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honeyhaeya · 2 months ago

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(🔐)🖇 ༘ ⋆"How to Date Discreetly"

' ╰┈ "can i go where you go? can we always be this close forever and ever?"

' ' 박성훈 x fem!reader

🎧ྀི 'ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Lover (Taylor Swift)

♫⋆₊˚ ﾟ. 'ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ genre / tags: idol!sunghoon x idol!reader, ice prince x reckless rookie, secret & established relationship, enemies to lovers (kinda), fluff, smut – MDNI, angst (minor), a pinch of comedy ੈ✩‧₊˚warnings: NSFW WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT ! smut, slight jealousy (m), language, detailed explicit scenes, angst (minor), reader on the pill (birth control), mutual hate that’s just actually horny confusion, mild hate (online), – ugh, theyre so in love, its intoxicating ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ smut warnings: unprotected sex (reader doesn't get pregnant, but you might irl, so wrap that shit up), overstimulation, oral (f. receiving), cock riding, rough sex, creampie (lol), praise kink, dirty talk, emotionally charged sex, soft dom hoon, high sex drive hoon ✩‧₊˚ wc: 6003 – 2/2 (mini series) ੈ♡ a/n: this is peak delusion. dont like, dont read. open for constructive critisism but fact checks or logical expected outcome are out of the picture, come on yall, this is fanfiction. this is the last part, y'all, pls enjoyyyy mwuah. be sure to read part 1 ! *^★ playlist: lover (taylor swift), celebrity (iu), they dont know about us (one directon), polaroid love (enhypen)

you were trembling when they handed you the trophy.

your first win.

lights blinding. fans screaming. camera zooming in.

and just when you thought you couldn’t hold it in anymore—tears starting to fall, your members surrounding you like the sisters they’ve become—

a staff passed you a note.

no name. just: practice room 3b. after stage. alone.

your heart knew before your head could catch up.

so after all the cameras stopped flashing, after the encore ended and you waved goodbye with shaky hands—

you went.

and there he was.

sunghoon, leaned against the mirror, hoodie pulled over his cap, eyes meeting yours like he’d been waiting forever.

you walked in and locked the door.

“you came,” you whispered, not quite believing it.

“of course i did,” he said. “you won.”

“we won,” you whispered, and that’s when he crossed the room and pulled you into a hug so tight your knees nearly gave out.

“i’m so proud of you,” he murmured into your hair. “i watched it live. twice.”

you laughed into his chest. “i tripped during the dance break.”

“and still looked better than me every comeback.”

you grinned. “no one’s ever looked better than you during bite me era.”

“...valid.”

and then you stayed like that, forehead to forehead, laughing softly and just being.

just breathing each other in like the chaos of the world couldn’t find you there.

a week later

the fandom wasn’t ready.

a short collab tiktok. your new dance challenge.

you posted it with your leader.

he posted it with you.

and fans went feral.

“wait. is that sunghoon and y/n???” “don’t play with me—this is a power collab” “why are they so… flirty? HUH???” “they have matching energy idc this is my otp now”

even some idols reposted it with captions like “siblings or dating???” and “get a room but make it cute”

you both just smiled and ignored the chaos.

a few weeks later

the photo spread across stan twitter like wildfire.

a local park. grainy zoom.

a girl in an oversized tee and denim shorts, cap low, platinum-blonde strands peeking out.

a guy in a hoodie and mask, arms swinging beside hers, sneakers kicking up sand as they teased and fake-ran after each other.

laughing.

laughing like they had nothing to hide.

laughing like they forgot the world existed.

“wait is that them—” “sunghoon and y/n in public?!” “no way that’s not them” “i actually think this is kind of sweet???” “you can tell they’ve been in love for a long time”

of course, some fans weren’t having it.

“if it’s true i’m unfollowing” “he should focus on his career” “i don’t support this at all”

but for every hater, there were two fans saying:

“they deserve happiness” “you can tell they make each other so happy it’s insane” “i want a love like this…”

and behind closed doors, in their bubble of stolen glances and whispered phone calls and late-night snack deliveries—

you and sunghoon just smiled.

because maybe the world didn’t know for sure.

but you both did.

and that was enough.

he didn’t even say hi.

not even a “you look beautiful,” or a “i missed you”—though god knows he did. months of schedules, oceans apart, stolen glances through screens that never felt like enough.

but the moment the door shut behind you, he was already moving. one step. two. arms around your waist, lips crashing into yours like he’d been holding his breath this whole time.

your back hit the wall gently, his hands framing your face, breath trembling as if you were something fragile, sacred.

he didn’t rush. didn’t speak. just kissed you like the world had been unbearably quiet without you.

you tasted like home.

and he tasted like longing.

his lips moved with yours, slow but deep. his hands were over your waist, pulling your body close to him.

he moved fast—you didn’t even notice his hands slipping under the fabric of your shirt, touching your bare skin. you gasped, trying to question what was going on, but he just took that moment to slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. your knees buckled, but he was there to hold you. he always was.

sunghoon lifted you like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist instantly. he didn’t pull away until he laid you gently on the bed, like you were fragile glass.

his lips trailed to your cheeks, your jawline, then your neck. his hand held your chin, tilting your face to the side, giving him more access to the soft flesh.

slow. steady. nipping, but not enough to leave marks for the world to see. he was careful. he hated hiding you—hated hiding this. but he had to. for both of your sakes. thank god both your schedules lined up this week. this was his only chance. now or never again.

“hoon… i don’t get it… are you alright?” you asked, your voice soft, your body pliant as you let him kiss you like that. melting beneath him.

he didn’t reply right away. instead, he pressed a kiss to your neck, then rested his head on your stomach, settling between your legs.

“i just… missed you.”

you hummed, your fingers brushing through his soft locks. “that’s obvious. i missed you too,” you replied, giggling when he buried his face deeper into your stomach. it was cute. too cute. “tell me the real reason, pengsoo,” you teased.

he smiled. “you smell good… i want to feel you… like really be inside you,” he murmured, already tugging at your clothes. and you let him.

“it’s so hard. seeing you every once in a while, then you’re gone again,” he continued, your top slipping off, your breath hitching as your bra followed seconds after. his fingers traced your bare skin, teasing your sensitive spots with praise—calling you pretty, soft… intentional with every word.

you felt shy all of a sudden. this was the man you liked, dated, got in trouble with. the one who was always there—but somehow, not really. now he was undressing you. your cheeks heated as he pulled your pants down, and you tried to cover your face.

sunghoon noticed, smiling softly as he grabbed your wrists. “i… i love you.”

your breath caught. your cheeks burned. “…i love you too.”

and then he kissed you again. his hand tugged your panties aside, not even pulling away from your lips, keeping you distracted so you wouldn’t hide. “just tap me twice if you want me to stop,” he murmured between kisses, dipping lower. his fingers found your clit—it was already soaked. you were dripping. your grip tightened on his biceps, nails digging in.

then one finger slid inside you. then two. they curled perfectly, making your back arch, your mouth falling open as you gasped into his. he moved them in and out, finding that one perfect spot that made you moan—loudly, desperately—and he loved it.

he pulled away to watch you, fascinated. your flushed cheeks, your messy hair, your eyes rolling back. your pussy swallowing his fingers. lewd. beautiful. he didn’t even notice how hard he was until you came on his fingers, screaming his name.

“fucking beautiful,” he breathed, stripping down completely until nothing was left between you. he kissed your cheeks, muttering sweet nothings and filth that made you hide your face again.

“see how hard you make me?” he whispered. “i get so fucking mad knowing other guys get to look at you like that.”

you frowned, your hand cupping his face. “i’m yours. always.”

“i’m the only one who gets to see you like this,” he murmured, leaning into your touch.

you nodded, humming. “i want to feel you.”

his cock teased your entrance as he hovered over you, his breath heavy. “p-push it in,” you whispered, holding onto him as he slid in. your walls clenched around him, swallowing him perfectly. you were a moaning mess.

“shit… you’re so tight… perfect,” sunghoon grunted as he finally bottomed out. he stilled, letting you adjust to the stretch, to the overwhelming fullness.

the heat was dizzying. your body felt weightless. then, he drew his hips back and slammed them in again, hard. you screamed, voice cracking.

his pace started slow… but quickly turned feral.

his thrusts were deep, cock dragging along your walls like he was trying to mark you from the inside. the room echoed with the wet, obscene sounds of sex—messy. “fuck, baby,” he growled, lips brushing your ear.

he pulled back just enough to watch. your tits bounced with every thrust, your mouth open in a silent moan, your body wrecked. sunghoon grinned. “so... ha- pretty.”

suddenly, he dropped your thighs and flipped you over like you weighed nothing. he tugged your hips up so you were on your knees, his hand weaving into your hair to arch your back. “you're dripping,” he said, spreading your thighs apart before sliding back in.

you’d never seen him like this. so desperate. so rough. your mind blanked when another sharp thrust hit you.

“hoonnn!” you cried out, face buried in the sheets. his hips slammed into you, hard and fast. you felt every inch.

he leaned over, chest pressed to your back, mouth against your ear. “you like this, baby? you’re fucking perfect,” he rasped.

your moans were muffled, tears slipping down your cheeks as his fingers rubbed and twisted your clit mercilessly. your whole body was shaking.

he kept pounding into you, his cock slamming your cervix, your walls clenching tight. then, he grabbed your face, turning you to kiss him, searing and possessive.

“mouth,” he ordered.

you obeyed, dazed, and he kissed you, saliva mixing with yours before leaning back, watching you. “swallow it. please…”

you did. drunk on him and gone, and he knew. he could see it all over your face.

“f-fuck! hoonnie! i’m gonna cum!” you moaned, eyes rolling back, sobbing.

you came hard, squirting and soaking his cock. he groaned, pulling out just in time as his cum spilled over your folds, hot and thick. it dripped from your swollen pussy.

“so fucking pretty,” he whispered, staring at you like art—flushed, wrecked, dripping.

he brushed the hair from your face, kissing your cheeks. “you did so well.”

and your arms wrapped around him.

your legs were trembling, body still reeling from your high. your breath came out in short, shaky gasps as sunghoon lay beside you, brushing the sweat-damp strands of hair from your face.

"you okay?" he asked gently, voice husky from all the growling, his lips brushing against your forehead.

you nodded, eyes still glazed. "never better," you whispered, wrapping your arms around his bare torso.

but he just smirked—eyes flicking down between your legs, watching how wrecked and sensitive you were. “good,” he said. “'cause we’re not done yet.”

your eyes widened, and he loved that. the way you blinked up at him, totally ruined but still willing—still eager for more.

he sat up, leaning against the headboard, pulling you gently by the waist until you were straddling his lap.

“i wanna see you ride me,” he murmured, hands stroking your hips like he was sculpting you. “want you to learn how to take me like this. slow, deep—your pace. your rhythm.”

you blushed, chewing your lip. “i don’t really… know how.”

“that’s okay, baby. i’ll teach you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “just trust me.”

you shifted nervously, feeling his cock already getting hard again beneath you. still messy from earlier, twitching against your thigh.

sunghoon reached between you, grabbing the base of his cock, guiding it to your entrance. “sit, baby. go slow,” he said softly.

you lowered yourself, gasping as the tip slipped in. he hissed, gripping your waist tighter.

“fuck… that’s it. just like that.”

inch by inch, you sank down on him, stretching around his length again. you whimpered, gripping his shoulders. “s-sunghoon…”

“you’re doing so well,” he praised, kissing your chest. “so fucking tight. so warm. take all of it.”

when your hips finally met his, you both let out a shaky breath. you felt full, stretched, overwhelmed all over again. but god, the look in his eyes—completely ruined, in awe of you—made it worth it.

he cupped your cheeks, kissed you gently. “okay, baby. now move for me.”

you lifted yourself slowly, then lowered again, moaning softly. “ah—hah, i feel everything…”

“yeah?” he grinned. “you feel how deep i am?”

you nodded, tears forming again from the pressure and pleasure. you started rocking your hips, rolling them in slow, deliberate circles, your hands bracing on his chest. the way he groaned—low, raw, possessive—sent heat straight to your core.

“fuck, just like that,” he said, guiding your hips with his hands, helping you ride him. “you’re so sexy like this… bouncing on my cock, eyes all teary…”

you whimpered, gripping his wrists. “feels so good, hoonnie… wanna make you feel good…”

“you are.” his voice dropped. “you’re my dream, baby.”

his hips started meeting yours halfway, thrusting up into you with each bounce. your thighs were shaking, sweat clinging to your skin, but he didn’t let go—his arms around your waist, lips pressed to your neck.

you picked up the pace, moaning louder, his cock hitting that spot that made your body jolt.

“sunghoon! h-ha, i—i can’t!”

“yes you can,” he growled, eyes dark. “show me how pretty you cum riding me.”

you cried out, your body clenching down around him. “i—i’m cumming! hoonn—!”

he wrapped his arms around you tight as you came undone, hips stuttering, your walls spasming around his cock.

sunghoon groaned, teeth sinking into your shoulder as he buried himself deep, cumming inside you without pulling out.

“fuck… fuckkk, baby…”

he held you there, cock twitching inside you, both of you breathless and slick with sweat and cum.

you collapsed against his chest, and he stroked your back, whispering sweet things as you came down from the high.

“you did so good, baby. best fucking student.”

you giggled weakly. “best teacher.”

he grinned against your skin. “lesson two’s in ten minutes.”

you were slumped against his chest, sticky and spent, your thighs trembling from the effort. sunghoon gently stroked your spine, humming softly like he wasn’t the one who just had you seeing stars.

but then you felt it.

that unmistakable twitch inside you.

you gasped.

“wait—hoon… you’re still hard?”

his voice was pure mischief now, cocky and low in your ear. “i told you. lesson two’s in ten minutes. but you’re such a fast learner…” he tilted your chin up, his smirk deadly. “thought we could skip ahead.”

before you could answer, he was shifting you effortlessly, flipping you onto your back like you weighed nothing. his body hovered over yours—warm, slick, glistening with sweat. the dim lighting made his skin look like gold, hair a tousled mess, and his lips were swollen from kissing you like he needed you to breathe.

“legs up,” he murmured.

you blinked, still hazy. “w-what?”

“legs up, baby. now. hands under your knees. i wanna see everything.”

and god—you obeyed.

he groaned at the view, pupils blown. “fuck, look at this mess… all because of me.”

he didn’t waste a second. he slid back inside with ease—your walls still sensitive, wet, perfect for him. you let out a gasping whimper, eyes flying open.

“too much?” he asked, faux sweet, brushing hair from your face.

you shook your head quickly. “n-no… don’t stop…”

he grinned. “good girl.”

he started slow—too slow—just rocking his hips in lazy, deep thrusts. each roll dragged a moan out of you, your overstimulated body twitching beneath him.

“you’ve taken me so well tonight,” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek. “you’re not even trying to run away now…”

you whimpered, fingers clutching his shoulders.

“you like it when i fill you up, huh?” thrust. “like when i don’t hold back.” thrust. “you were made for this, weren’t you?”

his hips snapped into you harder now, and your moan turned into a cry. your hands scrambled for purchase, nails dragging down his back.

“fuck, you’re squeezing me again,” he groaned, pace quickening. “you gonna cum again, baby?”

“i-i don’t know—hah, too much, i can’t—!”

“yes you can,” he growled, one hand gripping your jaw. “open those pretty eyes and look at me when you fall apart.”

and when you did—legs shaking, eyes rolling, moaning his name like a prayer—he followed right after, pushing deep and cumming with a broken gasp of your name.

he didn’t move for a moment, forehead resting against yours, both of you covered in heat and breathlessness.

finally, he chuckled. “third time’s the charm, huh?”

you could only giggle weakly, completely wrecked.

“my best student,” he whispered, kissing your lips. “but you’re not graduating yet. i’m keeping you in class forever.”

your legs were jelly. like actual, boneless, no-sensation-left jelly. sunghoon didn’t even give you time to whimper about it. no—he just swept you up bridal-style, still looking like he didn’t break a sweat, and padded right into the kitchen with his bare ass on display like he owned the whole goddamn hotel room (and you. very much you).

you blinked as he set you on the cold counter, your skin prickling.

“h-hoon… water first?”

he just smirked. “i’m thirsty, yeah. but not for that.”

you knew that look.

that glint in his eye.

the same one he had the night he bent you over the shower door.

“baby…” you started, weakly trying to protest.

but he already had your knees spread again, palms pressing your thighs apart like he was flipping open a favorite book.

“can’t help it,” he muttered, eyes locked on your completely ruined core. “you look too good like this. like you want me to make a mess in here too.”

“but—countertop—hoon this is a kitchen—”

“and now,” he purred, dragging his length along your entrance with a dark grin, “it’s where i’ll eat you, too.”

you nearly screamed.

he slid in without warning—your whole body arched off the marble. he grabbed your waist, holding you still as he bottomed out again, slow and deliberate.

“still so tight,” he groaned. “after all that?”

you sobbed a little laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“fuck, you’re incredible,” he whispered, forehead pressed against yours. “ruined and perfect and mine.”

his hips started moving, hard and fast—filthy wet sounds echoing with every thrust. your back kept thudding against the cupboards, the fridge humming violently beside you.

“anyone could walk in,” you gasped.

“let them,” he growled, hand wrapping around your throat just enough to make your head spin. “let them see who this pussy belongs to.”

your moan came out wrecked.

he drove into you like a man possessed, the counter rocking beneath your bodies. sweat dripped from his jaw, and his voice went breathless:

“gonna fill you up again,” he whispered, right in your ear. “you’re gonna be leaking me for hours, baby.”

that was all it took—you clenched around him, body trembling, and he lost it, spilling inside you with a hoarse cry of your name.

he collapsed into your chest, both of you panting, sweaty, sticky, and probably going to have to bleach the counter.

after a minute, you groaned, weakly swatting his back.

“what happened to just water?”

he smirked against your skin. “hydration starts with you.”

sunghoon’s still inside you when he leans in and kisses your temple. it’s soft. way too soft for someone who just absolutely demolished you on a hotel kitchen counter.

you’re both still breathing heavy, your chest rising against his, your thighs twitching around his waist.

but hoon doesn’t move.

doesn’t pull out.

just holds you like he’s afraid the moment might dissolve if he lets go.

“baby…” he says it quietly, like he’s scared to break the calm. “we’ve got a little time, right?”

you nod, a little dazed. “mhm.”

he finally smiles. that soft one. the rare kind. the one he only gives when it’s just you and him, wrapped up in the low hum of hotel aircon and the warmth of being close.

“then i’m not done yet.”

your stomach flips.

before you can ask what he means, he’s pulling you off the counter—slowly this time, carefully—and carrying you bridal-style again, lips brushing your shoulder.

“gonna make the most of every second, angel,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “wanna remember how you sound. how you look. how you feel.”

he lays you down on the big hotel bed, sheets still crisp and hot from earlier.

and this time?

he takes his time.

his hands move slow, like he’s memorizing you. lips pressing gentle kisses from your collarbone to your thighs, whispering between every one.

“love how soft you are…”

“god, look at you—so pretty like this…”

“gonna keep you full, baby. wanna stay with you like this until the sun comes up.”

and he does.

there’s no rush. no teasing. just sunghoon, worshipping you like you’re his last good thing in the world.

he kisses every part of you, murmurs praises against your skin, and when he slides into you again—it’s slow. achingly slow. just hips pressed together, foreheads touching, fingers intertwined like he’s holding on for dear life.

you’re not just his tonight.

you’re his home.

and maybe the world outside is chaotic and cold, but here?

with him?

it’s soft. safe. sinful. sacred.

and when he finally falls asleep, arms wrapped around you, lips ghosting “i love you” into your shoulder—you believe him.

the sun barely peeks through the hotel curtains, soft light filtering in like it’s trying to give you a break. but no. no peace. not when you’re dealing with park sunghoon.

you’re standing—well, attempting to stand—in front of the mirror, trying to shimmy on your shorts. your legs feel like noodles, your thighs ache, and your hips scream in protest with every movement.

“babe,” you groan, gripping the edge of the dresser for support. “I can’t walk.”

from behind you, he hums—fucking hums—like he didn’t just ruin your entire lower half hours ago.

“you shouldn’t have looked that good last night,” he shrugs from the bed, sheet half-draped over his naked waist, eyes heavy and smug.

you shoot him a look in the mirror. “you say that like it’s my fault my thighs exist.”

he grins. “it is your fault for looking at me like that. like you wanted dessert—and not the kind on the menu.”

“sunghoon—”

but before you can finish, he's behind you, arms slipping around your waist, lips ghosting along the curve of your shoulder. you jolt.

“sunghoon, I’m literally trying to put my pants on—”

“you don’t need pants,” he mumbles, voice low and sleepy and dangerous. “just lay down for a second. just one more.”

“you said ‘just one more’ like four orgasms ago—”

he gently tugs the shorts from your grip, lets them drop to the floor again.

“baby,” he pouts, pressing a kiss to your neck, “can’t help it. you’re walking around all sore and pretty, making those little noises when you bend, acting all shy—what am I supposed to do? respect you?”

you snort. “yes?!?”

but he’s already guiding you back to the bed, back to him, back under the covers where his hands are warm and his mouth is hungry again.

and when he pushes your legs apart, head dipping between your thighs, tongue flicking slow and evil over your inner thigh, you realize—

you’re not walking out of that hotel room soon.

[THE WALK OF “FAME”]

you step out of the hotel with sunglasses too big for your face and a cap pulled so low it nearly hides your whole soul. your body’s still screaming for rest, but your manager’s van is already parked just outside, tinted windows and all. no time to cry.

well—maybe a little whimper when you shift your legs.

you glance down at yourself. hoodie? check. shorts? regretfully, check. confidence? left it in the sheets of that king-sized bed where he is probably still sprawled, proud and shirtless.

your phone buzzes.

sunghoon: you forgot to kiss me goodbye sunghoon: also i found ur sock under the bed lol. want it back or should i keep it as a trophy?

you almost trip over your own feet from laughing. covering your mouth quickly, you slide into the backseat like an embarrassed criminal on the run.

you reply with a selfie—sunglasses, pout, middle finger up.

you: keep it. bury it. i never wanna see that cursed room again. sunghoon: cursed??? wow. so u scream my name like a prayer in cursed places now huh? got it.

you physically bite your lip to keep from smiling too hard, but your manager glances at you in the rearview mirror. you straighten up, pretending you’re just… normal. functional. not completely demolished by park sunghoon.

[THE FANMEET DISASTER THAT WASN’T]

you’d been smiling all day, hearts and polaroids flying, fans whispering sweet words that made you feel lighter. until… he walked in.

disguised in an oversized hoodie, baseball cap, mask—as if that jawline could be hidden. you almost broke character when you recognized the slouch of his shoulders, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap of his bag like a schoolboy with a crush.

you play it cool when he approaches.

"name?" you ask sweetly, not even hiding your smirk.

he tilts his head. “hoon. with an h.”

you scribble it down on his photocard, doodling a heart beside it. "thanks for coming, pengsoo. you’re really cute." then you leaned close, just enough to whisper. "you crazy bastard, if you get recognized I'm out of this."

he stares at you. “...thanks,” he says, flat. and walks away dramatically like he’s the one being played.

[THE VAN]

you finally climb into the random van later, excusing yourself from your manager and members. you even dragged a rookie staff to sit in front so you and hoon could have the entire backseat to yourselves.

as soon as you slide in, sunghoon’s arms cross. he looks away dramatically.

“oh, you’re mad now?” you laugh.

he glares. “so you treat your fans better than you treat me? I waited 40 minutes in line and all I got was a you’re cute and a smile like you didn’t make me almost break the hotel furniture last night.”

you giggle, poking his cheek. “you are cute.”

“not the point!” he whines. “you called me ‘sir’ and everything—who even taught you to be that sweet?!”

you lean in, pressing a teasing kiss to his jaw. “guess I’m just that good.”

he sighs dramatically, already pulling you into his lap.

"you're gonna pay for this. you know that, right?"

you blink innocently. “what’re you gonna do? break my legs again?”

he narrows his eyes.

“…worse. I’m gonna make you fall harder.”

the van rolls through the city, a lazy sunset washing golden light over tinted windows. you’re curled into sunghoon’s lap, hoodie sleeves hiding the way your fingers keep sneaking up his sides to poke him like you’re five.

“stop,” he says, grinning, arms wrapping around your waist. “you’re gonna get us caught.”

“you started it!” you whisper back, smacking his arm as he leans in to nuzzle your neck.

“oh my god—hoon, shh,” you giggle breathlessly, swatting at him again. “what if they hear?”

he chuckles, voice low and teasing against your ear. “shoot, haha.”

and then his hands are moving—fingers spidering up your sides, making you yelp as he tickles you mercilessly.

you squirm in his lap, laughing, trying not to be loud, but his mouth is curled in that smug smirk that means he’s enjoying every second of this.

“you’re evil!” you gasp, face warm, breath hitching when you shift and feel—

“…you’re hard,” you say flatly, raising a brow, hair all over your face as you freeze in his lap.

he stops tickling, blinking at you.

“you’re definitely hard,” you repeat, a little louder, a little smugger.

sunghoon rolls his eyes. “you’re squirming in my lap like a cute little worm, what do you expect?”

you smack him again. “don’t call me a worm when you’re—”

“raging. yeah. your fault.”

you stare at him, flustered, breathless, laughing, your forehead pressed against his shoulder as you try to calm your heart—and everything else he just activated.

“I hate you,” you whisper.

“you love me,” he whispers back, arms tightening around you like he’s scared you’ll vanish.

and you do. you really do. even if he’s currently a menace in every sense.

up front, your manager exchanges a knowing glance with hoon’s, the two of them scrolling on their phones, pretending they didn’t hear any of that.

the rookie staff just sips her coffee.

“…she’s really quiet today,” she comments.

both managers nod.

“yup. probably just tired,” hoon’s manager says, deadpan.

they’ve all known for months.

they’re just pretending they don’t.

because the love these two idiots have? it’s the kind that can’t be managed out of them anyway.

the rooftop was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of fairy lights they’d strung up in a rush. takeout containers litter the picnic blanket they brought, drinks sweating in the evening air, and the city lights below blink like they’re watching—silent witnesses to a love that never stood still.

you’re lying beside him, his hoodie pulled over your head, sleeves long enough to swallow your hands. sunghoon’s cap is low on his face, but the smile he’s been wearing all night? yeah. nothing could hide that.

“you know we’re not really disguised, right?” you murmur, nudging him with your knee. “we look like staff, sure, but we still shine like dumbass stars.”

he snorts, hand reaching out to hold yours. “it’s because we are stars. duh.”

you laugh, the sound soft and small and just for him. your manager had reluctantly agreed to this—one last date before he leaves with his members tomorrow. they’d whispered, “make it quick,” but they knew damn well these fools wouldn’t listen. love like this doesn’t follow call times.

hoon sits up, arms stretched over his head as he yawns. “should we go?”

“you wanna go?”

“no.”

you grin. “then stay.”

and just like that, he pounces.

you squeal, trying to escape, but he’s already chasing you around the rooftop like a lovesick idiot. he catches you by the waist, spinning you, your laughter echoing into the sky as you crash onto the blanket again, breathless and tangled.

“you’re crazy,” you whisper.

“you’re stuck with me,” he whispers back, nose brushing yours.

and then he kisses you.

slow at first. gentle. like he’s memorizing the shape of your lips, the taste of you, the way your breath stutters when he pulls you closer.

but it doesn’t stay slow.

not when you cup his face. not when your hands disappear under his hoodie. not when he presses you into the blanket with a soft groan like he’s trying to mold your bodies into one.

his hand slips under your shirt, warm and reverent, like he’s trying to say goodbye without ever using the word.

you kiss him harder, just to shut the sadness up.

because tomorrow’s coming.

and he’s leaving.

but tonight?

tonight, he’s yours.

in every laugh.

in every kiss.

in every heartbeat pressed against yours.

it’s quieter than usual in the company building. late, after practice hours, when everyone’s tired and scattered. the hallways are mostly empty except for you and sunghoon, sneaking through the dimly lit space like you’ve got all the time in the world… but neither of you do.

you stop in front of a door tucked at the end of the hallway—a secluded little area you two like to use when no one’s around. the walls here are soft and quiet, like they understand the weight of your secret love. hoon looks down at you, his face unreadable for a second before his lips pull into a smile, a bittersweet one.

“this is it, huh?” you whisper, looking up at him.

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he just pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around your waist like it’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.

“you’re not going anywhere,” you murmur into his chest, but the words feel hollow even to you. because you know tomorrow, he’ll be gone.

hoon pulls back slightly, his eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. there’s so much unsaid in that look, but then—his lips. they’re on yours before you can stop it.

it’s gentle, a slow burn of goodbye, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. it deepens as his hands slide to your neck, pulling you closer as if he wants to hold onto this moment forever. you kiss him back with everything you have, even as the pain in your chest starts to build.

the sound of footsteps approaching pulls you both apart with a snap, hoon’s fingers brushing your cheek one last time before he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“i’ll text you. and don’t forget to check your bag,” he whispers against your skin, voice low.

you blink up at him, confused, but before you can ask—he’s gone. disappearing into the hall, leaving you standing there, heart pounding.

later that night, in your shared dorm, you slump onto your bed, exhausted from the chaos of the day. your three friends—who all know the secret—are chatting around you, unaware of what you’re about to find.

you’re digging through your bag, mind on something else, when your fingers brush against something unexpected. a plastic bag, slightly crinkling as you pull it out. it’s filled with all your favorite snacks, the ones you’ve been craving but haven’t allowed yourself to eat in weeks.

your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, you just sit there in disbelief. hoon knew. you can almost hear his voice in your head—“you’re too hard on yourself. eat the damn snacks.”

you grin to yourself, because even though he’s gone, he’s still here with you. in these snacks. in his words. in the little ways he’s still taking care of you.

you text him back immediately: “you’re an idiot. but i love you.”

his reply comes almost instantly. “just wait until i’m back. i’ll sneak way more stuff into your bag.”

you laugh softly, shaking your head, because damn, even from a distance, he’s still making everything feel so damn real.

the next day, hoon’s getting ready to leave, and his members are, as usual, teasing him. sunoo and jungwon are in the van, and they’re not even trying to hide their amusement.

“dude, you’re like obsessed with her,” sunoo teases, grinning like a little shit. “you’ve barely been here all week.”

jungwon raises an eyebrow, smirking. “i thought you were supposed to be the one who couldn’t keep your hands off her, and yet... here we are.”

hoon groans, his face flushed with embarrassment. “shut up, you guys. she’s not just anyone.”

“right, right,” sunoo grins. “she’s the one.”

“can you stop?” hoon mutters, slumping back in his seat. “this is not the time to talk about this.”

but then, sunghoon’s phone buzzes. he glances at it, a soft smile creeping onto his face as he reads the text from you. his heart clenches, but before he can respond, sunoo smirks again.

“she texted you again? still sending you love notes, huh?”

hoon doesn’t say anything, just stares out the window, because damn, he’s going to miss this. miss her.

but for now? he has one more ride with his members. one more teasing session. one more stolen moment of normal before everything changes.

your night starts normal. you're back at your dorm after a schedule, hair tied up, hoodie on, eating cereal for dinner while watching a romcom you’ve seen a hundred times. your phone buzzes with messages from your members, random memes and updates. nothing special. just another quiet night.

until one of them says, “hey, did someone order food?”

you blink. “no?”

they go to check anyway, and you hear faint footsteps in the hallway. a small knock. then—quiet.

a beat.

another beat.

“um… you might wanna see this,” your member calls.

you shuffle to the door, cereal still in hand, until you freeze in the doorway. because standing there, wearing a black cap and a freaking mask under a hoodie is sunghoon.

real. in the flesh. looking at you like no time has passed.

your cereal bowl literally drops on the floor. he flinches. “whoa—are you okay?”

you don’t even answer. you launch yourself at him, arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder.

“you asshole,” you mumble. “you’re actually here?!”

“yeah,” he whispers. “i’m here. i’ve always been here.”

later that night, you’re on the rooftop again. the same one from before. the one with memories still stitched into the wind.

sunghoon brought your favorite drink, two snacks from the convenience store, and a blanket. he didn’t need to go overboard—he just needed to be there.

he pulls you into his side, both of you wrapped in that soft blanket, backs against the wall as the city lights flicker below.

“i missed you every single day,” you whisper.

he kisses your temple gently. “i never stopped loving you. even when i had to pretend.”

you look up at him. “so… what now?”

sunghoon turns toward you with the softest smile ever. “we keep going. even if we’re shadows in our own love story. even if the world never knows.”

“we’ll still have our little world?” you ask.

“always.”

he leans in and kisses you, slow and full of all the months you’ve both spent waiting. and in that moment, even the moon feels like it’s holding its breath for you two.

and your love does continue. hiding in plain sight. anonymous glances in music shows. strangers in public, lovesick fools in secrecy. hotel rooftop dates. secret messages in fan letters. little scribbles in notebooks. a hoodie that smells like the other person. staff members who pretend not to know. call signs – he'd call you yeowoo (fox or yeobo / honey), as cringe as that sounds, you call him pengsoo(nghoon) anyway. and a love that burns quietly, brightly—behind closed doors.

and maybe… just maybe… both of you’ll last.

a/n: that's the end. thankyou for readingggg

taglist: @kpoplover-19 @kpoppiesofinternet @hooni3luvs @stta-princess @softservesungie

@starry-eyed-bimbo @jessicaradreamer @btsreadss @butterflydemons @honnieswife

@synielve

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simp-ly-writes · 10 months ago

Text

What Would You Do?

─────── · · A The Comment Section (spin-off / pt.4.5)

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x gn!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: In this standalone part, everyone finds out how Spencer seems to know you better than you know yourself and the comments go wild over it. It's still recommended that you read the series for the full effect.

─ · · TAGS: standalone, gender-neutral pronouns, social media au, attempt at comedy, light swearing, fluff, mutual pinning.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | PART ONE | PART FIVE

─ · · A/N: thank you so much to the wonderful @sserendiipiity for this idea and sorry it took so long to write this! All original images belong to their owners, my work is my own. Asks are open for Smosh!

─────── · ·

Being in front of such a small crew was refreshing besides the hundreds of workers you were starting to get used to for your up-and-coming movie entrance. Still to this day, you didn't know how you landed such a part with all of your acting history coming from youtube but nevertheless as Courtney called you all to take your positions; a newfound anxiety found its way into your mind. This episode was solemnly focused on you and how well your fellow cast members and friends knew you.

Soon the heat of a thousand LEDs made you start to sweat as you smiled at the camera and introduced this weeks episode, "Hey guys, welcome to what would (name) do. And here today I am with my friends Trevor, Amanda, and of course, Spencer. Yes, we have been reading your comments everyone-"

The crew in the background began to laugh as Spencer shook his head with a small smile, foot taping yours from underneath the table as you waited for everyone to finish. "-and Spencer and I will be going back to our regularly scheduled content together. But thats besides the point! I am going to be reading these question cards that I totally wrote and your goal is to guess my answer. So if I said, 'Who do you think if the last person I messaged?" You all would answer..."

Putting the cards down quickly and going for your phone, you rolled your eyes at yourself for seeing who, as always was at the top of your history. Head now in your hands- knowing how quickly the fans would clip this next moment. Courtney began to count down behind the camera, voice trying to hide her giggles as everyone knew the answer right away.

Picking yourself up and trying not to make eye contact with anyone at the table, Courtney didn't even get a chance to hit one as both Trevor and Amanda have already flipped over their boards, arrowheads pointing towards Spencer with large grins strapped across their faces.

"And why do you think its you Spencer" you ask, not even having to look to look as you stare into the camera with a straight face. "Because we are each others conscious?" Spencer answers matter-of-factly, the smile he sends you breaks your character as you announce one point each before moving on to the next question.

"Okay, If I could learn any skill and be super good at it, what would it be?" You take a second after reading the card, unsure of your own answer as you look around the room for any ideas. Peering down the table, everyone seems to be writing a lot as you tap your marker lid against the table. Courtney begins to count down once more as Trevor rapidly erases his answer and writes down a new one as you raise your brow curiously before marking down your own.

"Let's see these answers, because I am unsure myself."

Trevor goes first out of the line, "I had a few ideas but I think I remember talking to you about being a better driver... that or being a quicker reader."

"I completely forgot about that- I would agree, being able to read and remember scripts super quickly would be awesome. Let's see what everyone else wrote down though, Spencer?"

"Well I said that you want to learn everything about music. I know that you always have wanted for some groups to make one more album or for others to pick up their sound. But what if you could make your own music just how you want it to sound?"

"Fuuucckkk, thats so good!" you moan out, trying to imagine everything you could make before your eyes flash back open in horror. You clasp your hands over your mouth before throwing your head back laughing as Spencer shoves your shoulder, "Not in front of the cameras!" He points dramatically at every single one as you grip his shoulder trying to calm yourself as he two joins your laughter.

Amanda had erased her answer by the time you two caught your breaths as Courtney asked off-camera why. "This game is what you kids would say, rigged. Like what am I going to say thats topping thing one and thing two here? But I was going to say skateboarding," Amanda responds in a lighthearted tone.

"Skateboarding?" Trevor asks, eyebrow raised as you nod your head, curious to learn the answer. "I don't know! I just thought it would be something cool that you would like to be really skilled at."

"I mean... it would be pretty cool. I could be all Tony Hawk Skate Park all around the office," you voice, picturing a future video idea before giving points out to Spencer.

─────── · ·

The video continues as expected, your fellow cast mates mocking annoyance and play-fighting amongst one another as Spencer nails question after question, often answering better than the answers you come up with for yourself about yourself.

At some point, Amanda and Trevor had tackled Spencer to the ground, begging him for answers as he held his hands, glasses askew as you sat and watched from your chair, tears stringing down your face as you hunched over, your stomach hurting from laughing so much as Courtney yelled for break, you all taking your fourty minutes to grab drinks and snacks at the cart.

"You do know how crazy the comments are going to be underneath the video, "OMG I ALWAYS KNEW SPENCER AND (NAME) WERE MARRIED'" Amanda mocks in an obnoxious girly tone as you shake your head, knowing her words to be all true true as Spencer leans down and steals a bite from for sandwich. You glare playfully at him as he turns around chewing, going to find Alex to ask how the other shoots are going back at Smosh Games.

"Well, its better than the hate. I thought I was actually going to get fired or killed if we didn't release that video soon enough," you respond a bit tensely as Trevor flicked your forehead. "Hey, none of that, (name). We all would've made sure it never came down to that."

Amanda nods in agreement as Spencer rejoins you both. He places his chin on your shoulder, asking you quietly, "How're you doing?"

"Better," you respond with a small smile, taking in his equally tired expression as you ask him the same question. He hums out positively before leading you both back in front of the camera.

As soon the red dot starts to flicker in your face once more and before you can finish the question, Amanda had already stood up, chair screeching against the floors as the table shook from her enthusiasm as she screamed out her answer. "Describe what you think I would wear tomorrow-"

"SOMETHING OF SPENCERS AND JEANS, where are my points?! Take THAT SPENCER!" Amanda dances for the camera, fingers flipping the man off as you hide behind the board, giving her the point as no one else bothers to answer.

─────── · ·

"And for our second to last question today..." you all were starting to grow loopy. After a full day of shoot after shoot, you all started screaming out random things at one another, sometimes without context and the outline of a gameshow had gradually turned into a shouting fest. "...Fuck, Marry, Kill-"

"SPENCER, SPENCER, SPENCER," Alex shouted from off-camera, chest raised proud of his throw-back answer to an earlier episode as Amanda wheezed out, Trevor throwing his board for the bit, "that was going to be my answer too!"

Spencer's ears had flared bright red as he started off into the distance. You hide your face in your hands once more, shoulders rising and falling with silent laughs before managing to read the rest of the actual question left.

─────── · ·

By the end of the shoot, Spencer had one as he raised your hands together cheering before taking a bow to the crew and then the camera. "Well, to no one's surprise, Spencer won todays episode but I have to say, you all surprised me with your answers. It feels so good to know I have all of you as my friends. And to all of those watching at home, be sure to check back in the next few days to find the new content we have cooking up. Bye!" You all wave towards the camera's before the screen shuts of to black.

─────── · ·

A few weeks later...

🔔 Smosh Pit just posted! watch now?

─────── · ·

What Would (name) Do?

Smosh Pit ✓ [Subscribed] Like 132k | Dislike | ... 8.29M subscribers 430k views 1 day ago you'll never guess who wins this episode! click to read more

3,333 Comments

username01 1 day ago The team was COOKING on this video. username11 1 day ago Well, this is one way to shut us all up and goddam it I'll take it all! username44 1 day ago Anyone else had to pause this video multiple times to look at the camera in their room and scream BC this was TOO much for little ol'me to handle. username13 12 hours ago "You'll never guess who wins," - yeah right. ▼ 50 replies ↳ username88 4 hours ago IKR? The bigger shock would have been if Spencer was banned from participating hahaha. ↳ username20 12 hours ago Kinda feel like he should've been. I mean the cast was taking it great but it must get kinda annoying how he knows every answer. Some even seemed like (name) didn't even know themselves! ↳ username54 30 minutes ago This is concrete evidence to the (yourshipname) case, these two idiots belong together. username73 12 hours ago I am salivating over all of the edits I know will come from this video. Where is @ (yourshipname)updates when you need them? ▼ 1 reply ↳ (yourshipname)updates ✓ 10 hours ago I am here and am happily overworked! We are eating good folks! username52 30 minutes ago Trevor and Amanda pinning Spencer to the ground with (name) cry-laughing in the background was not a meme format I thought I needed. I can't wait for the next Who Meme'd It!! username14 1 day ago "Spencer, Spencer, Spencer" - Alex Tran 2024 username02 just now I honestly thought they would all be quicker to name Spencer as (name)'s lest message. Like whenever they are not actively filming I swear I see them smiling at their phones in the background of videos. username05 23 hours ago (name) and Spencer: try not to fall in love. difficulty? impossible. username66 15 minutes ago Amanda calling the game "rigged" was so good. BC let's all be real here, this was fan service at its finest and i'm not even upset about it. username70 1 day ago The fact that they kept (name)'s: "Fuuucckkk, thats so good!" in is shocking to say the least. These edits about to be straight WILD. username23 14 hours ago There's literally to much to comment about, I am going insane. username80 1 hour ago "SOMETHING OF SPENCERS AND JEANS, where are my points?! Take THAT SPENCER!" Amanda has confirmed what we all believe people, let us all thank her in the comments below \/ ▼ 44 replies ↳ username54 30 minutes ago Yes, thank you dear Amanda!! ↳ username90 30 minutes ago I love confirmation bias. ↳ username54 just now I love how Spencer wasn't even mad. Like bro was damn smug about that fact while (name) was blushing so hard thinking none of us would ever catch on XD

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: I am kinda obsessing over (name) and Spencer...

─ · · TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics @little-stitious-studios

#smosh #smosh games #smosh fanfic #smosh fanfiction #spencer agnew #spencer x reader #spencer agnew x reader #spencer agnew fanfic #spencer agnew fanfiction #spencer agnew imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #simp-ly #simp-ly-writes #smosh x reader #social media au #youtube au #au #the comments section

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gothicpaperback · 6 days ago

Text

THE WAY HE CARES | EIGHT

<<<PART SEVEN| MASTERLIST | PART NINE: COMING SOON >>>

wc: 3,7k | rating: 18+ for eventual smut | Joel Miller x You | Enemy Pregnancy

summary: Joel Miller has been my pain-in-the-ass neighbour for years. we argue more than we speak and when we do speak, it's usually through gritted teeth. but when my doctor tells me my fertility’s running out of time, panic sets in. I want a baby and I don’t have the luxury of waiting around for Mr. Right. Joel's a damn good father to his daughter, Sarah. that much, I can’t deny. so one night, fuelled by nerves and just the right amount of wine, I ask him the unthinkable: get me pregnant. no strings.no romance. just biology. i never planned on falling for him. but nothing about Joel Miller ever goes according to plan.

while the story is first person narrative, the OC female character is YOU. she is not named and barely physically described aside from being able bodied and having hair long enough to grab.

tags/warnings: neighbours, enemies to lovers, comedy, smut, sexual tension, mentions of fertility and reproductive issues, mentions of drugs and alcohol. i will add more tags as they become relevant.

chapter smut warnings: oral (F receiving), mentions of penetration, sexual fantasy, dirty talk.

THE WAY HE CARES | EIGHT

The cul-de-sac feels different now, quiet and still like someone pressed pause on the little rhythms that made the neighbourhood feel alive. Not in the literal sense, kids still shriek in backyards, sprinklers whir lazily over patchy grass, someone down the street insists on starting a band.

But under it all, there’s this hum of something missing. Something that used to be alive between two houses across from each other. Now, it’s just static.

Joel’s house is directly across from mine, and yet somehow it’s become the farthest place in the world. We’ve turned avoiding each other into a sport.

I hear his front door open sometimes and I freeze, ears straining, fingers paused on the keys or the dish or whatever I was doing. If I’m lucky, I catch his reflection in the window, just a flash of his profile, the slope of his shoulders, a glimpse of his boots as he takes the porch steps two at a time. I wait until he’s out of sight before moving again.He does the same. I know he does.

Once, I stepped outside for a morning walk just as he was walking down his own front path. He saw me, his eyes flicked up, our gazes caught for a split second and then he veered. Just turned right back around, pretended like he forgot something, and disappeared back into his house.

I stood there on the porch like an idiot, holding my water bottle, my heart thudding so loud I thought the neighbours might hear.

And then there’s Sarah, my sweet little buddy sending me sporadic Instagram messages.

You should update your socials more often and not with pictures of animals or food 🙄🙄 I just bought the cutest dress 💃🏾 I can’t wait to show you My mom wants to get dinner with you when we get back 🍽️

She sends me pictures from all over Europe. In Italy she stands by the leaning tower of Pisa smiling with her Mom.

Hope my dad is eating more than 🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕

She doesn’t know what happened between us. We’ve kept it quiet, like some awful secret contract.

I pretend I don’t want to know if Joel is eating right or if he’s sleeping well. I don't care if he still plays guitar in the garage when he thinks no one can hear or that I've started listening for it. But I do notice the way his lawn’s starting to look uneven around the edges. How his porch light stays off now, even when it’s dark. How he hasn’t washed his truck in weeks.

I know that he misses Sarah. I know his daughter is his bright spot and that being a father is more to him then it is others.

I admit I'm relieved when I see his brother Tommy coming to visit. I recognize him from the photos on Joel's walls. On those nights the porch light is on, the house warm with amber glows from the windows.

But I still don’t speak to him. Not after what he said. Not after what I said. So we do this cold, petty dance like we’re strangers who once knew each other too well and in the quiet, when my phone is the only thing lighting up the room, I let myself drift toward something easier. Something safer.

Ben. Ben from work has always been kind of flirty in that harmless way. Compliments in passing. Long glances in meetings. The occasional emoji. Nothing serious. Nothing worth mentioning.Until now.

Now I’m checking my phone before bed just to see if his name lights up the screen. I start looking forward to his texts, especially as they start to become more flirtatious.

Pretty sure you ruined productivity today. Those legs should come with a warning label.

I giggle to myself, flushing delightedly. Who doesn't like to be pursued by a handsome man?

I send back a short reply, my thumb nail wedged between my front teeth as I wait his response.

Oh yeah? You watching me that closely?

He doesn’t take long.

Hard not to. 😉

I don’t reply. Not yet. I toss my phone to the other side of the couch and tell myself I’m not interested. That it’s just a distraction. That I’m above this.

And when I lay flat on the couch I tell myself that this is all harmless so I don't have to stop myself from slipping my hand underneath my panties. I sigh when I begin curling my fingers into my soaked cunt and scrubbing at my clit to thoughts of Ben.

I can see him now, dress shirt unbuttoned, belt clinking as he pulls himself out of his pants and says he wants to fuck me. He flips up my skirt, mouth at my cunt and he begins to devour me.

Fucking hell, baby.

I arch back on the couch, moaning at the imagined dirty talk. I'm already so close, the image of rough hands on my thighs, holding them open as I keen before a head of dark curls lifts from between my legs.

Oh fuck. It's not Ben. It's Joel.

Joel with big, lust -filled eyes and that raspy voice that makes everything in me come alive. He's smiling at me, that knowing look that makes me weak. He crawls up my body, clothes disappearing until he's notching himself at my pussy spread wide. It would almost be vulgar if it wasn't so hot. His wide hand holds the thick base of his cock.

Be good for me tonight and take it.

I can hear it, that sweet southern drawl of his drips down my spine like molasses as the head of his cock taps my clit.

Pretty pussy is gonna look so good stretched around my cock, isn't she?

I wish I could have enjoyed the fantasy for longer. I wish I could have watched the imaginary Joel stretch me, whispering more lascivious things. But it's too much, my arousal too strong and I cum hard on my fingers.

"Fu-fck! Joel!"

My cry is his name, echoing in my living room. I'm rutting against my fingers, one hand clutching the sofa back as my thighs tremble.

In my post orgasm clarity I suddenly question everything. What the fuck is wrong with me? Fantasizing about a man I despise? I should be fantasizing about a man who actually might want me.

I pick the phone back up and open the camera. I adjust the lighting near the living room lamp, tug my sweatshirt a little off my shoulder, shift the blanket so just the curve of my thigh shows. My face is flushed from my orgasm, my hair slightly ruffled. I look sexy.

It’s not a full thirst trap but it’s calculated. Intentional and skirting the line of propriety.

I stare at the photo for longer than I mean to before I hit send. Ben’s reply comes back quick.

Holy shit. You trying to kill me or what?

I smile and laugh just a little. But it doesn’t reach all the way to my chest. Not really.

Across the street, Joel’s house is dark. No porch light. No flicker from the living room TV. Just the shape of his windows staring blankly back at mine.

Work is a mess today. But the day starts going downhill before I even get to the office.

I’m locking my front door, half balancing my travel mug and bag, when I hear the unmistakable clack of orthopaedic sandals coming up my walk.

“Good morning!”

Mrs. Shellstrop waves with the enthusiasm of someone who’s never been emotionally devastated in her life. Her lipstick is coral, her visor’s bedazzled, and she’s already holding a clipboard.

I smile, because I have to. “Morning.”

She doesn’t even pretend to ease into it. “Just wanted to remind you about your shift tomorrow at the lemonade stand! Ten to two, right? We are so grateful to have you. You’re just such a dependable little thing.”

I’m not sure if I’m being praised or patted on the head, but I nod anyway. “Wouldn’t miss it,” I lie.

“Oh, wonderful!” she beams. “I’ll put out extra sunscreen for you, dear. Tomorrow’s going to be a scorcher!”

Can’t wait.

She scurries off before I can back out, thank God, and I walk to my car gripping the travel mug like it’s a weapon. The whole interaction takes less than two minutes, but it leaves me feeling drained. Like I’ve just agreed to sit in a plastic chair and pretend to be part of a community I no longer belong to.

I don’t want to spend hours making awkward small talk while children drip sticky liquid onto folding tables. I especially don’t want to run into Joel and be forced to pretend nothing’s happened between us while surrounded by sunshine and suburbia. Still, I said I’d do it. And odds are he won’t even show up to this event of forced revelry.

I drive to work feeling like I’ve already lost the day and things don’t get better.

The intern misfiles a stack of reports. The printer jams three times. My manager calls me “feisty” in a tone that makes me want to throw him out a window.

By mid-afternoon, I’m mainlining bitter coffee and contemplating the life expectancy of the potted fern in the break room just to avoid conversation.

Ben sends a message sometime around three.

Will you send me another selfie if I bring you an iced coffee?

I stare at it for a beat. Then type:

Throw in a brownie and we’ll see.

It’s dumb. It’s flirtatious. But for a few seconds, it makes me feel visible. And when I get my iced coffee I make sure to brush my fingers against his, just ever so briefly.

However the rest of the day is a drag and by the time I get home, I’m wrecked. I don’t even bother changing out of my work clothes. I collapse on the couch, open my phone, and scroll until I’m numb.

I ignore the blinking reminder in my calendar that says **🍋🍋🍋Lemonade Stand - 10AM Tomorrow"🍋🍋🍋*

Who did that with all those fucking emojis? Me? That version of me must’ve been on something.

The house feels too quiet. I tell myself I like it that way. No one asking questions. No one taking up space and no tension to choke on.

I scroll through my phone. Ben has sent another message: a meme and a follow-up that says,

Missed your face today.

I don’t respond.

Outside, dusk is settling in. The sky's gone lavender at the edges and the streetlights are starting to click on, one by one. I get up to grab a glass of wine and catch movement through the kitchen window. Just a blur at first. Someone stepping down from Joel’s porch.

I edge closer to the window, careful not to be seen. My lights are off, I’m just another shadow in the window. I peer through the blinds, my eyes blowing wide when I make out the figure.

It’s a woman. A pretty woman.

She’s laughing at something Joel says, her voice soft and low but sharp enough to carry. She tucks her hair behind her ear in that slow, feminine way that screams kiss me like something out of a Vivien Leigh movie.

Joel steps out behind her, barefoot. That’s what punches me in the gut first, he’s barefoot. Why is he barefoot?

His body language isn’t exactly flirtatious, but it’s... relaxed. Familiar. He’s leaning against the door frame like it’s his own damn movie set, arms folded, face lit by the warm porch light that hasn’t been on in days.

She's standing a little too close. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that it feels deliberate. Like if she shifted an inch to the left, they’d brush arms. She says something else, and he huffs a quiet laugh, scratching at the back of his neck.

He only does that when he’s nervous.

She hands him something, maybe a phone, or a charger and he takes it from her like her being there isn’t a goddamn betrayal of everything we never said to each other.

I tell myself she could be a friend. A client. Someone from work. People have friends. Joel has friends. But she’s wearing boots with a little heel. Her jeans are tight. Her hair is curled like she planned for someone to see her.

And the way she lingers…that’s not casual.

I duck out of view before she turns around. My heart’s doing something stupid in my chest. Heavy and fluttering and hot behind my ribs.

I step back into the kitchen, wine forgotten. My stomach's tight, my throat dry.

Why do I care? It’s not like he’s mine. He never was. I don't even want him.

Still, I find myself pacing the living room, arms crossed, chewing the inside of my cheek like it owes me answers. I keep picturing her smile, the way Joel leaned just a little to the side like he didn’t mind her being there. Like he liked it.

God, I feel pathetic.

So I do what any woman with misplaced pride and poor impulse control does. I text Ben.

What are you doing this fine evening?

The three dots appear immediately.

Just sitting around, watching the game and waiting on a selfie I was promised…

I let the corner of my mouth twitch. I grab the throw blanket off the couch, head upstairs. In my bedroom, I flip on the vanity light and look at myself in the mirror.Makeup smudged. Eyes tired. Hair a mess. But under it all I still look like me. Still look like a woman someone might want.

I adjust the neckline of my tank top and snap a photo from a good angle. Just collarbone, lips, and a little skin. nothing overt, but intimate.

Ben’s reply comes fast.

Goddamn. You’re unreal. Tell me what you’re wearing under that.

I make up a lie about slutty lingerie. That's what men like. He doesn't need to know its ragged Superman hipsters that I've had since I was in college.

He sends back a few saucy images himself, ones that have me tingling and we toss back a few spicy texts to one another. But I can't quite make myself get there. Eventually I toss my phone onto the bed and turn off the vanity light.

Across the street, Joel’s house is dark again but in my chest, everything’s still burning.

I arrive at the end of the cul-de-sac ten minutes early, sunscreen already stinging my eyes and my folded chair digging into my thigh.

The booth is easy to spot—red-and-white stripes on the canopy, a big hand-painted sign that says LEMONADE! \$1! ICE COLD!, and two plastic coolers sweating in the heat.

It’s going to be a long day but it’s fine. It’s for the neighbourhood. For the children. For the good of the suburban species.

Then I see him. Joel.

He’s already at the booth, his back to me, loading bottles of water into a small cooler with the kind of nonchalance that makes my pulse spike. His stupid broad shoulders are straining his T-shirt and he’s wearing sunglasses even though it’s barely past nine a.m.

What the fuck is he doing here???

When he turns slightly, I catch a glimpse of his profile, the frown lines, unshaven jaw, lips pressed into a line like he’s annoyed to even be outside.

I stop mid-step, the chair banging against my shin as I process the visual. No one told me he’d be here helping me at the booth. I consider turning around. Just pivot, walk back to my place, claim I was struck down by an unexpected flu, or maybe attacked by bees. Something noble and dramatic.

But then Joel looks up and spots me and it's too late.There’s a brief flicker of interest on his face. Then it’s gone, replaced with that unreadable expression he’s perfected since our slow slide into frosty indifference.

I square my shoulders and walk the rest of the way to the booth. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t wave. Just gives a small nod, like I’m a coworker he forgot existed until now.

“Hey,” I say, setting down the chair and trying not to sound like I’ve swallowed an entire bag of nerves.

“Hey.” His voice is neutral. Maybe a little raspy.

We stand there for a beat, the air sticky and thick with heat and unsaid things. Then, mercifully, he nods toward the setup. “I’ve got most of it done. Coolers are full. We’ve got two pitchers, one sweetened, one not. Shellstrop left a cash box.”

“Oh. Great.” I force a smile. “Efficient, as always.”

He doesn’t answer. Just shifts his weight and picks up a stack of plastic cups.

For the first two hours, we move around each other like strangers in a shared kitchen. I stack napkins. He slices lemons. We speak only when necessary.

“Pass me the tongs?”

“Where should I put the extra lids?”

Wanna cut up more lemons?

It’s painfully cordial.

The first wave of customers are sticky-fingered and barefoot kids dragging bikes and siblings, clutching dollar bills like they’ve been handed pure gold. I’m the one who greets them with smiles and fake cheer, while Joel silently pours lemonade behind me. It’s not a great system, but it works. Sort of.

At one point, a kid sneezes into the open pitcher and I make a strangled sound in the back of my throat. Joel mutters, “New batch,” and dumps it without hesitation.

We go through five gallons by noon.

By then, the heat is unbearable. My shirt is clinging to my back, my scalp is starting to burn despite my sad little visor, and Joel has removed his sunglasses to reveal squinting eyes and a brow that looks perpetually annoyed. But he doesn’t leave. He doesn’t even complain and we settle into a weird, quiet rhythm.

At one point, I notice his hand brushing a rogue ant off the table. Just casually. Another time, he catches a runaway dollar bill and smooths it into the cash box with surprising care. I don’t want to notice these things. But I do.

A few customers later, I bump into him by accident. Elbow to elbow as we both reach for the tongs. Not dramatic. Just a small, clumsy touch.

“Sorry,” I murmur.

“S’fine,” he says.

He doesn’t move away. The tension softens somewhere between refills and sticky counter wipes.

"You must be missing Sarah like crazy."

"Yeah, I am." His smile is soft. "She keeps callin' to check up on me."

"Next time she calls can you tell her I'm buying water balloons?"

Joel throws me a confused look.

"Inside joke."

We go quiet again. But it’s a warmer silence now, easier.

Later, a man spills half a cup on our table and tries to pretend it didn’t happen. Joel calmly hands me a towel without saying a word. When we’re finally down to the last few pitchers, a breeze whistles through the crowd as we stand waiting for customers

"You still mad at me?”

It knocks the wind out of me. The way he asks it, all soft and nervous. I turn to look at him over my shoulder. He’s wearing that wounded look he gets, like a hurt basset hound. I hate that it makes me soften.

“What?”

He leans against the table, arms crossed, eyes on the kids running through sprinklers in the distance. “I figured you might be."

I don’t say anything for a long moment. I have every opportunity to lay into him and to double down on his shitty behaviour. But the thing is… it was me who fucked up first. I said shitty stuff, I got mad at him for something that we never said was off the table.

“Actually, I thought you might be mad at me. And I don’t really blame you if you are.”

His eyes drift to mine. "Really?"

“I didn’t mean the things I said,” I say, feeling shy. "I just felt…. Weird and hurt."

The silence is different now. Not heavy. Not hostile. Just raw.

“I just… I was upset,” I go on. "When you mentioned your date all I could think was that my chance of getting pregnant was over. That I'd have to find someone new or just give up altogether."

Joel’s jaw tightens. "I didn't say I'd stop helpin" you. Just that I was busy that night."

I glance at him. He meets my eyes.

"I know. I'm sorry, Joel."

"S'alright."

Another silence. But this one isn’t awkward. It’s contemplative. There’s space in it.

“I’m sorry too,” he adds, coming to step a little closer to me. “I said shit I didn’t mean too.”

“I know.”

The last kid comes up for a final cup of lemonade, sticky quarters clutched in one hand and Joel serves him without comment. By the time we start to clean up everything smells like grass, smoke, and melted sugar.

I wipe my hands on my shorts and look around. “You good?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “You?”

“Yeah.”

We’re quiet again. But this time, it’s mutual. Like we’ve finally put down the weapons and decided we’re tired of the war.

We finish cleaning just as the sun starts dipping low over the rooftops. The booth is stripped bare; the cooler lids shut tight, the last sticky dollar bills tucked into the cash box. Joel wipes his hands on a napkin and tosses it into the trash bag I’m holding.

“That should do it.”

“Yeah.” I nod, brushing a piece of lemon pulp off my wrist. “Good team effort.”

He glances at me, and for a second it looks like he might say something more. But then he just gives a small nod and turns toward his place. I try not to be disappointed. Not everything has to end with some grand gesture. Sometimes a quiet nudge is enough.

I’m just locking up the cash box when Mrs. Shellstrop materializes beside me like a caffeinated apparition, arms full of donation envelopes and her ever-present clipboard.

“Darling! Thank you again you were wonderful today. You and Joel worked very well together and I have you to thank for it!”

I raise an eyebrow. “Me? Why?”

She waves a hand, chuckling. “Oh, you know he's not one to help volunteer for these sorts of things. But he was quite insistent about being paired with you. He said he wanted someone who wouldn’t make him do all the work.”

She laughs, not realizing the way her words land. Like a pebble tossed into a very still pond.

“Oh?” I ask carefully.

“Mm-hmm.” She checks something off her clipboard. “I tried to give him a more behind the scenes gig. Just building some of the booths. He did that of course, the sweet man that he is. But then he saw my list and told me ‘Put me with her, she’s competent.’ Honestly, it was a relief. You wouldn’t believe how many people I had to beg just to run the ring toss.”

I smile, but it’s slow. There’s a faint thrum in my chest now, quiet and persistent. She’s already moved on to greeting the Thompsons when I glance back across the street.

Joel is tossing a trash bag into one of the bins. He straightens up and looks over, just a glance, automatic, like he's checking the flow of foot traffic. But our eyes meet.

Neither of us waves. But we don’t look away, either. And suddenly, I can’t stop replaying it: Put me with her. She’s competent. He asked to be paired with me.

It’s not a clean slate. Not yet. But it’s something. And for now, something is enough.

I didn't want them fighting for too long and reading how you are feeling about this story and my other ones is making this so fun. i admit i was scared to show my writing off but all of you have been so supportive.

💋💋💋💋

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jellysmosh · 2 months ago

Text

I’ve Met Someone That Makes Me Feel Seasick

Summary: Why was it that every single time you saw your cute new neighbour you absolutely embarrassed yourself? Vaguely inspired by the song Kill the Director by The Wombats.

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x GN!Reader

Tags: Fluff, neighbours, silly rom-com vibes

Word count: 4.9k

Note: Hi! I haven’t written fanfic for years and this is my first time writing something for Smosh, so please be gentle with me lol. Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

☆

You were a retired hopeless romantic.

You were no longer big on romance. It wasn’t that you weren’t interested in potentially dating in the future, you just were not really keen to date right now. For the past few years you’d gone through your fair share of weird talking stages and situationships that kept leaving you more drained and emptier than the last. Unfortunately, the single men in the current dating pool brought you nothing but disappointment with a side of psychological trauma.

It was after you broke things off with your last partner/situation/ball and chain that you decided that maybe a celibacy oath was the way to go. Not only did you catch him texting other girls on Instagram, they weren’t even replying to his desperate messages. Somehow the failed attempt to cheat was more disgusting to you than the actual act of cheating. The optimistic side of you chose to push through and sail past the red flags only to find this guy was just as awful as your friends predicted. That was your problem for most of your life: you were full of hope and second chances and unconditional love (which is dangerous without the critical thinking skills to go with it).

But no more! You have had enough of men stepping all over you. You were tired of being used for your love and attention and emotional support, and if that meant you were going to be single for the rest of your life, so be it! That beats spending it with some guy working in finance whose opening line on Tinder was ‘you tryna send pics or nah?’ Your single era started now.

☆

Anti-Romance Day 30 was looking good until it wasn’t.

It was a rainy Saturday with no plans, which meant staying holed up in your apartment and watching movies in your pyjamas. Against your better judgment, you selected a romantic comedy, carefully opening a bag of popcorn fresh out of the microwave as How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days started up on your television.

By the end of the film, you were choking on tears at the thought of your failed love life as Kate Hudson and Matthew McConaughey made out on screen. This was a mistake, nothing made you yearn for romantic company more than a sappy movie. You wanted to dramatically curse at the universe for making real life dating such a complete hellscape.

Was it even the men who were the problem here? What if you were just undateable? What if you were such an awful potential partner that you only attracted the weirdo freaks and all the good ones hit skip?

You shook your head to clear it.

There was no point thinking like that when you knew it wasn’t true. You were attentive and loving and communicated very well, all the ideal components of the perfect partner. Your cooking was… questionable, but you gave great hugs!

Your thoughts were interrupted by your phone ringing.

It was your UberEats delivery man and he was pissed. Apparently the instructions you sent him to get to your apartment were too hard to understand, and you had to go down and meet him or he was going to drive away with your KFC family meal (don’t judge). In fear of losing your money and fried chicken, you practically flew out your apartment to retrieve your food from the lobby. Walking from the elevator back to your apartment, you make an earth shattering realisation, you forgot to grab your front door key before going to get your food.

A few things about this situation: your key fob to access the building and elevator were on your car keys (currently in hand), and your front door key was strapped to your bag (currently inside the apartment). Also, your apartment door was one of those heavy duty ones that automatically locked from the outside. To summarise: you were fucked.

“Shit!” You practically shouted, tightening your grip on the paper KFC bag, “fuuuck!”

“Uh, are you okay?”

You jumped in surprise. In all the chaos, you didn’t even notice that the door to the apartment next to yours was propped open and a man stood just inside the doorway, staring at you. He was holding a cardboard box with both hands, brown curls peeking out from under a baseball cap, wireframe glasses sitting in front of deep green eyes, and a confused expression on his face. He was so cute.

“Who are you?” You blurted out without thinking, your cheeks immediately flushing, “sorry, I mean- I thought Old Mr Chan lived here.”

“Oh, he moved out”, the stranger replied. He turned to place the box down on a nearby table before stepping out of the apartment. “My name is Spencer, I’m moving in today”, he held his hand out and you tentatively shook it with your free hand.

“I’m Y/N. Sorry about earlier”, you sighed, of course the first time you met your new neighbour was at a time like this. You were hyper aware of the fact that he probably watched you stand in the hallway cursing at your door while holding a giant KFC bag, hair greasy, in your Hello Kitty print pyjama pants, eyes obviously red from your little crying session a few minutes ago.

“No worries”, he smiled, oh god, his smile was beautiful. “I’m assuming you’re my neighbour?” He glanced at your asshole of a front door. “Why were you swearing at it?”

You sank even deeper into your embarrassment as you explained the situation to him. Talk about first impressions.

“Oh!” An idea popped into your head and Spencer looked at you expectantly. “What if I go through your apartment onto your fire escape and then like shimmy across to my window along the ledge-“

“What?” He exclaimed, eyebrows raised, “are you crazy? No way, that’s so dangerous. And are you sure your window’s unlocked?”

You paused.

“Yeah, you’re right… Do I really need to call a locksmith?” You scrunched up your nose. You could feel Spencer still looking at you and it made you extra self conscious. You knew you looked insane right now.

He hummed in thought. “The building manager was meant to come by in a bit to drop some stuff off for me, maybe you can ask him to help you out when he comes?”

You perked up a little, “yes! Sounds good!” You smiled at him despite yourself. You may have given a terrible first impression to your new neighbour, but at least you would probably get back inside your apartment today.

After some only slightly awkward small talk with Spencer, the building manager arrived and after explaining the whole mess, shot you a disappointed look and went to retrieve the spare key to your apartment.

“You’re a lifesaver”, you gushed to the building manager, offering him a now cold chicken tender which he rejected before grumpily entering the elevator. You were just happy your front door was now open, merrily sliding inside, you called out, “welcome to the building, Spencer!”

For a second, the sweet smile he showed you in response made you forget that you looked a mess and was just having an emotional breakdown. Your cheeks turned red as the door clicked shut.

☆

“Coming!” You yelled out, abandoning the dishes you were washing and jogging over to your front door after hearing the doorbell ring. You checked the peephole only to find Spencer standing there, hands in pockets, waiting.

You gulped. The situation where you were locked out with a big bag of fried chicken had happened a couple weeks ago and you hadn’t really spoken to Spencer since. You saw him only a couple times in the hall and you did not exchange much besides quiet ‘hello’s and nods of acknowledgment. You took a deep breath and swung the door open.

“Spencer! Hi!” You tried to smile like a normal person. “What’s up?”

“Hey, Y/N”, he looked at you with those pretty eyes and you silently thanked god you weren’t dressed in pyjamas this time. “Sorry to randomly pop over like this.”

“It’s fine”, you waved your hand, pretending to be nonchalant, “what can I help you with?”

“I’m totally being a bother but could I please borrow a couple eggs?” He sheepishly grinned, slightly rocking back and forth on his feet as if he was embarrassed this time, “I’m in the middle of cooking something and I didn’t realise I was out.”

“Sure”, you opened the door wider for him, “come in, I’ll go grab them for you.”

Now was it wise to let an almost stranger into your apartment? No. Was it neighbourly though? Kind of!

He thanked you before following you into your apartment. He even left his shoes at the door upon noticing all your shoes sitting on racks right next to it. You were flattered by his observance, it had been a while since a man with any kind of consideration of your habits and taste had been in your residence.

You led him to the kitchen.

“I’m certain I have some in the fridge”, you said over your shoulder, “I get through them pretty slowly.”

“Your place is really nice”, he complimented you while walking through the kitchen doorway. You glanced over at the mismatched chairs at your dining table and the clock on the wall painted to look like a pizza. You couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

“Thanks…”, you murmured tentatively, “I don’t often hear that honestly-“

Your sentence got cut off when you slipped on the small puddle under your shitty kitchen sink left from when you were doing the dishes. You were midair just for a half second before landing on your butt.

“Oh my god”, Spencer rushed over to you, “are you alright?”

You groaned at the literal pain in your ass.

“Yep”, you choked out as if your tailbone wasn’t killing you, “just a little trip, I’m all good.”

He helped you up anyway, hands steady but touch soft. You felt yourself blushing at the contact, suddenly realising this was the first time he had touched you since your initial handshake. Once you were upright again, you turned your head toward him and felt your heart jump at how close he was to you. If you wanted to, you could have counted his eyelashes. You immediately broke eye contact and sped over to the fridge, this time making sure to step around the water on the floor.

“U-um, just two eggs, was it?” You shoved your face into your fridge, both checking how many eggs were in the carton and hoping the cold air would cool your face down.

You heard Spencer clear his throat after a pause, “yeah, yeah, just two.”

You handed him the eggs as he replied with a soft ‘thanks’, and on his way out he seemed to hesitate. Stopping halfway out the door, he turned to face you.

“Not that I was, like, purposely looking or anything”, he said quietly, eyes not meeting yours, “but I think when you slipped, you landed in the puddle because there’s a wet patch on the- uh… back of your jeans.”

You blankly stared at him.

“Just thought I should let you know before you sit down and make your couch wet or something”, he finally looked you in the eye again and he also seemed to flush when he saw your clear embarrassment.

“Thanks for letting me know”, your voice came out almost like a squeak. He nodded as he thanked you again for the eggs and scurried off back to his apartment next door.

Once your door shut again, you felt the back of your pants. Yup, your entire ass was wet.

Look on the bright side, you thought to yourself as you unzipped them so they could dry off of your body, at least he knew it was water and you didn’t have to convince him you didn’t pee your pants. You dryly chuckled to yourself as you stood in your underwear, hanging your jeans on a clothes rack.

No romance, you thought to yourself, don’t even let yourself think about it.

☆

“I really don’t know if we can fix it”, Spencer furrowed his brow. He was bent down next to you as your hands fumbled around the pipes under his sink with one hand and a wrench clasped in the other.

You two had been speaking to each other more since he saw you with a big wet patch on your ass. You had exchanged numbers in the elevator a few days after, Spencer claimed it was in case you got locked out again or he needed more eggs. Brief text conversations every now and then gave way to livelier elevator conversations and amicable chats in the hallway. You would consider him an almost-friend at this point and you were glad you were getting along well with him, despite you embarrassing yourself seemingly every single time you interacted.

And here you were, knelt down in his kitchen after texting back and forth about his sink no longer working.

“Have some faith”, you murmured, preoccupied with fiddling with a valve you located on the side of a pipe.

“Do you know anything about plumbing?” He asked incredulously, running a hand through his unruly hair. It was late Sunday morning, and he had clearly not styled it. Your heart rate had picked up when you saw him, in his sweatpants and messy bed head, it felt so intimate to see him not done up and ready to leave his house. You had ignored the thumping in your chest and followed him to the kitchen.

“Well… no”, you leaned back, grinning at him. That earned a loud laugh from him that caught you a bit off guard. Even his laugh was cute, that was so unfair. “But I think we can D.I.Y this, maybe we should check YouTube?” You stood up to grab your phone off the counter and he laughed again.

“You want to check YouTube?” His tone indicated he didn’t seem to take your suggestion seriously.

“What?” You were playfully defensive, “I go there for all kinds of tutorials, it’s great. I love YouTube!”

He got up to stand next to you, watching over your shoulder as you opened the app.

“Yeah, me too”, he muttered, “I kinda work there.”

“What?” You looked away from your screen to address him. He was closer than you realised, head hovering over your shoulder. You willed your heartbeat to slow down lest he heard it. “I didn’t know you worked at YouTube.”

“Well, not at YouTube. I work for a YouTube channel”, he pointed at your phone, “don’t worry about that right now, I’ll tell you about it later. Try finding something that will help us fix my sink please.”

He said he was going to tell you about it later. He wanted to talk to you later. You felt like you could float out the window and fly away. You pushed the feeling down and made sure your feet were solidly planted on the floor.

“Oh right”, you locked back in, searching for a video that looked helpful. After skimming through a few, you had a bit of an idea. “Okay, let’s try checking that thingy pipe and if that doesn’t work, we might need to do more research.”

“So technical”, Spencer replied, bemused. His eyes sparkled when he smiled.

“Well, if this fails, you can come over and use my kitchen while it gets fixed”, you tried your best to keep your tone level, as if the image of Spencer cooking in your kitchen didn’t make you giddy with excitement. “My sink works perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, I know”, Spencer laughed, referring to the last time he was there.

You looked away from him, flustered. You swung your wrench around a bit and headed back to the sink before he could notice. He watched as you bent down. You decided you probably needed to get as low as possible to find the pipe they were talking about in the video. You squatted down as deep as you could go and froze. A loud ripping noise stopped you in your tracks.

“Uh oh”, Spencer chimed from behind you and you didn’t dare to turn around to see his expression.

You closed your eyes. This couldn’t be happening. You were so sure today was going to go well, you had visions of hanging out with him and him being so impressed you could fix his sink. It was meant to be the start of your redemption arc. Well, it looked like things had headed in the opposite direction because you had just fucking ripped your pants like a cartoon character.

“There’s no way”, you whispered in disbelief, “there is absolutely no way that just happened.”

You slowly stood and turned to see Spencer leaning against the opposite counter, eyes on the ceiling.

“Oh, it definitely did”, he was so clearly trying to hold in his laughter. “I’m not looking so you can preserve your modesty.”

Your face was beet red, feeling the backside of the pair of old jeans that had failed you twice in the span of a couple weeks.

“Shit, did you see my underwear?”

“I don’t want to lie to you…”

“Spencer!”

“I’m sorry!” He put his hands up in surrender, failing to hold in his giggles now, “I didn’t mean to! How was I supposed to know you were planning on splitting your pants on my kitchen floor?”

You groaned in frustration, hands covering your crotch. He looked back down at you, hands still in the air. You stared at each other before you both burst into laughter. As embarrassed as you were, the situation was far too funny for you to take it seriously. You were both doubled over with tears in your eyes.

“You took playing plumber too literally”, he gasped out, “you showed crack and everything.”

“No, I did not!” You shouted, tears of laughter spilling down your face.

Once the hysteria passed, Spencer lent you a sweater to tie around your waist in case somebody in the hall saw you with your pants crotch split open.

“You should probably call the building manager”, you said to him as he walked you to his door, “I fear I’m not cut out to be a handyman.”

“Yeah, not really,” he said bluntly, but the smile on his face was wide.

“I’ll give your sweater back later today”, you stood just outside his door, he leaned against the doorframe.

“It’s okay, you can hold onto it for a while”, he replied. The softness in his voice made your stomach turn in a way that was both pleasant and upsetting. “I have to head out later and run some errands so I won’t be here.”

You had this urge to ask to hang out with him a little longer, to ask if you could come with him to run his errands, to prolong the time you spent with him as much as you could. He had this gravitational pull that made you want to stay in his orbit. But you knew that feeling well and it had gotten you tangled up in too many messes for you to count. You steadied your emotions again.

“No problem”, you shrugged, like it meant nothing to you that you had his sweater on you. “Thanks again!”

You waved as you side-stepped over to your own apartment. He lingered in the doorway for a little longer, watching you unlock your door. You could feel his eyes on you, you wondered if he was staring because you looked good or completely ridiculous. You glanced at him one more time before entering your apartment. He looked like he wanted to say something more but crossed his arms and smiled instead.

“See you, Y/N.”

“Bye, Spencer.”

☆

Texting Spencer slowly became part of your everyday routine. It was one of the highlights of your day - random thoughts, memes, both of you complaining about stuff happening at work. He had taken up a comfortable spot in your mind and he didn't show any signs of leaving soon. You had begun to value him so much as a friend, you tried your hardest to ignore any kind of romantic attraction you felt for him.

Like you had decided before, you were taking a break from romance anyway. He had become such a good friend to you that you were focussing more on getting close to him platonically.

You felt like you could tell him anything. You had both opened up to each other over the past weeks. He had told you all about his work at Smosh, the pressure he felt that kept him up at night sometimes, but also the absolute blast he had working with the people he loved so much. You had told him about your terrible luck for your entire dating history and the conclusion you came to recently that being single for the rest of your life was on the table, but at the same time, the tumultuous nature of your love life had brought your close friends even closer. You had shared these moments with him where you felt like time was standing still, smiling at your phone in the dark while in bed, hushed conversations in the hallway walking from the elevator to your doors, smiling tiredly at each other in the lobby before work on a Monday morning.

You loved spending time with him, whether it was 30 minutes or 30 seconds. But sometimes his cute smile made you feel like you couldn’t breathe, his charming sense of humour made you feel like you were being knocked off your feet, and when those beautiful eyes gazed at you with all his attention, it made you feel positively seasick.

Shit.

☆

You had a day off work and you spent it doing a bit of shopping (you needed new jeans) and got home in the afternoon to a few texts from Spencer. He was going to get back to his place in about half an hour and asked if you wanted to have dinner together. This was not anything new, a huge perk of becoming good friends with your neighbour is that you got to hang out whenever you wanted.

‘Sure thing’, you texted back, ‘bring some takeaway and you can choose the movie.’

‘Deal.’

Less than an hour later, you heard your doorbell chime and then he was handing you a bag of food from Homestate while kicking off his boots. It just felt so easy, letting him into your space, making you belly laugh with a story about Angela from work. You bet he knew it too, how much you loved his presence, he had that twinkle in his eye whenever you gave him attention, with that cheeky smile, how could you look away?

“I can’t believe you haven’t seen Alien”, Spencer sat back on the couch after hitting play on the movie.

You shrugged next to him, “it’s not that I don’t watch horror movies, I just never got around to it.”

“Well, prepare to get your mind blown”, he turned to stare at you like this was life or death.

You laughed. “God, you’re corny.”

“Yeah, yeah, you love it.”

You didn’t bother replying to him, rolling your eyes playfully, you began to dig into your food while the movie started. With your head down, you hoped he didn’t notice you still blushed like an idiot when he spoke to you like that.

It was really good, hell, it was probably a great movie. The problem was you kept getting distracted. Finished food abandoned on the coffee table, you kept glancing over at the man comfortably laid back next to you like he belonged there. You were sitting tight together, arms touching. You resisted the urge to cuddle him, you were friends for sure but you didn’t want to cross a boundary that he might not be comfortable with. Anyway, if you guys did cuddle, he would definitely feel how fast your heart was beating. Even now, with your upper arms pressed against one another and your knees occasionally knocking together, it felt like a million tiny electric zaps every time you made contact.

Spencer loved movies, he was a movie guy, and you loved that he was a movie guy. You loved the way he lit up talking about them, his eyes glued to the screen and reacting to everything that happened like it was personally happening to him. He really felt the films he liked, he was open-minded and enjoyed being immersed in them. You couldn’t help being attracted to his passion and excitement, and watching every microexpression on his face instead of the movie itself. It was alright though, because he would always answer your questions when you got confused.

“You’re so patient with me”, you grinned absentmindedly, trying to focus on Sigourney Weaver running through the spaceship. When you realised what you said, you tried to play it off, “like, as in, you never get mad at me for getting confused.” You attempted to laugh in a light, casual way, it came out sort of hollow sounding though.

Yeah… playing it real cool, you thought to yourself sarcastically. You forced yourself not to look at him but you could feel his gaze on you.

“Of course”, his voice was so soft, you almost missed it. Your will broke down immediately and you turned to him. You didn’t think you had ever seen that expression on his face, it was gentle and open, ignoring the movie for once. You felt your breath leave your lungs, like your chest was about to collapse and you were going to throw up.

“Thank you”, you murmured, not knowing what else to say. “For being so… good to me.”

What the fuck were you saying? Oh my god, oh my god, shut up-

“I can’t imagine ever not being good to you”, he mumbled back, “and I’m not that patient.”

Your heart was in your throat, your heartbeat was so loud in your ears, you couldn’t hear the yelling from the television. You slowly pressed the pause button and tossed the remote aside without looking away from him.

“What do you mean?”

“Something about you makes me so impatient”, he was whispering now and you felt yourself being drawn closer like a magnet. “Sometimes”, he swallowed thickly, “I think about you and I lose all my chill. I just want to stop what I’m doing and see you.”

Seeing him like this, cheeks slowly reddening and eyes wide and vulnerable, it felt more intimate than sex.

“S-sorry”, he stuttered out.

“No”, you rushed, your hand instinctively grabbing his forearm and he jumped like you had just shocked him. You slowly realised that while you had been trying to ignore your attraction to Spencer, he may have been doing the exact same thing. “I feel the same way”, you said breathlessly, “I think about you every single day.”

“Me too, every day”, he nodded in agreement, “it’s been hard to not think about you all the time ever since I saw you sprint down the hall in your Hello Kitty print pyjamas.” You threw your head back in laughter, his gorgeous laugh mixing with yours. “I couldn’t help falling for you, you landed in a puddle in front of me in your own kitchen. And then you ripped your pants in mine.” You were in hysterics at this point, as embarrassed as you were in those moments, it was absolutely hilarious in hindsight.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you like me”, you caught your breath, “I had no idea.”

“I didn’t want to push anything”, he said sincerely, “I had no idea if you liked me like that, and after learning about your whole swearing off romance thing… I thought I had no chance at all.”

“Well”, you reached up and fiddled with the string of his hoodie, almost feeling the heat coming off his body, “that was before I met you.”

His smile at that moment was so bright, you swore it lit up the entire room.

“You’re amazing, Spencer”, he held your free hand in his, gently running his thumb along your knuckles, “I tried to avoid my feelings but I couldn’t do it. I like you so much it makes me sick.”

“Sick?” He laughed. You loved making him laugh.

“Yes, sick”, you giggled in reply.

Both of you were slowly inching towards each other, noses almost bumping. His eyes flicked down at your lips and then back up to your eyes. You gave the tiniest of nods, giving permission, and he immediately leaned in. And then your lips connected, it was like every romantic movie you had ever seen combined and ten times better. You could almost hear the swelling music score as his hand delicately cradled the side of your face. You felt like electricity was running through your veins and roses were blossoming inside your chest. He tasted sweet like the lemonade he just had, and you tightened the grip you had on his hoodie string. He hummed contently against your mouth, his other hand pulled you closer, until you felt engulfed in his arms, his scent, him.

So much for a retired hopeless romantic.

✩

♡ masterlist

#starsfics #smosh #smosh fanfiction #spencer agnew #spencer agnew x reader #spencer agnew fanfiction #smosh x reader #spencer smosh

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cafedanslanuit · 10 months ago

Text

♡ — pairing: bachira x reader

♡ — tags/warnings: gn reader + no pronouns, lots of heavy teasing and joking, suggestive themes, pro football player bachira, isagi chigiri and kuni are there too, established relationship, comedy, fluff, feel-good fic

♡ — words: 1k

♡ — a/n: hello tumblr i'm baaaaasck!!! and with a story of meguru my beloved of course. i'm happy to come back with a feel-good fic. i love soft readers with bachira but i need him with a freak!!! someone needs to match his freak and this reader is about to do just that hehe. mwah mwah kisses for u all

♡ — masterlist

"If you had to pick someone for me to fuck, who would you choose?"

You hum, already used to Bachira's random questions. Tapping your fingers on the wheel, you enter the highway as you give yourself a moment to consider your answer under his expecting gaze.

"You know, that's actually a good question," you admit with a chuckle.

"It is, right?" he grins, taking a sip of his drink, a refresher he got at the coffee drive-through he asked you to stop by as soon as you picked him up from the airport. "I was wondering about it on the plane."

"Of course you were," you tease.

"Hey! It was a long flight. I had already watched a movie and the guys were asleep," he justified himself.

"Ah, gimme." At your request, Bachira holds his drink up, the straw next to your mouth so you can sip on it. "Thank you, baby."

Bachira presses a kiss on your cheek. "So?" he insists.

"Okay, okay, before I answer I must know this,” you say, loving how he shifts on the passenger seat, eagerly awaiting for your question. “Do I get to watch?"

"Of course,” he shrugs. “ Would be rude not to let you.”

"True, true," you hum. "So, I would go with…"

A pause, for the sake of dramatic effect.

"Kaiser."

"Kaiser!?" he almost shouts, almost dropping his drink. "That's so weird, baby."

"I know," you laugh. "That's why I wanna see it happen, it would be so damn weird. I mean, either him or Reo. Both of them are very pretty."

"True, true," he sings, putting his now empty drink on your car’s cup holder and then bending his arms behind his head.

"And you?” you continue. “Who would you want me to fuck?"

Bachira’s eyes flicker with mischief at your question, shooting you a teasing grin before you look back to the road again.

"I think you'd go for Chigirin. And just because of that, I'm not gonna choose him," he says, sticking his tongue out to you.

You cackle out loud and Bachira can't help but look at you warmly. "Damn, okay― fair, I guess. If not him, then who?"

"Isagi. Definitely,” he answered in a heartbeat.

"I think that's more for you than it is for me," you tease, sparing him a playful glance, to which he laughs like a little kid, making your heart jump. "It's okay, baby,” you egg him on. “I'd make sure to put on a good show for you. Maybe even―"

"Can you guys stop being fucking weird for one second?"

Bachira turned to the backseat while you chuckled to yourself, your eyes on the road. Chigiri looked back at his teammate with an irritated gaze in between a flustered Isagi and Kunigami, who was doing his best to stifle a laugh.

“Isagi is about to throw himself out of the window,” Chigiri continued, gesturing to his friend, who opted to look away with rose-tinted cheeks, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips.

“I just never got used to them being so blunt about it.”

“See? He’s doing fine! You’re so dramatic,” you sigh in a playful tone. Turning to your boyfriend, you continue. “I think Chigiri's mad you didn't choose him for me.”

“What?! I’m not―”

“Fiiiine, you can have Chigirin,” Bachira said in an over-the-top dejected voice.

“I should've just taken a cab.”

“I’m sorry, we’ll stop,” you laugh, sparing a glance at Chigiri.

"I forgot how hanging out with you guys it's like having a double dose of Bachira," he sighed. Bachira turned to him and stuck out his tongue.

You chuckled. "Well, I mean, it is my new last name. Gotta play the part, right?"

"You truly don't look like newlyweds."

Your eyes flicker to the rearview mirror and find Kunigami's gaze on you.

"Ooh, harsh!" you whistle. "Didn't expect it from you."

His eyes widened slightly. "I mean it in a good way!" he assured you. "You look like you've been married for ten years or something."

A grin formed on your face and you turned to look at Bachira, who already had his eyes set on you. You put your hand on his thigh and squeezed gently.

"I mean, that's the goal right?" you asked, feeling your cheeks warm up. Bachira blew you a kiss before you looked back at the road once more.

"Man, only ten years? I was hoping for more."

"Nope, only ten, I'm throwing you out after that."

"Fine, I guess I'll move on with Isagi."

The car filled with the sound of both your laughter, paired with a couple of pained groans.

Maybe they had a point. You were well aware your relationship with Bachira was quite unusual. From the numerous trips abroad he had to make, plus the time he dedicated to football and the constant exposure to the media the both of you were under, perhaps the only traditional thing between you was your marriage― and even so, it could be labelled as an understatement. You did rent a theme park to host your wedding reception, after all.

Nevertheless, even with the endless teasing and scrutinising eyes of others, there was something rather simple in the way he made you feel. From the first moment he smiled at you, the thought that you were going to fall in love with him never left your mind. It was only proven right as the months and years followed and you found your heart still fluttering at each of his laughs.

He had a way of being, of existing , that made each day seem a little brighter. Loving and being loved by him was a gift you never took for granted and, given the way his fingers tenderly caressed your face when he thought you were asleep, it seemed he felt exactly the same.

As you continued driving, you listened to Bachira and the boys continue their chat, this time about one of their last matches. Just as you were trying to decide which route would be best to drop each of them at their places, your husband took the hand that was still on his thigh and rose it to his mouth, leaving a small kiss on it. Grinning, you blew him a kiss, already excited about reaching home and spending some quality time with him.

You truly hoped that, in ten years time, you were still this excited for ten years more.

#bachira x reader #bllk x reader #bluelock x reader #bachira meguru #bllk bachira #bachira meguru x reader #bachira x you #blue lock bachira #bllk fluff #bluelock fluff #bachira fluff

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dirtbra1n · 1 month ago

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heyyy db dirtbra1n groundsh4rp, intrigued by whatever is going on with the Ogasawara Sex Comedy

I keep head in hands-ing about this because Ogasawara Sex Comedy is just so goddamn much. jesus. Hi malt

Hi @raihanstrapinch @skybluekagikun forgot also. can you both please bear with me. just bear with me. I finally found my notes. this isn’t going to be as terribly in-depth as I’d like it to be because it’s been about five months which is unconscionably long when I think about it as frequently as I do.

So river. right. we are all familiar. shirahama plays, for tashiro, the role of Guy who is friends with one of the main leads and has to deal with most of the fallout of things. I like him and want him to have a bad time :) hanzawa masato Also being a main lead Also has a Guy sufferer of fallout, and it is ogasawara jirou who has unfortunately never ever made it into the final cut of any of my anything despite his being there literally the entire time. Right. as we all of course already knew.

I like to pretend ogasawara jirou never made it into any river because he was destined for bigger better greater things. like the Ogasawara Sex Comedy.

because I am lazy here is the annotated two year old post I use as a hub for all my personal tags on my personal blog because it’s been haunting me, unfinished. for two years. which is how old it is. you’ll notice sasaki shuumei is also here because Look it’s a lot happening

okay so with this lined up give me a second to reblog this ask with demonstrative recycled material

#thank you both Sorry for leaving you out to dry. if you think about it though really it’s thematically appropriate #askbox #be right back #masajirou #ogasawara sex comedy #Just trust me. just trust me

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sunshinywarden-mcsm · 2 months ago

Text

Welcome to the Sunshine Institute, I’ll be your Warden.

An MCSM ask blog run by @afishnamedvish!

How kind of you to drop by, I’ve been awaiting another fool’s arrival. So, what have you done now to… disgrace the Admin?

[Forgot to feed the birds]

[Stole too many emerald blocks]

[Won a battle of wits]

[I’m not sure]

Not sure? How interesting. Well, it is my occupation to tell you exactly what you’ve done incorrectly. Here, let me see…who you are, and we’ll get some answers…

How curious, I cannot seem to find a… singular name to you. No matter, it becomes a simple choice. I’ve had…worse.

I may as well acquit you with my crew if you wish to join the elites of the Admin’s hand. You may as well find a uniform that fits. And don’t try anything stupid; I don’t treat thieves and liars well.

[Ticket Filing]

Due to a sudden…surplus in activity within the Institute, I recommend you firstly schedule a meeting if you wish to talk. You may use my ticket (ask) system to keep yourself in the loop.

Here are some guiding topics you can look for (tags):

Warden’s meeting summaries - Answered lore tickets.

Warden’s solved tickets - Answered asks; lore-neutral/comedy.

Warden mutters - Bits of information; may or may not have lore.

Warden baubles - Little fun facts that may or may not contain headcanon material.

Warden approves - Positive (with an ask) comments.

Warden disproves - Negative (with an ask) comments.

Warden’s wall-worthy art - Reblogging art/posting art (of the Warden).

Warden’s emphasis - Reblogs.

Warden’s task (NEW) - Congrats, you asked about what you’re in for and now you’re informed. (User asks/tagged anon asks)

And don’t forget my reputation system: if you settle on my good side, you’ll be treated…less harsh by the associates and myself. Continuous bad behavior will not amount positively to you (users/tagged anons consistent asks) Now that you’re informed about how to reach me properly, I will show you what improper form is.

[Abiding terms]

Remember, you’re here to make good on the Admin’s side. I cannot believe I have to say this, but several Guests have tried these things. It’s unfortunate. Do not go about harassing other Guests or Associates, or you will be removed from your new lounge and sent somewhere less pleasant. Do not threaten me or any of my members, nor shall you intend harm upon anyone regardless of their charges or history. Do not interact with intent of profane or malicious behaviors; I do not accept bribes of any kind, nor will I tolerate any form of retaliation against these guidelines.

You are here to be reformed, and maybe one day, you’ll become his champion.

Welcome to the Institute.

[DISCLAIMER]: I am not affiliated with MOJANG or TellTale Studios in any way! This is simply a meme/“role-play” account derived from a character produced in association with MOJANG and TellTale. All copyright and trademarks belong to the respective companies.

[Please remember the person behind the blog! I am human! I have feelings and opinions and may not be comfortable with every ask! If I do not answer your ask, it is because I was not comfortable with it.]

#mcsm #mcsm rp #mcsm warden #intro post #afishnamedvish #welcome to the sunshine institute

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celtigxr · 6 months ago

Text

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 34 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: Dinner with the Valyrians. Goes as well as you'd think. Word Count: 4592 CHAPTER WARNINGS: STILL talking about menstrual blood. Only proof read once again. Not satisfied with this chapter, but it is what it is. Canon Episode Divergence.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: For people who are like me, that need a visual, I have made a google sheets image for you to understand where everyone is seated, lmao. The link the image is here Also, because I fumbled, just in case you missed it, last chapter I forgot to add in the image of Valeana's dress. It's up there now if you didn't get a chance to see it.

Valeana’s eyes trailed over to the statue at the other end of the ballroom, her eyes glued onto the middle dragon head caught in between the two others. She was very much in that position, but she felt less like a dragon and more like a lamb for the slaughter.

“Valeana,” a voice that belonged to neither of the princes that flanked her, snapped her out of her panic-induced paralysis. It was Lucerys, of all people, who had not even acknowledged her existence since the day of his arrival. “Blink twice if you’re in need of rescue.”

Rhaena elbowed him, but he only chuckled in response.

Aegon shifted beside her, his arm around her shoulder only loosening when he reached to grab his goblet to take a sip, his eyes never leaving Luke for a moment.

“I should congratulate you, nephew,” he briefly looked over at Rhaena with a tilt of his head. “You finally get to lie with a woman.”

Aemond hummed amusingly next to Valeana, his hand still clutched in hers. All she could do was use her right hand to pick at her food in front of her, though now she was too tense to eat anything substantial.

Luke’s smirk wavered as he regarded Aegon; he was clearly the more imposing son of Rhaenyra’s, but he did not lack insecurities. His legitimacy was the biggest one, but his worthiness of the gifts freely given to him was another. Jace was the honourable one, bound to duty and respect and etiquette. Luke was bound to the need to prove himself, as all second sons were.

Aegon leaned forward into the table, peering up at the Velaryon prince with raised brows, “You do know how the act is done, I assume? At least in principle, where to put your cock and all that.”

“Let it be, Aegon,” Valeana put a placating hand on Aegon’s arm, but he was undeterred. Though the exchange had not gone amiss by Jace, who leaned in their direction.

“Uncle,” he called his attention, “You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue when there are ladies present.”

Aegon nodded mockingly, “Mhm.” He turned to Valeana, “You don’t mind my tongue, do you, Crab Cake?”

Before Valeana could respond beyond a wide glare and a slight flush to her cheeks, Rhaenyra was suddenly standing, moving slightly so she was not just addressing her table, but the room as a whole. Her arm was up, hand cradling a goblet in the air to present a toast.

“I wish to raise my cup to her Grace, the Queen,” The princes started, her voice loud enough to be heard by all. “I love my father. But, I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. When he was at his weakest, she tended to him with… unfailing devotion, love and honour. In our youth I always believed that our children would be destined to unify us, and it seems that it is in the Crone’s will that it be true. For my father, you have my gratitude, and my love… But you also have my apology.”

Alicent’s bottom lip wobbled as she looked up at her, her brown eyes glossing over so much that she had to turn away demurely to her plate, the ends of her lips tugging downward.

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess,” she sniffed as Rhaenyra slowly descended into her chair. Finally Alicent looked up, “We are both mothers… and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” At this point, Alicent ascended from her seat, her own goblet raised. “I raise my cup to you, and to your house. You will make a fine queen.”

Alicent’s final statement sent a ripple throughout the room. Six words that ended a decades old feud. Six words that ended the threat of usurpation. Aegon did not want to be King, he made that clear to his mother the other day, and Alicent was tired of fighting. Tired of plotting. In the end, they both won; her victory lay within her daughter, and Rhaenyra’s within her son, both destined to be one house once and for all.

At their own paces, everyone raised their goblets to Alicent’s tribute and took a sip as smiles were shared amongst friends. Valeana tipped her glass towards Jacaerys, and he to her, and then she did the same with Helaena. Aegon and Aemond did the same, though grudgingly before returning their cups to the table un-sipped.

Aemond’s hand hadn’t left Valeana’s the entire time. The heat of his palm was all encompassing, almost numbing to the point that she had forgotten it almost completely. It wasn’t until she felt him move her hand from the table that she realized it was still trapped in his. Valeana turned just in time to see Aemond bring the back of her palm to his lips, giving it a gentle kiss before returning it back to its original spot. His smile was kind, his gaze was loving, and Valeana was all nerves and fluttering moths.

Aegon downed his wine in one swallow and looked at the bottom of his cup with disdain. Valeana felt him move next to her, pushing back his chair and silently padding around until he was hovering at the end of the table next to Luke, and reached for the pitcher of wine that was sitting between him and Rhaena.

“I, um,” Aegon looks down as he pours himself a drink into his empty cup. His eyes lifted up to catch Rhaena’s before he continued. “I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But, if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask–”

Fists bagged on the table, effectively shaking it from north to south. Lucerys stood abruptly, fiery onyx eyes on Aegon as he moved slowly back around the table, not a care in the world. The fair-haired prince settled back into his seat, flashing a displeased Valeana a faux innocent smile.

Aemond stood up, slowly and foreboding like the shadow of the Stranger. Valeana’s hand fell from his, her fingers suddenly became stiff and cold. Both he and Lucerys stared at each other from across the table, three threatening eyes between the two. Everyone in the room was now looking over at them, with baited breath and on the edges of their seats should something happen.

“Luke,” Rhaena placed a placating hand on her betrothed, which effectively pulled Luke’s attention away from Aemond and onto her. His thinned mouth eased, his cheeks dimpling as he smiled disingenuously.

Then Luke swiped his goblet, the remains dwindling down to mere drops after so many tributes. Silence befell the room once more, the peace that was once sowed now destroyed by the hubris of youthful male bravado. But mostly by Aegon, really.

Aemond watched Luke closely, his one lilac eye wide with anticipation, as if to say: give me a reason.

“To Prince Aegon, Prince Aemond, the Celtigar sisters, and my future good-sister, Princess Helaena. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth,” Valeana narrowed her eyes up at him. His words sounded sincere to those who could not see his face, that fox-like expression. “And as men and women, I hope we may yet be friends and allies,” Luke gestured to the two princes that sat in front of him. “To the health of my uncles, my sweet aunt and my old friends. And to Lady Valeana, I wish to say: Sȳz biarves (good luck).”

She felt Aemond move next to her. It was so subtle, that it would not be noticeable to anyone else that wasn’t directly beside him. Valeana reached for Aemond’s sleeve, silently imploring him to back down. With a slight tug, he finally relents and slowly sits back down, eye trained on Luke as he also descends into his seat.

“Issa daor pretium ziry (he is not worth it),” She whispered to him once he was sat.

“What did that bastard say?” Aegon whispered when he leaned into her space, his mouth was pinched and his gaze was fixed on the wood of the table.

Valeana hesitated before divulging that information. The table on the platform seemed unsure what to make of Luke’s little speech, particularly the last bit to those that didn’t understand Valyrian. She could spot Rhaenyra’s turned head, glaring at her son the way mother’s do, and Daemon biting his lip to contain his amusement.

Their own table was thick with unease and judgement. She could feel Clement’s eyes on her from above Helaena’s head, like some lurking gargoyle with amethyst stones for eyes.

“Good luck,” Valeana answered, then shook her head dismissively. “He is just being provocative… Because you were.”

Aegon rolled his eyes, “I can be more—”

“Please don’t.”

The sound of another chair being pushed against the flagstone alerted everyone once again to the long table. For a moment, she braced herself for a confrontation with her brother, since the sound came from his direction. So imagine Valeana’s surprise when she looked up and saw it was Helaena, of all people, holding a goblet and wearing a contented smile on her lovely face.

“I would like to toast to my betrothed, Jacaerys. He was always kind and patient with me as children, and did not shy away from my bugs,” Helaena spoke with an innocence about her that was both endearing and calming to watch. It was clear that she was the most beloved person in that room, and the most gentle and fragile. “So, I believe our marriage will not be so bad. It will be good, I think. Oh, and the eggs on the milkweed plant you gave me have hatched into two healthy caterpillars. I’ve named them Jaehaerys and Jaehaera.”

And with that, she sheepishly sat back down in her chair. There was a gentle applause and claps around the room, accompanied by smiles of adoration and appreciation that her simple little tribute had eased the tension berthed by the arrogant princes in the room.

“Well done, my girl,” Viserys said from his table, raising his glass to his youngest daughter.

Jacaerys smiled broadly, then leaned forward into the table, “Mayhaps those are the names we can give to our future children?”

Helaena paused to consider, and then shook her head decidedly. “No, I think not. They are from another life… a sadder one. Here, I would like them to be free.”

The first course was cleared from the table, and Aemond’s plate was removed to make room for a fresh one. He had nothing on it other than oyster shells on them anyway – still void of any pearls. The music seemed to pick up, something a little louder, and a little more merry in an attempt to liven up the room. Aemond was stewing in his seat, one hand poised on the back of Valeana’s chair, the other one tapping on the table as he watched the room like a patient hawk.

With all the tributes and toasts, the House of Valyria was already feeling the effects of wine and spirits. Faces flushed, conversations loud, laughter was heard. Even his dear mother seemed to be in a good mood, which admittedly made him feel… content. It wasn’t often that he saw Alicent genuinely happy, and even longer since he last heard her laugh.

Aemond wasn’t entirely convinced that peace had truly been found there that eve, but it was a start. Otto Hightower was still a piece on the board, and he doubted his grandsire would just simply roll over and give up the potential of having full power. Helaena may be his granddaughter, but he knew very well that she would not be a queen in practice, and that Jace wouldn’t be one to be manipulated or coerced by Green influence. No, for Otto, it wasn’t a win-win situation.

The servants were still clearing the table and bringing in the larger platters – roasted duck, lamb shanks, meat pies, and various vegetables that have been steamed and rubbed with herbs and sauces. A pile of snow crab legs were placed in front of Aegon, red and steaming, dripping with melted garlic butter. Insufferably, he turned to Aemond with a smug look.

Jacaerys raised from his seat, moving around the table until he got to Helaena’s chair, his hand extended for her to take. She seemed surprised for a moment, but immediately took it and allowed him to lead her onto the empty dance floor.

Aegon rolled his eyes so heavily, that they momentarily disappeared into the back of his head. He loathed the idea of Jace marrying his sister almost as much as he loathed the idea of him marrying Valeana. He was relieved, in a sense, but now he was given another, different misfortune. He worried as a brother too, knowing his sister’s nature and doubting that his nephew was equipped with handling it.

After that, more couples joined the dance floor. Shyla pulled Daeron up and dragged him to join in, though he didn’t seem to mind. He had a large stupid grin on his face. Then, in an interesting turn of events, Clement and Baela joined in, followed by – Oh, he nearly laughed when he saw it – Rhaena and Joffrey. Aegon’s mouth twitched when he witnessed Luke watch with clear annoyance at Joffrey (three and ten!) when he asked his betrothed to dance.

Aegon felt so utterly satisfied and gitty over this, that he decided he wished to sow displeasure amongst present company. He turned to his fair maid and scooped up her hand to pull her up without so much as a request.

“Come on, my darling,” He pulled Valeana’s hand to his mouth to give it a kiss before practically dragging her onto the dance floor. She was in the middle of putting food on her plate when she was whisked away, her eyes wide in surprise, the fork clattering on the plate when she was forced to let go.

Aemond twisted in his chair to glower at his brother, though he made no move to stop them. Instead, he tried to calm himself by focusing on her alone. The sway of her hips, how her vermillion dress swept around her elegantly; the curve of her back, framed by the lace of her well fitted bodice. The glimpse of her pale arms through her red veiled sleeves, just a hint of scandal in its reveal. The way her braids swung to and fro with every movement, eventually one landing over her shoulder, and the other hanging behind her back. He longed to kiss every inch of her skin, to commit every piece and corner of her body to memory so he would never forget her again. But most of all, he wanted to be the one to dance with her, to be able to publicly be seen with her, letting everyone know just who she truly belonged to.

But, no… That privilege belonged to his eldest brother.

At least for now.

“So,” Aegon drawled out as he and Valeana swayed to the music, keeping a fair distance away from the other dancers, particularly Clement who kept on sending heated glances their way. “You’re the one responsible for Helaena and Jacaerys. You’ve ruined my life, I hope you’re happy.”

“Immensely,” she answered with equal sarcasm.

He catches her glance at the two in question, a small little smile creeping on her face. Truly, Aegon did not enjoy the idea of Jace of all people marrying his sister— he thought of no one marrying his sister, frankly. For years he had simply been anticipating the impending nuptials that he and Helaena would have to share that the idea of her being a bride to anyone else never occurred to him. But at the look Valeana gave them, he couldn’t help but concede to her good judgement. Politically, it was sound. It merged both houses and took Aegon off the chessboard, which he always wanted. If anything, he should be thanking Valeana.

When she turned back to him, she raised a curious brow at his little smile, “What?”

Aegon gave a tiny shrug of his shoulder, “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

His smile grew a little before moving their bodies so they were blocked by the other dancers, away from prying eyes of the adults that watched them all. He leaned into her ear, “About how beautiful you’ll look when I peel that dress off you.”

Val’s eyes flashed and flickered around to make sure no one one heard that, “Aegon–”

He softly chuckled at her reaction, his fingers on her waist rubbed her side tenderly yet suggestively. Aegon pulled her in closer to his body, so his chin hovered over her shoulder, lips near her ear. “Tonight, do not fall asleep. I intend to spend another night with you under the stars.”

Aegon felt an immense satisfaction when he heard her breath hitch and her fingers curl around his shoulder. Valeana bit her lip when she lifted her chin to look up at him, her eyes fretful, yet bashful, as evidenced by the sheepish smile she was trying to withhold.

“I switched rooms,” she told him, and when Aegon merely stared back at her, unsure of what she meant, she elaborated. “With Floris.”

The realization dawned on him in blink, and soon he was smiling wolfishly. Humming in his elatedness, he dipped his dance partner in a flourish and pulled her back up. Aegon chuckled at the look on her face, then pulled her flush against as he dipped in close to her ear. “Well then, my life just got simultaneously more interesting and easier all in one go. And–” he pulled back a bit so he could look at her, “We do not have to do… anything you don’t want. Though, if it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, you should know…” He trailed off, the corner of his lips tugging upward as he whispered in a lower tone. “I do not mind blood.”

“Wha–”

His violet eyes flickered downward, and she froze for a moment, eyes flashing in sheer embarrassment. Valeana sighed, her hand leaving his shoulder for a moment to rub her thumb on the space between her brows.

“How did you know?”

“You left me a little present.”

She grimaced and turned away, the tips of her ears pinked. Clearly amused, Aegon pulled at her chin so she could look at him again. “I told you, I don’t mind. Sometimes it adds a little extra lubricant–”

“I’m not bleeding anymore.”

“.... You’re not?”

“Are you disappointed?”

Aegon’s eyes flickered off to the ceiling to contemplate the answer to that question, “...no?”

She pinched his shoulder, making him hiss.

The main course dishes were beginning to pile on the tables. The King’s table had already begun their feasts, having been served first, and now the dancers were starting to return to their seats. All save for Jacaerys and Helaena, who remained dancing, creative and improvised and not at all traditional. That was possibly the most carefree Aemond has ever seen his sister, and as he loathed to admit it (like, very much loathed), it made him quite happy to see Jacaerys bring out that side of her.

“Ooh, hells,” Viserys suddenly said from his table, one hand grabbing his cane, and the other bracing the armrest as he pushed himself from his seat. “All those toasts are catching up with me. Excuse me for a moment, as nature calls.”

“Allow me to accompany you, your Grace,” Bartimos stood up as well, “I have the same ailment.”

Everyone stood up as the King left the table, followed by Bartimos at his side. Once the two had left the room, everyone resumed their seats or their dancing. Chatter continued as more servants poured in one at a time to bring platters of the main meal. Two came in holding a large one, heading towards the end of the longer table to slide it in between Aemond and Lucerys before walking away.

It was a full roasted pig, still sizzling as it sat there on the platter, waiting to be sliced and eaten.

Valeana settled in her seat beside Aemond, who was facing away from the table, his leg casually crossed, his eye trained on his sister and Jacaerys dancing. Aegon sat down after he tucked Valeana’s seat in, the feet of his chair scratching softly against the flagstones. The sound of utensils being used as people picked at the platters became background noise, ones that did nothing to drown out the chuckle that Aemond heard from across the table.

Slowly he turned around, his one eye peeking over at Luke over the bridge of his nose. His nephew was laughing; eyes squinting in a mischievous glint as he stared at Aemond, and then back at the roasted pig… And then onto Valeana, who was unaware of it all.

Suddenly the table jostled, the bang of Aemond’s fist on the table immediately halted everyone’s chatter and movement, bringing their collective attention to his side of the table.

Fisting his cup, Aemond ascended from his seat and extended his arm, his eye trained on his nephew in front of him, “Final tribute.”

The music stopped, Jace and Helaena ceased dancing. Everyone turned to him, surprised and apprehensive over Aemond’s voice. He was the stoic prince, more keen on observing than in conversing, least of all with most of the people present. The sudden presence of his voice felt like a single arrow leading the charge of a barrage of them that would pelt everyone on the battlefield.

“To the health of my nephews: Jace,” he looked over at the prince in question on the dance floor. The brunette looked tense and unsure, sharing a look with Helaena and then at his brothers at the table.

“Luke…” When Aemond’s eye returned to the one in question, the muscles in his face hardened like steel. All his intentions were poured into his one lilac eye, wide and challenging. “And Joffrey…Each of them handsome, wise…”

The tension grew as he trailed off; everyone was holding their breaths. Every second felt like an hour long as he simply pursed his lips and kept his blazing eye trained on Lucerys.

Finally, he hummed and subtly nodded to himself, “...Strong.”

“Aemond–” Valeana’s plea tried to reach for him, but he was too far gone. He hadn’t even registered that she had spoken his name.

“Come–” He turned to the crowd, his goblet brandishing like a sword, but his ironic smirk was sharper and more dangerous. “Let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys.”

Aegon, ever the reveller in chaos, raised his cup high in the air. Valeana shot him a warning look, but he didn’t seem to notice or really care either. This was probably the first time the two brothers had been on the same page since she had arrived in King’s Landing. The closest thing she’d ever see to brotherly support for each other.

“I dare you to say that again,” Luke challenged, standing up from his seat, Rhaena was quick to grab his sleeve, but he was undeterred by the attempt. Actually, he pulled away from her and started to move around the end of the table.

“Why?” Aemond moved as well, goblet still in his hand, but his eye still held unwavering challenge. “‘It was only a compliment,” As he said this, the two moved towards each other like two rival wolves trying to assert dominance. “Do you not think yourself Strong?”

That is when all hell broke loose. A string of reactions all overlapping each other, it was difficult to see everything happen all at once and know who reacted and when. But what was certain was that Luke punched Aemond across his left cheek, which resulted in a reaction in both Aegon and Joffrey, having been nearest to their brothers. Joffrey strode over to them, hellbent on entering the fray, but Aegon grabbed hold of the back of his neck and pinned him against the table before he could reach Aemond.

Aemond took the punch as if it was a swat of a kitten. Taller and more muscular than his nephew, all it took was one rough shove in the shoulder, and Lucerys was down on the floor. Watching the dark-haired prince scramble there to get to him delighted Aemond like nothing else. He had a smug sense of satisfaction of reducing Luke to a pathetic pile on the floor; the boy who had left him half blind with no consequence. As he placed the goblet back on the table, Aemond turned away from him and darkly chuckled, his smile dimpling his cheeks as he shared that cruel amused glint with Aegon.

Valeana is standing now, having successfully pried Aegon off of Joffrey with the help of Rhaena just as the guards started to interfere. Jacaerys had also attempted to get involved, but Rhaenyra and Alicent were there in an instant, both collecting their sons like a shepherd dog collecting their herd.

Alicent gripped on Aemond’s shoulder as she yanked him off to the side, “Why would you say such things in front of all these people?”

Aemond turned to his mother, casual and uninspired by her question, “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, mother.” His light tone dripped with sarcasm like tar. He hummed, blinked and turned away from her to look towards his nephews that continued to struggle against the restraint of the knights. “Though it seems my nephews are not quite proud of theirs,” he said this while yanking his hand from his mother’s grip, and stalking towards the Velaryons.

At that moment, Jacaerys frees himself from the knight’s hold and is bounding towards Aemond with steely determination. But another strode forth, his long legs cutting between the battling princes like a dragon cuts through wind.

“Wait, wait,” Daemon held up a finger, effectively stopping Jace from moving another inch. Daemon stepped in front of his step sons, pushing them back into the fringes of the room next to their mother with their tails tucked between their legs. Then Daemon turns around and faces his nephew, a sigh filtering through his open mouth and his hands clasped in front of himself.

Aemond and Daemon just stared at each other; an immovable object and unstoppable force. Everyone was holding their breath, creating a thick silence throughout the room. The tension was so thick, no one could move, but it was clear in the slight twitches of Aemond and Daemon’s fingers that they desperately wanted to. It was a battle of wills at this point; who was going to take the first step to the challenge, who was going to blink, who was going to walk away…

“Enough.”

A phantom in vermillion cut in between the two black princes. Valeana first looked at Daemon, her viperous eyes wiping the smirk off his face and causing the muscles in his cheeks and forehead to slack. Then she turned to Aemond, and her brows turned upward, looking up at him with disappointment and something that he could not place…

Something that was so disarming that his eye widened with panic.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE SNEAK PEAK “Where are you taking me?” He asked with a sly grin, already knowing the answer. She turned to him with that innocent little smile of hers. “Nowhere special,” The slight curve of her lips turned into a grin as she pulled him into an alcove before pulling the drapes that framed it tightly closed .

Notes: I never want to write that damn dinner scene again, lol. For those of you that might be ??? on why Valeana is upset, don't worry, next chapter we get into it.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel, @t0biasparabatai

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

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greenstripedcat · 2 months ago

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The "Isn't he sexy" stream notes

'Blair Witch Phantom' by @illuminaughty and 'Mr incel dungeon' by [don't remember who, pls tell me if anyone remembers] as alternaitve titles

The VHS quality in general made it so cozy

Someone noticed how this production's Carlotta really embodies Belle Époque, I see that

Someone has said it was 'one of the Three Sit-Down Productions in the U.S. back in the 90s' - this one by Christine Company (LA), and @phantoonsoftheopera kindly listed all 4 companies: Phantom (Broadway), Christine (LA & SF), Raoul (2nd Natl Tour), and Music Box (3rd Natl Tour)

apparently, Oracle of Delphi was high from the geothermal vents @illuminaughti-online . It seems like academics found some evidence for gases which could cause vivid imagery, but it's up for a debate whether there were enough exposure to chemicals to cause these hallucinations

Trivia about the Crawford production that's new to me: apparently, at first many expected little from Crawford's Phantom since he was more used to comedy parts @stephistopheles

In the same lieu, from @glassprism: '@daaesviolin I remember Operafantomet talking about how both Crawford and Brightman sang using, what, an elder RP accent is what it might be called? It's not really taught anymore I think, so you don't hear it nowadays'

List of Phantom actors with 'ghostly' voices: Michael Crawford, Hugh Panaro, Davis Gaines, Alexander Goebel, Masachika Ichimura, Peter Karrie

Someone noted Crawford moves like a panther (in parallel to other Phantoms who are lizard-like)

@litloverscorsetlaces (sorry for the late tag, I've just noticed this is your nickname here!) has found an academic article that discussed Michael Crawford's hands a lot! "‘Think of me fondly’: Voice, body, affect and performance in Prince/Lloyd Webber’s The Phantom of the Opera" (tumblr doesn't let me link the pdf here, but if you google it it should pop up on the 1st page)

Isabel Leonard in her trouser roles like Cherubino (when discussing Christine's Serafimo)

@haunted-hideaway: Aww man I miss Car Talk @illuminaughti-online: Gondola Talk got you covered

I forgot to copy it, but I think Celina mentioned how the monkey costume during Masquarade both mirrors Erik's Monkey music box, and possibly represents Christine's anxiety about him

it was far-reaching (which was the original, until someone ad-libbed it, and then it was transferred to libretto; most of this PotO trivia here is from Celina, thank you for sharing the knowledge!)

#stream notes #saturday streams #phantom #phantom shenanigans #Michael Crawford #Hugh Panaro #Davis Gaines #Alexander Goebel #Masachika Ichimura #Peter Karrie

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haemey · 4 months ago

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Et Resurrexit Tertia Die - Chapter 5: Somebody that I used to know (3.8k, 30.9k total so far)

Chapter Summary:

Aziraphale learns something interesting from Muriel, while Crowley doesn't quite manage to be as annoying as he'd like.

Excerpt:

“How often are those records used?”, he asked, almost to interrupt himself. “Well…” Muriel looked a little sad now. “Almost never. They’re mostly for archival purposes, I think. Sometimes it feels like the other angels kind of forgot the records exist, really. A few years ago, I think Michael came to one of my colleagues to request some files, but otherwise, no one really comes along.” “That…” Aziraphale swallowed. “That sounds lonely.” When Muriel smiled again, it had lost some of its brightness. “Oh, no, it’s fine. If no one comes, then you don’t get distracted, right?” He gave them a sympathetic smile of his own. “Quite right. That’s why I never liked having customers in here, I think.” It wasn’t quite the same, though, was it? Solitude by choice or by nature?

Don't be fooled, this one gets silly.

Fic summary, tags and tags under the cut.

Fic summary:

Half a year after Aziraphale left, Crowley is trying his best to come to terms with the fact that the world is going to end in just seven weeks and that he will likely have to face that end alone. Having done all he can, all that's left for him to do is to distract himself while he waits. Teaching a too-nice-for-their-own-good human not to take in random strangers might be just the ticket. Meanwhile, up in Heaven, Aziraphale is receiving some troubling news about the Second Coming. Troubling - but possibly the best chance he is ever going to get to set things to rights. Now, if only he could get Crowley aboard, but that seems to be much more difficult than he would like. The solution to all their problems is much closer than they think. If only they'd remember the elephant... OR: Just another post-season 2 fic. But with more glitter.

Tags:

Post-Season/Series 02, Canon Compliant, until S3 is out at least, Angst, Fluff, Comedy, sfw, The Second Coming (Good Omens), Jesus took the Crucifixion personally, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), They Are Not Talking, until they are, canon typical drinking, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Jaded Millennia old beings vs jaded Millennial, Original Character(s), Symbolism, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Bad Puns, Innuendo, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Miscommunication, actual communication, Unlicensed and Unintentional and Involuntary Therapy, Rated M for heavy angst towards the end, POV Alternating, Additional Tags to Be Added, Betaed, Glitter, Footnotes

Big thanks to @bellisima-writes and @lickthecowhappy for beating <3

Tagging @goodomensafterdark and @di-42. Let me know if you want to be added to or taken off the list :)

#good omens #haemey wreytes #good omens fanfic #credo series #et resurrexit tertia die #fanfiction friday #fan fiction friday #good omens fanfiction

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jyuugyoza · 2 days ago

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Brew & Breakdown (2/2)

cast: Harua, Taki, Maki

genre: Comedy, Slice-of-Life, Rom-Com, Workplace Drama

wc: 6,739

The crush has a name, the vlog has a fan, and someone forgot to mention they have a girlfriend. At & Café, things aren’t just heating up— they’re steaming over.

Chapter III: Name Tags and Curveballs

By now, & Café was less a coffee shop and more a soap opera with oat milk.

Since the viral vlog post, customer traffic had doubled. Half came for the caffeine, the other half to catch a glimpse of “that barista who forgot how to breathe.”

Maki, camera in hand, surveyed the packed café with the weariness of a man who didn’t sign up to be anyone’s producer — and yet, here he was. Filming Taki steaming milk like he was defusing a bomb. Again.

“You good?” Maki asked.

“I had a dream jyuugyoza complimented my latte art,” Taki replied.

“You don’t even do latte art.”

“Exactly. That’s how powerful it was.”

Right on cue, the bell rang.

She walked in. Same coat. Same confidence. But this time... something different.

She approached the counter, leaned in ever so slightly, and said with that velvet voice:

“Dolce Latte. Extra shot. And—”

Taki held his breath.

“—you can call me Danish.”

Taki blinked. Maki’s phone nearly fell from his hand. Harua audibly gasped.

“Danish?” Taki repeated, mostly to confirm that this wasn’t a fever dream.

“Like the pastry,” she added, lips curling into a subtle smile.

Taki looked like he’d been hit by a pastry truck.

To everyone’s surprise, Danish didn’t leave immediately. She stayed.

“You ever wonder why people keep coming back to cafés?” she asked Taki.

Taki blinked. “Honestly? I assumed it was the caffeine.”

“That too,” she smiled. “But mostly... I like watching people try.”

He tilted his head. “Try what?”

“Try to say what they mean. Try to be brave.” She took another sip. “You’re fun to watch, Taki.”

Taki looked like his soul had left his body, floated out the front door, and gently exploded.

“I—thank you. I think. I’m trying not to die right now.”

She laughed. Actually laughed. “You’re doing better than most.”

Maki, watching from afar, whispered to himself, “This woman has main character energy and a black belt in flirting.”

Taki, internally: dead.

Maki: still filming.

He stopped mid-sentence when he saw his phone buzz.

Anonymous Comment on 'Behind the Beans: The Latte That Flirted Back'

“The one behind the camera is kind of my type. Does he make lattes too, or just chaos?”

Maki stared at the comment. “Nope.”

Harua peered over his shoulder. “Wait. Someone has a crush on you now?”

Taki perked up. “Did they just flirt with your vlog self?”

“I’m deleting the channel.”

“You’re absolutely not,” Harua said. “This is your love arc.”

Maki scrolled down.

Another comment. Same user.

“Tell him I’m a long-time watcher. First-time commenter. Second-time thinking he looks good in black.”

Harua gasped so loudly it startled a customer. “You have a mystery admirer. A hot one. Probably.”

“I bet it’s one of the regulars,” Taki said, suddenly thrilled not to be the only one spiraling.

Maki narrowed his eyes. “No one flirts in my comment section unless they mean war.”

That night, while editing the newest vlog, Maki refreshed the comments.

Nothing new.

Until one more line appeared.

“Still watching. Still interested. I’ll be by later. My name’s Mejiya 😋”

Taki leaned over the screen. “She left her name?!”

“She left her name,” Maki echoed. “This is getting weird.”

Harua squinted. “Or romantic.”

Taki nodded. “Or both.”

Maki stared at the screen, then slowly turned to Harua, who was playing with latte foam nearby.

“If this is you,” he said flatly, “I will drown your cinnamon shaker.”

Harua just smiled. “Wouldn’t be me. I use way more emojis.”

Then the door jingled.

A girl stepped inside. She wore relaxed jeans, a white shirt tucked halfway in, sneakers, and a slouchy canvas bag slung over one shoulder. Her hair was tied back with a scrunchie, and she had the kind of quiet confidence that made people turn without realizing why.

Harua dropped the whipped cream can.

Taki blinked. “Who is that?”

Harua cleared his throat. “That’s… my girlfriend.”

Maki choked on air. “YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?!”

Harua nodded solemnly. “Yeah. I forgot to mention. She was live abroad. Now she’s here.”

The girl walked right up to the counter, leaned forward, and said:

“Hi. Large Iced Cafe Latte, and Harua, stop pretending you didn’t see me.”

Taki’s brain crashed. Maki’s camera was already recording.

Harua blushed harder than anyone thought was possible. “Coming right up, baby.”

Maki turned to the camera. “Well. Guess we’re filming a whole new plotline now.”

Chapter IV: Comment Section, Now in Person

The next morning, & Café had two types of tension in the air: the kind that came from unspoken feelings… and the kind that came from someone forgetting to order more oat milk.

Harua was humming, his girlfriend sat at her usual corner table, typing away on her laptop with the calm efficiency of someone who hadn’t just been casually introduced as a plot twist. She occasionally sipped her latte, completely unbothered by the romantic soap opera happening five feet away.

Meanwhile, Taki was stress-wiping the counter like it owed him money. “Do you think she’ll actually come? What if it was a troll comment? What if she shows up and it’s awkward?”

“You being here is already awkward,” Harua said, without looking up from restocking syrups.

Maki emerged from the back room holding his camera like it was a weapon. “I’m ready. Mic’s on. Emotions preloaded. Let’s go.”

Taki squinted. “You’re filming this?”

“Obviously. If I go down, I’m taking the internet with me.”

Then—right on cue—the bell above the door jingled.

They all froze.

A girl stepped in.

She wore a flowy blue dress with a camera around her neck and a tote bag with enamel pins that looked like tiny broken hearts. She walked like she knew the script already.

She looked at the menu, then at Maki. “Hi. I’m Mejiya.”

Taki wheezed audibly.

Harua dropped a straw.

Maki blinked. “You’re real.”

Mejiya grinned. “Some days.”

She stepped up to the counter, calm and cool. “Iced Lychee Tea. Less ice. No sugar. Also… you look better off-camera, which is saying something.”

Maki nearly tripped over the espresso cart.

Taki leaned toward Harua. “She just complimented and insulted him in the same sentence.”

“She’s efficient,” Harua whispered. “I respect it.”

Maki cleared his throat. “So… you’re the one leaving notes— I mean, comments on my channel?”

“Guilty. You film everything. I figured it was my turn to direct something.”

“Direct what, exactly?”

She smiled. “Us.”

Collective mental breakdown.

From the corner, Harua’s girlfriend glanced up, clearly amused, then returned to her typing.

Mejiya took her tea, tapped the counter twice, and walked to the window seat without another word.

Harua stared after her. “You’re in so much trouble.”

Maki exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for three chapters. “Yeah. And I think I like it.”

END.

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rustcoloredraccoon · 7 months ago

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The bed is big enough for all three of us by Rustcoloredraccoon on AO3

Rating:Mature

Archive Warning:No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:M/M

Fandoms:Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)

Relationships:Tim Drake/Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd

Characters:Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake (DCU)

Additional Tags:5+1 Things, Established Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Fluff, Endgame JayDickTim

Summary: "I'm just worried he'll take it wrong," Dick said and reached for a tissue on their bedside table for Jason could have the opportunity to distract him again.

"How the hell could he take it wrong? 'Hi, Timmers, for Christmas, we just want you wrapped up in a pretty bow with nothing else on.' Plenty straightforward, if you ask me."

5 times Dick and Jason tried to talk to Tim about opening their relationship to him, and 1 time Tim actually heard them out.

Ever since I wrote Some of people are just meant to die from a broken heart about 2 years ago, sometimes it comes to my mind, that while Tim was angsting and dying over the possibility of his feelings being unrequited, Jason and Dick were probably scheming and falling over themselves trying to come up with ways to woo him and how from their perspective, the entire story would probably be a comedy, if not just much more light hearted. Well, I'm not good at comedy, but for this year's sadly not annual Christmas fic (because I FUCKING FORGOT LAST YEAR, I'M SO MAD), here's JayDick trying to talk faster than Tim's mind could come up with a wrong conclusion. (spoiler alert: nothing is quicker than Tim's mind coming to a wrong conclusion)

#dicktim #jaytim #jaydicktim #batcest #jaydick

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meitantei-shitpost · 2 years ago

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Hiya!!! I am extremely extremely obsessed with your comedy au (if it’s okay, could I do a drawing for it…? credit and tagged for u of course!) anyways! I was wondering if you had anything in mind for how the police are gonna react?

Omgggg thank you!! ☺️ I’m so glad you like all the silly shenanigans!! And you can do whatever you want with this au, I encourage it! :D

Also, the police first saw Shinichi after he shrunk at a crime scene like usual. He was so invested in the case he forgot to explain himself, but they’re so used to working with him they realized who he was easily. Other people were kinda just treating Shinichi like normal so they figured it’d be insensitive to ask directly. They all made up their own assumptions about what happened, assuming everyone else thought the same thing.

Thank you for the ask!!! I love making stupid situations 😭😭

#dcmk #my stuff #my art #detective conan comedy au #ask

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gravehags · 2 years ago

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traduzione

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: Teen

Tags: dinner "date", a little bit of comedy turns into a whole lot of angst, girl these bitches don't know how to process OR express their feelings, secondo is a real one, terzo's subtle matchmaking hard at work as always

Words: 2,862

Summary: You finally decide to cash in your favor.

a/n: inspired by my quest to find a book for my capstone and only being able to locate a copy in italian. copia, my heroic translator.

divider by @gothdaddyissues!

“Hey Copia, I–oh!”

You realize a moment too late that you’ve barged into Cardinal Copia’s office without knocking in your eagerness to get to the man in question. Papa Secondo is standing with his arms crossed in his green and black robes (no mitre in sight) looking at you with his brows pulled together in a frown. Copia, looking like a startled version of one of his own rats, stands up hastily.

“I’m so sorry,” you squeak, backing out of the room but Secondo is already moving towards you. Every time you see him in full regalia with his paints you have a hard time equating it to the man who casually made you the best bolognese of your life. When he descends upon you, you feel so small. Out of all the papas, he is easily the most intimidating. You look up into the signature Emeritus gaze and after a beat, his withering expression fades and he gives you a slow, very deliberate wink.

“Cardinale, I will discuss our matter with you later. Piccolina…” he intones ominously before snagging your hand and raising to his lips in a brief kiss, “arrivederci.”

And with that Secondo Emeritus dramatically sweeps from the room, shutting the door behind him. Copia is standing stock-still behind his desk, looking vaguely horrified.

“Copia I am so sorry I forgot to knock, I’ve just been in my head all day and was so anxious to tell you–”

“Tell me what, cara?” He resumes his seat and gestures for you to take the one opposite him.

“Well…I suppose not really tell you. I…er…I would like to cash in my favor.”

The cardinal’s interest is immediately grabbed and he scoots forward in his seat to lean his elbows on the desk and intertwine his fingers. There’s color high on his freckled cheeks and he seems breathless when he finally speaks.

“What–” Copia clears his throat when the word comes out embarrassingly high pitched, “what do you have in mind?”

You take a deep breath. “Okay so. Imperator gave me permission to use Ministry funds to purchase a very rare, very important book for collections research, right?”

Copia nods, unsure of where this is going.

“The thing is…it’s entirely in Italian. And there are quite literally no available translations anywhere so I was wondering if you…could assist.”

The cardinal deflates a little and you’re slightly perplexed.

“Are you…are you sure that’s what you want to use your favor on?”

Oh, you know exactly what you’d really like to use your favor on. Something involving those plump painted lips and gloved hands spreading you open and—

Anyway.

“Yeah well I figured it’s going to be quite an undertaking having you read me this book while I transcribe notes. Not something I’d bother you with under any other circumstances. And if you don’t want to do it that’s fine, I can always ask one of the Italian speaking siblings or–”

“Naturalmente, I’ll do it,” he says quickly, completely banishing the idea of seeking outside help from your mind, “eh…when would you like to begin?”

“Oh the book won’t be here for a couple of weeks still but maybe we could use our Friday game night? You can just read to me until you’re tired of it or we’re both tired of it.”

Copia nods slowly, and you still sense a level of disappointment from him. Odd.

“I’ll um,” you say, fidgeting with a pen on his desk, “I’ll cook for you.”

Your attempt to sweeten the deal earns a snort of laughter from Copia, which causes you to pout.

“What? I can cook!”

“You burned the bruschetta for the dinner we had with the Papas.”

Your cheeks light up as you frown deeply at him.

“Okay, now that you’re such a doubting Thomas about it,” you smirk, leaning back in your chair, “I’ll make you anything you say. Name it.”

Copia looks almost impressed as he considers your offer.

“Eh…alright. Cacio e pepe.”

You smack your palms flat against the worktop of his desk. “Done. Just you wait, you’ll show up and I’ll have dinner, maybe a little chianti…”

“Sounds awfully romantic, cara. Do you perhaps have other intentions?”

His eyes are glittering mischievously, clearly teasing you, but your cheeks heat up all the same. Okay, so maybe you did have other intentions. Yes, you need him to translate this book for you but also…it sounds nice. Just the two of you, sitting on your couch eating pasta and reading about the creation of infernal art in Baroque Rome. When you realize his mismatched gaze has been staring at you for several moments, you laugh nervously.

“Copia, I promise I don’t have any designs on your…uh…virtue.”

He chuckles at this, leaning back and folding his hands over his stomach.

“Cara, I would be a poor Satanic cardinal indeed if I had any virtue left.”

“I don’t know, you’ve been awfully patient with me during this conversation. And you’re so diligent about your work. And incredibly kind. I think you’re still redeemable.”

When he scoffs and waves his hand, cheeks red, you stand up and make for the door.

“I’ll keep you posted about when the book arrives okay?”

“Sì, sì,” he says, straightening in his chair and shuffling paperwork.

“Looking forward to our date,” you say with a smirk, making sure to catch a glimpse of his eyes going wide and face going red as you flounce out the door.

–

Eleven days pass when you delicately unwrap the book from its secure packaging in your office. Holding it in hand, you use your dark red fingernail to trace the embossed title. After a moment, you set it down and pick up your phone to text Copia.

Book’s here. Tomorrow night? 6:00?

Looking forward to it, mia cara.

The endearment still makes you warm and fuzzy inside and you take a moment to revel in the feeling before the weight of reality comes crashing down on you.

You have no fucking clue how to make cacio e pepe.

–

Catching Secondo away from his brothers or outside of Ministry duties is a difficult beast. You have one chance to time it right and snag him in his office before his confession duties start and he is waylaid by siblings wishing to share their sins and desires with him. Lurking around the corner, you watch as another cardinal you are unfamiliar with leaves Secondo’s office and once he is out of sight, you bolt for the door. It hasn’t even fully closed yet when you’re knocking rapidly on it, waiting in the threshold. Secondo whirls around behind his desk and when his eyes land on you, he smirks.

“You’ve learned to knock before entering rooms now, I see,” he says, placing his hands on his desk and leaning forward.

“Uh…yeah. Sorry about that. Great to see you and all but I have a big favor to ask of you. Huge.”

Secondo leans back and his face relaxes into a neutral expression.

“Don’t you usually ask il tuo cardinale for favors?”

Your Italian is shit but you pick that up loud and clear. Your cardinal.

“Haha yeah see the favor is sort of about him, you know?”

When he gestures for you to continue your tale of woe the words spill out of your mouth at an alarming rate, “I promised him I would make him dinner and I can’t cook for shit and he requested cacio e pepe and I was wondering if you could teach me?”

He looks both stunned and impressed by the speed at which you relay your request, but after a moment his face schools into a soft smile.

“Piccolina,” he begins, walking over to you, “I’ll do you one better, I’ll make it for you. Our little secret, no? When is this engagement with the cardinal?”

You want to cry, you're so relieved and thankful and without thinking, you throw your arms around him, squeezing tight. He stumbles backwards a little from the force with which you have flung yourself at him, but he pats you on the back all the same.

“Secondo, I could kiss you right now,” you sigh into his vestments before pulling back. He’s looking at you with a peculiar little knowing half smile.

“Normally I would take you up on that offer but,” he pauses, bringing his hands together, “I am not who you are destined for, sì?”

You start to ask what exactly he means by that little cryptic comment when he’s ushering you out the door and into the hall.

“It’s at six, tomorrow night. Secondo thank you, thank you, thank you. You’re a reputation saver.”

He steps out too and begins to walk into the direction of the chapel while you blow an abundance of air kisses at him, which he catches with the most stoic of faces.

—

As promised, Secondo delivers the still-hot pasta at 5:45, just in time for you to put the pot on the stove to make it look legitimate. You texted Copia earlier, telling him to dress casual. You’ve put on one of your nicer pairs of black leggings and a cut up shirt from the Ghost project, which you’ve recently acquired from Terzo. The book is resting on your hastily tidied coffee table, along with your laptop. You’ve got the chianti, as promised - a good bottle too - another gift from Terzo. Nervously you uncork the bottle and set it on the counter to let it breathe while you wait for his arrival. When his knocks sound on your door you nearly jump out of your skin before padding over to open it. You fling it open and there he is, il tuo cardinale, and you can’t help but smile at his outfit. You’ve never in all your months at the abbey seen him dress casual, and his version is perfectly delightful. He’s wearing a matching loose red tracksuit with a black t-shirt on underneath, gloves still on his hands and his pristine black dress shoes on his feet. You’re so incredibly charmed by his appearance you forget to move aside to let him in until he makes a nervous noise and gestures into your quarters.

“Hi! Sorry! Please come in!”

You pull away to go “check” on the pasta as he shuffles into your space and closes the door behind him.

“Smells good,” he comments as he moves towards your small kitchen space.

“Doesn’t it?” you preen, pouring a generous amount of wine into his glass before handing it off to him. He swirls it around and leans his perfect pointed nose into the glass to inhale, before pulling back looking impressed.

“Terzo gave it to me,” you comment, pouring yourself a glass, “You like it?”

“Very good,” he says, looking at the bottle, “how kind of Papa Terzo to give you one of my favorites.”

You halt your pouring and look over to him. Once again you are struck by Terzo’s preternatural ability to steer you in Copia’s direction in one way or another. Honestly, it’s getting to the point where you should write him a thank you note every time it happens.

“Please, go take a seat, I’ll dish you up some pasta,” you say, ushering him over to the small living room while he takes both glasses in his hands. Taking two plates from a cabinet you make sure to scoop the pasta and twirl it artfully on the white porcelain. A little sprinkle of pecorino romano, as per Secondo’s instruction, et voila. Perfection. You dish out your portion and grab a couple forks and walk over to the couch, presenting his plate with a flourish.

“Cacio e pepe, as promised,” you murmur, taking a seat on the other end of the sofa and sitting criss-cross. You don’t take a bite until Copia has, watching him slowly chew and contemplate the meal.

“Bellissima,” he finally says as he gathers another forkful, “I take back my unkind words about your cooking skills. Although, I do have to say there is something…familiar about this dish.”

You stop mid chew and look up at him silently with wide eyes before swallowing and laughing nervously.

“Old family recipe,” you comment, before hastily adding, “not my family recipe I mean, but…someone’s certainly. Right?”

You’re not lying to him, technically but you make sure to dodge eye contact with him throughout the rest of the meal. Some time later when the two of you finish and you gather your plates to put them in the sink, you miss Copia smiling to himself knowingly as he sips his wine. You return with the bottle, refilling both your glasses before situating yourself comfortably and pulling your laptop over.

“Ready?” you say, firing up your word processor.

He nods, and picks up the old book, handling it with great care before opening it and settling on the first page. Listening to him is…wonderful. He intersperses his English translation with bits of the original Italian, and the way his tongue wraps around the words and the extra flourish with which he rolls his r’s makes you sigh dreamily. At times, you get so caught up in simply listening to him speak that you forget to type out your notes and have to ask him to pause so you can recalibrate your brain to the task. The bottle of wine goes quickly, and the contents go straight to your head. You can feel your cheeks and chest flush and you know your filter is gone when you interrupt him to speak.

“I love listening to you talk,” you smile, leaning your head onto the back cushion of the couch.

Copia looks flabbergasted, face heating up to match yours and it takes all your willpower to not move your computer aside and climb into his lap. You can think of no one else who deserves to be kissed more than he. Always so patient with you, so kind. You know you’re looking at him funny because he nervously looks away as if he’s afraid of what could happen next.

“Eh…I think I should go,” he says, closing the book and rising from the couch as your smile slips. Now look at what you’ve done, you think bitterly, you’re scaring him off. The liquor is making your head spin and you want to cry at how stupid you’ve been. This is how it always is with the two of you, you always talk a big flirtatious game but when he comes down to it, neither of you will pull the trigger. Imagine how you would have looked trying to kiss him, the voice in your head laughs, your wine-stained lips clumsily searching for his. He’s a satanic Cardinal, get real. You have to dig your fingernails into the meat of your palm to keep yourself from crying as you stand up and follow him to the door.

“Thank you, cara,” he murmurs after you open it for him. “I am…I am very tired all of a sudden. The wine, you see. Very powerful stuff.”

You nod in agreement with a stiff smile, looking past him. He seems to pick up on your shift in mood, and gently takes your hands into his gloved ones.

“Dolcezza,” he begins, gazing at you earnestly, “ragazza meravigliosa. I…”

He falters, unsure of what to say or perhaps, how to say what he wants to tell you. Be brave, you think, be fucking brave and do something for once. Before he can stutter out anything more you place your hand softly on his cheek and hold it there for a moment, content to feel the warmth of his skin. He exhales deeply and shakily as you run your thumb over his freckled cheekbone. Before any other voices inside you can tell you to do otherwise, you lean in and press a sweet, lingering kiss to his cheek, right at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t exactly what you wanted, you have after all done this exact thing before in a drunken state, but this time feels…different. When you finally pull away, your breath ghosts over his lips and he lets out a miniscule noise.

“For being you, Copia,” you say, “thank you. For everything, always.”

He looks as if he could burst into tears at any moment and you look away, allowing him time to gather himself. When he clears his throat and claps his hands together, you look back at him with a bright smile. The moment is gone and you both return to playing pretend about your true emotions.

“We can…uh…finish this later, sì? I hope what we’ve done so far helps.”

“It does, thank you Cardinal. I’ll see you later, okay?”

He nods, still wearing the mask he so carefully puts on in moments like this.

“Bene. Goodnight, cara. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Copia,” you say, heart sinking as you watch him walk down the corridor and you shut your door. Sighing, you lower yourself to the floor with your back against it, looking around the small apartment.

Bravery does not come easily to either of you, it seems.

But that doesn’t mean you’ll stop trying.

#cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #cardinal copia x f!reader #cardinal copia #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

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