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urfavblackbimbo · 4 months ago

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Dutty-Wine and Games

(This the reader’s facecard but just imagined her being thicker ☺️ and this is what Terry’s wearing for tonight.)

Summary: It’s date night for you and your man Terry and he wanted to surprise you by taking you to the Caribbean Festival that you were talking about to him couple months ago and Terry getting you a souvenir that tested his man-strength also not knowing that tonight you would get your man high for the first time.

Warnings: Est. relationship, black fem. reader, n-word usage, D/s dynamic, smoking weed (a joint), kissing, oral(fem. rec x2), cursing, spitting, choking, hair pulling, dirty talk, praise kink, ass-spanking, squirting, unprotected p-in-v, doggy-style, the reader’s legs are on his shoulder(idk the position.)

Word-count: 3.5 k 18+ (this is the song that use dutty-wine scene if y’all wanna listen you can🙂‍↕️)

You’ve been dating Terry for the past eight of months and it has been amazing with him since he moved here to Atlanta after winning his case against Shelby Springs Pd and getting a large sum of money for himself and paying back Mr.Liu in ten folds and to have the restaurant to be open for decades. You met Terry on a dating website for other black people to meet, once you saw his profile and them beautiful hazel eyes he had with his bulging arms and large print you knew you had to have him. And today is another date night with him even though you don't know where you’re going.

“So I have a surprise for you, it’s something that we’ve seen a couple of months ago and it’s finally here this weekend.” Terry pulls into an empty lot to find parking for his truck to back in, turning off the ignition and coming around to open the door for you and only grabbing your phone and your lipgloss since you won’t need your purse.

“Good baby you are so fine right now, you lucky there’s going to be people there cause if not-” You put a hand on his gold chain he had laying on his chest to pull him down to kiss you, his soft lips overpowering you, slowly being push up against his truck, putting your hands up against his hips to push away “Okayyy daddy, you are done you still have to tell me what my surprise is?” looking into his eyes and shifting to his lips and back to his eyes “Well for what I’m wearing that should give you a hint?” smiling back at you and stepping back for you while holding your chocolate hand.

Your eyes shift down to his shirt to see he is wearing his curacao shirt that was makin’ look like a full course meal, his shirt fitted around his arms so deliciously with his big ass guns he had on him with his khakis pants that filled his legs out sooo good and his white forces and then you realized and smelling many flavors of jerk chicken, plantains being cooked, and a light smell of weed; your eyes widened “The Carribean Festival, awhh Terry I thought you forgot that I told you that I always wanted to go.” you poke out your bottom lip in happiness showing a down towards smile to him “Awhh babygirl don’t cry, you’re gonna mess up your pretty makeup.” He swipes his thumb in the corner of your eye to catch your tear and wipes it on his shirt “All-right I’m starvin’, let’s go inside before I eat something else mhm.” Terry smacks right on your ass making your Jamaican colored dress giggle.

You both made inside with him paying for the both of you, this festival was fucking huge with rollercoasters, kiddy rides, carnival games and tents full of vendors selling their amazing food, Terry let you choose for what you both wanted for dinner, you ended up getting a plate of jerk chicken and rice and a side of fried plantains and Terry got a bowl of beef stew with rice, carrots and potatoes with two drinks, as he paid for the both of you again, both of you sit a table.

“So do you want to ride any of the rollercoasters while we're here babygirl?” Terry holds out both of his hands in front of you, nodding your head at him and resting your hands on top of his large palms “Yeah daddy you know I’m not a scaredy cat. I’m a big girl.” sticking out your tongue at him, he licks his lips and smirks “Oh so you a big girl now huh, so you don’t need daddy no more huh?” as he told you that you were zoned out on his veins and hands, lightly scratching your smaller hands ontop of his and looking up at him and looking into his eyes shaking your head no repeatedly “Noooo daddy.” almost coming out as a whine from you, he gives you a chuckle “You know I’m just playin’ with babygirl I know you in love with daddy’s dick.” he leans over to give you a wet kiss on your lips.

“Order for Terry, Order for Terry.”

He comes back with the food and lays it in front of you, you were in foodie heaven and you were starvin’ like marvin too and both of you dig in eating your delicious food, you look at his bowl and somehow he already knew what you were thinking, he places a couple of pieces of meat and carrots with sauce on your plate you smiled at him and thanked him “Did you want some of my mine too?” he nods his head with still found in his mouth, you grab your fork to pick off the chicken and rice for him and had in the air for him and opens his mouth to you and gracefully took the food, you look at him as he eats the food, you were in a traced that someone could look so sexy while there eating once he swallows it and it goes down you couldn’t help but to look at his thick neck a sheen of sweat that made you wanted to climb over the table and tackle him.

Both of you walked around the festival once you guys were done eating holding each other hands and looking at people, rides, and hearing laughter coming from all around you see a dance floor in the middle of the festival with some dutty-whine music playing throughout the place you lead him to dance floor, slowly moving your hips to the beat of the song Terry comes up behind you to stop where you were at and put his hands on your hips and starts to dutty-wine with you, your hands were on your knees moving your hips in a eight figure then throwing it in a circle and Terry was right there to catch all the wines, you slowly bend over hips while still moving in a circular motion he grabs one your arm to hold your balance while you grind on him, you look over long black french curls braids to see him biting his bottom lip and gripping on your hips, raising back against his chest while twerking on him, he turns you around to face him.

“Fuck babygirl you got me so fuckin hard right now, grinding that ass on me I feel like I was about to nut if you didn’t stop.” you put arms around his neck and peck his lips also to block anyone that would see your daddy’s hard-on “We can stay like until your soft daddy.” he raises his head to look at you and gives you a sloppy wet kiss. A few minutes later Terry was feeling better and both kept walking through the festival in-hand and you stopped in your tracks to walk up to the booth and asked the worker at the tall sledgehammer machine.

“Excuse me, how many games do I need to win that teddy bear up there?” the buck-tooth boy turns “Four ma’am.”

You turned around to look for Terry and seeing him already behind you not leaving you any room, his gorgeous eyes going straight to your heart and pussy “You want that big ass teddy bear babygirl?” you plead with your eyes and put on your best pouty face and wrap your arms around his neck and gettin’ all close to his face “Please please daddy- pretty please?” giving him a kiss on the lips he wraps his arms around your waist he takes a deep breath “One more-mhm one more- one more babygirl.” you giggle in his arms “All right babygirl here take my phone, I’m gonna get you that teddy bear.” and gives you a small love tap on your ass and pays the worker then grabs the large sledgehammer.

The first bell he got was effortlessly, the second bell as well, by the third bell he had a crowd around him and you were cheering him on, and by the fourth bell he used all of his might and went it ringed you screamed and ran to him then jumped on him wrapping your arms and legs around him, giving him kisses “Thank you - thank you - thank you so much daddy.” and you still kept kissing on his face, he snorts out a giggle out as he put you down on your feet and rest his hand on your hips “Your very welcome babygirl.” “Ma’am here’s your bear.”

You got tired of carrying the bear and had Terry carry it for you as you both were walking back to the truck, he opens the passenger side first for you to get in then he stuffs the teddy bear in the back seat and gets in on his side and turns on the ignition “Back to your place baby?” you looked at him “Yeah daddy let’s go.” you take your phone to be dj for the both of you and listen to Paramore and some RnB songs on the drive home.

You opened the front door of your apartment to let Terry in so he can put the teddy bear on the couch and his night bag on the carpet you turned on some lights so you can see Terry and closed the door “You know being at that we were just at the festival today and eating some good food and dancing I have the perfect way to close out having this full caribbean experience, be right back.” You walked to your room to get your goodie bag and bring it out to the family room to show him.

“I’ve never smoked weed before, I wasn’t allowed to do it when I was in the marines.”

You slowly put back your joints that you had in your bag “But....If I wanted someone to be my first for this I would want it to be with you.” he turns to look at you “Thank you for trusting me daddy and I’m gonna get you so fuckin’ high you have no fucking idea.” you give him a kiss on the lips and one more for good measure and grab your goodie bag to sit out on your patio and smoke Terry out for the first time.

You spark the first joint in your mouth inhaling the smoke and exhaling it out, Terry was watching you the whole time seeing how your body language became relax under his touch and you holding it out in front of him to take a hit “You just want to do a little hit first, there you daddy.” He coughed abruptly out the smoke, you set down the joint to grab some water for him and came back with a glass of water for him and your pink Stanley for yourself, he took a couple of more hits before letting you hit it again “How are you feeling daddy?” he takes an even deeper breath and rubs your chocolate thigh “I feel really good babygirl. Thank you for this.” you handed it back to Terry “You’re welcome daddy, hey have you ever done a shotgun before?” Seeing him inhaling the joint and blowing it out his mouth, you couldn’t believe that this nigga has never smoked weed before and with him under the warm sunset making him looking like he was a fucking emperor with him smoking this joint, shakes his no at you “What’s that?” you slowly pull your lips in a smile.

You fill your lungs with smoke as you ashed the joint in your bowl, then grab his face to come closer to your lips and push out the smoke into his mouth, lips lightly touching each other then he moves his head up to blow out the smoke. Your mouth was slightly parted as you stared at your daddy’s adam- apple move up and down and the veins that pop out the side of his neck out, he pushed out the last bit of smoke and looked down at you and smirked “What?” still looking at him “You so handsome daddy mhm, with yo’ fine ass.” Terry grabs your hand and brings it up to his lips “Let’s go inside babygirl, I don’t want none of these little niggas know what I got, come on.” and opens the sliding glass door for you to go inside.

As you walked in, Terry closes the door and locks it and walks over to the front door and locks that one too then walks over to you to pull you into your bedroom, almost feeling like your were flying Terry turns on the bedroom light and walks over to you to pull you in for a kiss “Mhmm daddy I need you.” he gives you another kiss “What do you need baby, use your words.” he leans down to kiss your neck you moved your head the other side of give him room and moaned, moving your hands up his back to grab on the back of head his soft lips and tongue kissing all your spots making you want to his full lips somewhere else “Oh shit daddy I need to you to eat my pussy please ughh pleaseee.”

“You want me to eat your pussy babygirl huh? this pretty pussy, you need daddy’s lips on you.”

Terry took of your dress and threw it across the room and lifted you up to throw you on the bed, taking off your bra and throwing it in the corner of your room he climbs ontop of you he rests his crotch on your clothed pussy slightly moving his hips against you, he takes his hand to hold your cheek and give you a wet sloppy kiss in his mouth. You moaned in his mouth and Terry kissed down your neck to your chest then sucking on each of your breast and kissing your tummy, he sits up to take off his shirt ‘fuckkkkk meeee this nigga has to be the worldest finest man to walk on this earth’ you thought to yourself.

Terry kisses down your chocolate thighs and spreads your legs apart “Lift that ass up babygirl.” Terry takes off your panties and throws it behind him he grabs your thighs closer to his face and kissed both of your inner thighs then the bottom of your cheeks giving you little bites of pleasure “Ah- Ahh! Daddy stop teasin’ meee?” kisses your bottom one more time and hold on to your legs and dive right into your pussy, his tongue swirling all around you and bring it up to your clit slowly sucking on it, you put your hand on his head Terry moves his lips to eat you all the way up and flattens his tongue against you, moving his head against you then he lifts his head to spit at your pussy and growled against you.

“Fuck babygirl god I love this fuckin’ pussy soo much, do you wanna nut babygirl?” “Yess daddyyy.”

Terry kept eating you out with his tongue is flicking over your clit, your thighs were shaking and fighting against Terry’s hold, but it was no use then you grind out your climax on his face he gave you little kisses around your pussy and comes back up for air to face you, his goatee was dripping of you then leans down to kiss and tasting yourself on his lips the sweet and tangy flavor of it. You grab his belt to unbuckle it for him and he stopped you to pull down his khaki pants and took off his forces then got back on the bed, he grab your hips to him and got ontop of you with his fist next to your face “You ready for daddy’s big dick babygirl?” Biting your bottom lip and nodding your head.

“Yeesss dadddyyyy I want your dick- I need it - I need it so bad daddy please - give me your big daddy dick.” you gave him kisses on his full pink lips.

Terry sat up and grabbed your legs to put them on his shoulders and slowly enters your pussy, moving to a pace to slowly open you up “Fuck your pussy is so fuckin’ tight babygirl, here baby relax your legs for me ughh fuckk mee ohh yeahh that’s it babygirl.” Your legs were spread wide to your chest under the firm hold of daddy’s fingers “Ohh shitt daddy you’re fucking. Mee. Soo. Good ohh ughh fuckkk.” Terry picks up his pace to fucking you deep in your guts, he leans over to give you a wet nasty kiss he slipped his tongue in your mouth and you suck on it then biting his lip “Babygirl I can feel your pussy grippin’ me, fuckk baby are you gonna nut on my dick? You can do it babygirl, nut on daddy’s dick.” Terry hips were fucking you dizzly and your legs started to squirm again “ugh - ugghhh - uggghhh ohh fucckkk” releasing your wet essence on his dick.

“Turn the fuck around.”

He grabs your hips to flip you over on your hands and knees then pulls your hips back to face him “Goddam babygirl look at this wet pussy, this is all for daddy huh?” you lay your head on the pillows and relax your back by pushing your hips out. You moaned his name “Yes yes daddy it’s all for you, please eat my pussy daddy.” Terry smacks both of your cheeks, you gasped feeling the lightning strike you moan that turned into a whine “Daadddyyy.” Terry grabs both of your arms to hold them behind your back and he gave you a long wet lick from your clit to ass and back down to your clit then kissing down your pussy his tongue swirling in your pussy “Fuckkk daddyy ughh ohh fuckkk.” Terry used his hand held onto your hip to hold you in place so you take whatever he gives you. Feeling the heat rise again in your lower tummy, you try to scoot away but Terry leaned forward to give his tongue lashing and slurping your clit as well.

“Oh my fuckin’ god daddy ughh oh shit, you’re eatin’ my pussy soo good oohh fucckk dadddyyyy I-I’m gonnna cumm.”

Terry just kept eating you up as you wetted his face, he growled into your pussy then gave you a few pecks down your ass and released your arms and made you be on your hands and knees and you groaned out “Daddyyy.” He pulled back your hips to him “Can you give me one more babygirl? Come on you can do it baby, you’re doing soo good for daddy, don’t you wanna make daddy nut?” he leaned over your body then grab your chin to look at him with his lips just barely touching you and push your lips to him and slides in your pussy once more, Terry stretching you out and grabbing a handful of your braids to sit you up as he drilled into you, he wrap his hand around your throat and slightly closing your airways under his grip.

“Who’s pussy is this? Is this daddy’s pussy babygirl?”

“It-t’s yourss daddy fuckkk it’s all your pussy ooh fuckk.”

“Open your mouth for daddy.”

You sticked out your tongue and looked into his eyes Terry lets go some spit on your tongue and swallowing it down, he gives you sloppy kiss as he fucks the shit out you “Ughh daddy I don’t think I can cum ughh ughhhh.” Then feeling three wet fingers rubbing your clit, you horsley moaned loudly out and having your heat rise up in you for the last time “It’s okay babygirl if you wanna nut? I know you do. I can feel you mamas go ahead daddy’s gotchu.” You felt like you were exploding, shaking and shivering on Terry’s dick, him still fucking you through your climax and lets go of your neck so you fall on your pillow. He gives you a few more strokes before he cums deep inside of you.

You rest your head on his chest, listening to his speed-up heart “Thank you for this night daddy I had so much fun tonight I love you sososo much daddy.” he grabs your chin to have you look up at him “ I love you too babygirl. Daddy loves you very much and I'm glad that we went to that festival together babygirl.” Terry pulled the covers up from under the sheets and to see one large wet spot on the bed, you both looked at eachother with wide eyes and with you feeling embarrassed and covered your face then he slowly uncovers your face to hold your face in his hands.

“Heyy there’s no need to be embarrassed about this babygirl, I’m happy and proud that I was able to get to that point okay babygirl.” and gives you light pecks around your face “I’m gonna grab a towel and get a new comforter for us okay.” Once you both got situated in the bed and he had his arm wrapped around you pulling you close to him and relaxed behind you then you as well drifted off to sleep.

Holy fucking shit I can’t belive I just wrote all that 😳but I’m soooo happy that I did, I couldn’t help myself anymore thinking about this black king 🥵💕 and y’all this nigga got me like I want this nigga’s baby frfr 🤰🏿but if you had enjoy this thank you so much and I know in my heart that this nigga know how to dance I just feel it in my spirit, that nigga can and I wanted to talk about his heritage for the plot of the story. Andd High!Terry Bitchhh there was something in that weed that made him bionic cause nigga was hard for 4 rounds straight (like if he was the terminator) and Dom!Terry is always gonna do it for me especially if the nigga’s nasty, but thank you to everyone who read this it means really alot to me.

Love, Nazzy 💕

#aaron pierre #aaron pierre smut #terry richmond x black!reader #terry richmond x black oc #terry richmond smut #terry richmond #terry richmond x black reader #rebel ridge #rebel ridge fanfiction #terry richmond x reader #aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre x reader #terry come home the kids and our cat misses you #aaron come home the kids and our cat misses #Terry Richmond FanFicition-palooza™️#x black!reader #x black oc #x black fem reader

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capslocked · 1 year ago

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HONNE, TATEMAE & THE OTHER ONE

male reader x shin yuna

9k words

Yuna shuffles into your office with the same sneaky smile, the same easy slouch, and she settles into one of the chairs across the table. There is, apparently, more to talk about.

It's a matter of image, of perception, is what she believes.

You know every good lie starts with the truth.

So you swallow. You pause. Some other part of you understands Yuna can't ignore who she really is, and you’re not sure you can either.

Look - Shin Yuna is the kind of woman that turns heads, even with the best of intentions. A long, lithe silhouette; an easy, rosy sort of youthfulness clinging to the swell of her cheekbones, the curve of her waist. Take a dress that's cut to show a little thigh, or a hairstyle pushed back on one side - earrings, or heels, or just the subtle swipe of red over her lip - it doesn't take much for men (or anyone else) to figure that out. A girl who, more times than not, really ought to have a boy's hand planted on her ass, in possession.

So the opportunity to capture such a form perfected - all toned and graceful and flush for curves, her legs never seeming to end, the slithering fit of the dresses - these were the things they wanted. Package it, put a logo on it - better yet, a ribbon or a bow - and ship it straight to the consumer.

Somebody everyone wants, somebody no one can ever have.

“So,” Yuna asks from the other side of your desk, lips slanting halfway coy. “Are you going to treat me like an adult?"

Her fingers play idly with the hem of her skirt, and she lets a long, slender leg slowly slide out from beneath her.

“In what way,” you answer, half paying attention.

"The photos." She doesn't have the slightest qualms about lifting it higher. The soft creak of leather, and a deepening smile. "Am I not allowed to be a little racy?"

"That's certainly... one way of looking at it."

You glance away from where her stockings wrap around the soft curve of her thighs to flip back through the photos in your lap, one after the other, each a little different from the last. The beach, the sun, a flimsy white slip of a bikini top that hides exactly nothing, her muscles wet and glistening and perfect. Beyond suggestive, it's considerably inappropriate.

But then to a lot of people, Yuna is a lot of things.

She’s more clever than anyone gives her credit for. And she’s fucking gorgeous, sure. That’s definitely not up for debate, but god is she young - she's barely twenty. And here’s some rather uninteresting food for thought: you couldn't even technically take her for a drink without faking an ID or breaking some law or another, like a real one. So go ahead, chew that down. Girls her age are typically studying, or working a retail job and getting wasted on the weekends. And they aren't typically making six, seven figures turning their head to the camera and asking how much more skin?

You have some thoughts.

Prudently, you’re her publicist, and it’s your job to make sure that the public gets a good look at her and sees exactly what you want them to see. It's unfair. She wields sex like a weapon. She's got the face, the body; it's an easy sell, commodified and commercialized down to the finest detail, the softest curve, the slightest arch of her brow. The idea's to not let anyone look too long, should they catch something you haven't approved yet, or the fact that she's quite possibly a real person with a real life and real feelings, which could easily fuck up her brand, so unfortunately, that's a bit of a no-go.

Sign of the times maybe, no ethical consumption under another something, yadda yadda - it's a shitty business, really, and the whole thing usually leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

(And just to be upfront, as an important disclosure: you are fucking her brains out on the side, which is a different kind of ethical dilemma, with a different kind of flavor to it.

You’re supposed to be something of a role model - and she’s gone and fucked up bad by falling for you. From her perspective, it probably makes sense. Girl gets boy, bespoke song, credits roll and it's fine. No sin to atone, no 'after'.

It was supposed to be a one time thing. It’s metastasizing into something you’re not even going to attempt to put into words. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen, you know that. And you know the girl has daddy issues, but then you've never had a problem whatsoever playing into it. The possessiveness, the control - she gets off on it. You're pretty sure that she'd do just about anything if you asked her, and you'll admit that the thought alone makes your stomach stir, your mouth run dry.)

Yuna taps her knuckles on the wood of your desk. “What’s the verdict?”

"Well, professionally," you say, caveat in hand, and you give the photos one last flip through. "I'd say they're fine.”

"Oh?" Yuna cocks her head to the side. Her long, blonde hair curtains over her shoulder, and the smile that shadows in at the corner of her mouth is almost wicked. She leans forward, chin propped on a palm, and you see that her expression is bright, glittering with interest. "And unprofessionally?"

Sure. It's a fair question.

Though she's wearing her stage face, the one that looks all big eyes and doe lashes, a hint of a pout on her plush bottom lip, and she's staring at you expectantly, the way she might look at a man she's just asked for the time.

You've seen her look a million other ways. You've seen her with her knees spread, her cheeks flushed, on all fours, straddling your lap, face pressed into the sliding glass door of your shower, her eyes screwed shut as she chokes out your name. And god, doesn’t she look good in all of them.

Your fingers tap against the photos.

“Unprofessionally," you tell her, and the smile on your face is tight - unknowable. "I think they’re a little… gaudy."

Yuna frowns, and it's just a flash before her expression is carefully blank again, the stage face back in full swing. She's been doing this since she was a teenager, so the mask is impeccable, but you know her, and you know that she's thinking: about the photo shoot, the way the photographer was looking at her, and the way you had looked at her later, too.

She knows what you've seen. She's wondering if that's why.

"Really," she asks, a note of disappointment in her voice.

"Really," you confirm with a small sigh, though you're still smiling. It's a small, private sort of smile, like you're remembering a joke. You don't miss the way she glances down at your mouth either. "Let me be clear, you have a shot at real success. I mean, you have a chance at a career. A real, sustainable career.”

She's sitting there with her legs crossed, her foot tapping restlessly, and when she's silent for a moment too long, the way her eyes narrow just a smidge, her head tipped slightly, you realize how it sounds. Patronizing.

"Look," you amend. You're not the best at apologies, but you try. "I just mean - I think that you could be doing something that you actually enjoy."

"Who says I don't enjoy this," she says, and there's a bite in her tone, a challenge. She's leaning back in her seat now, arms crossed.

"What, taking your clothes off for the camera?" You laugh, a quick bark. Isn’t that a cruel question, and you can see it in the way her eyes flash. "You could do a lot more than that, I'm just saying."

"Right," she says, and she doesn't blink, doesn't even move. Her gaze is fixed, unwavering. "Because I'm not pretty enough."

You open your mouth. Close it.

It's not a question. It's a statement.

"That's not what I'm saying-"

"Do you know what makes me different from the IT-girl-of-the-month? The Jang Wonyoungs, the Bae Irenes, the Kim Jisoos of the world?" Yuna cuts in.

"Yuna, this isn't-"

"You should know. " She laughs. "It's your job, knowing things, isn't it?"

The silence stretches thin between you. She's not wrong. There’s the quintessential beauty, the timeless classic, the fantasy-wrapped-up-as-a-daydream - oh, it's all sexual, but the product there is palatable (read: marketable). An idea the general public wants to take home to their mother, not take to bed. A beauty so docile and innocent, you feel guilty harboring those untoward thoughts it makes you have.

Yuna is somewhere possibly, someway probably the opposite. You’ve sold her as such, as fantasy in sheep's clothing. She's neither afraid to put the images to words, nor speak her desires aloud. It's her own brand of sensuality, and it's what the public wants - has always truly wanted, since the dawn of man and of popstars fucking their publicists - what the public wants but turns itself in knots just to pretend they don't. The only way it’ll end up in anyones’ parents' home is under the guise that it will be smuggled upstairs and held down into the springs of a mattress. Hand over her mouth, or maybe around her throat, just so she'll shut up.

She's not a nice girl, or the girl-next-door, a bride-in-a-box, but you'd known that before. The line between fact and fiction is fine indeed.

"You're different," you tell her, finally.

"When I first came in here, you had no qualms, no issue to raise, and now all of a sudden, everything is too much," she says, and she's not smiling, her tone flat. "If it was a problem from the jump, you would've said so."

“I just think a little subtlety would be a nice change of pace. It could go a long way, I mean, I could show you the data- "

"So you're going soft on me, is that it?"

You blink, and the realization hits.

"Just where was this noble version of you when we first started out? You had no problem then, remember? Put a sixteen-year-old in front of a camera, in this industry, and all of a sudden-"

"Don't."

“And suddenly it's all 'oh no, that's a little too much, we need to dial it back'." She sighs, a single sharp burst. "Why is that? Is it because you think that now you own me? I fuck you, swallow your cum and call you daddy, and now these are your decisions? Is that it?"

She’s standing now, her chair shoved back so fast it nearly clatters to the floor. There's a storm on her face, almost a rage. This now become a familiar story. The one where the girl's too pretty for her own good. Too much, too soon.

"I'm not a child," she tells you, her tone measured, a sharp contrast to the fire in her eyes. "I know what I want. I know how to get it. You're not telling me anything I don't already know. I'm different. You're right."

She's different, but the girl's clever, too. And she's stubborn. It's a dangerous combination.

You breathe slow. "Then why don’t you act like it."

“If they’re going to call me a slut,” she hisses, and she's walking forward. Her palms land on your desk, hard, and you glance down at her clenched fists, at her neatly kept nails, "you know, after we leak them all those steamy photos online-"

Your mind clicks. You reach to slam the cover of the photo book shut. She's caught your hand, though, in hers, holding it firmly to the desk.

Yuna glances at the photos over again, at the tight fit of the swimwear, or how the ties slip in an invisible breeze. And she's biting her lip, trying not to smile, you can tell. "You know it might be worth it for once," she says, slipping a finger between the buttons of her shirt.

There's a long, tense moment, and before you can register it, Yuna has rounded your desk; she’s closing the distance, fast.

And she’s lowering her eyes. Putting her lips on yours.

It knocks the wind from your sail, for just the instant. You're speechless.

Because her fingers. Her mouth. Her hair. Yuna's everywhere, and she's warm. It's utterly selfish, you understand: you want her to be yours. You want her to be yours and no one else's.

She’s realizing she might be.

You feel her grabbing for more of you. Wanting. She tilts her head, her breath hot, and you kiss her back, her mouth slick against your own, and the kiss is a fast, deliberate kind of messy. Your teeth catch her bottom lip, and her tongue slips past yours, licking into your mouth, her hands clutching at the collar of your shirt. It's not like it is when you're fucking, which is slow and hot, and she's on her back, legs around your waist, her nails biting into your skin, or when she's bent over the arm of the sofa, her ass in the air and her back arched, her breathless moans a chorus of yes, yes, please. This kiss is more battle, more heat, less gentle and less finesse. It's the kind of kiss that's just short of an argument.

"You're an asshole," she breathes into your mouth, and it's not a compliment.

You smile against her.

"So are you," you murmur, and her lips are parted, her eyelids fluttering shut, her breath coming quick and hot.

"Then maybe you should just fuck me," she says. She's not asking. “Yeah.” You press your words right into her neck, her collarbone. “Maybe I should.”

Your hands are on her hips faster than you can realize what it is they’re doing, palms pressing into her, and then you're walking her backwards, shuffling a few steps until the small of her back collides with the edge of your desk, and you're lifting her up onto the surface, the photographs falling to the floor, scattering.

"I thought we weren't supposed to do this here," she murmurs, pulling away for just a moment, her mouth swollen and wet, her eyes dark. She knows exactly what it does to you: the goading, the taunting - the looks of faux-innocence later over a bare shoulder, her ass in the air. How it can get you to fuck her within an inch of her life. What it’ll get her, the return on investment.

"And I thought we agreed to longer skirts."

Her thighs are smooth, silky, and they part, the lace of her underwear stark against her skin. You slide a hand beneath the elastic band, sinking down, and down, until she inhales sharply.

"The fuck do you end up doing going up the stairs?" you add, and your fingers are tracing the swell of her hip, and you can feel the goosebumps on her skin.

She bites her lip. You sink down to press a kiss to her thigh, and then the other.

"Nothing," she tells you, and her eyes are wide. "I guess it all just hangs out."

She simply smirks right back into you, throws her arms over your shoulders. You’re snared, caught - she’ll always be able to fuck what she wants right out of you.

"Jesus, Yuna." Your hand curls around her wrist, thumb pressed to her pulse, and her shoulders roll back.

You push her down, and she's sprawled across the desk, legs stretching wide, her head tilted back and her chest heaving. “God, you’re so fucking wet, and I've barely touched you. That turns you on? Being a brat?"

She sucks air past her teeth, and you can measure each rise and fall of her chest. The lace under her hips is soaked, her pussy swollen and pink. Like if she doesn’t get your hot, open mouth on her clit this instant, you’re both going to have a problem.

You slip two fingers into her instead, and Yuna keens.

"I know it does," you say, and your voice comes out lower, drier than you expect. She's hot, so wet around you, her pussy fluttering. "It fucking turns me on, too."

"Please," and “god,” is what all you receive back in half whispers, while her legs are spread, her heels now really dug into the square of your back, and she's got a fistful of your hair like she owns it. Her voice is high, her eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t be such a fucking tease."

You're not going to make it easy. She's not going to make this quick.

"What, and you aren’t?"

You curl your fingers inside her, and the noise that leaves her is positively obscene. She's grinding against your palm, her hips bucking, and her lips are parted, her eyelashes dark and thick, fanning her cheeks. She's panting, her thighs trembling.

"No," she breathes. If she’s shaking her head, you can’t tell. "I'm exactly what you tell them I am."

Your hand stills, and it takes a moment for her to realize that the pressure inside her is gone. Her eyes snap open, her mouth twisted.

"Fuck you," she spits. "Put them back."

You're already sinking down to your knees, and you've got her skirt shoved up, the lace panties pulled aside, her hips canted, her pussy glistening. The stockings can stay, fuck, the heels, too. She's so fucking hot, her legs spread apart and her lips red. Her palm shoved into her brow, and her breath just barely more than a ragged huff of air. You can feel her body wound tight and ready, her eyes on the ceiling.

You put your tongue against her, flat and slow. Inaccurate, indiscriminate, licking up her wet cunt. And her whole body arches off the desk, a cry leaving her mouth with her head thrown back. Her thighs are shaking, and her heel presses into your shoulder, and god, she tastes incredible.

"Please." It comes like music, really, a song of desperation. You can hear it. She's singing it for you now. "Oh god, please, fuck-"

So you do her one better. You put your whole mouth over her, and she fucking shivers. You don’t even try to ease into it - you're devouring, ravishing her, working your lips and tongue all over her pussy, lapping the length of her in broad, hot strokes, and she's almost shrieking, her body going taut. You suck on her lips, pressing your tongue into her clit, and when you pull off her, your hand takes over the place where your tongue can't quite reach, her wetness slick around your fingers. Yuna's close - you can see that she is, you can hear that she is, and it's her gasp that lets you know.

"I'm -" she says, her voice reaching higher, her nails digging into the flesh of your shoulders, the wood of your desk. The sound she makes is wretched and beautiful. "God, I'm cumming, I'm cumming - fuck!"

The licking, the lapping, the fucking fingering. You can feel her slicked cunt pulse and throb in a satisfied, anticipatory kind of way. Even if she wasn’t audibly wet around your knuckles, you’d read Yuna like a map.

Your thumb taps across her clit, once - twice, thrice, and it’s just that.

She arches off your desk, thighs trembling as your tongue works her over, This hard, hungry kiss, and she tastes as sweet as she looks - as filthy as she acts, too. Her pussy is slick, her hips rolling, her body trembling, and she's making soft, little ah, ah, ah, sounds into the wet seal of your mouth. She's trying to keep it quiet, because she knows as well as you, everyone in the damn office does, probably - it's one thing to play at being a slut. A complete other to really fuck like one.

Your finger slips in and out of her pussy, and then another. They fill her up. The knuckles bending and pushing deeper. Yuna's fucking ruined - your desk is ruined.

But then there you are, complicit, and perhaps a little evil: licking and licking and licking right into her, making her grip twist in your hair and her thighs clench around your face. You can feel it in how her breathing is coming fast, faster, her whole body growing taut, and it was never going to take long, you figure, the way her hips were rolling the moment you got your hands on her. You can tell. She's close, and she's so pretty, all flushed and writhing, her skirt hiked up, her ass perched on the edge of your desk, and when her mouth falls open and her breath catches in her throat, you pull yourself up to watch her, the heel of your hand pressed against her clit, and she's shaking.

"Look at me,” you tell her, a kiss trailing unsatisfyingly into the crease of her thigh, your voice running coarse.

She does, her gaze glassy, and the sound that leaves her mouth is a sob. That’s all it really takes.

“Show me. What face you make when you cum on my fingers sweetheart, show me what a slut you actually are-"

You can watch it all in real time, the panting, the heaving. The sculpted lines of her pretty face screw up, real tight, and she lets out another moan, breathier this time, her mouth hanging open. She does it again when you press down. And Yuna fucking shakes, her hands balled, white-knuckling, and the desk rattling beneath her.

It's all a matter of slight degradation, you’ve learned, the barest humiliation. Like the paradoxical freedom she knows she can find in a hand clenched tight around her throat or her hair pulled and twisted into a fist or the sharp sting of a smack across her ass. Her pretty face. She likes a little something that burns. Something sinewy, visceral, raw: you call her a whore, a filthy fucking cumslut and it makes her body curl like she has hot metal pressing into her skin. Makes her breathless, like she wants you to own her.

Sometimes it's better than being fucked.

(Sometimes.)

Because just look at her: she’s in the middle of coming apart, mouth fallen slack, brow furrowed - and she gets real quiet when she cums, the absolute opposite of the journey she’d taken to get there, all those loud little, uh-uh-ah, fucking please god, her moans, her whimpers - her orgasm ripping right through the middle of her, the hourglass of her entire body stiffening on borrowed time as it washes across her features.

You let out a loud sigh, something she can moor herself to that isn’t your fingers, the desk, or your hair at the roots. Yuna can be every bit as uncomplicated as she can be complex, but god, you love her most like this: an unrehearsed, beautiful mess.

"Baby," you tell her, because it's easier to just call her that, and because you don't know how else to end the statement, because you know if you ask, she'll let you - hell, she'll beg for more, and that’s got your brain feeling rather mushily incoherent at present.

"Daddy," she responds - because of course she fucking does; she’s gasping, and her cheeks are still so pink, her body sated, and your heart leaps into your throat.

It's a problem; you've been trying to work it out for a good few months now, and by this, you mean the little moment you have right after you're done, where your eyes meet, and you smile at her. A problem, too, her lips. A problem, because she kisses you, soft, and slow, and easy. A problem, because her heart's probably already yours.

If anyone were to ask, you would have said there's no greater pleasure than knowing a girl that's almost died to take your cock, but maybe that's the point: it's just supposed to feel a bit better if you're a little head over heels, a little stupid about it too.

"I'm going to use this perfect pussy now," you warn her - just simple formality - because you're already rolling her down onto her back, your cock hard and aching against your trousers.

You've got your hands on her stockings, tugging them down to her ankles, the lace of her panties around her thighs, the neat garter of her garter belt wrapped around her hips, her cunt bare beneath it. You unzip, too slow. You tug yourself out.

“I’ll be good,” she says to you, a promise.

“Yeah,” you return to her, “I know.”

And you slip your cock into her cunt, just barely - maybe an inch, maybe more - and you hear a little noise leave her throat, low. Broken.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, and god, you just can't help it, it's easy; you sink deeper, nice, slow, everything smooth inside her, until another broken sort of gasp spills off her lips.

And then another: "oh my fucking god."

You snap your hips back in, bottoming out this time in the wet heat of her perfect cunt, and she just fucking collapses. Yuna looks like an absolute dream in this state of half-dress, half-distress: black suede around the ankles, stilettos, with just the perfect heel. There are worse things, you can imagine, and she looks perfect sprawled out against your notes and portfolios, all this hot, aching want. As gorgeous as she is fucked. You tear into her stockings, a little. You’ll tear more.

You already know you're going to hell. Or at least that’s where you should already be, but you hips crash into hers again, fucking her legs wider apart, spreading her open across your desk for you, getting her slick all over the photos, her career - it’s all so perfectly unfair.

"You have no idea, the things I want to do to you right now," you breathe, your tone hushed, and you're talking again, like you often do. There goes your mouth - but your hips drag back, and then again, her pussy clenching, vice tight and impossibly wet.

It's a long, torturous, lazy sort of a pull, that draws these pretty thin moans from the very center of her.

And the way that feels, your cock buried deep in her cunt: better than good - heaven, if you care enough about labels for it, or the names of things. You haven’t any real way to tell; the gates haven't opened or anything, so all you're working from here is an educated guess. From the fact that Yuna’s eyes have slid closed, her lips parted, and her whole body starting now to tremble gently with it.

"Jesus, this perfect, tight pussy grips me so good, god - such a good girl, always so fucking wet for me," and your mouth is pressed to the arch of her ear, whispering every last thing you know will make her cum again, like a dream.

And she is, she does.

She's twisting up to grip at your hips, her head falling to one side. When you drag your cock through her cunt, slowly, you watch her lips purse and the way the flush moves all the way down the column of her neck, past her collarbone, her shirt half undone and her tits heaving against the white, sheer fabric. You fuck her for a little, and then you roll your hips slow, so slow.

Until your pace is fucking punishing, deep, and so hard. You can’t help it.

Because it's unbelievable - she's so perfect, so tight around you. Fit snug like a glove, like she was made to take your cock, to whimper and mewl at your mercy. Her lips part further and she keens, her brows twisting in similar disbelief as you pound your length into her. The heat pooled in your belly, the way she looks under your desk: fuck, she's so beautiful like this, properly fucked.

You'd let her ruin you for life - it's that simple.

"Yuna, you - fuck," you barely say, and you sound more than slightly stunned, so she’s filling in the gaps, elaborating in the spaces you cannot - that she loves it, that you’re so good for her, and so is that, and that, and that - the way it hits, right there, keep fucking her just like that, because right there, right there, right there, right there - the way she props herself up on her elbows to tell you, "you're fucking me so deep, oh my god - yes, oh my god, fuck."

By the time Yuna shudders through another orgasm, a silent ghost of a wail leaving her pretty frozen mouth, her lashes are batting against her cheeks, and she's biting her lip, so hard you're certain she's going to break the skin, her back strung like a bow. It's the look on her face, that soft sort of reverence, and how her lips are swollen and spit-slick, the pretty hollow of her throat. Your thrusts become faster, shorter - your own moan thick in your throat, your jaw hanging slack.

“Here,” you say, and she’s just putty between your fingers, on your cock.

You’re flipping her around, onto a different angle. You know she likes it, the way her tits are pressed against your desk, and it's hot the way her ass tilts right into your hips, arched. Proffering. "Be good for me, and spread yourself open."

She's already so meek when she complies. "Anything, sir. Stretch me out; I want you to make me yours."

God, she's practically purring when she talks like this. She knows exactly what that fucking does to you. Knows that when her eyes draw back, big and watery and full, you're a goner - if your cock wasn't deep in her pussy, fucking her open and raw, the view would nearly be enough. And all of this, the pretense, the pantomime, she knows how to bend the line of your body to her own, because when she turns, and presses her red mouth to the crest of her shoulder, you are hers.

You could probably cum, right now, deep down into the molten hot of her cunt: if your hips keep up their ruthless pace, if her ass was sticking up the slightest bit more - the sound that would come from her.

"Take that perfect cock - and fuck my pussy up," Yuna mewls, her voice saccharine and slurring, a touch whiny. She rolls her hips. Your cock grinds, still, though it stutters now - shallow and quick.

"All this pussy, for daddy's cock," and you're sure that the entire office can hear her now, the moans that escape from her mouth - but you can't even find it in you to care. You're caught, all of her a net you've willingly been ensnared by, and here you figure that's the slightest bit appropriate; you're so fucked, and it's funny, too. Funny enough to laugh about, later. "Nobody fucks this tight little pussy the way you do, sir."

It's a smile she hears in your voice when you say, "is that right? Go on then, let’s hear all the things you'd have me do to your slutty little cunt."

The line's crossed again, in some indecipherable direction. Where, again, exactly, does it matter? There are lines and lines, and none of them quite mark the beginning, the end, the periphery. This time you don't pull back; you dig deep, and it makes Yuna cry out like you’re killing her. Which, in a way - you already have.

So your hips stutter forward again, once more, and you lean into the slant, so fucking deep it's practically impaled. There’s nothing quite like holding this girl’s hips and pounding her from behind. Her pussy alone is fucking incredible. And the sound her ass makes against the flat of your stomach, the crease of your thighs - it's unimaginable, the way Yuna makes these little squeaks of a noise, like half-broken moans, when you fuck deep, deep, deeper into her. The way her arms splay wide and search frantic across your desk. And as you grab her slim, dainty wrist, pin it back and pull her tight - fixing her upright until you have her head lolling back against your chest - you simply fucking pound away.

Fucking all these little curses and sounds of appreciation out of her throat. Your cock forcing out each syllable, "yes," and "fuck," and "god, oh my fucking god - I cannot believe," now on repeat, how her tone grows tighter. How she moans - a lot, like something's being worked loose.

"Uh-uh," and you're holding her steady now, with one broad, strong hand at the back of her neck. "Keep telling me, and maybe I'll let you cum."

Your free hand finds purchase in her hair. Yuna's groan coming out pathetic and wanting, her mouth half open. You wrap her silky golden locks around your fist, her hair thread neatly through your fingers, and then give the slightest of yanks.

Christ, her pussy just fucking soaks onto you. Greedy. Needy.

"Shit," and Yuna gasps when she can, where she's allowed to.

"Oh, is my little girl into getting her hair pulled?" and you can see the signs of affirmation: the muscles inside her flexing, grasping you as you roll in, a small, soft nod, and the way she sighs your name, like a prayer on her lips.

Listen, she can barely speak, the way you're fucking her apart. Yuna's body is wound like a bow, like string and taught wire. Bent into the side of the desk and open for you, her pussy pulsing tight around you with every stroke.

"Sir, I'll do - whatever you need, just - just - let me have your cum, please -" and there, she's begging now, and her voice is tinny, breaking, breathless and airless.

Then it’s her fucking hair. You pull so much on it harder this time, with another measured thrust inside her, your body flush against her ass. Fingerprints searing down onto where her hips flare and taper, impossibly narrow.

You’re probably hurting her. You’re probably ruining her for anyone else - nothing will ever satiate her more than the way she sobs as your fingers twist tighter through her hair. Around her fucking miracle of a waist. It's an obscene sound that echoes down to your cock, as deep, hot and fucking filthy as her cries when she cums for the third, fourth?

"Just," Yuna barely makes, her eyelids heavy, her gaze flitting somewhere behind her. "Just look at you, fucking me so hard, filling up my tight little pussy, making me take everything your cock has to give. God, you love wrecking my perfect little hole, don't you?"

No, or yes, or probably. You’ll figure out the details later.

"God, I love it when you get real messy, when I get you like this-" your words run seamlessly into the searing heat between your bodies, like punctuation, like the end of days -

"Use me." She doesn't just say it. "Take me, and cum in me, wherever you want. Daddy, you can have my mouth, or, or, you can - you can finish inside me."

And god, you could, you really could: just the timbre of her voice does things to you, the way that it curls around the words daddy, and sir, and you're fucking me so goddamn good. She's saying them now, her whimpers breaking into outright moans and all: shit, please, please - you're gonna make me cum - oh - oh fuck! And when she's wound that tight, a quivering, sopping mess of a girl, you put your fingers against her clit, circling and pressing in tempo to the thrust of your cock.

The cruel metronome that makes. Hell, it fucking sends her.

She’s begging you to finish inside her. It's fucked up - and she knows it. She wraps her heels around the square of your back, and the tension rises, and rises, the coiled spring tight and waiting - just a push away, so you slam into her once, then twice more, the push of a hand splayed between her tits and your fingers digging into the muscle of her thigh. She wants you to cum in her pussy, fill her right up; she tells you that, again, that she wants it, and her voice is raspy, high. That she wants you now, as if she didn't before, and how does this compare, because she needs it now.

You hold out for just a little. You’re holding your breath. Just a little, just until Yuna’s eyelashes flutter open over her shoulder and she says your name, so sweetly, and says, "please, just, inside."

You shouldn't.

You can't.

So here, barely able to think at all, you end up doing the unthinkable - thinking all the while of pumping her right to the finish and draining your balls straight into the deepest reach of her cunt, how fucking tempting it may be - you muster an ounce of good judgment still adrift in a sea of lust. Your throbbing cock draws out of that wet, inviting heat and into your fist, and watch how that makes her begin to unspool: the way she tries to press her knees shut. She's sobbing for it, pleading, her lashes dark with tears. "No, no, fuck me, please, I'm begging you. Please, I'm going to be so good - god, please -"

You tug her back, look her in the eye, and let out a loud, shaky exhale. "Knees, princess."

She's too wracked with need to do anything other than comply. Her jaw drops. “But-”

"Mouth," you cut in, sharp enough that her gaze lifts, and you're right there - on the precipice, so close, watching her tongue dart out of her mouth to run across the swell of her bottom lip.

Watching her knees fold into the carpet, her stockings down loose around her thighs, her underwear hanging off an ankle. The rise and fall of her chest like rolling waves, and you can see her hands fisting on her knees, and her face: you watch the emotion flash over, like water on glass, and a moment is all it takes. She leans her face forward to your hand, as you wind her hair into your fist, her lips parted and her gaze lowered. She's obedient, taking the weight of your cock with her pretty pink mouth like the fucked-up-little-fantasy that she is, opening so nice and wide.

Her eyes flit up to yours, her mascara-ringed lashes fanned against the pink of her cheeks.

"My face," she tells you, or something close to it, "fuck my face. Go ahead, use it - cum all over me."

Your cock slides halfway home, her cheeks hollowing, and when it presses to the back of her throat, she gags. You curse and tip your head back, the wood of your desk digging into the flesh of your palm.

"What did you say," you half groan out. "Baby," you add, just for good measure, just to play along, "c'mon."

The tip of Yuna's tongue sweeps and swirls just beneath your cockhead, and she moans her answer around your length, lapping at a leak of precum. "I said," she's repeating now, her cheek brushing across your shaft, and you shudder. "Fuck, what I said was I want you to cum all over my face."

Jesus.

You bury your cock into her mouth once, twice. Let it sit there. Let her really struggle for it, the angle just a tad awkward from above. Let her lips stretch wide, and her shoulders shake a little - tears start to gather, pricking her eyes, her lipstick a mess, the way your cock fits, plugging up her throat so full. You hold her like that for just a second, a little less - until Yuna's moaning, the vibration low in her mouth, and her eyes flutter open, closed.

"Fuck," you spit out, and "perfect," and your voice is shot, your whole face warm, and you're going to cum on her - everywhere on her. Yuna, who’s been staring up at you in wide-eyed submission, gives you a little nod, like she means it.

Like she’s earned it.

And maybe she has: it only takes one last look to seal it - her hand curled around your cock, her cheek matted with her own spit and lipstick, the bright smudge of her own cum from the point of her chin to the cleft of her cupid's bow, and her eyes are locked on yours, eager and hot. Maybe she hasn't - and maybe you should make her beg, fuck her mouth some more - it's almost cruel, how she looks. A perfectly pretty picture, poised and pliant and waiting, and she's right there, beneath you, and fuck - this is so wrong, and you'll ruin her, you'll mark her up like this. She'll be painted like a work of art.

Your pulse thickens. Stands right up in your veins.

Then, your control, snapping: her pretty lashes flutter, her mouth gone slack, her jaw still tilted up like she expects a gift, an offering, her palm wrapped so nice and snug around the base of your cock, her expression dazed, and so easy, and perfect, so eager. You tilt your hips just a fraction further, and she fucking swallows, her tongue tracing the underside where you throb harder, heavier - her body lilting up as you press in so deep.

“God,” you breathe in, out. It hits hard. It hits fast. “Yuna-”

A tensing of your stomach coils up through like smoke, and your grip tightens on the edge of your desk, the other in her hair, a helpless, desperate thrusting, and there - it's a wonderful, brilliant sort of explosion, like light, the white-hot burn of a fever breaking. You cum all over her face and into her hair, spilling out streaks of hot, filthy white onto her sculpted features and the sweet line of her throat, and god, there's so much, she's taking it so easily, all her breathing hot and heavy and loud.

Her skin alabaster and porcelain; cotton and canvas; she lets you fucking paint her, all messy and ruined.

In fact she’s even smiling like she’s holding in a laugh, all gooey-soft with satisfaction, and you're jerking your cock slow through her slender fingers, even after there's nothing else left to give and every inch of her face is marked - the way she wears your cum like new skin. You feel the shockwave tear your nerves open, and then the calm, right on its heels, spreading out from your core to your fingertips, out through the roots of your hair.

"Ah," you exhale, a tight gasp. Yuna takes the entirety of you into her mouth, sucking down your length - harder - as she swallows back a final, sticky load, her own hair sweat-slick to her face.

Just look at the damage: that’s a story not even you’d be able to spin. There's cum on her nose, dribbling past her cheek. On her jaw and on her cheek. Filthy white streaked all over her parted lips, her neck. Down her shoulder blades, and soiling her hair, and leaking down past her collarbones.

(Christ, was this better or worse? You can't even tell. Every version of her that's been served on a plate for you has seen fit to make you sweat.)

When the dust begins to settle, you’re left panting and spent. Yuna, the collateral on this fine, whiny, disaster of a deal. A collection of photos, and some thoughts and ideas, that now sit disheveled on the ground. There's a scathing voice inside your head that's demanding to be heard, reminding you all-too-casually that this is not any way to manage a client. She could snap her fingers, call out to that sycophant at the top floor, and your career would be over - she could do anything she should ever desire.

You know, on a baser level, this, and worse: the duality of the thought. Her tight cunt on your desk, you on your knees; the sharp gasp you can steal from the top of her throat, perhaps when she feels the gentle pressure of teeth around one rosy nipple. The pinch of your thumb and index finger around the other. Her nails down your back in ten angry lines, and the throb in her throat, while you slide the whole width of a hand, rough, over the flesh of her ass.

Maybe the desk, like everything else, can just join the pile on the floor.

"Yuna," you say, the vowels pitching like a sigh.

Her palms find the sharp crease in your pants and slide upward. She's gazing up at you, bright, her face sticky with you.

"You can't send me out like this," she tells you, matter-of-factly, letting a smile cross the lines of her lips - or a smirk. A wordless extension of the previous sentence - of a few.

You pull out and away from her: a white and gray dotted tie hanging loose, unknotted; a button still fastened somewhere mid-center, your trousers pulled off and loose down just below your knees, the fly gaping open. She's in a similar state, the cups of her bra slipping loose, her mouth flushed, lips swollen and red, the outline of how she’d let you use her in a smeary, runny stain across her cheek.

"Maybe let your manager know," you tell her, pulling your belt in place, and you think you catch her eye rolling. "That you're going to be late."

Yuna doesn't hesitate.

"Tell her yourself," she responds, "I'm sure she'll be relieved to hear I'm not actually dead - just having gotten fucked stupid on my PR person's cock."

"I might forget to include a couple details."

"You shouldn’t." Her eyebrows jump. And she's chewing, lazily, on the full curve of her lower lip, her teeth glinting like razors. "Here, before you throw all this to the sharks -"

So, so very dramatic, and with this: her thumbnail pressed beneath your chin. It draws your gaze up - up, and down: from the splay of her legs and the gleam of wetness between them, a brief rest along the arcs of her chest - the room's a total fucking wreck. Your necktie, her skirt, her blouse, her pantyhose. The papers and books all spread, bent, broken, the stack knocked clean onto its side. The skirt's probably still pulled too far up her hips for decency, her breasts shoved up to her neck and the collarbone, and then there's her face - her chin streaked with cum. Yuna smiles then, the corner of her mouth pulled upward.

She might kiss you if you'd let her.

Cum on her lips be damned, she's beautiful like that, like she isn't even trying. And in fact, she never really had to - this girl, she'd do it alone. The idea that someone could be as universally loved as she, is enough, a marvel even, but here she is in front of you, every atom and curve a siren, a study in perfection and composition. Like she’s not just all your mistakes laid out to bear.

"Take a second to take a proper look, hm? Get all the memories in, while they're fresh."

"Because?"

"You can remember I'm only the person you say I am, for you."

"Oh, of course," and the laugh that leaves your throat sounds dry, cracked open. The band of her skirt stretches, snaps back, so neatly that it leaves a pale line on her flesh. And now there are your hands, fitting around her hipbones, a sigh: a short, sudden motion, tugging her up. Yuna gasps: something surprised, delighted. She's all grins and teeth, all clean, bright incisors.

"Mine," you're breathing, the flat of her stomach underneath the fingers you've placed upon it. "This is mine - you. Yours - you're all mine."

It’s possessive, but, you’re not all incorrect.

"Yeah," she more than agrees.

There's a ribbon-taut quality in the way it leaves her mouth, the tension in her body coiled up through to the bones. She makes it sound like the beginning of a promise, the beginning of something much larger.

And by the way." She’s still buttoning her shirt. Putting herself together. You’ve seen the triage, the damage control. This is the Yuna you get.

So, she needs the second - a respite to lick a stray stripe of slick and cum off her wrist - blotting her cheeks with a ball of wet tissue, until all that's left is the smeared lipstick, her stockings splayed around the floor. The pattern you've worn, where your fingerprints would've shown, gets covered up under her skirt and her coat, wrapped up in a scarf.

The smug satisfaction in her tone pulls your focus, just in time, her hair's falling in waves down her shoulders - perfect, but not flawless: there's a creased line, a hint of her throat, just beneath the collar. There's a slight wisp out of place. The buttons aren't arranged all the way from her collar to her sternum.

"I'm going to go with that photoset, with the white top, in the sand - gonna post 'em online and generate some buzz. You even said it yourself: they're fine. " She pauses, pushing away a strand of hair. "Professionally, of course."

"Professionalism." You smile. "Of course."

She walks out carrying the stilettos: pumps in either hand.

"Always. Catch you soon," she promises, and you do catch a last flash of her expression, lips parted, the lower curving into a satisfied smile, right as she flicks the lock on the door open and your office goes back to quiet.

For a split second, it's unbearable: the silence.

And you think again.

She can have anything, get any boy, girl, whoever, any designer, photographer, make-up artist in the world; there's something so unmistakably intoxicating about the fact that the thing she's decided she wants, is you.

#yuna smut #itzy smut #itzy yuna smut #male reader smut #kpop fanfic

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thisapplepielife · 1 month ago

Text

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Hot Daddy

Prompt Day 23: Hot Chocolate | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Mild Use of "Daddy" | Tags: AU, Meet Cute, Single Dad Steve, Platonic Stobin

"Hot chocolate?"

Eddie's startled from his thoughts, looking to see where the unexpected question came from. He wasn't paying attention to his surroundings, off in his own world, as Wayne would say. Well, he says that, and that Eddie's lucky he doesn't accidentally walk into traffic.

Which, true. It has happened a time or two. But what Wayne doesn't know won't hurt him.

Locating the voice that had spoken is interesting, because Eddie was not expecting to look down, or expecting a hot man next to a table full of little girls clearing running a fundraiser. There's a little girl looking up at him expectantly, and she must have been the one that asked.

Hot guy's hand is resting on her shoulder protectively, and she must be his daughter, since she's his little doppelganger.

The guy is eyeing him, and Eddie knows he looks scarier than he actually is, so he smiles, trying to look less intimidating. At least the girl isn't scared of him, it seems. Not his tattoos, not his piercings, not his heavy leather and attitude.

"Hi, sir!" She says, all chipper, like it isn't freezing cold, "We're selling hot chocolate and cookies to help pay for camp."

It's a script, and a little stilted, but she's got the spirit, that's for sure. And he hasn't been called sir in, well, ever, maybe.

"Of course," he says, and shifts his duffle bag to his other arm so he can reach for his wallet.

The little handwritten sign has their pricing, which he is certain is too low, and he fishes out a ten dollar bill, handing it over.

"Keep the change," he says, and the girls squeal and jump up and down.

The man finally grins, like Eddie's won him over, just a little.

Suddenly, there's several girls wanting to be involved in the translation, handing him a sack of cookies, napkins, as hot dad pours hot chocolate out of a stainless steel dispenser.

"Marshmallows?" he asks, and Eddie grins.

"You know it."

He shakes some into Eddie's cup, then a few more as he meets Eddie's eyes and winks, then hands it over.

"Thank you," Eddie says, and he could look into those golden eyes all day. He'd love to see them in the daylight. He bets they are so warm.

"Thanks for supporting the cause," the pretty-eyed hot dad says, and Eddie takes one more long look at him before walking away.

It's good hot chocolate and great cookies. He's impressed.

The table isn't there the next night, or the few after, and Eddie feels a little bummed out that he missed his opportunity to flirt a little, feel him out.

He wasn't wearing a ring.

Eddie's certain of that. He looked. He also knows no ring isn't the end all and be all, some people just don't wear them, but no ring means that he might have had a chance. And a chance is all he needs.

So, he was hoping they'd be back now that it is the weekend again, but no luck.

"Why so mopey?" Robin asks, and Eddie turns to look at her.

"I saw a guy on the sidewalk, and I hoped he'd be back on the street corner tonight–"

"Eddie!"

"–but maybe it was just a weekend thing?" Eddie ponders.

"Eddie, are you trying to hire a prostitute?" she asks, eyes huge.

"What? No!" He throws back his head and laughs, "He was a perfectly respectable man! With a little girl!"

She raises an eyebrow.

"His daughter!"

Eddie's just digging a deeper and deeper hole as she laughs at him.

"I'm not following," she says, leaning on the counter of the music store. She started about two months ago, and so far, he likes her.

"There was a booth of kids doing a fundraiser. The dad that was supervising was hot."

She laughs at him, but it doesn't seem mean. Then her face changes, "When was this? What'd he look like?"

"Last Friday. Good hair. My height? I don't know. A real pretty dude."

"Swoopy hair?" she asks.

"What's swoopy hair?" he asks, and she makes a motion with her hands, and well, maybe?

"Yeah, maybe," he says, as if the image of this guy hasn't been burned into his retinas.

Then, he really hears what she's been asking:

"Robin. Robin Buckley. Do you know hot daddy?"

"Ew, no. Never say that to me again."

"Sorry," he mutters, feeling chided.

"Steve–" she starts, and he really, really doesn't want to hear about her Bobbsey Twin of a best friend Steve right now. He feels like he knows more about Steve than he knows about Robin, which is crazy for someone he's never met.

"Robin. No more Steve stories," he says, resting his forehead against the counter, banging it slightly.

Steve's a teacher. Steve's a coach. Steve played sports in college. Steve could have gone pro. Steve's a single dad. Steve's the best.

Steve, Steve, Steve.

He doesn't have the brainpower to deal with the Legend of Steve right now.

"Eddie–"

"Robin!" he interrupts.

"Fine. Don't let me talk," she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

And it's finally, blissfully, silent. At least for a few minutes.

Eddie's behind the counter when the bell over the door jingles. He looks up, and – hot daddy.

Robin elbows him in the ribs, "I told you never to say that again!"

"I didn't know I did!" he yelps.

She laughs, "Steve, this is Eddie. Eddie, this is Steve."

"You're Steve?" Eddie asks, and he knows his cheeks are red.

"The one and only," Steve says, and Eddie really wishes he'd paid better attention when Robin talked about him now. If wishes were horses, indeed.

Steve's holding two to-go cups, and leans up against the counter, handing one over to Eddie, not Robin.

Eddie takes it, dumbly. It's hot chocolate, and Eddie looks down at it:

555-0083 Call me Hot Daddy

Steve winks, and turns and walks back out.

Eddie's gonna kill Robin.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! ☕

Notes: Punctuation is important, Steve. Should Eddie call you on the phone - or call you hot daddy. Decisions, decisions. Why not both? 🤣

#steddieholidaydrabbles #prompt: hot chocolate #steddie #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steddie fan fic #platonic stobin #robin buckley #steddie fic #stranger things #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddieholidaydrabbles

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swordsandholly · 10 months ago

Text

Across The Way

Ch. 2: And So It Begins

Retired!Ghoap x fem!plus size!Reader

MDNI

Ao3 | Previous - Next

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

A/N: I got this out a lot faster than I thought I would. Hopefully my work doesn’t get too insane and I can get the next out in a timely manner - it’s going to be a bigger one!

“You were right.” Simon carefully cuts through the loaf with a serrated knife. He’s never lost his skill with them, despite their uses becoming increasingly more domestic over the years. It’s charming, in a way - the juxtaposition of where they started and where they are now.

“Right about whit?” Johnny asks.

“She is a pretty little thing.”

“Donnae tell me I need tae be worried about ye sneakin’ off at work.” He jokes. Simon would never, of course, but it’s fun to see the way his cheeks heat up at the implication. Without his mask he wears every expression with reckless abandon.

Simon settles his large frame into the seat across from Johnny at the dining table. It’s small, they don’t need much. The chairs always creak under Simon’s weight in an almost threatening fashion. He pushes a plate with two pieces of the bread and some eggs over to Johnny. There’s an odd tug in his chest when he picks up the slice - an urge to be gentle as he spreads butter over it. Gentility is not a compulsion he feels often.

“S’good.” Simon mutters around his bite.

Johnny nods along after taking one himself. There’s love in it - he can tell. A piece carefully crafted with only absolute perfection in mind. How strange that food can carry such a feeling.

“Was a wee bit worried we’d be stuck across from the nicest, worst baker in the world.” He mutters.

Simon huffs out a half laugh.

~~~

Your first week goes by in a blur. For a small town they sure do manage to keep you busy. It’s good, you remind yourself. Better than none. If you keep it up at this rate you’ll be able to hire help by the end of the summer quarter.

By Monday, the first day of your “weekend”, you’re overdone. Head dizzy and body exhausted, you spend the day in bed. It’s a gratifying exhaustion, one you hope to build more of a tolerance for. As of now, though, you elect to remain deeply buried under the covers.

When you wake for a second time the sun is already near setting again. The entirety of Monday slunk by with you in bed. You grumble to yourself angrily like an old man. You wanted to unpack today - to at least get your clothes and kitchen items put away.

“Stupid.” You grouse. At least you still have time to shower, you suppose.

As you stand the world blacks out for a moment, your body swaying in place. You allow yourself to fall back on the bed, sitting while your vision slowly comes back into focus. Blinking away black dots and off squiggles that dance across your eyes. On attempt number two you manage it, making your way to the bathroom.

The work is worth it. The pain is worth it.

This is what you always wanted, after all.

You are happy. You can feel it in your bones. They’re lighter than they used to be - your whole body thrums with excited energy even as you have to lower yourself with the upmost care into the shower seat. Even as you have to scrape one of the cheap fold out chairs you managed to get over to the stove while you cook a late night dinner. Thank god for low counters.

When you were arranging your schedule it took a while to get it perfected. To compensate for your body you have to have time to rest and be able to do a lot of baking preparation before the work week starts. Monday and Tuesday are for rest. Wednesdays are for prep. The shop is closed but you’re in the back working your ass off mixing and kneading and shaping doughs. As well as practicing new recipes you want to add to the store’s line up eventually. Your goal is to sell American biscuits, preferably in batches of six, but those take a lot of work and don’t keep as long. They’ll have to wait until you have hired help.

It’s all chance and whatever you can manage to make happen. You learned to be okay with that, though.

You’ve got plenty of spoons, you tell yourself. Just need to use them wisely.

When you finally close the fridge, now fully stocked with dough ready to proof and bake, you check the clock. It’s still the early afternoon. You finished sooner than you assumed you might. The thought makes you giddy - makes you feel accomplished.

It makes you feel normal.

As you exit into the warm spring sun you take a moment. Ever since you arrived you haven’t been able to just stop. To just take everything in - let the foreign air fill your lungs and the aura of the town sink into your bones.

It’s a lovely little main street that you’re located on. The building to your left is a large family owned pharmacy (very convenient for you) and to your right is an empty brick building. It looks like a former post office, but from what you know the current post office is a few blocks down beside the grocers. It’s quaint, the lot of it.

Your eyes settle on the shop across from yours housed in a simple brick building painted white. The upstairs is an apartment much like yours, you think, but from what you know it currently remains empty. The sign above the door reads A Cut Above the Rest. You wonder if that was Simon or Johnny’s doing.

Would it be weird to go in? You suppose not, after all they came to yours. It’s only fair you give them some patronage as well. Plus you need to ask how the bread was. Hopefully they liked it - you realized halfway through the night that you didn’t even ask if they like sourdough before shoving it into their hands.

That thought kept you up later than you’d like to admit.

You look both ways down the street. This particular spot doesn’t have a crosswalk but the road is so dead even when the downtown is busy you figure it’s worth risking. The lack of danger doesn’t stop you from fast-walking across, though.

The shop’s old-fashioned door bell chimes prettily as you push it open. For a butcher it smells extremely clean - almost clinical. It’s small, with an L shaped display counter and a register at the end nearest the door. Packages of sausage links and the like hang on displays across the back wall. Beside the wooden saloon doors that lead behind the counter is a little dog bed with a very well crafted name plate reading Riley hanging right above it.

So cute.

“Afternoon.” Simon appears from the back, wiping his hands on a rag. You jump a little, so lost in taking in your surroundings you forgot what you came here for.

“H-hi!” You smile. You forgot how intimidating Simon is. His gaze levels you - pins you underneath him like a fly under a swatter. Maybe that’s a bit dramatic. “I thought I’d come check your shop out and ask how the bread was?”

“It was good.” He replies bluntly. Totally monotone. The corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. You decide that’s it’s a smile - whether that’s the reality of his expression or not.

“It’s really nice in here.” You look around. There isn’t much for decoration. The walls are too covered in menus and diagrams of cuts to leave room for anything extra. There’s a shelf of odds and ends opposite the main counter full of high end mustards and condiments. Little things to go with whatever you could think to make out of the varieties of meat they offer.

“Thanks.” Simon nods. “One moment.”

You watch with curiosity and a slight frown as he makes his way into the back. He almost has to duck under the doorway. Old buildings with low ceilings and all that. The place definitely wasn’t made with a six foot plus behemoth in mind. You continue to look around, rocking back and forth on your heels. They have a perfect score on their inspectors plaque. You might not know Simon well, but he seems the type to be absolutely precise about everything. The score doesn’t surprise you.

Yours is almost perfect - some rules are different here than in the US. Next time, you swear you’ll get it top notch! You look across the street at your shop. You wonder if you made the wrong choice with The Honey Bun. It’s bit much now that you see it from afar but it still makes you smile. That’s what matters, you guess.

Simon comes back out with a small, nicely wrapped package. “You don’t ‘ave any dietary restrictions d’you?”

You shake your head and he pushes the package toward you. Your eyes widen - it’s a great cut of high end beef. Like, really good beef as far as you know. Something you’d never be able to afford even if your business wasn’t brand new. You stare between Simon and the little pack in your hands. “Th-this is so nice but I-“

“It’s only fair.” He cuts you off. “Neighbors, yeah?”

You can’t help the grin that splits your face, eyes misting up despite yourself. Kindness has not been a constant in your life - more of a rarity. Something you had to claw and fight to earn. Being given it so freely but such a taciturn man has you reeling just a bit.

“Thank you… I’ve got to head back but, uh, thank you. Really.” You press the small package to your chest. “Tell Johnny I said hi?”

“Course.” He nods.

“Thanks again!” You grin, giving a little two finger salute before practically skipping all the way back into your dingy little apartment. Happily, you pack away the meat to use later. It’s too nice to just make any dish out of - best to save it for a special occasion. Your first gift in your new life. Best to savor it.

~~~

“Afternoon, bonnie.” Johnny appears in your doorway while you sweep up from the Saturday rush, bell chiming upon his entrance. “Hope I’m not a bother.”

“Not at all.” You smile, resting the broom on the counter. “Hello to you as well, Miss Riley.”

She huffs out a quiet bark in reply, sitting dutifully at Johnny’s feet. You don’t have much experience with service dogs - other than the well known rule not to pet them while they’re working. They were always too expensive for you to get and your condition wasn’t labeled serious enough to warrant financial aid. (Despite the fact that you can, and have, passed out and hit your head on something hard.)

“Can I get you something?” You ask.

“Och, I’m a’right. Just wanted tae stop by an’ say hello before headin’ home.” He gives you that dashing, bright grin. “Simon always kicks me out of the shop at close.”

“He doesn’t need help?” You ask. Surely cleaning up a butchers shop is a huge task. You have your work cut out for you with all the flower - you can’t imagine cleaning that amount of blood and mess.

Johnny shrugs. “The cleaning chemicals trigger my migraines.”

You hum. “Well, you’re always welcome to stop by. Actually,” you turn on your heel, “I’ve got somethin’ I’d like you to try, if you want.”

“Never one to say no to food. Especially from a pretty girl.” Johnny says as he follows. He tells Riley to stay in front and she listens - the perfect little lady that she is. You nearly trip at his comment, keeping your back turned so that he hopefully doesn’t see the heat spreading from your face and down your neck.

“I-it’s, uh, you ever had American biscuits?” You ask, praying he doesn’t notice the shake in your voice. You have to get on your tip toes to reach the small basket you made the day prior - carefully lowering it and pulling back the gingham cloth you wrapped them in.

An image of home.

“Aye, had them once on a layover at some chain diner.” He nods. “Donnae think they were fresh, though.”

“Well these are proper biscuits.” You carefully cut one in half with ease. “Sometime I’ll have to make you some gravy to go with.”

“Yer gonnae make us fat, hen.” Johnny chuckles.

“There are worse things to be.” The words come out more defensive than you would have liked. An automatic mechanism - a harshness you've honed over the years.

You hate how easily you wield it, sometimes.

Johnny leans forward over the table, a furrow in his brow. “I dinnae mean-“

“Here.” You cut him off and hold out the biscuit on a napkin, smothered with butter in the middle.

Johnny lets your interruption go. Probably happy for an out. He takes the fluffy baked good slowly, cupping it in his large hand with care. You wonder if he always does that, touches things with such gentle love. Is it learned? Is it just natural to him? Does he touch Simon like that? Gentle caresses?

What’s that like?

Johnny takes a massive, enthusiastic bite. Somehow his blue eyes manage to sparkle even more, grinning as he chews. “Sh’gew!”

You laugh at his attempt to talk around the food. “Glad you like it.”

He swallows roughly. A full body gulp. “Why’d ye start bakin’ anyway?”

“My grandparents raised me.” You fold the biscuits back up in their little basket. “My grandma taught me how. She was the best in town - won the pie contest almost every year.”

“Tha’s lovely.” The smile he gives you is so genuine it makes your chest constrict.

“Mean old bat but she could beat anyone in the kitchen.” You laugh. “We swore she had some kinda magic. Like a green thumb but for cooking.”

“My mum’s like tha’. Can make anythin’ out of nothin’.” He nods along.

You fall into an easy back and forth - never breaching anything deeper than the most surface level of content as he eats. It’s manageable. Johnny doesn’t push and neither do you.

Riley barks from the front of the shop.

“Och, tha’s my queue.” Johnny brushes off his hands and checks the front of his shirt for crumbs. “Take care, aye?”

You smile. “You too.”

~~~

Johnny’s words keep ringing in your ears. You don’t know why. It’s nothing special. There’s no reason to attach to them. You raise a hand to wipe off the fog and stare in the small mirror hung above your bathroom sink.

Pretty girl.

You scoff. You’re not a pretty girl. You’ve never been a pretty girl. Fat girl. Stupid girl. Sick girl. Tired girl. Sad girl.

That last one you’ve heard more than anything else. Out of all the descriptors of you it stands out as the most used. By everyone from teachers to your own family. Always just a sad, sad girl.

You got it from your mom, they’d say. It’s not like you would ever know.

You rip your eyes away from the mirror and try to let the thoughts melt away as you sink into the comfort of your blankets. Those thoughts live back on the other side of the Atlantic. They don’t get to follow you here.

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redzie02 · 9 months ago

Text

Jongho is jealous and Wooyoung is the cause because of course he is

drabble written past midnight

warnings: jealousy/ insecurity/ jongho having one sided beef with wooyoung/ jongho being an irritated bear masterlist

Jongho knew he shouldn’t be feeling this way- he had no reason to. He knows you love him and care about him, you tell him so every day. Never once has he felt unloved by you. But today…he was feeling insecure. And being so insecure made him feel guilty for the tiny part of him that was doubting your affection for him.

You see, today, the both of you had spent the day with Wooyoung. It really wasn’t any different than any other weekend. But for some reason, Jongho couldn’t help but hyper focus on the way you threw your head back and cackled when Wooyoung would make a joke. Or when Wooyoung would steal a bite of your food and you didn’t even seem to mind or second glance.

Now there wasn’t exactly anything strange about this- Wooyoung was your best friend after all. Jongho just couldn’t help but compare himself to Wooyoung.

Of course you didn’t know Jongho was feeling any of this yet, he hides his emotions well. But as you walked towards the cafe hand in hand, you couldn’t help but glance at him, noticing he’d been a bit quiet for the past few minutes. You squeezed his hand and he turned his head to meet your eyes. You smiled at him, hoping he would be able to read the question behind your eyes. Are you okay? He returned the smile, to which you lifted your interlocked fingers to place a kiss on the back of his hand.

After entering the cafe and ordering iced coffees- and a chocolate croissant you’d been craving all day- you walked to a table with drinks in hand. Usually Jongho liked to sit across from you, but today he’d quickly taken the spot next to you before Wooyoung even had the chance to.

You quickly fell into a conversation and Wooyoung showed you and Jongho pictures he had taken the past week.

“Hey, fix your face! Why do you look so miserable?”

“Wha-“ You lifted your gaze from Wooyoung’s phone, ready to defend yourself, only to find Wooyoung pointing his finger at Jongho. Brows raised in confusion, you turned to look at him.

“What are you talking about? My face is fine.” Jongho rolled his eyes while sipping his coffee.

Wooyoung gave you a look and teased Jongho further. “Where are your manners? I’m gonna tell Hongjoong you’re being a brat.” You watched them in amusement.

“Oh yeah? And what the hell is he gonna do about it?”

“Sell you, probably.”

You attempted to laugh, but choked on your coffee instead. Jongho patted your back as you coughed into your napkin. “You guys are idiots,” you croaked.

Before leaving the cafe, Wooyoung excused himself to the bathroom. You waited for him outside and took advantage of this moment. You grabbed Jongho’s hand and pulled him closer to your body.

“Are you okay, Jongho? You haven’t really said much.” There was a look behind his eye that you'd never seen before, but it was gone as soon as you noticed it.

Jongho put on his best face, not wanting you to worry any more about him. "Hm? Oh- yeah I'm fine, I guess I'm just a bit tired." Jongho felt his hands clam up as he watched you wordlessly examine his face.

You took a deep breath and held his face. "Are you sure? Your knee isn't sore again or anything? If it is, we can go home and I can ice it for you and I'll make tea an-"

"No baby, I'm not in pain, I swear. I was just in a weird mood, I guess...sorry." His hands were now over yours.

You opened your mouth to reply only to be interrupted again. "You're always weird, man."

Wooyoung. Jongho tried not to hit Wooyoung, but failed, landing a slap on his shoulder. "If your face wasn't so important, I'd punch you instead."

Wooyoung pulled him into a tight embrace, smacking a kiss on his cheek. "Wrong! I'm your favorite." Jongho struggled to get away, but Wooyoung only held him tighter. He loved tormenting him.

"Hey, get off my boyfriend." You pouted, reaching out. Wooyoung caught your hand and pulled you in, trapping you as well and planting a kiss on your cheek. You groaned and pinched his sides, making him yelp.

"That hurt!"

Both you and Jongho replied at the same time, "Good."

Back home, Jongho sat on the couch while you prepared tea in the kitchen. Soft music played and you hummed to it as you pulled out mugs from the cabinet.

You stirred the tea and carefully made your way to where Jongho sat. "Careful, it's hot."

"Mm, thank you." He took a sip and set his mug on the coffee table to cool down.

You sat down and let out a sigh of relief. The apartment was quiet and peaceful, the yellow glow from the street lights subtly peeked through the blinds. You still had this one thing on your mind though.

"So, what did you mean earlier when you said you were in a weird mood?"

"Oh-uh nothing- I-why do you ask?"

"I don't know...you just didn't really seem too excited today. You barely talked either. You can talk to me about how you're feeling, you know."

"I know, I know. I just-"

DING

The sound of your phone going off startled you both. Jongho rolled his eyes when you read Wooyoung's name out loud. He let out a frustrated sigh, which you heard.

"What? Is it Wooyoung? Was it something he said?"

Jongho huffed and tossed his body back into the couch, crossing his arms, eyes facing the ceiling. He knew he was being dramatic but he didn't care. He mumbled to himself, hoping you wouldn't hear. "Even when he's not here, he gets your attention. God, he's so annoying."

You blinked at him. Your mug now placed next to his. Things were finally clicking into place and you heart panged for not noticing sooner. You slid your hand down his arm. "Jongho..." He didn't budge. He let you pull his arm away so you could snuggle into his side. His arm fell over your body. "Baby..." He lifted his head to find your eyes fixated on his. "I don't think I've ever seen you jealous in my life."

"I'm not jealous."

"Yeah? Then what are you feeling, hm?" Your voice was soft as you spoke to him. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassed about the way he felt and the way he acted as a result of that. You leaned up and kissed his eyelids. "Jongho, you know you're the person I love most, right? And maybe this is toxic, but I'd burn the world if you told me to."

He chuckled and finally opened his eyes, "Please don't, we know you can't stand heat."

You bit back a smile. "I hate that I made you feel this way, bear. Can you please tell me what line I crossed that made you uncomfortable?"

He sighed and sat up, tightening his arm around you. "Honestly, there wasn't anything that you or Wooyoung did....I just- I don't know. I guess today was one of those days where I overthought everything...I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize, I get what you mean. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better, bear?"

Jongho thought for a moment, but eventually sunk further into the couch, bringing you with him. "No, just be here and-" DING "-and please mute Wooyoung."

You stifled your laugh into his chest. "Didn’t you say you wanted me to be friends with your friends?"

"I take that back."

#jongho x reader #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #angst #jongho x you #ateez fanfic #jongho x y/n #choi jongho x reader #Choi Jongho #wooyoung fanfic #redzie02

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jilyandbambi · 2 months ago

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Can I just...make an embarrassing plea for nuance for a second?

As a Daniel Molloy enjoyer who's thought a lot about his relationship with his family, and his daughters, in particular, based on the few throwaway lines we've gotten, fandom jumped on the Daniel Is a Deadbeat Dad Whose Kids Hate Him train a little too readily, in my opinion. Especially since we have so few details to go off of when it comes to Daniel's life.

Look, there's obviously strong textual hints that Daniel made some pretty big mistakes in his family life, let his wives and daughters down in major ways. Maybe he was a bad father from the moment his kids were born and they have no good memories with him and now they can't wait for him to kick the bucket so they can inherit whatever's left of his estate... But also, maybe not!

There's a lot of nuance to relationships with imperfect parents that I think fandom overlooks. I'll elaborate using some of my own family's dysfunction as examples:

I have a cousin who was a Daddy's girl like me, who had a father who doted on her when she was little. But when she was in elementary school, he had a nervous breakdown after being attacked, and they lost contact while he was in and out of institutions. Now that she's an adult and he's doing better, they're trying to reconnect without much success. My cousin loves her dad very much, but he's a stranger to her, which, coupled with residual feelings of abandonment, makes it hard for her to reach out. That said, she still wants a relationship with him and looks back fondly on her childhood with him.

I have a great-aunt that I'm close to who would, off-and-on, go through extended periods of not talking to her father, my great-grandfather because he was old, sickly, losing his memory and blind in one eye, and yet as a "retired" contractor would still paint and remodel the rooms of his house, and the fact that he didn't take his health seriously stressed my aunt out to the point of seriously impacting her own mental and physical health. She loved her father dearly, but had to prioritize her own health when he proved to be unconcerned with his.

So, let's imagine for a sec that there's some gray area to play around in here.

What if Daniel was in denial in the first few years of his Parkinson's diagnosis and was still taking dangerous assignments like nothing was wrong and his daughters had to stop checking in for the sake of their sanity, which had been crumbling under the strain of sitting up at night panicking over their terminally ill father jetting off to the MENA to interview Kurdish militias for a documentary on ISIS?

What if Daniel was a doting father at first who made it to birthdays and recitals and holidays, etc. but after the girls' mom picked them up from their dad's and found used needles strewn about the coffee table one too many times, his visitation was restricted, and the relationship fell apart in the years after?

What if Daniel was a workaholic that no-showed at Christmas, birthdays, and parent-teacher conferences, but who came the fuck through when it was time to sell Girl Scout cookies (and any other school fundraiser), pulled out all the stops when either of the kids had a school project that required tons of research (in the days before Internet, mind you), and was fully down to stalk their high school/college boyfriends with them to see if they were cheating?

What if Daniel was a workaholic who sometimes freebased coke on weekends he had the girls and forgot to pick them up from school and missed every birthday party, but also would bring the girls to work with him all the time and when he did, they'd see their old artwork pinned to the walls of his office and his colleagues would congratulate one on the regional Spelling Bee one of them came first place in and the other on getting her blue belt in karate. Yeah, Daniel wasn't there for any of those but the fact that he cared enough to brag about it at work...yeah. What if Daniel let them skip school on days when middle/high school was just Too Much, and they'd go to Coney Island and ride The Cyclone til they forgot about Jennifer inviting everyone else on the swim team to her party.

Here's another thing: while yes, Daniel puts a premium on truth and honesty and has a blunt, pull no punches manner of speaking--old people are fucking DRAMATIC. Daniel's daughters are adults with busy lives of their own. Meanwhile, he's stuck at home bored out of his mind in retirement. What if his relationship with them is fine (all things considered) but they take a week to respond to his texts because hello? busy. Do any of you have grandparents who are retired? The other day I was informed that I'm "bad at texting" because it took me a few hours to reply to a message asking me if I watch The Diplomat. What if "My daughters won't even talk to me!" is just Daniel being miffed that neither of the girls had responded to his text in their Groupchat asking if they'd had a chance to check out his Masterclass yet?

Look, all this is to say, dysfunctional parent-child relationships are of course, messy and painful, especially if the parent was less-than-stellar during the child's formative years--but that doesn't mean that that's all there is. Oftentimes, there's a lot of good mixed in with the bad; and there's almost always a lot of love and a mutual desire to mend things in the time you have left. Every relationship on IWTV has its highs and lows, both joyful and devastating moments and memories. There's no reason the same can't apply to the relatively blank slate of Daniel Molloy and his daughters' relationship

#daniel molloy #iwtv #amc iwtv #interview with the vampire #devil's minion #armanddaniel #amc interview with the vampire #iwtv meta

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earlycuntsets · 4 months ago

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"Chemical Reaction forms Chemical Romance"

What a year it has been for My Chemical Romance. Only just forming this year and now they are on the verge on releasing their debut album later this month. It seems nothing can go wrong for these guys at the minute so I though I would be apart of the good fortune and ask Gerard a couple of questions and what the key too their success was, this is what he had to say.

Anemic: Hey Gerard, thanks for taking you time to do this interview?

Gerard: You're welcome. Thank you for giving us one. Sorry it took a bit to respond.

Anemic: No problem at all mate, so how are you doing today?

Gerard: We're doing very well thank you. Mostly healthy and almost all of our teeth!

Anemic: Well I must say it's been a rapid rise for you guys to say the least, you only formed at the start of the year and now you have an album coming out next month on Eyeball Records, how are you taking in all in?

Gerard: It's been more than would could have imagined when we started the band. From our first show we've been getting such a nice positive response. Getting signed by Eyeball Records really clinched it and since then we've been on a roll. We're all smiles.

Anemic: So how has it been getting your material out their, I mean you guys must be doing a great live show for people to stand up and take notice of how well you guys are really doing?

Gerard: After recording we were a little rusty as far as performing the material live but after the last weekend of shows we're back to 100%. We try to put on the most honest, energetic, and intense show we possibly can and it has paid off for us so far. It's really like therapy for us to be up there, we would do the same show for 5 or 500 people, the same energy would be there. Getting radio play and having a pressence on the web has helped get the material out there but our biggest push has been word of mouth.

Anemic: With live shows there must be a lot of fans, how would describe you fans?

Gerard: Well it depends. Alot of people that come out to see us have just heard about us so they don't know what to expect. Generally after we start playing alot of people just take a step back, this just happened in Deleware last weekend. I think they may think we're going to hit them but I always try and promise them we won't, we would never do that. We just go crazy up there. The fans that know us are all great, they are always friendly and our first biggest fan, Carlos, is the head of our street team now. The best way to describe our fans would be "diverse". We get all kinds.

Anemic: Who has been the best band you have played along side so far?

Gerard: Pencey Prep, without a doubt.

Anemic: How was it recording the new album, was their a good vibe in the studio were you could go about things the way you wanted them too without having any hassles in the process?

Gerard: The vibe in the studio was excellent. Very positive all the way through. Geoff, Alex, and John were great to work with and brought alot to the table creatively. It was hard to finish because there was a situation where Gerard ended up in the emergency room 5 times and it slowed down recording but we were still able to come under the deadline and make exactly the album we wanted.

Anemic: What should we expect from the new album?

Gerard: Well it's our first album so I would expect to see a band that evolves from the first songs that were written to the last. Expect a very different sound from what is out there right now. Very honest, sincere, aggresive. We make music that we would want to hear and thats why we play it so hard.

Anemic: Once the new record is out and selling to you guys plan to seel it on a global scale i.e maybe in Australia?

Gerard: Eyeball Records just got hooked up with worldwide distrobution, so the album will be available in Australia upon release I believe. We're very excited about that!

Anemic: Who are your musical influences, I guess you would have heaps and heaps but who are the ones that stand out the most for you?

Gerard: Classical guitarists, The Smiths, The Misfits, Queen, At The Gates, Iron Maiden.

Anemic: Before starting the band what did you guys do to occupy you time?

Gerard: Ray is a film maker. Matt is a mechanic. Mikey was in college. Frank was in college as well. Gerard is an artist. Other than that we used to play video games, watch zombie movies, drink beer, hang out, stuff like that.

Anemic: Some rumours I have heard is that you guys like Bats, what's the fascination with them, is it the Will Haven song BATS, or you just like the species?

Gerard: Haha...the whole bat thing came about at an early practice when Mikey joined and we finally gelled. Our energy just came together and a giant heavy metal vortex opened up and out flew a swarm of bats. We all saw it. It was like an awakening. After that we accepted bats into our lives. It was also while we were playing "Vampires Will Never Hurt You" so it probably had alot to do with that.

interview by simon from anemic magazine may 2003

#interviews #bullets era #2003 #my chemical romance #gerard way #this picture of gerard is from the 2002 website #I thought only dead small versions were available #so pumped this picture of gerard is steeped in 2000s nostalg o god

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dedeinthewild · 2 months ago

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paul aron x reader, more than friends

~ "stand there and look good"

summary : As the sun sets, Paul and his photographer share laughs and snaps, with him playfully taking pictures of her in his helmet. They post a cute "soft launch" together, leaving everyone guessing, all while enjoying their cozy, carefree vibe.

The sun was setting slowly and relentlessly over the asphalt, illuminating them for the final moments as they wrapped up the penultimate track walk of the season, along the curves of the first circuit after the long autumn break.

“That’s so trueeee,” hummed the Estonian, walking and playing with his water bottle, unable to get that song out of his head.

“Paul Aron x Gracie Abrams coming soon,” joked one of his engineers, hands stuffed into the pockets of a pair of shorts.

“Gracie could never,” replied the girl Paul always had with him, as if he couldn’t be without her.

If he was there, then so was she—physically or otherwise.

Paul smiled, turning to look at her with his cap on backward and those ridiculously beautiful blue eyes. She was a few steps behind him, phone in hand, wearing the same shirt he had on, paired with an old pair of sweatpants that had seen more action than Paul had in his lifetime.

“That’s so trueeee,” he sang again, likely the only part of the song he actually knew, a fact that infuriated and amused her to no end.

“You’re an idiot,” she said, speeding up to catch him with a smile on her face. She snatched his cap and placed it on Karl, the Estonian’s trainer.

“Better,” she said, scrunching her nose ever so slightly and glancing toward the other drivers still on the track.

Some were wearing sunglasses, others were poring over notes and analyzing strategies for the circuit’s corners, flanked by their engineers.

The amber light of the sunset made her feel weightless, with her distinctive face, slightly tousled hair from the pleasant breeze, and Paul by her side.

“I bet it will sell out in two minutes,” she said, listening to how Paul and the others were chatting about the imminent drop of his collaboration with Parc Fermé.

“You would seriously buy Paul merch?” the same engineer asked.

The Estonian turned to throw an amused glare at the man behind him as they approached the exit of the track, heading to pit lane and eventually to the F2 paddock.

They ended up sitting on the floor in the garage as Karl rambled on about something nonsensical, and the mechanics tidied up for the following day.

Everyone had a good feeling about the race weekend. Perhaps the break had helped settle some of the doubts the driver had about the next season.

“You really think I’ll sell out?” Paul asked.

“As if you don’t think so too,” she replied, raising her eyebrows slightly, a soft smile on her face as she rested her chin on her knees.

“I mean, I know I have fans, but I’m unsure about what I’ll do,” he shrugged, grabbing the cap Karl had abandoned on the table and turning it over in his hands.

“Oh, come on, don’t get all doubtful now,” she said, moving closer so their sides pressed together against the wall they were leaning on.

Paul rested his head on hers, his gaze lingering on his signature printed on the front of her shirt and the big number seventeen stamped on her back.

“Pizza, pizza, pizza!” Karl shouted, excitedly carrying a stack of pizza boxes and setting them down beside them. They stood up, already savoring the thought of a hot slice.

“We’re being way too chaotic,” the girl laughed, settling onto a stool across from Paul and helping herself to a slice.

Karl perched on the edge of the table while someone had connected a speaker somewhere, and Paul’s playlist was creating a relaxed vibe in the garage.

“I wanna do something,” the Estonian announced, appearing by the cabinet where the girl had left her camera.

“You won’t do anything with my baby,” she teased, seeing him disappear with her camera in hand, the corner of his mouth still stained with pizza.

“Trust me,” he grumbled, grabbing his helmet and heading toward the walkway just outside. “And follow me,” he added with a smile.

She made to set her pizza slice down on the box.

“Keep it,” he said.

Karl and the girl frowned, trailing behind Paul out of the garage that housed his car.

“Stand there and look good,” the Estonian joked, pointing to a spot ahead of him where the last rays of the sun were still visible. Then he handed the camera to Karl and joined her.

“What if I don’t want to?” she asked.

“Shut up,” he laughed, sliding his helmet onto her head, gently tucking her hair inside.

He fastened the straps, leaning slightly to get a better view of the clasp while she looked at him through the open visor, wondering why he wanted to take pictures of her.

He handed her the slice of pizza, smiling as he stepped back to take some shots.

“Remember, I love you,” he said playfully, watching her roll her eyes with mock exasperation.

From behind her, he snapped photo after photo, capturing every fold of the number seventeen on her back as the fallen sun darkened their surroundings, leaving the streetlights reflecting off the pilot’s blue helmet.

The pizza slice, his name across her shoulders, and that friendly air that made her instantly likable to everyone.

“Are you done?” she asked, despairing over the pepperoni cooling atop the cheese.

He handed the camera back to Karl and walked over to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders for one last photo together, smiling as he looked at her.

Not long after, back inside the garage, the helmet removed and perched on their stools, she opened her laptop to download the photos from the memory card, opening them in her editing software.

“You’re good,” she said as Paul sat beside her, finishing off what Karl had left behind.

“I know,” he replied.

She raised an eyebrow at him, smiling softly as she adjusted a few details in the photos, noticing just how many he’d taken.

Because she, who hated being photographed, was the person who appeared most often in the Estonian’s phone gallery.

“What do you wanna do?”

He grabbed his phone, crossing his arms.

“Soft launch,” he said, looking directly into her eyes.

“You know that’s what couples do, right?”

The driver shrugged, either because that’s exactly what he intended or because he didn’t care.

“You’ll reach more people, and the little guessing game will be fun for them,” he said.

“If you say so,” she replied, opening his Instagram profile and uploading one of the photos where she was alone and one of the two of them together, adding a cryptic “Guess who?” as the caption.

They posted it and sat chatting, avoiding notifications for a while as they laughed and talked about the weekend, both smiling now that Paul had clarity about his future.

By the time Karl had wandered off to find a bathroom, the two of them were sitting on the floor again, as they often did.

She leaned back against his chest, phone in hand, laughing at the comments and story reposts, while Paul rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Do we really have to guess?”

“It was about damn time, Paul.”

“I think his aim was to promote, but hey, why can’t we gossip a bit?”

”_____ will get old and wrinkly before Paulito finally decides to admit he loves her.”

“I think three comments out of five hundred are actually about the merch,” she laughed, shaking her head in amusement.

“Maybe four,” he joked, wrapping his strong arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

Soft launch.

But did he really need to “launch” anything?

- not proofread or anything, so there might be a few errors :)

by now you surely have that I only write friends/bfs to lovers with Paulito, but I can't help it lol

It's kinda short and I don't know if I like it, so I'll be really happy to hear your feedbacks on it!

hope you like it🍀

#f2 #f1 #motorsports #prema racing #formula racing #writing #paul aron #hitech #paul aron x reader

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lost-in-fandoms · 2 months ago

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Winter warmers day 11: virginity. I went slightly off course, but technically not off-topic. 1.7k words, mostly sfw until the end.

5 times Max and Daniel take each other "virginity" + one time they actually do.

Neither of them really remembers how it had started, they just know it's an inside joke they can't, and don't want to, get rid of anymore.

Every time one of them is doing something new, they say they're losing their virginity. It's not funny, not really, but inside jokes don't really have to be.

It usually goes something like this.

1. "What do you mean you've never had tiramisu in Italy, Max?" Daniel asks, looking at Max as if he had just told him he had decided to stop driving and go sell stamps instead. "I am pretty sure they could revoke your right to race here, mate."

Max rolls his eyes, even if he can't really hold back a smile at Daniel's theatrics.

"I don't drive for Ferrari, Daniel, I don't have to do all the Italian things."

"No, but this is probably illegal or something. You can't keep living this life of crime, Maxy, I won't let you!"

Max rolls his eyes again, but doesn't argue when Daniel, still shaking his head in disbelief, grabs his phone to look up the nearest restaurant.

That evening, tucked away on a table for two in the back corner of a little restaurant, Daniel looks expectantly at Max while he takes his first bite of tiramisu.

"Well?" he asks, before Max has even finished swallowing, "happy to let go of you tiramisu virginity?"

"It is good," Max nods, smiling his squinty eyed smile and offering Daniel the second bite from his own fork. Daniel takes it without even thinking about it, closing his eyes to savor it better.

"Good virginity tiramisu," he agrees, making Max snort.

The finish the slice together, sharing the same fork.

2. "You've never gone rollerblading?"

Daniel remains on the floor, spread out over the yoga mat where Michael had left him after killing him during a training session, but he cracks open an eye, to see Max looming over him, sweaty t-shirt sticking to his skin.

"What?" he asks, lazily gesturing for his water bottle until Max hands it to him.

"You said, when Michael made that joke, before, that you have never gone rollerblading," Max explains, watching Daniel trying to figure out the logistics of drinking his water without having to sit up and without dumping it all over himself. "Is it true?"

"Yeah, mate." Daniel gives up on the effort, pushing up on one hand to be able to drink. "I have gone ice skating, though, so I guess it's the same."

Max frowns, crossing his arms just to immediately uncross them again grimacing when they stick together with sweat.

"It's not the same," he declares, walking towards the bench to grab his phone. "We are going to find a place and go rollerblading tomorrow. We are taking your rollerblading virginity."

Daniel flops back on the mat, giving Max a lazy thumbs up.

(Unsurprisingly, it turns out they are both really bad at rollerblading, even if Max claims he's been many times before. The fact that they spend half the time trying to make the other fall probably doesn't help.)

3. It's probably not very polite to sit in a strip club, low lights and beautiful women dancing on stage, and be unable to stop giggling, but in Max's defense, it had been Daniel's fault.

It had been a long weekend, a bad race, and Max had been very ready to leave everyone behind and go play fifa in the solitude of his hotel room when Daniel had stopped him, a determined look in his eyes and a smile on his lips that had immediately told Max he wanted to cause trouble.

"I'm going to take your strip club virginity, Maxy," Daniel had said. "Go change!"

And Max had gone.

It had been a bit weird at first, neither of them drunk enough to not find it slightly awkward, a simmering tension straining between them.

And then Daniel had pointed to a girl and had leaned over, whispering straight into Max's ear, causing a shiver to travel down his back.

"Doesn't she look a bit like Seb?" he had asked.

Max had been so surprised he hadn't been able to hide his surprised bark of laughter, which had caused Daniel to start laughing, which had made Max laugh harder.

Half an hour and one drink later, they were both sitting there, giggling every time they met each other's eye.

They had left the club two hours later, much drunker than when they had gone in, but Max didn't have any memories of the girls dancing. He remembered Daniel's smile though, bright under the flashing lights.

4. "What's this?"

Daniel blinks down at the bouquet of flowers Max is thrusting towards him, cheeks slightly red.

"I'm taking your flowers virginity," Max says, pushing them closer to Daniel's chest.

"Mate, I've had flowers before." Daniel still takes them, because Max is insistent and because they're pretty, but he raises a confused eyebrow at Max, frowning.

"You said," Max pauses, frowning too. His cheeks are redder now, Daniel notices distractedly.

"I said?" he encourages, not stopping himself from bowing his head, inhaling deeply. When he looks up again, Max is smiling slightly, eyes soft.

"You had PR flowers, yes? And for wins? You said nobody ever gave you flowers just because. In that interview."

Daniel blinks.

He had said that, yes, but it's news to him that Max watches the interviews they don't do together, especially ones that aren't f1 related.

"Uh," he says, very eloquently, looking down at the flowers again. His heart is beating a weird, stuttering rhythm he is set on ignoring.

"If you do not like them..." Max starts, and Daniel snaps his head up again, seeing how Max's expression has changed, doubt and regret seeping onto his face as he reaches for the flowers again, as if to take them back.

Daniel takes a step back, snatching them away.

"Nu-uh, they are my virginity just because flowers! You're not having them back!" he tells him, closing both hands around the stems.

Max looks stunned for a second, but then smiles again, eyes crinkling, and Daniel's heart does a weird swoopy thing he should probably bring up with his doctor.

Maybe he's allergic to these flowers.

5. "Max, open up," Daniel calls, knocking on Max's motorhome door, "I need to take your clothes virginity."

It's only after it's out of his mouth that he realises how the sentence could be interpreted, and he has to hope nobody of the people milling around are paying attention to him. By the looks some of them give him, he's not that lucky.

He's raising his hand to knock again when the door opens, and Daniel pushes inside without really waiting for Max to invite him in, wanting to get away from his own embarrassment.

"Hello Daniel," Max says, unfazed, stepping aside so they're not squished next to the door. "I am of course already wearing clothes."

"Can see that you are, mate!" Daniel replies, stepping further into the room and dropping his bag on the small couch. "But I brought you better ones!"

Max steps closer, looking over his shoulder as Daniel extracts a hoodie, a t-shirt and a pair of sweats from his bag.

"Enchanté virginity, baby!" he says, gesturing towards the clothes with a flourish.

He knows, both because he knows Max and because Max told him, that Max won't wear them outside, but he had brought it up enough times for Daniel to understand that Max wanted them anyway. So he had picked out the most comfortable items of the collection, in the most muted Max-colors, and packed them away to offer them in private.

Max reaches for the hoodie first, picking it up and gently running his hand over the design on the front, before looking up and smiling at Daniel, stars in his eyes.

"This is very pretty, thank you Daniel."

And then, as if Daniel wasn't already melting a little, he pulls off his own sweater, tugging the new hoodie on in its place, emerging from the head hole with his hair all ruffled.

"Good virginity?" Daniel asks, voice coming out softer than he intended.

Max looks at him with happy eyes, nodding with enthusiasm.

"Very good. I love it, Daniel."

Daniel smiles, nodding too, not really sure on what to say.

"I'm glad you do," he settles on in the end, even if the words feel like they are the wrong shape in his mouth, different ones swirling in his brain.

+1 Daniel finds Max in the exact same position he had left him in when he comes back from the bathroom, condom disposed and wet towel in his hand.

He's laying on his back, come drying on his stomach, lovely pink flush still spread from his cheeks to his chest, eyes half closed and a blissed out expression.

He smiles at Daniel when he leans over him, cleaning him up gently, but doesn't make any move until Daniel is done, when he grabs his wrist and tugs, making him lose his balance.

Daniel falls back on the bed with a groan, letting Max move him around so that they're pressed together, sweaty skin against sweaty skin.

"On which side does this go?" Max asks, voice slightly hoarse, nosing along Daniel's neck, hands firmly wrapped around his waist.

"Hm?" Daniel tilts his head to the side when Max nips at his skin, too distracted to try and figure out what Max means.

"Which side. Of the list."

"List?"

Max pulls back just to roll his eyes at Daniel, as if he's the one being stupid and not Max being cryptic, before going back to his previous task.

"The virginity list, Daniel," he finally explains, words pressed right below Daniel's ear. "Guy virginity. Was this you taking mine or me taking yours?"

It makes Daniel laugh, the Max-ness of it. Wanting to keep count, even right after sex, even while looking like he might want to go for round two, if the way he's been pushing closer and closer to Daniel is any indication.

"We can count this as a tie, babe," he says, squeezing Max's hip.

Max hums, then nods, seemingly satisfied.

"Okay," he agrees. He pushes up on one elbow, smiling down at Daniel. "I guess I will take your rimming virginity then."

And if Max is so set on getting one more point on the virginity list (which Daniel didn't even know they had), Daniel is very glad to let him have this one.

#yes i did number 4 and now number 11 i only have time on wednesday dont look at me #also i have just barely reread this so it might not make much sense or be full of typos i dont know #maxiel #my writing #winter warmers 2024

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justmeinadaze · 2 months ago

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Late Night Circus (Steddie X Plus Size Reader)

A/N: I'm on my period and Im feeling some type of way so sue me lol When you picture the club and performances, think of it like Moulin Rouge. That's kind of what I pulled from as well as the scene in The Lone Ranger (a terrible movie you probably didn't see) where they go to meet Helena Bonham Carter.

This dynamic is a bit different than what I normally do but I dont want to quite put a label on it. Just know these three care for each other and are needy as hell lol

Warnings: I'm gonna call them escorts definitely leading more towards subby Steddie & leaning a bit more towards dominate definitely confident and commands a room plus size fem Y/N, SMUT, sub/dom dynamics, dirty talk, lingerie, etc.

ANGST, I'm going to explore it more later but both boys did sign up to work at the club so they aren't there quite against their will but it is made clear that they can't just leave. This is an established relationship and they do all care about each other but there is still angst fodder for later (i.e. power dynamic, her status in society, etc.)

Mentions of the readers weight but very brief (she talks about people underestimate her and think she can't get a date because of her size), Y/N is definitely possessive of them, Mentions of Steve getting hurt (punished) not by Y/N, mentions of them becoming being protective over her (hating the thought of people talking about how she looks)

Word Count: 4797

Donate

"Welcome to the late-night circus Where you could be a freak on purpose Under the sheets, you know I'm lurking You know me, do you like what you see? Do you like what you see?"

The Late Night Circus was one of the best kept secrets everyone within the city knew about.

People went to the club shaped like a dent during the weekdays but only the elite graced their presence on the weekend. No one would ever expect you to be there. You, a successful woman of parents who were prominent members of society.

Carrying a confidence that intimidated so many, you never seemed like the kind of person who would pay for sex like the other rich assholes around you who fucked women out in the open at parties with no shame.

What they didn’t know was you weren’t paying for sex but time.

Time with not just anyone but them.

While everyone in the lowly lit building wore a masquerade mask of some kind both men always knew when you were in the room…out in the audience…watching. While other women wore elegant gowns, you wore a pant suit that not only showed off your juicy curves but commanded respect, not just from the performers but people around you.

Your heels would click along the floor over the loud sounds of laughter and conversation around you as you found your table in front of the stage.

The Ringmaster would begin to speak, asking people to take a seat and quiet down. If only he knew the power he wielded. No one could tell these rich pricks anything but they always listened, finding a place to sit as the show began.

It was always an elaborate of affair of gorgeous men and women dancing in lingerie or revealing garments that showed off the goods they had to sell.

You waited patiently, appreciating each performer for their talent and beauty but when the electric guitar began to play a shiver of excitement ran through your body.

You smirked as women danced around him while a cigarette dangled from his lips and his long, thick fingers strummed the strings of his guitar. Sweat clung to the tattoos on his bare chest and the tight black underwear they had him donning left nothing to the imagination.

Dipping his head back, he shook his long hair away from his eyes, meeting yours hidden behind a black mask before winking your way.

Eddie was a charmer and his kind heart combined with his crass attitude was something you mentally devoured. You could listen to him talk for hours but they were only yours for the night. His lips could move a mile a minute as he spoke but between your legs, he was slow and methodical as his tongue repeatedly pushed you to the edge.

A spotlight illuminated the sexy back above the stage in a swing as he slowly descended and the cheers erupted around him. You didn’t need to see his face to know who it was. You had licked up and down his spine numerous times while your strap on pushed deep inside him as he begged for more.

Tonight, they had both men matching with this particular boy in a black G-string that could barely contain him as the garter and lace along his legs had your breath catching in your throat. Steve’s best feature may have been his hair but no one could deny how delicious his chest looked with abs that you desperately wanted to kiss.

You appreciated the spectacle at The Late Night Circus but the show was more for everyone else. At this point, everyone knew that Eddie and Steve were always taken on Saturday nights by the mysterious woman in all black. The Ringmaster insisted that they were still apart of the show and had to perform, however. Steve sat pretty on his swing showing off his muscles and Eddie usually played his guitar as dancers moved around him.

If anything, it pissed you off more that people were staring and eye fucking something that belonged to you.

As the show came to a close, you listened as people around you spoke in vulgarities about the people they were going to choose. Some of them had the audacity to mention them and it took all your energy not to snap.

“VIP members, if you will follow me.”

You rose with your money in hand, waiting in line for your turn to finish your deal.

“Ah Lady in Black, how are we tonight?”

“Just fine, Ringmaster.”, you reply flatly as you hand him the bills and he grins wickedly.

“Wonderful. You know the rules so I don’t need to reiterate.” You nod, stepping forward into the back area where the private rooms were located before his voice gives you pause. “Oh, and by the way, Steven may not be 100% so don’t go too hard. You never do but…”

“Why wouldn’t he be at 100%?”, you asked with an edge to your tone that had his head tilting in amusement. You were one of the few people that had the nerve to speak up to him and he appreciated that…to a point…

“Let’s just say he disobeyed so he was punished.”

“You put your hands on him?”, you growled.

The Ringmaster chuckled sarcastically, turning to face you as he glared.

“They may be yours on Saturday nights, baby, but they’re mine the rest of week.”

You two stared each other down until you finally backed away allowing him to think he won as you headed for your room. You hated the décor of these cheap little dorm style areas they shelled out for the night. For the price you were paying, the least they could do is allow you to bring them home or put you in a nicer area.

After taking off your mask, you untie your hair and shake it out as the sound of a door slowly opening filled your ears. Strong arms wrapped around your stomach and you finally allowed yourself to smile as you leaned your head back to meet Eddie’s lips with your own.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hey.” When he lets you go, you turn to hug Steve who winces slightly in your grip. “Ringmaster told me he hurt you. Why?”

The boy smiled at your concerned tone, cupping your cheeks to kiss you before taking a seat on the mattress.

“Between the show he has us putting on every weekend and the clients we service through the week, honey, you’re our only reprieve. You are the only thing we look forward to.” As he speaks his voice breaks as he tries to keep himself in check and your heart breaks. “He’s been talking about filling your slot so I confronted him.”

“Excuse me?”, you grumble in immense anger, not even thinking as you turn to go confront him before Eddie hastily grabs your wrist and places you back between them. “I’m not going to allow that. I don’t care what I have to do.”

Steve smiles up at you as the long-haired boy pets your head and kisses your temple.

“How did he punish you?”

“He, um, had his asshole goons hurt me. Not the face though…just right here.”, he gestures absently at his torso.

Taking a couple steps towards him, you sink to your knees between his legs and a heavy sigh left his chest when your hand lightly grazes his ribs down his sides.

“Right there? Am I hurting you, baby?”

“No, no. I just like when you touch me. Even if it’s just this.”

You softly smiled as you leaned over and gently kissed his skin. When your lips trailed along his tummy, Steve took hold of your face, tilting your head to kiss you.

“I’m so sorry you’re hurting. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“You can’t make that promise, princess.”, the metalhead exhaled sullenly as he came to sit beside his friend.

“Yes, I can. You can come live with me and I can take care of you.”

“How?”

“I have money.”

“Why would you put your money up for us? I mean you won’t even tell us your name, Lady.”

“Do you not want to live with me, Edward?! Would you rather stay here?!”, you screamed, agitated by his questions.

“Lady, this has been our life for so long I barely remember anything else. Add in the fact that in our experience people don’t care enough to keep us around. You’re the longest relationship we’ve had and we only see you once a week. And he’s right…we don’t know your name.”

Huffing in frustration, you rise to your feet and begin to pace.

“I like you calling me Lady. When I met you that’s what you called me and I didn’t think to tell you my real one. Here…I’m Lady in Black. Out there I’m the ruthless business minded bitch daughter of a power couple who gave me a section of their company. I have no one out there…”

“Then…then maybe we should keep things as they are.”, Eddie murmured softly as he collected you into his arms. “Trust us, we’re a bit of a pain in the ass. You don’t want us in your life 24/7.”

The boy chuckled but behind his words you heard the pain as he broke his own heart.

“You’re right.”, your sighed causing both their gazes to snap in your direction. “Maybe, I should go…”

As you began walking to the door, you heard the bed creak before strong hands turned you around and arms wrapped around your waist as Steve pressed his face into your belly.

“No! No, honey, please. Don’t leave. We’re sorry. We just—”

“Shhhh. I know…I know, baby.”, you cooed as your fingers tangled in his hair, pushing him closer to your body. “Let me take care of you, sweetie.”

He smiles softly up at you, a desperate, needy energy sounding him that you couldn’t get enough of. There’s nothing in this world you enjoyed more than seeing them happy, although a close second was watching them fall apart while they were inside you.

Gripping his bicep, you motioned for him to rise and guided him back to the bed to sit beside his friend.

“I love these little things he’s got you both in.”, you grin as you lightly pull on the garter around his thighs making their own smiles grow.

Any genuine emotion or facial expression you bestowed upon them pierced their souls in a good way. It was rare in their lives to see such a thing as everyone around them including the other “performers” were seeking control. They were taught early on that genuine emotion was weakness, even by their families.

Didn’t change the fact that they still craved it and you were the only person to give them what they needed in more ways than one.

“One day he’ll put Eddie in one of these.”, Steve teased as the other boy laughed lightly and leaned his head on his shoulder.

“I don’t look half as good as you in lingerie.”, the long-haired boy mumbles lightly against his skin as his lips linger along his warm flesh.

Outside this room they hid their affection for each other but for you they were open and honest. That’s all you ever really asked of them; for them to be themselves.

“I disagree. I think a good little see-through lace corset would look amazing against your tattoos.”, you smile as you crawl over to him and straddle his waist.

“What about you, baby? You’d look so fucking sexy in something like this.”, the other man beams at you as he gestures at his ensemble and falls back against the bed to be shoulder to shoulder with Eddie.

You knew immediately that their compliments were never part of the package that came with them. They weren’t saying things solely to make you feel good but because they were telling the truth. Men out in the real world underestimated you constantly not just because of your gender but because you weren’t the stereotypical thin girl with “elegant” features.

When you revealed your tenacity, a new stereotype took hold.

“Of course she’s amazing at business. She’s not distracted by dating or a social life because she fat.”

You hated that assessment for many reasons but the biggest one being that your size had nothing to do with how smart and headstrong you were. Eddie and Steve seemed to recognize that immediately and you appreciated that.

“I have a ton of different lingerie’s at my house.”

They exchange a glance before choosing to ignore your comment as Steve leaned towards the metalhead’s shoulder and trailed his kisses up to his neck.

“Y/N.” Both men’s attention turns to you as you straighten your back and your eyes shift towards the tacky comforter pattern behind their heads. “My name is Y/N but please don’t stop calling me Lady. Like I said…I like it.”

Ringed fingers slide effortlessly into your hair as Eddie’s palm pulls your lips to his.

“Beautiful. Just like you, sweetheart.”, he whispers.

“Our Lady.”, Steve murmurs into your ear as his arm circles around you to hug you both closer to his chest.

With a smile stretched across your face, you tenderly kiss down Eddie’s body allowing your mouth and tongue to linger over every tattoo you passed. You patiently took the time to refamiliarize yourself with his smell and his taste that you missed every other day of the week. Pulling down the tight black underwear, his cock sprung free and you marveled at his size as your fingers took hold of his girth.

“Jesus.”

Steve followed your lead and left kisses of his own down the boy’s chest. His lust ridden eyes watched you as you stroked Eddie’s length, utilizing the beads of precum as lubricant to aid you.

“His cock is so pretty, don’t you think?”

“Yes.”, the man breathed out, licking his lips at the sight.

Snaking your hand behind his head, you brought him closer, kissing him softly before guiding the other boy’s tip to your lips.

“Fuck, he always tastes so good.”

“Yeah, he does.”, Steve purred as he subtly began grinding against the mattress underneath him.

“Hey, now, needy boy. You have to control yourself.”, you lightly scolded, your eyes locking with his as your tongue darted out to lick Eddie’s slit.

“Fuck, baby, please.”, he whined as his fingers pet your hair.

“Can you behave?”

“Yes, honey, I promise.”

Seemingly satisfied with his response you offered him what he wanted and he graciously enveloped Eddie’s dick into his awaiting mouth.

“Look at you. Taking him so well. I could watch you do this for hours. Just let him keep coming down your pretty throat.”

“T-That’s it, Steve.”, Eddie whimpered as the man took him all the way to the back of his throat leaving a cascade of drool in his wake.

“Do you want him, Ed? Do you want to taste him?”

“Yes, Lady, baby.”

Gently pulling at his hair, the boy comes off him with a pop and aggressively leans towards you to capture your lips.

“Not yet, sweetie. Let him taste you. Sit on his face.”

Grinning like a kid in a candy store, Steve bounces up the bed and straddles Eddie’s face, groaning when hands cling to his thighs and his tongue flicks at his entrance. Taking over where he left off you open your mouth wide and flatten your tongue as you bob your head along his length.

“Shit, Eddie. Your mouth…your mouth feels so fucking good.”

Your eyes flick up to watch as the metalhead sucks on one of the other boy’s balls causing an obscene sound to fall from his lips as he aggressively strokes his cock with his fist.

“Slow down, Stevie. I want you to cum inside me.” Seeing his face twitch with need, you fly up towards him and cup your hands to his cheeks. “Don’t fucking cum, Steven. Tonight you’re both mine and I want you to cum while my pussy is squeezing your dick.”

“Baby, please.”, he begs as his palms cup your face in return. “I’m so close.”

You tap on Eddie’s chest and he promptly stops what he’s doing eliciting a moan to fall from the other boy’s lips as his hands fall to hold your wrist.

“I’m sorry, honey. I’ll be good, I promise.”

Tilting his head, you kiss his forehead and the soft action sends a chill of pleasure through his body. They both loved and needed your affection like a drug they never wanted to stop taking.

Watching with needy eyes, their irises followed you around the room as you casually removed the rest of your clothing. In anticipation, Eddie slowly stroked himself, zeroing in on the slick that was glistening on your inner thighs.

You were just as hungry as they were but you were better at keeping it reigned in.

“She’s so fucking perfect.”, he murmured to his friend who nodded earnestly in agreement.

“Are you ready for me, baby?”

“Always, sweetheart.”, Eddie grinned as you climbed on top of him with your back facing him.

He held himself steady, watching between your bodies as you slowly sunk down on his cock.

“Goddamn it, Lady, your pussy feels so fucking good. You have no idea.”

After a few cursory rolls of your hips, you leaned your back against his chest and he held you tightly as you kissed his cheek.

“I feel good?”

“Yeah, princess, you do. So fucking tight.”

Planting his feet into the bed, he thrust up into you immediately hitting that spot inside you only they had ever reached.

“Ah, my god.”

The feeling of electricity shot through your body and when your fingers reached down, they were promptly tangled into Steve’s fluffy head of hair between your legs. His tongue flicked out again to play with your clit and that feeling of ecstasy ran through you again as you embraced it.

You pushed him harder against you and in return he flattened his muscle allowing him to lick you and Eddie as the boy thrust upward.

“Fuck!”

“H-Harder, Eddie.”

His thick fingers dug into your sides as he honored your command, slamming you down as he pumped up roughly.

“Cum, pretty girl. Please…I—mmph—I need to feel it.”

A string of ahs fell from your mouth as your fingers tugged at their hair and they moaned loudly at the action. Your body shuddered against them as the ball fell and Eddie grunted in your ear as you road out your high.

With his palm firmly around your throat, he forcefully turned you so your nose grazes his and his pants warm your lips.

“Can I cum, Lady, please? Will you let…me fill up…your pussy?”

“Yes, Eddie, honey. I need you to.”, you whisper, softly smiling when his eyebrows furrow together in focus and you kiss his forehead just as he paints your walls with his release.

“Good…Good boy, baby.”

Steve’s hair tickled your thigh as he tenderly kissed along the other boy’s legs, massaging your own with his palms as he patiently waited for his turn.

“Are you ready for me, Stevie?”

“Yes, ma’am.”, he replied, looking up at you with wide, glassy eyes like a puppy waiting to be praised. They were always so polite but became extra so when they were desperate for a release.

Extending your arms towards him, the man practically glowed as he smiled wide and lifted you up before placing you on your back with your head against the pillows. You studiously watched his face as his knees opened your legs wider and his face scrunched as he guided himself easily inside you.

“Careful.”, you warn lightly causing his amber eyes to search your own features.

“A-Are you ok? Are you sore? Am I hurting you?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his kindness as you shook your head.

“No, baby. I just don’t want you to hurt.”

At your words, you place your palm on the side of his ribs. Blinking rapidly, it was almost as if Steve forgot he had been hurt in the first place. Eddie leaned towards him, placing a small kiss just above your fingers and at the action, the man heavily exhaled as he fell fully on top of you.

“I’m ok, beautiful. Fuck—you’re always so good to us. W-We miss you when you’re away.”

While he spoke, Steve pumped his hips as you clung to his shoulders and he set a steady but firm pace.

“Yeah, sweetie? I m-miss you to—mmm—so much.”

“Don’t let him take us away from you.”, he begged and again your heart broke as your possessive side took over.

“I won’t, Steve. You both are mine.”, you growled as you shifted your gaze to lock with Eddie’s. “Mine.”

“Yours.” At his heavy pant, he pounded into you and the bed underneath you three shook as you clung to his sweaty frame. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…I’m gonna cum. Can I, baby? Cum with me.”

His statement was a mix of a request and a command.

You honored both by nodding and giving your approval.

Steve’s body trembled against yours as your cunt spasmed around him and he sloppily slammed his seed inside you.

Falling to your side, they both gently kissed your neck and down your skin as they did what you had done, absorbing your smell and taste.

Committing it to memory to save until next time.

“I meant what I said. I won’t let him take you both away from me.” You huffed angrily as they ignored you again and you pushed them to the side as you sat up between them. “I CAN bring you home.”

“Lady…”, Eddie sighs as he sits up next to you. “It’s not just that Ringmaster will make it hard for you to take us but…”

“But what? Be honest.”

“Where would we go?”

You look at Steve like he just asked you the most insane question you had ever heard.

“You’d stay with me, of course. What…why would you think you wouldn’t?”

“So you’re just going to tell your family and friends that these two guys are staying with you indefinitely? We don’t hide our faces like you guys do. People will most likely recognize us and since you’re the only one elite member who purchases us—”

“I DON’T…purchase you…” Your voice cracks as you glance off to the side hating their wording. “I…I like you. I like spending time with you and talking to you. We…we don’t always have sex when I’m here.”

A sudden realization hits you that you’re unsure you’re prepared to hear the answer for.

“Do you see us like that? Like I’m just…another transaction?”

“No, hey, no.”, Eddie quickly responds without hesitation. “No. You’re different and we know that but that doesn’t change how the world out there sees this. He’s right, baby, we don’t hide. I imagine the bulk of the people that come here on Saturday are probably people you see on a day to day. You could lose everything for two whores you barely even know.”

You scoff at his statement, pulling back the covers as you search for your clothes.

“What? What’s bothering you, Y/N?! Is it the truth?!” At the sound of your name, you glare Steve’s way and he waivers slightly while still standing his ground beside you. “I’m sorry.”

“No, for your information. I’m just starting to see how this dynamic is being seen differently than I thought it was.”

“Explain.”

“Fuck you!”

“HEY! You want us to go with you, plead your fucking case and give us a reason to hope!”

His particular phrasing causes your head to tilt but you allow the thought to pass as you throw your items back down to the floor.

“I don’t see you that way.”, you start as you gesture towards Eddie. “I don’t see you as whores or anything like that. I’ve just always seen you as…mine. We’re guarded, the three of us, and I get that. I may not know everything there is to know but…I do know that you both are incredibly kind. Steve, you are one of the most protective people I’ve ever met and Eddie you’re so funny. I like hearing you talk about…anything really.

I know that you both smoke because I smell it lingering on your skin after you fall asleep holding me. Even if I didn’t see you playing guitar every Saturday, Eddie, I would know because I can feel the callous and indents on your fingers when you touch my lips or my skin. I know Steve takes care of his hair and puts extra product in it because I feel how soft it is when I run my fingers through it while you both talk.

I know that you both have demons you don’t talk about. I see them in your eyes and on your skin. I see them every time you walk out that door. I may not know all your details but…I’m asking for the opportunity.”

When you finish, they glance at each other having a silent conversation before their little laugh echoes through the room.

“Geez, sweetheart, I don’t know what you do for work but you definitely know how to speak.”, Eddie teases as he takes hold of your wrist and pulls you back to bed.

“What would you do if someone found out about us? If we lived with you?”, Steve asked as he climbed in beside you.

“The truth. Your mine and I care about you. If anyone demeans you or says something nasty then I can handle it.” Both men grin, getting more comfortable once again within the sheets. “Honestly, though they’ll probably be snotty with me…find a way to bring my size into it. ‘The only way she could find someone is to pay for it.’”

At your words, they become more alert as you see their eyes darken in a way you had never seen before.

“People out there talk about you like that?”, Eddie rumbles as he sits up on his elbow.

“I mean, I’m used to it—”

“You shouldn’t be.”, Steve growls equally angry. “I bet it’s one of these fuckers in here to. I wish we knew who.”

“Because we’d fucking hurt them.”

“Hey, hey.”, you coo as you try to bring their attention back to you. “I’m ok. I appreciate you wanting to protect me.”

“Some of the guys talk about us and our bodies. We hate it. Some fucking asshole demeaned Eddie in front of me and I almost killed him.”

It was your turn to sit up on your elbows as you tried to control your breathing.

“I’m going to get you out of here. I don’t care what I have to do.”

#######################

“Yes! Can I fucking assist you!?”, the Ringmaster shouts in frustration as he swings open the door you had been banging on for the last few seconds. “Lady in Black. How can I help you at 8 in the goddamn morning?”

“I want to buy their freedom.”

“Who?”

You sigh in annoyance as you push past him into his apartment above the club and turn to face him after he closes the door.

“Eddie and Steve. I want to buy their freedom. How much?”

The Ringmaster chuckles as he casually strolls to his desk nearby and grabs a cigarette from a pack, lighting the end before throwing his body on to the couch.

“You want to take my stars, baby girl.”

“Don’t call me that.”, you seethe.

“Oooo. You want something from me yet you won’t play nice? How did you make your millions again?”

“Let’s just cut the bullshit, Ring. You and I both know all you care about is money. You don’t give a fuck about your performers so I’ll ask again. How. MUCH?”

Seemingly intrigued, he tilts his head back as he blows smoke in your face.

“How much do you make in a year, Lady? I read somewhere it’s in the ballpark of 5 million.”

“That’s how much my parents make a year combined with investments.”

“Hm, well…”, he pauses as he exhales. “Better get mommy and daddy on the line then. I’ll give them to you for 10million. 5 for Ed and 5 for Steve.”

Your nostrils flare as you try to hide how much the number throws you off guard. But you made them a promise and you were do anything you could to get them out of here.

Chuckling, the man rose to his feet, running his fingers through his greasy hair as he tossed his cigarette out the window.

“Best get a move on, baby girl, and I’d make sure to book them quicker this time around if you can. They have a lot of eyes on them and people are jumping at the chance to experience them for themselves.”

###############

@myherometalhead @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @hardladyheart @utterlyinsanity

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sunny44 · 1 year ago

Text

Lemonade for Carlos

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x wife!reader x mom!reader

Warnings: mentions of difficulties of getting pregnant

Summary: Your’s and Carlos daughter wants to sell lemonade to buy him a birthday present, so you help her set up a lemonade stand.

I was just finishing the pancakes for breakfast when I heard Eva's rapid footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Mommy." She says, entering the kitchen. "Can I buy a present for Dad? For his birthday."

"Sure, have you thought about what you want to buy? We can go today if you want."

"But I don't have any money."

"I'll buy it for you, my love don’t worry."

"No, I want to buy it with my own money."

"And how are you going to get this money?" I asked, putting her in her chair and leaving the plate of pancakes on the table.

"I'm going to work." She says innocently.

"What are you going to work at?" I asked, pouring her a juice.

"Selling lemonade, a friend of mine from school said she got money to buy a doll by selling lemonade."

"Do you want to sell lemonade in front of the house?" She agrees.

"Please mommy, tell me I can." She looks at me with those same big brown eyes as her father.

"All right, we'll buy things after breakfast and set up your stand in front of the house."

...

After breakfast we get out of the house and went to the store to buy the necessary supplies, we bought lemons, sugar and colorful paper for a sign.

Eva couldn't contain her excitement as we set up a lemonade stand in our front yard.

After setting up we sat down and waited for the first people to come by and buy.

She wanted to write on the sign "Lemonade for Carlos" and when people came to buy she explained that she was selling it to buy a birthday present for her dad.

Obviously her cute face and speech moved people who ended up buying the lemonades and I had also made some cookies and brownies that she was selling too.

We were at the end of the day when Carlos arrived, as the race was here in Spain this weekend, the team was organizing here so he was in a meeting all day.

"What are you two doing?" He asks and as soon as she sees him she starts to smile.

"Daddy." She runs up to him who, after taking her in his arms, walks towards me and starts laughing at the sign.

"Lemonade for Carlos?" He asks.

"Yes, mommy and I sold lemonade so I could buy you your birthday present." she said excitedly and I could see that he loved her attitude.

"Oh baby, I love what you've done." She smiles and hugs him tighter.

"Well, we've finished work, so what do you say we go in, have a shower and celebrate with pizza?" They both agreed and that's what we did.

...

Eva was already asleep and I was lying on our bed sending the photos of the lemonade stand to Carlos' mother, who thought it was very funny that her granddaughter had come up with the idea.

"Are you going to sleep yet?" He asked, lying down next to me.

"Actually, I was going to read a bit, but if you want to talk." I say, putting the book in my nightstand and turning to him.

"Whose idea was that? The lemonade thing?"

"Your daughter's." I say and he smiles. "She came down today asking if she could buy you a present and I said I'd give her some money but she didn't want to and said she'd work to get the money."

"I love that little girl more than anything." He says sighing and smiling at the ceiling.

I remember very well the day I told him I was pregnant, we'd been trying for a while but it wasn't working. It had been a difficult few months for us, with the problem of getting pregnant, Carlos busy with work and stressed that the Ferrari wasn't good this year.

So I had tests done because I thought the problem was me and that I couldn't get pregnant but when the tests came back clean it added more stress to Carlos because he started to think the he was the problem.

So on the day he went for the test I stayed at home and took advantage of the fact that I was feeling unwell and took the test out of conscience and it turned out I was pregnant. I did a few more to make sure and when they all came back positive I spent the whole time Carlos was away crying and when he came back I told him and he started crying with me, both with relief and happiness.

"I know you do." I said, hugging him. "And I love you for it."

"Do you want more?"

"More what?"

"Children." He says, taking me by surprise.

It's not as if I hadn't already thought about having more children, but Carlos never showed that he wanted more. I think the fact that he gave Eva all the attention in the world made me think that he only wanted her.

"Maybe, do you want more?"

"Before Eva I thought about having more but then we had the problem of having her so when you got pregnant I was content that we'd just have her and I put all my attention and effort into making that little girl happy, but then over the years I started to think that I want to do it again and that I want her to have someone else with her when we're not here anymore." He says sincerely.

"I also want more children with you." He smiles."I never said anything because you never showed that you wanted more children and I see how dedicated you are to Eva."

"But if you wanted more children, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because as much as I wanted to, it's not something I'd regret if I didn't, I love you and our family so much and I am really happy with what we have."

"I love you too and we don't need to decide anything now."

"I know." He smiles and kisses me.

"Daddy." We hear that little voice at the door. "Can I come in?"

"Yes." He says, pulling away from me and looking at the door to see her come in clutching a Lightning McQueen plush Charles gave her since she calls him Uncle McQueen. "What happened?"

"It's just that I missed you and I was wondering if I could sleep with you and mommy." She says and I can see Carlos melting with love.

"Of course you can, my love." He says and she goes to his side, who picks her up and puts her in the middle of us. "I love you, you know that?"

"Yes, I love you too." She says, closing her eyes. "Good night mommy, good night daddy."

"Good night, baby." We kissed her forehead and all went to sleep.

Bonus scene!

Y/nsainz instagram post

Liked by @carlossainz, @charlesleclerc, @reysvdec and others 92730

Y/nsainz “Lemonade for Carlos”, who wants it?

@carlossainz can I have one please?

@y/nsainz yess you can daddy - Eva

@charlesleclerc can uncle McQueen have one too?

@y/nsainz yess you can uncle McQueen - Eva

@Thesainzfamily that’s the best seller ever

@reysvdec muy hermosa

Liked by @y/nsainz and @carlossainz

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becca-e-barnes · 2 years ago

Text

The Study

Not only is this the start of my 'Moving In' series, I'm also calling it my birthday piece! I turn 24 on Tuesday and I'm trying hard not to think about the fact I'm overdue a quarter-life crisis.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2.7K (oops)

Warnings: Pleasure Dom!Bucky, sub! reader, spanking, use of a vibrator, forced orgasms, kinda Dom vibes but totally consensual, degradation, safe word system but safe word not used, pet names

Summary: Bucky spends the weekend at your new house and you take him on a tour.

Minors, do not interact

Turning the key in the front door still feels odd. One of the very first changes you made to the house was installing a new locking mechanism on both doors and it hasn't had a chance to stiffen up yet.

The smell of paint is starting to dissipate but it hits you hardest when you open the front door. The hallway was one of the last areas of the house to be redecorated so the smell seems to be most noticeable right at the door.

"Damn, this place is deceptive." Bucky's remark makes you smile to yourself while you hang your jacket up. "It's a whole lot bigger on the inside than I thought."

"It surprised me too. All of the rooms are a nice size."

The house had ticked so many boxes for you. More than two bedrooms in a quiet development, a low maintenance garden, off road parking, a downstairs bathroom and the whole house has plenty of potential. The plan isn't to live here forever, after all. It should be easy enough for you to sell when you decide to move on.

You flick a few lights on in the hallway and toss your keys into the bowl on the hall table before you turn your attention back to Bucky standing in your living room. Despite the fact you hadn't removed your own shoes, he's taken his off, leaving them neatly at the doorway of the living room beside his travel bag.

He's respectful of your space; he always has been but it's nice to just have him in your space. It's nice to have him be part of it.

He walks slowly around the little living room, looking at the few ornaments and picture frames you'd collected. "That's cute." He's looking at a picture of you and your best friend, sitting on the floor of your old kitchen, laughing yourselves to tears over the fact your Christmas tree was three inches tall and cut out from the back of a cereal box. The photo brings a smile to your face every time you see it.

"Are you hungry? You've had a long day." You move over behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and kissing his back through his clothes while he looks at your pictures on the fireplace. He's had to travel for a few hours just to get here so you imagine he's bound to want something.

"I'm okay for now." You nod at his response, taking in the fact he's actually standing in your home.

The time you have with him is limited. That's how this works but for just less than two days, he's yours. After that, he'll go back home so you've learned to make the most of the time you have with him.

"Help yourself to whatever you like. Kitchen is down the hall." You don't even really want to move but you can't stand like this forever.

He turns in your arms so he's facing you and captures your lips in his. It's a soft, slow, gentle kiss; the kind you've been dreaming of since you last saw him. You need him to feel exactly how much you've missed him without having to tell him.

The kiss lasts for minutes, far beyond its natural end but neither of you care.

After what feels like forever, your lips part but your foreheads stay pressed together, both of you determined not to pull away.

"I still haven't gotten the grand tour." He's got the most beautiful eyes and they're locked on yours to the point that you'd almost forgotten he's never been here before. "But I want to start in your favourite room."

"Well, the study is my favourite. I converted one of the bedrooms into an office space."

"Show me."

You don't protest. Instead you head out of the living room and up the stairs to the furthest end of the hallway, with Bucky following closely behind you.

"These all used to be built-in storage units around a headboard for a bed. I took all the doors off the cabinets and made it into shelving." You'd turned the room into a space that you love. The walls are painted a light shade of cream with houseplants lined up between books on the shelves. Instead of storage around a headboard, you now have book shelves, arching around your desk. The other side of the room has a sofa that converts into a bed for extra guests and there's a beanbag in the corner by the window to read on.

"I see why it's your favourite. Odd mix of books here though." Bucky's eyes flick over the titles, ranging from your collection of political figures' autobiographies, the 'Diary of an Oxygen Thief' trilogy, the selection of books providing commentary on the criminal justice system and a good few classics.

"It is. But I like this room. It'll be cosy in winter once I get some fairy lights and nice and bright in summer. Somewhere to unwind." You're thinking out loud as you reach up to close the window and that's when you feel Bucky step behind you.

"I think we should celebrate." Bucky’s voice is low, his lips trailing up the side of your neck, heading towards the spot just behind your ear that he's always loved to kiss.

"I think..." He stops briefly on his path, taking a second to inhale deeply, determined to slow down. "I think we should make love in every room of your new house this weekend."

Fuck.

"Are you sure you're up for that? Because I can really stretch it out. I'm not sure how we're going to make it work in the pantry or the downstairs bathroom but I'm happy to try."

"Your 'pantry' is a cupboard." Bucky's breath is hot on your neck, and you feel his lips have curled into a smile.

"I know. You promised every room though." You can't help but tease him, although you're half serious. It's not your fault that you're keen. Not when he's kissing down your neck like that and holding your waist so your back is flush against him.

"You're a handful." You feel his fingertips graze the bare skin of your waist and you remember how nice it is to just be touched the way he touches you.

"I might be a handful but I can promise if I have my way, after you leave here on Sunday, you won't even be able to think about cumming again until Thursday at the very earliest."

"Jesus, that's one hell of a promise." He turns you around to face him and you notice his eyes are damn near twinkling with excitement.

You've got all weekend together; there's no need to rush but you can't help the overwhelming need to feel him sliding into you. That's when you feel closest to him and it's the closeness you're craving more than anything.

Your hand cups the side of his face, your thumb tracing across his freshly shaved jawline and you allow yourselves a second to just be together.

He smells familiar. The heat of his body against yours makes you feel safe. He makes you feel safe.

"I want to start with you though. I brought you a little something." He kisses your lips gently and smooths a hand down over your hair before he retreats downstairs to the bag that he'd brought a few changes of clothes in.

He returns with a small cardboard box with the tape on one end already cut.

"I didn't have time to wrap it. It arrived last minute." You're so busy trying to get into the box that you hadn't even noticed.

Inside the box are a few instruction manuals, a thin white cord and a black satin pouch. Inside the pouch is a neon pink toy that's thicker at each end, narrow in the middle and nicely curved.

"I've already charged it and paired it to my phone. This end slips inside you." He points to the thicker end, studying your face to make sure you're okay with this.

And why wouldn't you be? This is pretty damn close to a dream come true.

"Remember what you said last time I saw you? You wanted me to spank you. Maybe we should take it a little further." He's always been hesitant to do anything that would hurt you and that fact is the very reason you want him to. You know how much he wants to protect you and knowing he cares about you has you convinced that he's the right person to explore this with.

"Please." You whisper, beyond excited at the thought of getting everything you've begged him for. "What did you have in mind?"

"I'm thinking about you bent over this desk with this inside you and we'll start off with a couple of light taps to that pretty ass." He presses the button on the narrow part of the toy and it give a short buzz, coming to life in his hands.

Fuck, you're into this man. You're into his hesitation just as much as you're into his willingness to try something new.

"Traffic light safe word system. 'Red' and I'll stop, 'amber' and I'll give you a break, 'green' to keep going." He wants to be fully sure you know you're in control here, not that you ever had any doubt.

You nod and stretch up on your tiptoes to kiss him, this time with as much passion as you can manage. Your hands run through his hair while his trail over your body, your tongue flicking gently against his.

Just being around this man makes you wet, not that you'd ever admit that to him. Even the thought of him has you throbbing with arousal so now that he's here in front of you, your whole body feels like it's buzzing.

He touches you like he can't get enough. He can't get you close enough and it's beyond thrilling to be the subject of his need.

It's almost embarrassing that you get yourself worked up so easily but from the hungry look in his eyes when you undo the button of your jeans, he doesn't seem to mind.

You step out of your jeans and panties and Bucky helps you out of your top and bra, leaving you naked in your study.

"Look at you." Bucky sounds like he's almost in awe, no matter how many times he's seen you naked.

He kisses you again, matching the same passion he'd had earlier, trailing his hands over your soft, warm skin until his fingers are nestled between your thighs.

"Fuck, you're soaked." His fingertips trail between the folds of your sex, gathering the wetness he's responsible for. "Good girls don't get this wet at the thought of being spanked. You know that, don't you?"

You're almost too turned on to even respond to him. "Bend over. I want to see how well you take your toy."

You do as you're told, bending over your desk while Bucky drops to his knees behind you to slip the toy inside you. You feel him trail the thicker end of the toy against your slick cunt, gathering enough wetness to let it slip inside you comfortably.

Within a minute, the toy comes to life inside you and there's no way to stifle the moan that catches in your throat.

Not only is the internal part vibrating at a low, delightful buzz, the other end is pressed right to your clit and is stimulating it at the same strength.

"Did I say you could make a sound?" Bucky quizzes, sounding harsher than ever and when he gets no response, his hand comes down on your ass with so much force that it makes you yelp.

It was a hell of a spank and you can feel heat blooming under the skin of your left cheek, quickly followed by another spank to the right.

"For the record, you can make as much noise as you need to. But only because I've told you that you can. You see the difference?"

You force yourself not to nod and it has the effect you were hoping for. Two more harsh, painful spanks are delivered, one to each cheek, the same as before.

You don't know if you imagined it but the toy inside you feels stronger. You can't be sure if you're just focusing on the pleasure over the pain or if Bucky really has turned it up.

"Does that feel nice, sweetheart?" He needs to know you're enjoying this because a little part of him is surprised at just how much he's into it. He gets to control both your pleasure and your pain because you want him to and the trust alone is enough to get him off.

"Feels amazing, fuck. Making such a mess." Stringing sentences together isn't easy but you swear you're about to cum already. Your nipples rub delightfully against the wooden desk and you swear every sensation is heightened.

"I wish you could see the mess you're making. Looks fucking delicious." He turns the toy up ever so slightly but that's enough to send you spiralling, gripping the edge of the desk as pleasure ripples through your entire body.

You can do nothing but sob, cumming relentlessly because he's refused to turn the toy down. Even after you're done, he keeps it at the same intensity, moving on like nothing happened.

"You say the sluttiest things. That promise of yours to totally drain me. Who says shit like that? So fucking filthy."

"I mean it. I want every drop of cum you can give me. And then more." You know saying something like that will earn you another spank and it does.

"You're not just acting like a slut. You are a slut. You spend your life hiding it from everyone else but you can't hide it from me." A shiver runs down your spine. You almost feel like you've been caught. Like he's figured you out and now you have nothing left to hide. "Say it."

It's a clear instruction but saying it makes it real.

Your hesitation earns you another sharp spank, heat prickling both your face and your ass at the same time.

"Don't make me tell you twice." For someone hesitant to slip into a dominant role, he's absolutely nailing it.

"I'm your slut." Your voice is less steady than you would've hoped but the words at clear at the very least.

"My slut?" He almost sounds like he can't believe what he heard.

"Yours. Your slut." You repeat, wishing you could see his face.

"Oh sweetheart, that's cute." He means it too. He turns the toy up as a reward and even though it's only at half its full strength, you can't help but cum again, pleading your way through another blinding orgasm.

"Such a good girl for me. That's it. Cum nice and hard. Give that slutty little pussy what it needs." He lands one more harsh spank on your ass and you swear it only makes you cum harder, to the point that your legs are shaking.

But all of a sudden, the sensation stops completely.

"B-Bucky?" You ask, turning around to look at him, wondering if something went wrong.

"Don't want to wear you out, sweetheart. I think that'll do for now." You agree that it's probably a good place to stop and you have no problem taking the toy out for a while.

He pulls you in close, resting your head on his chest, letting you catch your breath while he holds you and kisses your forehead.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" His voice is soft, hoping that you'll tell him the truth.

"No. It was perfect." You smile, capturing his lips in yours, hoping to relieve some of his fear. You're almost giddy with excitment. It truly was everything you needed and you fully intend to thank him for it before the weekend is over.

"Good. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would." He's back to the gentle, tender touches that you're so used to from him and it's a blessing that he can flick so effortlessly between both personas.

"How about we order in and stick a movie on?" He suggests, kissing the tip of your nose. "Go put on something comfortable. I'll find a takeout."

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x you #dad’s best friend!bucky #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes fic #dbf!bucky #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x female reader smut #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #writing this was unexpectedly nostalgic #one of my favourite photos is of Amy and I sitting on the floor of my student flat in December a few years ago #we were drinking wine and working on an assignment and she noticed the only Christmas decoration we had was cut out from a cereal box #she laughed so hard she cried #I got to tell her recently about the house #but I hadn't even thought about the fact we can make as many happy memories in my new place as we did in my old uni flat #and that's made me even more excited #it's so weird to think that this is my last birthday in this house though

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atomicpowered · 2 months ago

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So I watched Hazbin. Let the record show that I am not a hater unjustly or unduly. I will put in the effort to fully experience the thing people are dumping on to see if it's legitimate. I went in with as blind a mein as possible given that I am Online and dialed in to various goings on in my swamp. My curiosity finally got the better of me.

I know some of the background of the show and the creator of said show, I have heard rumblings from the edges of my dashes and things passing megafauna-like underneath me. These cries of 'worst fandom ever!!' are pretty overwrought for what, by my eyes, is the pretty standard slew of agitated bees that follows this kind of thing.

Before I get into some thoughts about the show I do know that there was some talk about people not being properly compensated for their work on the newest, hottest, invader zim animated television programme. I have heard various things about what vivziepop (might be spelling this wrong I'm on a fight and bored so I can't check) has done, what fans of this show are capable of blah, blah— I get it. When you've been around the loop of this stuff as long as I have you know what many fandoms and sole operators are capable of. By my metric these examples are all pretty bad. Not the worst but not the best either. Definitely stand out from the other fan based background radiation on websites and in real life.

But I'm gonna talk about only what I've directly seen (the amazon joint and youtube pilot) for both brevity and my sanity.

I sell at conventions for a living, I've done so for years and have also been at that long enough to see swells and ebbs of trends that match up with their digital counterparts. Hazbin is… special. Not often do you see merchants throwing table balance to the winds to have MULTIPLE Hazbin (Helluva thrown in there too they're basically the same thing) monocultures for what they are hawking. I get the drive behind it too, no shade, make your bag, sex sells, but I can't overstate how rare this is! Even during the heyday of Genshin (lessening now) you still had different properties orbiting the cash cow on your display. Nobody just brought one thing and one thing only.

Now, on to what I have to say about the show. I'm sure some of these points have been echoed by a pngtuber with crossed arms but I feel compelled to throw my two bits in.

The show is all together, not good. Not horrific (barring some specific instances), but firmly overwhelmingly mediocre.I watched all of it, including the pilot, and besides occasional drama crossing my dash didn't interact with it much beyond that until now. Now that I have, I am very confident with my pre-watch assertions I made based on spitballing what I saw represented on and off line. I'm good at this kinda thing, you see certain patterns emerge from the data and you can make some accurate generalizations no problem. I frequently withheld a question when I would see groups of 14 year olds in pinstripe suits looking at my prints at weeaboo united or whatever convention I was at that particular weekend. Why are kids watching this show?

I know Why kids are watching the show, Hazbin is made (probably unwittingly) to appeal to kids! This is a neutral statement, I'm not saying it was to entrap kids or anything like that. The kids are a side effect drawn to what Hazbin Is. Not a target.

The appeal comes from a few main points. The characters are all designed like babies' first OCs, they drip little details and playground style power layouts. (My mermaid tail is blue and rainbow and I can shoot lighting and I have a pet sea turtle so obviously it is good or better than your flame covered tail and psychic abilities.) They are all based on a template that is easy to replicate and iterate on with enough play in secondary characteristics to make a bonafide example of some prime Do Not Steal. (Think Sonic, My Little Pony, Homestuck.) This playbook of style is sugar on a kitchen floor to ants.

The characters all say and do stuff with no deeper implication or subtlety, conflicts are raised and finished in minutes if not at least by the end of the episode. They have large gestures, big emotions, little depth, and huge expressions. They are stage acting, and the flat compositions in the storyboarding and directing reflect that. They are tell and almost never show. They walk on the screen and go I'M SAD or I'M MAD with no real subtle work. Yes there's sex, drugs, and alcohol, but, like. Conceptually you easily have characters acting like they're in saturday morning cartoons.

The overacting is great when you're sakuga brained like I am but it is so all the time and in your face that it just ends up feeling like those twitter videos of 60fps interpolated anime openings. (God I fucking hate those things.) Every character is moving and talking and wiggling around so much that it's like parents trying to catch the attention of a crying baby with hastily jingled keys. Even the swearing and the depictions of the more devious acts are so… juvenile. Everything feels like a combination of boys talking in hushed giggles at the back of the bus and what you scribbled in the back of your history notes among the drawings of the best realistic eye you could put out at the time. Like I highly doubt any of the audience knows what 'bolivian marching powder' is or does. And I don't think its main writer does either? Like one of the characters is in high profile porn, like at least make his vice a designer drug? It's like when kids speculate on what it would be like to be white girl wasted with barely trying a sip of Mom's vodka out of the cabinet.

So you got the combo of these character designs which mirror every tumblr sexyman since the bronze age and a very paint by numbers barbie house of characters. Of COURSE it bags kids like fortnight und cola. But like, why are people in charge just letting this rock? Is more my question. Who is letting Timmy get at a new glossary of stuff to yell at his substitute teacher? Don't answer, this is rhetorical. I'm all for letting kids self select but I kinda worry about this one and what it's doing to the teens. I'm sure someone more willing to explore that has said smarter stuff than me. But what I can see is you have the volatile type of person (kid or not) who is attracted to what I just listed grappling with badly handled (fumbled most of the time, let's be honest) adult stuff. This is the recipe in how you get a fandom that acts like this one acts.

My next thoughts concern Concepts and Themes. The ones here of heaven and hell are just kinda skated over as set dressing. In fact everything in the show is more like the plato's allegory of shit to stand on. It's basic on basic. Hell being an alright bunch and heaven being snooty know it alls has been done, demons that are niceys has been done, even interpersonal relationships set with a backdrop of a home for wayward characters has been done. Like again color by numbers isn't BAD! Just because these things have all been done doesn't mean you can't learn from and uplift your own idea with what came before. In fact, when you're having trouble making something a quote always comes to mind.

Wholesale ripping a chunk out of red letter media here: "Now I need to explain that I don’t think that all movies," ((Shows for my use case)) "-should be the same, or conform to the same kind of structure, but it works well in certain kinda movies. So unless you’re the Coen Brothers, David Lynch, Paul Thomas Anderson, Stanley Kubrick, Alfred Hitchcock, Lars Von Trier, David Cronenberg, Gus Van Sant, Quentin Tarantino, John Waters, Wes Anderson, Sam Peckinpah, Terry Gilliam, Martin Scorsese, Werner Herzog, or Jim Jarmusch, you really shouldn’t stray away too far from this kind of formula."

It's clear that this show has its roots in musicals. (Not just in the presence of musical interludes, the talky bits too.) Musicals often are color by numbers stories that expertly perform these fundamentals. They are a perfectly cooked egg. Simple, but a test. If you can't do the basics you cannot be expected to deliver on anything more complicated! It's also obvious that Hazbin's nest was lined with disney musicals specifically. I have my qualms about disney, especially the disney of today, but that's not for right now. Disney by and large knows how to color in said book to the point that it's a formula, and if you can't study this formula to excel at the formulaic you kinda deserve the crit.

You have rules and lore set by your world and you don't follow through with anything, your plots all revolve around introducing the coolest character yet or making your favorites even cooler but not like. Actually. Exemplifying what the hell is going on. I know people here are going to counter that they didn't have time it was only a handful of episodes with no knowledge if they were gonna get more, but so much of the show is donated to bad dialogue that goes nowhere, points and facts that the audience knows that are reiterated half a dozen times for no reason. They had TONS of time.

While I'm on the subject of dialogue, the dialogue is one of the things that is not mediocre but straight up bad. I already listed why above but to cite a specific example of something I haven't touched on, dear god you cannot lampshade your own bad writing by having the characters calling it bad. It is Marvel style spandex is stupid and comics are silly am I right guys 'jokes'. This 'joke' happens at least three different times in vitro and it made me audibly groan every time.

I am not a musical person nor am I musically trained but many of the songs are lyrically poor, abruptly plonked into the narrative, unfitting compositionally or, uh, poorly sung.The cast of VAs is insane, (looking at you David) and also often badly vocally directed. They are trying their best with the script but I'm more talking about how they are mixed. I found it hard to understand what was being said much of the time due to technical failures. Guys like Keith David can phone in a performance and Sell it to me better than some of the other actors putting their foot into it and that juxtaposition is also a form of whiplash that the show excels in. Vaggie is probably the worst offender for not being able to pick up the slack in this regard.

The characters being over and somehow under done lies also in their designs and the style that the show wants. I could talk for days about how much I dislike the sticks with a bunch of junk hanging off of them type of look. Nightmare to animate, no good character variation. I didn't even know what some characters were supposed to BE or represent. Alistor is a deer? Charlie is a faun of some sort? Where? Huh?

Too much red!!!! Too much!!!!! Red backgrounds, red characters, everything is a MESS, this is one of the things that actually gets me mad. There are no values! Everything fades into visual noise, which when you pair it with the animation constantly gesticulating at you and everything being bolted on with spirit halloween leftovers makes a leaf and stick tornado. (Nitpicky as well but pick a line weight and color and stick with it.) When blue or yellow came on screen I would audibly shout in excitement.

Multiple characters have tophats. Stop.

I'm not going to go into what I would do to fix the plot or design documents, I know it's been done to death.

God, where was I, I think I'll just finish this off with thoughts about the characters and then open the floor to comments or questions. I don't mean to make this a proper essay.

Charlie: I really dislike her, she's a weak character that has the IM TELLING HOW IM FEELING AND HOW YOU, THE VIEWER, IS SUPPOSED TO FEEL disease bad. Her design is one of the worst. I don't root for her much! Which is bad because she's the main character and I'm at least supposed to feel for her?

The snake guy: He had an arc. He's probably the most endearing.

Angel dust: the pathos they tried with his story beats is ruined by whipping back and forth between irreverent and WAY too heavy handed. People cried? What? Also the pig showing up for its two appearances to sell irl plushies was bad. His back and forth with other characters is hard to watch, and his capitulation to be better both feels forced and confusing. I don't think they know what to do with him. Why is porn bad in hell.

Husk: hi keith david. Bad design so fucking busy. They scaled him back from the pilot and I still flinch thinking about those tie downs. Why is alcoholism bad in hell.

Tv guy: better episode time than most of the other characters to the point where I suspect multiple writers to have been put in the time out chair

Nifty: Gir redux but with none of the heart

Vaggie: they were going for a wholesome lesbian relationship or toxic codependency and managed to do neither well. She has the weakest vocal performance, the name thing is bad, I thought she was supposed to be based off an owl or bird of prey but apparently not?

Mimzy: why are you even here

Lucifer: design so bad he falls into the background when he should stand out THE MOST. No episode, saying you're depressed and estranged from your daughter isn't an emotive beat you have to Show that by doing things.

There's so much I could say about carmella, the overlords, the other V's, adam, heaven in general, the over-designed incidentals, the exorcists, but I'm TIRED.

Alistor.

Man. This fucking guy.

His ethos is one of the worst in that hes just dripping in conflicting ideas from toe to head. He's based off voodoo? He's the 'coolest' one?!?!? He's word salad. Eldritch, forest, radio, dapper, fox like, the teeth, the staff, the vocal filter, he's a deer????! cannibal chaotic neutral shadow manipulator play pretty. He takes valuable screen time from everyone to blow keyframes and my time in being the 'coolest' most bad ass for real bro made in a lab to clinch a demographic annoyance.

Where do you go when you die in hell? If you died in heaven do you go back there? Nobody tried to crack getting into heaven before? Expediting a culling six months when you do it every year isn't as punitive as it comes off, where are the steaks? Why does charlie care so much about hell? Where are 'her people'? Why does charlie know that heaven wants to quell an uprising? Why don't angels know they can be hurt? Why does Vaggie not know? Why aren't people in hell doing like. Actual for real bad things most of time? You have a whole town of cannibals, something that's pretty rare, but barely anyone on any kind of watch list. Why is Lucifer estranged when he's clearly just awkward and it gets better almost immediately? Why does charlie not know anything about her country despite living there?

Auhhhhgh okay I'm done, I'm done. Like I'm frustrated okay!!!

#Blogging for once #hazbin hotel #For the blocklist I guess #I can never sleep on planes

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