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dietcane · 6 days ago

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⚢ barbed wire baby - dirty little secret

cw: dead dove, do not eat !!, age gap (ellie is late 30's, reader is 21), elements of domestic violence, toxic relationship, death, themes of organized crime (gangs/mafia/drug cartels), cheating, bribery, abuse (physical, drugs, alcohol), mentioned gambling, bloodplay, strap-on usage, heavy manipulation, dark!ellie, spitting, rough sex, oral sex, depictions of mental instability. more to be added!!

synopsis: as the adrenaline becomes more and more overwhelming, so does the danger. stakes are higher than ever. dingy prison cells, double entendres whispered through jail phones. knowing glances exchanged with prison guards. her modern day bonnie to her clyde. your life weighs in the balance. you know ellie has pull inside and out. you have to decide if you're willing to risk everything for her. are you?

DIRTY LITTLE SECRET

⤷ m.list | a/n: first chapters are soo short. lengthy ones soon!

Time rolled by quickly following the day of Ellie’s conjugal visit. Thirty minutes felt like five, hours felt like ten. Mindlessly slugging around Ellie’s too-big mansion. Cold hallways, impersonal decor, and ceilings that made you feel miniature from the sheer height of them. Following daily routines like second nature- brush teeth, shower, skincare, make-up, fix hair, attend whatever Ellie’s scheduled you for. Meaningless little things. Charity events, small outings so you’re not stuck in the house, fancy dinners with people of her caliber. Dangerous people, that is, adorned in thick Armani suits with glinting watches from brands that you’ve never heard of in your life.

Days become weeks and weeks become months. Life is a blur. Not much to keep in mind when you're being puppeteered from behind iron bars. Ellie has made no effort to get herself out or vy for a retrial. Content with the schedule she’s been abiding by for the last one hundred forty-two days.

Her men aren't dormant, though, despite her absence. Tirelessly working, arranging deals, carrying out hits, the usual. Trudging through the endless, eerie halls covered in blood. Bloody footprints caked into the tiled floors, seeping into the divots of grout and the stark paleness of the slabs of granite. Distinct screams sounding from the basement, the exhale of air from the suppressor and the heavy thunk of cold bodies hitting the concrete floor.

You didn't leave your room most days if Ellie didn't schedule or force you to attend one of her “graciously” planned events or activities for you. Majority of your days were spent in bed, pajama shorts around your ankles and panties long discarded, just trying to alleviate the pent-up arousal impending in your stomach. It didn't work much. Ellie knew your body much better than you did. Couldn't get yourself over the daunting brink while plagued with nausea. Nauseous from the cloying, sterile scent of bleach and hospital grade cleaning supplies. Nauseous from the coil of guilt and disgust roiling in the pit of your stomach every time you walked past the heavily guarded and locked basement door. Trapped away beneath thick deadbolts, nightlatches, and a series of biometric locks. Overkill, you think. One of Ellie’s best guardsmen- her right hand man, honestly- keeps an eye on this door- Abby Anderson. A heavyset blondie with striking blue eyes that tend to wander. Broad arms covered in scars and faint hair. She's not bad-looking. Stark opposite to Ellie, though.

Today, unfortunately, the basement guard has been swapped out with your usual bodyguard- Dina- and now you're under Abby’s watch. She’s gruff when she barges into your room, dress and cardigan clutched into her fist, arm extended. Your skin is sweat slick where you’re bare and naked in the middle of your bed, a spot carved out into the sheets. Knees propped up and spread. Your fingers are curled in between your thighs and they’re dripping with your own slick. She doesn't even look at you.

Your fumble to sit up, blanket pulled over your lower half, plagued with bouts of embarrassment and horror. You drag your dirtied fingers over the comforter, trying to even make yourself look even the closest semblance to presentable. Her eyes don’t even bother to look at you now. Eyes that once trailed over you whole and unashamedly- for a moment that brings you an inkling of comfort. It’s nice to think for a moment that she doesn’t want to see you vulnerable. Not without your permission. But then your brain oh-so helpfully supplies you all of the vague memories of Ellie leaving you out on display for all of her soldiers and men to see. One time? Completely bare with only a thick, leather collar hanging around your neck. Early on into the relationship. Mouthed off at her. Rattling off nonsense with an attitude just to be annoying. To be stubborn. Ellie wasn’t a fan of back talk. Or spunk for that matter. Made you sit at her feet like a dog. Of course you mouthed off about that too. For an entire week, she made you sit with the suffocating leather collar and leash. All while adorning a black eye, of course.

Her nose is turned up like it's inconveniencing her to even be in your presence. You swear that she even wipes her hand on her tactile weapon belt, slung heavy around her hips, when your fingers graze the back of her hand. You feel like you’re beneath her. Her expression is bored and her tongue is prodding into her cheek. You’re staring. Freckles, scarred cheek, blue eyes, pretty lashes. She’s hot. But you keep it to yourself.

“Not sure Els would really appreciate you finger deep with no panties around her guards, yeah? Keep it to yourself, pretty.” Her voice doesn’t sound how you’d expect it to. You expected her to be harsher, more brute-like. It’s slick. Like one of those dommes in videos you’d tumbled over in the depths of the internet- late at night and pent up. Slick with a honey dew seductive caliber. You deduce the fact you definitely want Abby Anderson- your wife’s right-hand man- to jump your bones, even if that’s the last thing that ever happens to you. The thought plagues you with guilt, but you try to mediate it with the excuse of ovulation. Wife is incarcerated, you’re frustratingly warm, and you’re ovulating! You’re clearly not yourself.

Silence has become severely familiar to you. One of your closest adversaries. Bleak nights spent sitting on balconies, silent alongside nothing but the stars and the moon to keep you company. Some nights you lay in bed and just think. Thinking about how life would be if you had heed the warning about Ellie’s bars. Bars tucked into shady, yet so lively corners of New York City. Maybe you’d still be in school, continuing your major. Slumped over psychology textbooks with shitty plastic chicken flavored cup ramen and half melted pints of Ben and Jerry’s- a frivolous purchase for a broke, barely scraping by university student. I mean, come on, nearly five dollars for a pint? Breyers sells the same thing for the same price for way more! But hey, cramming for exams with the bliss of a thirty minute affair with a spoon a five buck delicacy. Burnt coffee from communal coffee pots, sticky countertops and mildewy showers shared with halls of girls and snuck in friends and boyfriends. Truly a romanticized experience for you. Silence always brings you back here. Brings you back to every moment where you’ve dwelled over every decision you’ve ever made. Thoughts of how every single choice you’ve made led to over choices. Butterfly effect and the whole nine yards. The silence is deafening, suffocating and all consuming.

Ellie’s favorite black Mercedes SUV is silent. The interior is cold and dark, windows are up, and the AC is steadily blowing, just at the settings how Ellie favors it. Just enough to prick the hair up on her arms and wake her up when she has to force herself through grueling business proposals at ten in the morning almost every day of the week. The dress and cardigan she pulled for you today doesn’t do much to alleviate the pulsating blow of chilled air throughout the car. A white poplin and lace MiuMiu dress with a boring white shrug and a pair of pale slingback pumps from Dior. The color is reminiscent of what you think a decaying ballet pointe shoe would look like. Reminiscent of pointe shoes that have been carved and shanked and dulled at the platform. Wilted at the wings and vamp. A pale, dusted pink. Pointe shoes that have been on relevé much too long and turned and piqued for years. So much emotion and grace muddled into the color of a pair of bleak pair of heels. You hate it. It’s stiff and expensive, just how Ellie wants you to be.

You’re in the backseat alone, though. Abby driving, gun perched in her lap, clutched with her left hand. Ambidextrous, maybe. Her right hand rests lazily against the bottom of the steering wheel, occasionally steering towards exits and down dirt-pathed back roads. Another guard, Caitlyn, is in the passenger seat. Killer aim from what you’ve gathered amidst brief presences in Ellie’s meetings. Caitlyn wields snipers and shotguns in steady hands trained on frantic targets and never misses. She’s lethal. Ellie’s favorite contract killer- her perfectly trained mercenary for hire. Her eyes are tired and deadpan where they meet you through the rearview mirror. Dark blue hair- odd choice for their field of work- with lighter, yet calculating even more blue eyes. Scanning, analyzing, horrifying.

Prison is not a place you enjoy frequenting. The drive there is tedious and tense, sandwiched between two women with years of experience and blood on their hands. They’re unapologetic with how they presented themselves. Brutish, rough, heavy. While Ellie was purposeful with how she carried herself. Kept home and work separate. Guns and knives tucked away neatly into locked cabinets and drawers, all hidden away in her heavily guarded and locked office room, where her guards were opposites. Constantly in their suits and tactile belts with guns strapped around ankles under slacks and pocket knives hidden under sleeves of custom-tailored and fitted suit jackets.

You’ve learned to dissociate during the drive from Ellie’s mansion to her tucked away hiding spot that she calls her reprieve from her everyday chores. Her reprieve from you, maybe. Your chest burns. The thought is sour and no matter how much you try to swallow, it doesn't let up. It's saccharine, cloying, excessive. Too much.

Your lungs feel like they're contracting faster than they can expand. In, out, out. You're gasping, almost. Silently. Caitlyn’s eyes find yours through the rear view mirror. She's judging you. Unimpressed, like she's shaming you. Furrowed brows pinched together in an expression of utter contempt. She's looking at you like you're a child. Like you're beneath her.

You're not crying, yet.

You're getting worked up over nothing. Rubbing the heel of your palm over your restlessly beating heart and over contracting lungs. Because maybe, just maybe, your wife sees your absence as a reprieve. Sees her heavily scheduled and monitored days and routines as a break from you. Basking in the solace of freedom from you. The solace of having someone so attached and dependent on you. Ellie was probably having the time of her life- her men inside with her, being puppeteered to cater to her whims to let her roam and reign however she’d liked.

You weren’t useful to her. Not like how her guardsmen were. They fought and bled for her. You were just… there.

You don't enjoy that. Jealousy and envy plague you paralyzed. You try to meet her eyes through the mirror again, but her eyes are trained on the street before the three of you. You shift in your seat uncomfortably. Sat in the middle seat of the second row in Ellie’s SUV, you get a clear gaze of them both. Yet, they pay you no mind. Why are you so invisible?

Shaky hands fumble through carved-out compartments on backseat doors. Rifling through pens and paper clips and other meaningless office supplies, your hand drags over one of Ellie’s switchblades she keeps in her truck. It's cold and heavy where it rests in the palm of your hand. Engraved with her initials. Abby and Caitlyn don't notice, don't spare you a passing glimpse, a tiny eye contact. Nothing.

You're alone on the road, no other cars around, only you, Abby, and Caitlyn confined to the SUV. Your hands and body move before your mind does. Before your consciousness.

Your hand wraps around Caitlyn’s head from behind the seat. She grunts in surprise and jolts. A strength in your arms erupts like never before- have you always been this strong? It's a three-second affair. Caitlyn’s head is held starkly against the headrest of Ellie’s Mercedes.

A firm swipe. It's jagged, unconfident. Not a surgical cut. It's done with shaky impulsive hands. A jagged line from the left carotid to her right. Caitlyn’s blood is warm where it trickles over your fingers. She’s not going to make it, you guess. Asphyxia or blood loss. Abby is cursing and trying to swerve to pull over. Caitlyn is gurgling and trying to grasp at her throat, but the wound is far too big and you doubt Abby’s attempt at a half-assed tourniquet will do much.

Abby pushes you back, flat against the seat. You sit there, staring at your hands. Blade flat against your thighs, still extended outwards, covered in maroon shades. Soaking wet. You touch your face gingerly. Trembling fingers drenched in someone else’s bodily fluids. You frown. Wipe your eyes afterwards. Wrong hand, you make the mental note, not to wipe with your left hand. You’re sat in the backseat, Caitlyn’s blood, smeared mascara, and eyeliner smudged around your eyes. Not a pretty sight, you’d bet. Ellie wouldn't like it.

Her blood has stained your sweater. Her blood cascaded down from the silver engraved blade, lacing around your fingers, and dribbling down your arm. There’s a puddle of it in her lap, steadily streaming into the seats. There are flecks of it on your dress. You realize that it’s not just Caitlyn’s blood on your dress.

A steady stream of it dripping onto your dress. Your nose is bleeding.

You’re not mentally present anymore. Your mind lags behind and the world keeps spinning. Why did you do that?

“Ellie’s going to have a time with you later. Can’t imagine how she’d feel when she finds out you ganked the chick she’d been banging for the past year and a half.”

For good measure (or overkill, honestly) you shiv the blade into the back of the headrest where Caitlyn is sitting. You earn a sickening crack in return. If she wasn't dead before, she is now.

The shower is ice cold. You couldn't move the entire way home. Manhandled by Abby into the house, heavy boot steps followed by meek clinks of heels. She had to undress you since you wouldn't move.

The water going down the drain is a painful scarlet. Swirls around your toes and leaves streaky lines down your body.

The once-white porcelain shower floor is now like a soaking wet canvas. Drenched in water color reds and pinks and faint traces of orange-red variants. Swirled and dragged down to pool around the drain. A faint ring resides there. Mocking you. You killed Caitlyn. In a fit of rage. Like a child. A petulant child so worked up with unbridled rage that they’d resorted to violence. Unstable and unable. It’s embarrassing. You close your eyes. Maybe shutting them out will block out the mockery of the blood drying around the drain, to shield you from the backlash of your actions. To play as a fortress against the impending breakdown festering underneath your surface.

Caitlyn’s dying expression is burned into your retinas. Melded to the backs of your eyelids. You see her when your eyes are open, when they’re closed, even when you try to dissociate yourself out of the world. Out of the world and into the back of your mind when nothing can bother you, just your everlasting state of peace.

Sickly, seeing that excited you. You know it’s wrong. Far more than wrong, really. The smile starts off slow, A small quirk of the corner of your mouth when you start to recount how her eyes glazed over. How her lips trembled and her nostrils flared. How her hands smacked weakly at your right hand over her forehead, holding her still. How she writhed when she squirmed in her seat as you dragged the blade across her neck. How warm her blood felt over your cold hands. The weight of the blade in your palm.

The smile becomes a grin- full teeth, all expression. A quivering smile, canines pointed. Then it becomes a laugh- hysterical, loud, full body. Abby’s large hands are stabilizing your shaking body. You can barely stand. The laugh is all consuming and it throws you off kilter. You’re leaning against her, soaking wet, blood stained face, and you’re laughing!

The tears followed shortly. Hysterical laughter followed by the onslaught of body wracking sobs. Abby’s hand grips your hair tightly, holding your face beneath the steady stream of the shower, You’re still laughing. Laughs and sobs quickly become sobs and chokes and coughs.

Her hand drags roughly over your face, dragging calloused palms over sensitive cheeks and rubs over dried blood in its path. She’s cleaning you- rather roughly, but cleaning you nonetheless. You can’t stop inhaling the water. A steady stream buffing over your eyes, down the slope of your nose and into your mouth. Streaming into your nostrils, settling down your throat. It’s cold water but it burns the lining of your throat like scalding hot water. What drowning feels like, maybe. Like a million tiny shards of glass are trailing down every lining in your body until they’re all covered and bleeding.

Abby yanks you back and you cough pathetically.

“Figured you needed a chaser after all that. Boss won’t like it if I brought her girl to come see her all doped up, hm? It’s not the adrenaline anymore makin’ you laugh. Just pure you. You sick fuck, probably enjoyed it, right? Baby’s first kill?”

Her voice is mocking and doing so much for you. It’s silken and honey-like and it rattles around your brain. Probably affecting the brain chemistry you have up there- or maybe the lack thereof since you just murdered one of your wife’s best workers and laughed about it afterwards. You swallow and adjust your footing. Avoiding eye contact. You decide you’ll jump her bones if you look her in the eye.

The water’s off now. You didn’t notice she did it. Too caught up in the whirlwind of your brain- scattered, messy, unattentive. The blood has long dried around the drain. Ring of Caitlyn’s life crusted around the holed steel circle. Red, blatant, and present. The goosebumps on your arms are starting to bud. Pricking up and spreading. Your fingers graze over your arms, fingertips dragged over soft bumps, almost like braille. The goosebumps aren’t just from the cold. Fleshy braille blossoming from the sheer recount of Caitlyn and the presence of Abby alone.

Your eyes fix on the drain. The smile is bigger than before. Standing in the porcelain shower, dripping wet, arms wrapped around yourself, smile wider than ever. And in that exact moment? You don’t feel an ounce of regret.

Your heels click as you’re walked down the corridor of the non-contact visit room by one of Ellie’s men, Jesse, and Abby. Similar outfit as your one from this morning, long vintage MiuMiu dress with the same dulled out ballerina-destroyed-pointe-shoe pink heels. No sweater this time- the only good one to go with this dress was currently blood stained and being bleached by one of Ellie’s many servants and maids- whole yadda yadda.

Ellie’s the only inmate in there. A row of double ended glass walls with phones haphazardly attached to the walls. She’s manspreading on the other side- hideous jumpsuit unzipped and hanging lowly around her hips, wife beater on display. There’s a cigarette hanging between her pointer and middle finger. She’s staring directly at you, just lazily smirking at you. You stand behind the chair across from her, on the other side of the glass. Abby slides behind you, pulling it out and gesturing for you to sit. Your eye catches the phone to the right of you. Ellie is still staring, analyzing. Looking.

Her right hand finds the black phone to her side and you mirror her action instinctively. Her breaths are light through the phone. You hold it up to your ear and avoid her incessant eye contact.

“Where’s Caitlyn, baby?”

A single eye twitch, barely perceptible if Ellie wasn’t looking at you so harshly. It gives you away instantaneously. Nausea washes over you quickly. Nausea, regret, guilt.

Ellie knows it too. The way she looks right through you. Makes you feel like you absolutely have to tell her every single secret you’ve ever held dear to your heart. Spill every single little meaningless thought you have just to appease her. You’re tense, paralyzed with guilt and everything underneath the sun.

“I don’t know why I did it. The way she looked at me, Els. Made me angry and it happened before I knew why. But, I don’t feel sorry. I can’t feel sorry,”

You tumbled and spewed off like a dam finally breaking. Every single thought streaming out of your lips without much regard. Only impulse. Adrenaline. So many words yet you couldn’t properly deduce it to one feeling. You felt sick.

Ellie takes a drag from the cigarette between her fingers. She doesn’t respond to you, just simply stares. The smirk widens, she’s smiling at you now. She doesn’t express disappointment or contempt. Just stares at you down the slope of her nose. Flicks the ash off the end of the cigarette onto the table beneath the two of you. The smoke warbles into the air, curling and warping in all of its ashen grey glory. You wrinkle your nose at the smell unconsciously and Ellie chuckles. A soft exhale of air. Real quiet. The hair on your arms prick at the sound and you cross your legs.

Your body suddenly feels warm. Ellie notices that too. Notices everything.

“Got Caitlyn with my blade, eh? Figured Abs over here told you about me an’ her, too. Did that bother you too? Does it bother you that I went to Caitlyn to fulfill my needs because you’re not enough? She knew how to shut up and take it when I needed it. You’re far too much at times, angel.” Her tone is heavy and brutal. You know it’s true. Your hands are trembling now and tears are pricking at your eyes. It does bother you.

Psychological warfare. One of Ellie’s strong suits. Knows how to build you up and tear you down tenfold. Tells you all the right things, says it how you want to hear it. Whispers those sweet nothings that really mean nothing to her. Nothing to her but everything for you. The ring on your left hand suddenly feels heavier than it ever has. Like it has enough weight to keep your hand flush against the table, paralyzed still. The band feels restricting, contracting and shrinking around the fleshy skin of your finger. It feels impersonal, now. Like it’s not meant to be yours. Like it’s meant to be for another. Maybe like it’s Caitlyn’s.

“Yes! I hurt Caitlyn and in return I feel no remorse.”

“Au contraire, sweetheart.”

You bang your hand against the table. Chest heaving in a fit of frustration. Ellie is looking at you like you’re a child. Just like how Caitlyn looked down at you. A petulant child with a knack for temper tantrums. Contempt. Contempt. Contempt. That’s all they see of you, right? You’re beneath them. Unworthy. Useless. You’re not going to be on their level, ever.

“First kill does that to someone like you, cutie. You’re just a walking pendulum of instability today, aren’t ‘ya? Sitting there all wet in your panties thinkin’ about how you hurt Cait. Am I right?”

She’s baiting you. Egging you on for a reaction so she can retaliate, with ease. Waiting for you to hit that brink so she can exploit it over and over and over again. You’re close. Temper rising, pendulum swinging. Rocking between emotion to emotion, each one on two opposite sides of the spectrum. Adrenaline coursing and rampaging to paralyzed with bouts of hysteria. Pendulum. Always swinging, save for the calm-before-the-storm moments. The moments when you remember how well acquainted you are with silence. How a part of you silence truly is. Those brief moments of quiet and solace and tranquility.

Ellie’s steady breathing is grounding you. Your nails have carved crescent-shaped scars into your palm. You rock back and forth in the chair and you’re vaguely aware of where you are. Your trembling hands grasp a little tighter around the jail phone. It’s cold to the touch. Freezing where it presses against your ear. Shaky, unstable, unfit.

But the thing is, Ellie is right. You’re angry and pent up and frustratingly wet in your seat. Your eyes find hers and she offers you a smile.

“‘S just us in here. No cameras. Put your feet up on your chair and give me a show. Show me how bothered you are. Flip the pretty little dress I bought you up so I can see everything, yeah?”

You push back in the chair you’re in. Tug your dress up, tug panties down. You reluctantly spread your legs, completely baren to the guards behind Ellie. The position is awkward. Fingers delving between soaked sticky folds, spreading and displaying, all for Ellie.

Your body is burning hot but your fingers are cold. Freezing, shaky. You’re hesitant. Dragging your fingers through your slick, swallowing back shaky whimpers. Her eyes are on you and that's all you want. It spurs you a little further, slipping the tip of your finger in. You gasp how Ellie likes it. You’re performing for her. A practiced art. Steady pumping of fingers and small drags with the pad of your thumb over your over-sensitive clit.

Ellie’s put out her cigarette now. Burning tip put out on the palm of the guard nearest to her. She’d never believed in ashtrays. More convenient to put it out on the nearest surface. Whether that’d be you, herself, a table, or even her soldiers.

Green eyes laser focus onto you. Unmoving, attentive. Momentarily, her eyes flick up to Abby behind you. In seconds, you’re livid.

You pull back. Fingers wiped haphazardly against lacy fabric. Panties snatched back up your legs in a fit of rage. Standing on your feet. Fists clenched and nostrils flared. Your fingers are sticky against your palm. You're faintly aware of how it feels. It grounds you more. Just slightly.

Ellie smiles, leaning back completely. The chair she’s in is tilting on its two back legs. She looks so fucking good.

She squints at you before clicking her tongue and standing up.

Her voice is loud enough that you can hear her through the reinforced glass.

“God, I’ve got to get you on valium or something. Acting like a fuckin’ baby.”

Your eyes start to prick with tears and you sit back down. You weren't a child. Grown adult. A woman. Who could control her rapidly swinging range of emotions. You were good. Stable.

Not a fucking baby.

A woman saddled with a temper that was kept in check. You could do that, right? Keep it settled and hidden. To appease Ellie. That's all that matters to you.

Validation. One word. Ten letters. Still such significant weight. It's all you want. Not money, not material, not the latest new fad- but Ellie’s validation.

That's what you were going after when you slid Ellie’s favorite blade across Caitlyn’s neck, right? Seeking out validation when you watched her eyes glaze over and the way her shaky hands tried to grasp at the steady bubble of the blood seeping from her carotids.

Seeking out validation when you stood underneath the freezing cold stream of Ellie’s shower. When you stared and watched the blood clawed its way out of your skin in streaky globs and spiralled around the drain. Watched it dry and settle and sink into the textured floor of the shower. Watched the drain pool with scarlet water as it released steadily.

Seeking out validation when you barely struggled against Abby when she held you underneath the water that burned your lungs. When you let her manhandle you under the steady onslaught of ice cold water and you smiled. You let her. Didn't argue, fuss, or fight.

All for Ellie’s validation, right?

She made you act that way. It was all for her. Whether she liked that or not.

taglist: @bambiaches @mabermaple @starrdelight @vahnilla @elliesfavtoy @sulliefimmie @oneinameliann @eriiwaiii2 @azxteria @l0veylace @valeisaslut @slutforabbyanderson @hitmehardmommy @billiegabbysyd @the-sick-habit

cmnt to be added or removed!!

- jadie loves u!

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dilfstarr · 20 days ago

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Connie x Zoro x black fem reader

꒰𝜗𝜚꒱a/n: ngl, not my best work but oh well. this could be read as a stand alone, but more of them are here.

꒰𝜗𝜚꒱warning: brat-ish!reader, poly relationship[m + f + m], oral[m], mean!zoro, softdom!connie, free use?, raw sex[zont zo it], hair pulling, spanking

The deafening roar of the lawnmower echoed throughout the spacious summer sky. His gloved hands pushed and pulled at the heavy machine to get the perfect vertical lawn stripes.

Connie is completely shirtless—tattoos of all shapes, sizes, and colors decorated his tanned back and chest. His torso glistened from sweat—shining brighter than the setting sun.

His black shorts were loosely fitted around his waist, and hung dangerously low from the weight of his phone in his pocket. He gave the neighborhood a full glimpse of his slightly wavy happy trail and almost what the trail led to. The navy Yankee cap he wore didn’t shade his face what so ever, as it was worn backwards. Taking a pause, he swiped his hand across his forehead to collect dripping sweat.

He’s been out there since you left, slaving under the blazing sun to tidy up the front lawn. Who would’ve thought that grass being overgrown by two centimeters was a violation? Fucking HOA.

He was finishing the last few rows before you pulled into the driveway wildly—almost taking the mailbox down with your wide turns.

Muffled music quits abruptly as you killed the car engine. Your eyes drift towards the glazed donut lookalike—if you weren’t in an acute state of panic, you’d definitely drool.

Aside from him being a whore for the whole world to see, Connie being outside when you arrived home was not on your bingo card. He was supposed to be inside, playing the game—being lazy on his day off.

How the fuck were you supposed to sneak numerous of bags out your car, and past your soldier of a boyfriend? You pondered in your vehicle for a plan B—heart racing erratically with every scenario, and possible outcome flowing throughout your brain.

Con lurked from a distance, rightfully concerned when your car door didn’t open as soon as you parked. Why would you want to sit in that hot ass car in the middle of summer? He watched you from his peripheral, but not for long as the sky turned a darker peach. Having to finish before nightfall, he continued his doings—dragging the ear-splitting cutting machine down the yard.

You pondered for a few more seconds before you settled on a solution; take the bags and race inside. Yes. Taking the opportunity, you put your plan into action.

Looking over one last time to make sure he’s truly not watching, you jump out of the vehicle and make a run for it towards the tail end. You pressed the key fob repeatedly like it would help open the trunk any faster. Three bags were hanging on your arms before plan: try to expeditiously take the mountains of shopping bags inside without your boyfriend seeing went….wrong.

You should’ve known better—you didn’t even hear the lawnmower shut off so how the hell did he get next to you so fast?

His hot body towered over you from behind. Panicking, you try to close the trunk but he prevented it, holding it open by his lonesome. The tote bags that you had in your possession fell lifeless across the concrete—spilling clothes over the driveway.

“Princess, you said you had a hair appointment. The fuck is all this?”

With his hand holding the door open, the other swam through the bags. He tugged at the handles—shifting them around forcefully to get a glimpse at the logos.

“I did have a hair appointment!” Your manicured finger pointed to your head to highlight your new hairstyle.

“Wanna see?”

You took a step backwards and gave a playful twirl—your copper colored boho braids curling flawlessly down your back. You kept your movements stiff as your scalp was still sore, but you hope he got the gist.

The scowl that sculpted his face was priceless—you obviously thought this was a joke. He stood up straight, watching you do that dumbass turn with his hand still kept the trunk open.

“Isn’t it soooo pretty? I think I should’ve gotten it longer. Whatcha think?”

“I think we said not to buy expensive shit without negotiatin’—specially’ splurgin’. But, I could be wrong.”

“…Right.”

The ends of your hair became a distraction—twirling in between your fingers. You couldn’t justify your actions with Con staring a hole through your skull so your eyes avoided his—focusing on the ends of your braids.

“How much did you spend princess?”

His grip on your trunk loosened before his hands fell to his sides. Knowing you didn’t respond well when you were talked to aggressively, his tone was flat. The time you took hesitating, was enough time for him to pick up the forgotten bags off of the driveway—throwing them carelessly back in the car.

You didn’t need another HOA complaint.

The sound of your pet name gave you reassurance—he couldn’t be that mad. Rocking on your heels, you find your voice. You hesitate before replying in a mere whisper, “About….fiiivve..hundred.”

His eyes widened drastically.

“How the hell did you spend five hundred fuckin’ dollars in under four hours? You were told specifically not to stop anywhere—to get your hair done and come straight back home.”

To further emphasize his seriousness, he used his hands to direct his words. His yelling wasn’t as loud as it was in a hushed whisper. You avoided his gaze as he lectured you. Since you were clearly in the wrong, it was best to keep your responses to a minimum.

“…My bad”

“How-” His tone came off harsher than he intended, so he gave himself a deep breath before restarting more calmly. “How did this happen?”

During your hair appointment, Pinterest was your best friend. You browsed throughout the whole session, looking for outfit inspo for your new hairstyle. Knowing how online shopping is with the misleading sizes and overpriced shipping, you decided to stop at the mall to see if you could potentially find dupes. Safe to say you found that and more.

Explaining yourself only made things worse so you didn’t even know why he asked. His face was frozen in annoyance. Whenever they gave you an inch, you couldn’t wait to make it a two miles. That’s why they are hesitant to hand over their card in the first place—especially when you’re unsupervised.

His fingers pitched at the bridge of his sweaty nose while the other one sat comfortably on his hip.

“Y’know I’m gonna tell Pa, right?”

“Huh?”

Your heart dropped to your baby pink painted toenails—eyes growing in panic. Connie was always lenient with you. Letting you go with a warning—at most, a slap on the wrist. It was Zoro that put fear in your heart. He was ruthless, mean, assertive.

“If you can Huh, you can hear.”

“Wha- why? Con, can’t this stay between us? Please?”

You pleaded hysterically for him to consider leaving the third party out—even throwing in the pout that melts his heart. While you tried to bargain, his face twisted in confusion. His hands dropped from his nose—did you just ask why?

“Why? Because you spent five hundred dollars on bullshit. Then you were tryin’ to sneak that shit past me. No, it can’t stay between us princess. Sorry.”

If he was sorry, he would keep it between you two.

“Con…daddy please. I can take it back. I promise.”

“It’s the principle.”

You know you weren’t getting past him when he no longer used your pet name, but your actual name. Your words died down in your throat when you realized he wasn’t changing his mind. Doe eyes found the curly ends of your hair—this time with much more sadness.

He sighed, heavy hands placed your slouched shoulders—trying to reassure you.

“I advise you go upstairs, and start stretchin’. Y’know Pa been annoyed since Sanji came back to work.

The boiling hot water splashed against his tensing muscles. His eyes were closed—chin pointed to the ceiling. Hot liquid splashed along his mile long scar than ran across his chest to his stomach.

Connie stood behind him—lathering up the dark blue loofa with Native eucalyptus mint body wash. He started off at Zoro’s left shoulder, then his right—rubbing tight weighted circles into his skin to wash the day away.

“Nothin’ too hard Pa. Y’know how she gets when you’re too rough.”

Con’s voice was low, but loud enough to hear over the running water. Zoro almost took it into consideration, before giving gave a sarcastic grunt, “Well she should’ve thought of that when she wanted to spend my money on stupid shit.”

Connie was now washing Zo’s full back. White soap suds littered across his back like albino sprinkles. He winced softly from his boyfriend scrubbing a little too hard against his skin.

“She still have all of the receipts. We can jus’ take it back.”

The loofa was handed to Zoro from behind so he could wash his front. Turning around to rinse the soap suds from his back, he faced Connie who had worry written all over his face.

“Nah, She can keep it. She just has to work for it. If she can disobey, she can take the consequences. You have to stop being so soft on her baby. She has you wrapped around her finger.”

When Zoro had his mind made up, it was difficult to persuade him, which led Springer to ultimately give in. Con agreed with a nod.

“Seventy dollars on fuckin’ makeup.” Zoro scoffed and shook his head in disbelief as he reminisced on the list of recipes. “That could’ve been dog food for Chopper. She better be lucky Connie, I swear.”

“Well, when we’re done with her, I bet she’ll think twice before doin’ this shit again.”

Your cheek was planted—no, squashed, against the brick wall you called Zoro’s stomach. His legs were spread wide so you were somewhat comfortable on top of him.

The abandoned cock that’s drenched in your spit throbbed against your hardened nipple and lower neck. Drool seeped out of your gaped lips—pooling onto Zoro’s abs.

“D-daddy! S’too..mu—ch!”

Your moaned words sounded so pathetic against his skin. Zoro gave a hearty laugh, causing your head to lightly dribble on his abdomen.

“Don’t start that whinin’ shit mama, we barely started.”

In an effort to comfort you, his rough hand caressed your head—shifting any braids that could potentially get coated in spit.

You wish you could stop whining, but the raging thrust given to you by Con, made it impossible to please Zoro without taking breaks in between to mewl. Your body rocked forcefully—up and down Zo’s hard abs. Manicured fingers were balled up tightly next Zoro’s hips—not moving an inch, as one of your punishments of the night were no touching.

Your cream colored juices coated Con’s length completely—with a prominent white ring circling at the base. He watched in amazement at how your pussy hugged him every time he pulled back; those kegel exercises are doing you justice.

Once he noticed the insane grip of your tight cunt, he also noticed how much more wet you became overtime—gosh he loved how you get so turned on while giving head.

He made the mistake of looking up—finding your pleading doe eyes already looking at him. You looked confused as your eyebrows were turned upward. Your bottom lip was dripping with saliva, with a thin web connecting to Zoro’s twitching shaft.

Speaking of Zoro, his gaze was also on Connie. His plump bottom lip was wet from it previously being tucked between his teeth. With his eyes low with and filled with lust, he gave a nod of encouragement to his buzzed cut boyfriend.

Oh fuck.

One, two, three throbs to his dick before he slowed down to a stop. He needed some type of distraction to keep him from nutting so soon, and since you were being punished, he had to go to the next best thing.

“I need—fuck! I need a kiss Zo!”

Connie was breathless as he spoke. Beads of sweat formed on the hairline of his green buzzcut. He had a death grip on your hips to prevent you from throwing back ass he couldn’t catch at the moment.

“C’mere then. I can’t move—mama’s on me.”

He gave a quick nod of understanding. The feeling of him pushing his cock all the way in to reach Zoro had your mouth held ajar—speechless at first, before a particularly long deep moan left your lips.

“Fuuuh—Da..ddy! S’deep!”

Your body was now trapped between a rock and a hard place as they made out. From what you heard, the kiss was sloppy. Their tongues swirled around as they explored each other’s mouths. The sound of lips smacking, groaning, and heavy breathing filled the stuffy bedroom. At some point, Connie’s hand tangled in Zoro’s hair and gave it a tug—earning a groan from the sudden pain.

You felt Zo’s hips rock against your chest—becoming needer for some kind of stimulation. Connie stayed parked deep inside you, with his hand gripping your hip, preventing you of any movement. You began to mewl slightly—rocking your hips side to side with the little space you had, to relieve some pressure.

“Mmgghfuuck!”

Airy cussing was moaned into Zoro’s open mouth. Hearing his boyfriend mewl caused his dick to twitch more frequently against your chest.

“You sound so sexy, Con.”

His praise was followed by a quick smack to Con’s ass which led him to push his hips further into you.

“I caaaan’t any—more!”

Your thighs began to shake from the overwhelming pressure of his cock being so deep—Zoro was the first to point it out.

“She’s shakin’ baby. You feel it?” He whispered words were spoken against his boyfriend’s lips.

Connie nodded. “Course I do. S-she’s squeezin’ the fuck outta me.”

Zoro gave a breathless laugh—concluding his kiss with a bite to his boyfriend’s bottom lip as he pulled away.

Your back became cooler and lighter once Connie is no longer putting his weight on it. He pulls out a smidge and you’re are able to catch your breath for a second. In the midst of you collecting yourself, a sharp stinging pain occurs in the middle of your head.

Zoro took a handful of your freshly done braids in a makeshift ponytail to lift your head up. A loud yelp left your lips before you were suddenly muffled by his spit covered dick being lodged back down your throat.

“Juuuuust like t-thaaat mama. Don’t forget about Pa now.”

You moaned around his cock head—sending vibrations to his core, causing him to tense up under you. He whispered cusses into the air as he rolled your head in half circles.

He planted his feet on the bed and picked up the pace—using your wet mouth as his personal fleshlight. Zo’s thrusts were the alternative of his buzz cut boyfriend’s. When Con pulled out, Zoro touched your esophagus—when Zoro pulled out, Con was kissing your cervix.

You were just being used.

And It felt like they were on cloud nine.

At one point, he took his spit soaked dick and slapped it against your twitching tongue—plat plat plat before he’s pushing his way back down your tight warm throat.

“You suck better w-when you know you’re in trouble. Shit!”

His balls slapped tapped against your awaiting tongue as you stuck it out when he throat fucked you. Your hands ran up his thighs before giving it a squeeze. You know he said no touching, but he was so far gone he didn’t even notice.

After Connie’s mini break session, he was back at it like a crack addict. Mirroring his boyfriend, Con’s foot was also planted on the bed. His eyes were low and focused on the beautiful man in front of him. A telepathic conversation happened between the couple, causing both of them to grin. Unbeknownst to you, they had one last trick up their sleeve.

They both pull out of you— then the feeling of Con easing his full length completely inside of you made you cry out once more. Zoro let you have your moment, before pushing himself in the deeps of your throat. They both held their positions and waited.

“She’s s’fuckin tight right now.”

“M’gonna nuuut pa!”

You unintentionally started to squeeze around them simultaneously—not only were you contracting your throat muscles with each gag, but the rhythmic pulsating walls brought them both to higher peaks.

Could you guess who got there first?

ʚɞ

#x black reader #anime x black!reader #aot x black reader #connie springer #connie x black reader #connie smut #aot connie #zoro x black reader #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #one piece x black!reader

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jihyoruri · 11 months ago

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❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY kim chaewon x reader

↳ warnings richgirl!yn, read these three parts before this one if you haven’t already, getting glimpse into yn, chaewon is chaewon…, mentions of weight & throwing up, yn’s family (a real warning fr), pre debut stuff

yn knew who she was from a very young age.

she came from an old money family, the moon family, but it wasn’t just any old money—it was wealth built over generations of hard work, or so her father would tell her.

her family was extremely important, involved in almost every major company in korea. they held a high status and were regarded with the utmost respect, held to the highest standards imaginable.

and oh was that standard installed in yn.

the numbers four, ten, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen and nineteen is something that yn will always remember for six important reasons. It's likely the reason she is who she is today.

age four is the last time yn remembers really crying.

she probably cried before that, but she obviously didn’t have the memory to recall those times.

ever since she was born, she remembers being in her father’s arms, never her mother’s. her father took care of her along with her brothers.

yn knew her father wasn’t the best man, but he wasn’t the worst. at least he acknowledged all three of his children. while he definitely paid more attention to her brothers, he still looked after her.

her mother, though, never acknowledged her. even when yn was a little baby, her mother’s focus was always on her boys.

both parents’ attention was always on the boys—they were the future of the family, the men of the family. at least her father made a little bit of effort when it came to yn.

at age four, yn was at the age where all she wanted to do was play outside, winter had fallen and disappeared and it was finally getting warmer outside, so it was the perfect opportunity to go play outside.

she asked her dad to accompany her but he was getting ready for a meeting.

“go play out front,” he said patting her head, “it’s beside my window, so I’ll be able to see you, the gate is locked so it should be safe, it’s big enough for you to run around, just watch out for the flowers, the maid planted them yesterday.”

yn excitedly ran out of her father's office, dashed down the large marble steps, and headed for the front door, but not without bumping into one of her older brothers.

“where you are going?” daeun asked his sister.

"outside! dad said I can play out front," she replied eagerly.

the ten year old clicked his tongue and shook his head. "lucky you. after jae’s done getting ready with mom, I'm next." he was about to remind her that the whole family had dress fittings today for the ball they were hosting, but she was already out the door.

yn basked in the sunlight as she ran out front, rolling in the grass and sprinting on the concrete.

suddenly, her foot slipped, causing her to fall and hit her knee on one of the decorative stones. blood started to paint the stone red

yn let out the loudest cry imaginable, clutching her knee, not even caring about the blood on her hands.

“yn!”

yn looked up, she furrowed her eyebrows confused to see her mother running towards her and not her father.

“oh my- what happened?!” the woman asked kneeling in front of her daughter.

“I was running and tripped.” yn sniffed as her mom lifted her up, she wrapped her arms around the woman’s shoulders leaning her head down, “where’s daddy? I need him to look at my knee.”

“he’s in his meeting,” the woman informed the crying girl, “I’ll look at your cut.”

“but he always looks at them! do you know how to look at mine?”

the woman patted her daughters back as they made their way inside the big house, “I look at your brothers all the time, let me patch you up and then get you ready for the dress fitting.”

instead of arguing more yn just sniffled tightening her grip on her mother who walked further into the house.

“we also can’t be crying like this anymore yn, we don’t do that here.”

age four is also the first and last time yn remembers being held by her mother.

it was also the last time she remembers fully crying.

age four the standard was officially introduced to her.

yn thanked her father as he passed her a second piece of bread. "jae, pass me the butter, please."

"you're having another piece of bread?" her brother asked with a grin. "slow down on the carbs, yn."

"pass your sister the butter," their father said sternly. jae immediately quieted his laughter and slid the butter over to yn.

daeun gave jae hard nudge, “leave yn alone it’s not her fault she’s menstruating.”

yn's mouth dropped open as her brothers laughed. She looked at her mother with a betrayed expression. "you told them?"

"I had to," her mother shrugged, cutting the beef on her plate. "they might have been concerned about why you're eating so much."

yn pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek. ehen she realized she was having her first period, she wanted to go to her dad, but what could he do? she knew she had to go to her mother, even if it made her uncomfortable

“yn is always eating though, especially this year.” jae said, “even the maid brings her snacks.”

“always snacking and writing those poems.”

"can you shut up, lardass?" yn snapped, getting ready to lunge over the large dinner table.

"leave your sister alone," their father said, taking a sip of his wine.

silence fills the table for their mother speaks up, “actually yn, I got your dress in a size four.”

yn looked up from her now abandoned bread confused, “size four? I’m a size eight though.”

“I know.” her mom shrugs, “I feel like you can be a little smaller, it would make you look attractive.”

“why does my ten year old sister need to be attractive?” daeun asked in a joking manner.

“you know what I mean.” their mother said before looking at yn, “you need to slim down a little honey, cut out some things.”

“can you two talk about this on your little girl hangouts.” jae cut in.

yn scoffed, “what girl hangouts.” she muttered to herself, her mother barely talks to her much less have girl hangouts, “may I be excused?” she looked at her father who nodded his head.

“where are you going?”

“the washroom.”

it had been two months since that dinner, yn stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom. her size four dress fitting perfectly.

“see,” her mother started, “you look so beautiful, size four is the size for you, I’m glad you took my advice on cutting out some food.”

yn stayed silent just look at herself in the mirror, she looked up at the ceiling as she felt the back of her eyes start the burn, the water threatening to spill out.

“are still sick?” she turned to look at jae and daeun who entered the room that their mother had exited.

“she was sick?” daeun asked look at his younger sister who sat her vanity, looking through her expensive perfumes.

“yeah for like the past two months.” jae said, “sometimes after dinner I would hear her throw up like crazy in the washroom.”

daeun raised his brow at yn who barley acknowledged jae’s words.

“can you guys tell dad I’ll be downstairs in a second.”

"Sure," jae said, tugging daeun along with him. daeun looked back at yn before shaking his head and following Jae out of the room. along with him.

there’s a reason yn will always remember the age ten.

XIV

the starting of age fourteen was weird for yn.

jae was seventeen and daeun was twenty , they were barely in the house these days cause they were making their way through training for the family name, they were slowly becoming more and more important to the family business.

while yn was stuck at in the big mansion she called home, her father was also out of the house, always at meetings and press conferences and if the boys are out the house her mother is also out the house.

so yn was really alone.

and she wanted out.

she was tired of the same routine, waking up, going to school, coming home, sleeping.

she laid on her big pink bed, humming along to the lyrics of hoot by girls generation that came from her cd player, she owned every album from the girl group.

yn loved music, she loved the singing, dancing and rapping, she could totally see her self doing that for living.

wait…

isn’t sm entertainment holding auditions…

today.

she jumped up from her bed and and ran down the marble steps of her house while she called her dad.

“hey daddy! I’m going out, where? oh nothing just want to get some fresh air, I won’t leave the gated community I promise.”

she knew if she called the chauffeur to drive her, he would tell her dad. yn huffed as she adjusted her skirt and her pink chanel sweater. she slipped on her Mary janes and turned off her phone.

she was going to have to make a run for it.

yn has never ran like this in her life, her father would kill her if he found out she was doing this but it felt so right.

she ran and ran until she was right in front of the recognizable building, sm entertainment.

she walked in to see a woman standing there with a paper in her hand, she look at yn and raised a brow, “hi! are you hear for auditions?”

“yes,” yn nodded her head, adjusting her sweater, “yes, I am.”

the woman scanned yn’s expensive attire, “really?”

“yes.” yn stated firmly, she could sense the woman’s thoughts, and if there’s one thing her father has always thought her, is to not let people underestimate you, she was above them. “is there a problem?”

yn adjusted her sweater even more, showing off the costum family crest that was sown into her sweater, causing the woman’s eyes the widen.

“oh nothing, the audition rooms is down this way.” the woman says gesturing down the hall, yn’s stern face melted into a kinda smile.

“thank you.” she said before walking down the hall.

as she walked she saw a line of people leaning on the wall beside the room.

yn made her way to join the line, standing beside a girl with bangs.

the girl looked at yn and smiled, “are you nervous?”

“this was kinda a rushed idea, so I don’t know how I feel yet.” yn said looking down at her mary jane’s.

the girl laughed and scanned over yn, “hey what’s up that that logo thing, I’ve seen it everywhere since i’ve been in korea.”

yn looked at the crest, “oh, it’s my family crest.”

“that’s cool, so your family is pretty big huh?”

“I guess who can say that,” yn said before looking at the backpack the girl had, “can you actually do me a favour.”

“depends on the favour.”

“can I put my sweater in your bag? and take it out after the auditions.”

“sure!”

yn unzipped her sweater while the girl opened her bag and stuffed it inside, “thank you so much.”

“no problem.” the girl says before looking at the shirt, “ I like your shirt.”

“thanks, it’s miumiu.”

“that sounds expensive, I’m yizhuo.”

“I’m yn.”

“good luck yn.”

“good luck to you too yizhuo.”

the girls stood in line for about an hour, yn listened to yizhuo talk off her ear about if they both made it into sm all the way until it yizhuo‘s turn.

yn looked at the time on her watch, her family wouldn’t be home for another couple hours, she should be able to get home on time , hopefully.

she watched as yizhuo walked out the room with a smile on her face, mouthing a good luck.

if they weren’t there before the nerves were definitely catching up to yn now, she took a deep breath and walked into the room to see three adults sitting.

she gave them a charming smile and stood in front of them.

“hello.” the woman out of the three said to the younger girl with a smile, “state your name and age.”

“I’m moon yn.” yn looks at the three adults, they were scanning her face as if they were trying to figure her out, “and I’m fourteen years old.”

“okay yn, what’s your specialty?” one of the men ask, looking the girls mary jane’s, how is she gonna dance in those?

“uh…” yn didn’t even know what to say, this was definitely an impulse decision on her end.

“always snacking and writing those poems”

“rap.” she states causing the three to raise their brows in surprise, obviously not expecting the girl decked out in pink to say that, “I love rapping.” she lied.

“show us you skills.” the woman said causing yn to mentally curse herself.

she looked deep into the back of her mind to find one of her writings, shaking off her nerves she recited something she wrote a while ago, her flow becoming better as she went on, trying her best to free style.

as she finished the woman nodded her head impressed, “did you write that yourself?” she asked writing on the paper in front of her.

“yes.”

one of the men hummed nodding his head, “now what song are you performing for us today?”

I guess her days of memorizing and singing girls generation songs and choreography is finally gonna pay off.

“I will be singing into the new world.” yn says shaking out her nerves.

the three nodded their heads surprised, this girl kept surprising them.

“let’s hear you.”

as yn started, all she did was think of the words her family members would tell her, to always show confidence, to show people that you’re better, and that’s what she did.

once she finished, she put her hand on her chest to smooth out her breathing, she can’t believe she just did that, the only time she’s done something like this was in the comfort of her big bedroom.

“thank you yn, you will definitely be hearing back from us.” the woman said to the girl who smiled and thanked them.

yn was about to rush out the room but was stopped by one of the men.

“are you related to the moon family, you look so familiar, like I’ve seen your face on tv.”

yn hesitated, she thought about lying but they would easily search her family up, “yes.” she nodded her head.

all three of them looked even more surprised, but yn had no time for more conversation rushing out the room and bumping into yizhuo, who had yn’s sweater in her hand.

“woah, you’re in a rush.”

“yeah, I have to head home.” yn said taking her sweater from yizhuo’s hand and dragging it on.

“wait can I get your number.” she asked handing yn her phone.

yn rushingly typed out her phone number in the girls phone and rushed out the building.

“it was nice meeting you!” she heard yizhuo yell.

and just like how she got to sm entertainment she got home the same way, she ran miles making her way to the gated community that she called her neighbourhood.

yn was about to make it through her gate, when she heard a familiar sounding car, she immediately ran to the back of the house and climbed the tall fence falling to the ground with a big thud.

she didn’t have time to whine about the pain and ran towards the outdoor stairs that lead to the balcony of her bedroom.

she slide open the clear sliding door and rushed into her room.

she took off her sweater letting out a sigh of relief until she heard foot steps heading towards her room, she threw the sweater across the room and jumped on her bed right on her stomach.

her bedroom door opened to reveal daeun, “dad wants to talk to you.” he said before closing her door.

yn felt a nervous feeling bubbling in her stomach as she got up from her bed and out her bedroom.

it was silent as she went down the stairs to find her father standing at the end of the stairs looking at her with a stern face.

“have a nice walk around the neighborhood?” he looked at yn who laughed nervously.

“yeah I got back an hour ago.” she lied forcing a smile.

“come with me.”

yn nervously followed her father into the dining area where the rest of her family sat staring down at her.

“sit.”

she sat beside jae who side eyed her before looking at their father, she hasn’t had much of an relationship with her brothers now that they’ve have started officially working with the family company.

she could brush of the obvious favouritism towards them when she was younger but as she got older the more she resented her brothers.

her father stood looking at her as she looked down in her lap.

“look at me, we don’t look down.” he said sternly causing yn to snap her head up immediately.

“now tell me why,” he starts, “one of my associates is telling me that they saw my daughter running around the city and entering the sm entertainment building?”

yn winced at the sound of her fathers voice before looking at her mother and brothers that just stare at her waiting for her to talk.

she couldn’t stay silent, if someone is talking to you, you answer them.

“I want to become an idol.” she says quietly, silence fills the air after her words.

“you want to become an idol?” her father asks shocked, why in the world would his daughter want to become an idol, “no, I won’t allow it.”

yn inched up in her chair looking at her father with pleading eyes, “come on dad, just look at it, if I debut and I have a perfect idol image, everyone will praise you for raising such a good daughter and bringing a good image to the family name.”

her father looks at her processing her words the look on his face made her hopeful, “I’ll be the best trainee to exist, I’ll be at the top of everything, I’ll be better than everyone, I’ll show them that the moon family is multi talented and not to be underestimated.”

there’s more silence.

“you’re gonna be at the top of everything, if you aren’t number one of everything I will take you out.” he says looking at yn who couldn’t fight her smile but dropped it immediately.

“thank you.” she replied in a level toned as her father just nodded in response.

“go to your room.”

she rushed out the dinning room and up the stairs to her room, as soon as she closed her door a smile broke onto a big smile.

she heard buzzing from her phone only to see an unknown number.

hey it’s yizhuo, I really hope we get to train together, wanna call rich girl ?

yn couldn��t help but playfully roll her at the nickname before typing out a sure.

she spent the whole night on the phone with yizhuo, she had never talked to a person like how she talked to her, she felt relaxed.

if she gets into sm she really hopes yizhuo gets in as well.

and her hopes came through.

yn squealed on the phone as her and yizhuo opened their letters at the same time, both of them being accepted into sm entertainment, meaning they’ll be training together.

yn will never forget fourteen.

XVI

age sixteen, was a age full of accomplishments and hardships.

she was number one for every single monthly evaluation since she started training at fourteen, living up to her promises she had made to her father.

the compliments that the trainers and senior idols that visited the trainees would say to her felt good, she had grown a passion for the little lie she made in her auditions she loved rapping, it was what she felt comfortable with.

but under all the accomplishments she has had, there was a girl who wanted to burst into tears everyday.

her father really took her words to heart about her being better than everyone, he told the company to make sure yn trained on her own in another practice room, making her isolated from the other trainees.

after a year yizhuo and her stoped texting and calling each other, yn’s head was full of training and being the best that she has barely paid attention to her phone.

she thrived in the praises her father would throw her when she would tell him that she hadn’t slept because she was training so much.

his thats my girls made her feel like she was on top of the word, with her father’s praises she didn’t need friends she didn’t want friends. all she wanted was to make him proud, maybe even have her mother finally notice her.

the other trainees would call her untouchable, and not in a good way she was pretty stuck up in their eyes, with her rich girl mentalities. when she was in the same room as them the aura always shifted she never laughed at jokes, she never cried at harsh feedback, she was always stone cold, when people tried to talk to her she would always say something shady and mean and walk off.

but she somehow came on top every time, even with her in their opinion shitty attitude.

she was like a robot, some of them wondered how she didn’t get tired.

but oh she did.

it was was five am and yn was currently passed out on the practice floor, she had been practicing since the early morning before with zero breaks, she didn’t remember the last time she had eaten anything but that didn’t matter when she was practicing.

voices were heard outside the door but yn didn’t even flinch completely out like a light.

“I never saw her leave yesterday.”

“why do you care yizhuo? didn’t she stop talking to you.”

“yeah but… I’m just worried.”

“is the door locked.”

“I don’t think so.”

“let’s check on her.”

the door creaked open and gasps filled the air, yizhuo and two other trainees jimin and minjeong ran over to yn’s passed out body.

“yn!” yizhuo shaking the girl who could barely open her eyes at the action.

yn tried to open her eyes fully but it was so difficult, she felt yizhuo pull her up to lean against her, “jimin unnie give her your water.”

jimin pulled the water bottle out her backpack and handed it to yizhuo who had to force the water in yn’s mouth since the girl could barely grip anything with how weak she was.

yn leaned against yizhuo as silence filled the air, the three girls looked at her with concern as she attempted to sit up.

“this is humiliating.” yn mumbled to herself as she looked at the three girls with red eyes.

“what happened?” jimin asked looking at the girl that she always thought was at the top of the world who currently looked like she fell off the top of the world.

“I don’t know,” yn said trying her best to keep eye contact with the older girl, “I was practicing and then I wasn’t.”

“you’ve been practicing since yesterday?” minjeong asked the girl shocked, she didn’t have much of an opinion on yn like how the other trainees did, she thought the girl was hard working to be honest, but now maybe a little too hard working, “have you eaten?”

“no, its whatever.”

“it’s not whatever.” yizhuo said looking at yn, “this is crazy yn, you’ve been blowing me off because you’ve been depriving yourself?”

all yn did was lean back onto the girl, exhaustion surrounding her.

“I was wondering how you stayed in shape, I guess the secret is you don’t eat.” minjeong said mindlessly, causing jimin to nudge her.

“hey,” the oldest started, “how about we go to the cafe across the street and get you something to eat, for yizhuo’s sake at least.”

yn looked at the older girl before letting out a sigh, allowing her to pull her off the ground.

jimin had firm grip on yn who could barely stand up as yizhuo and minjeong got off the floor.

“I’m practicing with you in this room for now on.” yizhuo said dusting herself off, “jimin and minjeong unnie are as well now.”

yn side eyed the girl, “I don’t think that’s allowed.”

“I don’t care, right?” yizhuo turned to jimin and minjeong who hesitantly nodded their heads in agreement.

yn stayed silent, looking at jimin In shock when she interlocked her hand with yn and guided her out the door, she barely knew the girl but was already acting so kind.

“I like your bag.” minjeong said to yn as the four of them walked, she picked it up for yn when they left th practice room, “how much was it?”

“actually never mind don’t tell me, It’ll hurt too much.” the girl cut yn off causing the other three to laugh.

yn will never forget sixteen because she acquired three of the most important people in her life at that age, plus another a year.

XVIII

age eighteen was when yn officially thought it was the end of the world.

after letting yizhuo, jimin and minjeong into her life she grew a sense of freedom.

she still worked just as hard as she did at sixteen but this time she had people looking after her, there was also a new addition to the friend group a year later.

yn laughed as aeri took photos of her in the practice room.

the five girls were put into a group together, they were told that they were gonna debut together, yn was just glad that she was debuting and with people she considered her friends.

“no fansite’s please.” yizhuo joked as she stood in front of yn guarding the girl from aeri’s phone, “that’s how we’re gonna act like when we debut.”

“knowing yn she’ll pose for them.” minjeong cut in laughing at the three girls.

“I’m made for the cameras.” yn joked posing for aeri while yizhuo kept blocking her.

“yn your phone is ringing.” jimin cut in on their fun, “I think it’s your dad.”

yn furrowed her eyebrows, why would he be calling her?

she took her phone from jimin’s hands and brought it to her ear, walking out into the hallway, “hey dad.”

“hey honey, I’ve got some news for you.” she couldn’t pin point her father’s tone as he talked, “the company is doing a partnership.”

“that’s good?” yn replied not understanding why her father needed to tell her this, the family barely talked to her about the business, “is that all?”

“no actually, it’s with hybe.” he said into the phone while yn tried her best to understand why he’s telling her this, “okay?”

“meaning you have to leave sm,” he says nonchalantly while yn felt like water had been poured all over her.

her heart was in her stomach, “what?”

“yeah, you’ll be transferred to be a trainee in source music.” he says it like he’s reading off of something, “you’ll be guaranteed a spot in their upcoming new girl group.”

“dad- I’m already in a group- I’m literally debuting in a couple of months.” yn felt like she was gonna throw up, all this hard work, her friends for nothing.

“this is business yn.” her father said sternly, “I can’t have you in company that could be a possible threat to money.”

“but you said, if I stay on top of everything I can stay in sm, I’ve been number one for the post four years almost five years.” she argues, this couldn’t be happened.

“I said you could be an idol if you stay on top of everything, nothing about the company.” her father said.

“dad please.” yn said into the phone her voice cracking.

“are you about to cry?” her father asked sternly, “we don’t do that, stop it.”

“I’m not crying.” yn said looking up, “just this is so unfair, I’ve worked hard.”

“so have I,” her father replied brushing off his daughter’s words, “it’s either you move to hybe or you’re not training anymore.

and with that he hung up.

yn took a deep breath to calm her nerves and opened the practice room door to only be met with four girls staring at her like they’ve seen a ghost.

“did you guys hear anything.” she asked, throwing her head back when they nodded.

“I’m sorry guys, he’s just such-”

“an asshole.” aeri cuts off looking at yn with sad eyes, “so you’re really leaving.”

“I guess I have to, this was just dropped on me out of thin air.” yn trying her best not to burst into tears.

“maybe we can all audition for hybe and become a group there.” minjeong said look at yn who slide down the wall and wrapped her arms around her knees.

“no you guys have worked too hard for that.”

“so have you,” jimin said, “this is so unfair.”

yn shrugged she looked at yizhuo who stared back at her, she could see the tears rushing to the girls eyes.

she smiled weakly at yizhuo who rushed to her side and bursted into tears, “this is so unfair, we were supposed to debut together, now what? you’re back to being a trainee?”

yn and the rest of the girls hugged the crying girl, “it’s okay.”

“it’s not okay.” yizhuo said harshly, “you’re supposed to be crying with me.”

yn couldn’t help but laugh at the girls words, “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to convince myself that this is fake.”

the girls huddled together in silence, “he said I have guaranteed spot in the line up for their new girl group.”

“so I guess we’ll see each other music shows?” aeri tried to lighten the mood, causing the girls the weakly laugh.

yn will never forget age eighteen, it was the year all her hard work went down the drain.

XIX

age nineteen was the age of complete chaos.

yn’s year of training at hybe was a lot, it was draining.

she trained under source for a while and hated it, she met a couple of girls that she was in the lineup with for the new girl group, they were pretty cool but it wasn’t the same as sm, she was the oldest out of all of them and didn’t connect with the girls much.

she had to watch aespa debut from behind the screen while she was stuck in the source music practice room, she still couldn’t believe her father, she always had a feeling that the family business would be put above her feelings one day but I guess she didn’t think that day would actually come.

she still talked to the girls who were now idols but it never felt the same on both ends, they were supposed to be together.

her days under source honestly felt like they were merged into one, everything was the same.

that was until yn was told that she was going to be moved under another label under hybe called ador with five other girls.

the six of them were gonna be the first new hybe girl group.

the girls were sweet, it was obvious all of them looked up to yn as a big sister, they also thought how rich she is was pretty cool.

but it was like the world was against yn because as soon as yn and the other ador girls were getting closer and getting ready for their debut yn got a call from her dad.

yn leaning against the mirror of the practice room, “hello?”

“hey honey did you get then news?”

yn slide down the mirror and say on the floor crossing her legs, “what news?”

“you’re getting moved back to source.” he says nonchalantly, “tomorrow to be exact.”

yn squeezed her eyes, “dad, you’re joking right?”

“when have I ever joked with you?”

he’s right, “so what? just like last time I can’t debut.”

“not exactly, plans changed I was told that your groups debut was gonna be postponed and that another girl group was gonna be debuting,”

yn furrowed her eyebrows she was not told this at all, “so what?”

“so, I told them that you would be a good asset to the group, you’re probably the most talented and would bring a lot of attention,”

“so I’m debuting in another group?”

“yes, you can thank me.”

yn rolled her eyes into the back of her head, “thanks dad…bye I have to tell the other girls.”

as much as she didn’t want to admit it she was excited to finally become an idol, all this hard work would finally mean something.

it was weird walking into that practice room full of other girls that have been working together, she was the new girl.

“this is yn, she will officially be apart of the lineup and will be working with you guys for now on, we’re gonna try our best to help her with the choreography and help her catch up with things, make her feel welcomed, she’s a really important figure, I’ll leave you guys to get to know her for a little.”

she tried her best to ignore the last sentence, her family followed her everywhere like a shadow.

“hello.” she said confidently even though she felt slightly uncomfortable under the eyes of the six girls.

she gave them a charming smile, “don’t worry I’m a fast learner, I think.”

she heard a giggle come from a girl standing in the far right causing yn to raise a brow at her.

“sorry,” the girl cleared her throat, “I’m kazuha.”

yn gave her a smile “nice to meet you kazuha.” she says before looking at the other girls.

she nodded along as they stated their names before looking at the last girl who just stared at her, “and yours is?”

“you don’t know me.”

“no sorry.”

“I’m kim chaewon.”

yn furrowed her eyebrows at the way the girl said her name to her, like she had some sort of authority over she, she didn’t like it.

“I’m moon yn,” yn responded, she didn’t have to say her name, that was already told earlier, but she felt like she had to.

chaewon raised a brow at yn’s tone, “rich girl huh?”

yn narrowed her eyes before turning towards the girl who had introduced herself as kazuha, “you seem cool, wanna show me some of the choreo before we have to start practicing?”

yn hasn’t acted this stand offish since she started at sm but it seemed needed, she couldn’t just let anyone talk to her the way they wanted, that’s not what she was taught.

the girl smiled at yn, “sure!”

as yn let the girl drag her to the other side of the room she heard the chaewon girl say something to the taller girl beside that she learned was yunjin, “this is who we lost ruka to? a stuck up rich girl?”

she decided to brush it off, it was the first day, they would probably warm up to each other.

oh how wrong was she.

nineteen was the age things officially went both uphill and downhill for yn.

this is just a chapter before things get worse ngl

#richgirl!yn #le sserafim x reader #lesserafim chaewon #lesserafim x reader #leaserafim #kim chaewon x reader #chaewon #aespa #aespa x reader #chaewon x reader #girl group imagines

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accidentcache · 3 months ago

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felt the urge to write pro hero tomura. this isn't much but enjoy the prompt anyways *throws up*

the first time that tomura shows up at your door; it's four in the morning. you barely hear it at first, and brush it off as some noise outside. you're up early for work, but don't want to get out of bed. not until the sound against the door comes again, and it forces you out of bed.

when you finally do open your door, tomura is leaning heavily against the doorframe with one arm, his other hand grasping weakly to the wound on his side. his costume is torn, showing bare and exposed skin of his ribs and waist; and red streaks decorate the skin that you do see.

it's a startling sight. for four in the morning. all you can do is stare and gawk at him. he's leaking blood on the doorstep and it's staining red on the concrete.

"i- i didn't know where else to go," he offers shakily. his entire body trembles as he struggles to stay upright and you have to force the lump stuck in your throat when you swallow.

"what do you want me to do?" you reply, your hand hesitate and hover when they move to help him inside your home. "i don't know first aid, tomura— you should go to the hospital—"

tomura scoffs. "please," it's not formed into a plea like the word normally comes out for other people. but then again, tomura is not like other people; he's tomura. and the fact that he's struggling to stay concious on your doorstep right now is hard to grasp in your barely awake brain.

your teeth sink into your lower lip as you help him inside. "i'm gonna have to look up a youtube video or something."

tomura hisses when you lower him onto one of your kitchen chairs, but chooses not to reply to your previous statement. either it meant he didn't care, or he didn't hear it. but you don't repeat it.

you manage to get him cleaned up and stitched; he winces and bares his teeth through the entire thing but there's no smart ass comments. it's strange, it being quiet between the two of you. usually there's banter, lighthearted tension or even jokes.

the both of you weren't close. not like normal friends. since your days at UA the two of you have been at each other's throats; neck and neck for the best spot in the rankings. you keep it cordial at work, and that's how it stays. you don't seek out each other's company.

it doesn't explain why he's sitting in your kitchen right now, gripping a dish towel as you pull a needle through his wound at four thirty in the morning.

you don't ask questions, and it return; tomura doesn't give you any answers. once you're finished doing your best attempt to stitch him up; he stays for another twenty minutes and he's gone before you start brewing your morning coffee. it's not mentioned at all next time you're in the same room as him.

the next time tomura shows up wounded at your door, it's one in the morning. he's not bleeding, but his arm is bent funny and his jaw is so tense you're not sure how he hasn't snapped that bone either.

it's been months since the last time he's showed up here. you try not to let the surprise show on your expression that he remembered where you lived— but it shows anyway.

he takes it as surprise at the angle his arm is at. his eyes dart from yours to his broken limb, teeth digging so harshly into his bottom lip that it draws blood. muted blue hair hangs in his eyes as his head falls and he doesn't meet your eyes.

"i can't fix that," you say, your fingers tighten around the doorframe. in the back of your mind, you know you're going to let him in anyway. in the back of your mind, you know you're going to attempt to reset the bone the best to your ability. you're already thinking of how to put it into the search bar on your laptop.

tomura is pale. he fights every force available not to let his voice waver when he lifts his eyes back to yours. "just help me," he says, his feet moving on their own as he falls forward.

on reflex, you catch him.

you end up getting his arm set in the correct position that night. tomura ends up crying, and threatens you if you ever speak about to anyone. he stays after it's all said and done too. you wake up the next morning for patrol and find him sprawled over your couch and the sight makes something settle in the bottom of your gut.

the third time tomura shows up at your door, it's the worst you've seen him. two in the morning, there's already a puddle of blood beneath him by the time you open your front door. your chest squeezes at the sight of him— his eye is swollen shut and there's a wound on his head that covers half of his face in blood. both hands grip the door frame as he leans inward, physically unable to meet your gaze as blood pulls from his side and leg.

just how bad have his patrols been getting? this is the third time he's been at your door in the middle of the night. and you know he can afford a hospital trip— he makes a point to brag about funds to you when you both go at each other while at work. you don't know why he's seeking out your help.

"go to the hospital, tomura," you manage to force yourself to say. your hand is firm on the wood of the door and it feels awful when you start to push it closed.

tomura is already trying to step inside, making a desperate grab of anything of you that he could reach. "[y/n], please—"

"I can't do this, tomura," your arm dodges his reach. irritation spikes in the back of your head. is this all you are to him? "i'm not a healer. i'm definitely not your healer."

tomura stumbles. he leans heavily onto the door frame and you scowl at the drops of blood he leaves on your floor. "just help me. please," he practically gasps the words out. "i don't want to go to hospital. it's- it's too much."

"that's not my problem," you retort, your voice more firm. your hands shake and you attempt to close the door again, but his palm meets the wood before you can get it halfway. you open your mouth to say something else, but tomura is already speaking before the words come out.

"i'd do the same for you," his voice is quiet— one of the rare times you've ever heard him sound so… weak. broken and scared, in a way. like you were his last hope, a safe haven that was being ripped away from him.

your body goes ice cold and sweltering all at the same time.

i'd do the same for you.

you end up repeating that phrase over and over to yourself. even as you clean his skin, finding your touch being more gentle than usual. you repeat it to yourself as you wipe the blood trail that he left when you helped him to your bathroom. you repeat it well into the next morning when you take bucket after bucket of hot water to rinse off your doorstep.

when tomura finally wakes up the next morning, there's a lukewarm mug of coffee waiting on the counter for him. there's also a note, along with a confirmation of a prescription being filled at the pharmacy down the road from your home. it's not a lot, but it's more. it's more than he asked for, more than he expected from you.

the coffee is just the right balance of sweet and bitter. just like you. he finishes the mug, even though it's not warm. and he enjoys every drop of it.

#cache money!#this is purely for kisa and rue #i hope i did it justice #wahs extra loudly #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha x reader #bnha x reader #tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki tomura x reader

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heyconcrete1 · 29 days ago

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teliphone · 11 months ago

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Neighbors Daughter

Summary: You’re a young adult, a first-time New York Best Seller book writer. This achievement makes you itch to write more, but no significant idea comes to mind. You believe it’s due to the lack of experience. Your hometown is too simple. So, you moved to a new small neighborhood in hopes that the new scenery would bring ideas against your writer's block. Your neighbor's strange family lifestyle piques your interest, especially their daughter. A little sick and twisted, you pick up your pen to start jotting ideas for your new book.

Warning(s): Smut, Stalking, Peeking Tom, Voyeurism, Fingering

Word Count: 4.9K

The box filled with your journals slips from your fingers and falls onto the concrete ground. You grunt and puff your hair away from your face. You ready yourself and bend down to pick up the box again. You didn’t realize how heavy a box can feel when filled with just notebooks. You follow the pathway and into the doors of your new house in a hurry. Once finally reaching the wooden floors, you drop the box down. You decide to sit on top of the box to take a breather. You’ve been moving heavy boxes into your new house for three hours now. Starting from picking the boxes from your old apartment, to making multiple car trips, til now, where you have finally dropped the last box.

You glance around your home entrance with a small smile on your lips. Multiple boxes lay around and you feel like it’s going to take a while to unload. You do not mind though, you feel like you’re going to love your new living area. You turn your head to look out the door. Your new neighborhood is small and uniform. Every yard has perfectly cut and bright green grass. Every car is polished. Every porch has chairs that feel “welcoming”. This neighbor is something straight out of the movies. It’s a little eerie, but you feel like this setting is the perfect atmosphere to start writing.

As you are observing outside, a bright red Jeep car drives by. It grabs your attention when you notice it turning into the house in front of you. Your new neighbor! You lean your body forward in an attempt to get a better look. You can hear the bass booming from the car. The car engine stops and the music starts to lower. The side door swings open and a young woman steps out. She has a white dress on. Her silky black hair is in a perfect long braid. She looks elegant and innocent. She turns her body back to the car and bends in to grab something. The bottom of her dress lifts a little, exposing her white thighs. You feel a wave of envy as you stare at your new neighbor's perfect-tone body. She straightens up and swings her purse across her shoulders. She reaches to touch the top car door and swings it close. As it shuts, she peers below her hair bangs, and makes eye contact with you. She seems a little shocked. She didn’t realize how soon the house across from her got moved in. You give her a wave, to show a friendly neighbor attitude. She gives back a timid wave and hurries into her house. Your eyebrows furrow at the response. Her behavior was odd. You turn your attention back to the boxes lying all around your floor. You suck in a deep breath and prepared yourself to get to work.

You have finally settled in. Everything you brought is in their designated location. It’s currently 10 am the next day. You take a seat at the kitchen table where your personal writing laptop is. You bring a water glass cup up to your lips. After a few full gulps, you sit the cup down. You turn your attention to the laptop screen. An empty Word document showing clear evidence of writer's block. Your fingers pause on the keyboard. You sigh and turn your head to stare out at the window to examine your neighbor's house. The girls' red car was still parked in front. You haven’t seen the girl's parents yet. Curiosity begins to stir. You want to make new friends, but especially the family in front of you. How many people live there? What do their house decorations look like? Do the parents actually love each other?

Your fingers click on a search bar. You type “what to bring to your new neighbor as a friendly gesture”. After a few scrolls, you figure out what to do.

You make sure you look good. Practicing how to smile and what to say. A perfectly baked pie lays on top of your hand. This should be the way to make friends. You leave through your front door, not bothering to lock it. Nervousness pumps in your veins as you walk across the street. You quickly glance at the red car. The inside of the car is too clean, almost as if this is a brand-new car. You look away. Your hands curl into a fist and give the door a good few knocks. You wait, feeling anxious with each second that passes. The door doesn’t open after a minute and embarrassment creeps up your neck.

“No, there should be people at home,” you think to yourself. You give the door another knock, but this time more firm. Suddenly the door swings open revealing a man about forty to fifty years old. His hair and beard are perfectly groomed. He has on a simple white tee and blue jeans revealing a muscular body underneath. He towers over you due to his height.

“Hello?” He says unsure. His voice is deep and dry. You quickly blink yourself into action as you lick your lips. With two hands under the pie, you gently push it forward. He stares at it, not moving yet.

“Hello, I’m Y/n. I just moved into the house across your street and I was hoping-“

“Who is it, honey?” A mature woman with red lipstick appears next to the man. She brings her hands up to rest on his chest. You peek at the ring on her finger. She seems to be around her late thirties. Her visuals make you choke up. She is alluring and sensual. She is wearing a red blouse and black pants. Her hair is perfectly curled. She stares at you between her long lashes. She gives you a friendly smile, but you can feel a slight facade.

“This is our new neighbor that moved into the house in front of us,” The husband explains. Her eyes widen in surprise. She smiles widely, showing off her perfectly straight teeth.

“Oh my! I was wondering who got the privilege to move in!” She beams.

‘Privilege? That’s an odd way to say it,’ you think.

“Did you move in with a husband? Boyfriend?” She questions. A blush appears on your cheeks. You are single.

“No. I live alone,” You answer. You understand why she asked that. The house you moved in is big enough for a small family and yet you live alone. Silence coats the air. They stare at you with a small smile expression. You can tell they are wondering how you could individually afford it. You didn’t feel the need to reveal more information to them.

“I am here to introduce myself. I’m hoping to become friends with my new neighbors. I brought you guys homemade pie,” You beam. It is not homemade pie, you bought it several minutes ago at a nearby bakery store. You wanted to play it safe. The wife stares at the pitiful pie that is still in your hands.

“Thank you! That’s so thoughtful of you…. What flavor is it?” She asks not budging a muscle. You feel dumbfounded. What flavor? Normally, friendly people would just accept it with no question. She catches my silence and straightens her back.

“My apologies. I’m just asking because my daughter is allergic to certain fruits,” She explains with a smile. You feel lies lanced in her statement. But maybe she is being truthful.

“Apple pie,” You confirm, doubt creeping in. You researched what is the most popular pie and apple pie was the answer. This can’t fail, right?

“Sorry, our family does not like-“

“I like apple pies,” a soft voice cuts in. Her. The daughter. She’s even more pretty up close. She appears out of nowhere catching you off guard. Your eyes flicker over her features. Her eyes are so soft and calm as they stare back at you. Her plump lips are glossy pink. She’s in blue shorts and a tight black tee. She’s more tall than you expected from seeing her far away. You can finally see all the family members standing next to each other. They are all so beautiful and handsome. The perfect textbook family. You feel so little and unfortunate next to them.

“Hi, I’m Wonyoung,” She smiles. Before you can say anything back, she brings her hands out to grab the poor apple pie. Her fingertips gently brush against yours. She lifts the apple pie up to her nose and sniffs it. She lets out a soft hum of approval. You feel yourself gaining confidence again. Your lips curl up into a small smile.

“We are sorry to inform you, but we have plans and we must be on our way. It was nice meeting you…” The husband pauses. He looks at you with an expression of confusion. He already forgot your name.

“Y/n,” You remind. You glance at Wonyoung who gives you an apologetic look.

“Ah yes. Thank you for the pie, Y/n. The Jang family welcomes you to the neighborhood,” The husband finishes.

“Thank you! I hope to meet you all again at a good time,” You turn to leave their porch ground. You hear the door shut behind you and you let out a sigh. You feel like this interaction wasn’t the best. But your heart feels warm that Wonyoung accepted the pie. You smile and cross the street back to your house.

From behind the doors of the Jang family, Mrs. Jang takes the pie from Wonyoung’s hand.

“Why would you accept this pie? You know our house does not eat these types of sweets,” She grimaces in disgust. She examines the pie as if it were a bug.

“I was just being nice. She baked it just for us. The least we can do is accept it,” Wonyoung explains, shrugging her shoulders. She watches her mom dump the pie into the trash can. She dislikes how strict her mother is when it comes to food. She rolls her eyes and plops herself on the couch. She pulls out her phone to go through her social media. Mrs. Jang and Mr. Jang prepare to leave.

“We are going to be gone for a while. Don’t stay out too late. Don’t do anything stupid,” Mrs. Jang warns as she puts on her jacket. Wonyoung hums, not looking up from her phone screen. She hears the door click behind her and the house is silent again. Her eyes linger towards the trashcan where the pie lays. She starts thinking about you. She remembers the way your face expressed pure joy as she accepted the pie. A smile appears on her lips.

“Poor girl. She doesn’t know how toxic my family is,” She whispers to herself. She returns her attention to her phone. She sends out a message to her friends to see if anyone is free for lunch.

Several days go by and you are sitting by the opened window with your journal in your lap. This summer has reached one of its highest heat. You can feel your face starting to sweat, but luckily there is a light breeze that comes by a few times. You stare at the house in front of you again. It has become a routine. You mentally take note of what time each family member leaves and comes back. Mrs. Jang leaves early in the morning and comes back in late afternoon. Mr. Jang leaves around the same time as Mrs. Jang but arrives late at night. For Wonyoung, her routine is interesting. There is not a constant pattern. She leaves whenever and comes home whenever she wants. You start to wonder what she does during her day-to-day life. It seems like she has no job and would rather spend time with her friends.

A sudden movement from the house catches your attention. A window that usually has its curtains closed is suddenly opened. You narrow your eyes to make out the figure behind the window. It's a slim figure wearing a white cropped top, trying to yank the window open. You realize you’re staring into Wonyoungs’ window. The heat must have finally gotten to her which is why she is opening the window. She successfully opens it and returns to her vanity. She puts her hands into her hair and runs it into a high ponytail. You can’t believe how easy it is to look into her room. It’s not your fault… her window is just so big. You watch her put on white headphones and turn on her computer. You examine how straight her posture is and how she slightly fans herself with her hands. You start to wish you could hear her. Is she complaining about the heat? What song does she like to hear? What mood is she in? She slides her hand down her neck. You click your pen and start writing ideas. Ideas where the main character is looking a lot like Wonyoung. The main character in your next book. You struggle to figure out if you should make the character sweet or bratty. This won’t work. You need to know her more.

You walk past the Jang family house and see Mrs. Jang struggling to bring all her groceries in. Of course, you are quick to offer help. One reason: you are being nice and friendly. Two: you will be able to enter their house and look at their layout… but they don’t need to know the second reason.

“Would you like some help?” You call out, approaching her from behind. She gets taken by surprise and nearly drops the bag, but you are quick to reach the bottom of the bag. You look up to see how close her face is to yours.

“It’s okay dear. I can handle this,” She laughs it off. You shake your head, refusing to take a no.

“I know you are more than capable enough to do this alone, but please allow me to help,” You give her a sweet smile. She stares at you in shock at how nice you are. Her guard visibility lowers and she lets out a gentle sigh.

“Okay… Thank you Y/n. Just these two bags,” She instructs. You feel pride soar in your heart from hearing her say your name. She remembers! You lift the two bags and secretly gasp at how heavy they are. You peek into the bag to see all the fresh produce. Very healthy food choices.

“I see you're making dinner tonight,” You decide to start a small conversation as you walk behind her. She laughs again and pushes the front door open. You didn’t hear her response. You were too busy analyzing the interior. Everything is white, polished, sparkly, and clean. There are a few family pictures hung up. You look at the frames closer and note how the father is always in the middle, the wife is to the right and Wonyoung is to the left. You look around more to conclude the lack of comfort or character. Everything is too perfect and… bland?

“You can place the bags on this table here,” Mrs. Jang says. You place the bags onto the white marble table and look out to their backyard. There is a swimming pool which causes you to widen your eyes. There is no swimming pool in yours. They must have installed that after moving in. As you stare at the water you notice a figure floating. You gulp. Wonyoung is floating on a tube with her eyes shut in relaxation. She is wearing a white two-piece which reveals her milky-tone body. Her hair is wet and it sticks against her skin. She has a pleasing smile on her lips.

“I see you noticed our pool,” Mrs. Jang brings you back. You snap your neck to her with an innocent smile. You hope she didn’t notice you eyeing her daughter.

“Y-yes I did. It’s amazing… I wish my house had one,” You slightly giggle. She hums and walks to the backyard door to slide it open.

“Come here and check it out. I love to brag about this pool to my guests. Oh and my daughter is currently in there, but that's okay. We’re all women here,” She chuckles. She walks out and you follow behind.

“This pool took about…” Mrs. Jang continues talking but you were busy analyzing Wonyoung. She opens her right eye to peek at who ruined her peace. She was about to complain to her mom til she made eye contact with you. She rolls off the tube and into the cool water. She swims up and lifts her head above the water. Her wet black hair is perfectly silked behind her back. She walks to the edge of the pool and rests her arms there. She stares deep into your eyes between her long lashes.

“Mom…” She complains, “You didn’t warn me that we had a guest,”

“It’s fine. Y/n is here to look at the beautiful pool I installed,” Mrs. Jang explains. You nod your head to seem nonchalant.

“Sure…” Wonyoung hums with a tint of teasing. She rests her chin on her arms, not looking away from you. You become nervous, nearly tripping over a chair. She softly laughs while biting her bottom plump lip.

“Oh shoot! I left my iced coffee in the car. It’s probably melting so fast in this heat. I will be right back!” Mrs. Jang gasps and rushes out. This leaves you awkwardly standing still with Wonyoung staring. She pushes herself by the edge to go deeper into the pool. She picks up a beach ball and gently plays with it. She bumps it back and forth between her hands.

“So… you’re Y/n right?” She starts. You try not to smile but fail. For obvious reasons, hearing her remember your name is much better than hearing it from Mrs. Jang. With confidence, you walked over to sit at the edge of the pool. Wonyoung finds you more interesting and drops the beach ball. She walks against the water til she is underneath your gaze.

“Yes…You’re Wonyoung right?” You lie as if you don’t remember. She cutely tilts her head to the side. She playfully narrows her eyes at you. She lifts her finger and pokes your leg. Such a small touch, but it makes you blush.

“Yes. Jang Wonyoung. Drill that into your head,” She pouts. You couldn’t help but giggle at her cuteness.

“How do you like the new neighborhood so far… enjoying the view?” She asks with a low voice. There’s a slight glint in her eyes. You furrow your eyebrows. You didn’t quite understand the deeper meaning of her tone. Suddenly Mrs. Jang returns, stopping the conversation. You turn your attention to her and Wonyoung secretly rolls her eyes. Her mom ruined the fun. She goes back to playing with the beach ball.

“I’m sorry for making you wait,” Mrs. Jang apologizes.

“No, it’s okay,” You smile. From the side of you, you can hear Wonyoung getting out of the pool and it took every muscle in you not to look. Mrs. Jang looks at her watch and lets out a gasp.

“Goodness! It’s getting a bit late. I need to start preparing for dinner,” She hints for you to leave.

“I understand. Thank you so much for allowing me to see your beautiful pool,” You thank, taking a step forward to the screen doors.

“I think we should invite Y/n for dinner,” Wonyoung beams. You turn your head to look at her. Your eyes secretly look to see her body wrapped in a white towel while you wave your hands timidly.

“No, that's okay. I really don’t want to bother your guy's family time,” You reject. She frowns and glares at you. She doesn’t take no for an answer. She looks at her mom with a desperate plea. She picks up the cue.

“I agree with my daughter. You helped me earlier and as a thank you, I would love to invite you for dinner,” Mrs. Jang convinces you. You think about how this would be the perfect opportunity to make friends and study them.

“In that case… I would love to take your offer,” You admit. Wonyoung smiles brightly as she plays with the heel of her foot. Mrs. Jang states at her wristwatch again.

“I believe dinner will be ready in about an hour. You should head home and come back after an hour-“

“I can text you to come when dinner is ready” Wonyoung chirps in. She brings out her hand in front of you. Her eyes curve into a crescent moon. You stare at her hand like a fool. Your mind races. Is she asking for your phone number?

“…Your phone?” She hints. Bingo. You quickly reach into your pocket and pull out your phone. Once you unlock the phone, you hand it over to her. You watch her quickly type down her number and shoot herself a text. Her thumb is moving fast. She lifts her head and gives you another charming smile.

“There. Look forward to my text,” She bubbles as she hands your phone back. You stare at your screen. She placed her contact name as normal. Jang Wonyoung. But the message she sent made your cheek turn red.

Neighbors Daughter

You love the sound of it. You definitely will be adding this to the book you’re currently writing.

The text Wonyoung sent wasn’t crazy. A simple “Dinners ready. You can come now” was all she sent. So here you are, sitting at the dinner table with the Jang family. You try to be polite and have manners as much as possible. You sit in front of Mrs. Jang while she sits next to her husband. Wonyoung sits to your left. It sucks how you can’t really see what she’s doing. From your peripheral vision, you can see her slightly poking her food with the fork. Mrs. Jang takes a sip of her wine and gently places it back down.

“You are quite young. How did you manage to get a house on your own? What’s your job?” She starts the conversation. It is clear that she is very interested to know you. You swallow the food in your mouth and take a sip of water.

“I am a writer,” You reveal. The parents stare at you and Wonyoung stops poking her food. Mr. Jang places his fork down. He clears his throat.

“I’m sorry if I sound harsh but I didn’t think writers make enough money to get a house in this neighborhood,” He chimes in. You let out a soft laugh. You get that a lot and honestly, you are surprised too.

“I am not offended. I started by writing a lot for many popular websites, almost like a journalist. Later I decided to start writing books. I’ve released a couple so far…” You start to linger off. You didn’t want to brag about the successes you received from the books. The sales from the books are the reason you were able to afford the house. This stirs Wonyoung interest.

“How do you find a subject to write about?” She questions. You turn your head slightly to look at her and she copies. Her bangs look really cute.

“I find things that interest me,” You answer honestly. The corner of her lips turns up as she slowly nods her head.

“If you ever need help with finding something to write about… I want to help. I have many ideas,” She says. She slowly blinks while you stare at her. Her characteristic is just so hypnotizing. How can you write her into words? You fear your main character can’t capture the real charms of Wonyoung.

“Thank you. I would love the help,” You agree. She is the first to break eye contact and returns to playing with her food.

“You must be successful,” Mrs. Jang adds. She takes another sip of her wine. You awkwardly laugh, not agreeing or disagreeing. The rest of the dinner continues as normal. You take note of each person's characteristics. Mr. Jang rarely talks and keeps to himself. He tends to stare. Mrs. Jang loves to talk about anything and took up most of the conversation. She’s expressive with her facial. Wonyoung adds to the conversation when she wants to. She’s very gentle with how she eats and speaks. She likes to take small bites. Whenever you said something she found funny, she would cover her mouth while laughing. It fills you with so much joy that she finds you hilarious.

Dinner ends and you can’t stop thanking Mrs. Jang for the meal. It was nice to have a home meal from someone else other than yourself. It has been a while. Mrs. Jang tells you how nice it was to have you as company and orders Wonyoung to walk you to the door. Wonyoung leans against the door frame with her arms crossed against her chest. Her perfectly curled hair rests on her right shoulder. You shyly give her a goodbye wave.

“Good night Y/n,” She hums.

That night you couldn’t sleep. You roll over to your phone and tap the screen. It’s 1:45 am. You sigh and sit up from your bed. You didn’t understand why you couldn’t sleep. You decide to get up and get a cup of water. As you stand up, you get distracted by a light coming from the Jang family’s house. It’s Wonyoungs’ room. Her curtains are pushed to the side revealing her whole room again. You furrow your eyebrows.

“What is she doing this late at night?” You think to yourself.

You walk closer to your window to stalk her. There’s no way she could see you. Your room is dark. Wonyoung lifts her shirt above her head and your heart stops. Her long hair drops past her shoulders as she lowers herself to take off her shorts. This is wrong. You shouldn’t watch, but you couldn’t take your eyes off her.

She observes her body in the mirror. She turns her body around, slowly sliding her hands across her smooth skin. Her rear is facing the mirror. She turns her head to watch. She sticks her butt out as she bends over. Her finger hooks on the hem of her panties and she tugs it down. Her eyes are heavy and she bites her bottom lip. Your breathing becomes shaky. You take a seat by the window and open your journal. You start jotting down notes. Wonyoung smiles cheekily at herself and turns around to face the mirror. You study how she lets out a laugh as she unclasps her bra. She pulls her bra off and tosses it to the side. She cups her boobs and squeezes it. Her thumb rubs against her nipples as she plays with her chest. Her head tilts back slightly and her mouth opens revealing a moan. She stares at herself a little more before she has had enough of teasing herself. She walks to her bed and lays down. You watch as she runs her fingers across her lower stomach. She lifts her legs and spreads them apart. You feel your body starting to heat up. One of her hands grazes her neck while her other hand starts playing with her cunt. Her middle finger rubs her clit which causes her to gasp.

You squeeze your thighs together and grip your pen. You are getting turned on by just watching her. She swirls her clit for a couple of minutes before she inserts a finger into her wet cunt. It causes her to arch her back. She feels the silky wet substance coat her digits. You suck in a deep shaky breath. You can feel your cunt pulsing and clenching painfully.

She increases her speed and a few cute moans spill out. She had to cover her mouth with the back of her free hand so that her parents couldn’t hear her. Her hair starts to stick against her forehead. She pants hard, her chest going up and down. Her cunt chases after her own two fingers. She tilts her head back as she forces her fingers to go deeper. She then curls her finger to hit her gummy walls. Her legs shake as she feels herself getting close. Your handwriting against your journal starts to get more sloppy. She lets out a soft cuss and a dirty laugh. She feels too good. She goes a little faster and harsher with her fingers. After a few more deep thrusts she reaches her high. Her mouth gapes open and she lets out an embarrassing squeal. She immediately shuts her mouth with her free hand as she twitches against the other. You nearly came in your pants when watching her orgasm. You shift uncomfortably against your seat. You blush from feeling the wetness in your cunt.

Wonyoung gets out of her high and takes her fingers out. She lifts it into the air and examines how her juice coats her two fingers. She chuckles and rolls off the bed. She disappears and you assume she went to the bathroom to clean herself.

You lower your head into your head. You feel so dirty and guilty. You toss your journal aside and return to your bed. Shoving your face against your pillow, you silently replay the scene again. Suddenly your phone buzzes. You lift your head and expand your hand to search for your phone. Once you feel the cold surface you bring it to your face. It was a text message from Jang Wonyoung.

“I hope that gave you more ideas to write”

711 notes · View notes

vanteguccir · 1 year ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤKISS ME * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N and Matt are just friends that act like they’re in a loving relationship.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　friends to lovers trope.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Matt had always believed that change was the only constant in life. He had learned this the hard way when he and his brothers finally decided to uproot their lives from the tranquil suburbs of Boston to the bustling, sun-soaked streets of Los Angeles.

LA was vast and vibrant, a stark contrast to the quiet neighborhoods they were used to. It was in this whirlwind of new beginnings that Matt met Y/N.

Y/N lived next door. The first encounter was serendipitous, almost as if fate had decided to intervene. Matt was struggling to carry a heavy box from the moving truck, screaming like crazy for help to Nick or Chris - and being successfully ignored - when Y/N appeared, offering a friendly smile and a helping hand. That simple act of kindness sparked a connection that would grow deeper over time.

From the very start, their friendship was unlike any other. There was an immediate, unspoken understanding between them. Matt felt a sense of ease around Y/N that he hadn’t experienced with anyone else, not even his brothers.

One of the most defining aspects of their friendship was their mutual love language: touch. It wasn’t something they discussed; it simply came naturally. A gentle touch on the shoulder, a comforting hand on the back, a little bit of cuddling, or a playful nudge, these small gestures were a constant, reassuring presence in their interactions.

Matt found himself gravitating toward Y/N whenever they were together. He cherished the way Y/N would drape an arm around his waist as they walked down the street during fall days, or how they would sit so close on the couch that their legs would almost be on top of the other.

It was these moments of physical closeness that made the both of them feel truly understood and cared for.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The bright winter sun was high in the sky, casting a golden glow into the car, illuminating the black leather seats. The car windows were rolled down, letting in the slightly cold breeze and the distant sound of other cars rushing around in the - always - busy streets of LA. Matt was behind the wheel, his hands relaxed on the steering wheel as he guided the car along the venue heading to Target, ready to buy the items he and his brothers would use in Wednesday's upcoming video.

Y/N was in the passenger seat, her feet propped up on the seat so that her legs were bent and her thighs kept pressed against her chest, a carefree smile playing on her lips. The radio played a soft indie, melodic tune, adding to the serene atmosphere.

As they drove, Y/N’s hand found its way to Matt’s arm, a casual and unconscious gesture. Her fingers decorated with pink nails lightly traced patterns on his hoodie-covered skin, the touch gentle and familiar. Matt glanced over and smiled, a warm feeling spreading through him. He was used to Y/N’s touch by now; it was as natural as breathing.

"Look, Matt, that restaurant I sent you on Instagram! I really want to come here, they only do Arabic food, you know?" Y/N exclaimed, pointing out the window to the tall, large restaurant, the concrete walls in a warm shade of red with a silver sign that shined below the daylight. Her excitement was contagious, and Matt felt his heart swell with affection for his best friend.

"We could come this Friday. If you want to, princess." Matt agreed, his voice soft. He reached over and squeezed Y/N’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before returning his focus to the road. Y/N’s fingers lingered on his, her touch very soft as she traced the lines of his palm with the tip of her fingers.

They drove in comfortable silence for the last few minutes of the route, the only sounds being the hum of the engine and the occasional horn coming from the cars around. While singing the soft melody of one of Billie's songs, Y/N’s hand moved to Matt’s forearm, her fingers lightly brushing up and down, a soothing rhythm that Matt found incredibly calming.

Without thinking, Y/N’s hand slipped to the back of Matt’s neck, her fingers threading through his hair. Matt leaned into the touch, a contented sigh escaping his lips.

"Oh, we're here!"

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Matt was sprawled out on the couch, enjoying the tranquility that followed a satisfying lunch. The living room was bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun, which streamed in through the large windows on the right side of the large sofa, casting a warm and inviting light over everything.

The sound of Nick's fingers tapping over the keys on his MacBook as he edited their next YouTube video was one of the only sounds that interrupted the comfortable silence.

Matt had his phone in hand, idly scrolling through TikTok. He chuckled at the occasional funny video, the sound mingling with the faint hum of the air conditioning. He was relaxed, content to let the day pass by in this peaceful state.

Y/N was in the kitchen, putting away the leftovers from their lunch, setting aside a significant portion for Chris, knowing he would return home hungry after his outing with Sam, the aroma of the meal newly cooked still lingering in the air.

As Y/N finished up, she wiped her hands on a dish towel and made her way into the living room.

Matt looked up as soon as he noticed a new presence approaching, a soft smile spreading across his face almost automatically.

"Hey." He said, his voice warm and inviting. The boy patted the space on the grey couch next to him, signaling for Y/N to join him. "Come here."

Y/N didn’t need any further encouragement. She crossed the room - stroking Nick's right shoulder quickly as she passed him - and settled onto the couch, her body naturally gravitating towards Matt. Without a word, Matt lifted his arm and gently guided Y/N’s head to rest on his thighs.

As Y/N nestled her head into Matt’s lap, a content sigh scaped through her lips. Matt’s free hand found its way to Y/N’s hair, brushing away loose strands over her eyes and cheeks, his fingers beginning to gently scratch her scalp softly. The rhythmic motion was soothing, and Y/N felt a wave of relaxation wash over her body. Her mind started to feel like floating.

Matt continued to watch TikToks, his focus still on the screen while his right tumb scrolled from one video to another, but his touch remained constant and affectionate. He didn’t even realize how naturally his fingers moved through Y/N’s hair, the light scratching and gentle strokes a habitual way of expressing his care.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed, the combination of Matt’s touch and the post-lunch drowsiness lulling her into a state of blissful relaxation. The soft rise and fall of Matt’s chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the gentle pressure of his fingers all blended together, creating a cocoon of comfort.

Until she finally dozed off.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The gentle glow of the TV cast a soft light across Matt's room, creating a cozy and inviting atmosphere, the blinds blocking the moonlight from outside the house. Y/N lay curled up on his bed, nestled under the duvet, watching a random, soft movie, her body covered in Matt's blue striped pajamas.

The plot was slow, the characters spoke in hushed tones, and the overall ambiance was soothing. It was the perfect background for drifting into a peaceful slumber.

Y/N’s eyelids grew heavier with each passing minute, her mind teetering on the edge of sleep. She fought to stay awake, hoping to see Matt after his hours of recording with his brothers before giving in to the lull of the movie. The faint sound of footsteps against the floor and the jingling of car keys reached her ears. Matt was home.

A few moments later, the bedroom door opened quietly, and Matt stepped inside. He paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of Y/N with her eyes half-closed, looking so peaceful and serene. His heart swelled with care as he softly closed the door behind his back, careful not to make any noise, the click echoing through the four walls.

"Hey, princess, are you still awake?" Matt whispered, his voice gentle and filled with warmth, wanting to make sure before making any noise that would actually wake her up.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, lifting her head on Matt's pillow - the strands of her hair spilling over the cotton pillowcase - and looking at him, smiling sleepily.

"Barely." She replied, her voice a soft murmur. She lifted the edge of the duvet, a clear invitation for him to join her. "Come lay with me. Pretty please."

Matt didn’t need any further prompting. He could shower after. He kicked off his shoes and took small steps towards his bed, the sound of his white sock-covered feet sounding mutely against the floor. The boy slipped into bed beside Y/N, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight.

As he settled in, Y/N turned towards him, her eyes sparkling with drowsy affection.

"Come here, petal." Matt gently pulled her closer, wrapping one arm around her torso and positioning her head on his shoulder. He could feel the soft, steady rhythm of her breathing against his chest. With his other arm, he draped the duvet over them both, cocooning them in warmth.

He wrapped his arm more securely around her, his hand resting on her back, traveling to the hem of her - his - pajama top, delving beneath the fabric and up the warm skin that seemed to embrace the cold of his hand, fingers lightly tracing soothing circles. He felt Y/N’s body relax further into his embrace, their legs naturally tangling together, creating a comforting sense of intimacy.

Matt buried his face in Y/N’s hair, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent that always calmed him. He pressed a series of light, tender kisses to the top of her head, moving down to her temple and then to her cheek.

Y/N let out a contented sigh, her eyes drifting closed as she nestled even closer to Matt. She could feel the steady beat of his heart, a soothing reminder of his presence. Matt’s fingers continued to draw gentle patterns on her back, a comforting rhythm that lulled her further towards sleep.

"Y'need to tell me about your day, Matty." Y/N whispered against his chest, her voice barely audible, her words slurred with drowsiness.

"Tomorrow." He whispered back, feeling his best friend finally succumbed to sleep.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The gentle hum of conversation filled the air as Matt and Y/N strolled through the farmer’s market - one of the activities that Matt started to love doing after meeting Y/N. Stalls lined the street, brimming with fresh produce, homemade crafts, and delicious baked goods. The vibrant colors and lively atmosphere added to the charm of the day.

Matt and Y/N walked side by side, their hands occasionally brushing against each other. They had done this many times before, but today, something felt different. There was a lingering warmth in every accidental touch, a heightened awareness that neither of them could quite explain.

"Look at these strawberries!" Y/N exclaimed, stopping at a stall overflowing with ripe, red fruit. She picked up a small basket and held it out for Matt to see. "Aren’t they beautiful?"

Matt smiled, his eyes not on the strawberries but on Y/N’s face, lit up with excitement.

"They’re." He said softly, nodding slightly. "Let’s get some, yeah?"

As they continued to browse, Y/N slipped her hand into Matt’s without thinking, their fingers intertwining naturally. Matt’s heart skipped a beat at the simple, already familiar gesture, but today, it felt more significant. He glanced down at their joined hands, a small smile playing on his lips, and gently squeezed.

They made their way to a stall, selling freshly baked pastries. Y/N’s eyes lit up at the sight of chocolate croissants, and Matt couldn’t help but laugh.

"You and your obsession with chocolate." The brunette teased, nudging Y/N playfully.

"You know me so well, Matty B." Y/N replied jokingly with a grin, selecting two croissants and handing one to Matt. "Here, try this."

Matt took a bite, the rich, flaky pastry melting in his mouth.

"It's good." He agreed, picking two more for Chris and Nick, knowing they would complain if they knew he had some sweet treat with Y/N and didn't think about them.

As they continued their stroll, sharing the croissants, the simple act of enjoying a treat together felt intimate, more than it had ever before.

While choosing some fresh fruits and showing them to Matt, their eyes met, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to blur, the sound of salespeople announcing their sales seemed muted to their ears and the people moving around them seemed to disappear. Matt felt an overwhelming urge to close the distance between them, to let his feelings be known. But he hesitated, unsure of what he was even feeling.

Y/N’s hand found its way to Matt’s cheek, her touch light and tender.

"You’ve got a bit of croissant on your face." She whispered with a soft laugh, brushing the crumbs away with the tip of her fingers.

Matt’s heart raced at the simple touch, and he covered Y/N’s hand with his own, holding it there for a moment longer than necessary.

"Thanks." He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

They stayed like that for a few moments, the connection between them growing stronger with each passing second. Neither of them spoke, but the emotions in their eyes said more than words ever could.

A rude sound from the small stall vendor broke the moment, the man clearing his throat as he watched them, his eyes traveling from their faces to the fruit in Y/N's hands and back again.

"Oh, uhm, sorry."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room as Matt sat on the edge of his bed, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. He had been feeling off all day, a strange mix of anxiety and anticipation that he couldn’t quite shake. Nick and Chris had noticed his unusual behavior and exchanged knowing glances but said nothing.

The soft sound of knocking against his bedroom door sounded through all four walls, Y/N's head appearing between the door and the doorframe seconds after.

"Hey, Matty. What’s wrong?" The girl asked without even saying hi, her voice soft and full of concern. "Nick texted me. He told me you weren’t feeling so well… but you’re not ill, are you? You were fine earlier."

Before Matt could respond, Y/N stepped in his room, closing the door behind her back and taking small steps closer, positioning herself standing between his parted knees and pressing the back of her hand against his forehead to check his temperature. Matt’s heart raced at the gentle touch, his breath hitching slightly.

"No, you’re not, thank God." Y/N said with a sigh of relief, smiling hesitantly, her eyes filled with genuine concern. "But I know you, you're not feeling your best, huh? What can I do to help?"

Matt’s mind raced. He didn’t know why he had held back for so long, why he had ignored the signs that were so clear now. Every time Y/N’s eyes sparkled when she looked at him, it mirrored the way his eyes lit up when he saw her. It was like he had been voluntarily blinding himself, unwilling to acknowledge the truth. But now, it was as if he was seeing colors for the first time, and everything made sense. He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, how it had taken a conversation with Nick, of all people, to make him realize what he had been feeling all along.

"Matty?" Y/N’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present, her hand traveling to his right shoulder, squeezing the covered skin.

Matt looked up, his heart pounding in his chest. He could see the worry etched on Y/N’s face, and it made him fall in love with her all over again. He loved how easy it was to fall for her, how every little thing she did made his heart swell with affection.

"A kiss…" He whispered, his voice barely audible, but he knew Y/N heard him because he saw her breath hitch, her hands movements stopping momentarily.

"What?" Y/N asked, her eyes wide with surprise while her lips parted in disbelief.

"I want a kiss… to feel better." Matt repeated, clearing his throat, his voice a little stronger this time. He felt vulnerable, his heart laid bare while his body pleaded him to get under his bed and hide, but he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she processed Matt’s words. Not wanting to raise her hopes too high, she gulped, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, right above his messy bangs. The simple act made her heart beat loudly in their ears, a rhythm that matched Matt’s - without her knowledge.

Matt’s breath caught at the touch, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more. He raised his head, his hazel eyes locking onto Y/N’s gaze, melting with a mixture of hope and longing.

"No... A proper kiss." He asked again, his voice filled with anxiety and nervousness, but courage. "Like... Like lovers do."

Y/N’s world slowed to a standstill as she processed Matt’s words. She had waited so long for this moment, and now that it was happening, it felt almost unreal. But the intensity in Matt’s eyes and the sincerity in his voice made she realize that this was real. This was happening.

Y/N inhale a big breath before leaning in again, her heart racing, looking deeply at his eyes for some seconds before finally pressing her lips against Matt’s.

The kiss unfolded with a tenderness that seemed to suspend time itself. There was a gentle hesitation at first, an unspoken acknowledgment of the years of friendship that had led them to this moment. Y/N's touch was feather-light against Matt's cheek as their lips kept pressed for some seconds in a tentative, exploratory caress.

The sensation was electrifying yet gentle, sending shivers of anticipation down their spines. Matt's arms encircled Y/N, pulling her closer between his spread legs with a warmth that spoke volumes of his love.

The gesture deepened, each movement a silent exchange of emotions long held in check. The world outside seemed to fade away as they lost themselves in the sweetness of the moment, their hearts beating in sync.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other’s, Y/N's spine curved so that she could be closer, her fingers traveling down his neck and finding home between his messy chocolate strands.

"I love you." Matt whispered, his voice filled with all the emotions he had been holding back.

"I love you too, Matt." Y/N replied, her voice equally soft and full of love. "I love you too..."

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