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starry-bi-sky · 11 months ago

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Damian meets Dani about... oh, a few weeks after he's found out his brother was alive and living somewhere in America, and... lets say a week after he's met Samantha Manson. After that gala, it doesn't take much prodding and stalking to find out that Mansons live in Amity Park, Illinois. And if that's where Samantha was, then that's where Danyal was.

Stalking Manson's social media -- of which required a little bit of hacking as she kept her account private -- to see if there were any pictures of his brother was only slightly helpful. Most of her pictures were either scenic shots of Amity Park, photos of posters and signs of her environmental protests, fundraisers, and other such activities. The photos that did include Danyal were all carefully cropped out or angled to avoid showing his face.

The most recent photo was one of Manson at what appeared to be a gym, sitting in front of a mirror with another brown-skinned boy leaning against her. They all looked like they were coming down from exercising, Manson and the other boy -- Foley, as the tag said -- were both sitting on the ground. But the third boy, Danyal, was laying down, the angle prevented the camera from seeing most of his face and body, and what could have been seen was covered by Danyal's arm that he'd thrown over his face.

Unfortunately, as easy as it would be to take a plane down to Amity Park and hunt down his brother for answers, that would cause more problems than it would solve. Father made it explicitly clear after they'd returned from the gala and found out where the Mansons resided that they were to wait.

"If Danyal finds out that we know he's alive, he will likely try and run." Father told them, sitting at the chair in front of the Batcomputer, Amity Park's page pulled up. "He's spent the last five years in what has been, essentially, deep cover. He will not react well to finding out it's been blown."

(Damian had wanted to argue -- he's waited long enough. He wants to know what his brother's real feelings on him are. He wants to know why Danyal decided to leave the League himself. It had been a decision between Danyal and Damian over who would fake their death, and Danyal had chosen to leave. He wants answers.)

(But, Father's been quieter since the reveal of Danyal's existence was brought to him, and the memory is still fresh in Damian's mind of Father approaching him after the fight and quietly asking him why he hadn't told him about Danyal.)

(It was hard to read his face with the mask on, but the line in his shoulders, the pinch of his mouth -- Father was hurt and trying not to show it. Guilt still bubbles up in Damian's chest at the recall.)

(He feels even worse remembering his response -- rolling his shoulders back and telling Father, his stomach churning: "I thought it pointless to inform you of a son that was already dead." He didn't want his Father to mourn a child he never met, and... Damian didn't want Father to wish it was Danyal here instead of him.)

So, waiting for their plan of attack to finally be initialized, Damian allows Richard to drag him down to Gotham's mall. To get out of the house and do something else.

And it's there that he meets Danielle Fenton. Really, how unexpected. He's in the middle of conversation with Richard when she, well, bumps into him. Its not a huge bump, neither of them go to the ground nor do they drop anything, but she whirls around in utter apology while Damian is already forming an insult on the tip of his tongue.

"Oh geez, sorry! I didn't see you--" Ellie makes eye contact with him, and her voice cuts off, but her jaw stays dropped. Damian can't say he's of the same expression, but he is of similar sentiment. Brown skin only a few shades lighter than his own, black hair, glacier blue eyes that Damian has only ever seen on two people. And, as both of their eyes flick up to each other's brows, the death knell.

Father has a very unique set of facial features -- specifically, the strange shape of his eyebrows. It feels ridiculous to say aloud, but the 'batwing' shape of his brows means that anyone who knows about the Waynes would, reliably, be able to recognize them within minutes.

And this girl had them, just as Father did, just as Danyal did, and just as Damian does. She also shared an uncanny likeness to Danyal, and to mother.

Damian's hands immediately go to a dagger at his hip.

At the same time, the girl makes a strange squawking sound - like she's just had a revelation. And immediately she's jabbing a finger at Damian's face, her other hand slamming over her mouth to smother her annoying, staccato shrieking.

"You!" She squeaks, hopping in place with sparkling blue eyes. She looks around frantically, and Dick tenses up in Damian's peripherals -- likely seconds away from dragging the girl away from the crowd.

The girl laughs, giggly and excited, and lands her eyes back on him. There is an expression of awe on her face as she drops her hand from her mouth, she leans her face close to his, grinning from ear to ear. "You! You're Danny's brother!"

Damian's attention sharpens. She knows Danyal -- she looks like Danyal. She knows Danyal.

The girl couldn't be more than a few years older than Damian, but younger than 15 -- the age Danyal should be right now. She claps her hands together excitedly. "Holy cow!" She breathes, and audibly inhales, "Look at you! Wow! I thought you were a mini-Danny for a moment. But then I realized your eyes were green and you don't have his scar."

She's tilting her head side to side, looking over him like a specimen to be studied. Automatically, Damian is scowling, leaning away from her in annoyance.

That only seems to delight her more, and she laughs again. "You even have his scowl! Amazing!" She exclaims, and long-driven instinct forces Damian to ruffle up in offense, how dare she compare him--

The girl juts her hand out for a handshake, grinning from ear-to-ear. "I'm Dani with an i, but you can also just call me Ellie if it's too confusing." She waits patiently for Damian to give her his hand, and he tamps down his annoyance to reluctantly take it. Dani shakes it hard.

"You know, Danny's told me about you a few times -- never your name, no, he's always calling you starlight. It's incredible how he can share details while also keeping all the important bits out."

'He calls you starlight.'

Dani speaks quickly, excitably, like a child on a sugar rush or a teenager meeting her favorite author. She steamrolls through her sentences like she didn't just hit Damian with a sledgehammer to the chest. It's the second time he's heard someone claim that they've been told about him under a pseudonym, under the same pseudonym.

He's at a loss for words, and Richard steps in with a hearty chuckle and a hand on his shoulder. "Woah," he says, cutting off Dani with a warm smile, "I think we should probably talk about this sitting down, yes?"

Yes, Damian thinks, blinking at Dani, let's pause this for a moment. He needs a moment to breathe.

Dani blinks, and then nods, smiling back easily. "Right, good idea! I know a good spot." Then she turns and bounds into the crowd of other shoppers, and only then does Damian realize that Dani was without a chaperone.

They quickly follow after her, and perhaps if they were anyone else, they would have lost her in the crowd. The ease she moves between people makes Damian wonder about her origins -- obviously she is a clone of Danyal. The eyes, the name, the similarities are all too convenient to ignore.

However, who made her was the question. She was far too bubbly to be made by the League, and the fact that she knows Danyal and was even within speaking terms of him implied that whoever made her was within close range of him as well. Perhaps even knew him, to some level.

Most people who made clones did not do so with good intent, but the fact that Danyal told this clone about Damian meant they were close on some level. Dani likely defected then? Similarly to Superboy. Did she have powers? Did she know of the League?

She's sitting at a table in the food court when they finally catch up with her, and she looks a little sheepish as they draw up their chairs. "Sorry," she says as they sit down, smiling nervously, "I totally forgot to make sure you guys were following me."

Not a lie, Damian thinks, eyeing her up and down as he lowers into his seat beside Richard. He sniffs curtly, hiding only some of his annoyance. "It's fine. We found you, didn't we?"

Dani nods,her mouth twitching into a more relaxed smile. "You did! Yeah, wow." She stifles a round of awed giggling. "Sorry, sorry-- it's just so weird to actually meet you in person. The way Danny talked about you made it sound like he was never gonna see you again, so I kinda thought the same."

...Ah. Right. Because he faked his death without any intention of reveaing that it was fake in the first place. The squeeze of Damian's chest is unexpected and throbbing, like someone put a weight on his sternum in an effort to crush his lungs. In his chair, Richard's arms flexed and unflexed subtly.

"Well..." Damian pressed his lips together, "I am here now. It is interesting to meet you, Dani." He says, he can't say nice, the jury is still out on that one. But it is interesting. Placing his elbows on the table, he leans forward. "Are you Danyal's clone?"

Immediately Richard swats him lightly in the arm with a hiss of his name, while Dani's eyes widen comically at him. However, instead of getting defensive or even fleeing, Dani grins widely. "I am, actually. No point in denying it, right? But you haven't given me your name, Danny's brother."

Damian tamps down an instinctive twitch, a trained negative response to being Danyal's anything. He nods shortly. "My name is Damian, this is my... brother, Richard." He gestures to Richard, and ignores the grin he gets burning into his temples.

"You can call me Dick, Dani." Richard says, leaning over the table to shake Dani's hand. Dani nods, an eyebrow raised amusedly. When Richard lets go, his smile carefully falters, and he feigns looking around. "Are you alone?"

Dani's eyes bug for a moment, and her smile turns strained. "Ah, my -uh, guardian is actually in another store right now. I texted them, they'll meet me here when they're done."

Lie, Damian thinks, and shares a knowing look with Richard. She's alone -- a foolish thing to be for children, especially in Gotham. If there's one thing Damian knows for certain, it's that Danyal would not allow any clone of his to wander around inept or incompetent. Especially when he is supposed to be dead.

He likely allowed Dani to live because she was not only a girl, but had something that prevented her from being easy to defeat or capture. He doesn't see anywhere where she could be concealing a weapon -- so powers, perhaps? A meta Al Ghul would be a useful asset to anyone, if she had no weapons, then powers were the next potential option.

He turns back to Dani, "I see. Can you tell me more about Danyal? It has been a long, long time since I last saw him. I am... curious to see if he's the same as I remember him."

Dani's expression falls flat and deadpan, the illusion only ruined by the toying of her mouth and the amused glimmering of her eyes. "By that do you mean if he's still a stubborn stick-in-the-mud with a mean streak a mile wide, and a weird propensity for breaking out into shakespeare when he's pissed?"

Damian stares at her. "...Yes."

The girl sighs dramatically and slumps against the table, pressing her cheek into the cold metal with her face all scrunched up. "Then yeeesss!" She whines, "I love Danny, I do. He can be a big prickly teddybear sometimes, but oh ancients, I will always hold our first meeting against him for as long as I live."

An eyebrow crawls up Damian's forehead - both at Dani's description of his brother, and the mention of their 'first meeting'. Dick sits up in his peripherals, an equally intrigued look on his face.

"How did you guys first meet?" He asks, barely bothering to hide his interest.

Propping her head up on her chin, Dani remains deadpan -- and perhaps a little pouty -- "Ehh... I claimed to be his third cousin once removed." Automatically, Damian presses his mouth into a line. She was avoiding answering the question in full. "He didn't really... take it that well."

Damian can understand why. Father's earlier explanation brings itself back to the forefront of his mind -- Danyal would not react well to finding out his death was uncovered. If Dani claimed to be related to him, then it is a miracle she was still even alive. Had it been Damian, he would have killed her on the spot.

"Yes," he hums, "I can understand why."

Dani scrunches her nose up, and eyes him warily, "Yeah, don't think I didn't see you grabbing your side earlier." She says, ignoring how Damian stiffens up faintly. "I've learned my lesson."

They fall into almost comfortable conversation after that - trading questions and answers back and forth. Dani, short for Danielle, was in Gotham to explore. She was nearly a year old, and she wanted to see the world before settling down and doing anything concrete.

Danielle asks Damian what he was doing in Gotham, Danny said they lived overseas. Damian tells her that he lives here, and she perks up and asks if he was put into foster care too.

He nearly ruffles with offense -- no, he was living with their Father. He nearly says as such -- only for a hand on his back to stop him. Richard sends him a warning look, and Damian is very vividly recalling just that weekend with Manson.

(He is still wondering how his brother managed to reach Gotham so quickly, because that was his brother. He might not have been able to see his face, but that voice was his.)

Manson was furious with them over something, furious enough that she refused him information on his brother. Enough that she was petty to hang up the phone with Damian's brother without ever even uttering a word to him of who she was talking to.

Damian looks Danielle and lies, and tells her yes, he was also put into foster care. Richard backs him up.

Danielle is a well of information on his brother -- more so than any of Manson's social media was. Despite her explorations, she's still naive -- or, at least, naive to Danyal's situation. With Richard's help it's all too easy to get her to tell them about Danyal.

He learns that Danyal was interested in astronomy. Whenever Dani visited it was like he had new facts to tell her. He learns that his brother listens to goth rock, and was particularly a fan of a band called Dumpty Humpty. Something that Damian was certainly not expecting his brother to be interested, of all things.

And, perhaps the most important piece of information of all, Danielle pulls out her phone with little prompting and shows him a recent photo of his brother. Damian prevents himself from stealing it out of her hands, forcing himself into carefully taking it with permission and showing it to Richard.

It was a simple selfie of the two of them in a park somewhere. Danyal was crouched down beside her, and while Danielle was beaming into the camera, Danyal simply wore a half-tilted, awkward smile. He was in a red muscle-tee, the last thing Damian could imagine his brother wearing.

There wasn't much to put it, Danyal was simply older. With wavy black hair framing his face and his glacier blue eyes, there was no doubt about it that he was an Al Ghul and and Wayne. The scar he's had for as long as Damian can remember -- the one he gained from protecting Damian merely a week into his birth -- split diagonally down his face. It's shrunken more with age -- well, not shrunken. Danyal merely grew.

He had old, familiar scars down his arms. Ones he gained from training. But there were ones Damian doesn't recognize -- a pinkish one near his upper shoulder that looks new. Another laceration on his other arm that still had its stitches. An ugly, mottled wound as if someone had stabbed him with a blunt object.

There was a cut on his throat, healed but certainly not years old, as if someone had meant to slit his neck and missed it's mark. His brother has been in battles, in fights, and they are recent.

Damian stares at it silently. His tongue locked to the roof of his mouth, unable to formulate a sound. He never really knew his brother in the League, he was not allowed to -- not by Grandfather, not by Mother, and encouraged by Danyal. He is a stranger to him. Damian is sick of it.

Danyal and Danielle look more like siblings than he and Damian ever did.

He looks up at the girl, and finds his voice. "Can I have this?"

Danielle is all too happy to give it to him, typing her number into his phone. It's the first message she sends him. Richard leans over Damian's shoulder with a smile, "Would you be willing to send us anything you've got on, uh, Danny?"

Danielle beams at him, looking incredibly touched, "Of course! I can give your number to Danny the next time I see him, if you'd like."

That's right, Damian realizes with white hot panic, to get these photos she has to see him in person. He can't know I know he's alive. He jolts his head up, eyes wide. "No!" He exclaims. Danielle reels back, looking surprised.

"No." Damian repeats, forcing his voice to remain calm despite still feeling panicked. "No, not yet."

"Oh." Danielle simply says, her brows furrow together. She looks like a lost fawn. It's incredibly strange to see on a face that holds Al Ghul blood. "Uh... why?"

Yes, why? Damian can't seem to come up with an excuse.

But Richard can, always a lifesaver. He wraps an arm around the back of Damian's chair. "We recently found out Danny lives in Amity Park, our family was hoping to go visit him as a surprise." He lies, easy as breathing. And it's hardly even a lie. Just the truth re-worded. Damian nods shortly.

Danielle believes it, hook, line, and sinker. She grins widely, near-impishly. She smiles so much. It is equally as strange. "That's so sweet! Okay! I won't say anything, promise." She swears, and Richard feigns a slump of relief. "Dan's pretty good at sniffing out lies, so don't tell me anything about it. The less I know, the better."

Richard nods, smiling warmly and gratefully. "That'd be great. Thank you, Dani."

Danielle and Danyal's meeting... very, very quickly goes very sour from, basically, the moment Danny steps into his room and finds Ellie sitting on his bed (strike one) and reading the comic books Tucker introduced him to (strike two). By the time she's looked up to address him, Danny has the door locked, and a hand hovering near the knife hidden under his shirt.

She gets her third strike when Danny, in a voice that could make the mountains tremble, demands to know how she got into his room, and she lies (with uncertainty of her decision growing in her chest) that Jazz let her in. Danny's hand shifts closer to his weapon, and he turns towards her fully, and says that Jazz would never let someone he didn’t know into his room, and who was she.

(Vlad Masters had underprepared Danielle for her meeting with Danny -- not out of any completely direct malicious intent, but he failed to mention just how... 'touchy' Daniel could be -- he failed to mention the scars littering up his arms, unhidden by the hoodie tee he meets Ellie in. He failed to mention that along with those scars, that Danny was visibly lean, capable of doing very real damage without the use of his powers.)

(He tells Ellie that he’s adopted, and that he is observant and clever, but ungrateful and has a bad attitude.)

Her final strike occurs when Ellie, trying to keep her facade of cheeriness, tells him that she’s his third cousin once removed. Immediately, Danny has his dagger pulled out, and Ellie finds herself with the cold metal of a blade pressing against her throat.

Danyal 'A.G' Fenton hasn’t killed since he arrived in Amity Park. At first it was because mother told him to keep a low profile, and killing would do the opposite of that. But, he's been slowly learning from his sister and friends over the years the value of human life. So it's become a combination of keeping his head down, and also that life has value to it.

But. That doesn’t mean he can’t kill, nor is he opposed to doing it if the situation calls for it. It just means that he doesn't do it. And ‘Danielle’ is an unknown in his room, claiming to be family to him, and appearing uncannily similar to him and his family. Either someone hired her and she was trying to pass herself off as a relative to him because that someone realized Danny was the biggest threat, or, his false death has been compromised, his mother was unable to tell him, and the league was aware he was alive.

No matter how he looks at it, this Danielle was a threat to him, his sister, his friends, to Damian, and to the Drs. Fenton. Danyal Fenton doesn't kill, but he has no problems doing so.

(Ellie, pinned under Danny’s knee and the blade to her neck, is too terrified to think of phasing out of his hold. Not that it would help, he would just chase after her.)

“You have broken into my home, dared to lie to my face, and when I demanded to know the truth, you dared lie to me again." Danny's scowl could cower even Skulker, his glacier blue eyes burning. "Your continual breath has been a favor from me, that I have graciously allowed, from the moment you entered my room, dahkil."

"So I will ask one more time," he hisses, "who. are. you."

Danielle, only a few months old, unprepared for the ice storm that is "Daniel" Fenton, and his clone in only flesh and blood, and not memories, immediately breaks. And tells him that she was his clone, that Vlad sent her to come capture him, and to please not kill her.

Danny's face twists with anger, Ellie thinks he's going to kill her anyways. Instead, he withdraws his knife and gets off her, stringing out curses in Arabic as he sheathes his weapon back into its hiding place faster than Ellie can blink.

He switches to English as she is collecting her bearings (and contemplating fleeing), and Danny paces the room like a tiger in a cage. "--of course that wretched, arrogant, peacocking little ingrate would do something so infuriating. I should have driven my sword into the shrivel of his heart when I had the chance--"

Ellie, for a moment, thinks of leaving while he is distracted. And starts to slowly creep away. But Danny notices instantly, and whirls on her. His too-bright eyes bore into her head: "Where do you think you're going."

"...I'm leaving."

And Danny scoffs at her, "Why? So you can fly back to Masters and tell him that you failed to capture me, and that I know that he cloned me?" He says, and Ellie remains silent -- that's exactly what she was going to do. "He will destroy you within seconds."

Of course, Ellie rears back in offense, and she finds the footing to glare at him. "He would not! He's my dad, he loves me!"

Danny gets in her face, glowering back with an equal intensity. "He does not." He snaps, "Vlad Masters has not a soul in his body nor a heart in his chest. He would sooner cut off the hand that helps him stand, than to take it along with him."

"If you're really made of my blood, then I will teach you only this: we bow not our heads nor our hearts to anyone." Danny's too-blue eyes narrow, and his voice dips into a hiss, "Especially not to a conniving snake like Masters. Your heart: cut it off, or cut it out. He will sooner leave you to bleed."

Then, he unlocks the door and drags her out before she has much time to act. And as he drags her down the hall he shoots Sam and Tucker a text, and they meet up at Nasty Burger. Ellie is a spitfire, but Danny has her too intimidated to leave.

"This is Danielle," he tells them bluntly as he corners her into the booth, "she's my clone. Masters created her."

Ellie is with them for a week, and somehow throughout that time, Danny manages to actually get her to like him throughout that time. He's callous, blunt, and full of sharp edges that you can cut yourself on. But when he's not spitting venom, he's fretting.

When he drags her back to the house after being with Sam and Tucker, he pulls her to Jazz's room and opens the door to tell her the same thing. "This is Danielle." He says upon abruptly opening the door, interrupting Jazz's studying as he pulls Ellie inside. "She is my clone, Masters created her. She needs clothes."

Then he turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him. Ellie, in that moment, thinks that now's her chance to flee. But Jazz then squeals, and she is trapped in new arms, shaken around by Jazz Fenton, excited for a sister.

(Ellie finds herself complaining to Jazz that night, shoved into old pajamas. She's in utter disbelief that Jazz could care about a jerk like Danny.)

("He's rough around the edges, but Danny does care." Jazz tells her, combing through her hair with her fingers. "We've been working on it ever since he joined the family, but Danny warms up slowly. He's usually less stoney; I think your arrival spooked him.")

("Spooked him?" Ellie repeats, she doesn't believe it at all. "He has a funny way of showing it, he threatened to kill me!" And she turns around just in time to see Jazz's press her lips into a line.)

("He's... very protective. He'll deny if you ask him, but he worries a lot." Jazz's fingers find her hair again. "What I do know for certain though, is that he wouldn't have kept you here if he wasn't worried about you at least a little bit.")

(Ellie doubts it.)

But Ellie is indeed there for a week, and the day after her initially rocky introduction with Danny, he is a little bit kinder to her. Still kinda a bitch, but he's less harsh to her, if... almost uncomfortable around her. Flighty, kinda.

Whenever she gets mouthy at him though, he looks oddly smug about it and, infuriatingly enough, praises her attitude. He is very, very annoying. And still kinda terrifying. But hearing him shout insults via puns at someone during a ghost fight that happens that week lessens the intimidating factor,,, a little bit.

Things go about,,,, relatively,,,, similar to canon. In the sense that it ends with Ellie defecting from Vlad because she finds out that Danny was right and that Vlad didn't actually care about her. (And that Jazz had been right too; Danny, in his weird, mean way, had been worried about her as well)

Danny looks out of his depth as she talks about how he was right, and he cuts her off with a vaguely uncomfortable clearing of his throat. And gives her the most awkward, but genuine apology he can muster.

"I should've used more tact when telling you about Masters, and I... apologize for threatening you when we met. I was..." he makes a face like he's sucked on a particularly sour lemon, "worried. First about my family, and then later about you."

(Ellie will be damned: Jazz was right)

Before Ellie leaves, Danny puts a hand on her shoulder and tells her: "I wasn't kidding about what I said to you when we first met: you are of my blood, and as such, you do not bow your head nor your heart to anyone."

Ellie looks at him, thinks about the last week, and smiles like she's caught him in a trap. "What about Sam and Tucker then? And Jazz?"

Danny smiles, it's awkward and tilted, like his face isn't used to the gesture. "We bow not our hearts, but that doesn't mean we can't share."

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #danyal al ghul au #WOW WOOPS THAT WAS LONGER THAN EXPECTED #and i even got everything that i wanted into it! Damian getting Dani's number was a surprise though #not included: damian and co also stalked tucker's SMS and found jack shit on danny too bc danny told them he doesnt like posting his face o #the internet. so they don't post his face. danny also has a social media account but its sparsely used and any photos taken are scenic shot #or are photos promoting events. there aint a single selfie on there yall #his account is @djfenton on instagram and anything else is @sneakahead which is an inside joke between his friends and him #not included and cut: dani saying she was alone and when one of them points out how that's unsafe she laughs and tells them #'it only is if i get caught! and good luck catching me'#damian was not meant to end this interaction with more info on his brother but oops Danny's total vagueness on his situation #is coming back to bite him in the ass unintentionally - ellie doesn't know you're hiding and she recognized your brother! oops!#dick is the “nice” one but he is also a manipulative fuck just like the rest of his siblings. everyone say thank you dick for being able #to lure people into a false sense of security and get what you want that way. love ellie but she's canonically naive so im using that to my #advantage babeyyy #the waynes are fantASTIC liars and actors and manipulators.

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 3 months ago

Text

[1:11 am]

Husband!Jaemin was certain he was going to love you until his dying breath. He loved you so much that being away from you for longer than a minute, and he meant it. There was a physical ache in his chest when you were both apart, or arguing, or mad at each other.

You were actually arguing now, and he should have felt that ache, but he didn't. If this were a cartoon, his pupils would be in the shape of hearts and he'd be kicking his feet back and forth.

"Do you realize how gross it is to go to the bathroom and fall into the toilet water?!" You exclaimed, running a hand over your sleep-mussed hair.

Yeah, oops. Jaemin had an unfortunate habit of leaving the toilet seat up. He was good about remembering to lower the seat after he finished his business, but could you really blame him when it was the middle of the night? He was tired, he'd reverted to his old, single guy habits and he went right back to sleep with you in his arms.

You continued to rant, your voice raising and you recounted how you'd already tripped over one of his haphazardly thrown shoes on the way to the bathroom. You told him that you didn't even want to get out of bed until the urge became too much and how you were in the middle some of the best sleep you'd had all week and the cold water on your bare backside was a horrible wake up call. "And honestly, it would have been fine if it were the daytime, but I was sleeping so well. Now, I just feel dirty and cold," you sighed, crossing your arms across your chest.

Jaemin nodded, "you're right, honey."

"You're not going to apologize?" You ask in a calm voice.

Jaemin pouted empathetically, reaching a hand out to pull you back under the covers and press his forehead to your own, "Love, I am so sorry. I will regret this misstep until the day I die and work every day to make up for it. Can you find it in that big, beautiful heart of yours to forgive me?"

You snorted, shoving his shoulder lightly, "you're forgiven. I just need to go shower to get rid of this icky feeling. I want my spot warm when I get back."

He heard the water in the shower turn on as he fluffed up your pillows. He fell back against his own pillows with a sigh, he knew better than to leave the toilet seat up. It was a bad habit that you'd kindly spent many months reminding him to keep in mind. He just hated that it had ruined your sleep. You'd been tossing and turning, waking up early, and going to bed late all week except for tonight. He really did feel bad.

You reentered the room in a new pair of pajamas, smelling fresh and still looking sleepy. Jaemin held a hand out for you and clicked off the bedside lamp while you got comfortable against him once again.

Jaemin rubs your back slowly, his voice quiet and low "I'm so sorry I forgot about the toilet seat, honey. I know how poorly you've been sleeping."

"I'm not upset anymore Jaemin, I promise. I know you were probably really tired too, just try to remember, alright?" You ask while nuzzling against his chest "I'm sorry I raised my voice. I shouldn't have but I was feeling really upset."

Jaemin hums in acknowledgement, nothing the way your speech is slowing with fatigue, "I like when you yell at me."

You laugh in surprise, "w-what?!"

He keeps you in a calm state, continuing to lull you to sleep with the slow circular patterns against your back. He responds quietly, "well, no. I like your complaints and our mundane arguments. It reminds me that we don't have bigger problems to be fighting about. We have a good life together, we're lucky. I love the reminder that I'm not some stupid, single guy living alone now. I'm a husband, I'm your husband and this is our home. I love it."

"You’re such a sap at 1 in the morning," you whisper, your words slurred from sleep, "I love you though."

Jaemin feels his eyes getting heavy and can't fight the smile when he hears your breathing even out. You're fast asleep again and his heart soars, "I love you more, honey."

#kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #nct #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct timestamps #nct x reader #nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct dream fluff #jaemin x reader #jaemin imagines #jaemin fluff #jaemin blurbs #jaemin drabbles #jaemin timestamps

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junkissed · 2 years ago

Text

leaning on the everlasting arms

member — childhood best friend! pastor's son!joshua x f reader genre — angst, smut, some fluff, bible college au word count — 10.3k (my first fic over 10k wowie!!) synopsis — as kids growing up in the same church, you and joshua were inseperable, until you got to an age where it was considered immoral for girls and boys to be friends. when you find him again just before graduation, he's different than you remember; but so are you. content warnings — female reader, she/her, reader is implied to be smaller (i'm sorry), discussion of gender roles & religion, no religion is mentioned by name but it's heavily implied to be a form of christianity, reader & shua are both seniors in college, reader wears skirts/dresses but not really by choice, this whole thing is pretty blasphemous oops smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, virgin!joshua x virgin!reader, mutual masturbation, phone sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (reader receiving), hints of a voice kink, size kink, praise, begging, really vanilla missionary but it's hot, nicknames (sweetheart, baby, angel) notes — although i am no longer religious, this is partially based off of my own experiences with the extremely traditional christian church i was raised in. however, please keep in mind that this is fiction and does not reflect my beliefs nor joshua's beliefs so don't take the plot too seriously. this piece is not meant to discuss whether certain religions are "right" or "wrong" so please do not comment/send me asks trying to start a debate! we're all just here for a little sexy time with shua it's not that deep note #2 — for those who aren't familiar, the title is the name of a hymn and i thought it was funny bc joshua big sexy arms hehehe

as far back as you could remember, joshua was your closest friend.

his father was the pastor of the church your family went to, and as luck would have it you were both in the same grade, so it wasn’t long before you became inseparable. you saw him at minimum three times a week: sunday morning, sunday evening, wednesday evening.

you spent most of your childhood together. sitting next to each other at every service, sharing your bibles with each other whenever one of you left them at home, sneaking donuts away from the box at the table outside the sermon hall that was supposed to only be for the adults.

you did everything together, and told each other everything. that is, until you reached middle school. boys and girls weren’t allowed to sit in the same services anymore, and you had to stay in separate buildings for every church camp and conference.

the worst part was you didn’t even understand why. what did they think you were gonna do with him? kiss him? no amount of money in the world could get you to do that! joshua was your best friend. who else were you supposed to climb trees and build forts and sneak donuts with? kissing was stupid.

when you asked your mom about it, she told you the same thing everyone else did: about how men of god had a different path and needed to hear different messages in order to grow up to lead their own churches one day. you thought it was stupid. what if a woman wanted to lead a church, why are men the ones that have to do it? but she would just shake her head and tell you it's just the way things work in the church, you'll understand when you're older.

you were allowed near him less and less until the only time you were able to see him was at the after-service brunch with his family, and even then that began to happen less and less as the years went on.

and of course it was church rules, so there was no arguing with them because that would mean arguing with god, and who were you to question his authority? there would be no special exception for you, no matter how much you protested to your mom that you would never, ever think about joshua like that. in a fit of anger one day you blew up at her, shouting that she had had friends of the opposite gender when she was in high school, so why couldn’t you? it wasn’t fair. but she had just sighed and stared out the window, clearly ending the conversation. many years passed before she finally told you about her life before she came to church, recalling all the times she had been hurt by men she had loved and trusted. you understood then why she had wanted to keep you sheltered and safe, but you still didn’t agree. but then again, if you had been allowed to do what you wanted then maybe things would never have ended up the way they did. perhaps you have her to thank.

back then, all you could do was hold on to the little time you had with him until eventually you stopped seeing him altogether.

more summers passed and you started spending all of your time memorizing bible verses with your fellow “women of christ”, missing the way you used to spend your time with your best friend.

but then you went off to bible college like had always been planned for you, and everything changed. instead of continuing to follow the strict schedule that was laid out for you, you finally got a little taste of freedom, and you realized what you’d been missing all this time. everything that you’d been taught was sinful, evil, wicked, was what brought you more pleasure than you’d ever known was possible.

you still had to pretend to be a good girl for the people around you, who, for reasons you couldn’t comprehend, were still dedicated to their life of purity. or at least they acted like it. maybe everyone was secretly just like you, hiding their sins behind a friendly smile and a firm handshake every sunday morning.

you weren’t hurting anyone with the things you did in private, and the feeling of rebellion was a kind of satisfaction you didn’t know you were allowed to feel. you were an adult, making your own choices now and facing whatever consequences that came with them.

there was only one consequence. for some reason, all the impure thoughts you had always centered around joshua. no matter what dirty books you read or videos you watched, the man you always pictured giving it to you was joshua.

you hated that after all these years, everything still came back to him. you fought it, tried imagining actors or celebrities in his place instead; characters from your books and movies and shows, anyone but him. you wanted to save whatever memories you had left of him, think of him in a good light like you used to when you were younger, but the way he plagued your mind was worse than the ones in the book of exodus.

but now, in your final year of college, you thought you had finally gotten yourself under control.

that is, until you were leaving one of your bible lectures and all the control you’d convinced yourself that you had crumbled away in mere seconds when you saw a startlingly familiar face standing by the door. a face you hadn’t seen in far too long.

“joshua?”

“hey,” he says with a smile, like no time has passed at all. like it’s been hours since you’ve seen each other, not years.

there are so many things you want to say, so many things you want to ask him, but you’re frozen in place. why is he here? where has he been? how did he find you again?

“it’s been a while,” he says with an awkward laugh when you don’t say anything.

you nod, still in a daze. “yeah. quite a while.”

he smiles. “well, anyway, i’ve got a meeting to go to in a bit, but… i just wanted to see you.”

“oh,” you say. what else is there to say? what can you say to make up for the years lost that you’ll never get back?

he looks at his watch, the conversation clearly coming to an end.

“can i give you my phone number?” he says. a deep shade of pink creeps into his cheeks but he either doesn’t notice or purposely doesn’t acknowledge it. “maybe we can talk sometime, catch up.”

“i– yeah,” you manage. god, it’s so good seeing him again. “yeah, that would be really nice.”

you’ve given up on homework for the night, spending your entire afternoon in a daze since you ran into joshua.

so many years, yet you still can’t get his smile out of your head.

you close your eyes, hand dipping below the waistband of your pajama pants automatically. it’s frightening how easily you’re able to bring up a picture of him in your mind, so much clearer than before now that you’ve seen what he looks like all grown up.

and grown up, he has. you had been too stunned to get a good look at him while he was in front of you, but the way he’d changed was immediately apparent and the image in your brain now feels almost unreal.

his hair was a little longer and a little darker, and he was much taller, with broad shoulders that looked way too perfect in a suit jacket. but his face hadn’t changed a bit. maybe his jaw was a little bit sharper and his smile lines were a little bit deeper, but his eyes were the same ones you had always known.

your hand slips lower and lower until you’re gently running the tips of your fingers over the panel of your underwear covering your pussy, moaning quietly when you feel how wet you are already.

no wonder it’s been so hard for you to focus all day. you’ve been too busy pushing away thoughts of joshua burying his fingers in your tight, wet cunt, cooing about how good you’re being for him and how long he’s waited for you.

automatically you feel your other hand grabbing for your phone, desperate to hear his voice again. you hadn’t said more than a few sentences to him earlier, but you feel like you’ll go crazy if you don’t hear him while you’re in this state. so needy for him and only him, and he doesn’t even know it.

your fingers shake as you press the buttons, knowing you’re about to get yourself into a whole world of trouble but not being able to stop yourself.

“hey.” he answers on the second ring. his tone is deep and husky, and your breath catches in your throat for a second, not used to hearing him talk like that; the last time you heard his voice was long before puberty, and you’re still navigating how to talk to this older, sexier joshua.

your first thought is to wonder if his morning voice sounds equally as sexy, but you’re immediately pushing it out of your head when you hear what sounds like him stifling a yawn.

“sorry, did i wake you? it– it’s not important,” you start, ashamed of how needy you are that you’d call him in the middle of the damn night, unprovoked, like some kind of bible group booty call.

the regret is already starting to set in. he probably hasn’t changed as much as you've built him up in your mind, probably still the obedient gentleman he was before. he’s probably already well on his way to being the head of a church, so of course he wouldn’t be thinking about you like that—

“no. it’s fine,” he says, interrupting your thoughts. “always have time for you, sweetheart. what’s up?”

you shove down the butterflies that flutter up in your stomach at the name he calls you, a nickname he always called you when you were kids because he was taught it was always polite to talk sweet to a lady.

except it feels so much different now. talking sweet to a lady as kids was easy, innocent. but one wrong word now would completely change the meaning behind those pretty words of his, and you aren’t sure how to feel about it.

“i… just– it’s been so long, joshie,” you whisper, surprised at the sudden feeling of tears springing up behind your eyes. you didn’t mean for this to happen— you didn’t mean for any of it to happen. not back then, and certainly not now.

he lets the line go quiet, finally sighing into the phone after a long pause. “i missed you… so much.” he murmurs your name, and the way the rumble in his voice goes straight through you immediately reminds you why you called him in the first place.

your free hand toys with the hem of your underwear again, fighting to keep down the whimper that threatens to escape you. “missed you too,” you breathe out. god, you can’t believe you’re doing this. but for the first time in years, the man you’ve been picturing in your head is right here with you, fulfilling some of your fantasies that you never thought could ever come true.

somewhere deep in your stomach you feel guilty about it, getting off to the thought of him and he doesn’t even know it. would he want to know? would he be okay with it? would he hate you forever if he knew?

he clears his throat, snapping you back to attention and you realize you must’ve been silent for a while, thinking.

“um, so, what are you doing?” you ask, trying to seem casual, but it comes out as anything but. nobody calls anyone this late at night and asks what they’re doing without having a dirty reason for doing so.

all you can do is hope he’s either too innocent to pick up on it, or that he doesn’t believe you’re the type of person who would call for something like that. you wonder if he still thinks of you as that perfect little obedient church girl he grew up with.

“nothing, just–working on… stuff,” he replies awkwardly. clearly he doesn’t want to go into detail about what he’s doing, and you’re already afraid you’ve interrupted his sleep; you’re mentally kicking yourself for all the blunders you’ve made, and you haven’t even been on the phone for five minutes.

“what are you doing?” he asks back, and you freeze, trying to come up with some excuse, anything. fuck, think of something!

“h-homework,” you sputter out, attempting to hide your unconfident answer with a cough.

apparently it works, because he hums in response, the line falling quiet. you hear the rustling of papers on his end, and you press your fingers harder against your cunt, heartbeat racing in your ears.

your fingers brush against your clit a little rougher than you intend, and a little whine escapes your lips, catching you off guard. you slap a hand over your mouth, hoping it had been too quiet for him to hear and he hadn’t been paying attention.

“are you…?” he asks suddenly, and your cheeks flush, caught red-handed in your sinful act.

you clear your throat, praying (both metaphorically and literally) that he doesn’t notice anything off about you. “am i what?”

his silence on the other end of the phone speaks volumes.

“joshua, oh my god, no, i–”

“what did you just say?”

you freeze. “what… did i say?”

when he speaks again, his tone is even. “don’t you know it’s a sin to take the lord’s name in vain, sweetheart?”

that nickname again, and now you know he’s doing it on purpose. innocent, pretty words, completely changed in a split second.

you let out a short laugh, scrambling to find a cover. “must’ve forgot then.”

he hums. “i remember you spent a whole month trying to memorize the ten commandments. we must’ve been what, eight or nine? you wouldn’t have forgotten. i may not have seen you since we were kids, but i’ve still known you most of my life.”

“it was an accident, you know how it is. just slips out. of course i remember them all.”

he tsks, and it feels like your heart stops. “did you forget that lying is a sin, too? you’re two for two now, wanna try for a third?”

damn him! damn his good memory and damn his stupid witty comebacks and damn the way he so quickly manages to unravel you.

you scowl and don’t respond to his question, your silence enough of an answer for joshua to know he’s right.

“why did you call me tonight?” he asks calmly.

you answer truthfully this time. “just wanted to hear your voice again. i really did miss you.”

the phone goes quiet again, and for a second you’re afraid he’s hung up, but then you hear him exhale. “it’s late. what are you doing?”

“i’m in bed, josh. don’t worry, father, i’m not staying up past my bedtime.”

he chooses to ignore your remark. “in bed doing what?”

you give him a half-suppressed laugh. “in bed laying down. what else would i be doing?”

“well, with the way you were trying to hide your moans earlier, i would’ve figured you were doing something more exciting. but if you’re just laying down, then i don't want to keep you long, might as well hang up…”

“no!” you squeak out, cutting him off. you swallow, trying to collect yourself as you repeat the word. “no. fine, whatever, you caught me. but– please, stay.” you can hear the plea in your voice and you know you should be embarrassed at how pathetic you sound, but you aren't. the only thing you can think about is joshua, joshua, joshua, and how good it feels to talk to him again.

“i’m here,” he says softly, and you let your eyes close with a sigh, relieved he’s not going to chastise you. but as much as you’ve both changed as you grew up, deep down you knew he wouldn’t. you figure you could do just about anything and he wouldn’t try to tell you what to do. he’d always been like that, and it’s what you’d loved about him; he never tried to control you or shame you for not acting like the perfect little angel everybody wanted you to be.

you couldn’t say the same about others in the church. maybe that’s why you’d started to drift away from them and why joshua’s friendship coming to an end had left you so devastated. he had been the one and only person you could always count on, and they had not.

“are you still there?” he asks gently, and you realize you’ve been quiet for too long thinking.

“yeah,” you say finally.

“are you still touching yourself?”

you pause, stifling a gasp, taken aback by his forwardness. hearing him say it out loud made everything seem so real, the realization setting in about what you’re actually doing. “n– no.”

and it’s true. your hand has long since dropped away from your pajama pants, too nervous about being discovered to continue.

“well, why not?” he says. “don’t stop on my account.”

your mouth falls open. “i–”

“clearly you wanted something from me when you called. what is it, sweetheart? i can’t help you if i don’t know what it is you want.”

your brain practically short circuits at that, and it takes a very long minute for you to collect your thoughts into a coherent sentence. you want a lot of things, but you don’t know what’s okay to say or not or if he even wants to keep going. which is a silly thought, because he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want to know. it dawns on you that maybe… maybe he’s curious, maybe he’s thinking about you, too.

“what kind of help?” you ask, still testing the waters. you think you have an idea of what he means, but you ask anyway. you’ve never done anything like this with anyone else, only by yourself; not because you didn’t want to, but because you didn’t want it to be with someone who wasn’t joshua.

“you said you wanted to hear my voice,” he says, and you swear his tone has dropped an octave. “then let me talk to you.”

you whine a little, still holding back but not putting in as much effort to hide it. “m’kay.”

“would it make you feel better if i told you i’m hard right now?”

you suck in a breath. “yeah?”

“yeah,” he says. “just thinking about you.”

you feel a rush of emotion at his admittance. pride? satisfaction? whatever it is, it makes your cunt throb, knowing that just the thought of you can get him going.

finally you dare to slide your hand down your pants again, unsurprised when you find your underwear sticking to you with how wet you are. you’re soaking, and you haven’t even done anything yet.

“hold on,” you manage, putting the call on speaker as you set your phone on the table beside your bed, scrambling to shove your pants and ruined panties off and onto the floor.

once free, you pick up your phone and turn off the speaker, holding it to your ear with shaky hands.

“all ready now?” he asks softly, and it reminds you of what he used to say before you’d play pretend games together. always making sure you were ready. he was hot back then, too, and you mentally curse yourself for never realizing it sooner.

you hum. “mhm. comfortable.”

“good,” he says, and you can almost hear him smiling. “go ahead and do whatever you’d like. but i want you to tell me what you’re thinking about right now.”

you squirm a little on the bed as you start to circle your clit with your fingers. “thinking about you, joshua,” you sigh, finally beginning to feel relief.

“yeah?”

“yeah. you look even better than i thought you would,” you groan, picking up your pace a little as you slip your index finger inside your walls.

he chuckles. “oh, really?”

“mhm. god, i never thought i’d be doing this. especially not with you.”

“and why is that, baby?”

the name makes you shiver. you’d imagined him calling you it many times, but hearing him actually say it is completely different.

“because—” you whimper, losing your train of thought when your brain suddenly pictures his fingers inside you instead of your own. “i’m so close already, please—”

his tone is gentle but firm. “i want you to stop now.”

“but– ah, feels so good, shua,” you say, moans spilling out of you, finally letting him hear everything you’ve been holding back.

you hear him curse in that low voice through the phone, and your hand stills for a split second in shock, your eyes widening. as far as you knew, he never swore. but then again, there were a lot of things he never did that you're discovering about him now. looks like you weren’t the only one who changed over the years.

“that’s not my name.”

you sit up a little in confusion, pushing your phone closer to your ear to make sure you’re hearing him right. “huh?”

“my name is joshua. if you’re gonna moan like a sinner about how good it feels when i tell you how to touch yourself, you better use my name properly.” he sounds almost angry, but it only spurs you on even further.

you let his words sink for a second before responding. “yes, sir.”

“fuck,” he moans, he actually moans, and if you weren’t already so far gone you would’ve stopped to listen closer, to ingrain the noise in your brain so you never again forget how he sounds. “what did i just tell you?”

“what, you don’t like being called ‘sir’? thought you wanted to be a pastor, joshua,” you say with a smirk, and you know he hears the mischief in your voice, daring him to give you what you want.

it’s probably a good thing he’s not physically in the room with you, because there's no way you would have been able to muster up the courage to say something like that to his face. you wouldn’t have dared to even look him in the eyes, but being on the phone gives you a head rush. because with only his voice and not seeing his face, you can convince yourself that he still isn’t real, that this whole phone call and even your meeting earlier had just been an elaborate figment of your horny imagination, your denial being the only thing saving your last shred of dignity.

“didn’t realize you’d grow up to be even more of a brat than you were before,” he scoffs, and your cunt pulses.

“what are you doing right now?” you say, a little desperately. the change of subject isn’t very subtle but you don’t care. you won’t lie, you’ve been curious since the start of what he’s doing but he’s been so focused on you he hasn’t said anything about himself. you want to know everything about him— how he’s moving his hands, where he puts pressure, what he thinks about to get himself closer and closer.

he grunts unceremoniously. “i’m fucking my hand and pretending it’s you.”

“me too,” you whimper, closing your eyes as you focus on the movement of your fingers.

after a while he stops responding, and you can hear his heavy breaths over the line matching with your own gasps for air as you curl your fingers inside of you. you figure he must be getting close, but you ask him anyway, because you want to hear him say it.

“yeah– fuck, so close,” he chokes out, and the way his voice gets higher as he lets out a whimper is what finally makes you come undone.

with a moan of his name—his full name—you cum, clenching around your fingers as you struggle to keep your hand moving. your wrist is starting to cramp up a little from the position you’ve been in, but the pleasure coursing through you is more than worth it. it’s almost dizzying, more powerful than any orgasm you’ve had before and when you finally remove your fingers from your aching cunt your head is spinning and your heart is pounding.

you can hear a muffled string of curses through the phone and you know he’s right behind you. thoughts of him sitting on his bed run rampant in your head, imagining his stomach covered in milky cum and his pretty, pretty lips parted as he catches his breath.

the silence is heavy as you feel yourself come back down from your high. you struggle to find something to say after… whatever that just was, so you say the only thing that’s on your mind.

“i really did miss you, joshua,” you say quietly. unlike before, there’s not a hint of teasing in the way you say his name now.

and he sighs contentedly, finally hearing his name on your lips like he always wanted to. “i know. i missed you too.”

you both say your goodbyes and good nights quickly, still basking in enough of the remnants of your orgasms to not be too awkward about it. but after you’re settled in bed (for real, this time) and about to fall asleep, you can’t help but wonder if things between you and joshua will ever be anything but awkward.

a memory surfaces: you and joshua running around at the park behind the church after a sunday evening service, no older than kindergarteners, laughing and playing until you collapse on the grass. your mom called for you both to get ready to go home, and no you’re not allowed to have a sleepover because it’s a school night but maybe this weekend if his mom is okay with it. before you ran off, he thrust his pinky out towards you and you shook on it, making a pact to always be best friends, even when you can’t have sleepovers. it didn’t ever occur to either of you that there might come a day where you wouldn’t be best friends.

you don’t remember what prompted him to make the pinky promise, but you know he’s never broken it. and you can only hope that he hasn’t forgotten it.

it’s a few days later at one of your bible study groups when you see him next, and yet again you’re caught off-guard like a deer in headlights.

you’re sitting with a group of other ladies, annotating material for a test you couldn’t care less about when you hear your name called out– a familiar deep voice you can only pray doesn’t belong to who you think it belongs to.

oh, but it does belong to him, alright. it feels like you’ve gotten the wind knocked out of you when you turn around and see joshua standing behind you, a warm smile on his face that makes you doubt anything ever happened. maybe it really was all just a delirious dream, too many years of yearning built up into one intense wet dream.

he puts a hand on your shoulder lightly, turning you away from the rest of the ladies. “hey, can we talk somewhere?”

and oh shit it was definitely not a dream.

your cheeks burn as you excuse yourself from the table, packing up your bible and pens and shoving everything in your bag as quickly as you can. you can almost hear the snickering already, the gossips whispering to each other that you must have done something unspeakable if the top-student, pastor’s son, joshua hong has to speak with you privately. ah, if only they knew.

you only wish you could go back there and wipe the smirks off of all their faces and tell them about what the perfect little gentlemen they all pretend they don’t have crushes on was doing on the phone with you last night. you wouldn’t do that, not in a million years, but just the thought of it is satisfaction enough.

joshua leads you down the hall to a room that looks like an empty office. he opens the door for you, then closes it softly behind you.

“whose is this?” you ask, glancing around the room.

“it’s… mine,” he says almost shyly, gesturing idly to a little engraved nameplate on the desk. joshua hong, pastor’s assistant. because of fucking course he would be.

“oh.”

he clears his throat, and in that moment you realize he’s just as nervous as you are. “listen…” he starts, taking a pause. “about the other night–”

“are you gonna kick me out?” you interrupt.

his brows knit together in confusion. “what?”

“are you gonna expel me?”

“no?” he says, still looking at you, baffled. “why would i do that? i don’t even think i have the power to, even if i wanted. which, for the record, i don’t.”

you don’t reply, focusing your gaze on the carpet instead.

he frowns. “is that really how you think of me? that i just go around tattling to my dad? from that… conversation, i thought it was clear i’m not like that anymore.”

the tips of your ears are burning at the memory of all the things you said to each other over the phone. but it never occurred to you that maybe he was just as sinful as you had been.

you stay quiet, the silence stretching on as shame and embarrassment and a hundred other emotions swirl in your mind and you struggle to figure out what to say.

luckily for you he fills the silence himself. he exhales, looking down at a stack of papers on the desk. “god, you… you don’t know how much i missed you. i thought about you all the time.”

“so did i,” you manage to whisper. “in more ways than you know.”

he gives you a teasing smile. “oh, i have a feeling i do know.”

you hold back a cough and look away, focusing your attention on a painting of flowers on the wall. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“if that’s how you wanna play this, fine.”

your curiosity piques, and you look back at him. he motions to the seat in front of the desk, wordlessly asking you to sit. hesitantly you do, and he starts to sit down at the swivel chair behind the desk, but you clear your throat and he glances up.

“can– can you not sit over there?” you ask softly. “feels like i’m being scolded.”

his expression softens a little, and he rolls the chair back into place, opting to sit next to you instead. “of course.”

except maybe you shouldn’t have asked him to do that, because now he’s sitting toe to toe with you and the closeness is overwhelming. at least on the other side of the desk there was enough distance for you to shrink and hide behind, but here, sitting like this, he can see all of you. and you don’t particularly want to be seen right now.

the tension is palpable as he takes his seat, still watching you. you take the moment to study his features: the slope of his nose and the gentle curve of his lips, the way the light catches on his long eyelashes and the way his broad shoulders look in that perfectly tailored sunday morning service suit.

“i always liked you,” he starts, and your gaze shoots up to his eyes. you open your mouth to ask something, but he shakes his head and you immediately fall silent, letting him finish. “i was almost glad when they made us go to different sunday school classes, because i wouldn’t have to sit there and pretend i didn’t have the craziest crush on you.”

“joshua, i–” you trail off, not even knowing what to say.

he pauses, as if debating his next words. “and i know it’s wrong, but i couldn’t get you out of my head when i… y’know.” his cheeks are flushed but he doesn’t look away from you, eyes searching your own for any hesitance or any sign that you don’t want this.

it’s then that you realize that the boldness you had felt hiding behind your phone, he had felt it too. saying words alone in your room at night was easy. sitting in public, in the daylight, and saying those same words to his face was so much scarier. and knowing that you’re both feeling awkward and shy and a little uncertain of how to talk about it gives you the confidence to keep going.

“when you would what?” you pry. you already know the answer but you want to hear it come out of his mouth anyway. you’ve already heard him say it, but something about sitting in his office, in a church, speaking such filth ignites a spark in you that’s completely different from the spark you felt a few nights ago.

he clears his throat and looks you in the eye, maybe gaining a little bit of that confidence, too. “when i would jerk off i would always wish it was your sweet little mouth instead of my own hand.”

you inhale sharply, and that’s when he finally breaks eye contact, his guilt-ridden gaze shifting to the wall behind you as his cheeks burn redder. “i didn’t feel good about it. felt like i was doing it without your permission, and i didn’t want that. i–”

“yes,” you say hurriedly.

he stops short at your interruption, instantly looking back at you. “yes…?”

“yes, you have my permission. whatever you want, joshua, always.”

his eyes narrow, almost imperceptibly, but you recognize it. even after all these years, after so much has changed, you still know his tells. you wonder if he still knows yours.

he murmurs your name in response, almost like a warning. “don’t say stuff like that,” he says, letting out a shaky breath.

“why not?” you ask, feigning innocence. but you know exactly what you’re doing, and you know exactly how you affect him: the same way he affects you.

he looks up at you. “you really are just as much of a brat as you were back then, aren’t you?” he says with just a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“why don’t you find out?”

he groans, leaning back in his chair. “do you know how long i’ve wanted to kiss you?” he says finally.

“probably just as long as i’ve wanted to kiss you,” you counter, and he raises an eyebrow.

you both stand up at the same moment, closing the distance in less than a second.

you stare at his chest in front of you to avoid his eyes, until he brings up a hand and gently tilts your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“are– you gonna get in trouble?” you breathe, heartbeat pounding in your ears as you stare at his perfect, perfect lips.

he hums, and it sends a shiver down your spine at the close proximity. “are you still giving me permission?” he asks, and you quickly shake your head yes.

“always.”

he smooths his thumb across your cheek. “then i won’t be in any trouble at all."

and then his hand moves to hold the back of your neck and he's tilting his head and bringing his lips towards yours and then finally, after years of dreaming about it and even more years of denying it, you're finally kissing joshua and there's so many things happening at once that you can't seem to focus on anything because your mind is so full of everything and nothing and joshua and it all just feels so right.

you’re melting in his arms and falling into his touch and enjoying every fucking second of it. your heart speeds up when his hands slide behind your back, wrapping around your body to pull you closer to him, pressed chest to chest.

he pulls away to kiss you again, and again, and again, and you decide you’d be content to be like this forever, standing in his office in the church building making out like you’re the only two people on earth.

but finally his lips leave yours, and he takes a tiny step backwards, heaving out a shaky breath as he looks you in the eyes. “what are we gonna do now?”

your heart plummets, doubts racing through your mind. did he not like it? does he not like you? did you really just ruin everything? why did he stop? why did he ask that—

but all your questions are answered in an instant when he coughs and you look down, finally noticing the prominent bulge in his dress pants. oh. that.

when you look back up at him his cheeks are flushed bright red, and he immediately begins to apologize.

“shua,” you call out to him, repeating his name the way you know he likes. “joshua. don’t worry about it. it’s fine.”

in fact, you find it incredibly flattering, that just a few kisses and gentle touches could get him this worked up. maybe it really has been you all along.

with a surge of confidence, you step back towards him, wrapping your arms around him and leaning to kiss him. “are you busy today?” you murmur, your cheek brushing against his.

he shudders, hands automatically finding your waist and pushing your hips against his own. “no. are you?”

you sigh, kissing the corner of his mouth. “not anymore.”

“fuck,” he curses, his grip on your body tightening “you really want to…?” he asks, almost shyly, as if he’s in denial this is really happening.

“absolutely,” you say, and you’ve never meant anything more in your life.

in a second he’s got you shoved against his desk, sending papers flying to the floor as he lifts you by your ass to sit you down on top of it. your kisses turn rougher and needier, your hands grabbing at anything you can reach to ground yourself: his hair, his shoulders, his back.

finally he breaks free, dropping to his knees in front of the desk. “please, let me eat you out.”

you moan out loud, probably too loudly for the thin walls of the office. but the visual of him on his knees to do anything other than pray drives you mad, and you need more of him, desperately. “joshua, please.”

he pushes your skirt up your thighs, moving it out of his way so he can stare eye to eye with your pussy. you whimper and instinctively try to hide your face in embarrassment, but something tells you he wouldn’t like that, so you resist, keeping your hands firmly planted on the edge of the desk.

“fuck, you’re soaking,” he says, his voice broken. “you’re so perfect.”

his hands reach up to tug at the hem of your underwear, and he looks up at you, silently asking for permission to continue. you nod eagerly, lifting your hips off the desk so he can slide them off of you, revealing your glistening entrance.

he whines at the sight, pretty lips parted in shock? awe? as if he can’t wait to taste you. he pushes his face into your pussy, gently at first, but when you moan and bring your hand up to his hair he dives deeper.

the moment he attaches his mouth to your clit, you jump, gasping as you try to shut your legs around his head but his large hands keep you held open. his tongue explores every inch of you, moving back and forth, up and down, mapping out your cunt with his mouth.

“fuck, never dreamed you’d taste so good,” he sighs against your pussy, leaning away to take a breath after what feels like forever.

your legs are shaking and your cunt is throbbing as you also try to catch your breath. you’re not used to being touched like this and you’re definitely not used to being touched by joshua. so many thoughts running through your head and not a single one of them coherent enough to put into words. all you can do is weakly whine out joshua’s name and tug on his hair, pleading for him to keep going. you need release, and you don’t want it from anyone but him.

he stands up, his pants wrinkled from kneeling on the floor but still tented with a bulge so uncomfortably large you feel dizzy just thinking about it. you don’t even know if he’s going to fuck you or even if he wants to, but god you want to see his cock so bad. too many restless nights spent thinking about it, and now you might finally have the chance to see it in front of your face.

your mouth waters at the thought, and you start to slide off the desk, but joshua stops you. “what are you…?”

you look up at him, eyes blown wide with lust and you don’t even attempt to hide your eagerness. “please let me suck your dick. joshua, please.”

he whines, running a hand through his hair. “god, i want that so bad, but… i don’t think i can last if you do, and i was really hoping to fuck you.”

you close your eyes and roll your head back, moaning at his vulgar confession. but he sighs, and he sounds almost defeated, and you look back at him quickly, afraid he’s suddenly changed his mind.

“i’m not—prepared,” he admits, and you tilt your head in confusion before it sinks in what he means.

“ah. don’t suppose you would have any condoms lying around, would you, mr. pastor’s assistant?” you ask playfully, and he shoots you a glare.

“brat,” he mutters under his breath, but you hear it, and your walls clench in response. “no, i don’t have any. not interested in anybody else, so… no reason to.” he looks like he has more to say, more serious things to say, but he keeps his mouth shut, his eyes searching your face nervously.

your stomach flips at his words, feeling your cheeks heating up. you hadn’t thought you would ever get this far, and especially not with him. because of the kind of school you were at, it wasn’t like the people here were doing the kind of things you’ve been doing—at least not publicly. even if you’d wanted to hook up with somebody (which you didn’t), everyone in your vicinity would shame you for even bringing it up. you may have experience with yourself, but anything with anyone else is completely new territory for you.

you fall silent, not sure how to continue the conversation as all your newfound confidence begins to crumble. what were you thinking? caught up in the heat of the moment, saying things you weren’t sure you meant. you were in love with him: that much you were sure of. but everything that comes after that is too new, too scary, at least for right now. you can barely even comprehend that he just went down on you, but you know you enjoyed it and honestly, you’d give anything for him to do it again. but there’s too much going on inside your head for you to even begin to process that right now.

he calls your name and you blink, looking back at him anxiously. “we… don’t have to. right now, or even at all,” he says gently. the tips of his ears are burning red but his voice is calm and steady.

“joshua, i want to,” you start, clasping your hands tightly together in your lap to give you something to focus on other than the way he’s watching you so intently. “but i– don’t know how.”

“neither do i, baby,” he says. the nickname makes you shiver; even though it’s not the first time he’s called you that, especially after the other night, you’re still not used to it. but somehow it’s comforting, and it makes you relax knowing that he’s still the same person you grew up with, the same person that knows almost everything about you. you’ve both changed so much, but deep down you haven’t changed at all.

he pauses when you don’t say anything back. “we’ll wait, then,” he says and wraps his arms around you, lightly at first but then squeezing when you don’t try to pull away. “we have all the time in the world. no need to rush.”

“we… do?” your voice is laced with uncertainty.

he smiles. “of course. i let you go once already, i’m not letting it happen again. never again.”

you turn your head away from him and hide your face, flustered by how sincere he sounds. he hums, and you can hear the pout in his tone so you fight your embarrassment and turn back towards him to ask the question that’s been weighing on your mind since you first saw him days ago. “this is gonna sound so stupid, but… shua, what are we?”

first you were childhood friends, you were best friends, and then you were nothing. right place, wrong time? and then you were… doing something on the phone together, whatever you could call that. and now you were just sitting on top of his desk, sweating from having almost had sex. how do you even begin to put a label on this?

“well, i’d like to be yours,” he says shyly, and just like that all your questions are answered with six small words. you realize it doesn’t matter what label you have; as long as you have him, that’s all that matters.

“yes,” you breathe, lifting your eyes to finally meet his and you see all the love in his eyes threatening to spill over.

he reaches up to brush a piece of your hair out of your face. “i’m just glad i finally have you back,” he says with a soft smile as he watches you. “we’ll go slow, we’ll wait— whatever you want. whatever it takes not to lose you again.”

you bury your face in his chest with a whine. you’re hiding again, but even the uncomfortable scratchiness of his dress shirt can’t pull you away from him.

“besides, i don’t want our first time together to be in my stupid little office,” he chuckles and holds you tighter against him, pressing a kiss to the top of your head that makes your heart flutter. “you deserve better than that.”

you stay there for a long moment, hugging him like it's the last time you'll ever see him. but this time you know it won't be the last. it's the first, the first of hopefully many, many more.

when you feel like you've been standing there too long, you clear your throat and lean your head back to look at him. "so, um… now what?"

he pauses, those pretty lips turned up in a smile. "do you have plans for lunch?"

"no, i just had that study group you pulled me from. i'm free for the rest of the day."

his smile widens. "perfect. you still like grilled cheese, or did you grow out of that, too?"

you laugh, putting your chin on his shoulder as you hug him. "i haven't changed that much, shua."

after taking a while to collect yourselves (waiting for his erection to go back down so you can leave together without looking suspicious), you walk out of joshua’s office the happiest you've felt in years.

he'd wanted to hold your hand, too, but you were still anxious about anyone seeing you together that you'd refused him until you made it to his car. you were probably just being paranoid and no one would care about two responsible adults talking to each other, but all the time you'd spent hiding from your peers had put you on edge.

so, it wasn't until you were safely out of the church parking lot and in the driveway of his apartment complex that you let him touch you, kissing you over the cupholders with his hands gently holding your neck.

it took everything in you not to climb over the center console and sit on his lap in the driver's seat and kiss him as hard and as deeply as you really wanted, but you knew once you started you wouldn't be able to stop. and besides, he still didn't have any condoms. it didn't bother you either way, since you'd been taking birth control since high school to help with your periods, but if it was what he wanted you'd be more than fine with it.

you don't know what you'd been expecting the inside his apartment to look like; probably some tacky cross-stitch bible verses or a wooden cross hanging on the wall, but his apartment just looked like… a normal apartment. a very clean apartment, actually, though you weren't surprised. he'd always been a neat, organized kid, and it looked like that was one thing he hadn't grow out of.

you watch as he puts his keys on a hook by the door, following him into the kitchen and sitting at one of the chairs.

he grins at you as he opens his refrigerator, pulling out the ingredients for your lunch before taking out a pan.

"shua…" you interrupt him, standing up and walking towards him slowly. "you're not— really thinking about grilled cheese sandwiches right now, are you?"

he hums, eyes following your every movement as the pan sits cold and abandoned on the stove. "there are… other things on my mind, yeah."

"so why are you still trying to make grilled cheese sandwiches?"

by now you're close enough to stand toe to toe with him, and you're sure he can feel the heat radiating off your body when he wraps his hands around your waist, backing you against the kitchen counter. "because i wanna make you lunch. maybe i just wanna spoil my girl a little bit."

a shiver runs down your spine at the new name he calls you. never in a million years did you think this is where you'd end up.

"i think you have all the time in the world to spoil me later, joshua," you mumble, leaning in closer and closer until your lips touch.

in a flash he's hoisting you up and sitting you on the counter. his mouth never leaves yours as you slide your legs around his hips to drag him closer, kisses growing deeper and more desperate now that you can finally be alone together.

his hands slide down your body, tugging at the hem of your shirt and only breaking apart for a second to slide it over your head before his lips are crashing against yours again.

your hands find his hips, experimentally tugging on his belt to see his reaction. immediately he pulls away from you,

cheeks flushed and breathing heavily. "sweetheart, i still don't have any condoms. if you really want to now, then we gotta run to the store first."

“i’m on the pill,” you burst out, hoping he gets the message. maybe he has some other reason for wanting to, but you're too impatient to wait for who knows how long it'll take to go to the store, and you don't think you'll be able to keep your hands off him for that long. you don't think you'll be able to keep your hands off of him for even a few seconds.

his face goes blank as he processes your words, struggling to understand if you’re saying what he thinks you’re saying. “you’d let me…?”

you grab onto his arms, a desperate attempt to pull him closer, to feel more of him. “raw, yes, joshua. just—please, i need you,” you beg him, cunt throbbing with neglect as you wait for him to answer.

he buries his face in your shoulder with a groan, gripping his hands underneath your thighs and sliding you off the counter.

with a shriek you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, holding on tightly as he starts to walk out of the kitchen carrying you. "joshua! what the hell are you doing?"

his face is still pressed against your shoulder, and you can feel his lips tickling your bare skin as he speaks. "i'll fuck you on my kitchen counter any day of the week, baby, but i want to have you for the first time in my bed, please?"

his voice is low and whiny, just as desperate for you as you are for him and it makes you moan with excitement.

he finds his way into his room, stumbling a little when he accidentally runs you into the wall instead of through the doorway, but you just giggle and kiss him harder until he finally drops you on his bed, immediately unbuttoning his shirt.

you run your hands along his chest as he leans over you, feeling the toned muscle that feels almost wrong to be seeing. his physical changes are much more obvious to you now that he's like this, and you know the image will fuel your fantasies for weeks.

your hands move to his belt again and this time he allows it, letting you unbuckle it and toss it away before slowly lowering the zipper. he's already hard again, and your heart races when you put a little bit of pressure on the seam and he lets out a guttural groan in response.

his arms flex as he reaches down to slide your skirt off, and you help him and kick the fabric away, leaving both of you in nothing but your underwear.

joshua pauses, letting his gaze wander your body as you look away shyly. he hums and you look back at him in confusion. "don't hide from me, sweetheart, please," he says, but it comes out more like a whine; not like he's asking, but like he's begging. it's honestly the hottest thing you've ever heard, and even with your nerves he makes it hard to resist.

"dreamt about this for fucking years. years," he moans as he leans over to kiss your chest, reaching behind your body to undo your bra and let it fall away. you whimper when he brings his hands up to cup your breasts, wrapping his mouth around one of your nipples as he starts to slowly grind against your clothed pussy. you can already feel yourself soaking through your panties, and you're sure he can feel it, too.

his hands are like nothing you've ever felt, and you roll your head back against his pillows, arching into him as he massages your breasts with his large hands. you'd noticed them before, but you hadn't realized just how big they were until they were on top of you and made your body seem almost tiny beneath his massive palms.

"shua…" you breathe, tentative hands reaching up to touch his shoulders.

he looks up at you, mouth covered in spit. "yes, angel?"

you whimper at the nickname. no angel you'd ever learned about in sunday school had acted like you are right now, begging a man to fuck you. and on top of that it was before marriage, too; surely if there was a god they would be extremely disappointed in you. but right now you didn't care if the entire universe was disappointed in you, as long as joshua hong wasn't.

it takes you a few more seconds to build up your courage, but finally you open your mouth and tell him, "joshua, please— fuck me."

he slides forward to kiss you again, before sitting back and repositioning himself between your legs. "anything you want, sweetheart."

he lines his cock up at your entrance, and just before you think he's about to push into you, he looks up at you instead.

"i love you, so much," he says, and you have to fight the urge to hide your face as you grin and giggle like a fucking schoolgirl; like the past version of you would have, if she'd had any sense and figured everything out sooner.

and, like always, he asks, "ready?", and you nod, and it's better than you could've ever imagined.

the whines that leave his mouth drive you close to the edge already as he begins to thrust into you, slowly, gently, just a little bit at a time but it still leaves you gasping from his size.

he keeps moving at a snail's pace until you reach up, fumbling to grab at his bicep as tears nearly spill out of your eyes and beg him, "joshua, more, please."

he leans over you, pressing his body flat against yours as he starts to rock his hips faster, and you cry out from so much pleasure and so much emotion hitting all at once.

"wanted you so fucking bad, for so long, and now you're finally here," he whispers, his thrusts never faltering despite how close in proximity he is to your face.

you whine as your hands claw at his back, digging in as you struggle to hold on and he curses again, pushing into you harder.

"you said i was better than you imagined," he groans, one hand coming up to caress your cheek. "but you're even better than i imagined. you're a fucking angel, so fucking beautiful."

you gasp his name, falling into your orgasm from his words alone as you clench impossibly tight around him. you always thought of him as the nice kid, the rule follower, but here he is, fucking you through the hardest orgasm of your life and saying such filthy things in between praises and compliments.

"jo-oshua, please!" is all you can manage, still struggling to recover before he crests into his own high with a whimper. his eyes scrunch up as he releases inside you, eyelashes fluttering and sweat dripping down his temples, and you think it's the most beautiful sight you've ever seen.

a constant stream of curses fall from his lips and you swallow them with yours, kissing him as if you're afraid he might disappear into thin air if you don't hold onto him tight enough.

his breaths are shallow when his mouth falls away from you, resting his forehead on your shoulder with a long exhale.

"god…" he starts, then stops and laughs, and you have to tug on his hair to make him face you again.

"what are you laughing at?" you say, cheeks growing hot when he looks at you with droopy, hooded eyes and a lopsided smile.

"nothing," he laughs. "just god. what a funny word."

"and why is that, baby?" you say as you try to hold back a smile, testing out the nickname.

he grins. "because it gave me you. or maybe it didn't. who knows?"

you finally laugh along with him, remembering what he'd said to you on the phone that feels like years ago. "don’t you know it’s a sin to take the lord’s name in vain, sweetheart?”

the church is humming with activity as you make your way to the front pew, carrying two donuts in your hand. people greet you as they mingle about the hall, talking and laughing. some wave excitedly when they see you, others simply smile and offer their hand for you to shake with a friendly “good morning and god bless!”

being a pastor’s wife isn’t something you ever imagined yourself doing, but then again, a lot of things in your life you never imagined doing. you never imagined seeing joshua again, and you never imagined marrying him, either. you certainly didn’t imagine taking over your father-in-law’s church when he retired and decided it was time for joshua to take his place as head of the church. you always knew he would someday, whether he wanted to or not, but you’d be happy to spend the rest of your life by his side no matter where he was or what job he had.

you’d been almost nervous when you decided it was finally time to tell your parents you had been seeing each other, but to your surprise they had been overjoyed at the news. both his family and yours were “just so glad when it happened to be you!”, saying things like “we’d always known it would happen, back since you were children!”, and “so when are we going to get some beautiful little grandchildren to take to sunday school!”

it had been five long and happy years since that very first phone call, and every minute you spend with joshua has been the best of your life.

you walk up the steps to the stage where your husband is waiting, flipping through his notes for the morning’s sermon. you hand him his donut with a grin, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. he smirks at you, imperceptible to everyone else but you can tell what it truly means.

everybody in the congregation always talks you’re the perfect example of a happy, god-loving couple. such nice looking people, so well put together. but behind closed doors, they’d be horrified by the things you say and do together. wolf in sheep’s clothing, as is your husband’s favorite parable to preach.

it’s not the life you imagined, but it’s perfect to you and him.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging with tags or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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dallaji · 1 year ago

Text

Hope we make it to the Cloud.

♡ bada lee x idol!reader / NSFW❗

SUMMARY: Amidst an identity crisis, you try to adequately prepare for your solo comeback. The lyrics have already been perfected, the song recorded and the visuals pinpointed. However, your creative team is not fully convinced by the choreography you came up with. They decide to send over one Bada Lee to help you finetune your jumbled ideas and bring harmony to your vision. You just have one specific request: the routine must include a trampoline.

WORD COUNT: 10k

CW: eventual smut, bada is 100% a giver and not a receiver in this jsyk (but i promise it makes sense in context), hinted voyeurism.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was meant to be pure smut but it became much longer than i intended ... oops for that . . . lets just roll with it!!1 also the choreo described is heavily inspired by tinashes bouncin.

- you don't care about those 7k words worth of boring build up? skip to this line: <After ten minutes of complete silence, Bada was the one to speak in a hushed voice: “What happened?”>

————— ୨୧ —————

The first thing you notice is how surprisingly gentle her voice is.

“I’m Bada, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

Bada Lee stood tall in front of you, clad in an oversized jersey, cargo pants and a cap hugging her forehead in such a way her eyes were entirely obscured from your view. She promptly bowed after she spoke. Unsure where to look, you dropped your gaze and followed suit; vaguely aware of her seniority and bowing deeper.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” You tried to keep your own voice as neutral as possible, but agitation bubbled in your chest as you felt your manager’s prodding, eager eyes behind you. “Thanks for being here.”

Your team was much more excited about this collaboration than you were.

None of the aggravation you felt was Bada’s fault. It had been three weeks of your creative team dismissing every choreo draft you came up with: Three weeks of sleepless nights at the dance studio, tiring out yourself and your background dancers. Three weeks of browsing through videos sent in by other choreographers across the country, attempting to mix bits and pieces together but none of it ever feeling right. Three weeks filled with reminders of a deadline looming over your head. Three weeks of your team letting you know they had little confidence in this comeback. Your last attempt at showing them what you had come up with had ended up in a shouting match. Your manager, who you otherwise got along with just fine, bluntly stated that, perhaps, this concept simply wasn’t something you could pull off.

It had left you feeling betrayed. Your creative team had agreed it was time for you to approach a more mature concept, something that you felt was years overdue. But it seemed their definition of mature and yours were wildly different. You had worked hard on perfecting a set of songs to choose from, but you immediately butted heads with the rest of the team. You wanted to do the bouncy and playful R&B track. Your team wanted the EDM track. Eventually they relented, but now seemed hellbent on making it as difficult as possible for your vision to come to fruition. Putting together the visual board for the concept photos and the eventual music video was a similarly arduous process. You had to meet in the middle and sacrifice a lot of your initial ideas, but that procedure was almost pleasant compared to what you were dealing with in regards to the choreography.

Every idea you put forward was promptly shut down. Too complicated. Too boring. No TikTok challenge potential. Too sexy.

And maybe it was true. Your formations weren’t as clean as the ones thought up by a professional choreographer, but you weren’t really given a chance at all. It wasn’t like you were a bad dancer either. Far from it. You picked up choreos incredibly fast and had always played an active part in brainstorming past routines alongside your background dancers. You had more experience than most of your peers, yet you were treated as if you were still the same teenaged trainee from years ago.

“Is that really how you all feel?” You had whispered after your manager dropped that bombshell, searching for an answer in the facial expressions of your creative team. Most of them were not even willing to meet your eyes. “We just need to be realistic.” Your manager stated matter-of-factly. “That other song is still an opt—” “I am not changing the song.” You cut him off. Momentarily, your manager looked like a fish on dry land, gasping for air. “Sorry.” You added quickly, albeit a bit flustered. “Look,” He sighed, “We can do mature without shocking the nation. Let's keep it mild for now and maybe after two or three more singles, you can go all out.” “I haven’t been 18 in years, you know.” You retorted bitterly. Something inside you understood where he was coming from, but you had been obedient since your debut- how much longer should you wait? You didn’t want to sacrifice any more of your creativity, so many years into your career. You had even seen one of your own concepts go to a labelmate instead, your own team dubbing you too “youthful” to pull it off. “Okay, how about this,” He began with a frown, “Let us pick one of the choreographers’ drafts for you. You can finetune it with their guidance.”

Their pick had been Bada. You hadn’t even realized she sent in a draft: at one point you were so overwhelmed you just stopped checking your emails. You also hadn’t bothered to watch it before this meeting. You were genuinely too deep in your feelings about that whole ordeal for that. However, now that she was standing in the studio, tall height towering over you, you couldn’t help but feel a little self conscious.

You had seen Bada around.

After all, she had worked with many of your labelmates before. You had also watched a fair amount of her videos. She was one of the best in the business, and whenever you had downtime to practice freely you scrolled through her routines on Youtube to help stay in shape. As you were facing her, even with half her face hidden, you understood why everyone was so stricken with her. When she had walked into the room she oozed with authority, though not in an obnoxious way.

“Great!” Your manager clapped his hands, effectively breaking your train of thought. “Thank you so much for supporting us, Bada. Shall we jump right in?”

“Sure,” She nodded eagerly, hands wringing together as her body turned towards you. “I kind of wanted to see what you had in mind for this choreo.”

That surprised you, and you were certain your facial expression wasn’t hiding it. Your manager held his breath. “Oh! Well—” You chewed on your lip as you vaguely motioned the corner of the room, trying to find the words. “I wanted to use… I wanted to use a trampoline.”

Bada immediately turned her head to follow your gestures, her eyes landing on the mini trampoline set up in the studio. “A trampoline?” In the background, your manager heaved a sigh.

You purposely ignored him and nodded, slowly: “I can show you, if you want.” You had hoped that sounded more self-assured to her than it did to you.

Bada scratched her chin, still looking off to the trampoline, and then nodded along with you. “I’d love to see it.”

You felt the tension in your chest ebb away. There was no malice to her tone; she seemed genuinely curious.

Then, Bada turned her head towards your manager, her ponytail falling off her shoulder. “I hope I'm not imposing but, I would like this to be a collaborative effort between the two of us. I think it would take the pressure off if you…?” She trailed off with a kind smile, one impossible to say no to.

As if he got doused with cold water, your manager stood up with an urgency. “Privacy! I can give you two some privacy, no problem!” He fussed around, gathering his things. “Just let me know when we can sit in on the finished product.”

The both of you bowed to him as you bid your farewells, watching him leave the studio with a wave. Once the door shut behind him, you could feel yourself exhale in relief. You knew that if your manager was going to sit in on every practice, he would go out of his way to shut down all of your ideas. Without him around, you had more opportunity to champion your vision- at least, you hoped so.

You craned your neck, looking up at the ceiling, before letting your eyes fall shut with a sigh, almost forgetting there was another person in the room.

“They’ve been on your case, huh?”

Bada's soft but clear voice broke you out of your spell, and you turned your head to search for a glimpse of eye contact. Tough luck, as her hat was still in place casting a shadow down her face. There was, however, a knowing smirk playing across her features.

“You have no idea.” You muttered honestly. Bada laughed.

“I don’t want to make you dance a routine you don’t fully stand behind. I did mean it when I said I want this to be a collaborative effort.” Bada spoke carefully, but sincerely, her fingers once again intertwining. “I always wanted to work with you, so it’s an honor.” She added.

If you got a penny for every time you were caught off guard today, you could set some humble savings aside for an early retirement.

It is true that you’ve been sought after, but it wasn’t something you had ever internalized. Hearing it come from someone who herself was heavily sought after, made your face heat up.

“T- thank you. It’s an honor to work with you too.”

She bowed her head humbly, glancing over to the corner of the studio again where the trampoline sat, waiting. “Do you feel comfortable showing me what you have been working on?”

You nodded and rushed to the corner to set up your speaker, and then dragged the trampoline to the center of the room. You were oddly aware of your own presence, and almost felt the urge to make yourself smaller as you moved around. In the meantime, Bada was getting comfortable: she had dropped her things on a nearby table and left out a bottle of water. To her it must be a regular working day, but to you this felt scarier than getting up on stage.

Once you stood behind the trampoline, facing the wide stretched mirror filling up one side of the room, you stole a glance at the choreographer who was now crouched on the floor. She had pulled out a small camera and was setting it up on the edge of the table, making sure the lens was focused on your position. Long fingers fiddled with the buttons, and her tongue was prodding the hollow of her cheek. The angle allowed you to finally catch a glimpse of her eyes.

As if on cue, she glanced up at you. Your eyes met in the reflection of the mirror and your heart raced.

She gave you a soft smile and moved to sit cross-legged on the floor, the camera now fully set up. “I usually record everything, so we can watch it back and give feedback.”

Right, of course.

“Yeah, that’s usually how we operate as well.” You spoke timidly, and it was true. Yet something about having her attention on you felt more intimate. Usually there was at least one other person from your creative team looking on as well.

Trying to come across casual, you tied your hair up in a high ponytail. “What do you think of the song?” You asked curiously.

It was now Bada’s turn to be caught off guard. Her smile faltered and she broke the eye contact you had been sharing, clasping her hands together as she spoke. “I like it.” She began. “A lot, actually. It’s why I wanted to play a part in it. There isn’t anyone doing a song like this nowadays.”

Even though her body language was confusing, you couldn’t find any dishonesty in her voice. What she said made you feel relieved, some of your insecurity fading to the background. It’s why I wanted to play a part in it.

You sent a smile her way even though you weren’t sure she was even looking at you.

Proving you wrong, she smiled back.

“Alright, so,” You gestured to the trampoline at your feet. “The idea is, the other dancers and I all do the same routine. I'll be front and center. Four or six other dancers dance behind me, with their own trampoline.” You gave the trampoline a light shove with your foot, making sure it would stay in place, and then grabbed your phone. “Then you have an idea.”

You looked over your shoulder at Bada and gave her an inquisitive thumbs up. “Ready?” You asked.

Bada pressed a button on the camera and mimicked your thumbs up with a smile. “Ready when you are.”

You faced the mirror again and shook your shoulders a bit, forcing your body to loosen up. After twisting your neck a few times, you hit play on your phone, quickly placing it under the trampoline as the familiar synths of the song started blaring from the speakers. You tried to feel the confidence you were usually able to conjure up on stage, closing your eyes and swaying your hips, ponytail moving from side to side.

As soon as you heard your own voice through the speakers, instrumentals going deeper, you got into position. Your eyes opened up to focus on your own reflection in the mirror as if it was a fan in the crowd watching. Mouthing along to the lyrics, a playful smile on your lips, you hit every move as you had envisioned. Once the chorus came up, you dropped to your knees on the trampoline, grappling the edge as you performed the routine. Pushing back against the springs gave you the velocity to keep your moves fluid, your body twisting and turning, flipping over and hitting the next move. You made sure to move your hips deftly, aware that you had enough curves to allow you to pull it off, and kept your facial expressions in line. It had to look effortless.

You felt your ponytail swing along with your movements as if it were an extension of you, and sat up on the trampoline. The chorus came to an end and you used your arm strength to twist yourself around fast enough, gracefully falling back on your chest whilst keeping your toes en pointe in your sneakers. The tips of your fingers were touching the floor as your legs crossed, moving to rest your elbow on the edge of the trampoline and resting your chin atop your palm. You lip synced to the final words of the chorus, gaze alluring as you finished the move, and the music stopped.

You slowly sat up straight on the trampoline, crossing your legs, and slid your hand underneath to hit pause on your phone. You looked towards Bada expectantly, but the question got stuck in your throat. She was staring at you, mouth slightly agape, with an unreadable expression. For a split second you were reminded of your trainee days, when you had just finished a routine and were met by your choreographers’ stern faces; they wouldn’t spare you a single compliment, and instead listed off every mistake you had made.

But then, Bada blinked once and then twice, as if in a daze, and let out a soft “woah”. She started applauding you, shaking her head in bafflement. You felt your shoulders drop in relief.

“That was incredible!” The choreographer took off her cap, fixing her bangs before putting it back on. “You came up with this?”

You nodded slowly, the tips of your ears glowing hot. “I used to be a gymnast.”

“I can tell—” Bada spoke bluntly, but then snapped her mouth shut as if she said something wrong. “I mean, that was really good. Every part of your body was in command. Your team didn’t like it?”

“They think it’s too much, compared to my usual routines.” You had the urge to go off on a tangent, but ultimately you didn’t know Bada well enough. Unfortunately, you were naturally quite expressive and the disapproving frown on your face was on clear display.

“Too much? I kind of wanted more, actually.” She laughed softly, looking down to where her legs were crossed. You felt your heart skip a beat and bowed your head in lieu of a thanks.

Subsequently, the bright green light of the camera caught your attention. It was still recording.

“Hey, I think the camera is still on.” You spoke before you realized, and hoped it didn’t sound accusatory.

“Huh? Oh!” Her expression was almost akin to a child being caught with a hand in a cookie jar, the way she swiped at the camera to turn it off. “Sorry. Good call.” She mumbled shyly, tucking it behind her.

You weren’t sure what to say next, still flustered at her lofty praises, but luckily Bada broke the momentary silence.

“I had an idea…” She began, her hand rubbing at her chin pensively. “I don’t know if you’ve had the chance to watch my draft yet?”

You shook your head abashedly. “No, sorry, I honestly didn’t get to it.”

“It’s fine.” Bada waved her hands dismissively. “Maybe instead of doing the trampoline routine in every chorus, we could only do it in the middle? Exactly as it is. I wouldn’t change anything. And then for the other two choruses, we could keep some key moves but keep it on the floor.”

You mulled it over for a second, glancing up at the ceiling contemplatively. Using the trampoline the whole way through was not an option, according to your team. They had felt you were toeing the line with ‘raunchy’ much too closely. Perhaps you could find middle ground this way, while still keeping the part of the routine you felt most proud of.

“Okay.” You agreed, nodding slowly. “We would need something special for the final chorus, then.”

“I had another idea for that, if you’re fine with it. Would you like to watch my draft with me?”

————— ୨୧ —————

Her draft was good. Really good, actually.

Bada and you were sitting on the floor next to each other, the taller girl holding her phone out in front of you as the draft played on the screen. You were sitting quite closely together, but not close enough to be touching, a conscious decision on your part. You were a bit too aware of her presence, something about her was heightening your senses in a variety of ways. It wasn’t even as if she was stern or unkind, she just had an aura that intimidated you. At least, that’s what you were telling yourself.

A blonde girl you didn’t recognize was dancing your parts. Six other dancers, one of them being Bada, were in formation behind her performing the choreography perfectly in sync as your song played in the background. While you should really be paying attention to the girl in the center, your eyes couldn’t leave Bada’s figure. In the video she was dressed in loose-fitting cargo pants, just like today, and a crop top. Once again she wore a cap covering half her face, and even a face mask, but her hair hung loose over her shoulders.

You were always impressed by the small movements she was able to squeeze in, emphasizing certain parts in ways the other dancers weren’t able to. However, it was the final chorus that had your hands turn clammy.

The final chorus was a duet formation. Bada, with a quiet confidence in her step, and the blonde girl moved towards each other in the center of the room. They were effectively dancing for each other, the blonde girl whipping her head back as Bada stared her down, swaying their hips together rhythmically. Their steps were coordinated in such a way they almost mirrored, Bada rolling her body one way and the blonde girl moving the other; but it still felt cohesive. It was an intimate choreo. There were a few split moments of hips grinding against crotches, but it never lasted long enough to be straight up inappropriate. Still, you couldn’t help but realize you would have to practice this routine with Bada as well, and you felt yourself getting hot under the collar.

The choreo ended with the blonde girl giving Bada a playful shove, and the taller girl backed away slowly, a saunter in her step, before moving off the screen along with the other background dancers. The video ended and Bada dropped her phone in her lap, not looking at you.

“That was good.” You were relieved your voice came out evenly, and Bada started nodding in her trademark way, hands clasped together. “The formations were really clean and— I loved the final chorus.” You blurted.

She smirked, head raising and meeting your eyes for the second time today. You were starting to feel eager, greedily watching.

“I’m glad to hear. We definitely need to finetune the first chorus, line it up with your routine and all that. I really don’t want to lose your input.”

“That sounds great, thank you.” You felt a surge of gratitude in your chest, and shot her a wide smile. “I’m looking forward to working on this together.”

Bada dropped her gaze again, worrying her lower lip. You felt miffed at the brusque interruption of your shared eye contact but didn't show it.

“I suggest we start with practices tomorrow, we will edit the first chorus as we go,” She whipped out her phone, looking at her calendar. “We should practice the duet together until you’ve got a handle on it, and then I can bring over some of my guys to prep for the actual performances. I know someone for my part. He’s worked with some of your labelmates before, I’m confident he’s right for the job.”

You couldn’t tell if you were anxious at the prospect of practicing such a choreo with Bada, or if you were disappointed that the eventual product wouldn’t be performed with her. It made sense, though. If your label was already worried your concept was too mature for the country, having two women perform such a choreography wouldn’t be received well at all.

“Great. Same time tomorrow, just the two of us again?”

“Same time tomorrow,” The third time she was willing to meet your eyes, and once again with a small smile playing across her features. “Just the two of us.”

————— ୨୧ —————

Working with Bada the past few days has been surprisingly easy.

On the first day, she brought some iced coffee for the both of you and presented it with an exaggeratedly deep bow, holding out the plastic takeout bag in front of her as if she was a lackey presenting you a treasure. You giggled, muttering an incredulous “thank you” as you took the bag from her hands. Through sips of coffee, the both of you fast forwarded through the recordings trying to piece the choreography together. You were able to bounce ideas off of her in a way you never felt comfortable enough doing with other choreographers. Bada was attentive, patient and, above all, eager.

On the second day, you wanted to repay your debt and entered the studio with a box of doughnuts. She let out a surprisingly girlish squeak when you laid the box on the table, and barreled over to grab one. That day she was wearing a beanie instead of a cap, something you inadvertently preferred as you could now lock eyes and take in her features. Sometimes you had the impression she was hellbent on looking anywhere except into your eyes, but you didn’t want to mull it over for too long; some people just had a different way of interacting. Everything else about her still left you with a warm feeling.

Sometimes you both took turns performing for each other. She would pull her beanie further down her head as she took the center of the studio, and each time something inside you would brace itself. You could only watch in awe: her movements were sharp and magnetic, her entire body language changing in the blink of an eye. While your attention should be on her footwork, you were instead hypnotized by the sway of her hips, greedily drinking her in. You chalked it up to her being such a captivating dancer.

However, little could explain how much you relished in her undivided attention. When it was your turn to copy the moves, you made sure to give it your all and put on a show. Without a hat obscuring her eyes, you could tell where her eyes were looking and it wasn’t always on your reflection in the mirror. You swore you could feel her gaze burning in your lower back, but you didn’t mind. It encouraged you to hit your moves a bit harder than you usually would.

“You’re a fast learner,” Bada said at the end of the day, drinking from her water bottle as you watched her throat bob. “Keep it up and you won’t need me anymore.”

You didn’t like the sound of that.

————— ୨୧ —————

By the fifth day, the both of you had started working through the details of the duet.

The familiar song sounded through the speakers, the room filled with the sound of your singing voice and the squeaking of your sneakers on the floor.

You were painfully aware of the way Bada closely danced behind you but you kept your eyes down, forcing yourself to keep track of your footwork. You bent over slightly at the start of the next line, your hips popping out and letting your hair whip to the side as you hummed along to the lyrics. In tandem, Bada moved her hips the opposite direction but gyrated closer to you, her hand coming up to tug her cap lower. You spared the mirror a glance for a split second, realizing Bada was much closer to you than you had realized, but you pushed the thought away.

You looked good together.

“Pause real quick.” She spoke suddenly, stepping away from you and bending over to stop the song. You immediately halted your movements at the command, trying to control the heaving of your chest and willing away the warmth of your cheeks.

She stood up again, meeting your eyes in the mirror before steadying herself behind you, body close to yours.

“You’re doing great, but,” A tentative hand slid to your hip, fingers curling over in a loose grip as she subtly urged it to move to one side. Both your eyes remained locked through the mirror. “I think we should move together in this part. Like this.” She repeated the motion, her grasp on your hip tightening ever so slightly before pulling you flush against her pelvis. Her hips rocked along with yours, and you could only follow.

She hummed close to your ear, and you felt her breathe along the side of your face. “Just like that.” Her voice was quiet, gentle even, though her stare was everything but that. It was intense.

In an attempt to sound casual you replied with an “okay”, but it came out softer than you had hoped for.

Her eyes dropped from the mirror, opting to look down at you directly, but you couldn’t find the confidence to return the favor. “You should do that thing again," she continued quietly, "Where you throw your hair back, but look at me when you do it.”

You repeated your steps, but this time both her hands came down to hold your hips in place. You turned your head as requested, your hair falling over your shoulder as your eyes finally met. Her gaze was intense but undecipherable; she hadn’t been looking at the mirror at all this time.

Bada was so close, unblinking and heady. The thought entered your mind before you fully realized: if you craned your neck you could kiss her. In a careful motion, you felt her hands slide up and down slowly, smoothing along the curve of your hips.

“Perfect.” She said, and it sounded so intimate you felt lightheaded. Usually she voiced her approval with an animated smile and a thumbs up, but she spoke to you as if she was scared you would set off running. “You got it. You want to try that again with music?”

You nodded slowly and her hands dropped from your hips, leaving a burning sensation in their wake. As she bent down to turn the song back on, you brought the back of your hand up to your cheek; checking if it was as warm as you felt. Then you ran your fingers through your ponytail, tightening the hair tie with a sharp tug in an attempt to snap yourself out of whatever daze you had fallen into.

It meant nothing. She had merely workshopped a move and there was no need to feel so nervous.

The final chorus of the song began thumping again and the both of you got into your starting positions. Bada’s presence was palpable behind you, but you tried to force your head back into performance-mode. You kept your moves sharp, lip synced as if the voice came directly from your own throat and smiled playfully at all the right lines.

As the instrumentals of the final chorus got louder, you twirled a finger around your ponytail, playing with the imaginary crowd in front of you. Bada pressed up against your back. Your hips moving in tandem just as the choreo required and you could no longer repress the urge to grind back against her. You saw Bada smirk in the mirror, her eyes obscured by her cap, but you could tell she was enjoying your blunt display of confidence. That made you laugh for real, putting an extra ‘oomph’ into the roll of your hips, dropping even lower, and feeling Bada take what you gave her with a great amount of enthusiasm. You heard the choreographer let out a "woo!" and you giggled.

At the very end of the choreo, you were meant to face Bada and push her away; making room for a final solo moment. So you turned around, meeting that familiar mischievous grin and your hand came up to curl into her collar. Bada sucked in her lower lip, greedily towering over you and looking down expectantly.

But something about the giddy atmosphere had you feeling bold, so you tugged her even closer instead. Her mouth fell open, but she followed you down nonetheless, eyes becoming half-lidded. You were mere inches removed from each other, and her breath fanned across your face. For a split second her gaze lingered on your lips, and you held your breath, heart fluttering in an unfamiliar feeling. A fleeting thought told you to bridge the gap, pull her impossibly closer by the grip you had on her collar, but your body acted before your brain could.

You reached for her cap and tugged it off her head, putting it on yourself in one swift movement and then shoved her away as you were supposed to do; effectively breaking the spell. You turned on your heel to look back at your reflection in the mirror, consciously blocking Bada from your periphery and closed out the song. The music stopped.

Now that the studio was quiet you could hear the both of you catching your breaths, and rather than facing Bada while your face was still heating up, you flopped onto the floor, limbs spread out. You moved Bada’s cap atop your face, blocking out the bright lights of the practice room, feeling exceptionally winded.

You felt Bada sit down next to you and she promptly pulled her hat off your face.

“Ow,” You uttered lamely, arms coming up to cover your face instead. Surely the shame you felt was on wide display and you had to save the little bit of the reputation you had left. You could already hear her voice, albeit uncharacteristically, echo in your head: “What was that?” “Why didn’t you just stick to what I told you?” “That was highly unprofessional.” Your stomach churned.

But instead she said: “That was incredible.”

“Huh.” You exclaimed unintelligently. You tentatively moved your arms from your face and were met with Bada staring you down, her hat back in place. It would probably be too weird if you went back into hiding, so you dropped your arms uselessly.

“That was incredible,” she repeated, a fond smile on her lips. “You are incredible. I’m telling you, we’ve got a hit on our hands.” She extended her arms excitedly, as if she had to convey the sheer magnitude of potential you both had crafted.

“You really think so?” You sounded breathless, the warmth in your chest blossoming.

“I know so. Seriously? If your team doesn’t like this, they’re idiots.” Her bluntness kicked a laugh out of you, and you playfully whacked her knee. “No, I mean it!”

“It wasn’t too much?” Slowly you sat up, tugging at the front of your shirt clinging uncomfortably to your body from the sweat.

Bada tilted her head, blinking at you sympathetically as she weighed your words carefully.

“I’ve already told you,” her voice was quiet, as if she was worried someone else might overhear, “I can’t get enough of you. The same goes for the public, by the way.”

That made you want to kick your feet like a teenager, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you fought the impulse to fall into her arms. Instead, you dropped your head with a timid smile hoping that did enough to show your gratitude.

Bada placed a hand on your shoulder with a touch so soft she might as well be reassembling a broken vase, urging you to look at her. “Let's take a break, order some bubble tea and then watch the recordings. Sound good?”

You leaned into the touch with exhilaration. “Yeah. My treat, though.”

————— ୨୧ —————

The tenth day coincided with a photoshoot in the morning. You had gotten up at 4am to get to the location early enough so that there was enough room for your stylists to get to work.

The first thing you noticed was the visual board you had worked on tirelessly a few weeks prior.

It had changed.

Some of the images jumbled around or left out entirely, replaced by ones you did not recognize or even liked to begin with. Even the color scheme had changed. Before you could ask your manager about it, however, your hair stylist beckoned you to follow her into the booth. Still groggy, with just a protein shake in your belly to keep you at bay, you followed without objection.

But then, after you emerged fully made up with your hair in intricate braids and ribbons, you saw the backdrop you were going to work with and the outfits you would be wearing: they looked nothing like what you had agreed on.

Once sown into the baby pink corset, you looked at your reflection in the mirror with a glassy expression, too exhausted to even express the anger that was simmering in your chest.

“What happened to the costume I commissioned?” You asked your manager in a flat voice, fully realizing you wouldn’t like whatever the answer would be.

“Oh,” But he didn’t sound surprised at all, “We didn’t really like how it turned out, so we decided to go with something else. Pink looks good on you, you know.” He added hurriedly.

You blinked, clenching and unclenching your jaw. The last thing you wanted was to cause a scene in front of all the staff. Firstly, it wasn’t their fault; secondly, word got around quickly and the last thing you needed was a trending blind item about diva behavior. With great difficulty you swallowed the venom down your throat and walked over to the camera crew without sparing your manager a single glance. Bowing to everyone separately, you turned on the autopilot. You just needed to get through the day. You posed for the flashing of the cameras, turning your brain off.

“That’s a wrap! Great work, all.” The photographer’s voice snapped you out of your daze, and you slowly stumbled away from the backdrop, blinking back tears.

“Great job everyone, thank you for your hard work.” You hoped your voice sounded even and hurried away to get changed.

Once alone in your dressing room, you bent over the sink with your hands in your hair. You didn’t understand. They had seen the choreography Bada and you had worked on, and approved. They had been enthusiastic even, and it felt like your team and you had finally buried the hatchet. Now you understood why they were so pliant in their acceptance of the final choreo; they had found something else to exert their control over. You didn’t want to cry, so you grit your teeth and untied your hair, fingers smoothing out where the braids had been.

Bada.

In the bustle of the early morning you had almost forgotten you were meant to start your first practice with the entire dance crew today, with Bada as the lead choreographer ensuring everything played out exactly according to your collaborative vision. It had been almost two days since you had last seen her, yesterday being a day off for the both of you, and for some reason it felt like a lifetime.

You wanted to see her, but you weren’t sure if you could dance today.

You arrived at the studio about an hour later, right on time, with most of your makeup cleared from your face and dressed in joggers and a crop top. This time you were sporting a cap as well, hoping the dancers wouldn’t notice the fatigue etched on your face on your first day with them.

Everyone was already there. Some dancers stretching, others practicing and a few watching the recordings while in deep discussion with Bada. Her flannel shirt was bunched up at her elbows as she made grand gestures with her hands, explaining something to the dancers in front of her. As the sound of the door opening and closing filled the room, the tall girl perked up mid-sentence, shooting you a wide smile.

“Hey! I got you some coffee.” She spoke brightly, walking over to you in big strides as her loose braid fell off her shoulder. You had just finished bowing to everyone when you turned to Bada, feeling your chest swell at the sight of her. “How was the shoot?”

She must’ve noticed something. Perhaps it was the sag of your shoulder, the way you bit your lower lip or the exhaustion in your eyes; but her smile faltered slightly when she got a closer look.

“It went alright.” You spoke neutrally, unable to meet her eyes but adding a nod to come across as reassuring as possible. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Bada stood a bit helplessly but seemed to understand that prying any further would be futile. “Of course, it was my turn, after all.” She smiled carefully. “You wanna get started?”

“Let’s do that.” You agreed, hoping that dancing would get your mind off of things.

Bada gathered everyone together and gave a small speech, making a conscious effort to do all the talking so you could comfortably hide the swelling insecurity you felt deep in your chest. You nodded at the right times, smiled at the dancers (some of them peeking at you in awe) and tried to come across relaxed.

Once Bada finished talking, she called for everyone to get in position as she strode to the far end of the room, where she had the most optimal view. You moved to the front, right next to your trampoline, facing the mirror and vaguely took note of a tall guy with a buzzcut who now stood in the spot Bada did when you had been practicing with her. Something about her not being part of the dance anymore, even though you perfectly knew this was going to be the plan all along, made you feel even less secure.

You shook your limbs loose, trying to empty your head for the sake of the dancers who were all blind to your inner turmoil and instead incredibly excited to be here. You did not want to waste their time. Once again, you forced yourself into auto pilot.

The song started playing, bubbling synths building up to your first lines, and you danced. You danced as you had practiced with Bada, but weren’t able to envision the crowd in front of you. Instead you relied on muscle memory, which worked out well enough. Even when the tall guy was behind you for the duet, hips grazing yours, you didn’t feel very aware of your surroundings at all. Sometimes you all had to stop midway when Bada noticed that someone was offbeat or out of position, but you slid back into the moves easily. The team was strong, too. You danced the choreo once, twice, thrice and a fourth time. When you grabbed the guy’s collar, you pushed him back immediately, unlike what you had practiced with Bada, and finished your move.

Bada clapped her hands together with a cheer.

“That was solid, everyone!” She strode over, giving everyone a thumbs up. “Some things we have to smooth over, but we are way ahead on schedule. Let’s take five. I— Are you okay?”

You barely realized your own actions until you felt the warm tears run down your cheeks. You had sat down on the trampoline in such an unceremonious way, body shaking from exertion as you tried to hold back hiccups. Panic began crawling up your body and into your throat. Suddenly aware of the dancers seeing you in such a state, you took your cap off and held it in front of your face.

“Actually, since we are ahead on schedule, let’s make this a short day.” Bada’s authoritative voice declared to the entire room. The dancers nodded along nervously, glancing at your hunched figure with palpable worry. “Great work everyone, make sure to get home safe. Same time tomorrow.”

You croaked out a soft “Thank you, everyone” through your fingers, but your voice was barely audible. You couldn’t face them.

Footsteps rushed around the room, the dancers gathering their backpacks off the floor. You barely registered the hushed voices slowly echoing further and further away from you, until the door shut with finality; a lock sounding in place and silence reigning over the space.

Bada’s hands came to rest on your shoulders as you felt the trampoline sink with her added weight. Then she pulled you into her arms with a tenderness you had never experienced from anyone before. Your arms tightened around her frame in instinct, dropping your cap onto the floor, and your heart constricting painfully as you hid your face in her chest.

She didn’t speak as you hiccupped soundlessly, letting the exhaustion pour out of you with quivering shoulders. Bada’s hands traced comforting lines along your back, her cheek pressed against the top of your head as she waited for the trembling of your body to subdue. In turn, you tried to focus on the steady rise and fall of her chest, her breathing lulling you.

After ten minutes of complete silence, Bada was the one to speak in a hushed voice: “What happened?”

You glanced up at her, tears still running down your cheeks as you choked back a particularly pathetic sob. “I’m sorry…”

Bada let out an affronted gasp, bringing her hands up to cradle your face instead and letting her thumbs wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Please don’t apologize. Tell me what happened.”

“My team,” You began with a slurred speech, “They still don’t believe in me. They don’t think I can pull this off.”

Your voice sounded heartbroken: “They make sure to remind me every chance they get. My manager is certain I am going to embarrass the nation, because there is only one thing I can do and it’s not this. I can’t be sexy. I don’t have good ideas. And maybe they’re right! I don’t have the charisma to pull this off. My fans are going to hate it, because it’s not the person they wanted to support—” There was nothing you could do except keep going, like a faucet running, and Bada let you, “—I can’t even wear what I want. My visual board was cybercore inspired. I had a red PVC two piece outfit custom-made, but they put me in a pink dress and ballet shoes.” You added, horrified; not at the clothes, but at the clear disconnect between your team and you.

Bada, who was nodding along to your words with a serious expression up until that point, chuckled at your words, thumbs still catching tears. “Well I always thought you looked like a pretty princess, but that’s indeed a bit on the nose.”

The follow-up to your rant died in your throat, eyes widening at her words. Your brain was short circuiting. “You think I’m pretty?”

The taller girl scoffed at that, brows furrowing. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”

“Why?” You asked, genuinely.

For a moment she gawked at you, deep in thought and searching your face for insincerity. Bada was unable to find it.

“It’s not the only thing I think of you.”

Something about the atmosphere in the room changed when she spoke, and you almost forgot why you were upset in the first place. She carefully tucked your hair behind your ears, her eyes staring into yours unblinkingly. It reminded you of the way she had looked at you during practice days prior, when you had pulled her close by her collar for the first time. Her attention on you was suffocating, but you were glad to be drowning.

You sucked in your lower lip for a split second, releasing it, and waited with bated breath for her to continue. Her eyes dropped immediately, following your movements. She slid one hand down to the crook of your neck, slowly, the tips of her fingers tracing along your skin and leaving shivers in their wake; her other hand curled under your chin with a loose grip, tilting your head back slightly. Your head felt so heavy you could only lean in closer, wanting more of something you couldn’t even put in words.

But as always with Bada, she seemed to know what you wanted before you could open your mouth and ask for it. She closed the distance, brushing her lips against yours in a soft peck, and it was when you realized she was also holding her breath.

Her thumb trailed along your jawline, breath fanning over your lips. “Is this okay?” She asked quietly. You placed your hands on her thighs to brace yourself, your own lightheadedness overwhelming you, and nodded.

There was a shadow of a smirk on her lips when she kissed you a second time; lips connected with more force this time before gliding together in tandem. She tilted your head to get impossibly closer to you, her hand moving from your chin to tangle her fingers into your hair and cradling the back of your head. When her lips parted and closed around your bottom lip, nipping eagerly, you inadvertently let out a soft noise at the warmth of it all which only seemed to spur her on further.

You curled your hands into the front of her shirt as her back straightened, crowding around you as if her goal was to subdue, the trampoline creaking underneath your shared weight. She seemed to relish in overpowering you, inhaling sharply through her nose when you parted your mouth for her further.

You felt the tentative prod of her tongue, and accepted. The wetness made you shiver as she swallowed your quiet gasps. The hand that was previously nestled against your neck slid lower, began exploring along the curve of your waist and feeling the bare skin your crop top couldn’t reach to hide.

She parted the kiss, and you let out a soft whine. Biting her lip in an attempt to hide her smile, but ultimately failing, her eyes were drinking you in. You could only imagine what you looked like as even Bada was flushed all over, chest heaving from excitement. Then, as if she was reading your mind, her eyes glanced over to the mirror in front of you.

Bada shifted her position behind you, running her fingers through your hair before ultimately placing her palm against the other side of your waist. Steadily, as if she were correcting a move during practice, she turned your body to face the mirror. At this rate you simply accepted the effect she had on you, and wordlessly obeyed her ministrations. She planted her feet on the floor, long legs on either side of you; and ultimately caged you in, nestling her chin into the crook of your neck. Her eyes never left the mirror.

She brushed some of your hair over your shoulder as if she were propping up a doll, and spoke in a hushed voice: “Look at yourself.”

The sight made you feel all the more dizzy. Through half-lidded eyes you barely recognized your own reflection; hair slightly mussed and lips swollen and lovebitten. Someone did that to you. Bada did that to you.

The taller girl, pressed up against you, placed a kiss on your shoulder, fingers running up and down your body and making the hairs on your arms stand straight in exhilaration. You loved the way she touched you, how it made you feel; as if she was tracing the lines on an art piece. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered against your shoulder, “people would kill to see you like this.”

The honesty in her voice made something in your stomach roll. “Bada…” You began, but you didn’t even know what you wanted to say.

“You have no idea how other people look at you.” Her hands cradled the small of your waist, fingertips digging into your hips. “So let me show you how they look at you.”

She began kissing up your shoulder, soft and warm presses of her lips, before parting her mouth against your neck with a tangible hunger that left you sighing. You tilted your head to the side to give her more room and every inch you freed, she swarmed eagerly. Her tongue swirled against a patch of skin, hand flattening on your lower stomach as the other traced higher and higher, along your ribcage, before inquisitive fingertips moved under the hem of your top. As she sucked a mark onto your skin, you clenched your thighs together at the familiar sensation between your legs. Your eyes slowly fell shut as she crept up higher, lips pressing right below your earlobe with a barely-there hum.

She whispered: “Keep looking at yourself.”

You obeyed bashfully, right when Bada reattached her lips to your skin. She had been tracing lines along the hem of your sports bra, enthralled with the way you shivered in her grasp, before slipping a hand under; her hand was warm as she kneaded your breast, but your nipples stiffened at the sensation all the same. You pushed out your chest to convey your delectation, and she rewarded you by sinking her teeth into your skin. Suddenly, with a swift movement, both her hands hoisted up the hem of your top and bra, and pulled it upwards, your breasts releasing from its confines. The cold air made them perk up and Bada’s hands cupped the underside.

She detached her lips from your skin with a wet sound before looking up at the mirror, taking you in with her saliva-slicked mouth agape.

“So pretty,” Bada muttered, bringing your breasts a little higher, “Are you sensitive here?” She wondered loudly before tracing her thumbs right below your nipples. Once again your legs squeezed together, feeling yourself throb from excitement, and Bada picked up on the hint with a wide smile. “You are.”

In your reflection you saw Bada bring her fingers up to your mouth, thumb pressing down on your bottom lip imploringly, and you opened your mouth. She slipped her digit past, pushing it back against your tongue and you sucked obediently. Her eyes were drilling into yours through your reflection, enthralled by how pliant you were under her care.

You released the digit with a wet ‘pop’ and Bada promptly brought it to your nipple, rubbing it in circular motions as her other hand continued to knead your other breast. A quiet moan escaped you, chest rising into her touch and Bada giggled, pressing another kiss on your shoulder. Your own hands ached to touch her, but she kept you firmly locked between her legs; instead you squeezed her upper thighs, feeling her shapes through the baggy cargo she was sporting.

“Give me a kiss.” She commanded, and you immediately twisted your neck to capture her lips.

It was all teeth, wet noises echoing through the room as your tongue swirled against hers; the taller girl groaning into your mouth at the sheer force you exerted. She gave your nipples a pinch before rubbing her fingers over them repeatedly, and she swallowed your breathless moans greedily. You dug your nails into her thighs as she cupped your breasts again, her tongue slipping out of your mouth to trail along your bottom lip instead. Your head was chanting her name, getting drunk on the near delirious attention she gave you. Tilting your head back even further, you connected your lips again even though the angle was uncomfortable. You were starting to feel desperate, hips lightly rocking back against the firmness of her body as Bada sucked down on your tongue.

One of her hands released your breast and trailed down the expanse of your stomach, once again breaking the kiss and instead opt to look at you in the mirror. Her fingers found the knot of your joggers as your eyes met in the reflection, and she pulled on the string; untying it.

“Okay?” Bada inquired meaningfully, and you nodded much faster than you intended. “Let me hear you say it.” The tone of her voice, which was otherwise so gentle and quiet, made your full body shiver.

“I want it.” You spoke breathlessly, squirming impatiently between her legs as her fingers finally slipped down your pants.

She trailed along the sweatband of your underpants before cupping your heat over the fabric, fingers pressing against your folds inquisitively. Her eyes never left yours, quietly measuring your reactions. Unwittingly your thighs clamped around her wrist, breath hitching in your throat as she began to caress you with a touch so gentle it didn’t fit the precarious position you both were in.

“You’re so wet.” Bada spoke coyly, smirking at the way your eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment. She began rubbing circles over your covered folds, feeling your wetness spread as if on command. Your breathing turned into whining, subconsciously grinding back against her hand.

She removed her hand much to your distress, until you realized what she wanted: Bada began tugging the fabric of both your joggers and underpants down as far as she could, before giving your hip a commanding pat. You raised your hips to assist her ministrations, and she pulled the clothing down past your knees before you kicked them off fully.

Your thighs were pressed together when you got back in place and suddenly felt self-conscious at how exposed you were despite your own eagerness. Bada wasn’t having it: her eyes were taking in your figure, hands immediately coming down to smooth along your thighs. Then, she squeezed tightly and wrenched your thighs wide apart, making you expose yourself for her. Before you could instinctively close them, her long legs hooked over your ankles, forcefully keeping them in place. All of it only made you throb harder.

“You don’t want to know how often I’ve been thinking about this these past few days.” Her hands smoothing along your sides in marvel, cupping your breasts once more. The tip of her nose pressed against the shell of your ear. “How many times I’ve watched those recordings and imagined you, exactly like this.” Her fingers fit into your mouth once again, and you sucked on them, letting your tongue swirl along the digits as if you were starving for it. “I think I lost count.”

Her confession made you moan around her fingers, shivers running down your spine. She scooted back ever so slightly, pulling your hips back with her unoccupied hand until it was the angle she needed, and then dropped it between your legs. Her fingers spread your folds and she sucked in a breath, completely mesmerized by your reflection. You were still swallowing around her fingers and she hummed encouragingly, hand cupping your vagina and spreading your wetness across your heat.

She removed her fingers from your mouth and you caught your breath, fingers digging into her upper thighs as you braced yourself. As one hand kept your folds spread, the other, spit-slicked, began rubbing slow circles against you. You gasped at the sensation, mumbling her name in amazement. You raised your hand to the back of her head; grabbing a hold of her braid to simply have a hold of something, but it earned you a particularly sweet noise from the girl behind you. Your hips rocked back against her movements trying to find more friction in the right place, and Bada slowly sped up, moving her wrist up and down to try and find the spot that did it for you. Her lips pressed against the back of your neck so tenderly, and something about the dichotomy between that and the way she was touching you between your legs made your eyes roll back; lids closing as you thrusted back against her hand.

You didn’t understand how she was able to build up to that familiar knot in your stomach so soon, and it almost made you feel embarrassed, until you realized Bada was savoring every second of it. Her eyes never left your form, as if she were studying just another choreography, lips parted in an awestruck way. You had long foregone the urge to keep quiet, vocalizing exactly what she was doing to you: You let a particularly loud moan leave you when she rubbed along your most sensitive spot. Trying to pull more sounds from you, she pressed against your clit with more force and rubbed faster. Your hips could only chase her touch as your lower stomach constricted.

Bada brought her hand up to her own lips and lapped at her fingers, effectively pausing her motions for a split second and thus drawing a broken whine from you; both because her hand wasn’t where you needed it to be and also because she had no qualms about having you in her mouth. It didn’t last long: she hushed you soothingly as she put her hand back where you felt it belonged and used the added wetness to add faster friction against your clit. Your head rolled back and you tugged at her braid, pulling an attractive groan from the girl behind you.

You weren’t far away anymore. Your lower stomach was unbearably tight with desire and you were a gyrating, frantic mess against her hand while her fingers rubbed against you in vertical swipes, her name falling from your lips repeatedly as if you were reciting a prayer.

You managed to utter an “I’m close”, and Bada crowded against you before you could start begging her for release. “Come for me.” She demanded, and then immediately captured your mouth in a desperate kiss, teeth clashing together while she drank your sweet moans.

As if on cue, the tension in your stomach imploded and you gave her braid a sharp pull. You gasped into her mouth, no longer kissing each other but rather breathing each other's air, as your orgasm rippled through you.

You felt your whole body quiver and shake in pleasure as Bada led you through your release, thighs trembling despite the hold the choreographer’s legs had on you. Her fingers hadn’t left your core, but the rubbing slowed down until you were gasping at the overstimulation, yet unwilling to make her hands leave you. As if she read your mind her movements came to a halt, but she pressed her palm against you; almost possessively. She planted kisses along the side of your throat, whispering praises against your skin as you caught your breath.

Once you had the rise and fall of your chest under control, her arms curled around your waist in a fond embrace, and you turned your head to look directly at her. She had already been staring at you, meeting your eyes with a bashful smile. The two of you laughed at each other, and Bada pressed your foreheads together.

“That,” You mumbled, eyes falling shut as you relished in her open affection: “Was amazing, thank you.”

“Was happy to do it.” She responded playfully, rubbing the tip of your noses together affectionately.

“Will this happen every time I get self-deprecating?”

“I definitely intend to do this more often, but you could also just ask nicely.” Bada retorted with a smirk before pecking your lips. You giggled, putting your hands over hers and leaning back into the embrace.

After several more shared kisses and hushed whispers, both of you decided to get a move on: you were starting to get cold in your exposed state so Bada urged you to get up. She helped you step back in your clothes, a smug self-satisfied grin never leaving her face when she noticed the unsteady wobble in your legs.

When you pulled your bra and top back over your breasts, Bada pouted. You gave her a playful shove but she caught your arms instead, bringing them around her neck as her own enveloped your waist.

“Wanna grab dinner?” Her eyes were round and hopeful.

“I would love that.” You replied, and gave her a kiss.

As the both of you tidied up the practice room and gathered your things, Bada listing off food suggestions in the background, your eyes slid to the table at the front of the room.

A familiar device remained perched on the edge, a small green light lighting up proudly.

“Hey, Bada.”

“Hm?”

“Camera’s still recording.”

She stumbled over looking mortified, snatching the device off the table and rewinding haphazardly.

“Oh, fuck.”

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #bada lee #bada lee smut #street woman fighter 2 #dalla!writes #im sorry in advance bhahaha #idk what i did

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cyberseong · 7 months ago

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distraction.

pairings: yunho x f!reader

genre: smut, college setting, fwb(?).

warnings/topics: there isn’t much plot at all, sub!yunho, perv yunho too just bc, praise kink, overstimulation, pussy eating, thigh riding.

a/n: i haven’t posted in so long oops 😭 this fic isn’t as long as usual but hopefully i’ll be able to post again soon with a longer one. enjoy! notes are appreciated ofccc.

wc: 0.8k

you and yunho were surely just friends; which is exactly why he got so flustered when you called him out for the intense stare he had aimed at your frame. the conversation started with an accusatory tone, with yunho struggling to explain himself with his words. the tense atmosphere didn’t last long before you began to realize how the hostile tone in your voice made his ears tint with a darker red than ever before, or the small whimper that left his lips as soon you referred to him as a ‘perv’. only then did you notice the print of his erection that bulged against his sweatpants. so that’s what yunho was into.

that was how you ended up with your back against the headboard of your bed, your shorts long gone and disregarded to the floor, with yunho’s face buried in between your legs, tongue caressing your folds. he had promised he wouldn’t distract you from your studying, which is why you still sat there, textbook being held up by your trembling legs as you continued to annotate and highlight different phrases and important words that you may need to remember for tomorrow. unfortunately, studying while yunho gave slow kitten licks to your clit was just as hard as anyone would imagine it to be; you slammed the textbook closed, throwing that and your pen somewhere off to the side. ‘i’ll just study harder later,’ you thought to yourself as your fingers intertwined with the strands of yunho’s pitch black hair.

“f-fuck, yunho, you’re going way too slow, c-can’t take it,” you moaned, subconsciously pushing his face closer to your folds. It caused the rims of his glasses to slip a little farther down the bridge of his nose, but he couldn’t do anything to push them back up for now— which meant you would just have to deal with the cold material brushing against your skin every now and then until he was done. yunho was so overstimulated just by the feeling of you against his lips and tongue; you loved how much he got off from solely pleasuring you. his hips repeatedly bucked against the mattress once he felt his release getting closer, and you could feel the movements of his mouth get sloppier than before.

you weren’t much closer than yunho, though– with a string of profanities and breathy moans, you came without much of a warning onto yunho’s face; however, he didn’t mind in the slightest, with his tongue lapping up as much of your liquids as he possibly could. when he lifted his face from between your legs, the sight in front of you was just sinful; the fluids dripped down from his lips and down his chin as he panted, completely out of breath. his eyes were glossed with a hazy look on them, and you just knew he was far gone.

“yun,” you called out, straightening your legs out and then patting your thigh, signalling for him to use it to ride out his orgasm. he let out a small hum of compliance. yunho moved to straddle your thigh, immediately rutting against it with the most desperate look you’d ever seen painted on his face. the repeated whimpers that erupted from his throat were surely going to be the death of you. it didn’t help your case in the slightest when he looked up at you with pleading eyes, whining, “y/n, p-please, can i cum now? i c-can’t,”

your eyes widened slightly at the fact that he was asking for your permission; everything you’d found out about him within the last hour were things you never would’ve begun to associate with the male; nonetheless, you couldn’t deny that his submissive side only made him more attractive than he was— if that was even possible.

“yes, yunho, you’ve been so good for me baby, cum for me, hm?” your praise only made a high-pitched moan leave yunho’s lips as he came undone in your lap. he convulsed from the overstimulation for a few seconds, before he moved to lay down beside you. the two of you sat in a comfortable silence as you took a moment to regain composure, all whilst maintaining strong but loving eye contact.

yunho stifled a laugh, his cheeks puffing out slightly with the action.

“well, so much for studying, i guess.”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez x reader #atz smut #atz x reader #yunho #yunho smut #yunho smau #yunho x reader #yunho fic #yunho fanfic #smut

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rowiewritesstuff · 2 years ago

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Hi! Can I request poly hcs of yandere bayverse Optimus Prime & Megatron with fem reader. Could you possibly add some fluff? Thank you, love ur blog! 💕✨

Bayverse Poly! Yandere Optimus Prime X Reader X Megatron

A little longer than I meant, oops-

You’re Sam Witwickey’s sibling. You were more well-read than your brother, and much more polite. When Sam said that he was going to sell your great-great grandfather’s glasses, you were appalled. You immediately snatched them away from him.

“These are antique! So are these!” You snatched other items up. “You can’t sell them, bozo!”

“But I need the money! For the car!” Sam tried to grab them back.

“What if I paid for a portion of it?”

Sam halted his movements. “What?”

You huffed. “I’ll pay for some of the car- but YOU have to make sure to give me rides sometime.”

“YES!” He coughed, “I mean, yeah. Sure. You’re my sibling, of course you’d get rides.”

Then it happened- you met the Decepticons on the way to get the glasses fixed up. You dropped them off at the small antique shop and began your walk home.

A patrol car’s lights went off next to you, and you pulled off to the side into an alleyway. What shocked you the most, however, was when it transformed into a literal robot. You felt dizzy and collapsed to the ground unconscious.

“Frag.” Barricade muttered, pressing his servo to his helm. “Barricade to Starscream. I have the human, but they are unconscious.”

“Bring them to me.” Starscream ordered.

Before Barricade could respond, a loud honk echoed around the alley and a semi slammed into him. Optimus quickly transformed and snatched you off the ground, handing you off to Bumblebee. “Get them to safety!”

Bumblebee drove off with you in tow, and Sam quickly shook you awake. “Sam?” You asked. “What happened?” You suddenly remembered the giant robot that had forced you into the alleyway. “The robot-!”

“Yeah, there’s a few of them. I’ll explain in a bit- where are the glasses?”

“Back at the antique shop… why?”

Right after you went back to grab the glasses, you met the others. The situation was explained to you, and you were scared. You just wanted to go home and sleep. Unfortunately, as soon as you got home, people from ‘sector seven’ were there to take you away.

You sat crying in the backseat as Sam and Mikela tried to comfort you. “It’ll be okay, (Y/N).”

“No it won’t!” Simmons said from the front seat. “Not unless you tell us what you kn-”

The car slammed forward. Optimus ripped off the roof of the car. “Taking the children and (Y/N) was a bad move.”

Optimus scooped you up to sit you on his shoulder, holding their weapons on the aggressors the entire time.

When Sam and Mikela got taken, you stayed with Optimus. Once you all discovered where the allspark was, the Autobots began the journey there- you in tow. You wanted to go home, but Optimus wouldn’t let you. He said it was too dangerous to let you go back home.

During the trip, you and Optimus talked a lot. You both got to know each other really well. Despite it only being a few days, you developed a crush on him.

During the battle, Optimus gave you and Sam an order- push the Allspark into his chest, and kill him. You shook your head as Sam moved to do as he was told.

“NO, SAM!” You snatched it away. You looked at Megatron and brought the cube near him.

A wicked grin appeared on his faceplates, and he held his servo out. “Good, yes, human! Bring it to me!”

A sadness painted your face. Yes, Megatron was evil- but you never wanted to take a life. “I”m sorry,” You whispered. Megatron’s face contorted in rage as you shoved the allspark into his chest.

Before he died, he looked into your eyes. “I’ll get you for this, human!”

You never recovered from taking a life. Optimus was thankfully there for you, and you both grew extremely close. You were one of the few civilians permitted on the base, often helping out. Your official title was ‘liaison’. Even Galloway liked you.

You were visiting Sam when the Decepticon attacked. You were all running for your lives, with you not understanding a thing of what was going on. Mikela’s car was swept up into the air by a helicopter. You were screaming loudly as it took you all away, and screamed even louder when the car was dropped through a roof and sawed into.

Everyone stood up as Starscream spit at you. A deep voice came from behind you all. “Come here, boy.” Megatron hissed. Sam began walking towards him with his hands up. “Closer.”

“Sam, no.” You whispered in fear. Megatron’s eyes met yours for the first time since you took his life. Your body froze as still as you could make it.

Before you could say anything Megatron grabbed you up from where you were standing and held you in his servo. Sam yelled out your name. “SHUT UP!” Megatron yelled and slapped Sam across the room.

“SAM!” You and Mikela shouted in fear. “Don’t hurt him! Please!” You begged.

Megatron simply ignored you and pinned Sam down with his over servo. “It feels good to grab your flesh. I’m going to kill you. Slowly- painfully- but first, we have some delicate work to do.” Sam kept struggling as Megatron mocked him. “Ohhh, I could snap your limbs off.”

You struggled in the servo you were tightly held in. “Wait! It was me that killed you, so let him go! He didn’t do anything!”

Megatron squeezed you tighter in his grasp. “Oh, I have something much better planned for you. Now wait your turn.” You struggled to breath as the air left your lungs. Just before you passed out, he loosened his grip. It was a warning- if you weren’t quiet, he’d knock you out.

You watched in horror as a minicon send a small bug into Sam’s mouth. You had to look away in fear you’d throw up from the sight. In your mind you were hoping for Optimus to find you, to save you.

Your prayers were answered as Optimus and Bumblebee came slamming through into the building firing off shots. Megatron quickly stashed you in his subspace and began fighting Optimus.

You were thrown around in the tight space and you hoped that Optimus would figure out you were in there. Sounds were muffled, but you could make out sounds of blasting. Soon enough, the sounds faded. The subspace opened and you were taken out into the sunlight. It took your eyes a moment to adjust, but when they did your heart stopped in your chest.

On the ground before you was Optimus- a giant hole in his chest. He was obviously dead. You felt tears well up in your eyes as a wail left your throat.

“You’re mine now, human. Optimus will never be able to save you again.”

Megatron took you with him to his hideout. He was originally going to use you to make Sam come out of hiding, but he soon realized why Optimus kept you around. You were smart for your race, and offered fairly good advice (even if said advice was forced out with the threat of violence). The Fallen left you alone, seeing the logic in a living hostage.

In your short time there, Megatron had begun to grow feelings for you. He didn’t bother denying them- he was a Decepticon. If there was something he wanted, he’d take it.

After his defeat and the Fallen’s death in Egypt, Megatron offered Optimus a deal he couldn’t pass up.

“Why don’t we share them? Frag this war, and just hide away?”

Optimus glared at him. “Do you really expect me to believe you?”

Megatron chuckled. “You can either accept it, or never see them again, Prime.”

Optimus had no choice but to accept. They hid out on a small island, inhabited with nothing but animals. You were protected as long as you were with them. You also had plenty of books, food, and water. Anything you asked for, except your freedom, was given to you.

However, at night, when everyone was resting, you were building a raft. You had a book that they gave you that had some basic instructions. When you set off, the raft was surprisingly sturdy. Your supplies were enough to last for a few days- hopefully when you would find someone to help you.

When you heard the familiar sound of a jet, tears filled your eyes. You shouldn’t have even bothered to try. Megatron scooped you up and brought you back. When you got there, Optimus was waiting with a horrible glare on his face.

“Where did you think you were going?” He growled.

Tears fell before you could stop them. “I just wanted to see my family! My friends!”

Optimus and Megatron felt a smidgen of guilt. Megatron held you closer as Optimus lifted your chin to make you look at him, a gentle smile on his faceplates. “And you will see them,” he petted your hair a little, “When you learn to behave. I can’t allow them to take you from me-”

“Us.” Megatron growled.

Optimus glanced at him and back to you. “Us. You are ours. We won’t let you get away.”

Megatron chimed in with a sadistic grin on his faceplates. “If you ever try again, I’ll lock you away so you’ll never see the sun again. Understand?”

All you could do is nod as a soft smile came to Optimus’ faceplates. “Good.”

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sp00kymulderr · 7 months ago

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feeling that way

Joel Miller x transmasc!reader

Lover boy series masterlist

Warnings/Tags/Notes: 18+. for sexual implications. reader is afab/has female genitals, no pronouns used (written with the idea of a non-binary or transmasc reader), reader wears a packer, references made to both readers cock (packer) and pussy, pet names for reader (baby, honey), Joel is really horny for reader and their cock :), Joel sucks the strap (mention), bulge worship big time, love love love, beautiful queer love actually, writer got emotional and made this too personal and not at all about Joel oops. Unedited and unbeta'd. (divider credit to cafekitsune)

Words: 1.3k~

Summary: Joel enjoys a new part of you. He loves it, in fact.

Something is different about you.

Joel feels it the moment he opens the door. He's good at that, at noticing.

You're sitting on the couch watching something on the tv, nothing unusual there. But the way you hold yourself today, even the way you sit. There's an air of confidence to you that's different than usual. A hint of something new.

It excites him. You always find new ways to excite him.

“Hey” He mutters, coming round behind the couch and leaning down to kiss the top of your head. The usual greeting, intimate and caring.

“Hey” you say back with a smile, your head falling back so you can look up at him. There’s a glint in your eyes that belies your cool air.

You’re excited too.

“What’re you up to?” Joel mutters, a gruff chuckle leaving his mouth as he rounds the furniture and comes to sit beside you. It doesn’t take much from there to see what exactly has you acting the way you are. His eyebrow quirks, eyes looking up to meet yours then back down.

“Nothing at all” You grin back, and he understands the joy in your features now.

“Fuck, baby. It came?” He says, watching the subtle lift of your hips.

You’d been waiting for the packer for a while, Joel had insisted you go for something quality, something that would feel real for you and even though it meant a longer wait now you were glad he had done that. He’d insisted on paying for it too, ‘let me spoil you, honey’ he’d whispered in your ear when you’d confessed your desperate yearning to wear one.

It felt good to put on. So fucking good to wear. You had floated around the house in elation, a weight almost lifted off your chest at the new addition to you. Your eyes caught in every mirror, traveling down to your crotch at any opportunity. You didn’t feel like a different person, but you certainly felt like a different you.

Joel has a warm hand on you now, his eyes darkening in lust as he takes in the sight of it. Your cock is sitting just so, making a bulge in your tight jeans that he can’t possibly ignore. It makes his own twitch in need.

“Jesus Christ, baby” Joel groans, his hand rubbing lower towards the front of your jeans. Down, down, down… “How does it feel? How do you feel?”

You’re watching as his big hand skims the button of your jeans, stopping just shy of the swell of you. You barely register his words, mouth hanging slightly open, breath coming a little heavier. This is the feeling you’ve been chasing for longer than you realise, longer than you can even say.

“Feels..right” You finally whisper, something about the admittance making you shy away from his gaze momentarily. It feels like a big deal. It is a big deal to you.

Joel pinches your chin between fingers, tilting your head to look at him. Jesus, he looks desperate for it. For you. He leans in and kisses you, more tender than the kiss you expected. A kiss that says ‘I know’, ‘I’m happy for you’, ‘I’m here for you’. You have to fight back the sudden urge to cry. He’s always been supportive, always. You never expected less.

When he lets you go your head falls back against the couch as finally he makes eager contact with the bulge in your jeans. This new part of you.

And it is a part of you. You feel it when that big hand squeezes gently. You moan for him, breath shaking.

“Looks so fucking good. Feels good too, doesn’t it?” He whispers reverently, and all you can do is nod dumbly and fucking whimper at the sight of him getting down on to his knees, his eyes bright with the wish to worship you for everything you are.

He loves everything you are.

Joel gets between your legs, already spread wider than usual and it’s making his heart hammer in his chest. He looks up at you as he pops the button of your jeans, gives you a look that's so full of desire and absolute need. He looks wrecked and he hasn’t even gotten past the layers of your clothes

“Y-yeah. So good” you murmur as he slowly pulls down the zipper, his eyes flicker from yours and back down to the peek of underwear beneath your jeans. The sound he makes then makes your cunt ache in devastating desperation.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, honey” Joel grunts out, noticing at once that you’re wearing a pair of his boxers - your favourite ones, black with a simple red design, snug against his dick and now against yours too. Your eyes meet again, yours surely glistening with a lust matching his, and the look he gives you makes you clench around nothing. Without a thought your hips cant up to connect the bulge of your cock with his palm again.

“I know, I know” Joel mutters sympathetically, keeping eye contact with you as he very intentionally lowers his head, only breaking away from your eyes when he presses his lips against the firm yet soft barely exposed front of your- his - underwear.

And fuck if your legs don’t start to shake, if your core doesn’t tighten breathtakingly as he plants open mouthed, sloppy kisses there.

“Can feel your cock. That’s your fuckin’ cock, ain’t it?” He murmurs, not moving away but turning his head, his cheek pressed against there and you want to cry again at his words, at the affirmation, at the acceptance of your needs and the love he shows for you even in this filthy moment.

“Yeah, Joel. Yeah…” You stumble out, practically dumbfounded as you watch your handsome, gruff, hardened man worship the bulge of your fake dick like it’s his favourite thing in the whole damn world.

“Say it baby” He orders, voice all grunts and groans as he deftly rubs his nose against you now.

“My cock…it’s my…fuck…”

“Yeah it is” Joel smiles up at you, such a beautiful sight, all pride and joy just for you. God, you love him you think as he moves away for a moment tapping your hip lightly to lift your ass so he can pull your jeans all the way down. He’s all but salivating at the proper sight of you filling out his underwear, both your hearts beating a matching rhythm in your chests

“Gonna let me suck it too, huh? Fill my mouth up all good?” He says, voice gravelly with wild desire that makes every part of you feel on fire - a fire you never want to put out. Let it burn forever, let it burn everything but the two of you.

You watch rapt as he kisses up your thigh whilst his big hand experiments with squeezing your impressive package, facial hair tickling your inner thigh before he moves up again. As Joel practically worships at the altar of you his own member strains against his pants, you can tell from the way he thrusts against nothing - still on his knees, which he’ll regret a little later, hips subtly shifting every time he enthusiastically rubs his face on your crotch.

“I love it, Joel. I feel- feel like me” You finally admit out loud.

“I know” He says back.

‘Thank you’ you whisper, though perhaps the words never make it out of your mouth before he’s drawing away, standing with a groan and knees clicking. Taking your hand in his with a squeeze and all but dragging you to the bedroom.

He takes one moment, just one, to stop in your tracks and look in your eyes. A gentle, loving, caring look that makes you feel so special. Just like he does every day.

“You’re here, baby. You’re here”

And he’s right, finally you are.

#THROWING this out into the world and running the fuck away #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller x afab!reader #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal character fic #x reader #I have no reread so if its as terrible as I think just ignore this okayyy

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gallaghersgal · 6 months ago

Note

sup homie it's mouse in the house!!! here asking for not professor lip, but when lip was a ta for youens. shy fem reader confronts lip about a paper he graded, because he gave her a poor grade, and things turn spicy™ -🐁

OHHHH YEAH THIS IS A GOOD ONE. i kinda made this like shy & prissy reader cause ... idk i got things wrong with my brain >:) this ended up longer than i meant oops! sorry not sorry

you text him about it bc he gave his number to the students and he has you come by his dorm, he's got the window open and he's smoking a cigarette, causing you to wrinkle your nose up in annoyance. you stand awkwardly to the side while looks over your paper again, then turns to face you.

"hate to break it to ya, kid, but this paper is shit. you bounce around too much, the content is there but its not organized, an' you brush over like ten topics instead of digging into three 'r four. if you can get me a revised version by wednesday, i can think about changing it. m'kay?"

you pout, listing off your extracurriculars and course load for a major and double minor, but he's not taking any of it. he stands up, rising a bit taller than you and tilts your chin up to look at him and in that split second he can just see the way your eyes glaze over, darting down to his lips, and he just gets this smirk on his face.

"look. you're a smart girl, yeah?" he asks and you blush but nod, and his gaze rakes over your face. "tell ya what. if you can explain this t'me, then i won't make ya rewrite it. but... i wanna fuck you right here over this desk. and if you're not into that, say the word an' we'll forget this ever happened." his hand brushes your hip, he lays the paper down on the desk before pressing lightly between your shoulder blades. "but i don' think you're gonna do that, cause you want this. dontcha, pretty girl?" and you just gulp and nod, letting him push your skirt up and ... yeah

SOMEBODY SEDATE ME.

#if u give a mouse a tumblr [mouse]#maggie’s musings [blurbs]#lip gallagher x reader #lip gallagher smut #kinda. not rlly but the idea is there #lip gallagher

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ss-skyearn · 2 years ago

Text

Walk With Me

❝In love with the idea of loving you.❞

PAIRING : Lee Minho x female!reader.

WORD COUNT : 4k.

GENRE : Smut, Fluff (wow no angst for once.)

WARNINGS/CONTENT : Past angst, established relationship, feelings and emotions, they're in love (to no one's surprise), Minho with long hair, mentioned Soobin.

SMUT WARNINGS : First time together, hair pulling (not the rough kind; minho realises he enjoys his roots being tugged at oops-, this bit inspired by this post by @tasteracha), voyeurism, public sex (late at night, so one witnesses it), unprotected intercourse, sweet lovemaking, so much love and feelings *sob*

A/N : Writting fluff is nowhere near what I'm good at, so feedback is really appreciated. Enjoy, lovelies. ♡

"Everyone can see."

It's a little too late for that now.

But it's not a complaint, not a protest, an objection. It's a simple statement, divulgence of facts, a declaration made by your brain that has long since lost the ability to conjure lucid postulations.

"Let them. Let them see," quickening of thrusts, desperation rearing its head in the most sinful of ways.

"Let me show them how much I love you."

"Meet me outside?"

The laughter of your girlfriends drowns out behind you as you weave your way out of the single room you've all gathered in, despite having been allotted seperate ones.

"Outside?"

"Yeah, outside," you don't need to be next to him to know that he's anxiously bouncing off the balls of his feet, rocking back and forth with his bottom lip caught between bunny teeth you flick your tongue across everytime you kiss him, without fail.

You'd have to make it a point to let him know of your adoration for them the next time he decides to take your breath away with his hot mouth.

And make no mistake, that's what kissing him is like, like losing your breath, like gaining your breath all over again; like being locked in an airtight, evacuated room, like being put on the ventilator with nothing but pure oxygen being pumped straight to your lungs.

It's dizzying either way. Whether it's being deprived of the gush of wind through your airways, or being forced to choke up on all the withheld supply of air all at once, it hurts.

It hurts to be with him. But you'll choose to be hurt, to be on the receiving end of the pain, if it means he's the inflictor, the hand on the trigger.

"Right now?"

"Yeah, if that's okay," he's nervous, something you both are a lot around each other from time to time.

"Uh, okay. Okay, yeah, I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay, good. That's good," you hear shuffling, and imagine him moving from one foot to the other, "I'll be waiting outside the dorms."

"Outside the— what if someone sees you?"

"They know anyway."

Which is the truth. Inherently the private person, you'd asked Minho to keep your newly budding relationship a secret from your peers, a request he'd agreed to almost immediately. Ever the understanding and gentle soul, he'd not once asked to go public with you, even though Hyunjin told you how he sometimes drunkenly mumbles about wanting to hold your hand when Soobin gets a little too close, about wanting to get you coffee on 7 A.M. Tuesday lectures when he knows you haven't slept for more than two hours, about kissing you under the lights on prom night when all couples got their fancy on and indulged in each other after a tough semester.

He wants, yearns, craves.

But you'd been cruel enough to deny him that. Trust issues and fear of commitment aside, you'd been afraid to tell people, to introduce him as your boyfriend, because saying that aloud would make it all the more real, and you'd no longer be able to control the flutter to your heart every time he appeared in your peripheral vision, you'd no longer been able to hold back the intensity of your feelings that seeming only grow with each passing hour, minute, second you spend looking at him.

It had scared you. Understandably so.

Caught up in over your head, you hadn't stopped to consider what it all meant for him, what he might perceive this as. He had no way of knowing what you actually felt, not unless you told him.

It all happened a week ago, when your phone dinged with a notification from Hyunjin. Instead of telling you, he sent you a video this time, a video of Minho slumped back against the wall of the speakeasy you both frequent, eyes shut with his head resting on the concrete.

dumplin [2:57 A.M.]

VID_3653833_219389.mp4

he's been like this for half hr

"I love this place," his intoxicated form had rasped in the video.

Hyunjin who was behind the camera had snorted, asking the reason for the sudden confession.

Minho had grinned, all toothy, bunny smile on display, "I come here all the time with my girlf—" only to stop dead in his tracks, eyes snapping open, neck suddenly ramrod straight with panic all over his drowsy features.

"Your girl..?" Hyunjin had prompted from behind the camera, barely stifling his chortle.

"Uh, my, my. Oh god, I don't know. I don't know what I was saying."

He always was a bad liar. Even in his hazy eyes, even through the shaky video, you could see the hurt, the pain behind his actions as he rubbed the heel of his palms against his eyes, chugged a bottle of water to sober himself up.

"It's okay, Minho. I know. We all know."

"Know what?" he had asked, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

"We know you're dating the dance society president."

His eyes had widened, a fresh surge of agitation creeping its way onto his otherwise relaxed face.

"No. No, that's not true. Who told you that?"

Hyunjin had chuckled and told him he was the one who introduced you guys, and the other six seated on the table were among the very few people who did know of your apparently secret relationship.

"I don't know what you're talking about. She and I are just frei—"

The video had cut off there and half an hour later, you found yourself asking the local security guard for directions to 'The Late Bite'.

The bejewelled smile he cast your way as you entered the dining space lasted only a fraction of a second, him going back to pretending you were mere acquaintances and your heart had all but given up.

Marching to him, you had gotten him up on his feet. Ignoring the confused, almost frightened look to his face, you had for once asked your brain to shut the fuck up, and finally given in.

You kissed him. You kissed him on the mouth, swallowing the gasp he let out, ignoring the gasps the people in the diner let out, cradling his face with care befitting a porcelain doll, for truly, he was. As fragile as fine china, as delicate as the first rays of sun hitting the horizon.

Not the tough guy he pretends to be, the hard exterior, the unbreakable shell. You know him to be none of those things.

The dazed smile, the look of blatant relief he'd given you before collapsing on you, mumbling a small breathy, "thank you," was all you needed to know that you'd made no mistake. This was how it was supposed to be, always.

And so it had began.

He held your hand when Soobin got a little too close, he got you coffee on 7 A.M. Tuesday lectures when you were running on two hours of sleep, he held your nape and kissed you under the nightlights, because prom had passed by then but it didn't matter to him, he had kissed you, kissed you, and kissed you some more, till your head got fuzzy from the lack of air supply, till it was physically impossible to stay connected for even another second.

And that's how you find yourself here, making your way out of the girls' dorm in the quiet of the night, it being well past midnight by now— not before checking your reflection in the common bathroom once, fluffing out your hair, splashing some cold water onto your face.

He's standing under a street lamp with his hands into the pockets of his fleece jacket, unmatching with the track set he wears underneath.

He's the single most picky person you know when it comes to styling outfits, deciding what goes well with what, which colour compliments the undertones of another one. Well, besides you of course. Your friends teased you both about how you were practically cut from the same cloth, the same material but different textures, so alike in all the places that mattered, so different in all the places that didn't so much.

So the beige jacket atop the cherry red track set stands out a little too much, and your heart thumps a little too fast at the possibility of his eagerness to see you outweighing his need to look presentable at all times.

You shuffle forward, heart picking up its erratic staccato, the same way it does every time he's within a mile's radius, threatening to jump out of the confines of your ribcage, trying to lunge for what was once so out of reach, for far too long.

He's reclined against the street lamp, eyes closed, head thrown back against the cool metal pole, allowing the ombre light to fall straight onto his fluffy mop of hair. It's unstyled, freshly washed. The caramel tone compliments the muted yellow light streaming down his face, painting him, drowning him.

Your heart aches from running a mile a minute.

Or from feeling so full. You aren't exactly sure.

"Hi," you squeak tentatively, not wanting to disturb him when he looks so peaceful. And beautiful. God, he looks beautiful.

His eyes flutter open. Your heart breaks open with them.

He forgoes pleasantries in favour of wrapping his arms around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his chest, and you hold him back, hug him back, squeeze him like you never want to let go. Because really, you don't. Not now, not ever.

"Where's your jacket?" he mumbles into your shoulder, stroking his face back and forth against it, much like the stray cat that visits your dorm room at nights does.

"Mm?"

He chuckles, "It's cold out. Why didn't you put on a jacket?"

"Oh," you pull back, there's pink dusting your cheeks, and you really hope it passes as the consequence of the chilly night, "I guess I forgot."

He smiles wide, affectionate and all kinds of pretty, and the tear in the front of your heart deepens, curling a little to the back, threatening to split it into two.

It's not so impossible a situation, you suppose. Lee Minho is very much capable of shattering your heart into a million pieces with a single smile, then healing it back with a kiss to your temple, breaking it along new cracks, then moulding it back together with the same blowtorch he uses to melt sugar atop his Crème Brûlée, the blue flame made all the more hot with searing kisses, aimed at trapping you into this cycle where he plays with your heart, keeping it with him to do as he pleases.

And you'd let him. Let him have his way with you, to make you, unmake you, only to make you again.

You're his clay, and he's your artist.

You're brought back to the present as a sudden warmth engulfs you, and when you look over your shoulder to see the beige fleece jacket dropped around you, it warms you from the inside too.

"Hey, you'll catch the cold, you have an assessment tomorrow too—"

He shrugs, "I'll live."

"Minho, seriously I'm fine, here take it back—"

"It doesn't match my fit anyway," he entwines your fingers together and begins slowly walking, guiding you along.

It's then that it clicks. Glancing down, you take note that the jacket actually goes with your outfit, and you refuse to pick up on the reason for this coincidence, for certainly, it's not one. It's planned, thought out.

You'll ignore it all the same. For the well being of your poor heart that's working overtime, your senses that are on high alert, your hand, so so warm engulfed in his large one.

"Where are we going?" you ask instead.

"Just a night walk," he begins, and you've spent enough time with him by now to know that his voice sounds bashful, the little shy lilt to it endlessly endearing, "wanted to spend some time with you."

You clutch at your chest with the other hand, exhaling a deep sigh, and squeeze his hand, praying that it's appreciation enough, that it compensates for your inability to verbally acknowledge his thoughtfulness.

But if there's one thing that he's, without a doubt, mastered about you, is your tells.

He knows when you're too abashed to outright admit it out loud that you appreciate him.

He knows when you're too overwhelmed to downright confess you're having trouble staying focussed.

He knows when you're too exhausted to unequivocally divulge your reluctance to anything social.

He just knows. But you don't; you don't know what you did to deserve this, to deserve him.

You still don't think you do, truth be told.

When you snap out of your daze, you both are no longer on campus grounds, walking along a lone street you don't recognise, lit by flickering lights threatening to give out any moment, but in a moment of vulnerability that surprises even yourself, you find you're not scared. Because Minho is with you, and as long as that stands, as long as you're lucky enough for that to stand, you know you're safe.

"Where are we going?" you echo your previous question.

But this time, he grins with a mischievous glint to his eye, looks you over and his pupils dilate, as if merely looking at you is enough to kickstart his heart into overdrive, "You'll see."

And see you do. Twenty minutes later, here you stand, bare feet pressed into the wet sand by the shore, both arms wrapped around his bicep, head resting on the trusty shoulder, humming along to the sound the breeze makes as it whisks past you.

"Are you cold?" he whispers, despite there being no one except the two of you on the beach at this time of day, taking your hands in his and swiping his thumb over your knuckles, assessing the answer for himself, lest you lie to not worry him. "Mm. No, you're not," he hums to himself, guiding your head back where it rested against the crook of his neck, only this time wrapping his own arms around, engulfing you in an embrace that speaks of warmth, of comfort, of love.

But for some reason you aren't sure of yourself, you resist, not taking his lead in going back to your previous stance, instead just staring into his eyes with something you don't know, but it seems he does, for his facial expression turns from surprised to lovestruck in the matter of a second.

He leans in, granting your silent request. Really, you don't know how he does it, almost like you don't have to say anything at all, for he hears you loud and clear without you having to utter a single word.

If what people say about having a soul person is true, he is yours.

And as your lips slot together, the waves behind you crash the loudest they have today, as if the nature is rejoicing, the elements exuberating, witnessing the collision of two beautiful souls, their stitching together into a single bracelet in the form of two bright pearls.

He is the black one, burning passion and quiet peace.

You are the white one, inherent perfectionist and loud existence.

You compliment each other, matching almost every piece of clothing in the wardrobe, neutralising when the other gets too much, burning along when the other gets dim.

"I love you."

You don't know what love means, what it stands for, what it entails.

But you're in love with the idea of loving him.

"I love you," you echo into his mouth, forgoing the "too" at the end because it makes it sounds like a passive confession, a favour returned, when it's easily the truest statement you have had to utter in all the time you've spent thinking about him, him, him.

"I love you, I love you," and alas, once you say it, you can't seem to stop, you want him to know, you want the whole world to know. You want to write it on the stars for the universe to read, that you are his, and he yours.

"I love you so goddamn much."

It hurts, it hurts so much, more than it did an hour ago when you caught sight of him standing outside your dorms. Now that your heart is aware of the gravity of what it feels for him, it just hurts.

When he pulls back, it's to hold your chin in the care of his palm, making you look at him, his eyes glittering with the beginnings of perspiration.

"I love you," he says simply.

To any onlooker, it might have seemed tame, insane maybe, for you two haven't been saying anything except the same three words in the last ten minutes.

But you know, only you know that they aren't the same words.

The first time he said it was to test the waters, to see if you would run away.

The first time you said was to check for yourself, did you love him?

The second and third time you said it was to tell your heart that yes, yes you did, you loved him more than you did anyone before, and it's a wonder how it took him saying it first for you to realise that.

The final time you said it, it was to him, to let him know that you did.

The final time he said it was to say yes, he knows, he knows that you do, that he knows the first two confessions were for your heart more than they were for him, that he's proud you've let down your walls enough to let him in, that he's grateful you've chosen him.

You suddenly find yourself descended on the shore, your back pressed into the cool sand that tickles your nape, Minho hovering over you with a look that can only be described with three words.

I love you.

"Be mine?" he says with wet kisses trailing up your jaw, stopping after every one to take in a deep inhale.

It's silly maybe, to say that when you're already dating but you know what he means, for you feel the same.

"I already am," you say as your body cants upwards, up, up, up, towards him, towards safety.

His hands trail down your body to where the waistband of your sweats sits, tracing along the diameter it transcends, looping his arm to the back to lift you up a tad more.

"Can I?"

You don't know what he's asking for, your motor and sensory neurons having stopped working, still chanting the same words over and over, 'iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou'.

So you nod, letting him undo the knot that rests on your lower stomach, letting him expose you in a manner most intimate, letting him have you for him, surrendering to the onslaught of pleasure.

When he sinks down on you, stretching you open for the very first time, it's with a groan you wish you could record, paste onto your eardrum, for every time a sound reaches the tympanic membrane, it would vibrate, carrying with it the symphony of the voice you want to hear every second of everyday.

As the initial euphoria of letting him in wears off, with him buried to the hilt, you look up at him, his soft brown hair falling down like curtains on either side of his temple, spilling over his nape that's suddenly too narrow to contain all the strands. And it's then that you remember saying you loved it whenever he was too busy and pushed back going to the salon, his long locks a guilty pleasure, your indulgence.

You reach your hand forward, entwining it with his silken strands, just holding, feeling, "Did you grow them out for me?"

"Yes," he whispers without a beat, as though waiting for you to take note of it without him having to say it first.

This time, the tears do trickle down your eyes, staring up at what you only appreciated from a distance.

"I can't believe t-this—" you choke out the last word when he begins moving, ever so slightly pulling back, pushing forward with a little more force, a little more ardour, the veins in his neck all the more prominent with the strain it takes to hold himself back from going faster.

You tug at his roots, a sharp hiss emanating from somewhere deep in his throat, the roll to his eyes evidence enough of how there's now another reason for him to keep his locks long enough to pull at.

He presses his body closer to yours, coming down on his elbows, kissing down the trail of your hot tears on even hotter skin underneath. It's his way of saying he's listening, an unspoken encouragement for you to continue, but also that it's okay if you don't.

But today is the day you've decided to bare it all to him, to not coware back, to let him know what only you have for what seems like forever.

"I s-saw you on the day of the orientation," you barely get out, coherence slipping past your fingertips much like the fine sand particles you're currently making love atop.

He stills, looking into your eyes, searching for something, "The very first day of college?"

You nod, stretch your lips into what you hope is a smile for your tears are cascading down with a current, sweeping anything and everything that dares come in the way of your route to him.

"That was like, five months ago," he seems incredulous, unbelieving that you were, in fact, the first to notice him and not the other way around.

Entangling your other hand into his hair, fingers brushing the one already slotted in there, you chuckle, "Yeah, it was like, five months ago. I had my eye on you for quite a while, pretty boy."

He doesn't buy the distraction you only half hoped he would, tenting his eyebrows into an upside down V, "And?" he prompts, yet again knowing that there's more to what you're saying.

"It's silly," you mumble, turning away from his gaze that puts your well being at risk.

A gentle finger to your chin, a swift sway of your face to pin you under the same gaze.

"Tell me." Simple as that, with no way out.

Maybe you don't want one.

"I-I saw you on the first day, a-and… I just, god you were so pretty, I thought— I wanted you already, but I thought you were a little too pretty, you know? And, and that eveyone would want you too, and you'd have so many options, ones better than me, and I'd have to get in line, and then—"

A firm press of lips, locked together in love and lust, in lieu of reassurance that you know is still coming.

"It was you for me, always," he says when he pulls back, "there's no line, no one else, just you. And me. Just us, hm?"

"Mm," you hum, losing yourself in the rhythm of his hips that have begun moving once again, small whimpers escaping right into his ear that is pressed against your cheek. Whether it's deliberate or not, you don't know.

He grasps onto one of your ankles, winding it around behind him, the space thus created allowing him to push in all the deeper.

"Oh god, Minho—"

His pace picks up when you pull his hair enough to cause a faint sting on his scalp, in addition to being a direct result of the way his name keeps overflowing past your lips.

You gasp, fighting for air, clutching onto his shoulders, afraid he'd slip away if you let go, "Everyone can see."

It's a little too late for that now.

"Let them. Let them see," quickening of thrusts, desperation rearing its head in the most sinful of ways.

"Let me show them how much I love you."

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rollinouttahere-writes · 1 year ago

Note

Shanks rocks up to Lucky and Buggy’s wedding

Interacts with Lucky for like a minute: “you know what, this is nice, real nice, how about instead of it being your wedding (to buggy) it becomes mine”

Got inspired, did a little drabble

Frankly, this whole situation was embarrassing. Not only had you stupidly promised your hand in marriage to a god damn clown, you had now allowed yourself to be captured by said clown. Ashamed was not a strong enough word for how you felt.

Luckily for you, you'd been able to afford yourself some time away from what is regrettably your fiance by insisting that it was traditional for the bride and groom to not see each other right before the wedding. Admittedly, you didn't care much about it, you just wanted to give yourself some time alone and a chance to escape.

This was made difficult thanks to you being stuffed in a wedding gown by a very nervous seamstress that you're 99% sure was here against her will and being locked in the dressing room once she was finished. You weren't about to give up, though. Maybe you could squeeze yourself out of the window?

The escape attempt was shot down almost immediately by a knock at your door. Without waiting for an answer, whoever it was unlocked it and let themselves in. You'd assumed it was Buggy being unable to wait to see you in the wedding gown, but instead a red haired man came in. You can't help but wonder if he's lost, his clothing looks far too casual to be wedding attire.

His smile was warm and he held out a hand to you, "It's nice to finally meet you! I never thought I'd see the day where Buggy got married."

You had no idea who this man was, but politely returned the handshake regardless. His hand was rough and calloused, he most certainly didn't lead a leisurely lifestyle. The sooner you could end this interaction and send him on his way, the sooner you could make a run for it. You laughed awkwardly, "Yeah, I never thought I'd see the day either."

The man raised a brow at your response, but didn't comment on how forced it sounded. You attempted to pull your hand away when the handshake went on for longer than you deemed necessary, but his grip was too tight. It wasn't until you pulled again, harder this time, that he realized what he was doing and let go.

Even he seemed a little startled by his own actions. He scratched the back of his head and chuckled, "Sorry about that, my crew and I were up all night getting ready for the wedding when we caught word of it. I guess I'm a little more tired than I realized." His eyes gave you a once over, fully taking in the gown you were wearing, "Oh, and you look lovely by the way, I can see why he's in such a rush to get a ring on your finger."

"Oh, thank you, that's so kind of you," your voice was borderline monotone. "Also it's fine, don't worry about it." His excuse made sense. With how many people there were that would happily end Buggy if it meant even a slightly improved chance at being with you, the wedding was rushed to say the least. You're pretty sure Buggy was actively hunting down someone to officiate the union as you spoke.

You honestly hadn't expected to see any guests here beyond Buggy's own crew, which again raised the question of: Who are you talking to?

Might as well sate your curiosity and ask, "So... Are you a friend of his?"

His brows raised and his eyes widened slightly. Were you supposed to know who he was already? Oops. He spoke up before you could wrack your brain for clues as to who he was, "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that he didn't mention me, he's always been a bit... Moody. I'm Shanks, we grew up together."

Your jaw hit the floor. Shanks? THE Shanks??? The guy that Luffy couldn't shut up about?!

"Y-Y-You're the guy that gave Luffy his hat!" You pointed at him with a shaky hand as all decorum and manners went out the window from the shock of knowing who you were talking to.

Shanks laughed loudly, "The one and only. How is that kid anyway? Seems like he's still getting himself into trouble just like the old days."

"Calling what he gets up to 'trouble' is putting it mildly," that boy can't take two steps onto an island without toppling a government. "He's great though, especially after rescuing Ace."

"I was relieved to see him get out of there safely, too. It's still a bit hard to believe that Buggy is the one who pulled it off, though."

Ah. Yeah. It was hard to believe for you, too. And even more difficult to accept just what that meant for you. You deflated as you were violently reminded of your current situation, "Yeah, I can't believe it either."

"Is everything alright? You don't seem very excited about the wedding," Shanks narrowed his eyes at you, scrutinizing your face for any hints as to why you were acting this way.

You weren't sure if confiding in him was a good idea. He clearly held a level of fondness for Buggy, so it was debatable if he would want to help you escape or keep you here. But... It's not like you had much to lose at this point.

"It's, uh, kind of a funny story. You see, I might've said something along the lines of 'if you save Ace, I will marry you', but like, I didn't think he'd actually be able to do it. So now I'm kinda stuck in this mess where he thinks I really meant it, but I didn't, and we're getting married in like ten minutes give or take and I don't know what to do?" You can only hope that your hastily thrown together explanation not only makes sense, but also earns you some sympathy.

Shanks lips were pursed as he stared down at you, "I did find it odd that your door was locked from the outside."

Hope sparked in your heart. In a fit of desperation, you threw yourself at Shanks and held onto him while looking into his eyes pleadingly, "Please, if you can just get me out of this room, I will really owe you one!" You're sure that the Straw Hats can't be far behind. If you can just get to the shore, they'll likely be there and ready to save you.

His hand rested on your back to keep you steady. Then, it started to gently glide up and down the exposed skin, which felt distinctly not like it was for your comfort. Horror seeped into your very core as you saw an all too familiar gleam in his eyes.

No, please, no. This can't be happening again.

"It would be a shame to let this dress go to waste... Maybe we can continue this on the Red Force? How does that sound?"

Suddenly, the door was thrown open and you saw an absolutely enraged Buggy standing in the entryway. "What are you doing here?! Get away from my wife!"

"But you aren't married yet, she could still be anybody's wife," Shanks tone was teasing but the look in his eyes was anything but.

That set Buggy off and in an instant he was throwing knives right at Shanks who dodged them with ease. You were shoved off to the side as Buggy kept trying and failing to land a hit on Shanks. While the red haired pirate was trying to engage in some witty banter, the clown was having none of it and just shrieked various insults at him.

Using the chaos of the altercation, you quietly slipped out of the room and made a run for it. There wasn't a chance in hell that you were going to stick around to see who won that fight. Because either way, you would be losing.

#lucky break #yandere one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece #buggy the clown #red haired shanks #shanks #humanoid606

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nogenderbee · 28 days ago

Text

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝕊𝕙𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝 𝕤𝕟𝕠𝕨 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ @bleachtheidiot

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"Ridiculous..."

Wanderer muttered while climbing the ladder he leaned on the house's rooftop. Someone had to shovel the snow from there and you said you were scared, so it was just him left... And it's not like he feared, he simply find it tiring!

Whether you saying "you're scared" was truth or just an excuse... is something that only you'll know~ But either way, it worked!

He climbed up with shovel in hand and curse under his nose, while you looked up at him with sly smirk~ It didn't go unnoticed to him of course as he returned your smirk with annoyed glare...

"Having fun, down there, huh?"

"More than you think~"

You replied, not wavering under his gaze! He could only keep his eyes on your form for a little bit longer before scoffing and beginning to shovel the snow from rooftop carefully.

Eventually, you got a bit bored of just standing there and waiting for job to be done... So you got a plan! You decided to make a snowman!

It was peaceful for both of you~ He of course called your actions "childish" but just know he secretly found it quite adorable~

When you were on the decorating phase, you had a problem... you didn't know what else to decorate it with except some rocks and sticks... or so you thought... untill you saw a pretty scarf hanged inside the house!

"Where you going, huh?"

Dark blue haired bot caught you mid tracks, taking notice of the fact you were leaving him alone in the backyard. Well.. for now at least...

"Just to get some decorations! Don't worry~"

"If you say so, pipsqueak..."

He turned back to the work at hand, while you happily took the pretty blue-black scarf and wrapped it around snowman's neck! Simply admiring your work~

Your awe lasted few minutes though... as not so long after, Wanderer noticed that the decoration you picked for your snowman looked... way too familiar...

"Is that mine?!"

He called upon realizing where you took it from... You looked back and noticing his irritated face... you couldn't help but just let out an awkward giggle, before actually making up some words.

"I... guess I forgot... sorry~"

"You forgot?!"

He looked like he was about to snap... But instead, he turned his back to you and continued shoveling with small "alright.." muttered.

At this point, you honestly weren't sure I'd you should be worried or relieved... But so far it seemed like the two of you were good, so you picked the second option!

But oh how wrong were you... when you finished making your snowman perfect, you could feel a cold plush cover your head and shoulders! And even some for into your shoes..!

Looking up, you noticed no one else than Wanderer smirking down with shovel which clearly just did all of that. Yet, he simply tried putting on an innocent face, but his cocky grin was breaking it way too much for him...

"Oops, I guess I didn't notice you~"

That honestly pissed you... it's not like you meant anything bad by taking that scarf and he's still holding onto it!!! You'd return it later all warn and so! Yet he just loves being vengeful towards you, huh...

"Liar!! I know it's a payback! Just wait untill-!!"

"Come and get me then. Oh wait... you're scared~"

He taunted you with a grin, being absolutely sure you'll chicken out~ Whether you are honestly scared of heights or not... is something he's about to see as well~

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ 2024 ᴀᴅᴠᴇɴᴛ ᴄᴀʟᴇɴᴅᴀʀ

#genshin impact #genshin #x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wanderer #wanderer x reader #genshin wanderer #genshin wanderer x reader #fluff #platonic #genshin platonic #genshin fluff #oneshot #genshin oneshot

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nariism · 1 year ago

Text

chaos makes the muse

pair. hayakawa aki x gn!reader

content: enemies to lovers, fluff, mentions of addiction and smoking cigarettes (negatively, i'm sorry smokers pls look away), reader is a little shit and aki is sick and tired, swearing

synopsis. aki's life is defined by bad decisions and terrible habits. it culminated in you. he's screwed.

wc. 6.2k (oops)

a/n: this is my preemptive apology for all the smokers out there who i just slandered !! i am so sorry i love you. this fic was meant to be experimental with tropes and dynamics i've never tried before, sorry if it's not entirely up to standard :') i really tried my best guys... enjoy!

it started as a challenge.

it always starts as a challenge for aki — from the lit end of his cigarette to the place where it sits dangerously between his teeth. he picked it up as a bad habit from himeno. that was his first challenge; the way he'd adamantly refused to smoke but ultimately caved over a lukewarm bowl of ramen. what a depressing tale.

it wasn't meant to be anything more than a "why the hell not?" sort of defiance against the universe.

he hadn't been broken in by devil hunting yet and didn't need it as something to take the edge off. oh, how he wishes he could go back in time and slap himself silly.

day by day he found his reliance grew. an unpleasant itch in his throat, an insatiable craving that would slam into his chest and leave him breathless at the most inconvenient times. sometimes he would start muttering to himself in irritation when he got that familiar itch right after brushing his teeth.

as he got older and worked a little longer as a devil hunter, he grew less and less sane the longer he went without a smoke.

that was the second challenge; trying to focus on his jobs when his brain was buzzing with need. it was hard to stay sharp when he could feel the box sitting in his front pocket — agonizing, teasing, mocking him.

it's probably the reason he ended up in this mess in the first place, standing across from makima while she lists off all the ways he messed up on his last job. and the list is long. he must have really needed a dart.

so here he is, back turned to the door as he faces makima head-on. his fingers instinctively drum against the pocket of his pants, along the box sitting there, and all he can think is "i can't wait to get out of here for a smoke."

then the door swings open. a chill runs down his spine before he even turns around, because there's a certain air that enters the room unlike any he's felt before.

he's encountered the scariest devils out there. his whole family was taken out by a gargantuan gun-infested lovecraftian monster. but for some reason, aki gets an unfamiliar wave of horror that washes over him when he finally turns around.

"this is your new temporary partner until i'm sure you can be trusted alone on another mission."

and there you are. his third challenge.

you seem too relaxed to have been in this business for long, though it looks like you could only be a year or two younger than him. there's something about you that ticks him off. you're not a fiend — definitely not with how plain you are, but the way you're scowling at him as if he's a disease on this earth makes him second guess it.

aki can't even hear what makima is talking about anymore, too busy melting into a puddle under your heavy, judgemental glare. silence fills the room and aki is acutely aware that he's supposed to introduce himself, but you're too quick to speak and beat him to the punch.

"you smoke," is your deadpan and rather uncalled for observation.

"yes i do. and?"

you scrutinize him with a sneer, clearly disgusted.

"i don't like the smell of smoke. or smokers."

his jaw nearly drops at your bluntness. for the sake of keeping his cool exterior intact, he steels himself and takes a deep breath. it's fine. he knew how to deal with handfuls like you, like denji, like power. trouble kids. this would be easy–

"i promise you, i'll be uncooperative and keep you as a hostage in lower paying jobs until you quit."

"you... can't be serious?"

"dead serious."

"... and who the hell are you again?"

"i don't tell people my name."

"this whole mysterious act sucks. and your attitude sucks, too."

your glare sharpens at his words and you huff like a child throwing a tantrum. he almost wants to laugh at how your expression has changed. instead, he holds out his hand with a resigned sigh. "alright, alright. i'm sorry. my name is hay-"

you slap his hand away; a wordless warning accompanied by another look that makes him shrink back.

"don't care. didn't ask."

makima smiles, cruel and knowing. "i'm glad to see the two of you getting along. you're dismissed."

aki knows he shouldn't be mad at makima. it was his fault in the first place that the devil got away, and only because he was so distracted. this was a fair punishment for such a severe mess up. if this was her way of teaching him a lesson, he would just have to grit his teeth and bear through it.

he stares you down with disdain sitting under his tongue, bitter and unforgiving like the aftertaste of his black coffee in the morning; like having a mouthful of power and denji's burnt breakfast; like the tar that coats his lungs.

"fine then, be that way. nice to meet you, partner."

aki's mornings start slow.

they always have, for as long as he can remember. he wakes up just after the crack of dawn, to which denji has called him sick in the head multiple times for, and spends his time unwinding before he inevitably has to go into work and be on high alert for ten hours straight.

it's a peaceful morning like any other. he's on his balcony overlooking the quiet streets of tokyo. denji and power haven't woken up yet, so he has at least a few moments of solitude (which he so desperately needs, by the way).

he cracks open a new box of cigarettes and shakes one into his hand. he's two seconds away from flicking open his lighter to start his morning smoke when–

"i told you i don't like smokers."

aki nearly falls off the balcony in surprise, whipping around to see the intruder. you're standing there with another frown on your face. he has to wonder if you can smile at all.

"how did you get into my apartment?!"

"huh? the front door. are you stupid?"

"but–" aki's head tilts so that he can peer over your shoulder. there's no sign of anyone else being awake to let you in, which means you must have just taken the liberty of waltzing on in here unannounced. "don't sneak up on me like that. i could have hurt you."

"why would you do that?"

"excuse me? because you just broke into my apartment, for fuck's sake."

"i didn't!" you argue back defensively, fumbling in your pocket to pull out a key. and in that moment, aki realizes something deeply, deeply terrible. just as makima had sprung the role of babysitter onto him with denji and power, she has now bestowed upon him possibly the most irritating human being ever born.

this can’t be happening. he couldn’t possibly get stuck with a third unbearable roommate. what kind of shitty karma does he have?

"i... i need a minute."

your tongue clicks in annoyance. "hurry up. i want to leave for work asap."

"just go in yourself. i can meet you there later."

"i don't have a car."

it's as if thunder claps in his ears. "you... don't... have a car..." he repeats back to you slowly, utterly defeated. "at least let me finish getting ready."

you eye the cigarette still held between his fingers with nothing but contempt. "i don't like–"

"yes, yes, i get it! you don't like the smell of smoke. you don't like me."

your face scrunches slightly as you fall silent. if he didn't think you were being such a pest right now, he might have thought you looked a little cute.

"it hurts my nose."

"you have a sensitive nose or something?"

"or something."

his eye twitches.

aki very quicky learns that when you don't like how things are done, you're very vocal about it. and not only are you vocal, if he ever decided to be stubborn you would take actions into your own hands.

he can't count how many times you've stomped up to him in the middle of a job just to slap the cigarette straight out of his mouth and snuff it out with your heel. he's starting to get antsy because of it.

you're a menace. sometimes he even finds that a box of cigarettes he had purchased the night before has mysteriously ended up drenched at the bottom of the bath. it's infuriating.

he doesn't understand how someone could be so intolerant to a scent. he knew it was unpleasant, but he would like to think that he has impeccable enough hygiene to at least be passable. hell, even denji and power don't seem to notice or care.

(not that it's a very high bar to clear when it comes to them. denji once ate a kid's half-chewed leftovers off the table at mcdonalds and said it was a waste of food. aki was not pleased.)

it's not until he's known you for exactly sixty-two days that he learns the truth. two agonizing months of taking a single drag before you come over to him and snatch the cancer stick right out from under his nose.

aki isn't sure how he never noticed — the minute twitch of your nose when you were drawing closer to a devil. the way your shoulders stilled as you held your breath around denji and power.

he thought you were just a regular human being. he should have known makima wouldn't have paired him with someone normal. you were makima's personal devil tracker.

"it's this way," you tell him as you lead him further into the tunnel. it's almost pitch black. aki can't get a read on anything around him.

"how do you know?"

you look at him with an brow raised, like he just asked a really dumb question. "i can smell it."

"you can smell it?"

"i can smell it,” you repeat in confirmation.

"you're insane. there's nothing down here. let's just go back and regroup with–"

you suddenly swivel around, the flashlight in your hand beaming into his face. he has to cover them with a hand as he scowls at you for temporarily blinding him.

"no! it's here! it would just be easier to find if someone wasn't masking up its scent!"

aki's eyes roll into the back of his head at your little jab. "don't waste my time. i have better things to be doing than babysitting you down here."

he gestures dramatically for you to continue walking, shuffling around in his pocket before pulling out a dart. you glower at him distastefully.

"are you for real right now? you can't go 5 minutes without a smoke?"

he just shrugs, lighting it as he trails behind you. "if i need one then i need one."

"i can't believe you. you're seriously so childish," you sputter out, turning around to glare at him.

aki just sighs tiredly, blowing smoke into your face.

he can't wrap his head around why denji and power have taken such a liking to you.

you're rude and blunt and shameless with your remarks. if he was irrational he might have knocked you out by now for constantly swiping darts out of his mouth.

your relationship is purely obligatory. there's a level of mutual trust between you and him; there has to be for the two of you to be a partially functioning team of hunters — but even then, you bicker. and as soon as you're home, you rush into your room in a flurry of curse words and bites that leave aki grumbling to himself.

he doesn't get it. there's not an ounce of appeal.

you have a plain style and an even less exciting personality. he also thinks you have an ugly attitude problem and act like a brat when you want something from him. he always caves, too, which is the worst part — it's some unawakened big brother instinct that he never got to feel as a kid.

he spoils you too much for your own good.

don't want carrots in your curry tonight? fine. he doesn't want to hear you complaining about it, or worse, flinging them around the room with power. again.

saw something at the hundred yen store on the way home? whatever. it's just a hundred yen. if you want it then he'll buy it even if it's something as stupid as a charm for your keychain.

and he hates that you find it all so sentimental, the cheap little trinkets he gets for you. he absolutely loathes the fact that you lug them all around with you. they clink and jingle as you walk around, a clear dead giveaway when you're trying to be stealthy during a job.

(the kicker? it's so endearing that he can't even find it in himself to scold you for it. he despises you for making him even consider calling you cute.)

he should have grown a stronger resolve about this sort of thing. otherwise, he would have been coming home unscathed tonight.

he exhales in exhaustion as he watches you retreat into your room again for the night before he shuffles over into the bathroom and sits at the edge of the tub. he had just bought you a little bracelet with a bell charm on it, jingling with every step you took. it was a grave mistake to bring it into enemy territory.

as much as he would love to place the blame on you, he can't. not when you're so much less experienced out in the field than he is, and not when you were so reserved the entire ride home.

it was his fault. he should have known better.

you were eerily silent as you drove (he was in no condition to drive, so despite his reluctance handing you his car keys, he really had no choice). there was a look on you that was unrecognizable — something morphed between guilt and worry.

he usually doesn't smoke in the confines of his apartment, taking his cigarettes outside where it'll smell less. but he needs one badly right now, and who are you to stop him in his own home?

he catches his reflection in the mirror above the sink. it hits him then how much of a mess he is right now; hair disheveled and masking his vision, blood staining his white button-up, sweat sticking to his forehead and smoke rising to veil half of his face.

aki doesn't get paid enough for this.

"you look like shit."

his eyes flutter closed at the sound of your voice from the door. you invite yourself in, standing a few feet away from him with a hand covering your nose.

"smell like it, too."

"yeah, i bet," he mumbles, pulling the dart from between his teeth to blow smoke in your direction like he always does when you’re pissing him off. you wave it away with a scowl.

"that was rude."

"speak for yourself."

"you suck."

"did you come in here just to be a bother?"

your face twists and he almost bursts out laughing at the constipated expression you give him. you fumble a little with your sleeves, gaze falling to the floor as you stand there like a kid who just threw up and needs their mom to come clean it up.

"do you need help?" you ask him, voice nearly inaudible.

he considers it for a second before his eyes drift to the cigarette still lit between his fingers. "no. it's fine. it's probably better if you're not in here with me right now."

"but you're hurt."

"i've been through worse. i'm fine, really," aki raises a brow at you and your strange behaviour, "don't worry about it."

you're silent again for a moment as his words sink in. "i feel bad. i feel like it's my fault." you sound earnest about it, chewing on your bottom lip guiltily.

he exhales loudly in response, shifting his weight a little on the tub so he can unbutton his shirt. "okay, okay. quit making that face. it's creeping me out."

you huff at his words but surprisingly offer no rebuttal. you waddle over to him slowly, brows furrowing further with each drag of your feet against the tile floor. he watches you curiously as you rummage through the sink cabinet and kneel in front of him, body resting between his thighs.

if you can feel how warm he gets from the action, you don't bother teasing him about it.

your nose is entirely scrunched up now, though you do your best to hide your clear disdain for the scent of smoke filling your nose.

"you really don't have to do this. i promise i'm okay."

you leer at him stubbornly and he immediately relents, not in the mood for a petty argument. you work quickly and delicately, wrapping his wound in gauze. it's then that he realizes there's no tiny jingle of a bell filling the air as you move, and he looks down to see your empty wrist.

"for the record, it wasn't your fault," he says quietly, hand stopping yours. you don't try and slap it away this time, but falter a bit.

"... you don't have to try to be nice to me."

"i'm not trying to be nice. i'm just telling you how it is."

"but–"

"no buts."

your eyes meet his as you peer up at him. you stay still for just a beat before you're wrapping him again, careful not to nick his wound.

are you... crying?

it's subtle, the little tears gathering on your lashes. he might not have realized if it wasn't accompanied by the tiniest of sniffles (which makes you recoil back slightly with the intrusion of smoke filling your lungs).

oh no. he's growing a soft spot for you because of this. the most irritating human on the planet, and he wants to give you a hug so you'll stop crying. what the hell is wrong with him.

aki's hand plops onto the top of your head before either of you realize it's happening. he awkwardly averts his stare.

"don't cry. it's ugly on you."

and it really is, because why else would his heart be having such a violent reaction to it?

for a second he anticipates the sharp sting of your hand smacking his away again, or maybe you'll even be so angry that you'll tilt your head up and sink your teeth into him like a rabid animal.

but you don't. you laugh — a real genuine laugh that makes him dizzy.

he's never been able to picture you with a smile on your face before. you always look feral, like you're about to launch at him and tear his skin off, or so tired that you can't even keep your eyes open anymore.

he sucks in a deep breath as he watches you laugh, blinking the tears out and wiping them up with your sleeve.

you don't say anything to him in response, instead giggling to yourself as you bandage him up the rest of the way. and he doesn't say anything either, not wanting to ruin something so special.

aki realizes that there's still a cigarette he's unconsciously rolling between his fingers. he hasn't taken a drag in so long that it's starting to extinguish itself. and despite the smell of smoke filling the room, you haven't stopped cleaning his wound and wrapping him.

he crushes it up in his hand and drops the ashes into the tub behind him.

he really should quit.

there's a shift in aki in the following weeks.

it's almost palpable — the way he speaks a little softer. a little more tender. kinder. and you can smell it, too; the scent of smoke slowly disappearing over time (not entirely, mind you, but it's the thought that counts).

you first noticed it when you came home from mcdonalds with denji, fries stuffed into your cheeks as you blinked down at aki who was on his hands and knees wiping down every square inch of the apartment.

"come on man, we're not that messy for you to be doing all that..." denji complained while scratching his balls. but aki didn't dignify him with a response, dutifully using a sponge and warm soapy water to scrub at the walls.

you observed him in secrecy later that night, peering into the bathroom as he dumped out the bucket of brown water. he was scrubbing the apartment clean of two years worth of smoke.

it didn't end there. as the months passed, you started smelling it on aki less, too.

once he smoked he would shower right away, even going so far as to pull over on the way home one night and use a public bathhouse. when he could he would change his clothes, too. his sudden change in lifestyle made it significantly more tolerable to linger around him. no longer were you holding your breath until your lungs ached in your ribcage.

aki also took notice of your change in behaviour in response. it was easier to be around you when you weren't constantly whining about his smell.

he didn't think he was being so obvious in the way he was starting to enjoy your company day by day. you still gave him migraines like no other, and he couldn't stand your attitude. but he couldn't help but find your quirks a little charming, at least a bit funny if nothing else.

he wasn't aware that a very watchful (and perverted) pair of eyes was picking up on his signs.

it's a quiet morning with the fan blowing. you and power are still dead to the world and aki has just settled down to have his breakfast.

"so like, what's the deal with you two anyways?"

he glances up from his food with a tilt of the head.

"what are you talking–"

"cause i mean, i totally saw you checking out their ass yesterday." at denji's remark, aki almost chokes on his rice.

"what? i absolutely was not." he guffaws at the blond as if he's ludicrous.

"riiiight... so, you're not into each other then? what's with the looks?"

"what looks?"

denji makes it a point to be theatrical in his renditions of the previous night, sighing dreamily and fluttering his lashes.

"like that."

"... just eat your breakfast, man. you're imagining things."

"nah, but i'm not. c'mon, you don't like them even a little?"

"no."

"liar."

"denji..." aki strains the name out through grit teeth — a warning.

"what'cha guys talkin' about?"

god no. aki can't do this today. not right now. it's too early in the morning.

"we were just talking about how lovey-dovey aki's been lately."

"ohoho, so he finally admits it?" power sits across the table, suddenly interested in conversation.

"i didn't admit anything..." aki puts his chopsticks down with a frustrated sigh, "and what the hell do you mean finally?"

"he totally did admit it. and you should have seen the two of them yesterday—"

"dude, i'm going to kick you in the balls."

"let me have a turn!"

"will you two stop already? i'm getting a headache."

it's a horrible conversation, honestly. a terrible, horrific, unforgiving realization that they might be even a small fraction correct.

this whole household is the bane of his existence.

this thought sticks with him all day; they're going to be the death of me. why me, universe? why me? it doesn't stop until he finally settles into bed at the end of his long day and lets his eyes slide shut for some well-deserved sleep.

there's laughter echoing in his ears, nothing more than a dreamy hallucination as he drifts in and out of sleep. it's sweet and rare and beautiful — he wants to capture it in a bottle and get drunk off of it.

just as aki is about to fall asleep, there's a gentle knock at the door. he stirs awake again with a soft groan, sitting up in bed.

"come in."

in you walk, hands clasped in front of you as you stare at your feet. "i had a nightmare."

he scoffs, but he's climbing out of bed and trodding over to you anyways. "what are you, a child? what'd you come to me about that for?"

"jerk."

he considers you quietly, focusing on the bags under your eyes and the way you shift uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze.

"well what do you want me to do?"

you chew on your lip for a moment. "can i sleep in here?"

"with me?"

"with you."

aki looks at you like you've lost your mind. "no," he says immediately. you wouldn't get a very restful sleep if you were suffocating in the lingering smell of smoke.

he expects you to put up a fight like you always do when things don't go your way. he even braces himself for the onslaught of names you'll call him.

it never comes. instead:

"okay."

quiet and resigned and tired. and he hates that it makes his stomach drop, because next thing he knows his hand is shooting forward to capture your wrist as you retreat.

"god, quit looking so sad. you're the worst," he tells you as he drags you back into the room and unceremoniously tosses you onto his bed.

"dickwad," you bite back weakly. aki can only roll his eyes in response as he takes half his pillows and blankets to make a temporary bed on the floor for himself. you watch him curiously.

"you're not sleeping in the bed?"

"you wouldn't be able to sleep if you were that close to me."

"... right."

"goodnight," he huffs, settling onto the uncomfortably hard wooden floor. a hush settles over the room and he assumes you've either fallen asleep or are trying to, until you start shuffling around for a couple seconds. he can hear your mouth opening and closing, as if you’re deciding whether or not to say something.

"what is it now?" aki sighs, rolling onto his side to peek at you. you're already facing him, balled up into the blanket.

"can i hold your hand at least?"

he gawks at you for a second before recomposing himself. it's just hand holding, who cares? not him. not even a bit.

(liar.)

"fine," he mumbles, slowly reaching up to offer his hand. you take it tentatively, fingers gently curling around his. his brain almost explodes into malfunctioning, heart stopping in his chest.

you blink at each other, gazes steady and unwavering. then your eyes flutter closed as you pull the blanket up and over the bottom half of your face.

"hayakawa?"

"what?" he studies you, watching the way your expression changes ever so slightly.

soft, relaxed.

"thank you."

some part of aki knows he shouldn't be trying to memorize every part of you like this, but he does it anyways.

devil hunters don't get attached to others. they don't, and they can't. but aki can't help it. it was his worst habit — worse than smoking, actually.

he was always getting emotionally involved when it came to his partners. he couldn't go to sleep anymore thinking about the fact that you would have to go in the next day and face whatever horrible devil got assigned to you. there was a sickness that gurgled in his stomach when he pictured your ragged corpse, unmoving and lifeless at his feet.

it stresses him out beyond reason, even though you're in the next room over perfectly alive and breathing. and when aki is stressed, he reaches for a cigarette.

he thinks he's being quiet, and since you should be asleep he figures just one wouldn't hurt. so he sneaks out onto his balcony for a smoke, leaning over the edge of the railing so that he can observe the empty streets below.

for some reason, he hesitates for a moment as he brings it to his lips. he doesn't even get to light it before he's once again rudely interrupted.

"you're smoking."

it's as if you have a secret sense for when he's about to smoke. or maybe you can just smell them when he taps them out of the box. either way, it irks him.

aki sighs, hand slowly lowering and dangling over the railing. he doesn't even try to deny it as he glances over his shoulder at you. you're leaning against the door frame with your arms crossed. you don't seem as irritated as you usually do, instead regarding him steadily in slight defeat.

it makes his heart ache, so he flicks the unlit dart off the balcony and watches it disappear into the darkness of the street below.

"it's unhealthy, you know."

"i know."

"so why?"

"you think i chose to be this way?" in some ways he did, but he'd never tell you that.

silence befalls you as you join his side, resting your elbows on the railing. it's a calm night; a gentle breeze blows the hair from your face when you turn to look at him.

you wordlessly examine him, and he does the same. you’re more exhausted than usual, wilted like a flower starved for water. he knows it must be draining trying to keep up with someone in a special division — especially since you don't seem to be anything more than a bomb dog for makima, sniffing out where devils are hiding. he doesn't blame you for being so tired.

"hey," he frowns at you.

"what?"

"are you ever going to tell me your name?"

"no."

"seriously?"

"seriously."

he lets out a tiny groan of annoyance before he gets an idea. "if i quit smoking, would you tell me?"

you survey him cautiously. "i'd consider it."

aki runs a hand through his long hair in contemplation, looking out toward the complex across from his. "i don't get how people just quit on a whim. doesn't seem possible."

"they have stuff for that. like, chewing gum or nicotine patches or whatever." he huffs as you continue, "you just need to find something to take your mind off of it. something that satisfies your craving."

"yeah? way easier said than done. also, i don't know if i like being lectured by the likes of–"

"you'd be too irritating if you were addicted to anything else, anyways," you dismiss your own idea, completely ignoring the glare you're receiving from aki.

"you're annoying, you know that? worse than denji. worse than power, somehow." but he wants to take care of you anyways.

"am i?" you challenge defiantly, turning to face him completely.

"the worst. honest to god, i've considered quitting my job because of you." but he hasn't, has he?

"have you now?"

"what the hell was makima thinking, trying to get me to quit smoking by sending her tracker after me?" he should be thanking her, really.

you answer him honestly, voice quiet as you allow him to unconsciously enter your personal space in his rant of frustration. "i don't know."

he only realizes he's standing too close to you when your nose twitches slightly and your brows furrow — indicators that the faint but lingering smell of smoke on him is giving you a headache.

"sorry."

he starts to pull back with a defeated noise, but then your hands shoot forward and gently cling to his sweater. he looks at you inquisitively. you seem surprised by your own actions, too.

aki is forced to reconcile with the fact that he doesn’t want to take his eyes off of you. in his almost twenty-one years alive, he's never stood so close to someone before. it's taking a real toll on him.

a heavy fog of tension settles between you as you stand there, having a stare down both out of stubbornness and curiosity as to why the other hasn't pulled away yet.

"i don't know what's wrong with me... i don't think i want you to go inside yet. stop making me feel stupid," you complain, admitting your words shamelessly.

you watch as aki blinks at you before he shakes his head in exasperation.

"what am i going to do with you?"

there's a smile on his face as he says it, tiny and subtle. you would have missed it if he wasn't slowly inching closer and closer to you. and you let him despite the suffocating smell of smoke invading your senses again.

it occurs to him that the only things he has ever kissed are his wounds as he dresses them in bandages, himeno when she was wasted once, and the papery end of a cigarette.

you taste much sweeter than any of them.

maybe it was just easy for aki to fall into addictions. he was weak-willed in that sense. always has been.

and he always chose the absolute worst things in the world to get addicted to; revenge, smoking, and now you. he couldn't stand being in the same room as you anymore. not when he so desperately craved your lips on his.

it started as a casual thing; a small peck here, a sneaky kiss there, nothing jaw dropping. and you didn't seem to mind it all too much, allowing him to linger a little longer every time he leaned back in.

it was becoming a problem. a very serious one. he couldn't focus anymore. it was worse than smoking, so much so that everytime he wanted to reach for a box of cigarettes, he would end up coming to you instead.

there was something about you he wanted to preserve. a fondness grew in his heart, replacing the scream of annoyance that would fill his lungs and threaten to spill out every time he laid eyes on you.

you were something he wanted to keep. something to protect. someone to fill the silence when no one else would.

aki liked bickering with you. he found normalcy in it, as if he'd spent his whole life doing it. and sometimes it really did feel that way — as if he'd spent lifetimes before this one by your side.

it's why he clings to you so tightly when he almost loses you.

you're perched in his lap as he holds you, slowly running your fingers through his untied hair. the driver's seat of the car wasn't built for two people to sit; his legs are far too cramped to be comfortable and your knees are pressed harshly into his thighs.

he doesn't care. aki has never cared so much until he met you.

he's robbing you of air, clinging to you so tightly that you can barely move. he can hear you complaining against his lips, but he can't bring himself to stop.

"stop doing this to me," he hisses, knocking his forehead into yours so that he can stare into your soul. "it's ridiculous. i hate you. i hate you."

he kisses you again to bury the familiar lump growing in his throat.

"i told you to fucking stay put. why can't you just listen to me? you could have died. what would i have done then, huh?" you don't answer him, instead cupping his cheeks to try and calm him down.

"you're stupid and reckless and fuck — what would i do without you?" he closes his eyes when your nose brushes against his; a silent apology.

"i hate how much you mean to me, i hate your stupid laugh and your voice and how awful it makes me feel when you look sad. i hate that you keep all the worthless shit i buy you on the way home from work and i hate that you stand so close even after a smoke–" aki's jaw tenses to try and dam the outburst spilling out of him, but he can’t.

"–i hate that i love you. i hate it. i hate you. fuck! i love you–"

he's out of breath by the time he finishes getting his words out, his fingers digging into your hips almost painfully. you blink down at him as you brush the hair from his face.

he’s always so composed, even when he's being mean to you. it's rare to see him worked up like this. you can't help but smile.

"... don't just smile at me, idiot. say something," he pleads quietly, head falling against your shoulder as he keeps you in place.

he squeezes his eyes shut when your fingers thread carefully through his undone hair once again, raking the knots out smoothly. he melts in your touch until your hands leave his scalp and gather up his face again so you can look at him.

there's no tiny twitch of your nose. no furrowing of your brows. no stilling of your chest as you hold your breath. actually, he's never seen you so openly inviting.

"can i kiss you?" aki asks this time, voice hoarse.

you nod, and his whole world comes apart. he takes his time memorizing every curve of your lips against his, the taste of you, the little gasps of air you suck in as he seals his claim on you with his mouth.

"aki..." you murmur his given name against his lips, over and over and over. you whisper it between kisses that leave you breathless. and he swallows your voice, allowing himself to revel in the way his name sounds on your tongue.

he didn't smell of smoke anymore. he didn't taste like death and ash, either — he was just aki.

hayakawa aki, 20, professional devil hunter and resident cynic, who you're hopelessly in love with.

“aki?”

“yeah?”

"do you still want to learn my name?"

🏷️ @k0z3me @aanobrain (bye ily hope you enjoy this one art)

crossposted to ao3!

#— whispers in the wind ✧#im going into hibernation after this fic #goodnight world #i cant believe i actually finished it #chainsaw man #csm #chainsaw man fic #csm fic #hayakawa aki #aki hayakawa #aki hayakawa x you #aki hayakawa x y/n #aki hayakawa x reader #hayakawa aki x you #hayakawa aki x y/n #hayakawa aki x reader #chainsaw man x reader #csm x reader

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klaprisun · 7 months ago

Text

One Sunny Day

(Stardew Valley) (Haley x Female Farmer)

Chapter 36

⚠️Content Warning⚠️

The line to get on the bus was way longer than I thought it would be. When Sam, Abigail, and Sebastian said that a "few" others were coming... I didn't think it meant nearly the whole town. I'm having my doubts that this bus can even hold all of us. I'm also having my doubts about Pam driving, but driving the bus seems to be one of the few things she enjoys doing.

"You are going to sit with me, right?" Haley mutters as we take a few more steps closer to the bus entrance. The line is moving insanely slow to get on. I have a feeling Mayor Lewis is the one holding up the line.

"No, I'm going to sit with Clint," I joke. Haley looks at me with disgust then looks me up and down judgingly. We both break into a fit of giggles right after.

"Hopefully he doesn't try to sit with Em. Keep an eye on him for me, okay?" Haley asks.

"Sure thing, Hales," I pull Haley into an embrace and kiss the top of her head. She just melts into my arms without another word.

The line finally starts moving again, and this time we actually make it on. Haley had asked me to bring my backpack to carry all of her stuff in for her. I had to toss that onto the rack above the seats with all of the other bags from everyone. It was only meant to be a day trip, but people seemed to have gone packing crazy.

As I was lifting the bag onto the rack above the seats, I felt my shirt rise up a bit from my arms reaching up so high. Haley was already seated in the spot next to the window, but I could tell she wasn't looking outside just yet.

"Oops. Danny I forgot to put...this..." she frantically starts looking around. She looks at the many bracelets she has on his wrist and slips one off. "This bracelet! I forgot to put this bracelet into the backpack."

"But you were wearing it. Why do you want it in the bag?" I skeptically say. I know exactly why she wants it in the bag.

"I don't want to wear it anymore. It doesn't match my outfit anymore in this lighting." She held the bracelet out for me to snatch out of her hands. Sure enough, I raised my arms to pull the bag from the rack so I could put the bracelet in. Once I got the bracelet secure, I went to sit down but Haley stopped me again.

"I lied. I want it back please. It did kind of match my outfit. I think I just overreacted." Haley flashes me innocent puppy dog eyes that I just cannot turn down.

"Alright fine," I roll my eyes and go back up to the bag to get the bracelet back. I leave the bag up there this time to rummage through, keeping my arms up for a while, my shirt still lifting up as I reach.

"What a view," I hear Haley whisper from her spot. She is definitely not looking out the window.

"Here." I toss the bracelet to her but she misses it due to her flinching. It smacks against her chest and falls into her lap.

"I wasn't ready!"

"Should've been," I shrug nonchalantly.

The rest of the passengers have finally settled down, so Pam was able to get the show on the road. Sam had the radio going, so everyone was able to start getting hyped for the big gig.

🌻 🌻 🌻

The bus ride ended up being a couple of hours. It was longer than the train ride here due to traffic, but it was long enough that I was able to take a little nap. I woke up due to a Pam speeding over a pothole, causing the bus to jostle around aggressively.

"Morning sleepy head. We are almost there," Haley murmured to me as she filed her nails. When I look around after opening my eyes, I see that my head slid down to rest on her shoulder in my sleep.

Looking out the window, I can see all of the tall, skyscraper buildings of the big city. I don't miss this view even for a second. I shift my focus to Haley sitting in front of the window instead. She was too busy filing her nails still to look at me, but I just kept staring at her. That was until the bus lurched to a stop at our destination.

Sam begins chatting hysterically, waving his hands upwards to motion to the passengers to cheer and chant with him. I'm the first to jump up and start chanting along. Soon the whole bus erupted into chaos. Poor Abigail is so nervous that I can see her bent over, holding a plastic bag to her mouth.

Sam and Sebastian are the first to get off the bus to get their gear with Abigail hobbling behind trying to keep up. Everyone bids them good luck as they leave the bus.

"We need to get a good spot at the front! Grab the bag and let's hurry!" Haley makes no move to get up and waits for me to grab the bag from above us.

"You don't seem in that much of a hurry," I roll my eyes and quickly pull the bag down. After that was when she finally made a move to rush off the bus. The two of us shimmy our way down the bus aisle to the door to hop out. I scurry down the steps first and turn to hold Haley's hand as she gently steps down each one sideways in her heels.

"You're gonna get real sick of standing those," I point out.

"I'm actually a pro at wearing heels thank you very much. I can even run in them if I have to," she huffs as we speed walk to the area where the small concert is happening. There are a few people already here, but our town folk take up most of the space alone. It's hard to say if many others will show up from the city or not.

As I take in the few other people from the city that are here, I realize I'm severely underdressed for the occasion like usual. My overalls, cowboy hat and t-shirt don't really match the vibe very well, but I didn't have anything else. I made sure to wear a black t-shirt though so that kind of helped. Haley even out did me despite this not being her typical scene. She had a pink plaid mini skirt on, with a black, off-the-shoulder, blouse on. The weather hasn't quite cooled down yet despite it being fall now. We were also in a closed-in area outside that has buildings blocking the wind. The heat from all the bodies packed around will surely bring the temperature up as well.

One of the bands was just getting ready to perform as the last few stragglers came waltzing in at the last minute. Sam, Sebastian, and Abigail were going to be one of the last few groups to perform for the night, but it will still be nice to listen to others play as well.

The concert begins, and everyone starts going wild in the crowd. I have people screaming by my ear, and bumping into me constantly. I have my arm tightly wrapped around Haley, clinging on to her for dear life. We are right at the barricades in front of the stage, so I also had one hand holding onto one of the poles.

It took me a few performances to finally get used to the craziness, but by the third performance I was feeling more psyched. That was until some guy situated himself on the other side of Haley. It would've been okay if it weren't for him constantly looking over at her. I didn't point it out just yet, but I kept my eye on him.

As the performance of this band ended, that's when this guy decided to make his move. Unfortunately, he was a conventionally attractive man that many girls would be swooned by. He seems to know he is good looking too and that fuels his ego.

"Hey," He says as he leans over to Haley. Haley's head snaps his way in shock.

"Oh...h-hi?" I hear her stutter. I don't step into the conversation just yet. Instead I fold my arms and rest them on the barricade in front of me

"It's a pretty good turn out, eh?" He examines the large crowd behind us but turns his gaze back on Haley.

"Yeah. It's pretty busy that's for sure," she gives him a tight lip smile as she also had just examined the crowd.

"It's lucky so many people showed up. It was my band's first performance today so we were happy we had such an audience. We were the second band that played," he explains.

"Oh yeah. I recognize you now. That's pretty cool," Haley politely responds.

"I see you came here with your friend?" He points over Haley's shoulder to me, still leaning on the barricade. Haley turns her head to look at me with an unreadable expression. I don't say anything and raise my eyebrow in question.

Their conversation was interrupted by Sam, Abigail, and Sebastian taking the stage for their performance. Of course, Sam had to do a really loud entrance that made the crowd erupt into a frenzy. The guy's attention turned to the stage, but Haley was still staring at me with her weird expression. I stayed staring at her with a dull look on my face, only breaking eye contact to look at the stage.

It was really hard to enjoy the band's performance now, and I feel really guilty that I'm not enjoying it like I should. But I can't help thinking about what Haley would have answered if they didn't get interrupted.

The whole time, I keep looking over at the two of them. He has been scooching closer and closer to her every second. One more step and his arm would be touching hers. She has been angling her upper body closer and closer to me and away from him, but not stepping completely over. I shake my head and turn back to the stage in distraught.

That was until I heard Haley gasp, even over every speaker right by us. From the corner of my eye I saw her stiffen up as well. Curiously, I looked over to her and her eyes were screaming a look of "help". Investigating farther, I look over at the guy. His hand is extended out to Haley, but resting somewhere it shouldn't be. Right. On. Her. Ass.

Boldly, he even slides his hand down her ass and to the hem of her skirt where he moves his hand under. My eyes widen in horror and my brain goes into autopilot.

I grab Haley by the waist and move her behind me out of my way because the next move is not going to be a pretty one. Without thinking, I swing my fist at the guy and feel it connect to somewhere on his face. It was all such a blur that I had no idea what I was doing until after it happened.

After retracting my fist away, I take a second to analyze where I hit him. From the looks of things, his cheek is already bruising, as well as a few drops of blood escape his nose.

Haley steps back in front of me to face the guy who is currently cradling his injured face in his palm. He looks at her angrily but she brings out the sass.

"She's my girlfriend you creepy, ignorant fuck. Don't you DARE touch another woman like that again," she points her sharp, pointy finger nail directly in his face then switches to her middle finger. She makes flipping someone off look so elegant with her cute, done up nails.

I started to notice we had created quite a stir in the crowd and that security was starting to come in our direction. I take Haley by her hand and the two of us wave to the stage to Sam, Sebastian, and Abigail. We give them a loud, encouraging shout and hop over the barricades. I have to help Haley though by lifting her over, but I climb over just fine. We start taking off across the concert field just as the band's song gets to the climatic part of the chorus. It gives Haley and I such a thrill as we run away from the scene, ditching the security guards trying to keep after us.

As we continue to book it back to the bus, Haley ends up kicking her heels off and starts carrying them in her hands. I silently laugh in my head as I remember our previous conversation about her in heels.

When I turn back, I see the security guards have disappeared and are no longer chasing us. When we get back to the bus, I pry the doors open so we can pile inside. Unsurprisingly, Pam forgot to lock the door.

I shut the bus door behind us and immediately brought my attention to Haley, breathlessly pulling her in for a steamy kiss. She tosses her shoes away and pushes her body up against mine, accepting my kiss.

We stumble through the bus, not breaking our lips apart. The sky has darkened since we had first arrived, so we only have the light of the moon shining in through the bus windows.

We keep having to catch our breath every so often due to not having any to begin with from the run. We stumble all the way to the back seats where they are bigger and wider. She lays back across a few of the seats with me hovering over top of her.

"That was so hot," she moans as I kiss down her neck.

"I thought you said you can run in heels," I mutter as I take her blouse off and toss it over the seat in front of us.

"Grass is a different story. That's harder to run on," she replies breathlessly as I start kissing her breasts. I make my way down to her lower half where I move her skirt up. Disgustingly, I'm knee deep on the floor of the bus like a hooligan. But I don't think anything of it since I was so wrapped up in the moment as well as Haley's legs.

I slide her panties down and keep them hung around one on her ankles so they don't get lost. I grip her thighs tightly with my hands and bring my tongue up to meet her waterfall of excitement. I must've really got her going.

She takes my hat off my head so it's not in my way and puts it on her own head so we also don't lose it. She runs her hands through my hair and gasps in pleasure. I feel her legs shake and tremble as they continue to stay wrapped around me. We hear the band continue to play off in the distance as it is just that loud. It's more of a slower song now than the one we ran off to.

I look up and see that Haley has her head thrown back and now has a hand braced on the seat in front of us and one on the back window of the bus. She is moaning unapologetically loud as no one would be able to hear us.

Her legs extend out behind me and her moan turns to more of a gasp. I grip her thighs tighter and keep at the same pace, not wanting to ruin her moment. Her hand slides down the back window as she loses control of her body. Butterflies erupt in my stomach as I realize how much she is enjoying this. She quickly recovers from her big finish and pulls me up onto the seat back over top of her. She brings my lips down to hers to continue where we left off.

"You're turn," she moans between kisses.

"Oh but you'll get your pretty little knees dirty. Here, put my shirt under you," I whip my shirt off over my head and give it to her. She breaks away from me and spreads my shirt out on the bus floor.

As if sharing the same brain, we both freeze and look at one another. She looks down at what I'm wearing and we burst into laughter. Overalls were not the move for this situation, but how was I supposed to know this was going to happen?

"Hold on a minute," I start undoing all the buckles and straps so I can slide them down. I kick them down my legs and onto the floor in front of the seat. I give her a wink and she pushes my legs apart so she can get to work. It's kind of an awkward angle for me to lay as my head is kind of resting up against the side window. My one leg hangs off the side of the seat while the other is pressed right up against the back of the seat and Haley's shoulder. It's a bit of a tight squeeze but I soon tune it out as my thoughts go elsewhere.

I forgot to take my hat back so she continues to wear it as she goes down on me. I don't bother taking it back since it looks so good on her. I feel the pressure start to build up as she is doing such a good job with her tongue. A moan escapes my lips and I feel her moan against me. My legs tense up at that sudden vibration and my mouth falls open.

"I'm almost there, Haley," I breathe out as I grip my hands in her hair. She moans again and that is my breaking point. My legs start trembling and I roll my head against the window while I bite my lip.

Just as I finish, out of the corner of my eye, I see a whole group of people through the window walking up to the bus. It was the town people coming back from the concert. I didn't even realize the music had stopped playing a while ago.

"Haley, get my stuff!" I whisper loudly. We frantically gather up our clothing and throw it back on. It takes what feels like hours to get my damn overalls back on but I get it just in time. We bump into each other as we try to find a way to act casual and unsuspicious. She jumps into a seat three in front of me and I'm left leaning against one of the backs of a seat as the first person gets on the bus.

"I found them..." Robin says as she makes awkward eye contact with me. I give her a thumbs up and a weird smile. Pam gets on behind Robin and sits in her driver's seat. She turns the bus on, causing all the lights of the bus to flicker on. Haley's shirt is on backwards, her skirt is twisted, and she was still wearing my hat. My shirt is covered in dust and dirt, and one of my overall buckles is loose while the other is undone. Both of our faces were red and my legs were still subtly shaking.

I shoot finger guns at Robin and shyly sit down in the seat next to Haley. Everyone else starts piling onto the bus now, giving us knowing looks. We both look out the window, avoiding eye contact with people, stifling our laughter.

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