi smiles back. “You must be the new manager! It’s nice to meet you! I’m-”

“Young-mi, right?” Young-mi nods. The woman turns to the drumset, “You’re Se-mi,” to the lead guitarist, “and Jun-hee,” and then she turns to you, and says your name so tenderly, so kindly, every fiber of your being is shouting at you to give her a chance. “And yes, I’m Cho Hyun-ju, your new manager.” ꕤ

Rehearsal stagnates after Hyun-ju’s arrival as the band seems more interested in the new arrival than playing, but you keep your guitar plugged in and guitar strap on. Young-mi puts down her bass and steps away from her keyboard to approach Hyun-ju immediately, Jun-hee following soon after. You pluck out a few notes here and there, trying to at least try to get through your part of the next song, but after Se-mi stands up from her drumset, you give up trying to continue rehearsal.

Hyun-ju seated herself on the couch in the corner. Jun-hee and Se-mi stand in front of her, and Young-mi sits beside her. “I’m excited to work with you all,” Hyun-ju half-bows in her seat. “You sounded amazing playing just now, your debut will be a hit, I can just feel it.”

“We’re happy to have you here too. I’m sure you’ve heard but our last manager flaked out on us.” Se-mi explains. Hyun-ju hums a condolence, eyes casting down to the ground. “We’re almost ready to record our album, so I’m sure you’ll have a lot to do coming up.”

You clear your throat, walking over to the group. “What experience do you have managing?” You don’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it does. It’s supposed to be a light conversation about her work history, not an interrogation into her credentials. Hyun-ju’s face falters at the stern tone, and you kick yourself internally.

“Managing specifically, I've done most of the tasks individually before. That is, things like schedule management and driving and the like. I do have experience in the music and idol industry outside of management.”

You try to school your expression, you really do, and you pull your lips into a not-quite-smile that ends up looking more like a grimace. “Well then,” you push out, “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

[landojpg04]

I should not be writing this as I have finals and a huge project due by Sunday, but on my fyp all I've been listening and seeing is the new Hozier song that is supposed to come out next Friday. The one where he sings You're too sweet for me, and I cannot stop picturing Simon saying that throughout the discourse of your relationship.

When you both first meet, you notice that when this man drinks his coffee, it’s black. No sugar, sweetener, not even creamer. It's just a pure bitter liquid that he sips through a debrief in the morning. Meanwhile, you loved sweeteners, oat milk, almond milk, sweet cream foams, and anything that would rid the bitterness. 

“Your coffee is basically sugar.” You heard him grumble as you added more cream to your cup. You smiled and offered him the creamer in your hand.

“Won't kill you to try some; it’ll may make the bitterness go away.” You said.

“I like my coffee black.” He says before walking away.

The next night out, you were running late. You finally made it to the restaurant/bar. The team had already ordered some drinks, but behind you was Simon.

“Wanna order together.” You say, and he just nods, leading the way to the bar.

You catch the attention of the bartender.

“Can I get a cosmo.” You said; he nodded his head and looked at Simon for his.

“Whiskey. Neat.”

You looked at Simon with a puzzling look. He raised his eyebrows as you stared at him.

“Your drink of choice is warm whiskey?” You asked.

“It’s better than a juice with alcohol.”

You just laughed at his remark towards you.

“Simon, you just aren’t a fan of sweet things.” You said as the bartender handed you your drinks.

“Not in the aspects you think.” He says before leading you back to the table.

Johnny knew of the crush Simon never dared to let on towards you. He would always push the lieutenant to at least try and make a move or even hold a conversation longer than 5 minutes with you. 

It's not until they are both smoking a cigar and enjoying the quiet of the night when Johnny finally gets a glimpse of his true thoughts.

“Why is it that you won't allow yourself to pursue even past the debriefing room or weekly gatherings? She definitely wouldn’t say no to a night out with just you.”

Simon just blows the smoke he was savoring in his lungs.

“She’s too sweet for me.” That is all he lets on.

Johnny gave him a look, not understanding his thoughts.

“She’s too sweet for me. She can’t be with someone like me. It would be like mixing honey and ash. It wouldn’t work.”

You heard Simon complaining about shoulder pain the other day. You had picked up some lidocaine cream and patches because that is what worked for you. 

“Hey Simon,” You tried to get his attention before he got in his truck.

He stopped and turned to see you catching up to you. You had a small bag in your hand. He relaxed on the side of his door as he waited for you.

“Here you go.” You said, handing him the bag.

“What is it?” He said, looking at it before peeking in.

“I heard you complaining about shoulder pain, and I have the same problem, so I thought I would share the love by getting you some of the remedies I use for you.” 

“You're too sweet for me.” He whispered to himself, almost as a reminder.

“What?” You said, not picking up on what he had just said.

“Thank you, this is really nice of you.” He said. You nodded and gave him a smile before walking over to your car. 

It’s three in the afternoon, and you're in his bed. It's a rainy day, and right now, you both are tucked in under his covers, taking in each other's body heat. You looked up to meet his eyes. He peers down to meet your gaze. Simon could have never thought, after years of this back and forth, that you would still agree to be here with him. You trace the scar that lines his lip. You knew he was afraid to bear himself all to you. To open Pandora's box and let you see him like this. No mask, no guard, just him. He was expecting you to run away from the bitterness he knows surrounds him. But you stayed. And continue to do so.

“You're too sweet for me.” He says before grabbing a hold of your chin and moving you towards his lips. 

ANGST PORTION (don't hate me, but this is also in my head)

He’s standing before you. Hood on, hands in the pocket. He gazes down as he mutters the words,

“You're too sweet for me.”

He’s attempting to break things between you. And his reasoning echoes in your head: You're too sweet for me. At the end of the day, you care for the man you love, have been there for him through the darkness, and have shown him the way it feels to be loved. And he's stepping back because of the words–You're too sweet for me.