#he's just so perfect and so is your art!!!!!

[loonylupinblack3]

Wife?

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Reader

Summary: Oscar accidently slips up in an interview and calls you something you're not.... yet

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: how is this man my favourite driver and i haven't written about him yet?

You were in the Mclaren garage, earmuffs firmly in place as your eyes followed the bright orange car on track. The remnants of the crash between Sainz and Perez could still be seen, your heart giving a nervous squeeze whenever your gaze slid to it. 

You could feel cameras watching you, people’s eyes darting to you every now and then, wanting to see your reaction whenever something happened involving Oscar. For the most part you composed yourself well when watching your boyfriend race, keeping your panic, fear, and nausea to yourself. You were well practised in the art of keeping a steady facade, what with being an actress and having people stare at you wherever you went.

Still, you couldn’t help the little gasps that escaped you each time they passed turn 20 and Charles got dangerously close in the space between turn 20 and turn 1. Each time Charles got closer and closer to overtaking Oscar, and each time you were watching with bated breath wondering if this was the time he’d finally take your boyfriend’s position.

Yet he never did, and you watched with an overwhelming joy as Oscar finished the Azerbaijan Grand Prix first, the black and white chequered flag telling the world of your boyfriend's achievement. You laughed, clapping your hands, beaming at the screen in front of you. Cheers rose up from the people around you, guests and workers alike celebrating the success of the team.

You hurried out of the garage, walking the now familiar path to the crowd waiting underneath the podium, where you’d stay to watch Oscar retrieve his trophy. You’d known his last win hadn’t been perfect, and your celebrations together had been dampened slightly. Today though, you knew you’d be celebrating. You could already see your boyfriend’s telltale smile as he walked onto the first place podium, a restrained smile that looked polite to anyone else but to you confessed his excitement and pride.

You cheered with everyone else as he received his trophy, throwing his arm in the air triumphantly as his gaze searched the crowd. When he found you his smile widened just a tad. Still polite as ever but softer. His eyes were also telling you everything the distance between you wouldn’t allow. That he loved you. That he was so happy. That he felt like he meant something, which of course he did.

The next few hours were very busy for your boyfriend. He was the man of the hour, the person everyone wanted to talk to and congratulate. You’d had a passing kiss and hug, murmuring how proud you were of him before he was whisked away again, but you didn’t mind. You let these people have their precious few hours with him because after that he was all yours.

Oscar, on the other hand, wasn’t happy with it. He’d just made an incredible achievement in his life, something he’d been working for since he was a kid, and he wanted to celebrate with you, not reporters and interviewers.

So when he spotted you walking with Alex, Charles’ girlfriend, he took his chance, grabbing your hand and dragging you over with him. You gave him a confused smile. “What’re you doing?”

He shrugged. “Wanted to be with you. If I have to do this I want you to do it with me too.”

The reporter in front of him cooed, as did the surrounding people listening in. You gave him a smile, not minding one bit. Your boyfriend had such a soft, loving side the media didn’t get to see much, so you were glad they were finally discovering what a sweetheart Oscar was.

And that’s how you found yourself attending race briefings and interviews with your boyfriend. You had to admit, it was a little boring, and sometimes you couldn’t keep up with the conversation, your limited Formula One knowledge failing you during speedy discussions on cars and strategies. Still, you could see how happier Oscar was with you there, his hand resting comfortably on your waist, which was why you pasted on a smile and endured it.

It was nearing the end of the briefings, freedom so close you could almost taste it, as Oscar finished up with the last couple of interviews. You were both ready to leave, the sky having turned dark long ago, and tiredness made way to a faulty filter in Oscar’s case.

“And you’ve got your girlfriend here,” the interviewer said, a young girl around your age, 23 or 24. “I bet she’s proud of you.”

Oscar turned to look at you, raising his eyebrows in question and you let a giddy smile cross your face. “‘Course I am. Couldn’t be prouder.”

Oscar, preening at your compliments, snuck a quick kiss on your cheek, much to the entertainment of the interviewer, talking of how wonderful you seemed together.

“Yeah, she’s amazing,” Oscar agreed. One thing you knew he loved nearly as much as racing was talking about you. “I’m incredibly lucky to her have her as my wife- uh, I mean-”

Your eyes went wide, as did the interviewer’s, her mouth dropping slightly. “Wife? Did we miss something?”

“Did I miss something?” you murmured to him, though you were not at all upset. Quite the contrary, actually, fighting the large smile threatening to spread across your face.

“No, no, I didn’t mean—uh, she’s not, not yet—uh, let’s move on—” Oscar was stumbling over his words, a rare sight, and you were biting your lip hard because you felt grinning like a maniac would not help him at the moment.

But he was going to receive many words later.

You received applause as you entered the stage, waving your hand at the audience as you sat down in the lush armchair, facing Jimmy Fallon behind his desk. You always loved going on his show, good friends with Jimmy on screen and off.

He gave you a warm welcome, speaking of your new movie that released a couple months ago and the launching of your new perfume, which you were quite excited about and more than happy to talk with Jimmy about. 

“And, I’m sorry, I just have to bring this up,” Jimmy started, a mischievous glint in his eye. “We all saw Oscar accidentally call you his wife on live TV after that big win. Did he get a talking-to for that slip-up?”

The audience laughed and you with them, remembering Oscar’s flushed face when you got back to the hotel room, his rambled explanation and apology. You also remembered what had followed, which is what spurred you to give a sly smile to Jimmy – “There was definitely some talking” – and take out your left hand you’d been sitting on and flash it to the audience.

More specifically, the jewel sitting on your ring finger.

The crowd gasped and applauded, the noise in the room reaching the limit, as Jimmy covered his mouth in shock before clapping along, congratulating you. You were full on grinning now, drinking in everyone’s happiness that only elevated your own.

“So next time Oscar refers to you as his wife it won’t be a slip-up, huh?” Jimmy asked brightly.

You grinned, nodding. “Next time he calls me his wife it’ll be because I am.”

[calliopesdiary]

i wish i were heather...

synopsis: you were under the impression that you were stable in your secret long-term relationship with three of the four marauders, until it becomes clear that you aren't the girl they want anymore. (so you think). will you lose them before its too late? or have you already?

pairings: fem!reader x poly!marauders ` poly!marauders x lily evans

warnings: NO LILY SLANDER!! SHE'S PERFECT AND BEAUTIFUL AND ITS NOT HER FAULT!!, cusswords, ANGST, depressing, a blip of reader skipping meals on the radar but it's srsly nothing crazy, insecure reader, the marauders besides peter are dicks, reader is a little naive, the marauders borderline cheat on you, no happy ending, there might still be one thoughhh, possibly slytherin!reader if you squint?,

part one in the conan gray series

A/N!!: In some of the fic i use colors to represent a certain character! Orange is Lily, Red is James, and Green is Barty :3

wc; 2.4k

LIFE WAS AMAZING, which is not usually how stories begin.

You felt so safe and secure in your secret relationship with Hogwarts' once most eligible bachelors... The Marauders.

The rush of excitement that coursed through your veins every time you shared a hidden glance with Remus, or hiding in the showers of the Gryffindor boys locker room with James after his quidditch victory, and sneaking off to empty classrooms where anyone from anywhere could catch you with Sirius.

It was heavenly, these boys were all you would ever need.

until... now.

You were in Remus' sweater, he said it looked better on you than it did him. If only he knew how much you liked him...

The fireplace erupted with a citrine glow, illuminating the Gryffindor common room beautifully.

Most impactfully, it lit up Remus' scar-kissed features.

His freckles looked as if they were painted onto his face with careful hands by a renaissance painter.

His eyes half-lidded from his lack of sleep from the incoming full moon that was slowly approaching, it pained you to know how much they hurt him.

For once, Remus wasn't in a sweater. Since his was rested comfortably on your body, as your scent comforted The Wolf greatly.

And his scent comforted you, too.

Remus' book had suddenly landed on your lap, and though it startled you a bit. You didn't bother to ask why, until you sat up.

Remus was locked in a passionate conversation with Gryffindor's resident golden girl, Lily Evans.

"Evans, it's lovely to see you."

"Same to you, Lupin."

Godric, was she beautiful.

"I just stopped by to see if you had gotten any of the Defence Against The Dark Arts homework done?"

Lily Evans was as radiant as an angel who blessed anyone with her presence.

"I have; actually, I just finished my paper."

Remus seemed mesmerized by her, the golden gleam from the fire painting her features gorgeously in that same citrine glow as Remus'.

"Could I have a look of it? Not to copy it- obviously, I just want to see how others are wording the question."

You weren't even half as pretty as Lily.

"Of course, and I know you'd never cheat."

"You're the smartest witch in our year."

You tried not to mind other girls flirting with your boys.

Just because you knew that later that night they'd be back to your boys again, and only yours.

As she was about to go, she planted a soft kiss on the side of Remus' cheek, leaving him blushing softly as he bid her goodbye.

Your heart clenched, it was merely a pleasantry. You were being dramatic.

"Are you alright, dove?" Your head perked up at the sound of Remus' voice.

"Hm? Yeah, I'm fine." You mused, albeit a bit absentmindedly.

"Are you tired?" He asked carefully.

"I am, actually..." You forced a sweet smile onto your lips, as he leaned down to kiss them softly.

That kiss was the last one that felt anything more than a chore, an obligation.

That was also your last kiss with Remus.

Cheering James on at the quidditch pitch was just the thrill you needed after that melancholy moment with Remus.

He soared through the field like he was on top of the world, the players scattered around the pitch for one common goal: to win.

Gryffindor had won the game with 60 points, and James had caught the snitch like usual.

This game was also a rain game.

Just as you were about to head down to showers when you spotted Lily excitedly trailing after James.

You knew full well that James chased Lily tirelessly since they started school, that was also well before you came into the picture.

You also knew that she wanted nothing to do with him or the other marauders, so what was with her infatuation now?

Why your boys? She couldn't find her own boys?

But maybe she was just being friendly, right? The boys would never ever cheat on you... right?

You heard Lily giggle as James so graciously held the curtain open for her to enter the locker room, and your heart clenched.

You followed them in, jealously.

"James?" You called, as James poked his head from the changing area. Sweat glistening off his abs.

"Hi, Y/N." He shut the curtain behind him, as if he had something to hide.

Also; he barely just called you by your first name.

"You didn't come to see me after the game?" You questioned, grazing his cheek gently as he spoke."

"Sorry, Y/N. It was a long one." He excused, as he clearly looked a bit flushed.

"You look red, are you dehydrated?"

"Godric, y/n. you are hardly my mum."

You giggled as if it was a joke, yet he seemed quite stone faced.

You cleared your throat embarrassingly once you realized.

"I... just wanted to congratulate you on another win." You forcefully smiled again.

"Thank you, I really appreciate that." Then, he flashed his classic grin at you.

The grin he hadn't flashed at you since he realized he genuinely liked you.

What the fuck?

"Victory kiss?" You asked quietly, with some false hope mixed in.

"Of course." He pecked your forehead quickly, before hurrying off back to his changing area.

And with that, you had also left the steamy tent and outside into the cool, soft rain once more.

A forehead kiss? whenever he used to give you victory kisses they'd be full-on make outs in that same changing room or the showers.

James was falling out of love with you, and you knew it.

Luckily, you could easily disguise your tears with the excuse of it raining.

"Victory kiss?" Lily mewled, from her position on the stool in his changing spot.

"Just on the forehead, lovely."

You stopped showing up to breakfast, as the one time you decided to go Lily was sat in your spot next to Sirius.

Dorcas was nearly at her wits end with the boys and their antics.

The motley crew of Slytherins were the only ones who knew of your relationship, and they were pissed off.

"Treasure, surely they aren't fucked enough to know that you are the best thing they've ever had!" Barty explained, laying upside-down on his bed across from you.

"I-It's no use, Jr." You cried softly, mirroring his position yet on your bed instead. The tears (and blood) rushing to your hairline instead of your face because Dorcas said 'Your makeup is too pretty to ruin, love.' .

"There is a use, Y/L/N. we'll kill them-"

"Jr, absolutely not." Regulus chided, rubbing your shoulder. "She's clearly upset, I don't see the issue."

"Murder is never a good option, Barty." Dorcas scolded gently.

"So what are we gonna do then? My Treasure can't go on like this!"

"You said you've already talked to James and Remus? Maybe you can go talk to... eh... Sirius." Clearly, that name was hard for Regulus to get out.

"*Sniff* yeah, yeah- I'll go talk to him..." You sat up half-hazardously, and strutted out of the dorm-room to go (hopefully) save your relationship.

You still remember the third of December.

Sirius lounged on the couch while speaking with the other marauders, about some sort of prank on the other group of Slytherins.

"And then, we'll-"

"Hi, Siri." You sat next to him, beaming up at him (hopefully).

"...y/n." He greeted casually, before continuing to talk.

Your smile faded, as he continued to talk to your other boyfriends friends about this horrible prank.

Instead of leaving, you sat quietly next to them, as if you were some decoration or trophy wife.

This was truly your breaking point, as you saw Lily sit down on the couches of the common room as she caught all of their attention, you hadn't seemed to do that for ages. Though, she was wearing something familiar...

Remus'... sweater...

Remus'- YOUR Remus' sweater.

"How's it look?" Lily asked, giving them a twirl. Their eyes locked on her.

"Gorgeous, doll." Sirius flirted, shooting her a wink.

"Truly a sight for sore eyes." James grinned.

"It looks better on you than it did me." Remus took her hand and helped her sit down on the couch in between him and James.

That's exactly what he said to you...

He put his arm 'round her shoulder,

suddenly you got colder.

She's got them mesmerized... while you die.

But how could you hate her?

She's such an angel...

But then again you wished she were dead.

"Why would you ever kiss me?" You asked impulsively.

"What?" James looked up from Lily, all eyes on you.

"I mean- I'm not even half as pretty."

"Y/n, You're overthinking it-" Remus started it.

"You gave her your sweater!" You shot back.

"It's just polyester!" Remus defended.

"But you like her better." You felt the tears rush to your waterline.

"We're done." You whispered, leaving Lily looking so confused and the common room dead quiet.

"What does she mean by that...?" Lily seemed horrified.

"We... weren't really dating.." Sirius attempted to defend.

"Yes, we were, you tosser!" James shoved him.

"You said yourself that you were bored of her!" Remus stated matter-of-factly.

"Was I seriously the other woman?" Lily mewled, her hands clutching the sides of her head.

"Nonono- No, we were planning to break up with her but- because we all wanted you-" Sirius tried again.

"Then don't fuck around with her feelings just to get me!" Lily yelled, standing up quickly.

"I appreciate the admiration- but I need time to process, okay? You all were absolute... arseholes to her, I'll admit." Lily started,

"Are you saying no?" James quickly cut in.

"...No..." Lily ended.

After crying your eyes out to Barty and Regulus over your breakup, December 7th rolled around.

The day that students were meant to be studying for their OWLS and other end of term exams.

You would usually be in the library 24/7.

Lily, had finally come around and accepted the boys' proposal, and their relationship became public quickly.

Lily obviously still felt this bitter taste of guilt in her mouth, as did all of them.

So today, Lily had convinced them all to apologize to you for borderline cheating and lying and manipulating and gaslighting-.

But, you were nowhere to be found.

"Regulus! Regulus, wait up!" Lily ran through the hallways to get to her.

"Evans, Brother.. Potter... and Lupin.." She said those last three names with utter disgust.

"We're trying to find Y/n, have you seen her?" Remus asked quietly, he was definitely feeling the most guilt.

"Y/n? Well, If she was here, I think she'd completely refuse to see you lot." Regulus explained bluntly.

"W-What do you mean "If she was here"?" James questioned.

"I mean, Her, Junior., and the Rosier twins completed their OWLS early and hightailed it to Junior's holiday house for the rest of the break." He explained casually.

"What?" Sirius scowled.

"What the hell is my girl-... Y/n doing with them?" James had the same expression as Sirius.

"They are simply better friends then you were to her, hm? I don't blame her."

"When will she be back?" Lily asked breathlessly.

"End of December, If she ever returns." Regulus strolled away, potions book in hand.

"...We fucked up."

Fin.

[sliced-peaches]

hit it off right

Jeong Jaehyun x reader | 5.8k | friends to…?

After hearing about him for what seems like forever, you finally meet Jungwoo’s hot roommate. But it’s a lot more wholesome than anything else.

📀 now playing: say it - maggie rogers // decent - bas, amaarae // perfect places - lorde // dear to me - electric guest

a/n: seeing Jae getting drunk with YoungJi did something for me. I miss him and it’s really hard being a military wife. this is part of a larger collection coming soon, so nothing spicy. pls enjoy~

mentions of: other nct members, bff! Jungwoo, alcohol consumption, marijuana usage, light flirting, honestly tho everyone is just shy and cute and silly

A few days before the party, you’d asked Jungwoo what kind of wine his roommate liked. Since it was a celebration, you figured you should at least bring a gift.

“He told me to tell you to not bring anything.”

“How could he even know?” You whine, incredulous.

“Because I know you and your habit of balling out on people who are being celebrated.”

There’s not much you can say to that. You are known to bring a nice bottle of something that suits the taste of the one being celebrated. You love to see the joy on someone’s face when they get a tailored gift.

It’s the least you could do for someone when you notice their hard work. It feels good to appreciate someone, especially a friend like Jungwoo. It’s only natural you’d extend the perks to his roommate, right?

“You talk to your roomie about me?” You coo, poking his cheek. Setting his coffee cup down, he nods, seemingly pleased to share this piece of information with you.

“In passing. I told him you were coming, that I invited your coworker, too. I’ve gushed about her to him a few times. He just kinda smiled? Not in a weird way. Like… I don’t know. He just stared at me for a few seconds. Then he said he was happy to hear that. So-“

“Sounds like he’s in full support.”

Jungwoo smiles, bringing the cup back to his lips. Then he gives you a sly look over the rim before he speaks again.

“He also asked me about you.”

“What about me?”

“I guess I talk about you all the time, right? I told him about your art, all the art shows you’re in. I’m sure I’ve shown him a picture of you before, like from that time we went to the beach.”

“You showed your roommate my bikini photos?”

His eyes widen and he starts to immediately apologize when raise your hands to cut him off.

“Wait. Did he like them?”

“He… didn’t say much of anything if I’m being honest.”

“Oh.”

“Which doesn’t really mean anything, honestly. Sometimes he just doesn’t have anything to say.”

“…okay that’s a little better.”

It’s hard to imagine Jungwoo living with someone who doesn’t talk as much as he does.

The way you two often communicate is rapid-fire, dramatic, occasionally riffing off the other’s jokes. He likes to share his thoughts out loud and use you as a sounding board. You like to ramble about abstract art ideas and the special interest of the week.

Trying to picture your yap king living with someone who probably makes three facial expressions a year (says Jungwoo) makes you wish you could be a fly on the wall.

“How much have I told you about Jae? I know he’s always out, or at work so….”

His roommate’s name is Jaehyun. All you really know about him is that he’s close in age to Jungwoo, he used to be really competitive m, and that he has a cousin somewhere in Europe. Not much else past that.

“One time I was over you showed me a photo or two from when you guys were in high school. I’ve seen him in your stories too.”

“You said he was cute! I forgot about that.”

You recall a guy with dark hair and a cute bowl cut, wearing the same basketball jersey as Jungwoo. When you said cute, you were referring to their round faces and goofy hair cuts. The more recent pictures on Instagram were usually from an angle where you couldn’t really see his face, but he was always dressed nice from what you could tell.

“He was! Little cutie stranger man.”

There’s a beat.

“Okay, so about that. He’s was cute but now he’s, like, super handsome.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, he’s hot. Bulked up, started dressing nicer, smells good. His jawline is insane. He should actually model. I didn’t know he was going to look like that when we grew up, you know?” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“Damn, you ever told him all that?”

“All the time, actually. He’s so sick of me. At this point I’m just saying something that’s objectively true. You’d be lying if you thought he was ugly. So that being said-“

He whips his head towards you, you watch a plot and scheme form in his brain. His lips curl into something devilish.

“Careful not to fall in love with my roommate, yeah?”

You blink at him, two times. Three times.

“Huh?”

His words sounded like a warning, but it feels like he very much would prefer you do the opposite.

“I just feel like he’s someone you’d fall for.”

“You’ve never seen me fall for anyone. Not once since you’ve known me.”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m saying… I think you guys will get along well.”

“Don’t hope too hard, but I’m sure he’s lovely.”

Sighing, Jungwoo offers you a sympathetic look. You ignore it and instead check for any emails from the art festival you’re vending at later in the month. It’s not much help, as you can still feel his eyes on you.

“I think he’d be good for you.”

“I don’t think playing matchmaker with your friends is that good of an idea,” you clipped.

Right before you met Jungwoo in senior year of college, you’d been in a relationship that ended pretty badly. You were in love, and you think he was, too. At one point at least.

But when things run their course, and you stay in them too long, they start to drain you of everything.

You’d lost a lot of time and energy trying to be pretty enough, interesting enough, desirable enough to keep the spark alive. To keep his attention. But to no avail. It was like he was just waiting for you to leave.

After a while, feeling empty and settling for whatever he could toss your way was too much to bear. It was just time to let go.

It was hard when at the end, you realized he just didn’t love you like you loved him. But was too scared himself to be honest with you about it.

Heartbreak was one thing, but grieving a relationship that wasn’t all that real was another. It took you a long time to move through that pain.

Jungwoo watched you put a lot of effort into rebuilding your personality, your self worth, your confidence. He was nothing but supportive, as were your other friends, dragging you to every show in the city, joining you at a new cafe or listening to your new ideas about art you’d been neglecting. And Jungwoo’s friends were a wonderful addition to your life, as well.

It was beyond being choosy- you’d taken yourself out of the dating game altogether, focusing on work, art, your friends. Yourself.

Now you were very careful not to let anyone in and disrupt that. It’s been a beautiful life to fall back into; you’d hate to lose it to the wrong person.

Jungwoo is nothing but understanding still, squeezing your arm instead of pushing any further.

“Well, regardless, I know you’ll get along well. Even as friends.”

You roll your eyes at him, a small smile creeping back onto your face.

“Don’t look into his eyes, though, seriously. He’s something else.”

On the trip over to Jungwoos apartment your friend tells you about her day, catching you up on some work gossip and her roommates string of interesting dates.

She laughs at how engrossed you are in her words, loving how excited you are to listen to the tea. You’re asking questions, connecting dots. The entertainment is delicious.

“I’m never on shit, so I’m living vicariously through you guys,” you sigh.

“We’re on shit tonight! I’m excited to party with Jungwoo.”

You flit your eyes over to her. “Yeah?”

“Girl, yes. He seems like a good person to party with. He’s always so bubbly and sweet when we go out for coffee, and always supportive of you so he’s good in my book.”

You wish she knew why you were smiling so big.

“He is a sweetheart, and a wonderful friend. I feel like you guys will get along well, I’m surprised we haven’t all gone out before.”

Pulling your phone out, you open your camera to check for a lipgloss reapplication when text from Jungwoo comes through.

woo-ah: 🎶 what’s ur ETA?🎵

“C-can I be honest with you?”

Immediately you lock your phone, adjusting your body to give her your full attention.

“Of course you can.”

She glances towards the driver, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth like she’s telling you a juicy secret.

“I think he’s gorgeous.” Her cute confession has you both giggling like schoolgirls in the back of the rideshare. “Don’t tell him, please!”

“Babe, your secret is safe with me.” You pinch your fingers together, pretending to zip your lips. “You wanna hear a secret?”

Her eyes widen in anticipation.

“I think he thinks you’re cute, too.”

“Shut up, no way!”

“Let’s just say I have insider info.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

you: appx 4 min 🤠

woo-ah: 🪩🕺🫶🏼

You lock arms with your friend as you lead the way into the apartment building, being here enough times to know what floor and that the right elevator is faster than the left.

She’s talking about the book her roommate just recommended her as you get to Jungwoos floor. You even ask her to send you a text, saying that she should start a bookclub as you rap your knuckles on the door.

Jungwoo opens the door, moving to hug you both and welcome you into the apartment.

“Come in, come in!”

Music is playing from a speaker, and a chorus of voices comes from the living room.

You walk ahead of Jungwoo and your friend, who are exchanging thank you’s for invitations and gifts of alcohol, and a chorus of voices welcomes you in the living room.

Doyoung and Donghyuck practically race and slide around in their socks to hug you and kiss you on the forehead and you pull them in for a haphazard group hug.

“Long time no see!” Doyoung clasps his hands together. “It’s so nice to have us all together at one time.”

“What a mom, we’re here to get shitfaced.” Donghyuck teasing Doyoung is secretly something you live for, but you pretend to defend Doyoung from him.

“Let us get a few drinks in before you start shit talking him, damn!”

The guys make sure you’re introduced to the rest of their friends, the ones you haven’t had a chance to meet yet. You’ve heard all their names in conversation, usually when talking about some social event or fun times they had back in school. It was wonderful to finally put names to faces, and they were more than happy to do the same for you.

“Jungwoo finally brought you around!” Renjun and Jaemin cheer. “We’ve been wanting to meet you for so long.”

You blush under all the affection from them.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you guys.”

“Come on, you have to try the cocktail YangYang made.”

Dragging you into the kitchen, you’re flooded by more introductions, jokes and insanely loud laughter, and it feels like you’ve been doing this for years with them already.

YangYang passes you a glass, a sliced lemon garnishing the side and all. You take one sip, then immediately take another. “Wow, this is delicious. Thank you!”

“There are three kinds of liquors in there,” he says, shooting you an apologetic look. “All light, but they told me I had to get everyone drunk, so-“

Before he can even try to apologize, stop him.

“That’s my kind of drink, then!” And you propose a toast with whoever’s in the kitchen.

The cheers begin to die down when someone walks into the kitchen.

Jungwoo has a lot of attractive friends. You knew this from the jump. He’s a model, he had model friends, friends who were in entertainment and the arts. From seeing whoever was on his Instagram story every few weeks, to getting drinks with everyone else occasionally, you’d gotten very used to being surrounded by pretty men.

Jungwoo did not prepare you well enough for Jeong Jaehyun.

“It’s our boy! Congratulations!”

The kitchen erupts into more greetings and well wishes as the man of the hour had just arrived. You sit back as everyone moves into pat him on the back, hug him or, like Donghyuck, kiss him right on the cheek.

Everyone’s voices just turn into background noise as you take him in.

He smiles the most beautiful smile you’ve ever been blessed enough to witness, and you have to force yourself to take a large sip of your drink so not to gawk at him.

Renjun and Jaemin motion for you to come closer, and you use the one solid second you have to steel your nerves as you step closer to them.

Jaemin slings his arm around you. “Jae, have you met our girl yet?”

Renjun playfully shakes his arm. “Jungwoo has been keeping her from us for eons.”

Jaehyun takes a step closer to you. He’s tall, much taller than you, so you have to tilt your head back to fully look at him.

And what a sight to see.

Jaehyun smiles again, a little shy but just for you. His eyes crinkle at the corners, smile so sincere and kind like he’s smiling at someone he’s known for years.

Extending his hand out to you, he wants to greet you properly. Shakily you place your smaller hand in his. But instead of shaking your hand, he uses both hands to gently hold it.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

The baritone voice almost knocks you on your ass.

Taking take a moment to will some confidence, some chill to come through when you speak, you swallow and push your shoulders back.

“You as well, Jaehyun. It’s been a long time coming, yeah?”

It’s taking everything in you to sound normal and relaxed, unfazed by this man.

He cocks his head to the side and laughs, his nose crinkling and smile lines that resemble whiskers making themselves visible. The sight makes your head spin.

“A very long time.” He releases your hand, and you place it against the side of your glass hoping it will absorb some of the heat from the exchange. “Thank you for coming.”

With your resolve expiring in seconds, you’re so thankful for Jungwoo making his way into the kitchen. While he introduces your work friend to Jaehyun, you shuffle out the kitchen alongside Renjun and Jaemin.

You sit on the armrest of the couch, listening to them bicker over what game the party should play first, remembering how to breathe.

Jaehyun quietly settles into a chair for one close to you, tuning into the commotion. He doesn’t make a move towards you, and you’re glad even if just for a moment. Out the corner of your eye, you take him in.

Handsome isn’t the right word to use, you think. He’s dressed clean and simple, nice jeans and a white t-shirt. The side profile is something unreal, perfect chiseled features but his face still soft and welcoming. His dark hair is slightly pushed back, a few stands falling over his forehead. He leans forward to tap Jaemin on the shoulder, complimenting him on ‘how big he’s gotten’ at the gym, with the younger preening under his praise.

Just in the short time in the same room, it’s clear that Jaehyun is like a big brother. And from what Jungwoo has told you is super sweet and caring. That alone makes you want to know him more, and makes him all the more attractive.

Looking over at you, he offers you a small smile which you mirror to avoid coming off as awkward. Noticing that you are both nursing the same drink, he raises his glass towards you for a small toast.

“To you and the summer,” you offer, raising your glass as you do so.

“I can drink to that.”

You take another large swig of your drink, hoping after the third your nerves can handle more than two sentences next time.

It’s silly, you think, to be this affected by a man. An attractive one, yes. But just a man. A friend of a friend, even.

Jungwoo’s words echo in the back of your mind, that he thought you and Jaehyun would get along well. Part of you doesn’t want to prove him right, but another part of you wonders if getting along with Jaehyun wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

So you try your best to start and make conversation.

“I heard about your promotion, congratulations!”

“Ah thank you,” he says, smiling into his cup. “It’s actually more of a career change.”

“Really? What are you going to be doing?”

He takes a minute to respond, and for a moment you wonder if he even heard in the first place. Before you can repeat yourself, however, he’s speaking again.

“I’m… writing music. Singing some, too. For me and for others.” He points over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’ll be working with Taeyong a lot, in his studio.”

Eyebrows raising, you lean in a bit.

“You sing, Jaehyun?”

“Sometimes.” He takes a drink. “I write stories on artists, interview people in music. Do some editing. The company I work for was really cool about letting me try different things, I really liked working for them.”

There’s a moment where you’re not sure if he’s going to speak again, and right when you think you should ask another question he continues.

“But I always wanted to sing my own songs, produce my own work. My current line of business has its perks, a lot of connections too. So I’ve been working on my own stuff on the side.”

You didn’t peg him as someone in performance- he’s so pretty you’re surprised he isn’t a model or an actor honestly. But he doesn’t seem to be anything anyone would think at first glance.

“That’s so exciting. Especially working with friends, I like Taeyongie’s music. And ’m really happy to hear you’re able to chase after your dream.”

“Thank you, I’m excited to share.”

He looks at you through his eyelashes as he takes another drink.

So we’re both trying to numb our nerves, you thought to yourself.

“I hope I get to hear some music from you soon.”

He casts another smile your way, and that’s when you know the liquor is kicking in because it doesn’t send you reeling this time.

“I hope you do, too. Soon.”

“Shots?”

Everyone gathers around in the living room, passing small glasses around to those partaking in alcoholic festivities tonight. You pass one to Jaehyun, who holds it up against the light.

“I haven’t taken a shot in a long time.”

“I got you the good shit, Jae.” Jungwoo holds up two expensive bottles. “Whiskey? Or gin?”

“Oh shit… let’s do the gin. Sticking with lights tonight.”

He asks for your preference, and you do the same.

Jungwoo opens the bottle of gin and pours the first round of shots for the night. After he pours his own, he holds his glass up for a toast.

“I know this is, like, the fourth toast of the night but it probably won’t be the last if I’m being honest.”

Taeyong groans. “I’m betting on at least seven in total.”

“Those are rookie numbers,” YangYang yells out, the younger boys cackling and suggesting higher numbers.

“Anyway!” Jungwoo bangs the gin bottle on the coffee table. “This is the emotional one. It’s the end of the summer and I hate to see her go. But we’re moving into fall, and falling into our new lives-“

Donghyuck pretends to yawn.

“Dude shut up, it’s just Jaehyun-”

“I’m not finished!” And he taps the bottle again, your head falling against the back of the couch in silent laughter. “Thank you all for being part of another summer and thank you guys for coming to celebrate one of my closest, oldest friends.”

“Literally.”

Doyoung throws a pillow at Donghyuck and motions for Jungwoo to continue.

Jungwoo turns to Jaehyun, who’s made his way onto the couch alongside you and your friend. “I’m happy to see you make your wildest dreams come true. I can’t wait to see you become the sexy superstar you were always meant to be. Cheers!”

The room is full of cheers and then groans from knocking back shots with no chasers, but it’s a pleasant burn as it slides down your throat.

You blow a kiss at Jungwoo, wiping a fake tear from your eye. “Your speech was beautiful. Very moving.”

The next hour is filled with mini beer pong (players had to sip water instead of alcohol, many thanks to Doyoung), stories about the boys time in school or how some of them met their partners, and shared soju.

The boys complain that he’ll cheat if he plays so instead Jaehyun shares a strong bottle of peach soju, his favorite, with you and your coworker.

At first, it’s very cute to just watch Jaehyun laugh at all of his friends antics. He enjoys listening, occasionally cracking a few jokes or making funny noises. But he’s more than happy to settle back into the couch and observe.

But he’s also big on being a good host, even if he’s the one being celebrated- if he isn’t offering you another drink he’s offering to grab something from the kitchen for you. They’re small but clear gestures to make sure his couch neighbors are as comfortable as he is.

He’s laid back and quiet but attentive- it has you swooning a bit. It’s a contrast to the rest of the men in the apartment, who are also sweet but characteristically loud and rambunctious. You love it, but it’s fascinating to watch Jaehyun hum and giggle to himself rather than dominate a conversation.

After you clear the second soju bottle and Jungwoo has wedged himself between you and your friend, you think you hear Jaehyun giggle beside you.

“What’s so funny?” You laugh, setting the empty bottle down on the coffee table.

He just shrugs, cheeks beginning to flush from the alcohol. He’s pretty like this, you think.

“Are you a silly drunk, Jae?” You tease, catching the attention of Donghyuck.

“Oh man, he’s gonna start getting real silly soon.” The younger man comes to sit on the armrest closest to Jaehyun, affectionately brushing his hair off his forehead. He weakly tries to swat Donghyucks hand away.

“I’m not silly,” he tries to argue, way too cute and whiny compared to the man you met just two hours ago.

“You’re sooo silly right now,” Donghyuck laughs. “She’s going to have to take care of you soon!”

His eyebrows shoot up and he tries to sit straighter, attempting to coolly settle against the back of the couch. “No, no. I’m fine. I’m-“

“Come get some air with us!” Jaemin and Donghyuck pull him up by his arms, with little to no resistance from Jaehyun. He just rolls his eyes as they pull him to his feet.

Jaemin cheers, pushing him towards the sliding door to the deck.

Looking over his shoulder, he nods at you. “Need anything while I’m up?”

You wave him off towards the door.

“No, I’m okay. Go get some air.”

With you beaming up at him, Jaehyun swears the room has gotten a few degrees hotter. The air will do him good.

Jaehyun finds you in the kitchen later, just finishing one of the cookies someone brought. You pass one to him and he finishes it in one bite.

“How many drinks in are you?”

“Shit… I’m at about four. Not including that shot.”

“I think I’m at about the same,” he says, shuffling closer to you at the kitchen island overlooking the living room.

There’s a moment of silence that you share, watching all of his and Jungwoos friends (and yours now) fill up the apartment with laughter (and some screaming- Renjun set Mario Kart up on the tv).

Your heart swells knowing how loved Jungwoo is, as well as Jaehyun.

But then it dawns on you that you haven’t seen Jungwoo or your friend in a while. Before you can mention that to Jaehyun, he bumps his hip against yours.

The alcohol might not have been enough to turn the alarms off in your brain yet, but your body is slow to react to him essentially snuggling into your side. He’s warm, and he smells warm too. Like a vanilla candle. There’s something else you can’t place, but it’s more than pleasant.

“I have to tell you a secret.” He whispers, and it’s cute and kind of whiny.

“A secret?” You say, barely over a whisper. He nods slowly, looking into the crowd.

He can’t see shit, in all honesty.

“I may or may not be a little crossed.”

“That’s what I smell on you?”

“Shit, is it bad?” Just like that, he’s a little more self conscious than he is silly. He smells his shirt in a few different places, earning a laugh from you.

“No, you’re fine. It’s because you’re so close that I can smell it.” He sighs and laughs almost at himself. “Is that where you and the boys went?”

“Yeah. I don’t usually smoke but it’s something like a special occasion.”

“Absolutely it is. You deserve it.”

He simply hums, letting a a few seconds pass before he speaks again.

“You smoke?”

“Weed? Rarely.”

“Cigs?”

“Not once in my life.”

“Good for you, we’re all nicotine addicts in here.”

“Vape away, I could never judge.”

At that you both turn towards the other at the same time, chests inches apart.

His eyes are low from the weed, the whites tinted red. He’s looking down at you, a silly, boyish grin on his lips. You can’t help but blush under his gaze, lips curving into a grin of their own.

“Thanks for coming tonight.” His voice is soft, barely audible. You feel yourself subconsciously leaning into him, wishing to hear him a little louder.

“Of course, I had to support the homie. And play wingman.”

He tilts his head back to glance around the room , the realization hitting him then.

“Oh shit, I haven’t seen them in a while.”

“Then I guess I did a good job. I barely did anything but whatever.”

He laughs, voice deep and rumbly. “You did great.”

He leans onto the counter, his arm resting closing to where your hip sits against the edge. He slowly shifts his eyes back over to you, looking over your frame. Just once, even his sluggish brain is careful not to get ahead of itself.

“I’m glad we finally got to meet.”

“I am too.” Your skin is on fire under his intense gaze. It’s not so much intense as it is just so warm, so amiable. You deflect to take some of the heat off of you, quite literally. “Jungwoo talks about you all the time.”

“Yeah? What does he say?”

That you’re so fucking handsome and I’d be stupid to lie and disagree.

“That you don’t say too much, but you’re a really good friend.”

A surprised look washed over his face, then he turns sheepish.

“He’s…… that’s sweet of him.” Jaehyun rubs the back of his neck, thinking on his next words as carefully as his crossed mind will allow him. “I’m glad you’re his friend. He needs someone like you.”

You tilt your head to the side.

“What do you mean?”

“Someone who isn’t as shy as him.”

“Haha, you think I don’t get shy?” It’s funny when you think back on how nerve wracking is was to shake his hand for the first time.

But he’s just giving you this knowing look now, a ghost of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“If you do, you hide it well.” You could scream. Can he see right through you? “But seriously. You push him to do well.”

Jaehyun is slow to speak, but even inebriated he’s intentional. Something you’ve learned in just the past few hours about him is that it may take him a while to get his thoughts out, but it’s more than worth it to hear what he has to say.

You hang on to every pause like your life depends on it, eager to hear what comes out of his mouth next.

“Before you guys worked together, he was a lot more… reserved. And passive? Like, he’s good at everything he does. We know this. But… he never really sought recognition.”

“You’re right. But he deserves it.”

He nods while he thinks on his next words.

“Yeah. I remember in school he was just happy to pass and be included in things. Never attracted much attention to himself. Never wanted to be in the spotlight. But since working with you, he’s become proud of the work he does. His confidence has grown. He’s louder. Funnier. You pushed him a lot.”

“That’s all him, he works hard-“

“He does, you pushed him though. When he finally started modeling last year all he could do was say how thankful he was for you. How you encouraged him, helped him with headshots. Went shopping with him and made sure he felt good going into auditions. And it took off.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“He… he said that? Really?”

“He did. You’ve been a very good friend to him.”

Blinking away the tears that started to pinprick behind your eyes, you smile at Jaehyun whose own eyes are filled with mirth. Even cross faded, Jaehyun’s words were so sincere and kind.

“Are you crying?”

You sniffle, using your thumbs to collect any tears in the corner of your eyes so not to ruin your makeup.

“I was gonna but I’m okay.”

He laughs that hearty laugh again and ruffles your hair. It’s such a small gesture, but so comfortable. Domestic even. Like you’ve been friends for years. It makes your heart even fuller than it already is and if he keeps it up, it’ll burst before the end of the night.

The alcohol coursing through you is doing nothing but spread this warmth, double time. Happiness feels good coursing through you.

“Let’s get some water, yeah?” He cocks his head toward the fridge. “Doyoung brought some sparkling water.”

You begin to follow him as he takes a few steps backwards. “What flavor?”

“We have…” He starts, opening the door to the fridge. “I can barely see. Wow.”

“Move, I’ll look.”

You hip check him out of the way, and hear someone come into the kitchen behind you.

“I’m no better, but this looks like ginger peach. And calamansi.”

“Pass me a calamansi, please? You want a sparkling water, Taeyong?”

“Do you think it’s a good mixer for gin?” He asks, loud enough for someone in the living room to hear.

Then, that someone yells out: “Another round of shots?”

Laughing, you hand Jaehyun his sparkling water, and pass a ginger and peach flavored water to Taeyong. “Let’s find out, yeah?”

More cheering is heard as you shuffle back into the living room and let Doyoung pour the next round of shots.

He’s a sweetheart and pours the shots right into you and Taeyongs cans, Jaehyun sneakily placing a sealed water bottle next to your foot.

It’s well into the night, the hour a single digit when the party starts to die down.

Jungwoo is in the loveseat for one and a half, your friend snuggled into his side.

You’ve found yourself back on the couch with Jaehyuns head resting on your shoulder and one of his legs swung over Taeyongs. Miraculously, Donghyuck has found a way to lay across you all comfortably.

“I’m going to order a ride home for us soon,” your friend says through a yawn. Donghyuck is already whining, earning some light smacks from the older boys under him.

“We’re so comfy, why would you want to mess up our cuddle pile?

“I’m not cuddling, I’m being leaned on,” you tease, grinning down at Jaehyun who can barely hold his eyes open. He’s trying his best to focus on one of your faces because he sees three, but he’s not complaining.

“Hm… my bad.” He moves to sit up, but Donghyuck just nestles into him even further, and Jaehyun can’t seem to muster up enough strength to (care) knock him into the floor. “I really… I really did try.”

Jaehyun has hit peak silly hours. From little hums and cute noises to the worst dad jokes you’ve heard in a while, you understand what Donghyuck meant earlier. Jaemin and Jungwoo even got him to cutely pose for drunk selfies earlier.

Laughing through your nose, you use the hand that’s free to reach around and pat his cheek affectionately. In this state he instinctually leans into your touch, humming in approval. You have to fight the urge to squeeze his cheeks. “Jae you gonna be alright?”

“I told you she was going to have to take care of you!” At that, he and Taeyong had enough and pushed him into the floor. He lets out a squawk as his body hits the ground with a light thud. “Fuck. It’s comfier down here anyway.”

Jungwoo slowly stands up, helping your friend to her feet. “So Donghyuck is sleeping here, literally right there. No blanket. I don’t want to see you using something weird as a replacement either.”

While the boys still present start to bicker some more, Jaehyun taps your knee to get your attention.

“I’ll be okay. Just got a little carried away.”

“You’re okay. Let’s get you to bed then?”

His eyes open a little wider, mouth parting to say something. You wait.

“Are you staying over?”

“No I’m going home tonight.”

He pouts, and it almost sends you to another dimension.

“Aw don’t make that face, I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay. Good.”

You call to Taeyong, who really isn’t that much better, but he does help you get Jaehyun off the couch and down the hall to his bedroom.

You let Taeyong handle the hard part of getting him out of his jeans and under the covers, heading to the kitchen to fill a glass of water. “Jungwoo, you have any painkiller?”

“In that drawer by the stove.” He stands beside you in the kitchen. “For Jae?”

“Yeah. You want any water?”

“Nah I was good tonight. I’ll be okay.” He purses his lips. “You’re sweet for that. Taking care of him.”

“I’m not doing anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

“I know… exactly what I mean.” You shake your head and walk to Jaehyun’s room, entering while Taeyong exits.

“He’s decent, just whiny.”

“Thank you, I’ll just leave this for him then.”

You approach the side of the bed where he’s sprawled out, eyes barely open but you can see them following you even in the dark.

“Brought you some water. And some painkiller. Take it when you can, yeah?”

“Hm. Tell Jungwoo to give Hyuck a blanket.”

You chuckle and ruffle his hair before moving to leave.

“Have a good night, Jaehyun.”

“Hmm…”

unknown number: hey it’s jaehyun

unknown number: jungwoo gave me your number. thanks for coming yesterday. don’t be a stranger!

[galacticghoste]

THANK YOU

Just let people complain its not like their opinions are gonna change anythings what's done is done it's not changing so just let me complain on what they could have done

Me rambling

AS MUCH AS I LOVE each episode on their own

bunce of ships becoming Canon!!!

And the art was gorgeous through out the whole series and the music chefs kiss to both

But seriously I don't get what people's deal is with someone not likeing the ended of a show like if you love it good on you bro that your opinion

For me NOPE it's not bad I can deal with cliffhangers that's not the issue here

(I KNOW NOT EVERYTHING GONNA BE PERFECT)

But seriously though for me personally it's didn't hit.

There's SO MUCH potential wasted and so many characters died but we don't get enough time to fully process their loss bc nope time limit

Me and my friend went on for like an hour on what could have gone differently

(I know they have a limit on money and time)

This obviously needs more episodes to actually fully tell the story

LIKE ISHA KINDA DIED FOR NOTHING what was the point of the beautifully painful scene of her sacrificing herself only for Vander to be revived once again WTF?!?

We don't even see what happened after that because we only learn it by characters say what happened after we don't even know what they did with her body we only know Jinx got REALLY depressed

It felt like we could have had a episode dedicated to vector more focusing on him and Jayce and how he tried to change that fate so many times kinda like homora from madoka magica did

Also what was that homeless guy Vi finds name anyways i don't remember it and we GOT NOTHING ON HIS BACKSTORY I really thought we would get an episode on that since he seemed important

SAME WITH ISHA I DONT KNOW WHY SHE WAS BEING CHASED OR WHAT HAPPEND TO HER FAMILY we don't get anything on that either

She kinda in a way existed just for Jinx to get better just to get hurt again by her lose

I think since multiple storys were happening at once it was struggle to find a way to fully close it correctly so what better way then killing off most the characters

Also

WTF happend to HEIMERDINGER??? Like is he dead? Bc he just poof and dissappear not even fluff was left behind

by the way. people are allowed to complain about this season feeling rushed. i don’t know when it became a thing in this fandom to completely jump people who have valid complaints like YES arcane is a fantastically produced and beautifully animated show and nobody will be able to top it but they did start things with some characters only for it to never go anywhere so it can all be wrapped up in three episodes 😭

[flowerywoso]

the babysitter || irene paredes x reader

Summary: You've had a thing for Irene ever since you started babysitting for her. When she comes home after a night out with the team, you realize that your feelings might not be as one-sided as you thought they were. Pairing: Irene Paredes x Reader Words: 3,992 Warnings: 🔞, smut with plot Notes: I haven't written anything in quite awhile (I honestly wasn't planning on writing ever again but here we are), so this might be a little rough! Please don't hesitate to let me know (politely, please!) if you notice any horrible grammatical errors or notes to myself that I somehow forgot to take out. Do not post my works on Ao3. And I am horrible at titles.

You peek your head into the room once more, carefully easing the door open and, just as quickly, shut, once you determine that the toddler is definitely still asleep. It’s a habit you adopted after your friends began to have their own children, and one you’ve maintained for the kids you babysit. Tiptoeing back down the hallway, making sure to keep your footfalls as quiet as you can, you plop back down on the sofa, settling into the corner and taking a sip of your sparkling water, grabbing your novel and flipping it back open as you wait for the boy’s mother to return home.

It’s not that much later, only long enough for you to finish a single chapter of your book, before you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing, announcing Irene’s return from the Barcelona squad’s night out. You don’t get up from the couch, merely setting your novel aside and uncrossing your legs, letting one dangle off the cushions.

She enters the room quietly, the low heels she’d left the apartment in abandoned on the mat by the front door so they don’t click on the wood floors, and when you look up you can see the flush on her face. You're not sure if it's the result of the chilly evening air or of her night out, but either way it's enough to make you swallow around a lump in your throat. The top and pants she'd left the house in are just as enticing now as they were several hours ago, and you wonder as she walks further into the apartment how you manage to stay sane around her.

“Hola,” she says quietly, setting her purse down in the center of the coffee table and taking a seat beside you on the sofa, sighing in relief as she relaxes into the cushions after a long night out. Your heart, as it so often does in the presence of the older woman, skips a beat as she comes nearer to you.

“How was everything?”

“All good,” you reply, beginning to recount your evening with Mateo. As always, the toddler had been easy, listening to you as well as one could expect a two-year-old to, and had fallen asleep on the sofa halfway through an episode of Bluey, only stirring briefly when you carried him to bed.

“He ate most of his dinner,” you relay with a smile, shaking your head at the memory of how the toddler had wrinkled his nose at the "yucky green" you'd provided for him, far more enthusiastic about the special treat that was the chicken nuggets unearthed from the freezer. “We had a bit of a struggle with the veggies, but other than that he was a perfect angel, like always.”

Your words bring a smile to the older woman’s face, and you can’t help but stop in your tracks for a moment, transfixed by the way her lips perk upwards, faint lines around her eyes becoming visible. You’ve seen her take an extra minute in the bathroom more than once after you arrive in the evenings, trying to conceal the bags beneath her eyes or the smile lines beginning to form at the corners, but you think that each and every part of her face is a work of art. 

You had no idea, when you first started babysitting for her, just how quickly your feelings for the older woman would grow. In the stolen moments at the beginning and end of the nights, before one of you walks out the door, you've learned more and more about Irene Paredes the person, not just the footballer, and something about her kept drawing you further and further in. You couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but you knew that you wanted her.

“Did you have a good night?”

Irene shrugs, shaking her head with a fond smile as she tells you about the Barcelona squad’s night out. She had mostly stayed on the sidelines alongside the other older players, keeping an eye on the girls closer to your own age as they enjoyed themselves, but Pina and Cata had managed to coax her and Alexia into having a drink and dance before she had excused herself.

The thought of Irene on the dance floor makes your heart pound, imagination beginning to run wild.

You’ve never been to Manuela’s, but from the way you’ve heard Irene describe it, there's absolutely no shortage of beautiful women. You know from the bits of information she’s given you that the Barcelona girls normally stick with one another, even while they’re out, but you’ve never been able to help yourself from wondering if any of the beautiful girls who frequent the club have tempted her enough that she’s taken one of them to her bed.

It's that thought, the unpleasant idea of her tangled between the sheets with a nameless, faceless girl from the club that makes your chest hurt. Before you fully notice what you're doing, you open your mouth and begin to speak, some jumbled mixture of thoughts spilling from between your traitorous lips.

"I mean if... If you ever wanted to stay out later... If someone..."

You trail off, clamping your lips shut as you realize just how inappropriate what you're implying is. You cringe, cursing yourself as you watch for her reaction, wait for her to get up off the couch and hand you your bags, let you know that now might be a good time for you to go home.

But she doesn't. Instead, all the older woman does is fix you with a questioning gaze, seemingly losing herself in thought for a moment.

She’s seated closer to you than she normally would be, than she ever has been before, and for a moment you wonder if she can hear your heart as it pounds in your chest, speeding up as she enters your space. You aren’t sure if it’s your imagination, the way her eyes seem to have fixed on you, tracing the details of your flushing face, eyes following your bottom lip as you nervously run your teeth over it.

“No,” she says at last. “None of the girls there have ever been who I wanted.”

Something about the word there catches your attention as it leaves her mouth, and you're certain that you must be losing your mind. Because there's no way, no way in the world that she wants you the way you want her.

The older woman reaches out and brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and you’re fairly certain that you’ve stopped breathing. Her hand pauses by your left cheek, which you're absolutely certain is flushing redder than the cap on her cherry flavored chapstick.

And suddenly, before you can even fully process the fact that her soft but strong hands are cupping your scarlet cheeks, the older woman is leaning forward and pressing her lips to yours.

You must have imagined this moment a thousand times, but never in your wildest dreams had you imagined it would actually come true. The older woman’s mouth is soft but insistent against your own, exploring your lips with hers, and every coherent thought you’ve ever had is a distant memory as you move with her, kissing her back.

Kissing Irene is even better than you imagined it would be - and you could fill a planner with the amount of times you’ve imagined this exact scenario. Her mouth is gentle, but there’s an edge to her kiss that contains a promise, the knowledge that she’s capable of being anything but.

When your lips finally part, after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, you let out a little gasp, pupils blown wide as Irene stares into your eyes, both of you trying to process what has just happened. Even though she’s the one who kissed you first, Irene seems just as shocked as you are. But, behind her wide eyes is the same feeling you know she can easily spot in your own.

Desire.

“I… Fuck.”

You’re the one who leans forward this time, lips pressing against the older woman’s, the faint flavor of alcohol on her lips mixed with a hint of cherry from the chapstick you’ve seen her spread across her mouth more than once. The taste of her lips is intoxicating, and you can feel it going straight between your legs.

This kiss is deeper than the first, your arms wrapping around her strong shoulders to pull her closer, wanting to feel her body against your own. You part momentarily, gasping for air and only managing a brief breath before she’s kissing you again, every movement raising the stakes. You whine as her lips meet yours once more, hands coming to rest on your hips, pulling you closer. The older woman uses her own lips to pry yours open, her claiming tongue slipping into your mouth and beginning to explore further.

You let her take control of the kiss without protest, the arousal between your thighs intensifying exponentially with every second her body spends this close to your own. 

“Fuck,” she gasps, breaking away from your lips only long enough to grunt in your ear. “Fuck, I want you so badly.”

All you can do is nod, shaking your head up and down in agreement, because you don’t think you’ve ever wanted another person this badly in your entire life. 

“Irene,” you whine, pressing impossibly closer to her. “Please.” 

“Can I touch you?”

You’re nodding again before the question has even fully left her lips, and the older woman’s pupils go dark with how eager she is for you. She kisses you again, her football player’s strength showing as she pushes you backward onto the sofa, hands working their way up under your shirt. She doesn’t bother with the clasp of your bra, instead slipping her hands beneath the fabric to cup your breasts. Separating her lips from yours with a low groan, Irene immediately begins tracing a path over the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a further wave of shivers up and down your spine. You moan quietly, remembering that you two aren’t alone in the apartment, but tilt your head anyway, granting her better access to your throat.

Advantage is rapidly taken, the Barcelona player letting a hint of teeth scrape across the delicate flesh of your throat as she rolls one of your nipples between her fingers, moaning quietly at the way you arch, pressing your chest further into her touch. 

Your nipples aren’t normally this sensitive, but something about the way Irene rolls and tugs at them makes the two buds feel as if they’re direct links to your most sensitive spot. Her touch is magical, and all you want is more.

As if the older woman can read your mind, the hand not busy exploring your chest slides further down, slipping under your black leggings and making you gasp, bringing a hand up to muffle your own sounds as long fingers begin to rub at your pussy over your panties. 

There’s far too much fabric between the two of you, and every thread feels like a cage. You need it off, need the last bits of separation between your heat and her touch gone, now. 

“Off,” Irene commands and, needing the barrier gone just as badly as you do, she doesn’t wait for you to obey before she’s hooking her own fingers in the waistband of your leggings, yanking them down over your legs. Your panties are removed in the same motion, both pieces of fabric coming to rest at your ankles. You try to kick them fully off, but only manage to completely free one leg before the older woman is pushing her way between your thighs, eagerly beginning to explore your bare pussy.

Her experience is clear from the first touch of her slender fingers against your naked heat, and you can’t help but press closer, spreading your legs further to give her better access. The older woman draws in a sharp breath as she circles your clit gently with one finger, exploring, watching for your reactions, the others gathering the rapidly accumulating wetness at your entrance. Irene's touch is electric, and the older woman finds herself becoming rapidly obsessed with the way your clit seems to plead for her touch.

With two of her fingers, Irene traces the outline of your pussy, hyper aware of just how wet you are, how your hole is begging silently for her fingers inside as she continues to rub your clit.

You let your eyes fall shut, eagerly anticipating just how good it will feel when the fingers you can sense lingering just shy of your entrance finally slide home, burying themselves inside your welcoming cunt. You’re practically pulsing with it, with how badly you need her inside, need to know just how she’ll fill you, what previously unknown spots inside the tips of her long fingers will be able to brush.

“Where do you want my fingers, bebita?” 

You whine, shifting your hips in an attempt to get even closer to her, to get her to slide her fingers into your throbbing heat. The digits, wet from your own slick, only withdraw further away from your needy hole, and you nearly sob with how badly you need the older woman, need her touch. 

Obvious as it may be, this nonverbal expression of how desperate you are for her to take you isn’t enough to satisfy the older woman, and she rubs your inner thigh soothingly. 

“Use your words, baby,” she coaxes. “Tell me where you need my fingers.”

The idea of using your words seems borderline impossible at the moment, your brain simply too overwhelmed with the reality of just how close her fingers are to slipping inside, but you can tell that you won’t get what you need until you do.

“My pussy,” you manage to whine, trying to stay as quiet as possible while pulsing with the need for her. “Please, Irene, I need your fingers in my cunt.”

Your words, base and simple as they are, are enough to get you what you need, and when Irene finally slides her fingers home, you can’t conceal the moan that tears its way free from your throat. You’re wet enough that the stretch of going from zero to two fingers inside your cunt brings nothing but pleasure, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from moaning aloud when you feel the ridges of her fingers settle against your walls, the older woman pausing for a moment to let you adjust to the feeling of her digits inside.

Irene has to swallow a wrecked noise of her own as she finally slides her fingers inside your soaking pussy, the sensation of your silky walls against her skin sending her brain into overdrive. The sound of your voice, desperation tinging your whispers as you plead for her to move, to fuck you, is absolute music to her ears, and she doesn’t hesitate to comply with the enticing request. 

Her pace is slow at first as she starts to move, the older woman eagerly exploring every curve and contour of your cunt, leaking around her fingers. It’s so warm and inviting, and the older woman has no idea how she’s lasted this long without knowing what feel like inside.

Once she’s sure you’ve fully adjusted to the stretch of her digits inside of you, Irene speeds up her thrusts, curling her fingers in search of the most sensitive spots hidden inside your pretty cunt. 

It’s clear when she finds what she’s looking for, because your cunt clenches down around her fingers and you squeeze your pretty eyes shut as pleasure rocks your body. 

“Oh,” she says, voice a whisper that tickles your ear and makes you shudder happily. “Is that where you need me?”

You nod desperately, the entirety of your reality reduced to the sensation of her fingers against the sensitive tissue inside you, stroking it insistently as her thumb comes to brush against your swollen clit. As she fucks you with her fingers, the older woman tests out different motions on your bud with her thumb, searching for the pattern and pace to take what’s left of your breath away. 

You can’t help but let out a cry as she presses a little harder, circling your needy clit at just the right angle. Irene quickly presses her lips to yours again, reminding you that you’re not alone in the apartment.

“Shh,” the older woman says, swallowing your noises with her own tongue, collecting each one. “You’ve still gotta be quiet for me, bebita.”

You nod in understanding, kissing her back desperately, bringing a hand up to tangle in her hair. You can be quiet, no matter how good it feels, you can be quiet, just so long as she doesn’t stop what she’s doing between your legs. Irene chuckles against your lips, redoubling her efforts between your legs. Her talented fingers thrust in and out of your pussy, each time hitting the spot that makes you see stars.

“That’s it, baby,” she whispers, lips right beside your ear. “That’s it, take it for me. Take it, just like that.”

You toss your head back, more than willing to comply. Every cell of your body feels like it’s on fire, and you want nothing more than for the burning to consume you completely. 

Your orgasm arrives without warning, Irene’s thumb on your swollen clit combined with her talented fingers inside your cunt sending you crashing over the edge with a fury you haven’t felt in a long time. You have to bite down on your lip to keep in your sounds as your it overwhelms you, nails digging into Irene’s bare shoulders. You can feel the older woman’s smile as she kisses your neck, fingers still moving gently inside you, working you through your climax, helping you ride it for as long as you can.

You shudder, aftershocks still shaking your body as you begin to come down from your peak. She slides her fingers out and you bite down on your kiss-swollen lip to keep yourself from whining at the loss. It takes another minute before you're able to gather yourself, fully opening your eyes and taking in the sight of the gorgeous older woman above you.

Irene presses another kiss to your lips, this one gentle, and you can feel the smile on her face as you give a final shudder, sitting up and leaning into her.

"How was that, bebita?"

"Fucking perfect," you reply, unable to conceal a grin of your own as you note how flushed her face still is. Knowing that touching you has her seemingly almost as worked up as you are sends a thrill through your body and you reach for the button of her jeans, aiming to return the favor, only for the same pair of hands that had just brought you to such an incredible orgasm to push yours down, Irene’s lips brushing against your forehead.

“Don’t you worry about me, baby,” she says, and you feel your heart sink with sudden disappointment.

“Are you sure?”

Irene wraps an arm around you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, clearly oblivious to the way your shoulders sink. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I promise. Don’t worry about me.”

You blush, wanting to protest that getting to touch her would be just about the furthest thing away from a worry- dream or fantasy come to life would be a more accurate description- but a sudden wave of shyness overcomes you, the whiplash of going from the high of your orgasm to the valley of being denied an opportunity to make Irene feel as good as she’s just made you feel making your throat close up.

“O-Oh,” you say quietly. “Okay. I just…”

You trail off, not sure what to say to that. It feels like, without meaning to or realizing what she’s done, the Barcelona defender has just tossed a bucket of ice water over you.

“I… I guess I should head home then,” you say quietly, trying not to let her hear the hurt in your voice, reaching down and pulling your leggings back up over your calves and thighs until they rest around your middle. Your panties aren’t quite soaked, for the pure fact that they had been around your ankles soon after her lips first met yours, but they’re still wet enough that putting them back on isn’t exactly comfortable. 

And more than that, you don’t want to leave. Your body is still purring with the aftermath of your orgasm, the last thing you want to do right now is leave her apartment and walk the few blocks home to your own. The route between your apartment and Irene’s is one you know well, lit with plenty of streetlamps and well-frequented on a Saturday night, so any anxiety you might feel can be connected purely to leaving her after what’s just happened, without being certain where you stand. 

Irene opens her mouth and you pause with your hand on the knob, waiting, hoping that she’ll say something, offer her bed to share for the night. 

“Let me know when you get home safe,” she says quietly, and you can’t help the way your chest clenches with a strange sort of pain. You hadn’t really expected her to offer for you to stay, not with the amount of eyes that could be watching someone like her at any given moment, but you still can’t help but wish she had.

You nod in response to her question, clutching your bag close to your side as you shut the door behind yourself, beginning the short walk home.

...

“Fuck.”

The second the door shuts behind you, the defender wishes she could throw it open again and call you back in.

She had wanted to, especially after watching you come apart under her touch, seeing how pretty you looked as your orgasm overwhelmed you. The words had been on the tip of her tongue, but you had beaten her to it, reaching for the door handle and exiling yourself before she could even offer, and she hadn’t offered any protests. 

Peeking in the door, ensuring that Mateo is still safe and sound in his bed, the Barcelona player tiptoes quietly down the hall, two doors down, and pushes her own door open and shut behind her.

As she pulls off her top, letting it fall to the floor, quickly followed by her pants and bra, Irene curses herself, pulling back the covers and slipping into the too-big bed on her own. It feels cold compared to the contrast of your warm body against her own, and her chest pangs with the regret of not asking you to stay the night. 

Back in your own apartment, you slide beneath your own covers, mind racing at a million miles an hour.

No matter how your chest might ache at the fact that you’re here, alone in your own bed, the memory of the older woman’s lips on yours, of her talented fingers bringing you to orgasm right there on the sofa, of muffling your moans in her shoulder, still sends a familiar jolt of electricity between your thighs. With a soft whine, you reach for your the bedside drawer where you keep your vibrator, turning it up before pressing it against your still-swollen clit.

Blocks away, Irene is doing the same, quietly gasping out a much-needed orgasm with your name on her lips, the memory of your mouth on hers and your silken flesh beneath her fingertips sending her over the edge.

As the older woman drifts off into an uneasy slumber, the space beside her conspicuously empty, she knows that, now she's had you once, she won't ever be able to get enough.

[shixcherie]

Gonna Make You Rock Hard | Jeong Yunho ☆

~ ~ call me chérie ☆

Navigation | Kinktober List

☆ Day 30: Mask Kink (Connected with Rum To My Whiskey (iykyk!😉))

↬ [ Synopsis ] : Under dim lights and the cover of a masquerade party, you’re alone with Yunho, the man you’ve been craving all night, with only one rule: the mask stays on. What starts as a playful bet with Wooyoung soon turns into a sultry, forbidden encounter behind closed doors, where every whispered word and heated touch makes the stakes feel deliciously higher.

☆Word count : 1.8k ☆Genre : Smut, no plot just drunk and fun vibes, Non-idol Au. ☆Pairing : Stranger in the party! Yunho x F.Reader

☆ ☆ ☆WARNINGS : mdni!, reader’s craving for Yunho builds all evening, playful eye flirting, alcohol-fueled tension, mask kink, mild voyeurism, size kink (it’s Yunho, after all), dom/sub undertones, messy and intense makeout sess, fingering (fem receiving), biting kink, praise (pet names like babygirl, baby, cutie), unprotected sex (remember to wrap it, buddies), overstimulation, and filthy talk.

A/N NOTE : With this fic ma chéries, we conclude Kinktober 2024🏆. Thank you for sticking with me till the end. I appreciate and love each and every one of you, and in whichever way you supported this rookie writer, THANK YOU SOO FUCKING MUCH! 💖😘🤗

I love ATEEZ (Atiny for life 💖🏴‍☠️), and writing these fics about them made me appreciate the art they create even more🤩. I also explored new genres and learned that I can write various genres and scenarios (they all did not turn out perfect, but some did and to me what really matters is that I actually gave it a try).

I will be on a short break and then will come back with more awesome stuff for y’all. Till then, enjoy these 30 fics (my first writing work…ahhhhh…this feels surreal). Hope u miss me🥺...cuz I sure as hell will😤. Thank u again for giving my work a chance! Adios! 👋👋

P.S.: My DMs and requests are open now..so feel free to send me any particular requests you guys have or any msgs you wanna send me. I will be gone for now but will be responding to comments & dms. Adios mah loves...Byeeeee.

Before stepping into that dimly lit room with Yunho, you remembered exactly how you had ended up there.

It had started with Wooyoung and his unpredictable games, pushing you to see just how far you would go to prove a point.

“If you’re as bold as you say, then show it,” he had dared, a smirk dancing on his lips as he nudged his chin toward Yunho, the man you had been eyeing all night at the masquerade-themed party at Club Havana. “Hook up with him and prove me right. But here’s the catch,” he added, his grin widened mischievously. “The mask stays on the entire time.”

The cocktails had been flowing freely, and Yunho had looked like an absolute snack, leaving you more than a little tipsy and far too eager to rise to the challenge. The thrill of proving Wooyoung wrong and maybe even showing him just how unpredictable you could be had landed you here, flirting with Yunho before you could even give it a second thought.

The attraction had been instant, his charming smile and intense gaze igniting a spark in you that only grew stronger with each passing moment.

So here you were, leading Yunho through the crowd and away from the party's noise. A mix of drunk excitement from Havana’s finest shots and the thrill of winning the bet coursed through your veins.

The mask you had worn only added to the excitement as you both made your way into the room.

The deep red walls of the room had welcomed you under the dim lights, shadows casting an intimate glow that served as an invitation for the moments about to unfold. As you closed the door, the sounds from the club outside became muffled, leaving you and Yunho in silence. The scent of leather and faint traces of cologne filled your senses, the air in the room growing thicker with every passing second.

You faced him, your masked gaze teasing. His eyes searched yours, curiosity slowly turning into hunger. As you took a step closer, your fingers slid up his chest, moving slowly as you felt the warmth of his skin through his shirt. You could tell it was driving him crazy, not seeing all of you, your eyes just peeking through the mask. He caught your hand, his grip warm and firm, his fingers tracing slow circles against your wrist.

“Are you always this mysterious ?” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, his eyes locked on yours with a delicious mixture of intrigue and excitement.

You gave a sly smile, tilting your head just enough for the light to catch your lips. “Only for the right kind of company,” you replied, your voice filled with playful flirtation.

A slow grin spread across his face as he stepped closer, closing the distance between you. His hand found your waist, his fingers firm as he pulled you against him. His gaze flickered to your lips, torn between playing the game or surrendering to it. His chest rose and fell, his breath quickening as his eyes tried to memorize every inch of what the mask hid.

You reached up, your fingertips brushing his jaw, soft and deliberate. Leaning in, your lips hovered near his ear. “Want to see what’s behind the mask?” you murmured, your breath warm against his skin.

His chuckle was low and rich, his other hand sliding to the back of your neck, his thumb grazing your collarbone. “Maybe not,” he teased, his lips brushing your cheek. “I think I like the mystery. It keeps things… thrilling.”

You smirked, leaning into his touch, your hands gliding to his shoulders. The mask and the tequila shots you had taken fueled your boldness as you pressed closer, your lips brushing his in a kiss that sparked between tender and electric. He deepened it, his hand trailing to the small of your back, pulling you tighter as if he was as captivated by the game as you were.

As seconds passed, his kisses grew hungrier, his hands exploring your curves with desperate passion. When his fingers grazed the edge of your mask, you caught his wrist, stopping him with a playful, breathless smile.

“Not yet,” you whispered, your voice soft but commanding.

His laugh was low and rough, filled with something darker. “Alright,” he murmured, pulling you closer, his hands refusing to leave your body. His fingers pressed into your hips, giving a little squeeze on your ass, which excited you even more. He had surrendered to the mystery, letting the unknown drive him wild as he lost himself in every inch of you he could reach. Everything but what was hidden behind the mask.

The mask had become part of the game, a sensual mystery like a barrier between you that fed his desire and made each touch more desperate.

His hands, once hesitant, now roamed with bold intent, tracing your curves with a hunger that matched the fire in his kiss. His lips crashed into yours, deep and demanding, pushing you back until the cool surface of the wall pressed against you, a faint contrast to the heat building between your bodies. As he surrendered to the game, his restraint slowly slipped away, leaving only the raw, electric energy that burned hotter with every touch, every breath.

His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, brushing lightly before pressing firmly, the sensation making your breath hitch. His touch grew bolder as his fingers found your core, your arousal evident.

Slowly, he slid one thick finger into you, his pace teasing at first, each movement deliberate, as if testing how far he could push you. But as your breaths quickened, he picked up speed, his fingers curling and thrusting in a rhythm that had you gripping his shoulders for support.

The pleasure built quickly, the pressure overwhelming, and when you came undone around him, your moans muffled against his neck, he didn’t stop. Instead, he added another finger, the stretch making your body arch into him. His lips grazed your neck, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin as he drove you toward another release.

Your legs trembled, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you gasped for air, the intensity leaving you weak and breathless. But Yunho wasn’t done. His hands and lips kept you tethered to him, his movements relentless as he worked to break down every barrier between you.

The mask remained, teasing him with what he couldn’t see, but he didn’t care, if he couldn’t uncover your secret, he would take everything else, leaving you trembling and completely at his mercy.

Pressed against the cold wall, the chill against your skin only made the heat between you burn hotter. You felt him move closer, his body pressing into yours. His hips ground against you with deliberate intent, letting you feel every bit of his desire. The friction sent sparks through you, each movement making your breath hitch and your body ache for more.

His hands slid down your thighs, lifting one leg effortlessly, holding you as if he had done this a hundred times. His touch was steady was strong but careful as he tugged your panties away with practiced ease, his focus completely on you.

Your breath caught when he revealed himself, and for a moment, all you could do was stare. A mix of awe and arousal overwhelmed you, your thoughts spinning with the idea of him inside you. His hand moved back to your leg, grounding you, while his hips pressed forward, his hard length teasing against your skin.

The way he moved, slow and purposeful, stoked a fire deep inside, and soft moans escaped your lips, filling the room. Your knees trembled, barely able to hold you, but his strong hands kept you steady as he lifted you into his arms.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, your body instinctively clinging to his strength. His eyes met yours, dark and full of restrained hunger, his expression both commanding and tender. The mask on your face gave you a boldness you had never felt, adding a thrill to every moment. As he positioned himself, his length pressed teasingly against you, and your body arched toward him, desperate to close the unbearable gap.

When he finally pushed inside, the feeling was overwhelming, a perfect mix of fullness and heat that left you gasping. He paused just long enough for you to adjust before he started moving, slow and steady at first, every thrust sending shivers through you. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as the rhythm built, each movement deeper, faster, more urgent. The intensity grew with every second, his pace losing control, his need for you taking over.

The mask stayed on, a reminder of the thrill of the moment, giving you the confidence to completely let go. Your moans grew louder, your body trembling under the pressure of his relentless pace. Stars danced before your eyes as your vision clouded, the intensity of it all consuming you. His lips brushed against your neck, his breath hot and heavy as he muttered low, broken words that sent you even closer to the edge. Every thrust felt like a claim, every move a promise, as if he knew exactly what you needed and gave it without hesitation.

It felt like you had known each other forever, your bodies fitting together perfectly, moving as one. The tension built higher and higher until finally, with one last thrust, you broke apart, the release crashing over you in waves. Your body trembled in his arms as the pleasure overwhelmed you, every nerve alive and buzzing.

Moments later, his movements grew erratic, his breathing ragged as he buried himself deeper into you, chasing his own release. With a low groan, he came undone, his grip tightening on your waist as he spilled into you, his body shuddering against yours. You held him close, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “It’s okay. I’m on the pill.” Your words seemed to pull him further into the moment, his tension melting into complete surrender.

Even when it was over, he didn’t let go. His hands stayed on you, holding you close as you caught your breath, your body still humming with the aftershocks. His dark eyes lingered on your face, the mask a silent reminder of the game you had played and won. No words were spoken, but the moment hung between you, heavy with the memory of something unforgettable.

As you both recovered, your breaths slowly steadied, though the air around you remained charged. His arms stayed wrapped around you, reluctant to let you go. With a soft smile, you gently slipped out of his embrace, his hands lingering on your waist as if trying to hold on to the moment.

“Will I see you again ?” he asked, his voice low, almost pleading.

Adjusting your mask, you took a step back, tilting your head playfully. “Maybe… if you’re lucky,” you purred, a teasing lilt in your voice.

Your lips curved into a smirk into a half promise, half challenge as you walked towards the door. Just before disappearing into the crowd, you paused, looking over your shoulder, your eyes locking with his one last time. “Try not to miss me too much,” you added with a wink, your tone equal parts flirtation and mischief.

The club swallowed you, leaving him standing there, still burning from your touch, his eyes fixed on the spot where you had vanished. The mystery of your face still lingered behind that mask.

Even in the shadows, you could feel his gaze following you, and you knew that tonight, you had won the game and you were unforgettable.

~ ~ Chérie ☆ signin’ off

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

© ShixCherie.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (3 - The Neighbor)

Chapter Summary: Agnes sees the perfect opportunity to stir up some trouble while Wanda deals with her jealousy toward your work assistant, Geraldine. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 2.8k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: None

A/N: I really have nothing to say except that I enjoyed writing Agatha in this chapter // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The team has been at a standstill, figuring out who’s behind this, or how to communicate with anyone trapped inside the town. Every drone they've sent in morphs into something entirely different, thwarting their efforts to gather any useful intel. The people sent underground to scout a safe route through have gone dark, their communication cut off. No one else volunteered to attempt approaching the perimeter after that.

The broadcasts they've been tracking are erratic, cutting out for hours with no warning, making it hard to keep a consistent eye on the town's odd behaviors. But it's during one of these quiet periods when something clicks in Darcy's mind.

“I think I have something,” Darcy blurts out to Jimmy. They’ve been scraping the bottom of the barrel, running out of faces to identify from the snippets of life in Westview they caught on screen. 

“Yeah?” Jimmy gives her a tired look, only half-listening. He can't remember the last time he managed more than an hour of uninterrupted sleep. Even if he could find the time to rest, the bizarre situation they're in won't let his mind relax. 

Darcy sighs and leads him outside the tent.

“So, you’ve seen that radio on Wanda’s kitchen counter, right?”

Jimmy only nods.

Darcy continues, “The next time she’s washing dishes, or whatever—which by my count—happens about once an episode, barf, we’ll shoot a signal to that little guy.” She leads him to a set of computers set up behind a pickup truck. Jimmy doesn’t understand what’s going on with these systems, but he’s hoping Darcy really is onto something.

“This transmitter will mimic the frequency of the broadcast,” she pauses to catch her breath in the cold and to give him time to catch up with her science. “And if my theory is right, it will allow us to speak to her.”

She cuts off any chance for Jimmy to comment and assures him, “This is definitely going to work.”

–

The annual Westview Harvest Festival is in full swing. The town square is packed with booths overflowing with baked goods and fresh fall produce. A small stage is set up for the local band playing tunes from the 70s, while kids dart around in all directions, their faces painted with fanciful designs. Billy and Tommy are with their preschool teachers, who are keeping them and other children their age occupied with arts and crafts that involve tumbleweeds—a material no one seems to think is entirely safe for five-year-olds to play with.

In hindsight, it’s the ideal setting for introductions and mingling. However, everyone here already knows each other—everyone, that is, except for Wanda. She makes an effort to blend in, but apart from a few interactions with the planning committee, which weren’t particularly fruitful, she often remains secluded at home. This makes you, the only one in the household who heads out daily for work, the more socially connected of the two. It’s both amusing and slightly anxiety-inducing to watch you interact with the townsfolk who are essentially strangers to you and to Wanda, if only you knew. You and Wanda never had the opportunity to live a normal life, to settle in a typical city, surrounded by neighbors who could have become integral to the life you might have built together. 

Seeing you interact with these people, she’s realizing it’s harder than she thought to share you with others. Or maybe she’s just as selfish as she’s always been, never really outgrowing it. When you were both part of the Avengers, it was like living in a bubble, surrounded by only a few familiar faces every day. Now, outside that controlled environment, it’s challenging her expectations and stirring up feelings she thought she had under control.

It becomes particularly tough when she sees Geraldine heading towards you, sporting that perpetual, dazzling smile full of perfect white teeth. Wanda's fingers curl into a fist, tiny wisps of red energy leaking from them. You quickly cover her hand with yours, and the effect is immediate—she relaxes slightly, letting you intertwine your fingers with hers, anchoring herself by your side where she feels secure.

“It's so nice to see you outside of the office, just being one of us for a change,” Geraldine says, though she seems to be wearing the same uniform as at work. Not that you're judging, but it does make you wonder why she hasn't changed.

“Definitely beats being stuck behind a desk,” you reply, your attention briefly wandering. Only then do you notice that Wanda has subtly withdrawn her hand from yours, now exploring a booth with homemade apple cider. You hadn't even noticed the exact moment she let go.

“Hello, Wanda!” Geraldine greets her warmly. 

Wanda musters a tight-lipped smile that’s convincing enough, as Geraldine appears quite taken with it. Just then, Geraldine spots Agnes standing a little away from the crowd, lingering behind Wanda with a look that borders on suspicion or disdain. 

Geraldine steps up to her while Wanda continues to busy herself with whatever else is being showcased in the booth. “Hi, I'm Geraldine. Isn’t this a wonderful evening?” She extends her hand to Agnes.

Agnes eyes the offered hand but doesn’t accept it. Instead, she sizes up Geraldine with a quick once-over and nods, foregoing any introductions. Geraldine's smile falters briefly, but she quickly shakes off the slight, tossing a brisk, “See you around, Y/N!” over her shoulder as she heads back to her table.

You wave back and let out a sigh, relieved that you’ve just sidestepped what could have been the most awkward moment of your life. Wanda’s jealousy towards Geraldine seems more serious than you’d realized. You know Wanda can be possessive; it's just been a long time since it's manifested this way. But then, it's also been a while since you've both been in a crowd of strangers like this. Since…

Since when, exactly?

“Y/N, honey?” Wanda’s voice snaps you out of your fog.

You blink. “Hm?”

“I’m thirsty.”

Just like that, you’ve forgotten about your lapse of memory, replaced by a desire to tend to your wife's needs.

“I’ll get us some refreshments. What would you like?” you ask.

“Just some water, please.”

“Water here, too,” Agnes calls out, unsolicited. 

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. It's great that Wanda's making friends in the neighborhood, but did it really have to be Agnes O’Connor? Ever since you and Wanda moved into this quiet suburb, Agnes has made it her personal mission to be involved in every aspect of your lives. You can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to it than the apparent nosiness of your neighbor.

As you head over to get the drinks, Agnes sidles up to Wanda, her eyes gleaming with an opportunity to stir some pot. 

“Geraldine seems quite taken with your wife.”

It’s not like Wanda doesn’t know what Agnes’s doing, but she finds herself nodding in agreement anyway. Your new assistant does appear smitten with you, and while Wanda gets the appeal—you are, undeniably, crush-worthy—she can't say she's thrilled about it.

“Y/N is her boss,” Wanda murmurs, more to herself than to Agnes.

“Oh, honey,” Agnes laughs condescendingly. “Do you even go to the movies? That's how the steamiest affairs start, you know.”

Wanda bristles at the sound of that endearment from someone other than you. But she keeps herself together—barely. 

“I trust her,” Wanda forces out.

As you're getting drinks, Geraldine joins you, picking up a soda herself. She lets out a light laugh at a joke from the bartender, and you find yourself chuckling too, oblivious to the piercing look your wife is drilling into your back.

Meanwhile, Agnes sees her opening and swoops in, linking her arm through Wanda's with a bit more force than necessary. 

“Of course, you trust her, dear,” she murmurs right by Wanda's ear. “But do you trust her?” She points subtly with her chin towards Geraldine, her lips pursed. “You know what they say, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer…”

Wanda's shoulders tense, her entire frame stiffening. As you return with the drinks, Agnes steps away, leaving Wanda visibly shaken, like she’s teetering on the edge of a panic attack.

“Everything okay?” you ask, handing her a drink. You've noticed before how Wanda's demeanor changes around Agnes; she’s clearly a source of stress for her. It’s going to be a difficult conversation, but it might be time to tell Wanda what you really think about the neighbor.

Wanda takes the water you offer, her fingers trembling slightly as she does. For a moment, she appears distant, disengaged, as if her mind is elsewhere. Then, with a sudden shift, she flashes you one of those smiles that sends a shiver down your spine.

“I'm fine,” she declares, a little too brightly. Then, seemingly out of the blue, she asks, “Is Geraldine here with someone?”

You stop short, realizing you really don't know much about Geraldine beyond work. “I didn’t see her with anyone,” you say.

Wanda nods thoughtfully. Her next suggestion catches you by surprise. 

“Maybe you should invite her over to our table.”

Did you hear that correctly? Had Wanda just done a complete 180 regarding your assistant and was now interested in getting to know her? You shoot a suspicious glance at Agnes. Had she said something to Wanda to change her mind?

“Are you sure?” you ask, puzzled by her abrupt change of heart.

“I am,” Wanda affirms. “It might be nice to make a new friend.”

–

Back at the response camp, Darcy and Jimmy are huddled around the small, grainy television, waiting for the moment Wanda’s in her kitchen so they can send a message through her radio device. However, the usual domestic scenes are conspicuously absent, replaced by static and sporadic cuts to the ongoing Harvest Festival.

“Come on, come on,” Darcy mutters under her breath, shoving her glasses back up her nose. They've been slipping a lot lately, probably because she's been hunching over her work more than usual these past few days.

“It's this festival,” Jimmy says, squinting at the screen. “I think the whole town's out there tonight. I don’t think we’re going to get the chance.”

Their attempts to contact anyone inside the Hex are dwindling, and Hayward's interest leans more towards studying the energy barrier encasing the town rather than resolving the anomaly itself. His latest directive to launch another drone into the barrier feels like a brute force attempt to crack the problem. Jimmy thinks it’s a waste of time—and resources.

“Yeah, and you know what’s worse?” Darcy grumbles. “I have a bad feeling about Agnes. Every time she's around, things just seem to... escalate.”

As they watch, the screen cuts to a shot of Agnes at the festival, linking arms with Wanda, whispering something that makes Wanda’s expression tighten. “See, what did I tell you?” Darcy exclaims, pointing at the screen. “Who’s this Agnes again in real life?” she asks.

Jimmy swivels in his chair, his gaze sweeping across the expansive pinboard filled with photos of Westview residents. Agnes’s face is not among them. 

“No idea,” he says flatly. He had already run a search in the database, but it came back empty.

“So, we've identified Y/N, Monica, and Agnes as outsiders in Westview,” Darcy explains, tallying them off on her fingers. 

“That’s correct,” Jimmy confirms.

“And then there’s Wanda’s sons. But again… we haven’t seen any other children in the show besides the twins.”

Jimmy thinks about it for a while. It had never really occurred to him before. “Maybe they’re bound to show up at some point?”

“Smells fishy to me,” Darcy huffs. Her thoughts circle back to Agnes. “How do you think Agnes ended up here?” she asks, their list of unanswered questions growing daily.

Jimmy shrugs. “She could’ve just been visiting.”

Darcy considers it. It's a possibility, but somehow, it doesn't feel quite right—too simple, too convenient for someone as vibrant and prickly as the character Agnes portrays.

–

It's as if Wanda's animosity toward Geraldine just magically went away. 

They’ve been chatting for almost an hour. Initially, Wanda made sure to include you in the conversation, but as time passed, she and Geraldine started connecting over topics that didn’t involve you as much. Feeling somewhat left out but also at ease that the problem between your wife and your secretary has apparently resolved itself, you decide to check out the festival booths.

This is where Agnes finds the perfect opportunity to get you alone. She starts her approach—to your surprise and discomfort—by acknowledging the elephant in the room.

“I know you don’t like me very much,” she says with a knowing smile. “Maybe we can change that tonight?”

You eye her with suspicion, easily seeing through her blatant attempts to flirt her way into your good graces.

“How exactly are we going to do that?” you ask, crossing your arms in front of you.

Agnes simply laughs off the cool reception you’ve given her. If anything, she revels in it. 

“By getting to know each other, obviously,” she says.

“Right.”

She takes your elbow, and you swear she can feel you recoil at her closeness, yet she doesn’t seem to care. She urges you forward, dictating the pace. Her grip is unexpectedly firm, as if to say you have no choice but to listen—like leaving isn't an option.

With you literally in her grasp, Agnes sets her plans into motion. “So, how did you and Wanda meet?” she asks.

You deliver the narrative precisely as it plays out in your memory, exactly as Wanda implanted it in your mind. “We grew up next to each other. Best friends since we were kids.” 

“How cute,” she says, in that smooth, supercilious tone that usually makes your skin crawl. But this time, with the memories of Wanda filling your head, you hardly notice.

“Yeah, I remember when I first saw her,” you continue, gazing into the distance as if the scene you speak of is right there before your eyes. “It was almost Halloween, and my mom had baked a pumpkin pie to welcome them to the neighborhood. She sent me to deliver it. Wanda answered the door.”

“Love at first sight?”

“More like the opposite,” you say, throwing Agnes a good-natured smile, something you’ve never done before. “She couldn’t stand me, and I felt the same way.”

“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” Agnes drawls before accompanying it with a short chuckle. “Who knows? Maybe there’s hope for us yet. You might end up not hating me so much after all.”

“Maybe…” you say, the smile reaching your eyes this time.

“Good, good,” Agnes says. “I can’t think of anything more romantic than growing up with the person you’ll be with for the rest of your life. Almost like it’s… sketched out, no?”

You nod at her, not sure where she’s going with this, but you appreciate the sentiment. You consider yourself lucky to have known Wanda most of your life. 

“So, you've lived in Westview your whole life?” Agnes asks.

“Yes,” you nod without hesitation.

“And you've only ever been to Westview?”

“No, of course not,” you laugh, ready to list off places you've been, but suddenly, you can't name any. The cities and trips that should come easily to your tongue just... don't materialize.

Not a single one.

Agnes watches you struggle with a blank expression. A second later, she begins throwing out suggestions, as if trying to help. 

“Canada?" 

You shake your head. 

“California?” 

Another shake.

“New York?”

No. This time, your eyes sting with the frustration of trying to pull something from the haze, realizing there’s nothing there. 

Have you really never been anywhere but Westview?

“Eastview, maybe?” she offers with a bit of sarcasm as she names the town next door.

“I—”

“How strange,” Agnes muses, driving home the final nail in the coffin of your crumbling peace.

You jerk your arm away from her grip and take a few instinctive steps back. “I need to pick up the twins,” you blurt out, seizing the first excuse that comes to mind. “We should be heading out soon.”

Without waiting for her reply, you start walking away, driven by a sudden, intense need to be with your boys, with Wanda. To hold them close, to find some stability. Because right now, you’re petrified by a fear you cannot name. 

“I heard Australia’s amazing this time of year!” Agnes calls after you.

The idea of not having been anywhere but Westview—it’s possible, right? Some people spend their entire lives in one place. But if this feeling—the one that's been gnawing at you lately—is real, if the world outside of Westview is truly non-existent, then what does that say about your life here?

What does it say about you?

[courtesons]

Ethan wished he'd been able to film this because it was pure art - to see someone fall so far into that submissive headspace, the wailing cries of each counted spank and thanks - the dirty thrill and idea of someone overhearing this and just how divine Fabian looked right now. Eyes wet, ass red and cock hard as he wailed out his words like any sense of composure or resistance was long gone, just a helpless submissive and obedient mess. Perfection.

Ethan took a deep breath as he listened to the begging and pleading about being good, not breaking the rules and how he knew he belonged to him. It took all of Ethan's willpower not to act on seeing Fabian in such a state. His hand off his ass and now slowly sliding up his back and moving across his jawline to gently cup his chin and guide his gaze back to him.

"Look at me Fabian..." He murmured softly before leaning in and giving the softest kiss he could, gentle and sweet. "Such a good boy for me, you did so good" He whispered. "The punishment is over, breathe" He murmured before kissing his temple. There was still the step of kneeling and bondage, but truth be told Ethan felt that would be more about getting Fabian into a submissive headspace than teaching him a lesson.

"You made me so proud little one, you took your punishment beautifully. My perfect, beautiful boy" He hummed with a gentle smile. "Just breathe for me, nice and slow" He instructed - trying to level Fabian a little before considering the next step.

"OW! One. Thank you sir." Fabian counted again, having been reset to zero for his arguing. Swat thirteen being counted as spank number one was enormously unfair, and yet Fabian's cock stayed hard. He loved the seemingly unfair punishment, loved the abuse his ass was taking. He wasn't a fan of the burning sensation that he was unable to get away from, or the way his cheeks were growing redder with each spank, but he was enjoying himself in this moment somehow. Again, a mindfuck.

Fabian dutifully counted after each spank this time. "Two! Thank you sir!" "Three! Thank you sir!" He squirmed more and more, his face burrowing down into the couch as the pain mounted. He threw his hands over his head as his ass began to really burn from all the swats. But he made sure his counts were nice and loud. "FOUR! THANK YOU SIR!" he shouted from his muffled position, voice being joined by whines as the pain continued.

"I'll be good, I promise. I won't argue back. I won't forget your rules..." Fabian also remembered that he had to keep talking, so that's what dribbled out of his mouth as Ethan spanked. Promises to be a good boy, an obedient boy. It would seem his begging got better proportionate to the pain he was suffering. "Five! Thank you sir!" Fabian's voice cracked a little on the five as Ethan hit a part that was especially tender. By now Fabian's entire ass felt like it was covered in stabbing spines. Like he'd sat on a porcupine or something.

When Ethan announced he was going to speed up, Fabian jerked his head out of its hiding place. "Y-yes sir," he said, voice shaking. He took in a deep breath, squeezed his eyes tight, and the assault began. "Six! Thank your sir!" "Seven! HaAaA! Thank you sir!" "Eigh-OW! Shit! Eight! Thank you Sir!" "Niiiiiiine! Thank you sir!" "FUCK! Ten! Thank you SIR!"

Then Fabian collapsed down after the spanking blitz. His ass was on fire, cheeks burning and stinging. He was breathing heavily, but not yet crying or blubbering or begging for relief. He was made of tougher stuff than that.

He didn't know that ten was the magic number, so as he collapsed back onto the couch and immediately started begging again. "I promise I'll be good. You can do whatever you want with my body. It belongs to you. I won't argue. I won't talk back..." His bright red cheeks were raised to the sky as he readied for the next swat.

[jaggedamethyst]

bucky barnes and his physical media

pairing: bucky x reader, use of she and girl once or twice

content: bucky is obsessed with physical media, especially photos…but he hates being in them. you try to change that.

notes: minors dni, slight smut but it’s honestly pretty tame here, some obligatory bucky angst. i don’t believe in proofreading I fear.

word count: 1.8k

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Growing up Bucky quickly gained a fondness for cameras. He loved to capture the images of those he loved--moments in time for which he could always look back on when he missed them.

He considered himself a confident guy and took said pictures at any opportunity he was given. He figured someone would always want to look at a face that perfect, if he could say so himself.

It was different, though, when the reflected images no longer were of the young man so keen on going to war. When the moment in time was one that could only elicit one of fear. He couldn’t recognize himself these days, not after being the Winter Soldier. The man was now adamant about not having memories that preserved him as he was now. Not when he was a shell of the man he’d known years ago.

If he absolutely had to take pictures, he was even more sure it would never be on a fucking phone. Not only are they the most fickle objects imaginable, he also hated the damn cloud. He wasn’t entirely prehistoric; he understood when people said that it was a way to store things…but a cloud. He’d had one too many mishaps with technology that things randomly disappearing from the cloud was not too far fetched in his mind. If he had to preserve something special to him it would absolutely be in an album. An album was tangible, and if it came to it, he could easily grab the stack of them in a hurry.

Physical media was absolutely near and dear to him. Whenever an old show was nowhere to be found, he clung to his DVD sets like a lifeline. The same could be said of his photo albums. They quickly became a way for him to reclaim some of the power he felt was lost with his mind. But taking pictures and storing them, to him, was therapeutic.

That's how he ended up with several albums on his shelf. Some were miscellaneous, ones that had yet to be sorted. Others solely for pictures of nature that he found calming to look at.

Nothing compared to the album he had of you, though.

An inadvertent smile would always creep up on his lips when his eyes met the spine of your album. Just the sight of your name sprawled in his handwriting was enough to make him feel warm inside. Inside were photos of you, some candid, others posed. He hated pictures, but for you he would at least attempt to stomach the feeling .

He flipped through the pages as he always did, feeling sort of proud he’d managed to take such great snapshots in time..and even more that he preserved them without the damn cloud.

Bucky made note to add more to this album; it wasn’t nearly as full as he’d like. With that, he swiftly closed the album—a gust of air causing one photo to fly out of the book. He grabbed the print that lay at his feet, not thinking much of it other than it would be returned to its rightful place among the other portraits of his girl.

As he flipped the picture, a heat quickly spread across the man’s cheeks. Oh. He definitely was not expecting this.

A selfie. Yes, that’s what it’s called. He’d learned that word a while ago. Somewhere in time he also learned that while people could be “in the nude,” they’d also referred to risqué photos similarly. Yes, a nude was how he would describe this one.

The man had seen many works of art in his day. Some of which were dedicated to his friend for his accomplishments in war. Others, of objects, like how Bucky would leisurely snap a photograph of a bird sitting stoic in a tree.

None of that compared to the polaroid he’d laid eyes on right now. His thoughts reeled in his mind, observing every detail. He knew it was hard to capture yourself in frame with these print cameras—no clear indication of what was in focus. But you were skillful.

The sun cascaded over your body, highlighting your skin in a way he’d never seen. He couldn’t see your face above your lips, but they curled in a way that seemed purposeful. How he’d do anything to see your eyes reflect the light of the sun that day. He slowly placed a finger on the photo, tracing the curve of your neck…your shoulder…your fingers.

No. He mentally groaned. The curl in your lips, a smirk, made sense now. You’d covered yourself where he wanted to see most. Hands crossed over your chest but your skin remained bare, teasing him. He felt so disgusted with himself even thinking this way, wanting to see more. It’s not like he hadn’t already, but in this moment the taunting imagery drove him up a wall.

He’s not sure when exactly he’d sat down on the couch or when his pants got to be pooled at his ankles. He’s even less certain of what time it is, but your footsteps approaching his door bought him back to reality. You’re off work.

The now strained fabric of his pants irritated him. Not only did your nude leave him extremely worked up, but he didn’t even finish before you got back.

Your voice resounded from the door, “Buck! I left the key, can you open up?”

“Coming!” He froze, an audible huff leaving his nostrils at the poorly timed reply.

He placed the photo in his back pocket before stalking towards the door.

With a swift swing, the door opened to your smile on the other side. Unlike the mischievous smirk that was printed in the picture in his pocket, this one was borderline affable. He let out what could only be described a a mixture between a scoff and chuckle.

You quirked a brow, “um, what's funny?” You rounded the space left by Bucky’s shoulders, making your way towards the kitchen.

“Nothing,” Bucky replied with a hint of sarcasm, “just had a bit of a weird day.”

“Really?” You turned to start the faucet, washing your hands before looking for something to drink. “You…wanna talk about it?”

The man felt his chest continue to rise and fall at an erratic pace. As the water continued to trickle he became painfully aware of the situation in his jeans at the present. Fuck it.

He reached for his pocket, quickly whipping the film towards your back.

He tried to level his voice in an attempt at asking his next question in the most nonchalant way he could muster. “Baby…what’s this?”

You craned your head away from the faucet a bit, “huh?” Grasping a towel, you slowly turned towards the sound of Bucky’s voice. “What’s wha- oh-”

An obvious shock appeared on your face but had he not looked close enough he would have missed it. The shift to an indifferent facial expression perplexed the man--even more when you replied in a chipper tone.

“Oh! I just got this new camera the other day at the store.” You moved past him, turning the corner and heading down the hall towards the junk closet you guys kept. He followed your movement with his eyes, stuck in place with pure intrigue. The distance and scrambling left your voice low to his ear. “You wanna see it? It's so cool and it wasn't too expensive!”

He moved back towards the couch, slouching a bit. “Sure, baby.”

Bucky twisted his head at the sound of you walking, no skipping, back towards the living room. “This thing is so easy to use, Buck. I feel like a pro like you.”

“I am not a pro,” he mumbled, his hand meeting his forehead.

He felt a hand on him, brushing his hair back. The nudge forcing him to lift his head to meet your eye. You’d knelt on the floor in front of him.

“I,” you planted a kiss on his cheek, “think you are amazing at taking pictures.” A pause loomed in the air, “but I wanted to do something for you…show you can be a great subject too.”

You placed a finger on his shoulder, urging him to lay back. “You should get comfortable, Buck…because this,” you gingerly plucked the photo from his grasp “is just the first installment to an amazing collection I think we will have.”

Bucky absolutely needed to work on his recollection skills—his ability to focus too. He again found himself with his pants down and no idea of how he’d come to be that way. This time, a cool breeze swept against his chest—his shirt somehow flung across the room. He absolutely did not mind, though.

The way in which you seemed to be skilled at everything truly blew his mind. With only a hand pumping him up and down, slowly at that, he’d found himself writhing against you. Whispers fell on deaf ears, as he’d quickly become overstimulated from his lack of release before.

“I- I-,” he stumbled as he usually did with you. There was no time when you were together when he didn’t feel at a loss for words. But here, with himself dripping all over your hands, your eyes looking at him expectantly, and your gentle lips grazing against his skin—he was struggling to even say more than one syllable.

You assured him, “it's okay, I know.” Simple words, but enough to make his insides tingle.

“Fuck…please,” he uttered your name. “I can’t-“

Your soft hands grasped his face again, a silent request for his eye contact.

It was so unfair, he knew that she knew that’d be his weakness. As quickly as it started, Bucky would finally finish. A feeling of euphoria and relief rushed the man, his skin prickly and glossed over with sweat.

“This is perfect,” he lowered his head a bit to see you back on your knees, this time holding your hands up. An arched brow raised on his face once more…you could be so damn elusive sometimes. At a further look, he could see you there, one eye closed. He searched between your hands, they were making L shapes in the air.

“Actually perfection,” you said with a flourish of your fingers. You leaned back, grasping your camera from the coffee table. “Now, be good James and don’t ruin my work.”

“I don’t know what you mean-“

Your finger met his skin, softly mixing in with the wetness now drenching his lower abdomen. He felt you marking a shape into the puddle—a heart?

Before he could even register, a flash. You’d taken a photo.

“Like I said, perfection.”

You left the polaroid beside the other on the coffee table, planting a kiss on the man's lips this time.

Bucky’s smile creeped up on his face, a happiness enveloping him.

“I think we need a new album.”

[yuukirita]

I love your art and I think you are incredibly talented and capable of doing anything, you are my new idol and I hope I can love my drawings as much as I love yours.

-🦝

Loving your own art can be tricky. But it's not impossible. It's very possible. I never hated my art because I just like creating. The process of it. I can look at something from 5 years ago, say objectively that it's worse than anything I've done, that it's cringe or ugly- without liking it any less! Because even if it's terrible- I had fun doing it! So... I like it. And If I don't? I can just redo it!

I mean just look at my first ever drawing of Bee-

He's a lil freak! I used references and everything and he looks so silly I love him. In my head he looks the same as his recent designs- But it evolved so much over time you'd almost think it's not done by the same person-

Like- it really changed:

Only one month apart! The design will keep changing! There's no 'perfect' way to draw- just progression! Sorry to the people that follow me thinking they'll get consistent designs- I've never been on model before, ain't gonna start anytime soon unless I'm paid to do so. Anyhow! I hope you learn to love your art as I do mine :D

[st4rpiece]

NSFW

pairings: office worker! nanami x hyper-femme coworker! reader summary: nanami doesn't like sharing your attention warnings: no use of y/n, office/public sex, fingering, oral (f! receiving), jealous & possessive nanami, airhead reader, (not proofread)

nanami kento was the epitome of discipline and order. his life was a meticulously crafted routine, each minute accounted for, and each task executed precisely. from the moment he woke up at 5:30 am sharp to the time he retired to bed at 10:00 pm, every aspect of his day was planned to perfection. he thrived on structure and predictability, finding solace in the monotony of his well-organized life.

that was until you entered the picture.

you were a whirlwind of pastel colors (mainly shades of pink) and rhinestones, a hyper-feminine force that indirectly disrupted the rigid order of his world. your desk was a chaotic explosion of cute stationery, scented candles, and an impressive collection of lip glosses. you were always seen humming some catchy pop tune under your breath or mindlessly shopping during work hours.

as the days went by, you began directly disrupting his carefully maintained routine. you’d stop by his desk to chat about the latest episode of your favorite reality show or to show off your new nail art. at first, nanami found it incredibly annoying. he had work to do and deadlines to meet, and your constant interruptions were a distraction he didn’t need. but there was something about your infectious energy that he couldn’t help but be drawn to.

one particularly hectic afternoon, you appeared at his desk with a perplexed expression. “ken, can you help me with this spreadsheet? i think i messed it up,” you said, holding up your laptop. he sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but he couldn’t deny the small thrill he felt at the prospect of spending time with you.

as he walked you through the steps to fix the spreadsheet, he began to notice little things. like how good your vanilla & coconut perfume smelt or how kissable your glossy lips looked as you pouted in concentration.

when you finally got the hang of it, you beamed up at him, your eyes sparkling with gratitude. “thank you, ken! you’re honestly the best!” you exclaimed, leaving him with an unfamiliar warmth in his chest.

from that day on, you made it a point to seek nanami out whenever you needed help. whether it was a technical issue or just someone to listen to your latest shopping haul, nanami became your go-to person. he tried to maintain his stern, no-nonsense demeanor, but he couldn’t deny the way his heart raced whenever you were near.

he was printing out a report when you breezed into the office, a vision in pink. you wore a white dress shirt, buttoned halfway up, offering a peek at the baby pink lace bra underneath. it was tucked into your mini tweed skirt that barely covered your ass. the look was completed with white thigh-high socks that clung onto you like a second skin and a pair of shiny white heels.

your outfit effortlessly drawing attention. though it was more suited for a garden party than a corporate environment. like usual, you greeted everyone with a cheerful “good morning!” that was met with a chorus of subdued replies.

nanami barely looked up from his copies as you always greeted him separately no matter where he was. always with a random treat that he just “had to try.” so, like usual, he waited for you to make your way to him, but you never came. instead, he found you by your desk chatting animatedly with another male coworker.

a pang of jealousy surged through him, twisting his usually composed demeanor. he knew he had no right to be jealous, but the sight of you talking to another man had stirred a primal instinct within him.

“morning," he said, his voice steady but firm as he walked over, placing himself in between you and the guy. "hope i’m not interrupting anything important."

“not at all,” you replied, flashing him a bright smile, unaware of the subtle change in the atmosphere.

“great, could i see you in my office?"

he didn’t bother waiting for a reply, confident that you would follow, and the distinct click of your heels echoing behind proved him right.

nanami's body was a mere few inches away as you closed the door behind you. his warmth radiating toward you, made you all too aware of the lack of physical space between you. his eyes, usually so calm and composed, now danced with a dominant look that was both thrilling and slightly intimidating.

“morning ken" you greeted like usual, trying to keep your voice even as your heart pounded. his proximity was intoxicating.

“morning sweetheart”

"you look lovely," his voice uncharacteristically playful as his fingers rubbed against the hem of your skirt, a gesture that was both comforting and possessive.

“but it seems i wasn't the first to tell you that this morning."

your cheeks flushed, warmth spreading through your body as you looked away, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"only matters when you say it," you said sweetly, still avoiding eye contact, focusing on the way his fingers brushed your leg.

“is that so?”

his voice was low and gruff, hinting at the emotions he was trying to keep in check. his fingers still lingering on the fabric of your skirt as the scent of his cologne filled the space, a tantalizing mix of musk and something faintly sweet.

you nodded, feeling his hand move from the hem of your skirt to your chin, gently turning your face back to meet his gaze. the room felt smaller, the air thick with unspoken tension as your eyes locked onto his. you could see the hunger in his gaze, a mirror of your own.

"may i?" he asks, his voice gruff with need. his hand remained on your chin, his thumb tracing the outline of your bottom lip. his touch was featherlight, but the intention was clear.

you nod, unable to form words as your heart races. feeling a spark of desire ignite within you as you leaned into his touch.

“i need words, sweetheart,” he said, flexing his thigh. adding to the pressure against your cunt.

“what is it that you want?"

you gulped, eyes wide. the proximity was overwhelming, the warmth of his body pressing against you, his breath hot on your face. "i...i need you," you murmured, the words barely escaping your lips. "please."

with a groan, he claimed your mouth in a kiss that was as fierce as it was tender. his hand moving from your face to the small of your back, pulling you in tighter before lifting you off the floor. your hands gripping onto his shoulders, as he made his way to his desk.

the kiss was a declaration of need, of desperation, of a hunger that had been building for months. his tongue slid against yours, tasting and exploring as if he could never get enough. your body responding instinctively to the demand. the world outside his office door was forgotten as you lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace.

he places you down on the desk, your legs draping over the edge. the wood was cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the fire that had been ignited within you. his eyes raked over your body; the sight of you, flushed and eager, only fueled his hunger.

“ken,” you whined at the sudden absence of his warmth. your lips swollen from the kiss, eyes hazed with desire as you watched him drop to his knees. his hands slid up the inside of your thighs, pushing your skirt higher as he pulled your legs further apart. the scent of his cologne filled the room, mixing with the faint scent of your arousal.

he kissed the soft skin of your inner thigh, his eyes locked on yours, watching your every reaction. his mouth moved closer to your panties, his breath ghosting over the damp fabric, making you shiver. with a gentle tug, he pulled the lacy barrier aside, revealing your glistening pussy. his eyes darkened, pupils dilated, as he took in the sight of you, wet and ready for him.

"so fucking wet for me," he murmurs, his voice thick with arousal before leaning in to taste you. his tongue slid along your folds, teasing and exploring, as he held your gaze.

you gripped the edge of the desk, biting your lip to keep from crying out. the sensation was exquisite, a sweet agony that made your toes curl. his hands held you open, thumbs rubbing lazy circles around your clit, as he devoured you with a hunger that was both thrilling and terrifying.

"a-ah yes," you breathed, unable to form coherent sentences as his tongue delved deeper, hitting that spot that made your eyes roll back in your head.

"please, m-more," you begged, your hips bucking against his mouth. he chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through you, before obliging, his tongue curling and flicking, driving you closer to the edge.

“patience, baby,” he murmured against your sensitive flesh, the vibration sending another shockwave of pleasure through your body.

he knew exactly how to tease and taunt you, pushing you to the brink of insanity before giving you what you craved.

without warning, he slid a finger inside you, the sudden intrusion making you gasp. the digit was warm and thick, filling you in a way that made your legs shake. he stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust to the new sensation before adding a second finger.

curling them slightly as he moved in slow, deliberate strokes, mimicking the rhythm of his tongue. the combination of his tongue on your clit and his fingers inside you was almost too much, but he wasn't about to let you cum just yet.

instead, he added a third finger, stretching you even further. the sight of his digits disappearing into your slick warmth was almost too much for him to handle, his own cock straining against the fabric of his pants. he could feel the pressure building, the tension coiling in his stomach, but he remained focused on your pleasure.

he continued his relentless assault, loving the way your muscles tightened around him. watching the way your body reacted to his touch, memorizing every twitch and whimper. with the sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of you filling the room. mixing with your muffled gasps and the wet smack of his lips against your skin.

"k-kenny," you panted, your voice shaking with need. you were so close, so incredibly close.

he noticed the desperation in your voice and felt a surge of satisfaction. he knew he had you right where he wanted you—on the precipice, begging for release. he picked up the pace, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers curling in a steady rhythm that had you gripping the desk tightly.

with one final, firm suck on your clit, he felt your body tense and then release in a cascade of pleasure. you came hard, your back arching off the desk, your legs wrapping around his neck. He held on tightly, lapping at your juices as your pussy contracted around his fingers. the sound of your cries filled the room, echoing off the walls in a symphony of ecstasy that only served to inflame his desire even further.

his fingers slow their rhythm, gently stroking your sensitive flesh as you ride out the aftershocks. your breath comes in ragged pants, and your eyes are glazed over with pleasure.

"ken," you whimper, your voice hoarse and needy. "more."

idk nanami is just the type of man you can be an airhead around cause you know he got it.

I didn’t know how much of an airhead i wanted the reader to be, but i ultimately settled on this one, so i hope you guys enjoyed it!

updates have been slow cause of school, so i’m just trying to get my drafts out of the way for now 😭.

[also, dodger blue by kendrick is so good!!!]

[manhattanstrawberry]

𝙎𝙊𝙐𝙋 ━━𝙎. 𝙂𝙚𝙩𝙤

Synopsis: Suguru wakes up on a late Saturday evening and the soup on the stove can’t compare to the warmth he feels when you’re near

Tags: fluff!! intimacy, established relationship, pet names (baby, sweetheart)

Word count: 1k

Authors note: I love you Suguru Geto. Just a short Drabble I did in like 10 minutes because I really wanted to write for him. I hope you enjoy!!

Art credits: 521jie

He thinks he must’ve been a caring, loved king in his past life or possibly he fed every little duck in the city’s pond, small pieces of bread so that they barely went hungry ever again or perhaps a cat that brought nothing but happiness to a kind old woman. He had to have been one of the best people on earth in his past life because it was the only solid reason he could come up with to be blessed with the sight he can't tear his eyes away from right now. 

It’s simple, the sounds of crashing waves of a beach are nowhere to be heard, if you look to your right outside the large windows there's no Eiffel tower and if you were to look down the Trevi fountain is certainly not down below. 

It’s just you, in his shirt, wandering around the kitchen doing whatever it is that you're doing. Your upper thigh graces him every now and then when your body quickly turns, to find something in the kitchen. He’s got to get dressed soon and get his day started, preferably not at 5 pm on a Saturday evening but you had insisted he slept in this weekend— “catch up on his beauty sleep” he remembered you saying two nights before. You two ended up staying in bed for the day but his body must've been chasing rest as he slept through most of the day, the sun already setting. 

You're caught up in making "lunch", hoping to give him a taste of warmth, as you smell the flavors seeping into the air from the darling pumpkin dutch oven pot he bought for you a year ago. It was either the pumpkin or the basic red one and he just had to indulge in your love for decorated items around the apartment. 

He too can smell the flavors of lunch but all of his senses are taken by you. All he can see is you, he can still smell the lotion you apply right after your shower every night from the bed sheets he just unraveled from, he can hear the tap of your feet as you move across the kitchen and the small hums that leave you as you finally find the ingredients you're looking for, he can almost feel the soft skin of your exposed legs and arms that he kisses every night and right now he's craving the sweet taste of your lips he could never forget and always seek for.

He can feel the cool air on his skin, his shirt missing from his chest, decorating yours, perhaps you couldn't feel the chill due to the heat coming from the stove. The harsh sound of the wind along with the snow outside is drowned out by the closed windows, and he can hear the quiet jazz from the speakers hooked up to the television if he listens just hard enough. You concentrate on the pot on the stove, stirring with a wooden spoon and then bringing it up to your lips to have a taste. He watches from the archway, a little jealous of the spoon but he stays still just to indulge in the sight a little longer. 

You’re beautiful, bewitching and he almost feels homesick just standing a few feet away from you.  

He can almost feel himself getting warm just from the sight of you and the way you rub your eyes as the steam rises to your face. 

“Suguru, how long have you been standing there?” you placed the cover over the pot as a small smile settles on your face “Did you rest well?” 

He moves from the wall in slow strides to meet you as you walk over to him, he nods before taking you in his arms. He holds your waist bringing you close as his head falls to your shoulder. You settle your head on to his shoulder as he drapes himself on top of you holding you tighter. Your fingers run against his scalp and down the length of his hair, it’s soft and perfect, a little too much like him. He hums at the feeling of your hands in his hair and straightens up to look at you, a tired smile on his face as he places a kiss on your nose and then to your forehead. You giggle and the sound goes into his ears and straight to his heart.

He can feel the weight of his love for you coursing through his body and he wants nothing more than to take you back to bed and hold you even closer that the concept of space doesn't exist anymore. His hand rests on the back of your head, “What are you cooking sweetheart?” the other hand holding your waist close to him. 

“Soup.” 

He hums, feeling warmer from your arms around his waist and the idea of soup in his stomach. 

“Are you cold,” his hand glides to your cheek, his thumb caressing your warm skin. You lean into his touch moving even closer to him, the fabric of your—his shirt pressed against his bare torso. 

“Not really,” You sigh. “I felt warm over by the stove and then I came over to you, I still feel warm. You must've been cold though, I’m sorry I didnt turn on the heater.” You frowned at him. 

“It’s alright, I feel warm with you right here.” His arm tightened around your waist. 

“Put on a sweater or atleast a shirt, baby.” You tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. You let your hand travel down his neck and to his shoulder rubbing it up and down slowly to provide some heat to his exposed skin. 

“Hm, if I remember correctly, someone took it.” He looked to the side feigning sadness. You lightly slapped his shoulder before going back to your attempt of warming him up. He looked back at your face, his eyes, arms and heart filled with you as he warmly smiled. 

He’s just so endearing and sweet and he’s yours. 

“Get a sweater, okay? The soup should be finished right now.” You begin to pull away, but he takes a step to hold on to you a little longer. Your hand rests on his bicep as his face moves a little closer to yours. 

“I’ll put something on.” He kisses your cheek before moving closer to your lips, “I just can’t stand the idea of having soup before I taste you.” 

Divider creds: @saradika

© manhattanstrawberry please do not plagiarize or repost my work

[brodygold]

My New Place

A collab with @rossgold-drone110. Thanks for helping me flesh this idea out bro!

It all started when Matt joined the Golden Army Gym, the newest, flashiest gym in town. It wasn’t just a gym—it was practically a phenomenon. Ads were everywhere, promising not just a better body, but a “better you.” Matt had been hooked immediately, signing up on the first day.

“They’ve got it all,” he raved. “State-of-the-art equipment, personalized training, and this cool uniform thing they do. You’d love it.”

“Uniform?” I asked skeptically.

“They give you this black Fred Perry polo when you sign up. It’s got gold details and looks sick. Everyone wears it while working out. It’s part of the vibe.”

At first, I chalked it up to just another gimmick. But soon after, Matt started changing. His physique transformed almost overnight—his arms thickened, his shoulders broadened, and his chest looked like it had been sculpted out of stone. His personality, though, seemed to shrink. He became quieter, less expressive, and his enthusiasm for anything outside the gym faded.

A week later, Matt convinced me to come check it out. “You’ve gotta see this place,” he said, his voice strangely monotone. “It’ll change your life.”

The gym was a sleek, intimidating space, with polished black floors and golden accents. Everyone there was… perfect. The members moved with a mechanical precision, their black polos gleaming with sweat as they worked out in eerie silence. The sound of clanging weights and treadmills filled the air, but there was no chatter, no camaraderie—just focus.

Matt was waiting near the squat racks, looking even bigger than before. His polo clung to his torso like a second skin, accentuating his bulging biceps and the deep ridges of his abs. His usually messy hair was now slicked back, and there was a strange glossiness to his eyes, like he wasn’t entirely… present.

“Hey, Matt!” I called out, but he didn’t respond. He finished his set with a robotic precision, then turned toward me with a vacant smile.

“You made it,” he said, his tone flat. “I told you this place is amazing. You should join.”

Something about his demeanor set me on edge. “Matt, are you okay? You’ve been acting… weird.”

“I’ve never been better,” he replied, his vacant smile not fading. “Here, let me show you around.”

As he led me through the gym, I noticed more unsettling details. Everyone was wearing the same tight black polo, their faces blank, their movements unnervingly synchronized. Some of them had black rubber masks covering their faces, smooth and featureless except for small slits at the mouth and nose. The sight sent a chill down my spine.

“What’s with the masks?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“They’re for the advanced members,” Matt said, his tone almost reverent. “When you’ve truly embraced the program, you get one. It’s part of becoming… perfect.”

Matt brought me to the front desk, where a staff member handed me my own black polo. “Put it on,” Matt urged, his eyes glinting with an intensity that made me hesitate. “You’ll feel it right away.”

Against my better judgment, I slipped the polo over my head. The moment it touched my skin, I felt a strange warmth spread through my body. The fabric clung to me like it had been custom-made, and I could feel it tightening slightly, as if it were adjusting to my form.

“You feel that?” Matt asked, his voice suddenly more animated. “That’s the first step. Now hit the weights.”

I was reluctant, but Matt’s insistence and the strange pull of the polo made it hard to resist. I started lifting, and with each rep, I felt stronger. My muscles burned, but it was a good burn, an addictive burn. The polo seemed to be fueling me, pushing me harder and harder. My arms swelled, veins popping to the surface. My chest expanded, and my abs became more defined with every crunch.

At first, I was thrilled. I had never felt so powerful, so alive. But then, my thoughts started to blur. The idea of stopping seemed… wrong. All I wanted was to keep going, to push harder, to be like the others.

I turned to Matt, desperate for help, but he was already gone—mentally, at least. As I watched, two staff members approached him, carrying one of the black rubber masks. Without hesitation, Matt knelt before them. They slid the mask over his face, and he let out a shuddering breath as it sealed tightly. When he stood again, he was unrecognizable. The mask covered every feature, leaving him an anonymous drone. His body moved with even more precision now, his posture impossibly rigid.

“Matt!” I shouted, trying to snap him out of it. But he didn’t even flinch. He turned and walked away, blending into the crowd of other masked drones.

Panic set in. I clawed at the polo, trying to rip it off, but it wouldn’t budge. My body was still growing, my muscles inflating beyond anything I thought possible. The polo grew tighter, almost like it was merging with my skin. My mind was slipping, my thoughts consumed by a singular urge to join.

“Need some help?” a voice cut through the haze.

I turned to see a man standing nearby, his golden soccer jersey gleaming under the gym lights. He was tall, broad, and radiated an almost otherworldly confidence. His smile was easy, but his eyes were sharp.

“Name’s Brody,” he said, extending a hand. “You look like you’re in over your head.”

“I—I can’t stop,” I stammered. “They’ve got Matt. They’re… they’re turning him into one of them.”

Brody nodded, his expression serious. “Yeah, that’s what the black polos do. They take you over, make you mindless. But you don’t have to go down that path.” He reached into a bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out a gleaming gold soccer jersey.

“This,” he said, holding it out to me, “is your way out. Forget the drones. Join the real Golden Army. We’re not about mindlessness—we’re about excellence.”

I hesitated, staring at the jersey. The black polo was still pulsing against my skin, trying to keep me under its control. But something about the gold jersey called to me. I grabbed it and tore the polo off, gasping as the hold it had on me broke.

The moment I slipped on the gold jersey, a surge of energy coursed through my body. My muscles exploded with growth, stretching the fabric of the jersey to its limits. My biceps became huge, my shoulders broadened into massive slabs, and my legs thickened with pure power for the soccer field. My mind cleared, replaced with a sharp, confident focus.

I looked at myself in a nearby mirror, barely recognizing the golden-clad, muscular jock staring back at me.

“Welcome to the team,” Brody said, clapping me on the back.

I turned back toward the gym floor, now seeing the drones for what they were: hollow shells of their former selves. Matt was among them, his rubber mask gleaming under the lights.

“What about him?” I asked, my voice deep and commanding now.

“What about him?” Brody asked. “He’s found his place in life, just like you.”

I thought about it more, and realized Brody was right. Why shouldn’t I be at the top? It’s only natural that I’d end up here. I’d been going to the gym for years, hadn’t I? The soccer practice certainly helped too. The more I questioned it, the more things made sense. I was never a nerd! I was a jock through and through with my pal Brody.

As Matt and I walked out of the gym together, I felt a sense of purpose like I’d never known before. I wasn’t just a new man—I was part of something greater, something golden. Matt had his place, and so did I.

[blackenedsnow]

ART X A SELF DOUBTING VAMPIRE READER PSLPLSPSLLS!! like they think they taste all rotten and nasty but art doesnt think sooo!

red as snow

WARNING: Self doubt

PAIRING: Art the Clown x Vampire! Reader

NOTE: Omg this is so fun to think about!! thanks for the ask <3 I ALWAYS love writing about vampires OHHHH MAN

SUMMARY: Art doesn’t mind what’s wrong with you. That’s the worst part, really. You can’t understand how someone so perfect in his brutality could ever want something so rotten.

The blood pools around your feet in lazy rivulets, stark and shining against the pale stretch of snow. It’s almost beautiful, in a grotesque sort of way – the kind of beauty you find in shattered glass or a body just before the life leaves it. Art would know what you mean.

He’s doing something behind you, a slow, lilting tune, soft as snowfall. He’s in his own little world, swaying slightly, his bloodied hands clasped behind his back. His clothes look filthy now, stained with deep red streaks.

You think he looks ridiculous. And perfect.

“Do you ever think,” you say quietly, your voice barely carrying over the winter hush, “that I might taste bad?”

Art stops. His head snaps toward you, and even though you know he doesn’t speak, you feel the weight of his question in the tilt of his head, the way his wide eyes narrow just slightly.

“You know,” you murmur, staring down at the corpse between you, “if someone tried to bite me. My blood’s probably awful. There’s something wrong with me.” you glance back at him, watching the way his grin widens like it’s some private joke only he gets. “You’d agree, wouldn’t you?”

You’re half-joking, but it still stings when he laughs – or whatever you’d call that silent, breathy wheeze of his. He’s doubled over, clutching his stomach like you’ve just told the funniest joke in the world.

“I’m serious,” you say, your voice sharper now, a little defensive. You fold your arms over your chest. “Why wouldn’t it be bad? I’m rotting from the inside out, Art. I can feel it. There’s no way it’d taste good.”

He straightens up, wiping at his face even though there’s no tears, no sign of any real laughter – just that grin of his, smeared with someone else’s blood. He takes a step closer, his boots crunching over the snow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter, turning away. “I mean it. It’s not romantic to drink from something dead.”

He’s behind you before you can finish the thought, his hands curling over your shoulders in a way that makes your skin crawl – and not because you don’t like it. You hate that you do. That you want him to hold you tighter, to crush you in that terrible grip of his.

“I mean, maybe it’s fitting,” you continue. “You’re a demon. I’m a vampire. We’re both monsters. But even monsters deserve something better than this, don’t you think?”

Art spins you around in one fluid movement, his hands dropping to your arms to hold you in place. You can feel the press of his fingers through your clothing, too strong, too insistent, but you don’t pull away. He’s tilting his head again, his grin growing impossibly wider, like he’s daring you to keep talking.

“You don’t believe me,” you say softly.

He shakes his head, slow and deliberate. Then, quick as a flash, his hand moves to his chest, dragging his fingers down like he’s unzipping it, miming something pulling at his heart.

You swallow hard. “You’re just saying that.”

He glares at you, his grin faltering for the first time. It’s subtle, just the faintest twitch at the corners of his mouth, but it’s enough to make your breath catch.

“Okay, okay,” you say quickly, raising your hands in surrender. “You love me. I get it. You don’t have to be so dramatic about it.”

He doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans in closer, his face inches from yours. You can smell the copper tang of blood on him, can see the splatters drying on his skin.

Maybe he doesn’t care what’s wrong with you, doesn’t care if your blood tastes like poison, if your body is too far gone to be anything worth having. He just loves you.

[stanart4clearskin]

art loves to cook huge meals for thanksgiving. he starts prepping early in the morning, following all the recipes that his grandma gave him. he wears an apron that says “kiss the cook” on it. as much as he loves you, patrick, and tashi, he refuses to let anyone help him out. he doesn’t trust anyone to perfect his grandma’s recipes like he can. art can get grumpy while he preps for thanksgiving because he’s just so overwhelmed by everything he has to make and feels a little guilty when you just sit there watching him cook because he refused your help. the kitchen has to be relatively quiet because art can’t focus when there’s music blasting or too much talking.

[year2000electronics]

about yer mario hottakes im rollin in with thoughts on the mario-luigi dynamic.

i've heard so many people go back and forth between them having this 100% perfect brotherly love VS. mario is evil and hates poor baby luigi but i think that maybe it's just they're both complex characters and mario deeply insecure

like that tennis scene where he grinds luigi's foot after luigi wins instead of him. when your whole livelihood revolves around being the kingdom's favorite boy it makes sense you might lash out at being upstaged even if that's fucked up as hell to do to anybody. and while luigi's allowed and expected to outwardly express his fears (at least from diary entries i've seen in the paper mario series and luigi's general "coward" persona), who the hell is listening to mario? he's probably seen how shit people treat luigi for being vulnerable anyway (we play as mario usually witnessing all this and like. bros are real yikes to luigi), so i'd imagine the bottled up bitterness at the world is hard to contain. resentment towards luigi for being emotionally open, resentment towards the denizens of the kingdom for treating his brother like crap when mario probably wouldn't be too different if it wasn't his job to be

i'd imagine the moments he cant contain his cool like that are deep regrets. sure, luigi would forgive him, but can he forgive himself? can mario contain himself long enough to not wig out, especially with everyone watching him 24/7?

idk if this is super off base, i don't go to this school. but imo put mario in therapy, you can't be strong for everyone all the time. you're just some guy

YEAHYEAH i think even if the middle section is YMMV i do agree with the general idea that "the bros' relationship is more complex than 'they love each other' or 'they hate each other'" . like ok. being the most BANAL of canon-compliant here to reel back my own insanity for a second. it is canon that mario gets a bit competitive with luigi/his friends! we see multiple art pieces/cutscenes depicting this

because they are siblings. and im gonna be so real here i latch onto any sort of flaw mario is ALLOWED to have due to his status as Mascot so you can pry "mario gets a bit too competitive" from my cold dead hands

he's also shown to be a bit impatient if he percieves something is taking too much time

(from super mario sunshine)

(from bowser's fury)

(from luigi's mansion 1)

so i definitely see his stubbornness and impulsivity clashing with luigi's careful methodical approach.

ALL THAT TO SAY. i think even if you're just playing by the rules, i think you don't have to JUST go for one extreme or the other. i agree. the rest is purely speculative fanon applying some depth to a character who functionally does not necessarily "need" it.

(but my personal playground space interp of mario and luigi absolutely has this sort of clashing dualism where both bros are really stressed out with the hand that life has given them and they're always thinking "my brother doesn't know how good he has it" but they love each other despite that, and that love makes them not want to talk about how they really feel, and that makes it WORSE, etc etc etc)