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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 2 months ago

Text

A good grade.

Pairing: Perv Art Professor!Joel x afab!reader Words count: 4844 Rating: +18, MDNI Summary: You always thought you would have a future in the art world, until you met Mr. Miller, your professor who decided to make your life hell. What are you willing to do for a good grade? Tags: perv!Joel, soft!Joel, power imbalance, degradation, smut, blackmail, reader is described having female genitalia, no other description of her is given, unspecified age gap (in my mind 24/45 but you can imagine whatever, they’re both grown up anyway), unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill but you know, do better irl), oral (f receiving), mention of blowjob, edging, edging with a brush, creampie, pet names, slurs, Joel has a dirty mouth, a lot of swearing, some reader's thoughts marked in italics.

Disclaimers: English is not my first language, very poorly proofread, no beta, it's all my fault and I'm very sorry! I like art but I'm not an expert, I've never taken lessons (well, in high school I did but it was art history and it was only theoretical) and I don't really know how they work, I made it all up so if it doesn't adhere to reality please excuse me. I hope you like it anyway, the other morning I woke up with the idea of Joel painting me as one of his French girls (heheheheh) and I started writing this thing 💀

If anyone wants to be added or removed from the taglist, please let me know. Thanks to anyone who reads, I hope you like it ♥️

You’ve always loved art, since high school it’s always been your favorite subject and drawing and painting your outlet, your way of expressing yourself. Your teachers have always praised you, considering your works not only perfectly executed but significant, mature, full of pathos. Everyone has always told you that you had an eye for recognizing artistic value, you’ve always been the best in your class and you’ve worked hard to get here.

You graduated with excellent grades and were accepted into a prestigious master's program. You would like to become a professional artist or at least an art critic.

You had a bright future ahead of you, until you met Professor Joel Miller.

He has done nothing but criticize you, your skills and your work from the very first day.

And he always does it deliberately, in front of everyone else. No matter how hard you try, you never get more than F for every work you submit. The disdain with which he treats you makes you feel like a failure and your breath die in your throat every time he lays eyes on you and says the most hateful words you’ve ever heard about yourself. Today it happened again. You spent sleepless nights working on this portrait, begging the model called by Professor Miller to see you after class hours. You even offered to pay her and she was kind, she didn’t ask for an outrageous amount despite the fact that she could have taken much more lucrative jobs instead of posing for you. You’re just a master’s student trying to support herself by working nights in a bar.

“What is this?” he thundered looking at your painting “You are only getting worse, miss, I have never seen anything like this. It is indecent that a person like you tries to make art, it should be prohibited by law. Look at this, wrong proportions, no harmony, no attention to detail, nothing. This does not even look like the same person I had pose for hours in front of you. You should be ashamed to present a work like this after 6 months of course”

You won't be able to finish your master's degree unless you get a passing grade in Professor Miller's course, but he doesn't seem at all inclined to give you even a measly D.

It’s a nightmare.

You'd be forced to start all over again, ask your parents for financial help, which is the last thing you want to do when they've already sacrificed so much to help you pay for college, or do the unthinkable and give up on all your dreams, the career you have cultivated with strength and passion throughout your life up until now.

You decide to make a last-ditch effort and try to talk to Mr Miller during his office hours.

You've always avoided it until now because you thought things would get better but it's the third F you get and you can't afford to go on like this.

The idea of being alone with him doesn't excite you at all, but you hate losing everything you've worked so hard for even more.

You take a deep breath before knocking on the door, terrified of what he might say to you.

Mr Miller is also an established artist and his work has been appreciated abroad so his disapproval could really preclude you from many opportunities.

“Come in” even from behind closed door his voice sends shivers down your spine.

You walk in muttering “good afternoon” feeling like a complete idiot, you are already convinced that it was a mistake to come to him, nothing will change his mind.

Joel is sitting behind his desk, frowning as he corrects tests. He looks up from the papers only when you are in front of him “Oh. it's you,” he says in his usual dismissive tone of voice “What do you want miss?”

You clear your throat and murmur, “I...” his gaze is already back on the tests, he doesn't even look at your face as he fills the paper with red marks and writes a big circled F at the top, the assignment of some other hapless person like you who will find himself failing his class. Incredible anger mounts in your body, you clench your fists and say "excuse me" in a stern voice.

It infuriates you, it's maddening how he can't even treat you as a human being for a second.

"What do you want?" he asks annoyed looking back up at you "and be quick about it, you are wasting my time."

“I'd like to know what I need to do to have you evaluate me favorably” you try to keep your tone as detached and respectful as possible even though you despise the man in front of you with every fiber of your body.

“Nothing, you can't do anything, I thought you had figured it out by now, are you also stupid besides not having the slightest talent?”

“Actually...fuck, I don't think I am that bad. And I think you are judging me too harshly,” you spit out feeling tears stinging your eyes. You promised yourself to keep calm but the way he is treating you only makes you want to insult him.

“I advise you to moderate your tone if you don't want to be expelled as well as failed in my class.”

He has the upper hand, you can't do anything about it. A sense of frustration and helplessness crackles under your skin as you plead with him, “Please Mr Miller there must be something I can do to change things. Anything...I…I don't want to fail.”

An evil grin paints on his face “how much do you care about it?”

“It's the only thing I care about, please, art means everything to me” you look at him feeling your whole essence crumble in front of him, you are desperate and tired of struggling, you just want to find a way to work things out. You have very good grades in all the other courses, he is the only one stopping you from achieving what you want most in the world.

“Actually you could do something to make it better,” Joel suggests, and you cry, ”Please, I'll do anything.”

“Anything?” he probes ”are you sure?” His smug, dangerous expression unnerves you, maybe you shouldn't have made yourself so vulnerable in front of him, but there's no turning back now. "Yes," you shriek.

He leans against the back of the chair while continuing to sneer under his mustache “Well, then I have an offer for you. I'm working on a series of paintings of women, you could pose for me.”

“Me?” you ask confused, the last thing you expected was for him to ask you to paint you.

“Why not, if nothing else you're pretty,” he admits, and it's the first nice thing about you that's ever come out of his mouth.

You wonder what the scam is behind his proposal, it can't be that easy, he's probably going to ask you to pose with some repulsive animal or in a way that makes you look completely idiotic or he's just pretending that this is the solution but then he's going to blackmail you and make you regret setting foot in his office.

He writes something on a post-it note and hands it to you “Meet me at this address tomorrow night at 8” he orders you “don't be late”

“I really...” you try to say.

“What? Is there something more urgent you need to do besides securing good grades?” he raises an eyebrow scrutinizing your astonished face.

“No it's just that...I'm supposed to be working at that time.” You mutter.

“Well get your shift changed, or ask someone to fill in for you, pretend to be sick, I don't care, just show up.” He barks at you.

“Okay,” you agree. You can't say no, it's your last resort, either that or total defeat.

You walk out of his office with the feeling that you have gotten into big trouble.

_____________________________

You get confirmation of this the next day when you show up at the address written by Professor Joel. It's on a suburban street with little traffic, in front of you is what looks like an abandoned former factory. A blast of cold air makes you shiver as you ring an old intercom near the front door. You huddle in your coat, wondering where the hell you are. Maybe he gave you the wrong address just to make fun of you, you took two buses to get here, at the very least you'll soon find out your professor isn't even here.

Surprisingly, he answers you instead, his thick voice ordering you to come up. You enter through the doorway into a dusty, bare lobby, only an old freight elevator in front of you. You push the button and the elevator car begins to descend with a sinister, metallic sound. "What the hell is this place?” you ask yourself "my god, I'm going to end up dead and thrown in a dumpster". You get on the elevator with your heart in your throat praying that there isn't a serial killer waiting for you on the other side.

The doors suddenly open wide onto a large room with concrete columns. You step out and look around, there is a large table in the corner, chock full of artists' materials, tempera, canvases, oil paints, watercolors, all thrown in bulk. Various canvases are resting on pedestals scattered around the room, and others lie leaning against the wall. There is an old leather couch in the corner and a double mattress resting on wooden pallets on the other side. Several rugs are spread on the floor. It's all messy and chaotic, but it definitely has the look of an art studio.

"Oh, you're here at last," Joel grunts, popping up from behind a pillar holding a dirty brush stained with red tempera.

He is wearing a pair of frayed jeans and a white T-shirt stained in paint, he is disheveled and barefoot.

He doesn't even look like your professor; he always wears suits and perfectly ironed shirts at university.

Two large leaded windows divided into small squares open on the wall in front of you.

It’s dark by now, so the entire room is softly lit by several lamps and candles scattered around.

“Where should I stand to pose?” you don't intend to put in more than is necessary; spending time with this obnoxious man is the last thing you want to do today.

“Sit on the couch,” Joel orders, pointing to the old leather ruin to your right, ”I'll prepare the necessities and we'll get started.”

You sit, quietly, dreading what lies ahead.

Joel picks up a blank canvas and places it on a stand, takes a graphite pencil from the table and orders you " Undress"

You squint your eyes, squeaking “I'm sorry, what?”

“I'm making a series of artistic nudes, didn't I tell you?” he grins

“No, you don’t” you retort.

Fucking bastard.

“Strip” he repeats firmly.

“But I don't-”

“Look, you're already irritating me, either take off your fucking clothes or get out of here”

You've seen people pose nude in your art classes before, even in Professor Joel's class, and all you've ever cared about was doing a good job, but now it's different. It's just you and him, in a place in the middle of nowhere, you weren't warned before, and more importantly, he makes you uncomfortable.

His gaze has done nothing but judge you from the first moment it landed on you. You don't want to lose that last bit of dignity you still preserve and let him see you in your most intimate form.

“So what have you decided?” Joel presses you.

With extreme reluctance, you begin to take off your coat, laying it on the couch. What else can you do? By now you have fallen into a trap, either you do this or your grade at the end of the course will be F.

F for failure.

“Damn asshole,” you think, ”I hope I never see you again in my life after your fucking course is over.”

The resentment must be clear on your face because Joel mocks you “Oh come on, don't pout like that. There's nothing underneath that I haven't seen a hundred times before. It's just tits and a cunt” he concludes in a dismissive tone, crossing his arms over his chest impatiently.

He rolls his eyes when after some hesitation you slip off the T-shirt you are wearing, revealing a light pink lace bra.

He curls his lips "cute," he whispers in a lascivious tone " take that off too."

“But Mr Miller I...” you try to retort

“Go ahead and take it off,” your arms reach for your back, you undo the hooks of your bra and drop it to the floor. You cannot believe this is happening, you are bare-chested in front of your professor.

"Very well..." he acquiesces, "you see, everything is easier when you cooperate."

He strokes his beard as he glances at you remove your shoes and pulling down your jeans, the same smug, dangerous smile he had in his office returns to peep across his face.

“Good girl.”

You feel a knot in your stomach. And you who thought that commitment and talent were enough to get results...poor naive girl.

You should get out of here and go to the dean and report him for unethical conduct but you suddenly realize that he may be the first, but he won't be the last.

"Lie down on the couch," Joel whispers to you, his gaze not leaving your body, hungry and demanding.

You don't want to be here, yet you feel you can't do anything else at this point.

"Raise your right arm above your head," Joel instructs, "and bend your legs slightly."

“Like this. Don't move," Joel stands in front of the canvas and begins to trace marks on the surface. His hand moves quickly, his fingers run over the traced lines smudging them.

You remain still as he ordered you, feeling goosebumps across your body and your nipples harden from the cold.

You have to admit to yourself that it is fascinating to watch him work; his gaze is alert and sure, his hands move expertly and competently. He is certainly talented.

Joel observes the work done so far, scratching his chin, adding a few touches here and there as his eyes scan the entire surface of the canvas.

Maybe he really just wants to paint you and you're making a big deal out of nothing, maybe this will end well after all. He moves the easel to one side of the sofa you assume to look at you from another angle until he growls “Spread your legs for me, darling”

“But I don't-”

“I need more shadows on your body”

“What?” you glance at him, this sounds like a lame excuse.

“Spread your legs” he repeats ”come on”

You do so, feeling his eyes everywhere on you, feeding on every uncovered inch of your skin. And for some reason you cannot explain, you feel your body react under his gaze. You peak at the outline of his cock straining under his jeans, a rush of adrenaline rushes through you, a flush of arousal between your legs.

No, you can't.

You cannot crave for him to look at you. He's your professor who lured you here under false pretenses.

Yet you realize how incredibly handsome he is. So far you had only thought of him as your teacher and had never truly paused to observe him, especially since he always treated you like a dirtbag.

“Perfect, now stay still like this,” he mutters.

He hums as you do “Such a good girl for me” in a mellifluous and manipulative tone.

You feel his voice penetrate deep into your bones and another thrill of arousal runs through you all, gliding under your skin and straight to your pussy.

This is so fucked up but on the other hand you are thrilled by the idea of ending up in one of his paintings.

He makes a couple of changes to the sketch and then walks over to you, sitting on the armrest of the couch. He watches you intently, as if he wants to study every tiny detail about you, you still have your panties on but you've never felt more naked than that.

“Hmm, someone is wet.” he observes, gazing at the wet spot on your underwear. “It’s all for me?”

“I…uh…no, absolutely not” You don't want to admit it even to yourself but the situation is turning you on, no matter how wrong it is.

“Honey, I advise you never to play poker,” he sneers. You look at him puzzled, and he adds, “You're not good at bluffing at all.”

When he reaches out a hand to touch you, you almost tremble, it's as if your body is crying out to him “take me. use me.”

All you ever wanted from the beginning was his approval and now somehow he seems to recognize something in you. You just want to stop arguing, to stop fighting, to stop feeling like you are worth less than nothing, you just want to know that you still have a future that consists of not settling for a job that you don't love and doesn't allow you to feel fulfilled and let you get the results you know you deserve.

And most of all, you want him to be on your side.

“You're such a pretty little thing, you know that?” his voice gruels as his fingers run from your ankle to your knee and then up to your inner thigh. You stiff, feeling your heart raging up under your ribcage and a fresh flush of arousal dampening your cunt.

How did you never realize how sexy this man is? Now that his gaze has softened you notice the deep brown of his eyes, with some hazel undertones, and how he lights up as he stares at you.

God, you want him so bad right now.

You are almost on the verge of grabbing his wrist and placing his big hand on your pussy already, but you decide to let him.

His fingers move slowly over your skin; instead of touching you where you need it most, his hand stops at your hip, fiddling with the hem of your panties.

"Can I?" he grunts.

You nod silently and he demands “I need you to use your words, baby. Speak to me”

“Yes” you breath

He grins as he places his other hand on your hip and begins to pull down your panties. You lift your pelvis to ease him, and he comments, "mmm, so eager. You’re such a slut, aren’t you?”

You feel your cheeks on fire as you cannot take your eyes off him, desperately in need of his hands, his lips, his tongue and his cock. You want it all, right now. So maybe he’s right, you’re a slut and you don’t even care.

Joel calmly moves your panties down your legs and brings them to his nose, inhaling your scent. “Sweet. I bet you taste even better.”

He gets up from the couch, tucking your panties into his jeans pocket, and takes a clean brush from a container resting on the table. He sits back right next to you, and grins.

He caresses the inside of your leg with the brush, the feeling of the bristles flowing over your skin is incredible, soft and intense at the same time, leisurely moving on your inner thigh, raising up closer and closer to your pussy, his eyes set in yours, mesmerized by you.

You are subjugated by him as he fondles you, going up your belly with his brush, deliberately ignoring your pussy, moving deftly over every curve of your body. It is as if he is painting you, as if he has made you his work of art.

The bristles rub over your rib cage, slowly, then your breasts, moving in concentric circles from your areola to your nipples. He passes the brush back and forth over your hard buds and a deep moan escapes from your throat. “Please, Mr Miller” you whine.

“You can call me Joel, darling” he whispers “what do you need?”

“I…fuck” You’re dripping wet, your voice is a wail and your body is itching to be touched.

“Say it.” he orders you, ”I want to hear it.”

“I want - fuck - my pussy” you blather, you are not even able to form a complete sentence right now.

Joel laughs faintly, descending again on your abdomen, very slowly, until he reaches your mound. He rubs the bristles from right to left lingeringly, then lowering again, descending on your outer lips, first one side and then the other. And then again and again.

When he finally brushes over your clit, you are so pent up and needy that you arch your back, emitting a throaty moan.

“Oh God! Oh my God”

Joel lowers the brush to your clit, surrounding it with the bristles, pushing and making concentric circles. He stops when he feels you on the edge.

And then he does it all again, circling and pressing, jerking your bundle of nerves with the brush. And then a third time.

You’re a crying mess at this point, mind completely numb and your body covered in sweat.

He spreads your folds with his thumbs and sighs, “Look at this pussy, all nice and wet for me, I can’t wait to dip into your sweet honey, babe”

He throws the brush on the floor, it falls with a dull thud bouncing on the carpet.

“So fucking perfect”

You squeeze your eyes whining “please" a riot of emotions assail you, your body is so on the edge you could explode just by the way he looks at you, moistening his lips with his tongue.

He puts his arms around your neck, “cling to me,” he whispers. You do as he says, instinctively encircling his waist with your legs, clinging to his body with all your strength as he carries you to the bed and lays you gently on top.

He undresses, staying in his boxers in front of you.

You can't take your eyes off him, gazing at his wide shoulders, his broad chest, his soft belly with a thin strip of hair running down into his boxers.

He kneels on the bed, facing you, gently spreading your legs and moving between them.

He lowers himself on you, placing a kiss on your clit, making you whimper another pathetic "please."

He sticks his tongue out and runs it flat across your folds, up and down, one hand firmly clinging to your hip, his fingers digging into your skin.

"I was right, you taste amazing," he murmurs against your skin.

You are no longer thinking about anything right now, not about your master's degree, evaluations or the fact that he is your teacher.

You feel his nose hitting on your clit as he eagerly licks your folds, opening them with two fingers to sink his tongue in.

You bite your lower lip, stifling your moans, burying a hand in his dark curls, pulling him toward you “oh fuck, yes”.

His tongue encircles your hard clit, swirling around, his lips lace over it sucking greedily.

“You don’t need to hold back, you can be as loud as you want in here, no one will hear us. Let me hear you, baby. I wanna know how you sound when you come”

He doesn't stop sucking and licking until you feel your orgasm mount inside you like a flooding river, invading your body, curving your toes, clenching your fists on the sheet beneath you and rolling your hips on his face, wetting his lips, his chin, dripping onto your inner thigh.

“Yeah, baby, come apart on my tongue, just like that”

He licks you clean until you calm down, devouring your juices to the last drop and then looks up at you “you have no idea how beautiful you are, starving for my cock” he groans “god, I must have you right now, I must make you mine, you hungry little whore”

You wait for nothing else, it seems your thirst has no way to quench today.

“Please, Joel,”

He pulls off his boxers, throwing them on the floor, his cock springs free and is incredibly hard, you can't stop looking at it. He's big, so big you don't even know how he's going to fit all the way inside you but you don’t care. “Fill me up, Joel, please”

“Yeah? You want this big cock inside you? Want me to fill you up so good baby?” He grumbles.

“Please, Joel, it’s all I need” you whine.

He lies on top of you, tapping your lips a few times with the tip, running it along your folds and wetting it with your juices, aligning himself with your opening, “I'll give you what you want, then.”

He nudges at your hole a moment before he enters you, just the tip, pressing gently to let you get used to his intrusion.

You moan feverishly, clinging to his back, bucking your hips toward him “more, please, more” you plea.

As he plunges inside you, he stares at your face, as if he doesn’t want to miss a single second of your reactions, when he’s ball deep into you you let out an incoherent whine so graveling it doesn’t even sounds like your voice.

He begins to pump into you as you circle his waist with your legs again, pushing to feel him deeper, your hands roaming in his graying hair.

“Here you go, taking me so well princess, you’re so good to me”

When his lips settle on yours you realize that you had not yet kissed until this moment. His lips are soft, demanding, his tongue penetrates your mouth licking eagerly, and you are more than happy to respond, savoring his taste of mint and cigarettes.

One of his hands kneads your breast, his fingers close on one of your nipples as his cock doesn't stop sinking inside you.

You moan into his mouth feeling like you are on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall into the sinful pit of hell.

“Where do you want me?” he whispers in your ear, and your voice comes out broken from the back of your throat ”Inside. please. I'm - fuck - I'm on the pill.”

You feel him spilling his load inside you a moment later, painting your inner wall with his hot sticky cum.

You feel delirious and exhausted, guilty for what you just did. Your moral code has just been shattered under the hot weight of his body.

He kisses you again, lingering on your bottom lip. “You’re so much better than I thought,” he chuckles.

He moves away from you and stands up naked to return to the sketch. He traces a few lines and makes some adjustments as you stare at him in amazement.

“Can you show me?” you ask. “Yes, come here,” he replies. You get up and stand next to him to observe the canvas. Your body is sketched on it and it looks perfect, you have never seen yourself so beautiful.

“You can go if you want, I’m done for today”

“I- I don’t want to”

“Do you want more?” he sneers “god, you really are a slut.” he comments as he gets closer to you.

He fucks you two more times, the first time he makes you get on all fours, licking your pussy from behind and then sinking into you while he holds you by the hips, his cock slamming against your cervix and his balls against your ass. Then you’re too eager to have him in your mouth, to taste your flavor mixed with his, so you offer to give him a blowjob and he fucks your mouth before digging back into your pussy again.

He drives you back to campus. “I may be an asshole, but I won’t let you walk around alone at night,” he says.

You get out of his car feeling like you’re in a bubble, like everything that happened was just a surreal dream you can’t wake up from. You collapse into your bed after throwing your clothes haphazardly on the floor. When you wake up the next morning you feel like shit.

You don't know how boldly you will look your classmates in the eye, but you can't skip class, and the thought of seeing Joel again thrills you, no matter how wrong it is.

When Joel enters the classroom, he ignores you, probably so as not to arouse suspicion; it would be too strange for him to treat you with regard after denigrating you for months.

He begins returning graded tests proceedings slowly as usual, moving between desks and laying down the papers without making any comment. The test that rests on your desk has a circled A at the top.

Tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @baronessvonglitter @lemon-nomel @almostempty @thundermartini @harriedandharassed @pedrostories

#pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel the last of us #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x afab!reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #perv!joel miller

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thewinter-eden · 8 days ago

Text

You Called?

images are mine (except middle HJ pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. ATE pcs are my inspo for this series.

part 5 of the skz crack!horror series.

pairing: Han Jisung x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: demon!Jisung is summoned by your friends during a drunken college party. They’re trying to scare you, pretend to summon a demon and then lock you in the basement until they decide to let you out, but then the demon actually comes, and he thinks your friends are jerks.

warnings: Fear/comfort, edgy but soft Jisung, terrorizing of minor characters, discussion of spiritualism/afterlife, my only reference for demons is Supernatural, reader is freaked out by witchcraft, slight disparaging of witchcraft and mysticism (does not reflect actual beliefs), Jisung is instantly whipped, deals, fear, this one turned out a little angsty, truth or dare.

word count: 5k

Comment a request to be tagged.

series info

“I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Of course you don’t. But clearly, your aunt did.”

Yes, it’s your aunt’s fault. If only she didn’t have a basement full of jarred herbs and tarot cards and ouija boards and weird leathery spell books, you wouldn’t be in this predicament. You’d be in a different one, for sure, because having the friends that you have isn’t your aunt’s fault, it’s yours, but still—you wouldn’t be locked in a basement with three of your friends browsing through your aunt’s dusty new agey books.

“Now, come on, sit around the circle thing.” One of your friends, Rami, tugs you down by your elbow to sit cross-legged on the edge of a chalk rune on the floor. It looks aged and scuffed and mostly faded by dust and time, but present enough to be identifiable as something mystical.

“I’m serious, I don’t think my aunt would have wanted us down here.” You mutter. It seems colder all of a sudden, chills covering your arms and shivering down your spine.

“Then she should have cleaned it out before she died I guess.” Rami returned, gesturing for Chae and Boyoung to sit down as well. “And besides, this was your penalty. You accepted it, so this is what we’re doing.”

You wouldn’t have accepted the stupid penalty for the stupid drinking game from the stupid college party upstairs if the alternative hadn’t been being cornered by the greasy frat boy who kept slipping his hands under your shirt every time he got the chance.

Next time your cousin tries to convince you to come over and “let loose with a couple of friends” you’re going to remember that her idea of hanging out is a massive college kegger.

“Alright, here it is.” Boyoung draws her legs up underneath her and rests the massive tome of the spell book she’s holding across her knees. She shoots the others a devious smirk, and then clears her throat. “Are we ready?”

You most certainly are not.

It’s not like you believe in the afterlife and mysticism and witchcraft and all of the other spiritualism nuances that your aunt was into, but you also recognize that you definitely don’t know everything about the scope of the universe. You’re willing to admit that you might be wrong about what exists and what is folklore, and you’re certainly not enthusiastic about playing around with the afterlife—just in case.

You’ve never even touched a Ouija board, because what if?

You don’t think they work, but what if?

And now, because you lost a stupid drinking game, your stupid friends are going to use the demon summoning ritual that your aunt just had, like it’s an old family recipe or something.

“Can I pick a different penalty?” You try again, your palms sweating. Yeah, sure, nothing’s going to happen because it’s obviously an old gift shop spell book (a really old, really big gift shop spell book), but all the half-burnt candles and chalk runes and hanging herbs around you are starting to freak you out.

Boyoung and Chae both shake their heads, while Rami reaches out and snatches your elbow. “This was the deal—one summoning spell, and then ten minutes by yourself. You agreed.”

You feel like crying.

You regret it. You regret coming. You didn’t like your aunt when she was alive—who gives their nieces and nephews cat whiskers and tinctures for birthdays?—and you certainly don’t like your cousin now—she clearly has a terrible idea of a good time—so why did you even come tonight?

At this point, you’re even wishing you can go back upstairs and ask the greasy frat boy to rescue you from your friends. They’re way too excited about leaving you locked in the creepy basement after a demonic invocation, whether they believe in it or not.

“Go ahead!” Chae nudges Boyoung. “Hurry up, I wanna go back upstairs.”

“It’s fucking creepy in here.” Rami agrees, rubbing her arms and jutting her chin towards the book.

“Why don’t we just do something else? Forget the basement.” You complain, starting to get back to your feet.

Predictably, Rami yanks you back down. “Rules are rules! Go ahead, Boyoung-ah.”

That’s how you find yourself sitting in a dark basement while your friend chants ominously in Latin, your heart racing like you’ve just run a marathon. Why did it have to be a demon summoning? Why couldn’t it have been a séance? At least if you were going to be playing around with pretend spiritualism, you could pretend to talk to someone you actually liked.

Your dad had died when you were little, you could pretend to have a tear-jerking reunion and then get the fuck out of that creepy old witch house once your friends were satisfied.

Why do you even call them your friends anyway?

You’re all just the members of a few too many group projects for your biology classes, more associates than anything else.

But Boyoung is still chanting, tripping over awkward pronunciation of the dead language and squinting through the faint light to see the faded text on the ancient pages.

You don’t think it’s your imagination when a whisper of air ruffles the hair at the back of your neck, but you’re also extremely anxious at the moment. So anxious that you physically jump when Boyoung slams the book shut.

“Done!” She chirps, hopping to her feet and dusting off the seat of her skirt. She fixes you with an evil grin. “Ten minutes by yourself!” Then she loops her arm through Chae’s and your three associates clamber back up the rickety stairs to the basement door.

Before they leave you, teary and trembling on the concrete floor, Rami pauses and looks back at you. “And no using your phone. If we see any light under the door, we’ll keep it locked for an extra ten minutes.”

It was a meaningless threat, because you know for sure they’re gonna go upstairs and get more drinks and find more friends, and you’re going to have to call your cousin to let you out after they forget about you.

So there you are. In the dark, in a creepy basement, all by yourself. You’re still sitting on the ground, cross-legged, your shaky hands gripping at your knees like it’s the only thing grounding you.

It’s just an empty basement.

It’s just you, by yourself.

You decide to close your eyes and focus on your breathing, counting the lengths of each inhale and exhale until the vague sounds of Boyoung’s invocation fades from your memory. You sit there, just breathing, urging the tension to melt from your muscles, until it feels like an eternity has passed.

The party is still in full swing on the floor above you, the music and laughter floating beneath the door down to you. You focus on the shouting voices until your spine relaxes.

When your eyes finally open and blink down at the bright screen of your phone, reading the giant numbers of the clock glaring back at you, you realize you’ve only been alone for three minutes.

Every ounce of tension returns, winding through the fibers in your muscles until it’s clamped around your bones and settled in the roots of your teeth. You’re still in a creepy witchy basement for another seven freaking minutes. As the darkness seems to physically seep into your skin, your gaze is sweeping the shadows of the room.

Bookshelves covered in spilled wax, random feathers, jars of little stones and dirt (hopefully dirt?), various crystals, tons of super old books, crates of more books, larger jars of plants and branches that you can’t begin to make sense of, and an aura that you can’t quite put your finger on.

You can’t say why you feel like you’re being watched, especially when you know you’re alone, but your heart is once again inexplicably racing in your chest.

There’s no one.

The shadow to your left is the marble bust of a saint or an angel or something, the one near your feet is the pile of musty blankets on an old wooden chair, the one straight ahead of you is the kettle that hangs from a frame over the ashy pit of a cold fireplace.

Honestly what the hell was your aunt up to before she died?

You bring yourself back, focusing on the cold concrete beneath your butt, the way your ankle is grinding into the floor, the cold that’s curling its fingers around your throat when your shirt slips off of one shoulder.

As you try to slip back into the calm refuge that you’d found with your eyes closed, desperate to not emerge from the pit of the basement with tear streaks of dust and mascara, all you can hear is your own breathing.

There’s no one in there with you, no one in the shadows, no one lurking behind the stairs.

Sucking in a deep breath, you hold it and listen to your heart pounding in your ears. It’s a trick you learned to calm yourself when you were young, counting to four between breaths. In the next few moments, you feel your body begin to relax and sink back into a neutral position.

Your lungs burn as you count to four for the tenth time.

The next exhale is loud.

And it is most decidedly not your own.

You shoot upright, hand snapping out to clutch at your phone. Fuck what Rami said, you need that flashlight. Tracking the shadows again as your sweat-slicked hands fight your thumbprint reader, eyes widely combing every inch of the dark room, you find yourself unable to peer past the blackness to see the source of the sound that made your heart flip.

Your phone just keeps shaking its “try again” message at you, stubbornly refusing to unlock.

Until you see them—and you realize that you’ve already been looking at them—your gaze landing on them a dozen times in the past thirty seconds, not even registering them.

Until they blink back at you.

Your fingers stomp your passcode in and swipe on the flashlight.

Cold white light floods the room, and he’s standing there, staring at you.

You scream, bundled nerves exploding your body backwards and you find yourself on your feet, scrambling back against a heavy bookshelf.

But he’s just standing there, watching you from the other edge of the chalk circle thing you were sitting on. His head is tilted slightly, sharp eyes hooded as he beholds you silently.

Your arm is practically spasming as you try to keep your light pointed at him and check all the walls and corners at the same time, your brain screaming at you to figure out where he came from. Where did he come from? There’s only one door in the basement, and it’s up the flight of stairs to your left.

“What the fuck?” You screech, your other hand scrambling for something—anything.

The man’s eyes narrow.

He’s not especially tall, but he’s lean and strong, dressed in all black, his raven hair curling over his forehead and neck. There’s something devilishly beautiful about him, about the honey of his skin and the flick of his tongue between his lips.

His eyes mimic yours, tracing you up and down, and his tongue flicks again. Then he opens his mouth and his chin twitches up, short locks of hair flipping away from his eyes. “You called?”

The sultry baritone of his voice floats to your ears with heavy, dangerous weight, and your fingers automatically clamp around the first thing you find. Before you can reason your way through your next decision, you hurl it—the book you’re suddenly holding—directly at his head.

The man flinches, knocking the book aside with the swipe of his hand, but doesn’t realize there’s a second one coming.

You’re pelting them as quickly as you can find them, yanking ancient (probably valuable) books off of the shelf, sending up plumes of dust everywhere, hurling them at the man as you edge your way towards the stairs. He’s standing between you and your exit and you’ll be damned (hopefully not literally) if you’re going to be sacrificed to a demon in your freaky aunt’s basement.

But then his voice reaches you with a completely different tone.

“Stop! Oh my god, stop!” He’s twisted away from you, his hands up covering his face. You see glimpses of his eyes gone impossibly wide, lips jutting out in a disbelieving pout, trying desperately to catch your gaze. He dodges another book and dances away from another. “Why are you—stop!—you called me!”

Another book strikes his shoulder and his pitch goes even higher.

“You literally called me! Stop!”

You stop.

He sounds so…offended that you’re battering him with books that you just plant yourself, clutching a heavy tome to your chest, gaping at him.

He takes a second to collect himself, smoothing down the sleek black jacket that wraps around his thick shoulders and falls snugly around his narrow waist.

Running a hand through his hair and shaking dust out of it, he gapes right back at you. “Do you know how rare it is for this to happen?” He demands, eyes still comically wide. “We don’t just come when called anymore! You—” He jabs a finger in your direction and you shriek, flinching. “Are lucky that I was curious!”

Your hope of coming out of this experience without wearing your mascara in crusted ribbons down your cheeks went out the window about fifteen books ago. “You…you’re…” You suck in a deep breath that sounds like it choked you all the way down. “You?”

The man glares at you, planting his hands on his hips. “You are unbelievably rude.” He decides, taking a step closer as though you aren’t literally hiding behind the giant book in your hands. “You reach through the veil to call upon a spiritual being in the year of our Lord, 2025, and when I answer the freaking phone you throw a library at me? This is why we don’t talk to you people anymore.”

But he doesn’t reach to touch you or attack you and stomp on your skull, so you lower the book away from your face ever so slightly.

He’s standing in front of you, arms crossed over his chest, a disappointed frown on his face.

You take a second to blink at him, a flood of tears trickling down your cheeks. There’s so much happening, so much shattering your entire perception of the universe right now, but there’s only one thing on your mind. “Did you just say ‘oh my god’?”

At your timid, whimpering voice, the demon’s eyes roll. “Are you serious right now?”

You flinch, stumbling back. “It’s just…” Your eyes wander and you mentally pinch yourself. But, honestly, he’s fucking gorgeous and your racing heart is making your head spin already. “You’re a demon?”

“Yeah, so?” He shoots back.

“So…” you swallow harshly. “God?”

This brings a smirk to his lips. “If you came down here to ask about God, I think you’ve got the wrong number.”

“I didn’t call you.” You argue, glancing behind you to make sure you aren’t going to be falling into a coffin or some other terrible thing that your aunt has hidden back there.

He looks confused. “You didn’t?” He glances around. “Someone did. It’s not like I can get the address wrong.”

“My friends called you.” There’s nowhere for you to go. You’re standing against the wall, mere feet away from a literal demon, and there’s nowhere you can run from him.

At the obviously otherwise empty basement, the demon raises his eyebrows at you. “Where are they?”

You shakily point towards the stairs as you slide down the wall to the floor. “At the party. It was a dare. A penalty for a dumb game—they were supposed to pretend to summon a demon with all of this weird shit and then I was supposed to stay down here for ten minutes by myself—they just wanted to scare me. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please just go away, I’ll never bother you, I swear.” You’re sobbing, completely overwhelmed, feeling completely exposed to this spiritual being as he watches you fall apart.

You’ve got the massive tome propped up on your lap, leaned against your forehead to shield yourself as you weep.

Do demons kill people?

Do they just possess people?

Are you going to go on from this night demon-possessed?

Are you supposed to pray or something?

Weight lifts from your bones as the tome is suddenly taken from you, and you blink past tears to see that the demon is crouched in front of you, dark strands of hair dancing with his eyelashes as he peers into your fearful face.

His gaze traces the trembling in your shoulders, your hands, your thighs, the rigid, bulging muscles in your throat and forearms as your body tightens with terror. When he speaks again, his deep voice is gentle. “Your friends summoned a demon and locked you in here by yourself?”

There’s nothing you can do but nod, wishing you hadn’t skipped your weekly phone call to your mom earlier. You wish you’d told her you love her, that you never meant to be possessed by a demon.

You see his hand lift and your eyes squeeze shut, a whimpering gasp rushing past your lips. If you get out of here alive, you’re burning down the basement and going to church.

But then his warm—feverishly hot, actually—fingertips glide over the wetness of your face, and his thumb is wiping at your tears. When your eyes snap open, he’s cupping your cheek in one hand but his eyes are black fire. “Stay here, baby, I’ll be right back.”

His touch disappears in a swirl of black smoke and he’s gone, vanished right before you like he was never there.

But your cheek is still throbbing from the heat of his palm, your heart thumping in your chest from the impact of his low voice.

Did he just call you baby?

All of that goes directly out of your mind because in the next second, you can hear enormous crashes of thunder above your head. The music from the party dies with an electric squeal that makes your ears sting, and then screams fill the air. The ceiling of the basement pounds and trembles with running footsteps from the floor above, furniture crashing and college students stumbling into things.

There’s a flicker from beneath the basement door, and then the light disappears.

The single bulb over your head goes out.

You scramble for your phone, turning the flashlight back on, heart hammering as you listen.

The screams begin to fade, sounding farther and farther away, until the house above you is completely silent.

Black smoke puffs in front of you and there he is again, the demon with the fire in his eyes.

The reflexive yelp that scratches up your throat is accidental, but it seems to douse the flames and the man’s gaze softens as he lowers himself to the floor, mimicking your folded-knees position. He lifts a hand and gestures to you, beckoning you closer.

Obviously you don’t move, terrified out of your mind. “What the hell did you just do?”

“I locked them in a room with me and scared them.” He shrugs. “It wasn’t as funny as they thought it was going to be. Your friends are assholes and I don’t think you should hang out with them anymore.” He tilts his head at you, his hand still extended. “I didn’t hurt them, I promise. They just ran away. As long as they stay away from you, they’ll be fine.”

You’re going to be completely honest with yourself, you didn’t have nearly enough wits about you to wonder if he’d gone up and slaughtered the whole bunch of them. But it’s nice that he didn’t, you guess.

“So.” He claps both hands to his knees. “This is a college party? I haven’t been to one of these in ages. Do you still play truth or dare?”

Your mouth falls open.

He scoots closer.

“Why as long as they stay away from me?” You’re grasping for understanding, wondering why you’re still on the filthy floor in the creepiest room you’ve ever found yourself in, staring at a demon who’s just asked you to play truth or dare.

The demon’s eyes narrow but his lips curl in a playful smirk. “Truth or dare, baby?”

You can’t help the shiver. Do you refuse to play? He’s a literal demon who can apparently call upon thunder and destroy sound and electrical systems and frighten the bejeezus out of an entire college party.

It stands to reason that playing the silly game is probably in your best interest.

“Truth.” The tiny whisper of your voice puts a flash of teasing disappointment in his eyes.

“Okay,” He says, and scoots even closer. “Are you grateful I made your friends piss themselves for you?”

A storm of emotions strike you. Are you grateful? Yeah, a little bit. It would have been hilarious to watch, now that you think about it. Are you confused as to why he did it? More than you can articulate. Would you have ever asked him to get revenge over a penalty that was supposed to be a joke? Honestly, probably not. Are you going to tell him that?

Hell to the no.

“Yes.” You swallow. “I’m grateful.”

He looks satisfied with your answer, with himself. “Good. Your turn. Ask me.”

You don’t want to ask him. You want to leave this house just like everybody else did, with your tail between your legs and your world changed forever—but alive. But you can’t. So you clench your fists and shed another round of tears. “Truth or dare?”

What would you even dare him to do?

“Dare,” He says devilishly, tongue flicking out to scrape his teeth. His eyes are mischief and intrigue, but they’re watching the trail of your tears with undeniable softness.

“I dare you…” Your voice chokes like a candle being blown out, and you struggle to get it back. “I dare you not to hurt me.” It’s pathetic. It’s laughably pathetic, but you’re scared beyond all reason and you need any kind of reassurance to keep you sane right now.

The teasing falls from his expression instantly, and a solemn stare levels with you. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe with me, I swear it.” His hands twitch, he wants to wipe the tears from your face, but he won’t—not again—not until you’re not afraid of him anymore.

You could weep all over again from the sheer anxiety of it all. “Why? Why would I believe you? Why me?”

He just smiles. “It’s my turn. Truth or dare?”

You are absolutely not ready to take a dare from a demon. “Truth.”

“Tell me your name. I’m Jisung.”

Jisung is looking at you like you’re a harbinger of hope, and you suddenly wonder if your name is supposed to hold power. Does giving your name to a demon give him power over you? Should you lie? Do you keep it to yourself?

But he gave you his name. (Or did he lie?)

You tell him. You’re locked in a basement with him—he doesn’t need a magical connection to you to kill you. He could hurt you whenever he wants.

He says your name out loud and you flinch, waiting. But your blood doesn’t boil, your eyes don’t explode, your brain doesn’t leak out of your ears. Your name on his tongue gives you confidence though, like he’s acknowledged you on an existential level and now you can look him in the eyes.

“Truth or dare.”

“Truth.” He already knows you won’t dare him to do anything, not while your mind is still racing with questions.

“Tell me why I’m safe with you, Jisung.”

He blinks at the strength in your voice, at his name in your mouth. It’s so overwhelming, to hear his name spoken aloud, that he has to turn away from you. How long has it been since he’s heard it? A millennium? An eon? Has it ever sounded so warm before? He’s blinking back tears, coughing past an ache in his chest, scrambling to collect himself before he looks back at you.

He could tell you any number of things and they would be true, but would they be enough? You’re the first face he’s seen in decades. You’re the first person who’s looked at him in years. You’re the first person who’s said his name without hurling it like a curse against him. You didn’t beg for your life when he appeared, you apologized like you bumped into him at the supermarket. Because he keeps waiting to see what you’re going to do next, say next, if you’re going to hold his gaze again.

But how does he say that to you?

He settles on his first realization of you. “Because you didn’t use me.”

You’re confused, fear falling away from your face completely as you puzzle through that statement. “I didn’t use you?”

He nods towards the book of spells that holds his invocation. “People summon demons to make deals—to use our power for their own gain. If we answer a call, it’s with the understanding that we’re being summoned to be leeched off of. You’re the first human I’ve ever come to who didn’t want anything from me.” If his throat tightens as he says it, he blames it on a millennium of loneliness and not the swell of pity that floods your eyes.

So he clears his throat and plops his chin in both palms. “Truth or dare?”

You’re warming up now, leaning into the rawness of the open wound he just exposed to you, and you feel your cheeks heat. “Dare.”

He’s stunned, delighted, and he smiles. “Dare?”

You swallow thickly, avoiding his gaze, and nod. “Dare.”

Jisung leans forward on his knees and one hand, the other lifting to wipe the last of your tears, and he lingers there, hovering right next to you. “Make a deal with me.”

The words strike you with conflicting fear and excitement, your eyes wide as you stare at him. Radiating heat from his skin kisses your face, feeding the blush on your cheeks. “But you just said—”

“It’s my deal,” He interrupts. “My terms with you.”

You don’t know whether to be scared or interested, but you have few options in the way of reactions. “What are the terms?”

“Summon me again.” He says simply. “Whenever you want to. Regularly. And I’ll protect you.”

You’re gaping directly into his face now, utterly baffled and not at all afraid. “Protect me from what?”

Jisung shrugs and lowers himself back into a seated position, this time so close that his knees are touching yours. “Anything, really. But there is the reality that once you’ve reached through the veil, there are traces of you on my side of it as well. Your presence is known now, you might be vulnerable to things from the other side.”

“Things?” You repeat. “What kinds of things?”

He frowns, like he doesn’t want to tell you. “Demons, spirits, the fallen. But I’ll protect you from all of them. They might not find you, they might not care—but if they do, I’ll be there.”

This is so much worse than a stupid prank demon summoning. “Why? Why would you make this deal?”

He smiles at you then, and it’s the most vulnerable he’s looked so far. “There’s not much in the way of goodness where I’m from. I miss it.”

“Goodness?” You repeat, frowning.

“You.” He says, reaching out and flicking your knee lightly. “Friendship. Smiles. Warm touch. Laughter. Shit—” He breaks off and turns his head away and you think you see him wiping wetness away from his own eyes. When he looks at you again, you almost think you had imagined it. “Give up your stupid ass friends and take me instead.”

You’re stunned; floored; flabbergasted. One of those weird hawk feathers on the bookshelves could knock you right over. “Jisung?” What do you even say to that?

He heaves a massive sigh and both of his hands curl over your knees. You don’t mind. You honestly don’t mind. Even if you know better than to trust him all at once, you don’t mind the way he’s touching you—the way he’s looking at you.

If he’s trying to trick you into some kind of possession, grooming you to be some kind of slave, you don’t know. You’re terrified that you’re being taken in by the most beautiful sad eyes you’ve ever seen, but right now you’re stuck.

He’s still watching you, eyes hooded and hoping, and you give a nod. “Okay. Deal.”

His fingers tighten around your knees and you would be terrified at the feeling of being caught in his grasp if it weren’t for the gaping grin that spreads across his face like you’ve just told a child he can go to Disney World.

“Is there some kind of blood pact we have to do to settle the deal? A contract?” You ask nervously, hoping you know which of the dozens of the books on the floor holds the invocation. “What if I summon the wrong demon on accident?”

“Just add my name to the invocation, I’ll come.” He says, and the smile on his face is addictive.

“You’ll come just because I call?”

Jisung squeezes your knees. “If you call me, I’ll come. And promise me you’ll ditch those assholes that locked you down here.” He pulls you closer to him, eyebrows lowering in earnest. “If any demon other than myself had answered, you could have come out of this experience very differently. I don’t want you around any more of their idiotic ideas.”

You laugh then, finally, and he stares at you in awe. “I promise.”

The demon straightens, satisfied, and then he’s extending one hand to you, which you willingly take this time. “The deal seals with a kiss. There’s no fine print, not for you. You have my word—regardless of what you think a demon’s word is worth.”

He has a point, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You let him pull you to your feet, you help him find the spell book and tear the page out, slipping it into your pocket like you’ve just gotten his phone number.

When he circles back to you, he doesn’t look so dangerous anymore. “Are you ready?”

You’re nervous, still doubting what may come of your future, but you’re not scared right now. Instead, you nod, and let his warm hands tilt your chin up. You see the black flames ignite in his eyes once again, just before Jisung presses a searing kiss to your lips and fire shoots down your body.

It’s a simple kiss, as simple as pushing a stamp into a wax seal, but when he leans back to observe the heat blooming across your cheeks, your mind is gone. You feel his forehead touch yours, the whisper of his breath on your skin, the burning impact of his next words, but you’re only barely keeping up.

Because you definitely no longer regret coming to this party, or losing that stupid drinking game.

“You’re mine now, baby,” Jisung whispers against your cheek, and flashes you a wink. “Just call me and I’m yours.”

@whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @estella-novella @babyphotos0325 @softfor-svtptg @furfoxsake22 @tubelightanyaa @kayleefriedchicken @rockstarkkami @sp1derst0rrr @eastjonowhere @its-stayville-forever @allenajade-ite @naraportokala @jinniejjam @blackberryrains @feetoffthemalfoy @highandalive @scarlet789 @ramadiiiisme @thecutiepieme @lemonn015 @p0is0ned-peach

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#skz #stray kids #fanfic #horror #han jisung #han jisung x reader #han jisung x you #jisung x reader #jisung x you #han x reader #han x you #skz crack horror #crack horror #skz crack!horror

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mountainficss · 1 year ago

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thinking of a bratty college boy jeonghan who’d literally like…be absolutely obsessed with you. but instead of yk being normal about it he’d just make it his mission to bother you. he just finds it cute when you’re pissed off at him.

classmate!jeonghan who you’d have an early morning class with. he’d notice you storm in on the first day with your bag clutched in your hand and a glower on your face. even with the nastiest expression he’d think you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen in his life. you’d plop down in a chair furthest from the front of the room and jeonghan would find himself getting up from his seat and sitting right next to you. you’d feel a presence to your right and oh it would make you angrier. you were not a morning person. it was too fucking early for this and you were too tired to tolerate any kind of social interaction. all these empty seats and this asshole has to sit next to you? of course you didn’t expect a pretty boy with long hair and an impish smirk to be sitting next to you when you whipped your head around to glare at him, but your scowl didn’t falter. it would take more than a pretty face to un-piss you off. he’d introduce himself and offer you his hand to shake, but you’d just roll your eyes and face the front of the room again. “you’re not gonna tell me your name?” he’d smirk, your blatant annoyance amusing him. “it’s y/n.” you’d snap, hoping that would shut him up. “the lecture’s gonna start soon. be quiet.” he’d say nothing, just smile smugly as he turns to listen to the professor’s words. from that day on he’d make it his goal to bother the fuck out of you every day just so he can get your attention.

he’d sit in the same spot next to you every morning, doing little things to irritate you <3 they’re never mean things, just things that he does because he highkey likes you and likes to see you all huffy and mad at him. he’d scoot his chair closer to yours just to see you shoot daggers at him but not move away. would sometimes grab a little piece of your hair and twirl it around his finger just to feel your hand slapping his away. if he’s lucky you won’t even shoo his hand away and will just tell him to fuck off, causing him to keep twirling it <3 would definitely whisper stupid jokes in your ear while the professor is talking, grinning and watching the corner of your lips fight to twitch up into a tiny smile. he’d draw little doodles on sticky notes of different things, sometimes drawing little animals and sometimes drawing cute pictures of you. would crumple the sticky note up and throw the little paper ball at the side of your face. you’d glare at him as it bounces off your cheek and onto the table, turning your head back to pay attention to the not-so-interesting lecture. jeonghan would definitely gripe about you not paying attention to his work of art. “c’mon,” he’d whine quietly, grabbing your hand and gently prying it open so he could place the wadded up piece of paper into your palm. “you didn’t even open it.” you rolled your eyes at him, huffing as you uncrumple the little square. you’d be met with a drawing of you as a stick figure, an arrow with the tail labeled (y/n) pointing to your little stick body. he’d drawn a bunch of little hearts around you, the drawing bringing a tinge of blush to your cheeks. he’d feel proud making you blush, a boyish grin practically glued to his face for the rest of the day. two or three days later you’d be sitting next to each other again, your notebook sitting in front of you as you rustled in your bag on the floor to try to find your favorite pen. while you were distracted, jeonghan would steal your notebook to doodle another silly picture inside. he’d open it and immediately be met with his sticky note drawings he’d made for you throughout the semester. would find things like his poor drawing of a rose with “for you <3” written at the bottom, his drawing of you as a pouty cat, and the stick figure of you surrounded in hearts he drew a few days ago. his stomach would flip at the realization that you kept them, that you secretly liked his drawings. maybe even secretly liked him. oh he’d love that so much. you’d finally sit up after finding your pen, eyes traveling to your open notebook and blushing hard. you’d snatch the book back and slam it closed, but jeonghan would already be grinning ear to fucking ear. his face would be red too, would definitely fight the urge to kiss you on the fucking spot. “want me to make you more?” he’d ask, his eagerness making your heart swell a bit. you’d mumble a small “sure,” avoiding his eyes as he practically radiates with excitement. he’d just smirk cutely and would be twirling that strand of your hair around his finger again. this time you wouldn’t say anything and would just let him <3

ugh this isn’t even smut and it wasn’t even supposed to be this long but i love the idea of little tease jeonghan that’s obsessed with you :( i’ll probably think of some type of smutty continuation anyway but ugh just the idea of him annoying you is so ugh <3

#seventeen smut #thoughts #smut #bratty switch #seventeen #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan #seventeen imagines #seventeen jeonghan #jeonghan svt #little shit #seventeen fluff #mountainficss

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wadewnstonwilson · 2 months ago

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older boyfriend wade wilson headcanons || suggestion by anonymous

pairing: wade wilson (deadpool) x genderneutral!reader

author note: let me know if you guys want me to make this into an actual fic!! also would love to make more headcanons in the future featuring logan or wade so please feel free to drop me an ask!

wade’s protective streak is amplified by the age gap. he knows you’re young and still figuring life out, so he’s hyper-aware of anything or anyone that might cause you stress. whether it’s a professor being unfair or a creep at a party, wade’s ready to swoop in. “do you want me to talk to them? or, y’know, scare the crap out of them? either works.”

wade’s surprisingly good at helping you study—mostly because he makes it fun. he’ll quiz you with ridiculous impressions, draw crude diagrams that somehow make sense, or turn your flashcards into a card game. if you’re struggling with a tough class, he’s your biggest cheerleader, reminding you of how smart you are even when you doubt yourself.

wade can’t stand seeing you stressed about money, especially when you’re juggling work and school. he’ll casually slip extra cash into your wallet or “accidentally” order way too much takeout so you have leftovers for days. if you protest, he brushes it off. “relax, baby, i’m just investing in my future sugar parent.”

wade constantly jokes about the age gap, calling himself a “cradle robber” or making exaggerated comments about how “back in his day,” things were different. it’s all in good fun, though, and he loves how your younger energy keeps him on his toes. “you’re like my very own personal time machine, babe. you make me feel young again. except for my knees—those still hate me.”

despite his humor, wade sometimes wrestles with insecurity about the age difference. he worries he’s too damaged or experienced for you and questions whether he’s holding you back. he doesn’t voice it often, but it’s clear in the way he sometimes pulls away or gets quiet when he sees you thriving in your college world.

wade is your rock during stressful times. when finals season rolls around, he’s there to remind you to take breaks, eat, and sleep. he might even bribe you with snacks or cuddles to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. “you can’t ace that exam if you’re running on fumes, babe. now eat this chimichanga before i cry.”

wade loves whisking you away from the monotony of college life for spontaneous dates. whether it’s midnight runs to a 24-hour diner or an impromptu road trip, he makes sure you’re not missing out on fun just because you’re busy with school.

while wade doesn’t want to overstep, he occasionally drops bits of wisdom from his own life experiences. if you’re struggling with a decision or feeling lost, he’s there to listen and gently nudge you in the right direction. “look , i’ve made enough dumb choices for the both of us. let me save you some trouble, okay?”

wade tries not to let it show, but he sometimes feels a little insecure about your college friends, especially if they’re closer to your age. he won’t stop you from hanging out with them, but he might throw in a sarcastic comment or two. “sure, go hang with your study group. but if any of them so much as *looks* at you funny, i’m calling in reinforcements. and by reinforcements, i mean me.”

wade tries to keep you at arm’s length sometimes, convinced that you deserve someone less complicated, someone who hasn’t been through what he has. but the more he tries to push you away, the more he finds himself drawn back to you. you have a way of breaking down his walls, and it terrifies him—because he wants you, but he also wants to protect you from him.

wade makes an effort to understand your college life, even if it’s wildly different from his world. he’ll attend your events, help with projects, and even try to keep up with your academic lingo (though it usually ends in a joke). “So, gpa stands for ‘great partner award,’ right? because you definitely deserve that.”

wade is constantly hyping you up, especially when you feel overwhelmed or unsure of yourself. “you’re the smartest, most badass person i know, and i know me. you’ve got this, kiddo.”

when you graduate, wade is your loudest, proudest supporter. he makes a huge deal out of it, throwing an over-the-top celebration just for you. “you did it, smarty-pants! now, can we frame your degree and put it in the bathroom? best reading material ever.”

despite his doubts and insecurities, wade’s love for you is clear in everything he does. from the way he kisses your forehead when you’re stressed to the ridiculous lengths he’ll go to make you smile, he’s all in—even if he sometimes worries he doesn’t deserve to be.

#wade wilson x reader #wade wilson fanfic #wade wilson #wade winston wilson #deadpool x reader #deadpool fanfiction #deadpool #deadpool & wolverine #my work #my writing #my fanfiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

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Summer Breeze 2

Warnings: age gap (reader is 22, Andrew is mid 40s), dad’s friend, Andy being Andrew, other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

You sit on the edge of the dock, watching the ripples as the sun drifts up the horizon. You forego the Adirondack chairs so that you can dip your toes in the coolness of the lake. It’s peaceful. The crisp water in the glass adds to the subtle coolness in the air.

The dirt mulches as you hear someone descending from the house. You can assume who it is before they tramp onto the dock. You continue to watch the sky as you hear Andy sit in one of the chairs. He sighs as he so often does.

“So, you don’t drink coffee,” he breaks the calm with his gravelly timbre, “how do you wake yourself up for all those early morning lectures?”

You turn your head and glance over your shoulder. You shrug and look back out at the lake, “I guess I just get through it.”

“Mm,” he hums and you hear him slurp from his cup. “Bad habit. Better not to have too much caffeine.”

“Sure,” you agree, “guess I just never had the desire to try.”

“Sounds like you have self-control,” he tuts, “definitely don’t get that from your dad.”

You nod and reach for the glass of water. You’re not sure what to say to that. Your dad has a couple beers each night, you know it’s not great, but he’s harmless.

“It’s nice that you can come up here. I know he was nervous about it. Didn’t think you’d like it,” Andy continues.

“Oh, yeah, er, thanks for letting me.”

“No problem,” he replies swiftly, “don’t mind. I’m more concerned about Jacob and his buddies. You let me know if they give you any trouble.”

“Um, I don’t think they will,” you turn the glass in your hands, “but thanks.”

“Mm, well I know how boys that age can be,” he intones.

His statement tweaks your brow. You’re not sure what he means. Jacob and his friends are harmless. They’re like most guys you deal with in college; they talk a big game with each other but in reality, they’re not doing much more than staying up playing video games or some roleplaying table game. None of them are frat material.

“So do I,” you balance the glass as you stand up, “I’m gonna walk around a bit. Explore before everyone else gets up.”

“Right,” he sits back and sips his coffee, his shirt still open, exposing his hairy chest as he pays little mind to it, “be careful of bears.”

“Bears?” You echo, “right.”

You leave him as your sandals clap loudly. The ominous warning has you on edge. You forgot there would be more than cottage folk up here. You try not to think too much of it. You’ve heard bears usually avoid people.

You stop by the back deck to leave your glass there for your return and trod back down the steps. You head off around the side of the cottage and to the dirt road behind the vehicles parked in the lot. You peer into the trees that line the way in and swat away the buzzing bugs.

After another year on campus and with your last one ahead of you, you can’t help but bask in the remote serenity of it all. Your dad promised you a beach day and while your sad not to have friends of your own there to sunbathe with, it will be a good opportunity to do some reading. You continue on your trek until you feel like you might get lost and turn back.

As you come back in sight of the porch, the morning birds tweet their good mornings. You hate to go back inside. You’re usually a homebody but up here, you could never put another foot indoors and be content.

You climb the stairs of the deck and follow it around to the back. You grab your glass and the last mouthful of now lukewarm water. A distant splash draws your eye and you stare out at the empty dock, the water ringed and rolling towards the horizon.

You stare out, trying to find the disturbance. It breaks through the water as Andy’s head pops up from the water and he pushes back his dark hair. He wades around, stretching his arms wide as he kicks himself through the shallow.

You should go inside but the soft pink sky keeps you hypnotised. Your eyes flick past the body in the water as the sun warps the sky in shades of violet and pink through the stringy clouds. It’s like a painting. You peer up at the hues and grip the glass as the subtle blue slowly edges out the other colours.

The water stirs loudly again and your gaze is drawn back to the thud on the deck. You gulp back a gasp as Andy turns his naked back to you and stretches his arms wide. From there, you can only make out his form, grateful that his finer features are left vague.

You quickly retreat from what you shouldn’t have seen. You should’ve just gone inside. You go around the front so that you don’t give yourself away with the door.

Forget it. No big deal. It’s just a mistake. As long as he doesn’t know, it’s nothing to worry about.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #series #drabble #summer breeze #defending jacob

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coffinkissez · 2 months ago

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ppl will draw the twst casts parents but they’re all smooth barely 20 year olds like that’s not the leech twins parents those are their slightly older college aged siblings at best. they should be at the club….

#☕️!- clove speaks #like martha speaks #twst

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catboymoments · 11 days ago

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I don’t think your drawing cp by any means, and thank goodness for that, but I do still get uncomfortable when seeing the hexsquad, even as adults, in nsfw situations. Especially since they’re still very young in the timeskip (18).

I don’t know you personally, but I don’t think you are some problematic person who does bad things regardless of other people. I guess I’m just trying to understand why you feel comfortable drawing characters who were kids one second then suddenly adults the next, you know? Like, surely you saw them as kids before the timeskip. Would shifting your thoughts on them all of sudden be difficult? /gen

Even if it’s not a moral failing as you say, I still have a hard time grasping the concept.

If you could explain it a bit better for my sake (I’m neurodivergent af) that’d be great. /gen

No problem, I’m willing to explain since you asked so nicely!

Honestly I didn’t start thinking about them that way until a bit after the show ended? The more I worked on my nextgen au, the more I started thinking about them in the context of them being young adults onward and how their relationships would grow and change and mature compared to being a teenager.

It also has to do with me relating to them as young adults and the experiences I’ve had growing and experimenting and discovering new things about myself- romance as a teen and romance as an adult are very different. Ignoring the other point I made about my own issues with sex and intimacy and projecting those and working thru a couple I like being healing for me, in general I like seeing them be a couple that’s my age doing adult stuff like drinking and going to college classes and having fun with sex and figuring stuff out about myself through them…. My thoughts are a bit jumbled but does this make sense?

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bloodmoonmuses · 11 months ago

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sun-faded youth; shimmering potentiality | choi beomgyu

genre: choi beomgyu x reader, childhood friends to lovers, angst (like, wayyy more angsty than I anticipated lol), eventual fluff

wc: 3.2k

warnings: some swearing, mentions of food

summary: one day, after disappearing from your life for three years, beomgyu returns to place in which you grew to love him most: your childhood home.

The sun faded wallpaper of your childhood home would be remembered as the backdrop to your early morning adventures. Clad in your Princess Belle costume and Beomgyu in his Superman cape, the two of you wake to brave the world. Side by side, as always.

You and Beomgyu are alike in every way. You like the same foods (applesauce and goldfish crackers). You like the same TV shows (Spongebob). You like the same activities (drawing and playing make-believe). You like the same time of day (morning). Every Saturday, Beomgyu would come over to your house for breakfast. While your mother made blueberry pancakes, the two of you would craft.

You remember one day in particular, the memory wrinkling at the edges like a withering flower:

Strewn haphazardly across the living room is an array of crafting materials. Crayons, glitter, colorful paper, magazine scraps- it almost resembles a candy shop in how colorful it all is. Beomgyu snatches a glue stick away from you, using it to paste some torn pieces of newspaper to his hodge-podge of an art project. Picking up a pair of scissors, he cuts a few notches out of the top of the paper, making triangular peaks. His little hands can barely hold the scissors. They’re clunky in his grasp.

Despite his small hands, Beomgyu is quite tall for a 6 year old. Your eyes drift to your heights etched into the archway. A red line at age 2: You’re about 3 feet tall. Beomgyu is 3 and a half feet tall. A blue line at 4 years old: You’ve barely grown. Beomgyu has doubled in size. Most recently, there’s only an inch difference in your height. You’re finally catching up to him.

When satisfied with his embellishments, Beomgyu bends the paper and glues the ends together. He holds up his creation gleefully, wearing a huge grin that’s toothy in the best way.

“It’s a crown,” he declares, voice buoyant and as clear as a bell.

“Make me one too!” You demand.

Beomgyu crosses his arms and pouts. “You can’t be a prince!” he says. "I’m a prince.”

You roll your eyes at him. Boys are so simple, as your mom always said. Your best friend was no exception. “I wanna be a Queen, Beomgyu. It’s different.”

“Nuh-Uh!” He shakes his head furiously.

“Yuh-huh!” you contest.

“You’re full of it,” Beomgyu says. He turns away from you, placing the crown on his own head triumphantly.

You talk at his back. “Queens are, like, more better than princes, silly.”

At this, Beomgyu promptly turns back around, still grinning with his pouty lips. In all honesty, arguing was his favorite pastime. He liked seeing you riled up. “Meanie,” he says.

“Stupid,” you retort, jabbing a finger into his chest.

“Nerd.” Beomgyu sticks his tongue out at you. How princely, you think.

“Loser-”

“Time for breakfast!” your mom calls out from the kitchen.

The memory dissipates, like mist momentarily illuminated by a ray of sunlight only to then disappear into the sloth of a summer day. You try to grasp onto it, but with each passing day it more so resembles a daydream than a lived experience. All you have left is the occasional recounting of your youth with your mother.

Sometimes, you wish you didn’t remember Beomgyu at all.

It’s the summer before your senior year of college. You’re back in the same home you grew up in. Your mother refused to sell the house, even after all these years. In many ways, you’re grateful for this. In others, it makes you angry. Beomgyu hasn’t spoken to you since highschool graduation. It’s been three years. A part of you thought he’d drift back to you eventually. He knew where you lived. He knew where to find you. But he never came.

“Have you heard from Gyu?” Your mother would often ask.

You were never sure where it all went wrong. You loved him as much as you could possibly love someone without literally fusing into their form. Your eyes beheld the same stars as his but saw different constellations. Hearts that once followed the same rhythm were now out of sync. Your love couldn’t scale the distance. It couldn’t withstand the time, or weather the storm of your respective metamorphoses. When the flood passed, the clouds parted and the sun emerged, you weren’t gifted a prophetic rainbow. Instead, you were left with nothing.

“What do you think?” You’d always say, venom lacing your tongue.

Your mother looked at you with softened eyes. “Sore subject?”

“Yeah. Sore subject.”

Regardless of your fluctuating bitterness, being home did bring you comfort to some degree. You liked being shrouded in familiarity. Per the tradition, albeit without Beomgyu, you and your mother are making pancakes. There’s a wordless groove between the two of you, your mother measuring out the ingredients while you mix them accordingly. When the consistency is to your liking, you gently fold blueberries into the batter.

As you’re reaching for a pan, there’s a knock at the door. Well, four knocks. You hear Beomgyu’s voice in your head: A fourth to let you know it’s me.

It can’t be. There’s no way. Last time you checked, Beomgyu wouldn’t be back in town for another week. (Not that you’ve been stalking his socials or anything like that.)

Your mom dusts her hands off on her apron, then walks to answer the door. You remain in the kitchen, stricken with something you’ve never felt before. It feels as though you’re in quicksand, sinking into the floor beneath you.

“Gyuie! My little pumpkin, it’s been so long!” It’s really him. The gleeful timbre of your mother’s voice makes you nauseous. She doesn’t sound like a real person. How she can just pick up where they left off is beyond you. She doesn’t know of the guilt, the shame, the confusion that you’ve been harboring for the past few years. You’re sodden with pain.

When you walk into his line of vision, Beomgyu freezes, but only for a second. “I’m still taller than you,” he says. There’s a smirk dancing on his lips. Typical.

You’re instantly transported to your younger self, so full of admiration for him. Looking up to him- both physically and figuratively. He’s in a black tee and baggy jeans, looking laid back and nonchalant. Except, you know better. His nose is twitching, a tell that he’s actually a bit nervous. He’s grown into his face. His eyes are just as bright as you remember them. You’re happy to see that his spark isn’t gone. Then, that fondness twists into something hot- liquid and molten at the pit of your stomach. You wash away your distorted reverie, stepping back into your body.

You see Beomgyu eye the archway of the living room. The height markings have been painted over.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. It’s all you can bring yourself to say. There’s a bite to your tone, one that you don’t expend much effort concealing, and Beomgyu looks visibly wounded. He quickly recovers, scrunching his nose as he takes your anger on the chin.

“I was in the neighborhood.”

You hear shuffling behind you and turn to see your mother gathering her belongings. “I’m gonna head to the grocery store. Forgot to get bacon to go with the pancakes.” She grabs her purse and walks to the entryway. “Put the pancake batter in the fridge. Beomgyu, you know you’re always welcome here. Be good, kiddos.”

When she exits, the door slamming with such finality that it rattles your bones, you stand there in silence. No words are exchanged, but his eyes are saying so much. They’re swirling with a mixture of hurt, embarrassment and yearning. You look away.

“I’m sorry,” Beomgyu says. “I really am.”

You want to speak, but the words never come. Not when you need them most. Regardless, Beomgyu isn’t one to back down. “I wanted to see you. I’ve missed-”

“Don’t,” you say, cutting him off. More silence follows.

Beomgyu pivots. “Is the treehouse still in the backyard?”

“Yeah,” you say carefully. Your voice sounds like it's running away from you. “Haven’t been in it in years.”

“Wanna check it out?” he asks with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

When you climb into the treehouse, your heart lurches. It’s a time capsule- a snapshot of forgotten dreams and naivete. There’s a dusty toy box, likely rusted shut from lack of use. In the corner is a pile of blankets and pillows. A few chairs are stacked in the far back, and fairy lights are still strung to the ceiling. On the walls are your drawings, fantasies of princes and princesses rendered in waxy crayon. It instantly brings tears to your eyes.

“Needs sweeping,” you say, sniffling.

Beomgyu chuckles. “The queen doesn’t keep her castle clean. Shocker.”

You scoff. “Can’t manage the kingdom on my own.”

“Prince and Queen are very different roles, you know,” Beomgyu jokes back.

“Well, you didn’t want to be my king, clearly.”

Beomgyu again takes your jab in stride, shrugging it off. “Going for jester instead nowadays.”

After exploring the treehouse a bit more, Beomgyu positions the chairs in a triangular formation. He whacks the dust off the blankets, and drapes them over. Then, he climbs under the fort, placing another blanket underneath. He adds some pillows and settles there, motioning for you to join him. You shake your head.

“Oh come on, _______. Get in here.”

“Fine.” You enter the pillow fort and lay on your back next to him.

“Look what I found,” says Beomgyu. From behind him, he takes out a paper crown- the same one from your wistful memory. “Here.” He places the crown on your head and it fits perfectly. As he does so, he looks directly in your eyes, a blush appearing on his cheeks and nose. His hair is slightly damp with sweat. The humid heat of summer drapes over the entire room, intensified by the tiny shelter under which the two of you lay.

“How’s college?” you ask.

“Fine. Soobin stays on my ass, not that I get into much trouble anyway.”

“You’re in a band, right?”

Beomgyu makes a face at you and you flush. You could’ve sworn he told you about the band before he left. He used to talk your ear off about his dreams of joining one. You had seen some pictures on Instagram of Beomgyu and a few of his friends playing shows at random dive bars in their little college town. Now he knows you check his page periodically.

“Stalker.”

“Loser.”

“Wow. Great comeback, stalker.”

“I’m not a stalker.”

“Whatever you say, weirdo.” You smack his arm. “But to answer the question you totally don’t know the answer to; Yes. I’m in a band. You’ll have to meet the guys one day. You won’t believe how tall Kai has gotten. And there’s this guy, Yeonjun- the girls go crazy over him.”

“What about you?” you continue. “Do people go crazy over you?’

“Not anyone I care about.”

You turn on your side to face Beomgyu, your noses so close they almost touch. His hair falls over his eyes, long and floppy. He’s grown so much. You wish you were there to see the bags under his eyes form. To see his smile lines deepen and shoulders grow broader. You subconsciously reach to sweep a few strands of hair out of his eyes, tucking the tendrils behind his ear, and admire his pretty face.

“You actually look more like a prince than a rock star,” you muse.

“Not a rock star. I’m just in a band. Which you already knew.”

“I actually hate you.” Beomgyu laughs, eyes forming half moons.

Your mind is racing. You have so many questions to ask him- questions you thought you’d never get the answers to. He’s here, real and tangible, and you’re terrified that he’s an apparition- that at any moment, you’ll wake up and realize you’ve been dreaming. You try your best to not impose your own wants onto him, but all you can see is the little boy to whom you divulged all your secrets. Now, you want nothing more than to run away from him, as quickly and as far as possible, so that he can feel what you felt so many years ago.

“Why’d you leave without telling me?” The words leave your mouth before you can even register that you’re speaking.

“I’m not good at goodbyes.” Beomgyu attempts to chuckle it off, always trying to confront his shortcomings with some type of levity. His smirk is more like a pained grimace.

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Doesn’t make it hurt any less,” you confess. “You were my best friend, Beomgyu.”

“If you had told me to stay with you, I would’ve in a heartbeat.”

“I wouldn’t have given you an ultimatum. I always knew you wanted to go to a bigger school with more opportunities.” You’re exasperated, pinching your nose bridge in annoyance.

“I know, but if you had even suggested it-”

“Well, I didn’t! I didn’t do anything but support you, Gyu- like I always have! And you punished me for it.”

Unlike your childhood, the memory of Beomgyu leaving is burned onto the back of your eyelids. When you close your eyes, you see it so vividly:

You had just graduated highschool. You and Beomgyu had agreed to meet in your treehouse right after the ceremony. He was the first person you wanted to celebrate with. You biked all the way home, still in your cap and gown, feverishly pedaling down the streets of your neighborhood. The town was ablaze with elation. Music blared in the streets and confetti littered the ground.

When you arrived, you threw your bike to the ground, not even bothering to prop it up on its kickstand. You climbed up into the treehouse, only to find it empty. You checked your phone. No messages from Beomgyu. You figured he had forgotten. You mounted your bike and made your way to Beomgyu’s house a few blocks over. In his bedroom window, you saw a girl caressing his face- similarly to how you would when Beomgyu was sad. She fluttered her lashes at him and placed a chaste kiss to his lips. You recognize the twisting of your gut as jealousy.

When did Beomgyu slip from your grasp? Did he fall in love with her while you fell in love with a hypothetical- shimmering potentiality providing you comfort as you accepted the inevitably of your separation. Three months of summer together, then what? You’d confess your love for him and ruin the near decade of friendship your relationship boasted? It was a risk you weren’t willing to take, so you held the secret close to your chest, to wither away with the rest of your forgotten dreams.

Your vision whites out, fuzzy and blurred. You end up walking your bike home and crying for the rest of the day. In the following weeks, Beomgyu didn’t call, visit or even send you a text.

You tried one more time, the night before you drove up to campus, to see him, knocking on his door four times. His mother answered, looking at you solemnly.

“Hi, Mrs. Choi! Is Beomgyu here?”

“No, he left for school last weekend darling.” she had said. You felt the soft spot in your heart for Bomegyu harden, and walked home in the cold.

Your body jolts back to the present and you realize you might’ve never moved on from this day. Beomgyu shakes you from the thought, wiping a tear from your cheek. “I’m sorry, _______,” he whispers.

You take the crown off of your head, giving it to Beomgyu. “I… admired you so much back then, even though I’d never admit it,” you say. “I wanted to be just like you. Now we couldn’t be more different.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe we can get to know each other as we are now,” Beomgyu suggests. Always hopeful, never one to play the pessimist. It’s one of things you loved about him most. “It’ll be a new adventure for us both.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I admired you too, by the way,” he adds. “I wanted to be as headstrong as you. Do you still draw? Do you still want to be an artist?” Beomgyu looks at you with wild curiosity. It’s like you’re meeting him for the first time all over again.

“Yes, and yes. You thought I was headstrong?”

“You’re the only person who put up with my bullshit. So, yeah. Very headstrong.”

Suddenly, your stomach growls. Loudly. Beomgyu stifles a laugh and asks, “Wanna cook up those pancakes?”

In the kitchen, you wait until bubbles rise to the top and flip the pancakes accordingly. Beomgyu rummages through the fridge, pouring two glasses of orange juice. You sit at the dining table, side by side.

“I have a confession to make,” Beomgyu says. “I hate blueberries. I ate them because you like them.”

You gasp. “Gyu! I would’ve lived without the damn blueberries!”

“I’ll just eat around them,” he says with a smile.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

“Whatever,” you mumble under your breath.

You take a bite of your pancake, a blueberry bursting in your mouth. As you eat, you help Beomgyu pick around the blueberries in his. When done with your meal, the two of you wash dishes. He washes and you rinse. The sloshing of water and clinking of dishes orchestrate your movements. You catch up with one another while cleaning, joking around like you used to. Out of nowhere, Beomgyu plops a cluster of bubbles onto your nose.

“You did not!” you exclaim, immediately repaying the favor by throwing suds back at him.Then, there’s bubbles everywhere, flying and floating in the air like dandelion fluff.

“I absolutely just did, loser!” Beomgyu says, chasing you around the kitchen with more bubble ammo.

“Nerd!” you yell out as you run away from his attack.

“Stalker!”

“I am not a stalker!!!” In your tizzy, you slip and fall on some soap, Beomgyu promptly falling on top of you right after. Hovering above you, he bores into your visage fondly, deep eyes sparkling with affection. He looks like a dream. Then, like in some of your dreams, he leans down and kisses you. He takes his time, gently moving against you. It takes a second for your body to catch up with your mind, but when you do, you’re kissing him with the fervor of three years, four knocks, a lifetime of shared pancakes and the burgeoning of unabashed love. He cradles your face closely, not wanting to let you go.

When he comes up for air, Beomgyu says, “It’s a good thing saying goodbye isn’t really my thing, ‘cus I have no intention of saying it to you any time soon.”

As Beomgyu leans back in to kiss you again, the front door swings open.

“The grocery store was a madhouse, but I managed to get some bacon,” your mom says. “Oh! Oh, I didn’t–” She closes her eyes dramatically, dropping her shopping bag on the floor.

You and Beomgyu instantly stand to your feet, putting as much distance in between you as possible.

“Mom, please don’t make it awkward,” you groan.

“I mean, I always had my suspicions, but–” she starts.

“Mom! Please!”

Your mother smiles knowingly. “So I guess this means you two made up?”

a/n: unedited + feedback is always appreciated!

#bloodmoonmuses #beomgyu fic #choi beomgyu #txt fic #beomgyu x reader #txt imagines #txt x reader #beomgyu fluff

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batfamily14 · 2 months ago

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What type of pretty are the batboys?

This is a positive headcanon of the types of beauty I think the Batboys are and references to what I mean!

Dick Grayson

Richard is Jude Law type of pretty, very boyish handsome looks. Soft and bright eyes, with a sly-crooked grin. Reminds you of your first love in college or first crush in high school. He's effortlessly beautiful, approachable, and warm. It's like rain on a sunny day. There’s an easy grace to him, like the way waves lap at the shore—steady, calming, but with a quiet strength beneath the surface. His eyes hold the vibrant blue of an open sky, endless and full of hope, while his hair always seems to have that windswept, carefree perfection like he’s just stepped off the beach.

References :

Jason Todd

That rugged, electrifying kind of beauty evokes an intensity that’s equal parts dangerous and mesmerizing. Like aftershave and dark gleaming eyes. Like standing in the eye of a hurricane, the natural wonder of lighting and rain. When he fully smilies it's like electricity goes through your bones. He's the Pedro Pascal type of pretty. Jason’s beauty is raw and striking, like the full moon on a pitch-black night—impossible to ignore and arresting in its intensity. His features are bold and sharp, with a shadowy allure that seems to draw you closer even as it warns you to stay away. His eyes gleam with a mix of defiance and sorrow, like the reflection of moonlight on stormy waters, hiding depths you’re afraid to plunge into but can’t resist exploring.

Tim Drake

His beauty is the kind that feels approachable and sincere, like the boy next door who always helps with your groceries or the quiet kid who doodles in the margins of his notebooks. His large, curious blue eyes seem to take in the world with endless fascination, giving him an innocent and thoughtful aura. Tim’s go-lucky beauty isn’t about perfection but about the warmth he brings to those around him. It’s a mix of youthful charm and a kindness that draws people in effortlessly, even if he doesn’t realize it. He's spring in bloom pretty.

Duke Thomas

Duke’s beauty is the kind that feels like home—familiar, comforting, and endlessly captivating. His warm, fuzzy charm is rooted in his genuine kindness, the type of person who makes everyone feel seen and valued. His laugh is infectious, the kind that makes your stomach ache in the best way, leaving you grinning long after the moment has passed. He radiates a quiet, golden glow, like the first rays of sunlight on a crisp morning, gently warming everything in its path. There’s an effortless balance to him: his edge—subtle but undeniable—adds depth to his softness, making him feel like a person who has lived through storms but always returns with warmth and calm. He has that idris elba beauty.

Bruce Wanye

Bruce’s beauty is hauntingly timeless, the kind that seems as if it belongs to another era—Victorian in its elegance and depth. His features are sharp and striking, with a bone structure that feels almost carved from marble. His eyes are piercing, heavy with untold stories and pain, yet they carry an undeniable allure, a quiet invitation to look deeper. They’re the color of gathering storms, filled with power and restraint, as though they’re always on the brink of unleashing something vast and unknowable. As he ages, his beauty doesn’t fade; it transforms, growing richer, like the finest wine maturing over the years. There’s a sense of refinement and resilience in him, etched into every line on his face. Yet, even as the world calls him a man of steel and storms, there remains a flicker of that little boy charm—a glimpse of innocence and curiosity that’s never quite been extinguished. I would say Marlon Brando in his prime type of beauty.

#jason todd #red hood #batman #tim drake #nightwing #dick grayson #dc comics #batfamily #red robin #duke thomas

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madelynraemunson · 2 months ago

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CALL OUT MY NAME ♛

(Book #2 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club Series)

CEO!bachelor!steve × fem!college grad!reader

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 • 18+ | BOOK #1 (e.m.)

Chapter 002: Long Live the King

Isabelle is nowhere to be found. Meanwhile at the club, you gather up the courage to buy a Handsome Stranger a drink.

↳ 001 (PROLOGUE) // 002 // 003 // 004 // 005 // 006 // 007 EPILOGUE

CW: slight age gap (steve is 31, sweets is 23) , homoerotic steddie workout scene (just guys bein dudes) 😵‍💫🚨 drinking, smoking, gambling, drugs mentioned, shy girl makes one (1) unaliving joke, weight discussed briefly, this chapter contains scene/POV splits, each chapter will have its own warnings

card suits divider by @cafekitsune 🃏🧡

a/n: the hargroves own 'rock you like hurricane', do not try to change my mind.

“SHUT UP & PUT YOUR MONEY WHERE YOUR MOUTH IS.”

word count: 5.6k words

♛

12:03 PM - Sweets and Isabelle

“There he goes again,” Isabelle sighs. “Long Live the King…”

It’s the sixth Elvis impersonator you’ve seen so far. Further down the strip of Old Vegas there was Jailhouse Rock Elvis, Unchained Melody Elvis, Elvis-If-You-Tried-To-Draw-Him-By-Memory, and Donuts-On-The-Toilet Elvis.

“I feel like I’ve seen every variant of The King possible,” you remark. “All that’s missing now is ShowGirl Elvis or Stripper Elvis.”

The statement alone piques your curiosity while you and Isabelle continue to walk. Suddenly, you find yourself asking your BFF a very interesting question.

“Would you ever wanna be a stripper?”

Isabelle stiffens abruptly.

It’s a pause you’ve never seen before in your life. But given that Isabelle has been an extreme empath for as long as you’ve known her, women in sex work may be a very sensitive topic.

“No,” Elle says to you, flatly. “They go through entirely too much.”

It’s the response you expected. It’s very easy for Isabelle to put herself in other people’s shoes — or heels in this sense. Even easier if they’re women at the hands of a man who holds a fair amount of power over them. It’s no wonder it seems triggering.

“It’s an admirable job though,” she manages to add. “Strippers don’t get enough credit. If I had a stripper in my life I would treat her like a queen.”

“Well, you'll have the chance to tonight," you smirk. "Given where we're going..."

Tonight you two are headed to Jackpot Gentlemen's Club, a strip joint on the outskirts of Vegas right outside Winchester.

It's more of a business endeavor than anything. The plan is to support all the beautiful dancers, all while promoting Isabelle's lingerie line, Bright & Belle.

For as long as you've known Isabelle, she's always been money-driven.

But in the best way. After divorcing from her ex-husband — Eddie, you believe his name was — Isabelle had been hyper-fixated on the hustle. And after seeing that ‘Girl-Boss’ mindset of hers flourish throughout the years, you wanted to be there for her in anyway you can.

What you haven't told Isabelle though, is that you wanted to feel sexy too. You’ve been deficient in Vitamin A(ttention) as of late, and a non-committal hook up in a "What Happens Here, Stays Here" type city sounded pretty enticing. A graduation reward and all.

"When was the last time you got laid?" Isabelle abruptly pries.

Piggybacking off your thoughts. How on-brand for the two of you.

You mask your thoughts further with a scoff of annoyance.

"Elle."

"Don't Elle me," she bumps you with her hip. "When was the last time you got a proper dicking down? Like really."

"I'm celibate," you lie snarkily.

"Oh come on!" she groans. "I know that's a lie. You know that's a lie. I mean, have you read the room? We are in Vegas."

You indeed have read the room. But that was besides the point. Isabelle has been so focused on creating a better life for herself, and she's done so much for you as well that you felt as if your presence at all times was mandated.

"I just don't wanna be all lovey-dovey in your face," you shamefully admit. "Especially since you're still healing from your own losses with love. Given your divorce from Eddie and all."

Isabelle rolls her eyes.

"Oh you mean the divorce that happened four years ago?!" she demands. "Almost five now, I think. Just because you're more likely to have a night to be celebrated and adored as a goddess, doesn't mean any of that is taken away from me."

You smile sheepishly at the floor, hooking your arms with Isabelle's as you two continue on your walk.

"Besides, I'm much older than you," she points out. "I've had my glory days. Now it's time for you to be selfish. Enjoy the rest of your 20s. What other place to do it than Vegas?"

She flashes a charming grin your way. "And I've got your back through and through."

"I love you," you beam at Isabelle tear-eyed. "You're the sister I never had."

“I love you too," she coos. "More than anything in the world. I'd be your non-biological sister in every lifetime if I could."

You two take a moment to fully admire each other, doing your little handshake you came up with when you met her in the early years of college, to honor your established sisterhood.

You and Isabelle against the world. No matter what.

Afterwards, Isabelle wraps you up in her arms as you two walk.

"Onwards, sweetheart. Let's go find you a King of your own.”

“I WANNA SEE YOU WORK OUT FOR ME. WORK OUT FOR ME.”

12:03 PM - Steve and Eddie

“Mmmh…fuck…shit.”

The room echoes with Steve’s strained grunts as sweat pools at his forehead.

It’s the workout of his life. But of course anyone would feel that way, running solely on coffee and a single scoop of creatine, right at peak lunchtime.

“Shit,” The King pants. "Don’t know how much left I got in me, Eds."

His pumps? Weaker. His reps? Gradually more incomplete. And with enough intensity to draw blood, Steve bites his lower lip in concentration, the grunting inevitably summoning Eddie over to his struggling friend.

The rugged metalhead leaps from the bar he was doing pull-ups from and strides towards the retired jock.

“You can handle it, Big Boy.”

Situating himself over Steve, Eddie floats his chalky palms over The King’s protruding chest, feet shoulder width apart and ready to spot.

“I…UGH— I…can’t!”

“Quit whining. I know you can.”

“I CAN’T! It’s too much…m literally shaking, Eds.”

“If you aren’t shaking you’re not doing it right,” Eddie Munson smirks. “Finish for me, Stevie, let’s go.”

The bulk of Steve’s arms relax and contract as The King pushes upwards, face scrunching in euphoric agony with every pump.

SLAM! CLINK!

Eddie's quick to swoop down to the base of the machine with one hand, reach extending to Steve with the other. Meanwhile Steve scrunches himself upwards, leaning forward on the bench as he wipes his forehead that was dripping with sweat. He's tapped out.

"You okay?" Eddie asks.

“Yeah..." Steve pants as he collects himself. "Yeah. I am. Thanks."

Steve takes a moment to look at himself in the high-rise glass mirror.

Naturally the arms come into sight first. There's a foreign roundness to them, and an undeniable softening of Steve's chest that the girls at Hellfire call "broad and beefy", but he can only categorize it as "fluffy". His gaze then dips down to his tummy, an avenue once firm and washboard-like now presenting with a soft, undeniable curve. No abs. Just flesh... a sobering manifestation of what too many nights of dry gin and "The Eddie Special": Spice Level Unforgiven can do to a guy. And while others might call it a “Certified Dad Bod,” Steve never found the compliment flattering. It just reminds him—he's getting older. Living on borrowed time.

"Holy shit," Steve breaks the silence. "I need to lay off the margaritas.”

“Well now isn’t the time to do it!” Eddie exclaims, clearly doing pirouettes on the opposite side of the pendulum. "Have you read the room? We're in Vegas, baby! We need to be excretion-less, out, and ready to party by tonight!"

Finding it nearly impossible to match his energy levels, Steve studies ‘Sweaty Eddie’ as he downs his water, the protrusion of his razor-burnt Adam’s Apple bobbing with every large gulp, the B.O. radiating off his hairy armpits being enough to wipe out the entire state of Nevada with just one brisk movement.

“Man, how did you manage to get married before me?” Steve huffs. “Twice!”

Eddie laughs, keeping the water contained in his mouth with a swipe of his fingers.

“Was that supposed to be a dig?”

“Well you weren’t exactly hot shit in high school.”

“There’s your answer then," Eddie clicks his tongue as-a-matter-of-factly. He does a boisterous dance around his burnt-out buddy. "Ladies love the freaks.”

Eddie studies Steve as he continues to ponder in a tone-deaf abyss.

“That's another thing I've been meaning to talk to you about," Eddie emphasizes. "We’ve gotta get you out of that high school mindset, dude."

Steve looks up again. "Huh?"

Eddie shakes his head. “It's beginning to look like you peaked when you were 18..." He takes a minute to playfully check him out. "Which obviously isn't the truth. But operating from that headspace is what’s stopping you from getting a good lay. I guarantee you."

"That or I just don't have rizz..." Steve grimaces. "Or whatever Dustin always says."

Eddie grimaces with him. He really wished Steve would quit saying that. Or anything from Dustin's vocab bank for the matter. "Yeah. Right. Let's keep that shit a Dustin thing."

He sets his water bottle down.

"Alright Harrington, here's the plan," Eds scoffs. "Tonight we'll put on our best Gatsy cosplays, get some drinks to loosen ya up, and then meander around Jackpot so you can talk up some babes. Work on the confidence...w-"

"Yeah, I think I'll pass," Steve shrugs. "I've got some emails I gotta reply to anyway."

“Oh come on. Think of all the honeys you’ll attract post-pump!” Eddie incentivizes. “Look at them ARMS, baby. Them ARMS!"

Eddie issues himself a seat next to Steve. Steve allows him the space, but doesn't appear to be sold on the plans Eddie had for tonight.

"Look, I'm sorry the girl of your dreams ended up with my bartender," Eddie begins. "And that I unintentionally stole your other dream girl when you guys began hitting it off pretty well... and that her best friend that you were madly in love with ended up being a lesbian and you didn't find out until after the two platonic outings. And that..."

"Are you trying to make me feel like absolute dog shit?"

"No, I'm turning this into an inspirational Ted Talk if you'd let me," Eddie scorns. "Fact of the matter is, Hawkins? Is Lover's Lake. WE..."

Eddie points in the opposite direction, south of The Strip.

"...have arrived at Treasure Island, baby! Lots of fish in the sea. Lots of beautiful women looking to have a good time. You can't make any progress in the same environment that drained you. You gotta lean into new beginnings. And maybe that means finding love in a city outside your comfort zone."

"Yeah, yeah. Just cuz I spawned into a new city doesn't guarantee complete past erasure," Steve mutters. "13 years later, but I'm still that same asshole ASB kid who gave others a hard time for validation. Maybe that's my karma. Maybe I don't deserve love."

"That's where you're wrong," Eddie snaps. "You ARE deserving of love."

It is that moment the two friends' eyes meet. It hurts Eddie to see Steve self-sabotage himself. He was so excited to come to Vegas with him and Shy Girl. Imposter Syndrome will ruthlessly make someone their bitch if they let it. Not today, though. Not under Eddie's watch.

"Your life is just beginning, Steve," Eddie emphasizes. "It pains me to see that you haven't seen your full potential yet. And just because this gentleman got his happy ending... doesn't mean there isn't one for you out there."

"Why do I always run?" Steve sighs. "Why do I always run away from good opportunities knowing full well I deserve to be happy too?"

"Because you're so used to rejection," Eddie snorts. "Believe me. Takes one to know one. You'll miss out on a lot of opportunity doing that. Which is something I'm not gonna let you do. For as long as you're under my wing."

The two friends then share an affectionate, and sweaty, hug. It took a lot of hashing out for these two to get to this point. They weren't exactly the best of friends in high school. But over time, when life reared its ugly head and all they had left was each other, the two gentlemen realized they were more alike than they thought. And that was a whole 'nother avenue of self-love they had to discover; and of course they did it side by side. Steve and Eddie forever.

“Whew, let’s go!” Steve whistles, getting out of his feelings for real this time. “We earned ourselves a Fat Tuesday!”

“Now we’re talkin’!” Eddie smirks. “Can't wait to hit the clubs and find you a hottie.”

"HERE I AM! ROCKED YOU LIKE A HURRICANE."

12:30 PM - Shy Girl and Nina

"If I can't find anything to wear, I'm gonna kill myself."

Shy Girl and Nina are found anxiously strutting around Fashion Show Mall, attempting to find some cute lingerie sets before their guest performances tonight.

"Bold of you to say for someone who looks good in everything," Nina scoffs.

The club they're performing at tonight is called Jackpot, a strip joint in the outskirts of Vegas right outside Winchester. It's no Hellfire, but the name of the game remains constant: CAPITALIZE OFF OF MEN'S DESIRES.

"I need something dramatic and sexy,” Shy Girl prowls. “Something Vegas has never seen before. Something to make me stand out for the tips. Something that screams... here I am."

"We can check Victoria's..." Nina suggests.

"Tried that. Eddie pretty much bought me every set from there."

"How about Love Loft on the second floor?"

"Their sets fit me weird. And I would like their wires to hold my titties up. Not puncture my lungs, thank you very much."

Spoiled with every piece of lingerie she could ever ask for, Shy Girl still had nothing to wear tonight.

It's expected coming from a dancer who has worn and done it all. Having rocked the city of Hawkins like a hurricane straight out of California, Shy Girl was just aching for some action elsewhere. And in light of her friend Steve's booming business over the past couple of years — and in celebration of her husband's early retirement from CEO-ism — why not bring the goodies to Vegas?

"What about this, Hargrove?"

"Ew. Too much glitter."

"Okay... this then?"

"Too little glitter."

"Bitch, if you don't just DECIDE!"

It's taken ages for Shy Girl to take up the amount of space that she does. And with this newfound confidence, there was no going back. During her time at Hellfire, Shy Girl had learned to become a goddess in her own skin, the baddest bitch who was deserving of the softest life; and there wasn't anything her controlling twin brother could ever do to change her mind. And even if he wanted to, he would have to get past those steel, metal bars first. Something that's remained unsuccessful for the past year and a half.

"It can't be too sparkly, but it also can't be too basic," Shy Girl notes aloud. “Something that hugs the girls just right, but isn’t too snug in the crotch area.”

Nina nods absentmindedly as they continue to patrol.

“Something that won’t cost an arm and a leg,” Shy Girl adds. “But also not something made by a child in a sweatshop.”

“Totally,” Nina hums.

They tread onward, having probably met their steps for the day, Shy Girl growing increasingly more agitated with every stride.

“I just want something that makes me look pretty, ethereal, and soul-snatching!" she grunts again. "Is that too much to ask?!”

“Something like that?”

Shy Girl turns in the direction of Nina's pointing finger. And in her field of view is the prettiest set she's ever seen.

"Are you kidding me?!" Shy Girl squeals in excitement.

Seductive and scarlet red. Tight, satin material embellished with extravagant-looking faux diamonds. The star of the set is the heart shape neckline, with showgirl-like frills at the hips that resemble an eternal flame.

Running to the display now, Shy Girl reaches over to fondle the set while Nina desperately sets off after her.

The set is more stunning the closer they got, with so much attention to detail, it was surely crafted by a girl's girl. Someone who knows what the people want and exactly how to get it. And also a woman who is calculated.

Lady in Red.

"It's even called Lady in Red, dude," Shy Girl beams, a prominent twinkle in her eyes. "This set is made for me. WHO IS THE MASTERMIND BEHIND THIS MONEY-MAKER? I could just kiss her."

“Hmm... Elle Warren," Nina reads. "CEO of Bright & Belle.”

Beside the set is a podium that show-cases the set's creator. She's smiling in her headshot, with a pink suit and her arms crossed, showing off her radiant smile, and even more radiant ocean eyes and Barbie-blonde locks.

"Every woman deserves to feel beautiful, bold, and UNSTOPPABLE. My mission is to empower women by turning pain into power. Bright & Belle is designed to celebrate all body types, all shades, and all sizes, offering a collection that makes every woman feel confident and comfortable in her own skin. I hope to become the rainbow after someone's storm, one sexy set at a time."

“Wow," Shy Girl coos. "She’s so pretty... and inspirational.”

“Biased much?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Wh- look at her! Blonde curly hair? Piercing blue eyes, she looks just like you.”

“Maybe Billy and I have a triplet we just don’t know about,” Shy Girl theorizes, the conniving pearly-white Hargrove smirk reappearing on her face.

“Girl with the life you live, y’all might as well," Nina rolls her eyes. "Now c'mon. Let's go see what this club's all about. Bet it can't beat Hellfire."

9:00 pm - Sweets

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH A NIGHT OF SIN?"

“Now this… this is heaven.”

It appears that Jackpot is where the party is at. Isabelle's eyes light up with dollar signs when she observes the booths filled with patrons, stage badazzled with the sexiest dancers you both have ever seen, and a bar so full that there was hardly any room in the corners to wall-sit.

"Looks like we've got some impressions to make," Isabelle remarks. "That being said, I'll be in the powder room, if you'll excuse me."

You watch in disapproval as she issues a joking tap atop the tip of her nose. When she sees you scowling at her, Isabelle shrinks herself back down immediately.

"I'm joking, Sweets," she says. "I'm just going to the bathroom. You know that."

"With every joke there is a little truth," you mutter. "And you've been making a lot of blow jokes lately."

Isabelle was hooked on benzos and cocaine her first year of college. Granted, you both went to school in PULLMAN, the "hippie haven" of Washington State, so it didn't make her that much of an outlier.

But the abuse was heavy, most of it correlating with the abuse she endured in her marriage.

"Are you using again?" you accuse.

"No, honey."

"Then why'd you make a joke?"

"Because I thought it was funny. Stop looking so much into it."

You take a second to issue yourself some deep breaths. Noticing your distress, Isabelle gives you a consoling rub on your shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made that joke," she frowns. "I know how much you worry for me. But I'm clean. I promise."

"Okay," you mumble.

Friends don’t lie. And Isabelle has never given you any reason to doubt her. So why should you?

"I'll be back," she excuses herself again. "Just gonna go use the lil Big Sisters’ room. We'll be shaking ass with the strippers before you know it."

You snort to yourself as she scampers out of your sight. Now it’s just you alone with your thoughts and yearning.

Isabelle's speech from earlier echoes through your ears once again. It's time for you to enjoy your 20s. College is over and you can finally let loose. So why did you feel guilty, wanting to roam free during Isabelle’s most pivotal moment instead of supporting her? You two have been joined at the hip for so long, it felt unnatural to exclude her from things. You wanted to do everything with your “big sister”.

"Alriiiight, ladies and gentlemen," the DJ announces as he transitions his performance track to a familiar 80s song. "Thank you so much for coming and supporting all of these beautiful dancers!”

The crowd erupts in rampant cheers and whistles. You clap along too, while scanning the room for a nice guy to talk up.

“We have a special treat for you tonight,” the DJ continues. “We’ve got some dancers from out of state, so give them a warm Las Vegas welcome…”

Your gaze piques in curiosity as the R&B track fades into a guitar riff, soon to be melted into a very familiar song from the 80s, critically acclaimed by people who lived on the edge of Sexy and Wild.

“…All the way from Hawkins, Indiana…” says the DJ. “…from the HELLFIRE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB...GIVE IT UP... FOR SHYYYY GIRLLLLL!"

The music now blares through the speakers as one of the dancers makes her grand entrance. And soon a specific corner of the room erupts in a frenzy the moment she fully emerges onto the stage.

"Here I am! Rocked you like a hurricane."

And she is a smokin' hot hurricane if you ever did see one.

You fawn over the stripper’s captivating eye make-up. Her bouncy, golden blonde hair with just as bouncy, perky, tits. And the ass on this chick? That thing’s got a zip code and a mind of its own. Just look at it go.

Everyone cheers, specifically two people in the corner, presumably her hometown peeps who flew out to see her perform. There's a girl with long, dark hair, and given her attire, you presume she's a performer too. There's also a man next to her, also with long hair and is most likely her partner, hooting and hollering as if he wasn't even allowed to hoot and holler at home, handing everyone around him some shots while he praised every move she made.

“What a fucking badass,” you say to yourself. "She's got the crowd by the horns."

And that captivating red set. It suits this ‘Shy Girl’ so well it almost makes you tear up. It is then not too long after that you realize you’ve seen this set before.

It’s one of Isabelle’s sets. One of your best friend’s creations. The Lady in Red.

"That's my wife!" the Van Halen-looking guy boasts proudly. "THAT'S MY WIFE! Doing amazing, baby!"

Your suspicions were correct. Shy Girl is that man’s wife. And what a lucky man he is. Urgently grabbing your phone, you go to shoot Isabelle a text about the dancer wearing her set.

to: Isabelle Warren

Girl come quick! A dancer on stage is wearing Lady in Red! She's really good!

Enamored, you watch as Shy Girl swoops down to her knees on the left side of the tip rail. She blows the bar a kiss. When your eyes follow in that direction, you see a — very attractive — man who seems to be part of that same group, judging by how they interacted with one another from across the room.

There's a glimmer, a familiar pining in his fiery, molten eyes as he leans back against the barstool, admiring the dancer from head to toe. When they meet gazes, Shy Girl winks at him and struts away.

The exchange draws you to reach two conclusions: the man is either secretly in love with this chick, or they've been friends for a really long time.

Suits was about to be deeply infatuated with you, though. With your sudden boost of confidence to want to approach him tonight.

Without another lingering thought, you strut over to the bar to greet the older piece of eye candy with your signature, warm grin.

"Hi there.”

But his reaction is the least of what you expected.

"Oh god," the gentleman sighs. "Did he send you to me?"

Confused, you take a look around.

"Who are you talking about?"

"Oh cut the crap, kid, I've seen it all before,” the man scoffs pessimistically. “What'd he promise you? Huh? Tickets to see Adele or Blue Boys? Free rounds of shots?”

"He didn't promise me anything," you huff in protest. "God forbid I actually wanna talk to somebody on a night out. Is this a trauma response because if so, this needs to be visited. In therapy, perhaps. Not a bar."

The ego — or lack of — of the guy seemingly deflates, a flushed red color appearing at the heat of his cheekbones before radiating to his ears.

"You mean you willingly came up to me?" he continues to stare in disbelief.

"Yes..." you narrow your eyes at the Pick-Me-Nice-Guy in front of you. "But something tells me I shouldn't have."

His gaze softens even more. It's apologetic now.

"It's not every day I get approached anymore," he says. "Usually I'm the one that does the chasing."

"Well, why not?" you shrug, deflating your ego along with him as well. "You're handsome, young, look like a fun time... How can the ladies not?"

It catches him off guard.

"Young," he laughs at this. "How old are you anyways?"

"23," you gaze at him through your eyelashes. "How old are you?"

"I'm 31, cutie."

You can feel your heart beating in more places than one. And when your eyes travel down to his lap, you're greeted by a warm and open manspread, the base of his knees angled towards your body, the same way his broad torso invites you into him.

You accept his advance.

"Oh come on," you blush. "That's not even that much older."

"Not that much older? Just you wait," he says with a slight chuckle. Your breath hitches his knee brushes against your ass. "Soon you can't drink the way you used to, your knees hurt, and you wake up ten pounds heavier than the day before. Trust me, I know."

"Rich coming from someone who's a few years removed from my generation."

And rich, judging by the intoxicating cologne that clung to his skin like a second layer. Rich, judging by the perfectly pressed, popped collar of his Maceoo dress shirt. Rich, judging by his wait-list only watch that rested neatly on his wrist, catching the glare from the strobe lights every so often.

"You're kidding," he snaps you back to reality. "You're really Gen Z?"

"Yeah, can't you tell?" you tsk. You watch as his pupils drastically increase in size the more you sway into him. "I'm part of the knows-what-they-want-and-gets-it type of crowd."

You nod to the bartender to start a tab for you. Playing it safe, you request two gin-and-tonics, offering a glance to the now more-than-receptive man in front of you.

"Can't relate," he breathes. "'m a millenial."

"Ah, the hate-my-life crowd."

"Better than the hate-my-wife crowd” he winks, subtly jabbing at the ever-so-argumentative Generation-X.

"Oh definitely," you agree, clinking your glass with his. "And I can tell by your friends you guys are the total opposite."

Both of you look back over at the his friends, and to your surprise, discover that the group is staring back at you as well. Group being the Shy Girl dancer's husband and the dark-haired dancer beside him. When your eyes meet theirs they immediately look away, but sheepishly smile to each other along with "do you see this?" type of nudges.

"So what's your deal?" you smirk, turning back to the guy. "You seeing anybody?"

"If I was, I wouldn't be here talking to you, honey," Suits smirks, his espresso eyes devouring you while his palm hovers over the small of your back. "I’m really sorry we got off the wrong foot. I’m Steve.”

You tell him your name. “It’s nice to meet you, Steve.”

“You as well, Sweets.”

“What do you do for work?”

“I own my own business,” Steve smiles. “Been doing it a couple years now, and it’s really taken off.”

“What business is it?”

“I sell bobby pins,” Steve explains. It confuses you at first but you remain supportive. “But they’re a special kind.”

Intrigued, you watch as Steve digs into his pocket to fetch you some samples.

“My buddy Eddie over there owns a strip club,” Steve explains, nodding towards the feral, long-haired guy over in the corner. “And unfortunately one too many dancers have gotten roofied, so I made bobby pins that change color when it senses something weird in your drink.”

"Do they now?"

"They sure do," Steve nods proudly. "The bobby pins turn black if they detect the roofie drug. So if you think your drink's been spiked, that's a foolproof way for ya to check."

“This is very neat,” you beam, holding the pretty pink bobby pin in your hand.

You’re twiddling it between your fingers when you notice Steve’s breathing falter. He clears his throat for a brief second, before resting his hand slightly over yours.

“May I?”

You nod and allow him his bobby pin back.

There's little you can do except try not to melt, quietly swooning as the older man you're perched on gazes at you like a muse. His touch is gentle, as if you're a marble bust—his fingers brushing away the shorter strands of your curtain bangs, savoring the dimples above your chin.

“There,” he grins. “Now I can see those pretty eyes.”

You and Steve find yourselves getting lost into conversation, well past Shy Girl's set, and most likely way past her friend's as well. He tells you about his life back home and you tell him about your final year of college. The gloominess of Seattle. Your excitement about being able to start a new life. And when you reach to give him back his bobby pin, he gestures it away.

"Consider it a gift. If I won't be seeing you again, I'd at least want you to be safe."

“Who’s to say you won’t see me again?”

"Well," Steve chuckles into you. "Maybe you'll find some other sucker to charm and you'll forget all about me."

Closing up the space between you two, you shuffle yourself closer in between his knees, rubbing yourself teasingly against his iron-pressed lap while he wraps his strong arms around you to keep you in place.

“Oh don’t be so silly,” you hum, softly tracing his stubble before clasping his beating chest. “You’ll definitely be seeing me around.”

"You trying to give me your phone number?" he cocks an inquisitive eyebrow.

“I mean... I was implying that you’d see me walking around The Strip. Vegas is pretty small,” you point out. “But if you’d like to stay connected, I’m not opposed to that either.”

Steve tongue dances in his cheek as he stares you up and down.

"Or who knows," you add. "Maybe you'll see me at an Adele show."

Steve cackles at this, receptive to the teasing you're giving him and reeling you in as a response.

“Well, Sweets, if that's the case, then I’d love to see you again before I go back.”

You two exchange phone numbers, close out your tab, and Steve is on his way. Turns out, he's also part of the In-Bed-By-9 crowd, but tonight was considered a splurge. When he disappears from sight, you set out to find Isabelle.

Luckily, her golden blonde locks are easy to spot in the crowd.

“There you are!" you exclaim when you find her, hooking arms with her as you two start towards the tip rail. "I met a guy while you were gone. His name is Steve, he’s a CEO.”

“Such a CEO name,” Isabelle tuts. “But that’s amazing. Is he older?”

You nod, blushing. Isabelle squeals, ecstatic for you.

“Ugh, older men are the bestttt, girl. Where is he now?”

“Rounding up his friends," your eyes scan the room. "I think they’re done for tonight. His friend was one of the dancers and she was wearing your Lady in Red set. She's from Indiana too, but I forgot where.”

“And I missed it?!" Isabelle exclaims, completely engaged now. "Now you HAVE to point them out to me.”

So now you two are on a mission, peddling through the strip club like two lost sheep looking for their herder. After five sweaty drunks and lots of assertive "excuse me"s later, you're able to catch sight of the guy just by the back of his head.

“That’s Steve," you immediately point him out. "Right over there."

“Oh my god,” is all Isabelle says.

You turn to Elle and it's like she's seen a ghost. Panicked, you watch the color drain from your best friend's face in real time, followed by a nearly audible gulp in a pulsating room and obnoxious strobe lights. And for a brief second, it seems like Elle had nearly lost her footing, with how her knees seemingly buckled below her.

“Elle…" you nudge her. "A-are you okay?”

"Yeah… I'm fine...it’s just…” she stammers. “That's Steve Harrington."

"You know Steve Harrington?"

"More than you know."

Suddenly, her gaze shifts when she studies his friends.

It’s a look you’ve never seen before in your life. At least not on Isabelle’s face.

Her once radiant ocean eyes, so full of warmth and sunshine, have turned icy and sharp, like shards of broken glass. A tension builds in her face as her jaw clenches. You look down at her hands and see that they're curled inwards, as though she'd been fighting to keep a brewing anger from the depths of her, relatively silent, fury from erupting. And then, before you know it her ocean eyes flare with an almost palpable heat. Danger. Fire, almost.

"And the guy next to him?" Isabelle grimaces. "The erratic one with the stripper around his arm?"

Isabelle's lips tighten bitterly.

"That's Eddie Munson... my ex-husband."

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#Spotify #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #older!steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #ceo!steve harrington #steve harrington #older!steve #ceo!steve

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alanaartdream · 4 months ago

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Oook so I am late with my latest drawings/ sketches for today but I’ve been busy with many things BUT my ideas for fairly odd parents fairy Timmy with Nicktoons unite / Jimmy Timmy power hour haven’t left my head at all so super happy to talk more about what’s up with that

Now with past drawings I have my fairy Oc Felicity and her anti fairy are apart of this au and my idea of what happens with Danny Phantom goes with with what Butch has given on that (I mean the guy not always great with sticking to his story plots and he has been known to be a jerk but he at least gave some information on Danny’s future on YouTube so cannot ignore that)

So going with what I know Danny has a great ghost hunting team with Sam and Tucker and Tucker is also mayor of their town and later down the line him and Sam have kids who inherited ghost powers although the kids have ghost powers a little different from their dad so they’re half ghost like their dad

Now I think that Danny and his friends start up the ghost hunting team around time Timmy gets turn into a fairy and Jimmy has become a world wide teenager professional scientist while also still in high school but he’s on the fast track to great college at age 13 because he’s just that knowledgeable and it’s at 13 that Timmy gets turned into a fairy fully and becomes Wanda & Cosmo’s kid and gets raised by them with Poof/peri (who’s 4-5 at this time)

Now the process of becoming a full time 💯 fairy 🧚‍♂️ means you take on your adopted fairy parents DNA 🧬 so sometimes you take on powers from your fairy parents lines AND being as Timmy has save fairy world and his own universe so often he has a bit of magic from that as well so like peri / poof he becomes a pretty powerful fairy (( BUT it’s also noted by the fairy council that Timmy was becoming quite the ally to fairy kind and how much magic he was having build up AND how his wishes only seemed to get out of hand because of his Human parents were quite bad at being parents and well the human adults in Timmy’s life were failing him so bad they just couldn’t trust the human adults in Timmy’s life to raise him right and they don’t want any more cockers or something worst to happen with Timmy AND they figure Timmy getting to amune to having his memory wipe so figured it’s much better idea for Timmy to become a fairy and to be raised by fairies because the human adults of their universe cannot be trusted to raise any kind of powerful child and To help Wanda And Cosmo with Timmy & Poof/Peri getting settled into fairy world more my fairy Oc Felicity who was the last human child to be turned into a full time fairy and raised by fairies (she was adopted by Jorgen’s Nana boom boom who was her godmother back when Felicity was a child who had no parents and sent to Australia 🇦🇺 back in the times The British were sending convicts to Australia 🇦🇺)

Felicity is the fairy for 3 things

Her main thing is to help artists/ writers to get inspired to well art and write and help them get out of artists& writers block or burn out

She also helps homeless cats/ and kittens find humans who will give them forever homes

And record keeping of everything that goes on with fairyworld records ( she gets hang out with Father Time to get the truth of any events that happen with fairies being as she does paints for him that he likes to keep so she can do flash back viewings on events so you can see what happens without mucking with time itself)

BUT with Timmy becoming a fairy it also becomes her job to help with Timmy and Poof/Peri’s learning to control their powers being as while Cosmo was the last fairy baby before Poof/peri but Felicity was the last fairy kid before Timmy & poof/peri

Jorgen does help her out being as to him Felicity was kinda like a little sister to him (IS kinda his cousin thanks to Nana Boom boom adoption of her) but most of the time he’s busy with Da Rules so not always able to help

Now Jimmy with Danny’s help figure out what happened with Timmy when all the humans in Timmy’s don’t know where Timmy has gone (and he didn’t get to meet Cole ever before Timmy went through becoming a fairy forevermore so he doesn’t get to meet her until after Timmy is a fairy) and when he Danny and SpongeBob entered Fairy world to find out about fairy Timmy

Anti fairy Timmy (Ymmit) along with Foop/Irep anti Cosmo and Anti Wanda were causing havoc and so Jimmy Danny and SpongeBob become diplomats for their universes so they get to keep visiting fairy world and being as they know Timmy well and helped Felicity out with dealing with her own Anti Fairy (who was teaming up with Ymmit Foop/Irep Anti Cosmo And Anti Wanda )

She ends up going to Jimmy & Danny for help with helping Timmy & Peri/poof learn to use their magic so she like how Sam & Tucker do in some later Nicktoons unite games do gets to join the nicktoons unite adventures (think Wanda Cosmo and Poof/peri will still join as well until Timmy becomes a adult & Cole grows up and forgets Wanda Cosmo and poof/peri and only remembers Timmy when he was human and like everyone back her universe that isn’t a magical creature or fairy doesn’t know what happened to Timmy then Wanda & Cosmo retired and Peri goes off to study to become a fairy god parent and Timmy becoming a fairy lawyer who helps out with the Da Rules for Jorgen and also helps Felicity out with her other jobs and she helps him out with his lawyer work being as she keeps records for everything that goes on with Fairies; they kinda become fairy heroes to fairy world and Timmy becomes family to Jorgen Nana Boom boom and Felicity (Wanda Cosmo and poof/peri already family to Timmy and he to them) so Jorgen is like an uncle to Timmy & Poof/peri while Felicity is like an older Sister / cousin to him (so you’re likely see a lot siblings interacting with Felicity Tommy and peri )

Now Felicity will be a much better and more fun teacher to Timmy & poof than Cocker ever was being as she Loves creativity (I mean being the art fairy that she is it’s something VERY important to one of her fairy jobs so she will encourage Timmy and poof/peri to be creative all the time and give stickers whenever she see them being creative) now Jimmy being as he starts letting fairies visit his lab ( although it’s mostly Timmy poof/peri Wanda cosmo Jorgen and felicity who do being as most other fairies are a little nervous around scientists thanks to crazy scientist who wanted to get their magic for controlling the universe back in their universe so you can understand why they try to stay away from Jimmy in fear; it also doesn’t help Danny’s had to come in to stop Jimmy from using ghosts in some of his studies on other universes; although thanks to his growing feelings for Timmy Jimmy has a soft spot for fairies and so any fairy studies he does is to mostly protect them from those who wish to use their magic for not so good things (like what Cocker tries to do)

When both Timmy and Jimmy becoming adults they start to date but while they’re teenagers Danny would tease Jimmy about his soft spot for fairies especially one buck tooth one

I can totally see Jimmy becoming quite the world renowned scientist that he’s probably like top known professor that probably gets asked a lot to help consult on many subjects and matters so he’s probably got his own huge lab to help keep the world safe and to help improve things in his universe while Danny with Trucker and Sam are the ones that even the government have to consult to deal with all ghost like things dealings in their universe

Now with SpongeBob not sure if much will change in his universe being as he’s already an adult when the first time the nicktoons unite games/gang was form but in later games Patrick star and Sam Squirrel did join in on the

Nicktoons games so we’ll probably see them come in with SpongeBob a bit as time goes on and they’re join in with same adventures for sure

I’m gonna guess they’ll get along great with Hazel in the fairly odd parents a new wish

Would like Danny tell Hazel how they 1st met Timmy Wanda and Cosmo and all the times they went on adventures with fairy kid Timmy with toddler Peri

Or how help Timmy and Peri learn how to use their powers with Felicity as a helping guide

Who knows Hazel might join the team with adult fairy Timmy and Danny with his kids a few times as well

Don’t think Danny and Jimmy would trust Dev so much though (Danny would be a little worried Dev would be a bad influence on his own kids and Jimmy doesn’t like how power hungry the kid seems to get at times)

Now Danny and Jimmy know anti fairies are bad news and hearing that Dev would rather have Irep instead of Peri because Irep doesn’t care about following the rules would rub them the wrong way

Think it’s not until they learn what Dale’s like do they feel bad for dev a bit

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door-insurance · 4 months ago

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So I played Life is Strange 2 for the first time ever

I didn’t wanna play it for a long time not cause it didn’t have Chloe or max (tbh I got sick of their asses around BtS they’re not even my faves)

By that point I was in college and had lost interest in the whole franchise but also I was very apprehensive of white creatives writing racism with no input from the group they’re portraying, they don’t usually do a good job

Sometimes they make it cartoony, sometimes they trivialize it, sometimes they romanticize it

So years later adulthood kicked my ass and I came back crawling to this franchise for some comfort, I finished True colors annnnd I finally started 2 after hesitating annnnd

^sketched this while playing

SPOILERS

I actually liked it

I liked Sean, the drawing segment he does- he was such a likable main guy, deserved better honestly.

I also liked Daniel, he was very adorable and I never got it when people called him annoying like no shit the 9 year old is gonna act like a 9 year old- just don’t be a jerk to him, I know he can be frustrating but that’s what taking care of a kid is like

And lis had always been about realistic complex characters, y’all can’t handle a traumatized nine year?

I have two younger siblings and two nieces plus I’ve been a bratty younger sibling to two older sisters

Maybe I’m just used to it?? But honestly Daniel wasn’t that bad

The racism portrayal in the first few episodes was not all that cartoony and it actually felt real at times, like I can check for American news rn and find stories similar to what you see in episodes 1-3 (minus the telekinesis)

Although the gas station racist hick spouting trump slogans was a bit on the nose, it’s more of dialogue thing

Some people thought the gas station detainment was egregious but it can happen unfortunately, especially to vulnerable people in rural areas and by someone of a higher systematic advantage

One other thing I did not like was the love interests, I thought Finn and Cassidy were alright characters on their own but why do we need romance in this game where the protagonists are always on the run?

I don’t like to compare lis 1 to 2 but when it comes to the romance the former did a better job as it spent more time establishing it, plus max stayed in the same place for the majority of the game- but you know what? Sean doesn’t have to be in a relationship right? It can be a one off thing, that’s fine

Which brings me to my next point

How old are Cassidy and Finn?

Cause Sean is still 16 and no, being on the road didn’t mentally age him- he’s not “mature” for his age

He is still a kid

So for some reason Dontnod never really specified their ages but some articles described them as teens (they look 30 to me) and they can be around 18 right? Their lives are hard stress ages you- it happens, we can with live that, it’s just a two years difference

But teens or not

why did they animate a whole knocking the boots scene???

Of all the games in the series, the only one that gets a sex scene is the one with the much younger protagonist and his ambiguously aged older looking love interest and I think it’s only with Cassidy you get to do it in the tent

Alex Chen was robbed of a on screen booty call from a beanie wearing lesbian with a sexy radio voice or a buff ass Adonis of a man who was Smokey the bear’s regional manager or something

Anyways I’m gonna move on I’m uncomfortable lmao

*im not hating on people who ship Sean with either Finn or Cassidy, I’m not even tagging your ship names- im just stating my personal preferences on my blog

One last thing I did not like about LiS 2 and it was the one thing that kept me from playing it for years

That one scene from episode 4

So at this point Sean Diaz went through the following:

-lost his father, had to abandoned his loved ones, education and home

-was accused of killing a cop

-had to take care of his little brother on his own while on the run, the same brother with telekinesis and none of them know how to control it

-was harassed, beaten then detained by a racist white man

-had to take refuge in an abandoned cabin with little resources

-the dog that they adopted at the gas station eventually gets mauled

-the one time they found solace at their grandparents house they had to leave abruptly cause the police was hot on their trail

-on their way out they can potentially witness the neighbors kid that they befriended get hit by the police car that’s chasing them

-they find shelter at a nomad campground but oh no they get involved with drug trafficking cause they barely have any other options to make money (unfortunately this happens a lot IRL this isnt egregious)

-Sean now has to deal with the trafficking, making sure that Daniel doesn’t get into any trouble with his powers while fake ass giancarlo esposito is breathing down his neck

-and guess what happens next… Daniel gets robbed into pulling a heist on temu gus fring and it goes badly, Sean can potentially lose a love interest/friend in Finn

-Sean gets hurt, Daniel goes so mad that he blows the whole place up; a shard glass flies into Sean’s eye and he ends up losing it

- Sean wakes up from a coma and learns that his brother is missing and he’s about to be taken to jail

- the one thing that consistently brought him joy during this trip was his art and because of the missing eye he can’t even do it the same anymore cause it hurts now

- Sean has to escape the hospital with a hot wired car, little money and has to drive across two states just to get to his brother

-on the way he dreams of his father, he wants him back he wants his old life back but that’s not gonna happen so he has to move forward

Im not listing all this as examples of bad story telling, a lot of these are real life experiences of homeless people. im just painting a picture of the shit that Sean had went through so far

Cause right after the dream sequence, Dontnod didn’t think all that was enough no you had to see Sean get hate crimed by two lifetime movie, sitcom special of the week racists- be made to either sing or suffer a brutal beating

It added nothing to the plot, it didn’t need a choice system either- it’s a hate crime, you’re not asking Joyce for fucking pancakes or eggs n bacon at the whales diner or hosing down Lisa the fckin plant.

This to me went straight to trauma p*rn category, it’s wheelchair Chloe all over again

I hated it then in LiS 1 and I hated now in LiS 2, this is why I don’t dick ride Dontnod that often

They always had this tendency right before the end they single out a particular character and mentally whip them, they become the writing teams punching bag- they think we didn’t get it the first time that this character is going through it, they just hammer it in with the subtlety of a heart attack and I hate it

“Yeah but it’s there to show Sean’s resolve to find Daniel-“

HE ESCAPED FROM THE HOSPITAL AND THE FEDS, HE HOT WIRED A CAR TO DRIVE ACROSS TWO STATES

He’s starving, dehydrated, suffering from chronic pain

That’s enough

Let the character breathe

You ask why not a lot of people wanna play this game and I’m gonna tell you, as much I enjoyed it myself it’s not an easy game to play- it gets brutal, especially right around the end

I’m not against bleakness or extreme conflict, I’m into that but sometimes that doesn’t translate well to any gaming format- especially a choices matter game that’s meant to be replayed

Some people have asinine reasons not to play LiS 2 like it dealing with racism and those people suck, lis had always dealt with progressive themes like calling out objectification, cyberbullying and sl*tshaming

Racism shouldn’t be the exemption

but misuse of racial trauma and not knowing when it’s appropriate to invoke it is a huge turn off and hella triggering to a lot of non white players and I remember when LiS 2 dropped I’ve seen (mostly white) lis fans at the time proclaiming that not wanting to play it meant that you were racist

Like I said there were probably racists who didn’t wanna touch the games cause of the main characters skin but there were people like me who were apprehensive of the “Let’s go to the mosh pit Shaka brah” people handling racism

This is the same studio that had Ms Grant (one of the few black characters from LiS 1) claim that the white settlers peacefully shared the stolen land with the native Americans

I find that shit harder to believe than the time traveling powers

And they were doing alright in the first episodes they covered stuff like unconscious biases slipping through, dog whistles, polite racism from the grandparents segment, police brutality, racial profiling and being targeted/othered- some of these things I went through when I visited western countries

Then they did the bullshit I feared theyd do…

I really don’t blame myself for being hyper vigilant at the time and honestly I was going through a lot then, even if I wanted to I wouldn’t have touched LiS 2 cause it’s a very heavy tasking game to play

I know I kinda made it seem like I didn’t like this game but I did, its the best one in terms of the choice system

It had more weight to it, seeing Daniel internalizing what you say to him or how you act around him was so cool

Also what the second game has over the first one aside from the choices system is the ending selection- I never liked picking the endings for max, I wanted her to pick the ending or her coding/script to do that

Its definitely more fleshed out technically even though LiS 1 has a special place in my heart it’s always gonna be no. 1- but im also glad that I got to experience the 2nd game for the first time, I liked it

Personal lis ranking

1: Lis 1

2: Lis 2

3: True colors

Discount bin: BtS

My personal fave moments from LiS 2:

- beating up the racist bully and giving him a concussion

-mushroom (rip icon)

- victorias letter

-winning that that bear from that claw machine

-gorillaz song that was not feel good inc

-Brody pointing at a fucked up looking arcadia bay yelling “that’s the past!”- that was hilarious

-Sean paying tribute to Arcadia bay in his sketchbook (this fucking kid man, he’s so sweet he deserves the world- what did he do to make DONTNOD mad at him)

- the wolf animation and the story that plays before every chapter

-this was the worst hate crime in the whole game

#life is strange #life is strange 2 #sean diaz #Daniel Diaz #lis #lis 2

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