#this life ain’t no video game

[candylovestheshield]

Joel lost himself after losing Sarah and the world falling apart but now that he has Ellie he has 20 years worth of emotional stress to let out

[girlfailurefelix]

usually i’d probably write something really silly here about my dumb tattoo and these dumb characters but i’m actually so glad that all of this has happened. i was in a really awful spot before i read this god awful little novella and found this nice little community. it really reignited my love for writing and sharing ideas after feeling like i couldn’t do either for a very long time. i won’t get too long winded or anything cuz obv you guys probably just wanna see the silly little tat but i really do appreciate everyone here, yk? anyways ggy tat???? (also feat. vanny from a little over a year ago now (oct 18, 2023) cuz the siblings ever)

[leaawrites]

Freaked Out

Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: Lando makes his relationship official via Live stream

Warnings: mentions of an engagement, use of Y/n

Masterlist

The lights were low. There was no sound but the breathing in sync of two people deep into thoughts. Two hours went by of lying in the same bed with no eyes closed.

“Are you sure you want to stay with me?” Lando asked, his hand gliding through the hair of the person beside him. She hummed, snuggling deeper into his chest. Inhaling his scent like it would be the last time. “I mean, are you really sure? You can’t walk with me around all holding hands and you have to put up with all those stupid rumors about a life you know ain’t true.”

“Lando,” she mused, propping her head on her hands and looking up at him. “I’ve put up with all this for god knows how long. This doesn’t change anything.” His eyes lingered on her hand a little longer, smiling at the shimmering light reflecting on the diamond.

“Two and a half years,” he said, reminding her on how long they’ve been together. Still surprised at how long they got to keep their relationship in private, away from the media and all of those people around them.

It might seem rather fast, but nothing ever felt as right as asking her to marry him. Nothing ever made him feel so sure of himself as when she said yes. The reminder that he had someone who loved him. The knowing that someone was willing to put up with him forever. It made him feel safe.

“Are you sure you wanna keep it a secret? Keep us a secret?” Lando asked, playing with the ring on her finger.

“I’ll be yours in silence for however long you want me to,” she said, laying her head back down, soothing his chest with kisses.

Lando didn’t answer, he couldn’t. There was never a moment when he didn’t want to just post a pic of the two kissing or making put or whatever it is that will make everyone know that he was a happy man with her. But he knew it wouldn’t work that way. There will always be some crazy fans, offended at the though of him having a future with anyone but them. He felt guilty for not showing her off like he’d want to. It weighed him down day by day, though he knew it was worth it. When he came home from a race weekend and wanted nothing but held, he knew her arms would already be open as he walked through the door. She was everything he wanted. She was more than he deserved.

Being a man, chronically online, Lando knew about almost every trend going around the world. No exception for the one McLaren just posted with Oscar as their star in the spotlight.

“Hey guys,” Lando spoke into the phone as he walked into the living room of his home in Monaco. His girlfriend didn’t look up, already used to him walking around the apartment when he talked on the phone with someone. “Can you watch my girlfriend while I set my sim up?”

Lando placed the phone on the coffee table, camera facing his girlfriend who worked on something on her laptop. At the familiar sentence structure, she looked up, her head following the boy, who walked into his game room.

“What the-” she started saying, before being cut off by Lando putting his head out of the room.

“You can’t swear, I’m still a PR-nightmare, you can’t be one as well,” he yelled out to her, before disappearing again.

“Hello?” The girl said, looking at the screen in front of her. At first she thought it was a normal video, though soon enough she saw the endless comments of unknown people flood the screen. Her eyes widen at the sudden realization of what just happened. “You’re live? Are you kidding me?” She yelled at the boy, who burst out laughing in the other room. He came rushing out, snatching his phone back and reading through the comments of very surprised fans, to say the least.

“Sorry, guys. Sorry,” Lando spoke to the people, still giggling at his little prank and his girlfriends grimace. “Not my girlfriend.”

That made her look at him, a mischievous look in his eyes as he smirked, looking at her and not the screen which was filled with freaked out people. Some saying, “Good lord, thank god. I just had a heart attack, thinking he really cheated on me.” And some saying, “That’s sad, she’s really pretty.”

“My fiancee,” he corrected himself, smiling at her. The girl in front of him, couldn’t help her own smile forming on her lips. Then he ended the live, leaving the people shocked and the world stuck in questions.

“What have you done, Norris?” Y/n asked, pulling her fiance down on the sofa with her.

“I’m not hiding you anymore,” he simply said, snuggling in the nape of her neck and peppering it with small, soft kisses.

[cherry-pop-elf]

New Chapter

Anya x Reader

Can be read as platonic because we all want the best for her

SUM: Anya gets an abortion so you and the rest of the crew wait for her. You were the first one, however, to see her after surgery. Also because fuck you, abortion rights

Warnings: Abortion, sexual assault, jimmy, medical situations, abortion rights, domestic happy family

“How long is it gonna take?” Daisuke asked, as he was worried but also excited. Excited for Anya to feel better. Worried for well….Not like he’s had the best reactions to medical situations. Example A being Curly in the wheelchair next to him.

Curly was doing so much better now that he was actually on the planet again. The doctors were still jaw dropped that Anya was able to keep him alive with so little. Was not only a testimony to how she refused for him to die, but him refusing to leave his crew behind as well. It’s still a long journey ahead, but he was in clean bandages and clothes at least. Was even able to talk again. Sorta. Rather raspy but he will get there.

Jeez where to start on how you all got here to begin with.

“She’s going to be fine. Abortion is way less invasive than you think. It really depends on how far along, but luckily she isn’t too far for it to be to extreme. Not sure what type she went for, but whatever she chose she chooses. Just grateful we were able to return home before she reached to far along.” You would admit, as you would check up on Curly’s IV bag for him. Taking over Anya’s roll until she could return.

“Ya know….My wife had an abortion.” Swansea said, and it made all of you look over to him in pure surprise.

“What’s the funny look for? Ya think I’m a freak that would refuse my wife that? She needed it! The kid just….It ain’t my place, but the kid just wasn’t gonna survive. Either she carried it to term and die with em, or she just skips the heart ache. Not like it was her fault. We got two healthy girls at the end of the day. We got em because she got rid of that fucked up one.” He explained, as Daisuke seemed wide eyed in respect.

Explains why he snapped more clearly.

Anya had explained to Swansea what had happened, and before you pre Daisuke knew it Jimmy’s head was sliced off and rolling across the kitchen floor. Poor Suke threw up all over you from the sight, and shock. Then threw up again when he learned why he did such a thing. Lots of puking and crying. Fitting.

“Glad that damn company is dead. Whose wise idea was it to have a single woman surrounded by men. No offense you two-“ Curly would wheeze, before you would help him take his medication. Sure is easier to take pills when you actually give him water and take it slow. No choking or crying.

“Thats a can of worms I don’t want us to talk about.” Swansea would scoff. As a father to two girls he had a lot of things to say. Daisuke would be willing to listen, sure, but honestly you all had enough emotional fatigue to last multiple life times.

Thank god Curly was so high up on the food chain at the company. They knew they would get into more hot water if their, once, top captain suddenly vanished. Wouldn’t make their bankruptcy any smoother. For once they did the right thing and sent Simeon to save them.

Funny. A capitalist corporate organization took responsibility for their actions. For the right reasons? No. But they still took it. Strange. Isn’t it?

“Is she done yet?” Daisuke would whine, as you laughed at his childish nature. As if waiting on a sister to get out of the dentists office. You found it rather endearing honestly. That despite it all he was still having a heart full of love and excitement.

“Go play on your toy.” Swansea would grumble, as Suke whined. Regardless he would pull out his game boy. A nice excuse to play video games with out any guilt on wasting his time. Enjoying life shouldn’t be a burden.

“Need anything, Curly?” You would ask him, since you planned on going to the bathroom. Yeah Swansea and Daisuke could handle him, but you still wanted to be polite. Maybe you could grab him something from the vending machines. Maybe a soda. Some sugar in his system would do him good. Anya said that sugary bubble water of some kind, like sprite, can help quite a lot with indigestion.

“I should be fine. Thank you for asking though. Sorry you have to…” He would admit, as he looked himself over. His missing limbs now properly covered up with fabric to keep them clean, and allow him some kind of independence. The fabric on the stumps were padded. With enough practice and effort he would certainly be able to roll himself around.

Then again this was a world of space travel. He was going to get cyborged eventually, but you need to be healed first before such an intense operation. Can’t rush something like this.

“Hey. I do it because I can. Not because I have to. You are our captain. Let me be a good solider.” You teased him, and even in his broken face you could see a smile.

Swansea have you a head nod to indicate he would ‘take care of the boys’ and you were off to use the restroom.

Once done with that you would grab a soda from the vending machine for Curly, a bag of candy for Daisuke, and some pretzels for Swansea. As you were making your way back a nurse would motion you over.

“Miss Anya was asking for you. She has finished her operation, and wanted you to see her.”

You were surprised at that. You expected Curly to be her first guest. Did something go wrong? Oh you couldn’t help but freak out.

You followed after the nurse quickly, and all you were shown was Anya resting in her hospital bed. Tired, but relieved. Mostly. You saw that familiar stress in her eyes. That same stress she had when asking you if she made the right choice in asking Jimmy for help with medicating Curly.

That worry of if I did the right thing.

The nurse would leave you to alone, and you would quickly set the snacks aside. Now you were sitting next to her, in a chair, and holding her hand. Ready to be the shoulder she needed.

“Hey there Doc. How you doing?” You asked her, as you carefully stroked the back of her hand. Made sure to be mindful of all the tubes and wires.

“Well….It went far smoother than I expected. It was just so quick. They didn’t even need to put me under. The IV is more so for the issues I already had because of being stranded on the ship for so long. It was just so quick. So painless. Was just like pulling a thorn out of an arm. It was….Simple.” She would try and explain to you. Needing to make sure to stop herself before using doctor jargon.

“Too easy?” You puzzled.

“Yes. It was just….I expected pain. Pain and anxiety and horror. Suppose even a nurse can come to learn a thing or two…..”

She was hiding something, and you had an educated guess on what.

“You expected Jimmy to break down the door. Weren’t you?”

There was silence, but it told you everything.

“Scoot over. Move it sister-“ You were now crawling into the medical bed with her, moving the wires around, and soon snuggled into her side. Hugging her close, and especially with your arm over her stomach.

“You did the right thing. It’s your body at the end of it all. You took responsibility of taking care of yourself. You wouldn’t have been able to live a proper life. You went to med school. You don’t need me to tell you the horrors of pregnancy and birth. That alone is terrifying. But also you simply not wanting to be pregnant is enough. Ain’t no Jimmy’s gonna storm in and say otherwise.” You huffed, as she smiled. Her head leaning into yours.

“Yeah….No more Jimmy’s. Pretty sure Swansea will make sure of that.” She did her best to joke, and you were proud of her for it. This whole ordeal was hell. Hell none of you will ever truly walk away from. But that’s ok. You all had each other to lean on.

“I think I’m ready for everyone now.” Anya would whisper, as you gave her hand a squeeze. You were so proud of her. This was all such a nightmare, but she’s taking it in stride.

“Hell yeah.” You agreed, before climbing out of the bed. You made sure to grab the snacks, and exited the hospital room.

“Come on guys-! Anya is waiting on you-!” You shameless shouted outside of the room. She couldn’t help her face palm. Daisuke sure was an influence on you.

“I wanna push Curly!”

“Like hell you are-!”

They would bicker away, before Curly said ‘fuck it’ and did his best to roll himself over. He sure was a stubborn one. Made it half way before you figured that was enough work out for one person.

“Pretty far! Getting better at it-!” You encouraged, as the two men realized how far Curly rolled off on before finally following you two into Anya’s room.

“HAPPY NO BIRTH-DAY!” Daisuke would cheer, as Anya shook her head at such a joke.

“God dammit kid-“ Swansea side, before he came over to Anya. Giving her head a kiss. Just comforting her much like a father would.

“How many of us need to be in medical beds?” Curly would give a raspy snort, as Anya reached her hand out. He would lean his head over, and she would give it a stroke. As if all his hair never burned off. A means of holding his hand, in a way, compared to just grasping a limb.

She didn’t need children.

She had all of you.

What else could a woman want?

Since you were willing to read through this story to the end, and get a nice in depth look on the importance of such why not donate to some organizations? : D

Planned Parenthood

Nation Network For Abortion Funds

National Abortion Federation

The Bridge Alliance

The Satanic Temple

ActBlue

No worry on donating. Spreading awareness and signing petitions still help! The more people learn and understand the better! Could also like reblog with other organizations or petitions!

Abortion is healthcare!

[virginreprise]

J U N K Y ' P R I D E

joel miller x reader

" I KNOW I CAUGHT YOU AT A NOT SO HAPPY TIME OF YOUR LIFE " ✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

WARNINGS: age difference (big one), pervy joel, trailer park joel, joel miller has a vintage porn collection, joel's a sad old man, video game joel was in mind when writing, joel is six foot because i say so, multi-part, smut in the next chapter because i can't write anything if it isn't slowburn

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

CHAPTER TWO

AO3LINK

CHAPTER ONE—BAD DISEASE

Static from the television set tucked in a corner, a beaten leather armchair parked in front of it and a stack of vintage, VHS porn tapes on the unit. One half of “Agent 69” stuck in the VCR, balancing on its side due to the lack of care from its owner who’d jacked off in the very chair that towered over it—cum stained fist and a name on his lips, slipped out between plush flesh. Hand frantic, jerking in tandem with the buck of his hips as he flit his eyes between the TV and the wood-panelled ceiling, profanities spilling from his filthy mouth. Muttering to himself as pornstar moans graced his ears, words whispered into the night, stolen by the archangels and flown up to God: conspiring, scheming, uttering under their breath that he should not be allowed through the holy gates on judgement day. That the defiled Bible on his bookshelf and the cross that had been left for him by the previous owners, pinned to the trailer wall, was not enough for them to ignore the strained sentences that he spewed in a desperate bid for the Trailer Park Princess on her knees—red nails and red lips wrapped around his cock. A ring of colour staining the base. 

Utter filth. And Joel knew it. 

The perversions he didn’t keep to himself, laughed about bending over the pretty thing next door whilst nursing a beer on Pete’s porch—puffing away on the cheap cigars he’d stolen from the liquor store. They tasted like shit, smelt like shit and Joel would’ve been better without it, but it added to the image: kept Susan from asking him stupid questions like why he didn’t have a woman. It was her way of flirting, bikini top displaying her sagging tits, bending over the kitchen counter whilst his buddies watched baseball. 

“You got your eye on anyone, Joel?” 

“Not really, Susan.” 

Then Pete interjecting. 

“Come off it, Susan. Just cause he ain’t committed don’t mean that he ain’t got women.”

That kept her quiet, made her slink away into the hallway, slipping into their bedroom and pulling a cover-up on—suddenly insecure. 

Joel wasn’t a pervert. He didn’t have some strange penchant for young women. They were just…nice to look at. Pretty and sun-kissed in the Texan heat, ass hanging out their shorts, bikini top doing much more to entice than Susan’s did. There was no harm in looking—they never knew. He prided himself on being discreet, nursing a beer in the late afternoon whilst Kenny Rogers lulled from the radio, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the porch floor—eyes trained on your open window, cracked just a tad to let the air through. Drapes open. 

At times, he thinks you do it on purpose, a gentle taunt, a silent jeer: “You can only look, perv.” 

If the invitation was there, he’d take you up on it. Because out of all the women he’d fucked, headboard bashing against the wall, a chip in the wood of the trailer evidence of his trysts, you were the only one who’d worked him up to the point of no return. The only one who’d grabbed him completely by the collar and forced him to lick your boots. 

Like Joel said, he wasn’t a pervert. You were just a fucking whore who needed to be put in her place. 

So he’d sit there, in the white garden chair he’d snatched up from the pile of scrap that accumulated just east of his trailer, and watch. Most days, you’d be doing nothing in particular, unfortunately already dressed, dirty clothes in hand and wet hair dripping down your back. Other days, the days where Joel thought he was really lucky, where he’d stumble inside with a hard-on, sit on his recliner and hastily shove whatever he got his hands on, into the VCR, skipping over the poorly acted introductions, and pretend that the moans reverberating the trailer, were yours. Images of you slipping your shorts over your hips, swaying slightly to whatever tune you were listening to, peeling your shirt off your body. No bra. Slyly stepping towards your window, catching his eye once, a look so slight that he wouldn’t be surprised if he imagined it, and pulled your drapes shut. 

He’d spilt all over his hand, white on his knuckles and a smile on his lips. 

Joel would never feel guilty for wanting you, not when he had already made peace with the fact he was a deadbeat, bound to the white trash lifestyle, unemployed and living off the pills he paid for and sold for a ridiculously high price, still grieving his losses and wondering what the fuck he could’ve done differently. If he would’ve done anything differently given the chance. 

No, Joel was not a bad person. He just looked for her in every person, desperately seeking a will. And so far, you had succeeded in helping him remove the gun from his mouth—evenings spent in different, dangerous ways. 

Texan summers were unlike anything you’d experienced before, the heat so incredibly stifling that your love for the sun disappeared completely. Mornings spent on the porch, soaking in the last bits of breeze before cycling your ass to work, sweating and heaving by the time you got there, in the same condition when you rode back home and locked yourself away with every window flung open before nightfall fell and you felt you could breathe again. 

The cicadas were loud, the snakes huddled up in the shade, waiting for you to trample on them, and the beast next door, Joel Miller: terrifying, gorgeous and a fucking pervert. 

The day you’d moved into the trailer, despairing the loss of stability, ruminating upon your desperate escape from a home now dead and lost to the prairies of your mind, he’d been there. Wifebeater stretched across his wide torso, a cigarette placed on his lips, unused as it hung there, smoking away, the grey wisps begging with each dissipation into the atmosphere: breathe me in. He’d stared. Unable to be subtle no matter how slick he thinks he is, eyes flitting between your tits and your ass. Tits. Ass. Tits. Ass. A calculated dance that left a funny feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach, a lurch in your bowels that made nausea claw its way up your throat. 

Tits. Ass. Then, he suddenly looked at your face, standing there on his porch, the sunrise building its way up the horizon, too early for anybody to see him looking you over like you were a dead deer he’d just shot, smirking at the notion of sawing your head off and displaying it on the wall above his mantle. Heaving boxes into the empty trailer, lot number seventeen, whilst the owner of lot eighteen wouldn’t take his fucking eyes off you, was a terrible feat. 

Once you’d shoved the last box into your bedroom, you’d shut the door, locked it tight and peeked through the window to see that he had gone back inside, retreating to the haven of steel and veneer. 

Over time, Joel became easier to manage. After the initial, awkward introductions where he’d called you princess, babydoll, sugar (almost adding a “tits” to the end of the nickname before realising where he was) your stomach reeling at the monikers, time settled your unmistakable disgust for him, the universe replaced the sickness you felt when you spoke to him with another stomach-turning anxiety that you pushed down far into every crevasse and high onto every mountain. 

You grew to enjoy the nicknames, skipping a few paces up his porch steps and ask him ever so kindly if he could come and fix the cupboard door that was swinging off its hinges, change the lightbulb because you couldn’t reach the ceiling yourself, stop the leaky tap that seemed to start drip drip dripping every month—just to bully you. 

Although you knew that Joel was a dirtbag, hearing him talking about the filthiest things, laughing as Pete clapped him on the back in praise and acknowledgement, knowing that he wanted nothing more than to treat you like a whore, he gave you nothing except a sly smile, a sleazy nickname and the occasional help around the house. Fixing things. 

So, naturally, you began asking around about Joel. Susan liked to gossip. So did Lillian, a woman who had spent her entire life in the park and, at sixty-two, had no interest in leaving. 

“I remember when he moved here,” she’d told you one fine summer evening, when the heat wasn’t as menacing and you felt content being away from the air conditioning, sipping sweet tea in Lillian’s wooden garden chairs, feet placed on the seat—chin resting on your knees. “All stoic, wouldn’t speak ‘ta anyone. I could tell he’d gone through something bad, you know me and my sixth sense.” 

She’d paused for a moment, taking a drag, a sip, a sigh before looking at you solemnly. 

“He was a catch with the ladies,” she’d muttered. “They were all after him, even this one over here,” she’d pointed to Susan who’d smacked her arm, complaining about her disrespect. She was a married, loyal woman after all. “Well, it’s true. If I were twenty years younger, I would’ve gone for him too, but it wouldn’t have done much anyway cause he didn’t touch anyone. There ain’t many pretty young ladies round here, you know you’re the only one,” she’d said plainly, addressing you with a hint of affection. 

Waving her cigarette around as she relayed every single detail she knew about Joel’s love life, telling you how after a few years of moping, he’d bring back girls in the middle of the night, fuck them, and then throw them out the next day. 

“He’s not a romantic,” Lillian had prefaced, Susan interjecting with:

“Ya think so? I think he is…if he just found the right woman-”

“Oh don’t listen to her Darlin’, he’s a man who likes to play. He ain’t lookin’ to settle, I tell you that much.” 

Listening to them both, their anecdotes, their stories, and their opinions, you concluded one thing about Joel Miller. He was an asshole. A man who had done nothing to better his life since he stepped foot in the trailer park ten years ago, a sag in his shoulders and an anger in his eyes. 

You weren’t sure if he’d mellowed since then, or if he’d just managed to conceal it better. Joel hadn’t been angry around you, not when you knocked on his door at three in the morning, asking him if he could come get the spider out of your bedroom, not when you’d accidentally run into his truck with your bike or told him that he was an asshole when you’d caught him talking about you one day in springtime. 

“She’s as dumb as fucking rocks,” he’d chuckled. “Bet she gets cockdrunk so easy.” 

He’d grumbled out the last sentence, an afterthought that was more for him than the men he was talking to, but you, stumbling around, half-asleep after your shift, were not willing to take the degradation. You’d berated him in front of his peers, slammed the door behind you, and regretted it immediately. Because, even though it shouldn’t matter, even though you thought he was pervy and angry and wouldn’t treat you how you’d been told you deserved, the last thing you wanted was for him to hate you. 

Every time he praised you, told you that you looked good as you stepped out of your home, on your way to Lillian’s for a catch-up and the cigarettes she bought you every three weeks, just for being good and keeping her company, you felt that tingle, the synaptic transmissions running down your spine every time he stepped through your door, asking what the issue with your tap was. You should’ve been disgusted when he’d left and you’d gone to the bathroom only to find the panties you’d left on the floor were gone, but you’d felt that same spark instead. A deep, sliding ache that consumed every part of you. 

Luckily for you, your sink decided to start leaking again on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon. Perfect time to lure him into your trailer, grab him by the neck and ask him as nicely as you could if he could cease the pain. 

Sip of beer, drag of cigarette, click of the remote to change the channel, repeat. 

A usual Sunday afternoon pastime. 

Joel would’ve rifled through his VHS’s, find something he could jack off to whilst he deliberated whether today would be the day he’d say “fuck it” and saunter on over to next door, hoping to god he’d get his dick wet by someone other than a whore, but he couldn’t be bothered to move from his seat. It was effort enough trying to change the channel, arm aching as he pressed the button, rolling his eyes as the same boring drab illuminated his TV screen. 

It was another one of those days. Glancing at the watch on his wrist, the broken glass, the notion that he would never fix it no matter how easy it would’ve been to go over to Shane’s and ask him to get it working again, all for the low price of a few pills. 

She’d left him with it and he would die with it. 

A reminder of her every time he glanced at his watch, swallowing hard as he remembered the way he’d pressed cool metal to the side of his head, a tear slipping down his cheek before realising that he never could. Because Joel was an asshole, he knew that. He was selfish and cruel and spoke about people as if they could get any lower than he already was. But more so than anything, Joel was a sad old man.

Tommy, the damn bastard, who’d left Joel to fend for himself while he went off with his new-found “true love” to have kids and a decent life, had sent a few thousand dollars and a pitiful “I’m sorry, Joel,” over the phone after his big brother had fucked up and lost his job. When Joel had been left penniless and broken. Nothing to fight for. No one to hold him or tell him that he was loved. He’d spent all his money raiding gas stations for cases of beer, bottles of whisky, anything that could numb the pain—choosing the alcohol over food, over his mortgage. When he’d lost the house, he hadn’t taken anything of hers. Even after she’d died, he’d insisted that everything needed getting rid of. Her clothes, her posters, even her damn phone. He’d slammed Tommy against the wall after realising that he was taking everything with him, that he was not doing as he was told. After that, Joel had closed the door on her bedroom and never stepped foot in it again. 

All he had of her was a damn watch, a photo that his little brother had shoved into his hands, a harsh, “Take it, you damn bastard. You’ll regret it when you stop feeling so sorry for yourself,” on his lips, and the memory of her in his arms when he’d felt that huge heart of hers stop beating. 

There had been many low points in Joel’s life, wandering through his existence on a tightrope that was ready to snap with every step, but none had been lower than that. 

Not even when he’d called Tommy in the middle of the night, sobbing, struggling to breathe with a clean bottle of Jim Beam in his hands, begging him to help. He’d lost his house, he’d lost his job, he’d lost his daughter. Where to next? 

Tommy, all the way in Wyoming had scraped together some money, told Joel to get himself down to the mobile park and a steady job. Start from the bottom again. 

Sometimes, Joel resented his brother for not giving him that money for a flight to the West, smiling down the phone as he informed that they had a spare room for him, his nephew cooing in his bassinet and waiting for his old uncle. 

He understood though. When he wasn’t drunk it made more sense why he hadn’t invited him to his home. 

They hadn’t spoken in sixteen years. To his nephew whom he did not know the name of, he was just the deadbeat uncle who hadn’t made it out of Texas—still alive but lost. 

Tommy would’ve probably hated him more if he was sitting on Joel’s couch, staring at the porn and the beer, the cigarettes that his little brother knew he had only smoked when he was a rebellious teenager—the occasional pull never becoming a habit, especially when his daughter came along. 

Almost certainly would’ve despised him if he knew how he felt about the girl next door, the perverse catharsis he experienced when he took himself in hand and imagined taking care of her, shushing her whimpers, making her whine with the way he stretched her open. 

Oh, and he was a bad man. A bad fucking man and he was the last thing you needed. Some poor, young girl who was doing her best to make it. Pay the rent on time, make sure she was kept fed, all whilst juggling the inescapable feeling that once you were in the trailer park there was no getting out. 

Joel didn’t see an end. He’d been here for over a decade; his drug money was not for a new house or a new life, it was for whores and booze, a carton of Marlboro reds that he got for cheap from Bill, and porn. He’d collected all the goddamn vices—became a person so unlike who he was, so far from the quietly loveable single dad he’d been hailed as years ago. 

As far as Joel now was concerned, that guy was a fucking pussy. 

That guy would think he needed professional help for the way he thought about you, would expel every single image of you naked and writhing, tits bouncing in time with his thrusts as you lay boneless and crying in his grasp. 

You were legal. What was the big fucking deal? 

Joel needed this. You were not just some throwaway material good that would leave him in debt for the next ten years—you were full and gorgeous, smart, quick-witted and made him harder than the oak tree that stood centuries-old just a little down the road from the old Palmer farmhouse. 

That day you’d heard him talking about you to his friends, the way he’d lied and said that you were dumb, when you’d come storming up his porch steps—all rage and heat—and cussed him out, he’d laughed. It didn’t matter about the taunts and the sniggers he got from his buddies who he would have no issue never speaking to again. They could go fuck themselves for all he cared because you hadn’t willingly thrown yourself at his feet and licked his boots. 

Whores were easy. No challenge with a whore, no longing, no desire, just a mutual understanding that this was transactional and she was going to moan as loud as you wanted her to whether it felt good or not. 

But you had given Joel something worth chasing. And fuck he was going to catch you, even if it meant he’d die in the chair he sat in, with nothing to show for his life except a case of Bud, an empty fridge, and a stain on his bedsheets where you’d reached for him—begging for everything he could not give.

Something about him had you checking your appearance before you walked out the door, making your hair presentable, touching up your lipgloss, blotting the oil from your face. All for a man who saw you as nothing but jailbait

You wanted to be wanted. To be looked at with a fire, an urge to grasp you and take you fully, pull you close when you cried and kiss you when you shook with the need to run far away. You wanted to be kept, to be reminded every day that you were needed, loved and desired.

You wanted Joel. 

Joel: the sad old man next door, the dangerously handsome figure in your life that stood six feet tall, jaw sharp and strong, muscles straining with his arms crossed—built big and firm. A chest you’d very much like to lay your head on. A bulge in his pants you’d very much like to see stripped bare. 

So when the opportunity came, you seized it, with an iron first, intent on capturing what had been yours since the day you’d moved to the free prison—since the day he’d stared at you, an unadulterated and irremovable, perverse desire that shook the very beings of your existence. That determined exactly who you are and how you would fall for the watchful eyes and glinting gaze that befell you every time you stepped down the rotten wood steps at the foot of the trailer entrance. 

You stepped onto them then, Chuck Taylors strapped to your feet, laces loose and lazily tied, skin smoothed from the razor you’d pressed against it in the shower that morning—all for him. The appearance every bit of expectation you had for his fantasies and ideals, hoping that the attire would thrust him further into abandoning a morality he did not have. 

The sun set rapidly behind you, the grass long and dry around your ankles, unmowed—as you nor Joel had ever discussed who would get mowing duty—and a clear head. A set destination, unstifled by a long day at work, the sweat curling along your back too harsh to be ignored and the sometimes discourteous demeanour of Joel’s so powerful that you often wondered why you liked him. Why you gave so much attention to a man years ahead of you, unable to look at you without laughing at the prospect you thought you were more to him than a pretty thing to look at whilst he wallowed in his castle of self-pity he’d built for himself all these years spent trapped and lonely. 

It all seemed insignificant that day you’d crossed the boundary between lot seventeen and lot eighteen. When you’d shakily advanced up his steps, onto the porch you grew so fond of, and knocked once, twice, thrice on the white door—stepping back to await his welcome. Hoping to god that he’d see you and take you there. 

The shuffling on the other side of the door raised your heart rate, a sweat forming on the back of your neck which you brushed away with a hasty hand, intimidated by what awaited you when the white disappeared and transformed into bulking arms and a firm chest—a tall body that you gazed up at with ardour. 

When the sight appeared, you gulped away the desire to run away, to pretend that you’d just come here for the leaky tap and that there was no other reason you had bothered him on his peaceful Sunday afternoon. No ulterior motive. Not that you just wanted to see him because he had hardly been around the past couple of days and in truth you were worried about him; you wanted to make him feel better. 

“Hi.” He struggled to conceal the surprise in his voice, seemingly struggling further to keep the thickness in his throat at bay, the redness of his eyes that displayed days of restlessness and insomnia. “You alright?” 

“Yeah,” you murmured impassively, licking your lips, swallowing away the dryness in your throat at the state of him: burning cigarette in hand, flannel shirt unbuttoned and displaying the white wifebeater that lay underneath. The shape of his belly was visible underneath it, his belt purposefully unbuckled and hanging from the loops of his jeans. “I’m alright.” 

There was a twitch of his lips as he stared down at you, eyes flitting from head to toe—shameless in the way he always was. In the way you liked. 

“You sure?” 

It seemed stupid suddenly: the entire situation. The call you felt towards him, the want you had to curl up against his chest, let him hold you and tell you he was proud of you for opening up to him—telling him how fucking much you wanted him, despite knowing exactly how it would end if you were to venture further into a relationship that surpassed just neighbours. 

So instead of inviting yourself in, seducing him until he fell to his knees, tugged you by the waist and begged you for just the smallest piece of yourself, you succumbed to your insecurity, and retreated from the palace walls. 

“Yeah…yeah, it’s just that my taps leaking again.” For a split second, he almost looked irritated, eyes honing in on you, narrowing with a look of aggravation—confirmed by the clench of his jaw. You appeased him, saying, “You don’t have to come over now. I just thought I’d tell you,” and the expression slowly slipped away into something much more sinister: mirth. 

“Sure thing, pretty girl,” he said as he slinked away from the doorframe, inviting you into his home, coaxing you past the threshold as he fumbled about in the fridge and pulled out two beers. 

Contemplating, you stared at him, the flex of his muscles as he uncapped each bottle, the stature and size of him as he hunched over the counters, turning around to hold out a drink to you. An invitation. One that you had expected you’d have to give yourself—that you’d have to kick and cry before he ever let himself find you. 

“Just have a drink,” he soothed in that southern lull of his, the words rolling from his tongue with ease. As if he had practised the scenario before he knew it would befall him. “No point in worrying over your tap, I can’t do anything until I buy new washers. I’m out 'cause of you.” 

The irritation he’d shown earlier seemed palpable now—as if he was inviting you into his home simply to make you as uncomfortable as possible, hold you down by the hips until you promised to leave him alone. A taunt, a ploy to make sure you would never get what you wanted. 

However, you had never stepped foot in his trailer, had only ever been on his porch and ran your hand over the chair he frequented, wondering what it looked like beyond the four walls, and curiosity prevailed as it always did. 

Uncertainly, you stepped onto the carpet, gently closing the door behind you, and mumbled a thank you as you took the beer from his hand. 

Almost immediately, you felt like apologising for his irrational emotions. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I didn’t mean to put you out. I’ll pay for whatever you need-”

“You pay in ways you don’t know. I don’t need your money.” 

The cryptic way in which he spoke, the casualness as he gave you a look that hinted at something you couldn’t decipher and the slow saunter to his armchair left you in a state of uncertainty. Standing there, with a beer wetting your hand, a frown on your face and a furrowed brow, you had no idea where to go next. What would await you if you questioned him—the things you would discover that were best left in the hands of God and no one else. 

Again, curiosity thrust its violent hand into your stomach and forced your feet to start moving towards him, hoping that he’d appreciate your bravery—your denial of your urges to run far away. It was noted, however, that Joel Miller could care less about bravery. That the quality itself was right down at the bottom of the ladder and that he could and would not give a shit if you welcomed his advances in spite of your lack of courage. 

Hesitantly, you planted yourself on his couch, the furniture built into the wall, curving into an L shape where you imagined he’d kick his feet up after a long day, palm the bulge in his jeans and pick from the litany of porn that you took one glance at and thought better than to stare at it too long in case he felt offended by your interest. 

The discovery admittedly took away a little of his allure. 

“Make yourself at home,” he insisted, taking a sip of his beer and urging you to do the same with a single nod of his head. The slight twitch of his lips when you did so caused your body to go squirming, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as the fire raged within you—unable to be sated with the way he looked at you then. 

Just a scoff, a sip, and a glance at your lips before he turned away completely and focused his attention on the blank TV screen— his reflection the only entertainment. 

Silence grew uncomfortable, the bitter taste of alcohol coating the back of your throat, dripping down your oesophagus and choking any words that you wished to say. The heat emanating from him was overpowering even from the distance you sat apart, the scent of cigarettes overwhelming, so much so that you needed a distraction, anything to dull the rest of your senses from shutting down—all because of his powerful presence; the effect he had on you even when he sat still and awaited your call. 

“What did you mean?” The words came tumbling from your mouth, driven by an insatiable desire and lacklustre confidence you had somewhere deep in the pits of your stomach, bubbling with the acid that nestled there until it rose to the surface—bile transforming into questions that could leave you in a shell of humiliation. At his furrowed brow, you expanded. “About me paying in ways I don’t know.” 

He leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees. Sombre, all of a sudden. Staring into the barrel of his bottle, the brown glass reflecting like constellations on his face—accentuating the sharp angle of his jawline, the sunken hollows of his cheekbones. 

When his eyes nestled on yours, burrowing right into your skull, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t even fathom the thought of taking a lungful of air, waiting with your breath held tight inside, for his answer. 

“You shouldn’t go asking questions like that.” He sipped quietly, wetting his lips by flicking his tongue in and out, averting his gaze back to the shadow of himself in the television. “You’ll get yourself in trouble.” 

It was not the answer you wished for, eyes downcast, focused on your shaking knee as you tried to gauge some form of clarity beneath the mystery that clouded the gates to his head—what lay beneath his skull; what you wished to find. 

Against your better judgment, you pressed further, keeping the beer bottle clutched between your hands and hoping it would stay cold forever. 

“I can handle myself.” It came out more confident than you had expected, your bobbing knee ceasing its movement, your dry throat provided with moisture. A break from the anxious sweat you had broken out in. “If you don’t tell me I’ll just leave a hundred dollars on your doorstep and leave you alone.” 

You hoped quietly, in that stifling room, that he would make sure it didn’t come to that. That he would let you pay in any way he saw fit. You hoped that the sad hulk of a man sitting in the lone chair with porn in every drawer and money set aside for whores, would let you have him—bring back a semblance of light to his eyes. Find out what kept the despondency trapped so tight around him, the crown of thorns on his head expanding until it reached his feet and kept him locked in nature's prison—skin scratched, bloody and unable to be healed unless he found someone willing to cut through the overgrowth. 

He seemed to bristle at your words, shoulders tightening, jaw clenching in the manner he did when he was irritated. You’d seen it before when Dale had been drunk and had followed you home. When you’d stumbled uncomfortably to your trailer and pleaded Joel who sat on his porch, almost looking like he was waiting for you, to get him off your back. That tick, the downturn of his brow, the twitch of his lip, the look so intimidating you had rushed inside and watched through the window as Joel clapped a hand on Dale’s back and ushered him away from you.

You had no idea what he’d done after they’d left your sight but Dale barely looked at you after. The last interaction you’d had with him was the morning after when he’d knocked on your door, timid for a fifty-year-old man, and apologised. Joel had been there, like he almost always was—always dancing in your peripheral, waiting for you, taunting you—with a cup of coffee clasped between two hands and a smug look on his face when he watched the interaction. 

“You ain’t as smart as you think you are,” he uttered, slipping you away from the vignette and shattering the memory with his simple words. 

They stung. More than you cared to admit. 

Men were never this difficult, never this hard to get through to, never this confusing. He had given you every possible sign, every protection, every knowing look that confessed: you are everything I wish to have. 

It seemed every day he was further from you, every day he looked at you and thought that he was blinded by loneliness and that you were the last thing he needed to dote on. 

With the rejection, came vexation, a rumbling little thing that forced its way into your mouth—lips parting to let it out. 

“You’re not as discreet as you think you are.” As soon as they fell, the rest came following like a herd of bulls, a huge red flag flying through the air, right where Joel sat. They came for him, and you didn’t care enough to stop them. “I’m not stupid, no matter what you say.” 

The tick, tick, tick of his jaw. That subtle way his eyes narrowed, honing in on everything but the thing causing his problems, trying desperately to stop the truths from betraying his conceptions. 

“I see you, Joel. I see you through my bedroom window, using me as your personal stripper because you’re too fucking cheap to go down to the strip club and give a tip.” The push and pull was becoming apparent, the sympathy and disgust you held for him all at once growing and growing until all that prevailed was rage. That after everything, he still refused. That he was still a fucking coward no matter how many faces he pulled at anyone who looked at him wrong. You would not be deterred by the look he gave you then: one that should’ve made you shrink away in fear he would do something rash. “I see the way you looked at me from day fucking one. Just a pair of tits to stare at, a new young girl that you can prey on-”

“Stop.” 

“I’m not stupid.” Your voice was rising rapidly, your lips downturned in a scowl, unable to see the danger that befell you if you continued. “I know how you talk about me to your friends, I know that you make a show of being this immovable thing that no one can ever get to because you’re so wrapped up in your own self-pity that you can’t even admit to yourself that the only thing you are is a fucking pervert. And an asshole.” 

“You are crossing a line, little girl.” 

His words fell on deaf ears, a scoff coming from the back of your throat—so many things that you wanted to say but couldn’t voice. You settled for a final, blow. One that might kick him off his feet. 

“I know you stole my panties.” Jaw ticking, teeth grinding so hard they were liable to turn to dust in his mouth. “Took them right off my bathroom floor. Could you not help yourself? Are you that sad, Joel? Are you that much of a fucking perve-” 

Silenced by the way he towered, standing upright, bottle discarded by the leg of his chair and fury dancing in his eyes—so apparent and profound you finally stopped and cowered. 

“You don’t know a thing about me.” 

You were stunned into submission, finally on the end of his intimidation—a feat that was sure to happen sooner rather than later. You were just another Dale, just another one of his victims that he shot down with narrowed eyes and a nasty tone of voice that forced you to swallow down the confidence—sending it right back to your stomach, and burning the false assurance away. 

“I have been cordial with you for as long as possible.” There was danger in the way he spoke so calmly, a tremor in your hands as he stepped forward, facing you completely, and kneeled before you—eyes boring into yours, forcing you to look at him with the hand he placed on the couch beside you. “I’ve tried my hardest to be respectable but you make it so damn difficult.” 

“I’m sorry,” you began, wishing you could take it all back, wishing that you could’ve used your boldness for better: crawled into his lap and let him hold you, sank to your knees like he and worshipped him with every bit of yourself you had.

“Sh, sh, sh,” he shook his head, the hand on the couch, moving, the weight of it resting there dissipating and falling even heavier on the side of your face. “You can’t take it back now.” 

Nerves slipped like rapids through your stomach, the damn thing churning so much you began to feel sick with the anticipation and fear you felt being closer to him than you ever had been before. Your mouth opened as if to speak, then closed again when you realised that your throat had closed, the inside of your mouth dry and unable to lubricate your words with credibility as they fell from your lips.

“You think I’m a pervert?” he asked, eyes expecting an answer, eyebrows raising to help you find a response. “Hm?” 

“Yes.” The monosyllable fell shakily, unable to lie when he was looking at you so harshly, all whilst stroking your cheekbone with his thumb and engulfing the right side of your face with one, big, warm hand. 

He nodded with knowing, his other hand falling to your bare knee. You were crowded by him, completely consumed by his presence and with a harsh swallow, you hoped that he would slip away and allow you to breathe—if only for a moment. 

“I know,” he said with finality, your cheek whacked with cold air as he removed his hand, quickly providing you with warmth again as he pressed his thumb to your chin, holding it delicately. Making sure you couldn’t look away from him. “But you like it, don’t you?” he brushed the bottom of your lip with his nail, an uncontrollable shiver running through you that he revelled in.

He’d called your bluff entirely. He’d locked you up in his cage, gave you the upper hand for just a second, made you believe that you could get away from him if you kicked and screamed enough, only to leave you hopeless as he twisted the key to the right, and threw the metal that granted you freedom, into the fire. 

“If you had an issue with me looking, you’d close the drapes. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure it ain’t too hard for you.” 

His patronisation, his demeanour that consisted of arousal and determination, had a small breath puffing from your lungs, a sudden and overwhelming heat crawling from each of his hands and into your head—breaking your rationale and leaving you pliable and willing in his grasp. He’d got you. Right there. And if he wanted you, you would let him have you. 

“And if you didn’t want me to steal your panties, then you shouldn’t have left them there.” 

It was unbelievable, the way he twisted the blame onto you, the way he made you believe in everything he was saying with a simple swipe of his thumb over your bottom lip and a look in his eyes that stopped you from questioning him. 

“Yes, Joel, I’m sorry, Joel,” were the only words swimming through your head: words that you would’ve spoken aloud had he not stunned you into silence, the hand on your knee sliding along your skin, up towards the hem of your shorts where he slipped his fingers under and skimmed the skin concealed by the denim. 

“You understand me, little girl?” 

“I’m not a little girl,” you managed, voice shaky as the warmth of him engulfed you entirely, wrapped up in the scent of him, the feel of the callouses along your smooth skin and the eyes piercing you. If looks could kill…if those pretty eyes could rip you apart with the viciousness of their stare. 

“No you ain’t,” he murmured, gripping your chin, thumb rubbing along the flesh of your bottom lip, the skin bouncing as he peeled it back and let go. “I know you ain’t.” 

There seemed a flood came over his being, a white wave of purity dowsing him, ridding him of every adulteration and forcing sense back into his head as the hand fell from your face, the one on your inner thigh taking longer to slip away before the cloud of insensibility faded and he arrived to a semblance of morality. 

You watched as he stumbled over to the kitchen, hand working over the scruff he called a beard and forced his eyes away from you. 

“Joel,” you called softly, finally gaining back a little strength now he wasn’t crowding you; forcing you to look at him and make the first move so his conscience could be clean. 

“Just go.” The words were uttered much softer than before, the delicacy of his voice surprising you but the strain that coated his throat a reminder that this was still Joel Miller. Dangerously beautiful Joel Miller with a lifetime of terror stashed somewhere in the backrooms of his mind, a darkness in the depths of his eyes you couldn’t help but be frightened by, and a story you wished he would tell. A story that stretched years back to the life before he crept past the opening gates of Shady Springs Mobile Park and left a life that you had no clue wether  had been better or worse than his life now. “I’ll come over tomorrow afternoon and have a look at that tap. You might have to get maintenance round soon though if it keeps up.” 

“I don’t like strangers…in my house.” Your words trailed off at the end of your sentence, caught up in the possibilities of your words and how he would reply. If he would see right through you and clock how you’d only spoken because the tap was one of the biggest ties you had to Joel. If he would realise that you’d thought about getting maintenance months ago when it first started dripping but didn’t want a permanent fix, no matter how annoying. All because of Joel Miller and the way he’d perversely captured you in the plot of some barely legal porno that you would’ve turned your nose up at if it was anyone but him and you. 

You and Joel. 

The thought sounded nice—the reality a little less nicer. 

“Yeah, well…” he leant back on the countertops, arms crossed over his chest, eyes bloodshot and bordered by black—an undeniable piece of evidence that Joel perhaps wasn’t doing as well as he made everyone believe; that there was something deeper tugging at his mind and causing such aggravation. 

After a moments silence, when he looked at you and you looked right back at him, your head clear and working properly again, you diverted the conversation elsewhere—a ploy to hack deeper at his head and find what lay underneath his skull. 

“Are you okay?” Simple, easy. Not difficult to ascertain the concern laced deep in your tone because you were concerned for him. The moment he’d opened the door after days of barely seeing him, time spent cursing the fact he could peer through your windows but you could not peer through his, you knew something was wrong. That there was something happening to him. Something dangerous. Your sympathy began to overtake everything else, memory shed of all the times he had wronged you and replaced with the very little he had done right. “You look…tired. Exhausted, really.” 

“I’m fine,” he said with finality, the rage in his eyes returning but with less power this time. The fatigue was setting in, the constant running from himself finally catching up to him. 

“Are you sure?”

“I said I’m fine.” It shut you up well enough, so much so that you began to lose the commiserations. You could always say you tried. “Now get out of my house.” 

It was the final thing he said to you before he slipped away, striding down the hallway, footsteps echoing until he reached the bedroom; the click of the door resounding throughout the trailer. 

You stared at the spot where he’d kneeled, a finger brushing softly over your lip before shaking away the self-pity and gently placing the beer bottle on the table that sat next to his chair. 

Looking one last time at the door at the end of the hallway, shadowed and guarded by snapping dogs, you opened the door, the damn thing creaking as if to shout to everyone within a mile radius that you had made no progress with the man you desperately wanted, and stepped out. Leaving your pride on the doorstep. 

© virginreprise

thanks for reading !

[hoshifighting]

Hello! I love your work 🥹 I hope you are well

Just wanna ask your thoughts on how the seventeen members would react to see you driving speed / you being fast on connected apps like ‘Find My’ heheheeheh

Thank you ❤️

a/n: thank u sweetie, i loved it!! im doing well!! <33 i hope i understood well.. like a gearhead girlfriend?... made w/ luv ❤️

WARNINGS: mentions of breakig the speed limit

seungcheol: “yo yo yo, slow the fuck down, we ain’t tryna die today!!” he’s literally shouting through the app, and you could almost see him gripping the imaginary 'oh shit' handle in the backseat. he loves you, but he’s lowkey shitting bricks rn, “bruh, this ain't fast & furious... i swear if we crash, it’s on you.”

jeonghan: sigh “baby, why you gotta be like this?” he’s too cool to actually panic, but you can feel him judging the fuck outta you. he’ll make you feel like the most irresponsible person alive while also making it clear he’s kinda impressed. “next time, let me drive so we don’t both end up with speeding tickets… but like… you kinda look hot doing it though, not gonna lie.” he’s smirking on the other side of the screen.

joshua: “ok but like… are we trying to break a record or what?” he’s nervous but trying to stay calm, but you can tell he’s clutching his pearls behind that smooth tone. “maybe, uh, we could slow down just a tiny bit? just a suggestion...” definitely trying not to freak out completely, but he’s one bad swerve from straight-up praying.

jun’s all for it, honestly. he’s got his phone up to show the speedometer on his end, clearly thriving. “you wanna hit 120? bet, i’m down, let’s fucking go!” jun’s just living it, probably snapping selfies like it’s no big deal while the car’s shaking at 90 mph.

hoshi: “wait—WAIT! y/n, no no NO, what the hell?? slow down before i shit my pants.” he close his eyes, dramatic as fuck, genuinely convinced y’all are about to fly off the highway. nearly crying as he clutches his phone. “i got shit to do tomorrow!! i can’t die today, not like this!”

wonwoo’s just... chillin’. he doesn’t really say much at first. just sends a simple, “you good?” text. he’s the only one calm in this whole situation. when you don’t respond right away, he hits you with, “bet you won’t keep up with the guy in the ferrari tho...” and you’re like, oh shit. he’s egging you on. he's vibing with the chaos, but lowkey wants to see how far you'll take it.

woozi: “y/n, you better chill the fuck out.” straight-up scolding you. no fluff, just pure frustration. jihoon’s too rational for this speed demon shit, and he’s already calculating how much the damn fine’s gonna be if you get caught. “if you crash, you better hope i’m not in the car, ‘cause i ain’t helping your ass.” classic jihoon—pissed, but still kinda impressed at your audacity.

seokmin: “YO, SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!” pure panic in his voice,like he’s watching a horror movie. “do you wanna give me a heart attack? holy shit!!” he’s basically pleading with you at this point, full-on hands shaking, worried sick like a damn mother hen. “i’m way too pretty to die like this, please, for the love of god, just slow down.”

mingyu: WELL THIS MAN HAVE LICENSE FOR IT, no fear at all. “you drive like a fucking beast, lemme hop in the car next time.” he’s fully living for the thrill, no reservations whatsoever. he’s gassing you up like no one would. adrenaline junkie.

minghao’s already over it. deadpan as fuck. “why you gotta stress me like this? i’m way too zen for this shit.”

seungkwan: “OKAY STOP! STOP! i didn’t sign up for this kinda trauma. you tryna die young, huh?!” yelling in the app for you to pull over before he passes out from sheer anxiety. “i’m never getting in a car with you ever again, swear on my life.”

vernon: “i mean, if we crash, we crash. kinda sick though, right?” no panic, no complaints, just lowkey impressed. “but like… how fast can you actually go?”

chan: “y/n, this isn’t a fucking video game!” poor baby is stressed out, clenching his fists like his life’s on the line. “i can’t do this. my heart can’t handle this. you tryna give me a heart attack?!” genuinely scared shitless. “you really gotta slow down before i fucking pass out in the toilet bro”

[starsjulia]

labour // leah williamson

a/n : i giggled a lot writing this.

warnings : none really, set in a hospital, reader being gobby

Leah was ready for anything. At least, that’s what she’d been telling herself for nine months. She’d read books, watched videos, and even gone to a birthing class where she’d accidentally fainted during the “miracle of life” video. But now, with you gripping her hand like you were trying to crush her metacarpals, she realized nothing could have prepared her for this.

“You’re doing amazing,” Leah said softly, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

“shut the fuck up you evil woman,” you growled, your head snapping toward her with the intensity of a woman possessed. “one more bloody ‘you’re doing amazing, and i’m going loose it”

Leah blinked. “Alright, cool, cool, cool. I’ll just… stop talking.”

“Good idea,” you hissed, then immediately let out a pained groan that shook the room.

The midwife, a chipper woman who apparently didn’t fear death, tried to help. “Let’s focus on breathing—”

“Don’t you start with the breathing! I AM BREATHING, AREN’T I?!”

Leah glanced at the midwife apologetically. “She’s normally lovely. I promise.”

“Don’t you dare apologize for me!” you barked. “You did this to me, you fucking cunt! You and your stupid, sexy smile!”

Leah couldn’t help but smirk. “You think my smile is sexy?”

“NOT THE TIME”

An hour later, you were in what the midwife called “active labor” and what you called “the seventh circle of hell.” Leah, to her credit, was trying to keep it together, but you weren’t making it easy.

“How about I go stand up front with the midwife?” she suggested, trying to be helpful. “You know, cheer you on from the sidelines—”

“ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY NOT!” you yelled, grabbing her wrist then smacking her arm with surprising strength for someone in so much pain. “YOU ARE STAYING BACK HERE, WITH YOURE WIFE. I can feel my fanny ripping in half, ain’t no way in hell your seeing that”

Leah blinked, torn between amusement and terror. “Babe, that’s not—”

“NOT TAKING ANY BLOODY CHANCES!”

“Alright,” Leah muttered, holding her hands up. “I’ll just stay here then.”

“Good,” you snapped. Then, as another contraction hit, you added, “But you’re still not getting sex for a year. Minimum.”

Leah gasped in mock horror. “A YEAR?!”

“Maybe two! Depends on how long it takes me to forget THIS,” you shouted, gesturing wildly to your entire body before screaming in agony once again.

“Didn’t you say earlier that you’d forget everything once you saw the baby’s face?” Leah asked you.

You leveled her with a glare so sharp it could’ve sliced through steel. “FORGET WHAT I SAID EARLIER! one more word from you woman and i’m getting a divorce.”

By hour nine, the room had descended into chaos. You cussing out at everyone in sight, including the poor anesthesiologist who had tried to offer you an epidural.

“I don’t care if it’s late in the game!” you shouted. “Stick the bloody needle in my spine, you fucking COWARD!”

The anesthesiologist froze.

Leah quickly intervened. “She doesn’t mean that.”

“I MEAN EVERY WORD!”

“She’s in pain,” Leah added, patting his arm. “She called me a ‘stupid, gorgeous twat’ earlier. It’s just how she expresses love.”

The anesthesiologist looked unconvinced but did as you asked, and for the first time in hours, you seemed to relax.

“Thank God,” you muttered, leaning back against the pillows. Then, turning to Leah, you added, “Don’t get comfortable. I’m still mad at you.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the midwife smiled. “Alright, one more big push!”

“One more?” you snarled. “THAT’S WHAT YOU SAID THREE PUSHES AGO, JANET!”

“Her name is Emma,” Leah whispered.

“I DON’T CARE WHAT HER NAME IS!”

Leah bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“Alright,” the midwife—Emma—said patiently. “Let’s do this together. Big push!”

With a guttural scream that would’ve put banshees to shame, you gave one last push, and suddenly, the room was filled with the sound of a baby’s cry.

“She’s here!” Leah exclaimed, tears streaming down her face as the midwife placed the tiny, squirming bundle on your chest.

You stared down at your daughter, your entire world shifting in an instant. “Oh my God,” you whispered, tears pricking your eyes. “She’s perfect.”

“She is,” Leah agreed, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“She’s also loud,” you added. “Definitely gets that from you.”

“Oi!” Leah protested, but her grin gave her away.

Later, as your daughter nursed contentedly, you looked at her with a soft smile. “You know,” you said, stroking her tiny hand, “your muma is going to be so jealous. You’ve stolen her favorite spot.”

Leah gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “Innocent ears! Did you just tell our newborn daughter about—”

“Yes,” you interrupted. “And she’s got a right to know.”

Leah shook her head, feigning devastation. “I can’t believe you’d corrupt her like this. On her first day. What kind of example are you setting?”

From the corner of the room, Leah’s mum, who had been quietly observing the whole thing, finally spoke up.

“Right, well,” she said, smirking, “this has been the most entertaining day of my life.”

You groaned, burying your face in your free hand. “Oh, God. You’re still here.”

“Still here,” her mum confirmed, grinning. “And I can’t wait to tell this story at Christmas.”

Leah burst into laughter while you muttered something about filing for divorce.

That night, as you lay in bed with your daughter snuggled between you and Leah, you sighed.

“I guess I forgive you,” you murmured.

“For what?” Leah asked, her voice soft.

“For putting me through hell today.”

Leah grinned, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Does this mean the sex ban is off?”

You shot her a look. “Don’t push your luck, Williamson.”

[ohbueckers]

HEART OF A WOMAN. … and she gives me all her trust and i’m abusing it right now.

06, CHAPTER SIX. SOMEBODY ELSE’S GIRL (MINE FIRST).

ju speaks. happy late thanksgiving if you celebrate! this is the quickest i’ve ever finished a chapter and i think it’s because i switched between their views, so it’s also a little long. but let me know your thoughts cauuuuse… it’s all mess from here. pairing. wnba!paige bueckers x fem!oc. warnings. sexual innuendos, sappy paige.

present day, june 2025.

practice had just ended, a longer one than usual might i add. most of the team had trickled out, grabbed their stuff and hit the showers. i lingered near the bench with maya, who had allegedly been here under some important circumstance, but i just think she wanted to see me. we haven’t hung out much recently.

she’d been talking my ear off about the game tomorrow, but i wasn’t fully listening. my focus? split—like always. out of the corner of my eye, nai walked in, hair tied back, a stack of papers in her hand. she didn’t look over here, probably didn’t even realize i was in the gym. what was she here for?

maya nudged me, temporarily snapping me out of it. “you hear me?” she asked, tilting her head.

“uh, yeah,” i lied, blinking as i turned back to her. “somethin’ about their zone defense, right?”

maya rolled her eyes. “you’re hopeless,” she said, but she was laughing.

i chuckled too, stroking a hand over my chin. my eyes drifted back to nai. she’d settled near the scorer’s table, flipping through the papers like whatever she was working on was life or death. she’s more locked in for the game than i am.

“yo, nai!” i called, my voice echoing through the quiet of the empty gym.

she glanced up, startled, her brows furrowing slightly before she turned her attention toward me. “what?” she asked. her tone was neutral, but not exactly inviting.

“come here for a sec,” i said, leaning back against the bench, spreading my legs out, my arms draped over the sides like i wasn’t hanging on her reaction. maya’s eyes followed over to me, her smirk growing, but she didn’t say a word.

nai hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before she exhaled sharply, setting the papers down on the table. she walked over, her sneakers squeaking faintly on the court. she wasn’t in any rush, but the way her eyes stayed locked on me, i knew she was curious.

“what do you need, bueckers?” she asked, stopping just far enough to keep some space between us. her arms crossed over her chest, and i couldn’t help but notice the way her forearms flexed slightly with the movement.

“relax, i ain’t gonna bite,” i teased, tilting my head with a grin. “wanted to ask if you saw the film on the liberty’s screens. got it on my phone—figured you might have some notes since, you know, you’re always prepared.”

her eyes narrowed, but she’s definitely amused, biting back a smile. “you’re only asking me because you didn’t do your homework, huh?”

i shrugged, unbothered. “maybe.”

maya laughed beside me, chiming in, “at least she’s honest.”

nai rolled her eyes but stepped closer, her gaze flicking between me and maya. she held her hand out. “fine. show me the video.”

“thought you’d never ask,” i said, pulling out my phone. my thumb hovered over the screen as i unlocked it, my stomach flipping briefly as the lock screen flashed. thankfully, i’d changed it from the polaroids this morning, though the thought of it, thought of her, still made my chest tighten. in a good way.

i tapped the screen, pulling up the clip, and held it out to her. “here,” i said. “maya and i were just talking about it.” it’s a breakdown of their off-ball movement—mostly betnijah and sabrina setting those high screens.

nai leaned in slightly, her shoulder brushing mine as she took the phone. i parted my lips, forcing my focus onto the video.

“you weren’t talking about this,” she murmured, a faint smirk tugging at her lips as she glanced at maya.

maya snickered, leaning forward to watch over nai’s shoulder. “caught us. but it’s relevant.”

i watched them both for a second, my eyes settling over nai longer than i should’ve let it. she was so close, close enough that her shampoo—something clean and floral—filled my nose.

her fingers tapped the screen as she rewound the clip. “see this?” she said, pointing to a sequence where sabrina set a screen to free betnijah for a backdoor cut. “they do this every time the ball swings weak-side. if you’re late, it’s an automatic bucket.”

“makes sense,” maya murmured, nodding along.

the video played on, but it was just noise to me. nai shifted again, and my eyes dropped to the curve of her jaw, the faint flush on her cheeks that was always there, down to the sliver of skin her button-up gave me a show of when she crouched down, her hips—

“paige,” nai said suddenly, snapping me out of my daze. God, i’ve been having a lot of those. it was a stern say of my name, and i blinked, realizing i hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

“huh?” i asked.

she sighed, handing the phone back. “i said, they’re predictable, but you have to be locked in. no gambling—you’ll get caught overplaying on those screens.”

“oh. yeah, for sure,” i replied quickly, slipping my phone back into my pocket. “locked in. got it.” my hands found the hem of my shorts, fidgeting with the fabric just to do something.

maya raised a brow, glancing between us. “you good, paige?”

“always,” i replied, shooting her a grin as i scrunched my face up, like the question was absurd. i caught the knowing (or the i think i know) look she shot nai. i’m terrible at not being obvious.

nai shook her head, muttering something under her breath before heading back to the scorer’s table.

i need to talk to maya.

game day was different. they always started early for me, the arena was quieter than i liked, but now the whole team was here. sneakers squeaked against the polished court, basketballs bounced rhythmically, and the team’s warmup playlist blasted from the speakers. but me? i was posted up at the scorer’s table, laptop open and notes scattered around me, running through every last detail of game day operations.

or trying to, anyway. a slightly sweaty paige in her jersey just a few feet away from me was a very distracting sight.

next to me, maya leaned back in her chair, legs crossed over each other like she didn’t have a care in the world. she’d been going back and forth between scrolling on her phone and making snarky comments about my “game face,” which, according to her, was “way too intense for someone who isn’t even playing.”

“you know it’s not that serious, right?” she teased, snapping me out of my focus as she nudged my half-empty in-n-out cup closer to me.

“it is that serious,” i muttered, grabbing the cup without thinking and taking a sip. the straw gurgled, and i frowned, realizing there was barely a drop of my chocolate milkshake left.

maya grinned. “right. because if the scoreboard malfunctions, the world’s ending.”

i rolled my eyes, setting the cup down and returning to my notes. “not all of us can just show up to work and look pretty, maya.”

“first of all, i do a lot more than look pretty,” she shot back, feigning offense. “i contribute to team morale.”

i snorted, finally glancing her way. “uh-huh. is that what we’re calling it now?”

she kept her smile, leaning back in her chair. “yup. and speaking of morale… i gotta ask you something.”

i paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. maya’s tone had shifted—just slightly—but enough to make me wonder. “what’s up?”

she hesitated for half a second, which was already suspicious. maya didn’t do hesitation. “it’s about paige.”

my throat went dry, and i reached for the cup again, even though i knew it was empty. i needed something to do, anything to buy myself a second to think.

“what about her?”

“i’m just saying,” she starts, sitting up straight now. “you two are tight, right?” she asked, her head tilting as she studied me. “she talks to you a lot.”

tight? not exactly the word i’d use, but i nodded anyway. “yeah, i guess.”

maya leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “she’s just… hard to read sometimes, you know? one minute, she’s all chill, the next, she’s pulling away. i can’t tell if she’s playing hard to get or if she’s just like that.”

shit. of course maya was asking about paige. of course she’d come to me, thinking i had some kind of insight. of course maya was trying to lock her down. she was older, probably didn’t have time for whatever game paige was throwing. she wanted a relationship. i’m sure if she knew what paige and i’s relationship was like, she’d call us childish. i wouldn’t disagree.

i swallowed, nodding slowly as if i was carefully considering her words, but my brain was going a mile a minute. why’s she pulling away from you? probably because she was tangled up in my sheets just last night. i’m pretty sure a good number of her workout clothes are on my floor. the towel she’s been using the past couple of days hanging up in my bathroom. i forced the thought away, along with the guilt that came with it.

“i mean, yeah, she talks to me, but…” my voice trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence without giving myself away. “i think she’s just busy with the season,” i redirect.

maya raised an eyebrow, more to herself. “it seems like she’s got time for everyone else. it’s me she’s dodging.”

everyone else. me? what lies has paige been feeding her?

my stomach churned. i hated this. i hated that she was asking me these questions, hated that i didn’t have an honest answer for her. most of all, i hated that i could feel her suspicion growing with every passing second.

i forced a tight smile, my fingers idly fidgeting with the straw in my cup. “paige isn’t really the relationship type,” i said, hoping that would satisfy her.

maya laughed dryly, shaking her head. “yeah, i’m starting to figure that out. but damn, i like her, nai. she’s just—” she paused, letting out a small sigh. fuck. “she’s different.”

i couldn’t help it—the words slipped out before i could stop them. i wanted to know too. know if she makes her feel the same way. “different how?”

her eyes softened as she smiled a little. i knew she was looking at paige. i follow her eye line, and there she is. stretching while she bites back a laugh at her own joke. “i don’t know. she’s got that… thing. she’s fun, she’s confident, she makes you feel like you’re the only one she’s paying attention to when you’re with her.”

yeah, and that’s exactly the problem, i thought bitterly. because wasn’t just paying attention to maya. she wasn’t just fun and confident with maya.

i nodded again, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from saying anything else. “i get it.” and i did. i got it more than she knew.

“do you, though?” maya asked, her tone skeptical as she studied me again. “you’re not acting like someone who gets it.”

i forced a laugh. “i’m just tired,” i lied, standing up and grabbing my laptop. “long morning.”

maya just watched me for a moment, then nodded, leaning back in her chair again. “alright, well, if you hear anything…” she let the sentence hang in the air, her meaning clear.

i just gave her a noncommittal shrug, pretending to focus on packing up my stuff.

paige needs to talk to maya.

it’s our second game against the liberty. the team’s been stressed about it all morning, but i can’t say i feel the same. muffled voices and footsteps echoed in the locker room, but i couldn’t focus on any of it. not the game plan, not the liberty, not even fucking maya for christ’s sake.

the only thing i could focus on was nai, pinned against the row of lockers, her lips pressed feverishly against mine like the game had already started and she was playing to win. my jersey stuck to my skin, damp from warmups, but i didn’t care. my arms flexed as i braced them on either side of her, caging her in, every breath i took mingling with hers in the secluded space near the showers. nobody should be coming back here, catching us. it’s why i chose it.

“you,” i murmured against her lips, one hand sliding down to her hip and gripping it like it was my lifeline. my other hand wrapped gently around her neck, pulling her closer. “you’re drivin’ me crazy, nai. you know that?”

her laugh was breathless, her hands trailing up under the jersey she’d untucked, nails scraping against my stomach and making me shudder. “you started it,” she whispered, her lips brushing over mine, teasing me.

i didn’t answer, couldn’t. i just leaned in and kissed her again, deeper this time, my tongue sliding in her mouth in a way that made me forget we were just minutes away from tip-off. she tasted like the cherry lip balm she always wore, and it was doing something to me, making my heart race faster than the pregame drills ever could.

she pulled back slightly, her breath hot against my cheek. “paige,” she murmured, a warning tone in her voice like we should stop. but her hands stayed right where they were, gripping the waistband of my shorts like she couldn’t let go.

“what?” i asked, furrowing my brows. my lips trailed down her jaw, then lower, brushing against the curve of her neck. “say it.”

“we shouldn’t—” she started, but i cut her off with another kiss, silencing whatever logic she was about to throw my way.

“don’t care,” i said, pulling back just enough to look at her. my thumb brushed against her cheek, over the faint blush forming from the warmth of the room. “i don’t care, nai. you gotta know that by now.”

her eyes searched mine, and for a second, i thought she was about to tell me to stop. but then her lips crashed into mine again, and i grinned cockily.

i couldn’t stop. i didn’t want to. she had this pull on me, always had, and every time we found our way back to each other like this, it only made it harder to let go.

i didn’t want to let go anymore.

i was thinking straight now—for the first time in a minute, actually thinking. she drove me crazy in every way possible, just like i’d said, but it wasn’t just that. it wasn’t just the way she kissed me or the way she looked at me like she’d love me like this in every lifetime. it was her, all of her. the fire, the attitude, the way she cared so much about the smallest things. the way she called me out when i was slacking but never let me fall too far. she wasn’t perfect, but damn, she was perfect for me.

i’d tried moving on, tried ignoring it, tried putting someone else in her place a million times before, but nothing worked. nobody was her. nobody ever could be.

and maybe that made me selfish. maybe it wasn’t fair to her, not when i kept coming back like this, asking for pieces of her without offering anything steady in return. but for once, i didn’t want to pretend.

her breath hitched as i kissed her deeper, tilting my head into it, and i felt my chest tighten. this wasn’t just hooking up. it wasn’t just history or habit or whatever excuse i used to tell myself. “i love you,” i breathed against her lips, my hand tightening around her hip. “i’m serious, nai. i love you. i don’t wanna keep sneakin’ around like this. i wanna be with you—for real.”

her eyes widened. she looked like she might push me away, laugh it off, tell me i was lying. but she didn’t. she just stared at me, her lips parted, her breath shaky.

“paige…” she started, her voice soft, uncertain as she brought her hands up to my shoulders.

i leaned my forehead against hers, my hands moving to cup her face. “nah, don’t ‘paige’ me,” i said, licking my lips, trying to find the right words. “you gotta let me say this. i want you, baby. only you. i’ll figure it out—i’ll make it work. just… let me.”

silence. her hands stayed on me, fingers brushing against the collar of my jersey. i looked into her eyes, and i knew i was laid bare. no bravado, no jokes, no quick quips to deflect. just me, standing there, begging without words. let me. please let me.

the sound of a buzzer echoed through the hallway, signaling it was time to hit the court. i didn’t move, didn’t pull away. not until she gave me an answer. not until i knew.

“you don’t get to do this now.”

“why not?”

“because it’s game day,” she countered, sternly mothering me in the way i loved, and the flash of vulnerability in her eyes nearly knocked the air out of my lungs. she was quiet for a moment too long, like she was wrestling with herself, with me, with us.

finally, she exhaled, her hands smoothing down my sides. “go win it, p. we’ll… talk later.”

the words were a promise and a deflection all at once, and we both knew it. my chest ached, but i nodded, biting back the urge to push for more, to beg for her to meet me where i was.

i stood there for a moment longer, just watching her, memorizing the way she looked at me—like she was caught somewhere between wanting me and pushing me away for the last time.

the sound of footsteps in the hallway broke the moment, and i sighed, dragging a hand over my face. leaning down, i pressed a kiss to her forehead, inhaling the faint scent of her hair like it was enough to carry me through the next two hours.

“later,” i echoed, and i left the locker room without another word.

halftime ends, and the buzzer sounds, pulling me and everyone else back into the game. i’ve been occupied—timing, logistics, making sure everything’s in place for the team. it’s hectic, and i’ve barely had time to focus on the game itself. i catch paige, bouncing on the balls of her feet, all amped up as she waits to get checked in. i stretch my legs out on the bench, trying to shake off the restlessness that’s been following me around all day.

just get through the game. you can think about what this means after.

my thoughts are interrupted when i see maya making her way back from the tunnel. she strolls across the court, looking like she’s had a moment to herself, like she hasn’t been gone for the entire fifteen minutes of halftime. i barely even notice her approach until she’s right next to me, her posture a little different, almost like she’s holding something back.

i look up from my clipboard, following her as she sits down next to me. “hey, how was your half?” i ask.

“good. just needed a minute.”

she’s not making eye contact, and her voice carries this weird undertone, like she’s working through something in her head. i furrow my eyebrows, chuckling. “that’s weirdly ominous.”

she bites her lip. “sorry. i just wanted to apologize for being weird earlier.”

i glance at her, trying to gauge where her head’s at. “uh… it’s cool. you were just concerned.” the way she phrased it—the way she’s acting…

there’s a moment of silence before she speaks. “i just… i thought something was going on with you and paige.” she pauses, looking me dead in the eyes. she’s smiling a bit. “but she assured me there was nothing going on. said she wants to move forward with me.”

i blink, glancing at the court. i can’t look her in the eye. i’m back to busying myself with my clipboard. “she said that?” my voice feels flat, distant, like i’m hearing it through a fog.

this had to have been just now, right? my mind whirls for a second. she told maya that she wants to move forward with her? but then why did she tell me—me—in the locker room that she loved me? was maya just blowing her words out of proportion?

maya fidgets slightly, her fingers tapping against her leg as she looks away, grinning like this is some kind of revelation she’s been waiting for. “yeah,” she replies, eyes flickering back to my occupied ones. “i’m sorry for misreading it. all i needed to do was ask her!”

and then she laughs. she fucking laughs.

i chew on that for a moment. the sound of it feels like a slap to the face. it’s not a real laugh, not one that feels genuine or free. it’s almost… rehearsed, like she’s trying to convince herself—or me—that everything’s fine, that there’s nothing more to this. that paige just straightened it all out.

the frustration bubbles up inside me, but i keep it contained, gripping the edge of my clipboard like it’s the only thing anchoring me to reality. i don’t know what to say to that, or if i even can say anything. all i can think about is what happened in the locker room, how paige looked at me, how she said the words that felt like they meant everything but might have meant nothing at all.

she said she loved me. it was the first time i’d heard it from her in awhile where it felt like she actually meant it. and now maya’s telling me that paige is just moving forward with her? that she’s already decided?

suddenly the loudness of the gym is tuned out, and i can’t focus on anything. i start to open my mouth to excuse myself, but something catches my eye. my gaze trails down, taking in the rest of her appearance—her shirt a little wrinkled, her hair not quite as perfectly styled as usual. it hits me all at once, like a punch to the gut.

i force myself to look back at her face, trying to keep my expression steady. “maya,” i say slowly, voice quiet, “your jeans… are unzipped.”

she freezes, her eyes wide for a split second before she quickly pulls at the zipper, trying to cover it up. but the damage is done.

it was easier to deny before. easier if i hadn’t caught that small detail—the one she didn’t think i’d see.

“i’m gonna head out.”

[peculiarbob]

They called me crazy for not liking Mr Beast. They said I was being overly critical. They called me crazy for saying that it was super weird and completely missing the point for him to recreate Squid Game.

But I’ve been hearing talk about Mr Beast’s “Beast Games” and its dangerous working conditions. Allegedly multiple contestants were hurt on set and denied access to medical care, contestants were put in horrible living conditions, and staff members were not getting paid or compensated properly. (This is just a couple things that I’ve heard)

This is horrible and I’m not celebrating that this is happening, I’m saying that this is not a surprise to me. HE LITERALLY CREATED REAL LIFE SQUID GAME! Bro did not watch the show, he saw that and thought “Holy shit this looks so fun! New video idea!” Maybe when he was first getting popular he genuinely wanted to help people out but it’s becoming increasingly clear that he does not care about that anymore. The things that I’ve heard are awful and it’s scary to think that such a loved and popular content creator allowed this to happen. I really hope that anyone who was hurt by this can tell their story and be heard. This ain’t something that should get covered up.

[simplyhughes]

You’re My Girl - WS2

Synopsis: Childhood crush confession typa beat?!??

Warnings: none, just fluff lol and shit writing

AN: so sorry this is literally trash… but i love my smitty 🥹!! ALSO REQUESTS ARE OPENNNN!!

I’ve known Will Smith since before we could even walk. Our fathers were best friends from college, a friendship that felt like it was meant to last. After years apart, they reconnected by chance in a small Michigan town, both of them with young families and memories of shared adventures. It wasn’t long before they picked up right where they’d left off, as if the years between had been nothing more than a short pause. Weekends, barbecues, and game nights became routine, and before long, our families practically blended into one.

Our mothers bonded just as effortlessly. By the time Will and I were born, just two months apart, it was already decided that we’d grow up together. Each family felt like an extension of the other. We celebrated every holiday together, and we even had Christmas stockings at each other’s homes, as if we were siblings rather than best friends.

From the start, Will and I were inseparable. When my mom worked, his mom watched us both, and vice versa. It felt natural to grow up side by side, learning and exploring together.

Now here we are in our first year of college. Will committed to Boston College while I stayed in Michigan. It was very hard adjusting to life without him. Yet out distance didn’t stop us from texting every day.

We are now on holiday break, both back at the Smiths’ residence. Will sat next to me on the plush couch in his basement, the TV flashing the bright colors of whatever video game he was obsessed with this month. In a comfy pair of sweatpants and a Boston College hoodie, his eyes darted all over the screen. We were only a few inches apart as I lay against the pillow, wrapped in a fluffy white blanket, mindlessly scrolling on Instagram reels.

The screen flashed with Will’s loss, and he tossed the controller onto the pillow beside him. I chuckled, looking up from my phone.

“You suck,” I laughed.

“Ain’t no way you’re talking,” he retorted, shifting his gaze from the screen onto me. I felt his eyes on me, so I looked up from my phone.

“Hey,” Will said softly.

“Hi,” I replied, matching his tone.

“You know, I miss you when I’m gone…” he admitted.

“I miss you too, Will. It’s not the same without you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I get some of that blanket?” He nudged the white fluff that was draped over me. I lifted up the end closest to him, signaling for him to come closer. His body weight shifted the couch, pulling both of us deeper into it. I felt my heartbeat quicken, thudding against my chest. Our faces were only a foot apart. Will flung his arm around the back of the couch behind my shoulders.

“Getting comfy, huh?” I finally spoke.

“I’m always comfy when I’m with you,” he replied.

“You talk to all your Boston chicks like that too?” I joked. Will tossed his head back and chuckled.

“Y/N, you’re the only girl I think about,” he muttered, a sly smirk forming across his face. The smirk didn’t match the nervous fidgeting of his fingers.

“Huh?” I questioned.

Will just kept looking at me and shrugged. He lowered his body, positioning himself so that his head rested comfortably on my shoulder. His hand clasped the remote, switching the HDMI off his game and onto Netflix. My hand somehow found its way into his blonde curls, scratching softly at his scalp.

“I could get used to this,” Will hummed. “I wish I could take you back to Boston with me.”

“But what would happen when you go to California?” I asked.

“I’d take you there too.”

“What’s with the separation anxiety?” I chuckled.

“I don’t know. You’re my girl, what can I say?”

My face flushed a deep pink. He probably didn’t mean it the way I hoped, but I couldn’t help but wonder. He tilted his head, looking up at me, his eyes wide.

“You hear me?” Will said.

“Y-yeah, I heard you.”

“I want you to be my girl, Y/N.”

“I am, Will. I have been for 18 years.”

“No, I mean, like, my… girlfriend.”

My hand cupped his cheek. For a moment, I couldn’t believe this was happening. And surely, I couldn’t believe what I did next. I mimicked my other hand, cupping his other cheek, and sealed the gap between us. I pressed a kiss against his lips, holding it for a second.

“William, I wish you’d told me this sooner.”

[letmeoutofthebasementt]

SKZ in a fist fight

Chan

This man is cruel and ON ONE. I’m talking during fights this man is doing anything. Scratching, stomping, strangling. Ain’t no shame in his game. Though he will feel guilty after he won’t during. He said “I want this to hurt.” And it did. He also is constantly changing. Like oh he realizes you have pocket sand? Bet. He got something for you. He said “embrace the process” and did.

Minho

Minho is the type who doesn’t fight. He calls the cops. Like I got “Fight who?🤨” vibes. You’re not worth it. You’ll never be worth it. He’s fighting nobody because Korea’s laws are shit and even if it’s self defense he can go to jail so quick. With that being said the verbal beating you’ll get will probably be worse than anyone’s fists could dish out.

Changbin

Changbin does not fight one on one. He gets his friends to jump you. And then he’s like “Oh wow guys you really stuck up for me!” All excited and stuff as if he didn’t call his whole friend group to beat on this one person.

Hyunjin

Me and my friend talk about him and Han (at least predebut) ALL THE TIME. Now…NOWADAYS Hyunjin is more conscious. He won’t fight you because if his career goes downhill for it he’ll crash out. He’s like “We’re adults. We’re mature. Why fight?” HOWEVER. Pre scandal Hyunjin was a CRASH. OUT. (The cards and his natal chart have both spoken.) I’m talking you’re running ones with everyone he knows if you’re running ones with Hyunjin. Verbal, physical, whatever ones you can run you’re running when it comes to him. And he enjoys it. He gets mad and he gets mad quick. And he’s probably been in plenty of fights because Temper + Side Eye = Someone’s swinging and it’s 50/50. But yeah now he’s chilled out he’s not fighting anything.

Jisung

SPEAKING of Han. Another one who calls his friends to fight you cause he knows he can’t fight. But he calls his friends then runs to the hills to get out of there. And there’s absolutely ZERO shame in his game. Then he’ll spread the video like he did sumn and lie about the entire situation like “Yeah I beat them up.” No you didn’t? Predebut Han would’ve probably had a stroke if someone tried to actually fight him though. He knows he can’t fight and it stresses him out even thinking of having to fight someone.

Felix

Felix is beating the breaks off you, whoever tries to step in, AND your mama for good measure (not literally.) everyone in the general vicinity can get some. He’s fighting you, your friends, whoever tries to hold him back, anyone watching who’s talking too much, AND the camera man if someone’s recording just to prove the camera man isn’t invincible. (Kinda exaggerating.) don’t be fooled by his general Felix-ness Felix gets DOWN.

Seungmin

Before I even pulled a card I immediately got “Peasants 🙄” he’s not fighting you. I’m literally getting “I know my worth.” He knows he’s better than you so why fight? You can fight his friends instead if you really wanna run a fade. But no one’s getting hands on him. And if they do, trust they’ll go bankrupt with the amount of lawsuits he’s filing. And honestly he’s so real for that.

Jeongin

He doesn’t fight. Point blank period. He’s tried once and he got beat so bad he’s scarred for life. If someone tries to fight him he’s RUNNING, hiding, calling the cops, calling his friends, calling their MAMA he doesn’t care as long as he gets out of an ass whooping. And he has absolutely zero shame in his game. And if worse comes to worse he has pocket sand, zero morals, the mentality to fight the dirtiest of dirty and PTSD.

As a group

This is how this goes. You start trying to beat on Jeongin, next thing you know Felix starts swinging and Seungmin’s on the phone with his lawyer, Minho’s recording because he’s just like that, Han is cheering Felix on in the background, Hyunjin is pulling that “Oh we’re adults we’re mature stop fighting.” Then he gets hit and he starts crashing out and he’s definitely like that feral fighter. I’m talking biting, scratching, grabbing your hair and your neck or whatever he could find, kneeing the balls. At least Felix sticks to punching, kicking, he’ll grab you maybe stomp you but Hyunjin just does whatever. Then Chan comes up and starts swinging like his life depends on it because he’s protective of the kids, Changbin is having his Y/N moment in the back like “Guys…This isn’t like you 🥹” even though he’s low key enjoying the drama.

It’s just a mess. A funny mess, but still a mess.

Also, Jeongin probably throws the pocket sand at some point during this fight just to help them.

[lumiwritesthestars]

⫘THOUGHTS OF YOU⫘

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Warnings: Masturbation, mentions of female anatomy. Smut. Name calling like sweetheart, love, etc.

Word count: 843 words

Upload date: 22nd January, 2025

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Caleb, who is your childhood friend with whom you spent more than half your life, is leaving for DAA. All you can do is watch as he leaves, you alone with granny in the train station and him on the train. Months have passed, and your longing for Caleb only grows. Those playful times when he'd tease you, how he would gently help you with something like a homework or a chore or clear levels in your video games. And those gentle head pats, those purple hues in which you can stare into for hours and get lost in them.

Years pass, and within a week it’s almost time for Chinese New Year, which means Caleb will be back home. You miss his touch, his scent, his damp hair as he asks you to dry them after a bath. The way his long slender fingers would caress you, and oh how his chest would crush you as you go in for a hug. As you look at the clock beside your bed the time reads 2:48 am all you can do is sigh as your core becomes heated, your nipples perk as your panties grow damp and your cunt aches for something or someone to fulfil its needs.

Slowly, your hands trace lower and lower imagining it’s Caleb’s hand and not yours, imagining it’s his hard, cold robotic arm and not your warm and soft hand. As you close your eyes, you envision Caleb kissing your neck, leaving behind strokes of purple matching his eyes and red matching the apples he oh so dearly loves. Your fingers slowly through the fabric of your panties rub your clit, the soft squelching sounds just show how much you want him. You can almost smell him as your fingers slowly pave way for you to reach your peak. Your free hand goes to play with your perky nipples stimulating them and moaning softly as you imagine Caleb’s heated gaze on your breasts, how he always seemed to want to take a bite of your breasts, sometimes his gaze would linger on you and he would look at your bossoms like a hungry child.

As your finger enters your hole all you can do is moan and trash at the feeling of pleasure consuming your soul, your vision was spinning tears spilling over your lash line as the squelching sounds became louder his name leaving your mouth like a mantra and just as you were about to tip over about to reach climax someone opened your bedroom door. Startled you cover yourself only to find, Caleb the one whom you longed to see all this time. His hair was dishevelled his pupils blown out and oh- as your eyes went down on him an undeniable tent was there. “Ca-Caleb! What a surprise, when did you arriv-“ , “Sweetheart…..what were you doing?”, he interrupts as he begins removing his shirt and walks closer to your bed. “Were you being naughty love? Missed your Caleb so much? Huh? Couldn’t wait for a few more days?” he says while kneeling on her bed and slowly peeling away her blanket, “ I heard you love, I heard this pussy drip and ache for me….it’s all for me right?” he asks as his tongue unconsciously licks his lips. “Tell me darling….do you want me to touch you…here? Fuck- it’s so slimy and wet, I bet I can just slide in-“ Caleb doesn’t get to finish his sentence as you pull him and crash your lips on his, tears streaming down your face. “C-Caleb, I missed you so much.” All your emotions came tumbling months of waiting of no contact made your heart earn for him more than you thought. Caleb’s eyes soften for a moment as he slowly kisses away your tears his robotic arm slowly finding your clit as he strokes the sensitive bud, “Shh don’t worry darling, I have got you, I’m not leaving. Cum for me won’t you? Sweetheart. Gonna give me my new year’s gift ain’t cha?” as he worked you through your orgasm his cock throbbed in his pants, precum oozing like a river. He hugs your body closer kissing you, his fingers fucking you and playing with your breasts. You are tethering on the edge and the last blow is, as you look at Caleb’s heated gaze. You scream as pure unadulterated bliss envelopes you like a warm blanket and you cling to him as your orgasm slows down, the fire within you slowly diminishing.

As you look up, you see him smiling and slowly caress your face, his forehead finding yours, “You look beautiful like this, be mine forever, for my thoughts are of only you.” After your orgasmic haze passes, you ask him “How did you get in?” he chuckles as he carries you to the bathroom in bridal style not before whispering in your ears, “I know where you keep your spare key, wanted to surprise you guess I got myself a surprise.” You knew it was going to be an amazing start of the year.

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A/n: Hello lovely readers.....it's been almost a year since I posted. I'm sorry for the long hiatus. I'll try to post more regularly. Hope guys like this. Your comments and likes mean a lot to me. As always, luv ya guys sooo much.

Also, Happy Chinese New Year to all.

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[jhyoos]

Dreams Come True

Chapter 2: Ain’t It Funny?

modern au! hockey star! vi x idol! reader

summary: reader finally debuts and so does vi’s hockey career.

notes: thank you everyone for the likes on chapter 1! im forever grateful! your debut song is eung eung by apink

chapters: one, two, christmas special, three, four, five

The sunlight streaming through the floor-to-the ceiling windows of the practice room caught the streaks of your newly dyed and styled hair. You barely noticed, too focused on the beat of the music echoing through the room. Your movements sharp, deliberate, a reflection of the countless hours you’d poured into perfecting every detail of the choreography.

It’s been a year since Vi broke up with you and your debut was a few weeks away. The past year has been nothing but training, practicing, filming the music video and singing in the studio. You loved every second of it especially since you’ve got to spent it with Mel, who was now your roommate.

Everything about you had changed

Your hair, now a honey blonde to match with your girl group concept, but you loved it. It matched you perfectly and the way the stylist styled it made you love it even more.

The shy yet unsure trainee from a year ago was gone, replaced with someone confident, determined, and unyielding.

“(Y/N), let’s take a break,” Mel called, tossing you a water bottle. You caught it and sank onto the floor, leaning against the mirrored wall. Mel plopped down beside you, just as sweaty but somehow still composed.

“You’re gonna kill it,” Mel said, nudging your shoulder. “We all are. This group wouldn’t be the same without you.”

You gave a small smile, though your thoughts wandered. Over the past year, you’ve thrown yourself into work, and it had paid off. You’d managed to finish your senior year online, earning your diploma in the midst of grueling rehearsals.

But the cost had been steep. You haven’t spoken to Vi since the night of your fight. You cut ties completely, deleting Vi’s number, ignoring her messages, and avoiding the hockey rink on campus like the black plague. The one exception was her little sister, Jinx.

You and Jinx had stayed in touch, her chaotic energy and blunt humor was a strange comfort to you during the hardest days.

Vi’s knuckles tightened around the edge of the rink’s barrier as the shrill sound of coach’s whistle echoed through the air. The icy chill of the arena bit at her cheeks, but she barely noticed. Hockey had always been her escape, her channeling every emotion she didn’t have the words to express. This past year, it became her lifeline.

Her rise to fame was meteoric. Every game she played brought her closer to being a national icon. Sport channels ran highlight reels of her devastating slap shots and lightening fast reflexes. Articles praised her for her aggressive, no-nonsense playing style, calling her a future legend. Fans chanted her name at every match, holding up signs with slogans like “Vi the Viper”

But beneath all the accolades and the roaring crowd, Vi was suffocating.

Off the ice, her life was a stark contrast to the glory of the rink. She had shut herself off from almost everyone, retreating behind a wall of icy indifference. Ellie, her team captain, noticed it first.

“Vi you’re late again dude,” Ellie said one afternoon after practice, her tone exasperated.

Vi shrugged, tossing her gear into her locker. “What the big deal? I’m here aren’t I?”

“The big deal,” Ellie said sharply “Is that you’re not yourself. You’re snapping at everyone, skipping team meetings to fuck bitches, and whatever else you’re doing…it’s affecting the team and you clearly”

Vi didn’t answer. What could she say? She didn’t have the energy to explain the gnawing emptiness that had settled in her chest since she walked away from (Y/N).

She threw herself into hockey and nothing else . Relationships? She didn’t do those anymore. They were messy too much effort. Instead she indulged herself in the occasional fan hookups—fleeting, physical distractions with no strings attached.

The backstage area buzzed with frantic energy. Stylist and coordinators darted around, fixing last minute touches on hair, makeup and outfits. You sat in front of a massive mirror, your heart pounding as you stared at your reflection. Your shimmering gold and white stage outfit fit you perfectly, the intricate details catching the glow of the lights above.

You hair was curled into bombshell curls. It was a far cry from how you used to wear it, but it fit you so much. It fit the new version of yourself you had fought so hard to become.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, her hands gripping the edge of the vanity. “You’ve got this,” you whispered to yourself. “You’ve waiting for this moment your whole life.”

A ping broke through your thoughts, and you glanced at your phone. It was a message from Jinx.

Tinker ⚙️💙: I managed to get tickets! I can’t wait to see you!

A smile appeared on your face as you looked at the message. Before you could respond, your manager, Steb, opened the door to your group’s dressing room.

“It’s time. Let’s get it!”

You stood at your cue, beside your group members. Each member was a picture of poise, yet the air buzzed with nervous energy. You had all practiced for this moment relentlessly, and now it was finally here—your debut showcase.

You smoothed down your outfit, your fingers trembling slightly. You had never felt so ready, yet so terrified. You stole a glance at Mel, who was adjusting her mic and grinning like this was just another practice session. “You okay,” Mel asked, nudging you gently.

“I think I’m about to throw up,” you admitted with a shaky laugh.

Mel snorted “Don’t you dare. Not in these outfits. You’re gonna be amazing.”

Right on cue, the lights dimmed, the massive LED screens lit up with the group’s logo, and a promotional teaser video played, showcasing their intense training and concept behind their debut.

You stood offstage with your group, your heart hammering in your chest as the intro to your group song began. You looked at your members and nodded, each of them silently reassuring the other. Together you all stepped into the spotlight, the stage exploding with sound.

The music started, and you moved effortlessly into position with your group, your heart racing but your movements steady. The debut stage was every bit of dazzling as you imagined: the flashing spotlights, the booming bass that seemed to shake the air, and the sea of glowing lights from fans cheering for them.

Your voice cut through the instrumental, smooth and powerful as you sang the first verse. Your dance steps were sharp yet fluid, your stage presence magnetic. You waited your whole life, and nothing could break your focus.

Until your eyes scanned the crowd.

In the middle of the second verse, you just got done with your line, staring into the camera. But out of curiosity, you looked down at the front row, your eyes naturally drawn to Jinx’s bright excitable movements. You smiled briefly before turning your gaze to the rest of the audience. That’s when you froze for the briefest of moments.

There, beside Jinx, hidden beneath a hoodie and cap was her.

Vi.

taglist : @lilttblog @alex-thegiraffeboyy @tobiotruther @krilara @snowbunnyboo @veladeangl @kl1q @maruiin

[solanasreality]

◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟ ͜ ◞ ྀི◟

SOLANA’S ART GALLERY ✶⃝ gallery of dreams

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small things about your liege 🪲, helloooo, my name is solana or philomena (i have too many names & it’s all covid’s fault), and i’m just a lil silly so here’s a blog about it??? i’m 6teen, african american and that LIGHT splash of color on your tumblr feed.

i’m thee universe in a physical form, in a LOT of physical forms. sometimes, i take the shape of a warrior, other times, the princess of a warrior, and you can’t forget the occasional serenity on stage. the universe has given me too much power, mostly, the power of unpredictably. the only thing that will predictable about me is the way i answer to THOSE kinds of asks, you know the ones. “can i shift???” “is shifting real??” “how do you use the loa????” (like at this point, NO. you cannot. good day.)

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things that have kept my interest over the years ☂️, shifting, obviously because it’s become an increasingly important part of my life. i couldn’t make this up when i say that i would rather talk about shifting over video games, sports, and other things that people are normally drawn to. i will find ways to tie EVERYTHING back to shifting. trust.

my book. DOOOON’T be surprised. or do, i love attention. i’m a writer, cultivating my own body of work here while i explore others in person (me when writing: 😚) ((just imagine that emoji inverted..))

AND THE LESS IMPORTANT ONES GOOD GOD. tyler the creator. frank ocean. odd future in general tbh. the sundays. cocteau twins. editing. KEHLANI. chainsaw man. kendrick lamar (&& by association, drake 😒) the beef had me in shambles ok. my autistic brain STILL ain’t over it.

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characters that SHOULD remind u of me ❦︎ (inspired by emma ‹𝟹)

jinx (arcane), maren (bones and all), elphaba (wicked), rue (euphoria), blue diamond (steven universe), cassie ainsworth (skins), janis ian (mean girls), claudia (iwtv)

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shifting journey ???’?!.?!,’ i procrastinated. a LOT. i started my journey in 2020 and didn’t know what to do with it so i just put it off (and good thing that i did because my first script was for my naruto dr..) ((i was 11 spare me.)

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basic DNI applies, and if you KNOW you shouldn’t interact, maybe…. don’t???? i’m SO serious

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THE DAILY NEWSPAPER .

⊹ 𖥔

[afternoondreaming]

No Business Like Show Business (1/?)

It’s no secret that Mr. Puzzles isn’t the most…Creative guy around. So he makes the shrewd business decision to hire you- the screen writer! What could possibly go wrong? [Okay so my secret is that I adore Mr. Puzzles and that he’s my comfort character but I…Really don’t like SMG4 as a whole. Personally I just don’t like the show when the TV ain’t in it. So, forgive me if anything is inaccurate in regards to the world or lore! I’m working off the Wiki here ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡. Either way, this is the first of hopefully many chapters! Lemme know if you want more! Also RIP formatting]

The TV producer sat in his chair, hunched forward with his elbows against his knees as his electronic head rested against his steepled hands. Darkness ensconced him in his eerily quiet office, only the dim light of his own screen and the countless monitors in front of him for any light. His defeat at the hands of the SMG4 crew had been… Humiliating, to say the least. Not only did they beat his screen in, but they had bested him at his own game. What he dedicated his very life to. Television. They had gotten their five stars so much quicker than he did and with seemingly much less effort. There was no possible way the crew had studied more in the realm of film and video than him— he had literally seen everything! From eternal classics to infomercials, Mr. Puzzles could perfectly recall every piece of cinema ever created. And, despite all that work, he still lost.

“No, no use in dwelling on that now.” He muttered to himself, aching for a smoke. “What can I do differently…?” Rising from his chair, he began to pace his office as he wracked his brain. Perhaps branch into Japanese styled game-shows? No, he couldn’t possibly. If his ultimate game-show didn’t work, then zany Japanese game-shows wouldn’t, either. Maybe foreign films? Too niche an audience and it wasn’t as if his Italian endeavor went splendidly. What hadn’t he copied (or rather referenced) yet? There had to be something…!

His frantic patrol of his office stopped short. Maybe… That was the exact problem. He hasn’t made anything new. His knowledge of all things film was encyclopedic, but his creative muscles? Woefully inept. He had always produced everything alone. Scripts? Him. Effects? Also him. Hosting? Who else could possibly do that job? Not as if he would let anybody else take the helm; but if he hired a screen writer… Maybe he could finally write an original enough script to get a five star rating. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

You had heard of Puzzlevision before, I mean, who hadn’t? They were a juggernaut of the industry. Pumping out content hand over fist (for better or for worse). Yet, they were an enigma of a company at the same time- nobody ever seemed to have any work connections to them despite all the content they produce. It was the golden ticket of job opportunities. So, just like many of your coworkers, you submitted your résumé to their business address. Never expecting to hear anything back like the many others who tried their hand at it. However, currently, you sat in shock staring at the letter you just opened on your desk. The small TV logo on crisp letterhead, with a whole message to boot.

‘Dear Applicant,

Puzzlevision Studios has reviewed your submitted résumé and would like to thank you for your interest in our company. Given your stated qualifications and past headed projects, we would like to offer to you the title of Screen Writer. If you would like to pursue this opportunity, please visit the studio at the return address during regular business hours.’

Puzzlevision had never even answered applicants before, much less an affirmative response. Surely more talented writers had to have applied? It wasn’t as if you were inept. In fact, you had worked on many successful projects. Leading them through any bumps in the road you might have faced and being well regarded amongst your peers. But, a job at Puzzlevision… It all seemed too good to be true. Your coworker, Tori, rounded your shared cubicle wall to say her good mornings to you as she always did. “Yo!” She chirped, leaning on your shoulder as she looked ahead of you absentmindedly. “What’s got you so star struck? …Oh shit.” Her eyes must have skimmed your letter, given she was now just as shocked as you. “Well look at you! I can say I worked with a big shot before they got big~!”

“Yeah…!” You replied, excitement beginning to replace the shock. Of course you had to take this! You liked your company, sure, but anyone would give for an opportunity like this. “I gotta draft my resignation…! Pack up my cubicle, get my clothes dry cleaned for the interview- oh God I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Chill, chill!” Tori crooned, patting your shoulder gently when she removed herself from it. “No need to panic. That’ll get you nowhere. Just take your PTO today and draft the resignation while you get your things in order. Once you get the gig, we’ll grab a celebratory dinner, ‘kay?”

“Definitely!” You quickly grabbed the things you had just set down to start your day, ready to depart posthaste for all your prepping. “Tell the boss I’m outta here! Text you later!” You bolted back towards the entrance, waving back at Tori as she called out a goodbye. This was going to be a whirlwind.

[radioactivedotcom]

SpookGames is recruiting!

If you’re an aspiring artist dreaming of making your own character designs for video games, you’ve undoubtedly heard of our company before. We’ve made classics such as Spooktacular Extravaganza and Once Upon a Spook. Who hasn’t spent hours in those games?! This is the opportunity of a lifetime to get your foot in the door of the gaming industry!

To apply, please fill up the form linked above and attach your portfolio.

Now, we don’t want your old and dusty art. No, no, no. Since we’re a game company, we’ve decided to make it a little more fun than that. Each answer you give in the form should be your prompt to create a character! This way, we get to know your personality and your creative talent all in one fell swoop! (And we will not be arbitrarily judging your answers as ways to extrapolate how this would translate in the workplace and throw away your application should we dislike said answers. Though we welcome essay-andying your answers to explain why it should get you the job.)

As you've surely noticed, there are 31 questions to fill out. You do not need to create a character for all of them (but you certainly can if you wish to!). We ask for a minimum of three designs to whichever prompts inspire you most.

Having doubts about applying? There are many advantages to working at SG! Such as:

Meager pay below industry standard; unpaid overtime; no sick leave; no vacation for the first 3 years; a boss who only cares about margin profits; mandatory team-building exercices every weekend; no promotion for the first 20 years; no private life allowed; SG will be your new family so make sure to ditch the old one!

Apply now, what are you waiting for! You have from now until October 31st to send in your application through either using the tag #spookapplication OR tagging us @radioactivedotcom !

Psst, by the way, don’t worry about about doing better than the other applicants. The CEO’s nephew is the one getting the job, he'll get a promotion after three months.

Yes, all this just for a CAS challenge! Listen, I wanted to have fun. You don’t have to roleplay in order to participate, you can just make your cute little simmies and hit post, no pressure whatsoever. But I certainly ain’t stopping you if you did want to roleplay. winkwink.

ALL PROMPTS UNDER THE CUT

 What is the halloween costume you loved wearing the most?

 What is your favorite horror movie?

 In your humble opinion, which is the best magical creature™?

 Choose... Glitter or blood?

 What is the kind of villain you aspire to be?

 Tell us of the best horror character archetype!

 If YOU were a horror character, what archetype would you be?

 Are you... cute spooky or scary spooky?

 The fantasy ennemies-to-lovers you can’t get enough of is...?

The ONLY post-apocalypse setting should be?

What was the monster under your bed?

How would you personify your zodiac sign?

Who are you in an alternate universe?

Who's the stranger you’d flirt with in a fantasy setting?

What is your go-to DnD character?

If you were an alien... what kind would you be?

What is the best year to time-travel? (past or future)

What is a monster you’d adopt in a heartbeat?

Make disney princess you'd have loved as a kid!

Or a disney prince you'd love to hate.

If you were to have a sidekick, who would they be?

Who would you want haunting you?

Choose... Science or magic?

What is your favorite halloween-themed emoji?

Are you more of... An evil witch or a benevolent healer?

What is your go-to song for halloween?

Choose... Earth, wind, fire or water?

Would you more... Growl or Purr?

What's a creature you’d have as your BFF?

What is a futuristic trend you would love?

What is the best candy? Wrong answers land you in jail.

+ dl the .word application form if you'd like!