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trivia-yandere · 3 months ago

Note

Can I request a very smuttyyy storyyy? Pairing a successful & huge actor yandere jungkook x starlet/newbie actress reader pls!

starstruck (1)

jungkook, a highly award-winning actor, has his eyes set on you, an upcoming actress, to be his love interest in his new movie.

word count: 5.652

warning: yandere themes/tendencies, power imbalance, naive reader, manipulation, coercion, dub-con, non-con (acting) scenes, oral sex, dirty talk, face-fucking, ass-slapping, choking/w belt, squirting, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampie,

“I want her.”

The director’s lips snap shut as Jungkook points at your portrait photo. Dare he say he takes several deep breaths before he speaks.

“She has little acting experience.” the direct murmurs. “She’s only ever starred in indie horror films that are complete trash-”

“I happened to enjoy “Attack of the Killer Space Beetles”.” Jungkook jokes. He couldn’t help but begin to laugh at how ridiculous the name sounded. “Besides, you said you wanted a fresh face, right?”

The director sighs, but nods his head. A new face alongside Jungkook, an academy award-winning one, was needed. He wanted the audience to come to the theatres because of Jungkook, but stay long enough for the story.

“Exactly. She auditioned. Her credentials are…” Jungkook trails off.

You did a lot of horror movies that only “horror lovers” would watch - for the sake of saying they’ve watched a lot of horror movies. They weren’t blockbuster or household names. They did, however, have a cult following. You were a newbie, but you did have a small fan base that enjoyed you being dragged across the ground covered in fake blood.

“This is a horror movie, as well.” Jungkook shrugs. He leans back into the leather seat and stretches his arms out. “Right in her element.”

“Yes but…there’s sex scenes.” the director shakes his head. “She’s never done that. She hasn’t even been nude before. I don’t have time to coach a new girl-”

“You don’t. That’s what the intimacy coach is for.”

The director ponders why Jungkook was fighting so hard for you specifically. Being a big name in the industry, Jungkook cost millions and was the highest paid in any movie franchise or television series he starred in. He directed a few movies himself, and even assisted in producing them. He was the reason as to why a few celebrities had careers today - he had an eye for talent.

Jungkook’s current eye was now on you - a fresh face. Your acting was good and you had the potential. You went to college for acting and all; a degree not everyone had. Your heart was in it, you just needed the opportunity.

Jungkook was going to be that opportunity for you. He watched the way your eyes widen as you walked into the audition room, script in hand. You were immediately nervous when your eyes locked with his that it caused Jungkook to smile with how innocent you were.

So new and naive to the world of cinema - anyone would take advantage of such naivety.

“Fine. If you think she’s good, then I’ll give her a call.” the director throws his hands up. Jungkook wasn’t a fool. He put on many celebrities - Kim Taehyung was one of the highest paid actors a part of a soap opera right now. The man hadn’t even come to the audition for himself, but instead as support for his friend. It was Jungkook who spotted the deep voiced man and asked him to audition for a role and said “Jungkook sent me”.

When your phone rings with an unknown number you hadn’t recognized, you assume it was either a spam call or a call from your agent telling you that you didn’t get the role but “there will be other roles available”.

You weren’t expecting to get a call from the same director as a week prior telling you that you got the role. You had forgotten how to breathe when the news was given to you that when the director asked if you were still there, you almost fainted.

“I’ll get in contact with your agent and pass her the details. In the meantime, Jeon Jungkook-” Your heart instantly pounds at the name. “-will be speaking with you soon. I hope it wasn’t bad that I’ve given him your contact information.”

“No!” you nearly scream, and you want to slap yourself. “I mean no, it’s not an issue.”

“Good.” the direct chuckles. “Jungkook has a good eye for talent, Ms. Y/L. He chose you himself.”

Your heart jolts and your eyes widen.

“If things go as planned, you could be just as big as him one day.”

Just as big as Jeon Jungkook one day.

Jeon Jungkook - thee Jeon Jungkook - had picked you. The award winning actor who’s graced your screen since you were a teenager had chosen you. You out of hundreds of female leads.

Upon your arrival at the audience, you were already nervous. You were in a room full of beautiful women, some you recognized. You contemplated turning around and going back home to this very apartment you rent for far too much than you can truly afford.

But you hadn’t. You stayed for hours and once your name was called, you entered. You audience and you got the role.

All because of Jeon Jungkook.

You could faint right now, your eyes swelling with tears. This could be the moment you studied so hard for. The acting classes you took daily cost you to work night shift, along with you studying in college for acting. You took your dream seriously and now…

“It’s paying off.” you say to yourself. You’re in complete silence now, head against your satin pillowcase. You’re staring up at the ceiling.

Your phone begins to buzz against your chest. You’re alarmed by the amount of notifications that are coming all at once.

Instagram notifications were coming through rapidly, all too quickly for you to grasp as to why. You open the app and find out for yourself.

You were an actress, yes, and you did have a bit of a following. You posted behind the scene pictures to your instagram sometimes and it garnered you over 10,000 followers.

You were shocked to see the following count rise from over 10,000, to nearly 100,000.

“W-What…?”

You understood why. The post shows up right as you click “home”.

Jeon Jungkook has followed you. He had uploaded a picture of him with a script in his hands, smiling. His lips are a rosy pink and the lip-piercing adds a touch of attractiveness - how was that even possible?

jeon.jk can’t wait to start filming our new horror movie “starstruck” with @yn. we’re both going to look good covered in blood 😭

Your breathing quickens.

Breathe.

“Oh fuck.” you gasp out, palms sweaty. This was an exact reminder that this was all real. Jeon Jungkook acknowledging you publicly. He appeared excited to work with you - fuck, he was the one that chose you.

Not to forget that Jungkook also said you were going to look good covered in blood.

“Oh fuck.” you repeat.

You’re running, your feet nearly getting caught on the pavement. The sky is dark and cloudless, and the street lights don’t do enough to shine your path.

Your heart is racing outside your chest and you feel as though your body is going to give out any moment now. You want nothing more than to stop and catch your breath, but you don’t. You don’t dare to.

Your footsteps are not the only ones you hear. The ones behind you are catching up - growing closer and closer. You don’t look back - that would only distract you. You could only wish that they are further than what they sound.

A loud screech releases from your throat when your hair is being pulled and you’re set backwards and right onto your back. Your manage to not hit your head on the way down, but your body is soaked in mud.

“Why are you running?”

That voice.

Your ankle is grabbed tightly and you’re being dragged. You continue to scream and cry as the man drags you closer to him. You attempt to kick your feet and to free yourself from this crazed man, but you’re unable to.

“Stop fucking screaming.” the man roars suddenly, his yells echoing off of the trees. “You,” a hand is slammed against your lips. “are only alive because I want you to be.”

Your heart pounds with how close the man was.

With how handsome, too. A handsome man like him didn’t do things like this. Handsome men with good jobs and money didn’t stalk you. They didn’t threaten your livelihood.

They didn’t chase you in the middle of the night, either - yet here he stood.

“Please.” you shake your head, crying. The tears finally spilled down your cheeks and your vision of the handsome man was blurring. “Please…”

“You’re so pretty when you cry.” the man laughs. His thumb rubs away a stray tear. “You’re pleading now because you’re scared. Where’s the woman that fought me earlier?”

You cry harder when the man shakes you roughly, now screaming in your face.

“Where is she? Where is she?!”

Your eyes grow wide when the man clenches your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. His dark eyes stare a hole through you. Almost if he was looking right through you - inside of you.

“Open your mouth.” the man commands.

You stiffen. Slowly, your eyes drifted to the side.

The director is seated in a chair. He’s watching the scene unfold, intrigued with how well you are acting. He doesn’t seem fazed that Jungkook had deviated from the script.

“I said,” Jungkook, in character, hissed. Without much thought, he squeezes your cheek until your mouth opens. He forces two of his fingers inside of your mouth and you’re entirely distraught to do anything. “open your mouth.” he repeats.

DId you somehow forget this scene? You’ve read the script countless times - there was no way this was in it. You’re far too shocked to do anything and neither Jungkook nor the direct stop.

“Let me see what that mouth of yours can do while you’re afraid.”

Your chest rises and falls, eyes widening. Jungkook’s fingers force themselves deeper inside of you, holding onto your limp form.

“Cut!”

You gasp when Jungkook’s fingers remove themself from your mouth. He wipes them onto his pants without a care and smiles at you. “You okay?”

The demeanor changes instantly. Jungkook’s eyes soften and the hardened expression you witnessed before is gone entirely.

This was all an act, of course. Jungkook was an actor. Of course he wasn’t some psychotic psycho chasing you through the woods.

“Y/N, you’re a natural.” the director calls from his chair. “I’m actually shocked by how well you’re doing. We’ve filmed all day now so we should have enough.” he says, clapping his hand. “Need everyone back here first thing tomorrow morning. Jungkook, Y/N,”

Your eyes turn back to Jungkook who is now standing. He offers you his hand - it’s covered in makeup to hide the tattoos - and you hesitantly take it.

“I’m sorry about the sudden change in script.” Jungkook murmurs to you. “I was told to improvise. He likes raw reactions.”

Raw reactions.

You nod your head, cheeks warming. “No problem, really.” you assure, yet you’d be lying if you say the change in script didn’t terrify you. It all seemed too real, even with countless people around you watching. Jungkook had a way that made you feel like it was only you and him around - and that’s just with the little scenes you and he acted in already.

“Intimacy coordinator wants to meet with the two of you.”

You bite your lip.

You knew that this was a horror film and there were scenes you’ve never done before. Sex scenes to be precise. You’ve read the script and you were left an embarrassed mess when you had to read the lines over with Jungkook, but he was professional. He made it easier for you with how polite and reassuring he was.

“You’re doing great.” Jungkook says as you and he walk down the grassy hill towards the trailers.

Jungkook had his own trailer and much to your surprise, he had even rented you one. Typically, there was a trailer for people to share, but you’ve never had your own. It was never in the budget for the films you’ve done.

“Thanks.” you smile at him. “I was hoping I wouldn’t fall on my ass before you got to me.”

Jungkook chuckles. “You’re a natural on camera.” he says, and the compliment causes your body to warm up. “You can tell that you’re accustomed to the horror vibe.”

You nod your head a bit. “I try to be. I’ve been in corny horror movies though.” you joke.

You recall when you and Jungkook had officially met to go over the script and he mentioned he enjoyed ‘Attack of the Killer Space Beetles’. You were immediately embarrassed, but Jungkook had actually watched and enjoyed it. He recounted scenes from the movie that even you forgot about.

“Corny movies are only a stepping stone to your big break.” Jungkook says. He places a hand onto your shoulder and squeezes it gently before bringing you closer to his side in a sideways hug.

Meeting with the intimacy coordinator had only reminded you that you’ve indeed never experienced anything like this. She was sweet in asking for your opinions - if you felt comfortable in the amount of sexual activity that would be happening behind the camera.

A sex scene was new to you, but not to Jungkook. That also caused more nerves to be added onto your shoulders. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself too much in front of him and the rest of the crew.

Jungkook, however, was more supportive. He insisted that things weren’t as they seemed and most outcomes were just illusions.

“So since you’re new,” the intimacy coordinator states. “you’re possibly wondering how scenes are executed on set. These are modest garments.”

The coordinator shows you different skin-color shades of garments. “They’re strapless things with a barrier inside of them. Do you want to feel?”

Though you’re humiliated, you are also intrigued. You touch the garment and hum as you nod your head. You suppose this is how things are done - so you wouldn’t actually be feeling Jungkook.

“For men, we have them wear something called a modesty pouch.”

Jungkook leans back into his chair. He watches the way your eyes examine all of the garments, genuinely intrigued by it all as the intimacy coordinator explains to you how everything is done. Your naivety with how everything works is what causes Jungkook’s lips to form a small smile - you were cute, he thinks. This was like a whole new world to you that you’ve never been a part of; one that he was showing you.

“We have different types of garments you could wear and try on. Since you are new, we’ll have to find your size.” you nod along to her speech. “And we’ll also have to work on what we call “faking it”.”

“Fake moaning.” Jungkook nods his head at your confused look.

“We have to make it look real while we’re filming so the final product appears as such. But as you can see, it’s all fake at the end of the day.”

For the next hour, you were explained step-by-step of how intimacy works, camera angles, faking sounds and all. Once the meeting was over, you felt that this was something you could actually do without feeling like such a newbie.

“Feel better?” Jungkook asks.

You and Jungkook are side by side now as you make your way out of your own trailer. You changed back into your clothes and decided that it was best for you to head back home. The evening sun casted a burnt orange type of hue over the set entirely.

“Yes.” you nod your head with a soft grin. “I can’t wait to watch the movie when it’s all done. I want to redeem myself from my past work.”

Jungkook snickers. “You’ll be amazing. Trust me.” he assures. “I waited to ask if you wanted to grab dinner and go over the script.”

You blink a few times, uncertain. Your stomach was rumbling and you could go for food right now - but did you truly want to go over the script? “What scenes did you want to go through?”

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “A few. Especially if we’re going to get told to keep improvising.”

Improvising. Your mind flashes with the way Jungkook looked and sounded earlier, followed by the way he forced his fingers into your mouth. It was eerie, especially when you didn’t know it was happening. You’re positive, however, that the raw reaction the director was looking for was highly evident.

“It shouldn’t be an issue, I guess.” you shrug your shoulders. You didn’t want Jungkook to think you weren’t passionate about the project - you were!

This is how you and Jungkook found yourselves, eating takeout while attempting to go over the script. You willingly drink the wine Jungkook gives you, admitting to yourself that it actually was an amazing taste - he told you it was thousands of dollars and you cannot comprehend just how someone could spend that much on it.

“Okay, let’s get back to the script.” you say after another sip of wine. “Where did we leave off?”

Jungkook turns a few pages before looking up at you. “We should try an intimate one. Get it out of the way so tomorrow it’ll be easier to perform.”

Nodding your head, you take a deep breath. You had read this scene countless times to memorize your lines. Watching Jungkook get into character was amazing. Even while practicing, he still gives a stellar performance.

“I missed you.” He says, taking a few steps towards you. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I-I haven’t.” you say. This scene involves you being in bed, but you and Jungkook are in his living room, so the couch would have to do.

“Yes you have. Are you afraid of me?” Jungkook comes closer until he’s hovering above you, dark eyes tracing over your body. “You know I’ll never hurt you.”

You flinch when a hand comes near you. “I-I…you told me you’d kill anyone who touched me. That’s not normal.” you quip.

“I can’t help how I feel!” Jungkook hisses. He plops down besides you, his eyes softening. “Please, baby…I’m sorry. Just give me another chance. You know I’ll never hurt you. Sometimes I get angry and…”

This was where the intimacy got started. Jungkook’s lips are on your neck immediately, kissing at the nape of it. His hand places itself onto your inner thigh and he squeezes.

“You drive me crazy.”

Your eyes close for a moment, swallowing. Jungkook kisses up your neck, hand growing closer and closer to you.

“We shouldn’t be doing this…” you murmur. “...you-”

You stop immediately when Jungkook’s hands touch your clothed heat. He cups it in his palm, your cheeks warming.

“Sssh…” Jungkook hums, continuing to rub. You weren’t wearing any safety garments - Jungkook knows this. You’re unable to move as he continues to rub. “...just let me.”

Jungkook squeezes your cupped heat, eyes flickering to see your reaction. Your shy face appears bewildered and you’re unable to move.

“You okay?” Jungkook asks. That wasn’t part of the script, and neither was him touching you. “Does it feel good?”

“Jung…kook?”

You say his name so sweetly that it causes him to moan.

“I like the way you say my name.” Jungkook admits. He’s so close to your face. It’s warm with embarrassment and nerves. This wasn’t part of the script - was he improvising again? Even this is too much.

“W-What are you doing?” you ask. He’s close like he was before, his eyes dark with someone else that you couldn’t put your finger on. Your heart is pumping so loudly, your thighs quivering.

“We’re going to be around one another for months. You and I have to look like we’re intimate on camera.” Jungkook’s tongue swipes along your neck. The hair on your skin rises. “We mind as well get comfortable.”

Comfortable…

The way Jungkook’s hands forces it’s way into your pants, you’re entirely stiff. You’re afraid to move, especially when his fingers rub along your clothed heat through your panties. A soft gasp comes from your lips.

“It feels good, right?” Jungkook hums against your neck. His tongue slides up towards your ear, his teeth nibbling slightly on it just to tease you further. “Talk.”

“Is this…okay?” you ask him, as if you aren’t the one that should be assured. Jungkook looks into your eyes and it drives him crazy. Those sweet, innocent eyes. Such naivety behind them.

“Of course this is okay. You feel good, don’t you?” Jungkook asks.

You nod your head a bit. It felt good - but you and Jungkook were co-workers. You didn’t want to go too far with him and have things be awkward on set later on. Nor did you want him to think you were a groupie who is willing to jump his bones at any given moment.

“We’re going to have to act in front of the camera, Y/N. You’re going to have to moan…” Jungkook murmurs. “I want you to be completely comfortable for me. It’s just us.”

You don’t move when Jungkook tugs your pants down and discards them on the floor. His eyes are intense, watching you the entire time. He places his hands back between your legs, continuing to rub your wet core through your panties.

“You’re new to this.” Jungkook chuckles. “But it’s just you and me. I want you to be comfortable enough for me, okay? Tell me how you feel.”

You aren’t new to sex, but those hookups weren’t Jeon Jungkook. You were self-conscious already. You’re positive he’s done this with countless women - all beautiful models and actresses. You were just you; a newbie in the world and you’re positive you look it.

“It feels nice.” you mumble.

“Yeah?” Jungkook chuckles again, just because you were so cute. “And now?”

Pushing your panties aside, Jungkook slides his fingers across your wet clit. He rubs a bit more profusely, hissing as just how good he knows your pussy feels. He knows it's tight and would milk him for everything he has.

“In order to look convincing on camera, we’re going to have to experience it behind the scenes.” Jungkook explains. “Don’t you want this? This movie is going to be big.”

Jungkook wouldn't say he was manipulating you. You could push him away and say no - he just knows you won’t. You did want this. He was going to open doors for you that would’ve remained closed if it wasn’t for him.

"The scene we’re acting out is a bit aggressive, but not all of them are.” Jungkook assures. His cock tightens at just the thought of handling you the same way his movie character handles yours. “You trust me right?”

Slowly, and slightly unsure, you nod your head.

“Good.” Jungkook removes his hand from your clit. “Get up. And strip.”

Jungkook was blurring the lines between reality and the script. But you wanted to be good - good enough for him to realize that he didn’t make a mistake in choosing you.

“Yes, sir.” you nod your head, following along with the script.

Jungkook watches you peel off the remaining clothing. Your bra falls right besides your panties, erect nipples staring back at him.

“Go up the stairs and to the right. That’s my bedroom.” Jungkook instructs. “We can’t act this scene out on the couch.”

You can feel Jungkook watching you as you do as he says. Being fully nude before him is nerve wrecking and you just hope you can appear sexy as you’re supposed to. You and him were actually going to do this - there’s no garments to hide either of your parts from one another.

“You think I’d allow anyone else to have what’s mine?” Jungkook hisses. He removes his belt as you sit on his bed, innocent eyes looking up at him.

“N-No, sir.” you murmur back.

“Exactly. I’d kill anyone who thinks they’ll take you away from me.” Jungkook pushes his pants off. You don’t want to stare at the obvious bulge in his underwear, but it’s hard not to. “How should I punish you then? You tried to run away from me.”

You swallow. “Sir-”

“How about you get on your knees?”

You lick your lips. Your character is supposed to be frightened, doing whatever it takes to survive Jungkook’s character - the obvious bubbling psychopath. Witnessing you on your knees, naked with those eyes causes something in Jungkook’s chest to rumble. His cock throbs, wishing you’d touch him already.

“I’d do anything, sir.” you say. Your soft hands lift up to touch him, sliding up his bare legs until they are on either side of his thighs.

“Open your mouth.” Jungkook demands. His free hand is placed on your chin. “Wider.” he instructs over and over until your tongue is out.

You’re trembling when Jungkook pushes his underwear out. This is something you’ve never done. Oral sex wasn’t something you were interested in with simple hookups. His cock is big, veiny with a wet tip. Without warning - though you should’ve expected, he rubs his tip against your tongue. It’s salty and at the first sign of your hesitance, Jungkook tightens his fingers on your chin.

“You’re doing good.” Jungkook instructs. “You’ve sucked on a lollipop before, right? Treat it like that.”

This was Jungkook talking to you, not his character. His breathing increases when you listen. You were such a good girl - and your compliance would be rewarded. He could make you into the perfect actress - highly awarded just like he was. In due time, of course.

You do as Jungkook says, licking his tip just as you would a lollipop. It’s new to you and you aren’t sure if you’re doing it correctly, but Jungkook’s gasping lowly so you assume you are. Your eyes flicker up to look at him for reassurance.

“You’re doing good.” Jungkook says as if he knows. “Just…take more of me, yeah?”

Jungkook thrusts himself deeper into your wet mouth, groaning when you allow him to with little resistance. His hand holds onto your cheek. “Stay like this, okay. Let me…”

Jungkook begins to pump his cock in and out of you slowly. His moaning increases, his dark eyes fluttering every so often. You’re shocked with how wet you were, your thighs clenching together. Doing this for Jungkook and witnessing how good it makes him feel makes you feel good.

“You’re so beautiful taking my cock.” Jungkook speaks, rubbing his thumb against your cheek. “You’re so good.”

Jungkook picks up the pace, as does his moans. Watching the way your wet mouth takes his cock deeper and deeper with little resistance, even if he can see the whelming tears forming to your eyes with how overwhelming it was. Fuck, you were such temptress.

“You’re such a good girl, Y/N. I promise you’d have it all. Just be good to me, okay?” Jungkook’s cock is so deep in your mouth that you cannot physically respond, but a hum vibrates from your throat and sends Jungkook into a frenzy.

You’re unsure how you haven’t gagged more than a couple times with how deep Jungkook was, growing more aggressive by the second. You’re breathing through your nose heavily for air, your eyes glossy.

Jungkook spills entirely into your throat, the salty, warm substance causing you to actually gag. You swallow it, unsure what else to do after he removes his cock from your mouth. You finally breathe from your lips, blinking away the tears from your eyes.

“Look at you,” Jungkook hisses. “turn around.”

You were going by the script again. Once you can see again, you do as you’re told. You already know what’s next - the belt still in his right hand. You had to prepare for when you and him do this scene you suppose.

Jungkook wraps the leather belt around your neck, tightening just enough that it isn’t choking you. He forces you onto your feet.

“This is what I do to whore’s who don’t listen.”

You’re forced onto the bed. You immediately know what position to get into, having read the script. And Jungkook thinks you’re such an obedient person that it drives him crazy.

You aren’t sure how this scene was going to play out in front of the camera, but Jungkook isn’t hesitant to slam a hand directly on your bare ass. You yelp at the sudden action - and the sensation of it.

“Count.” Jungkook demands.

“One.”

SLAP!

“Two.”

SLAP!

“T-Three…”

SLAP!

Your thighs are quivering, forced apart so Jungkook could watch the way arousal trickles down your thighs helplessly. Your ass is stinging, a pleasurable feeling you’ve never experienced until now.

Jungkook yanks at the belt and you’re forced upward and against his chest. You struggle a moment, eyes widening.

“You’re wet.” Jungkook says against your ear. “You like this, don’t you?”

You nod slightly, cheeks warm with embarrassment.

“That’s okay.” Jungkook assures. “I want you to feel good, too.”

Jungkook’s free hand slides between your legs. He doesn’t allow you to move and his grip onto the belt is firm. He likes the way you helplessly lean against his chest while his hand rubs along your wet clit.

“Let’s see how well you take my fingers.”

Jungkook’s fingers are intruding, but he doesn’t care. He slides them between your folds and right in you. You’re tighter than he thought, fully taking him entirely.

You gasp at the feeling, your pussy clenching instantly. Jungkook doesn’t intend on being soft with you - no. It’s what you were going to have to get used to. This wasn’t a soft movie - it was hard. It was intruding and invasive - showcasing just how obsessed Jungkook’s character was with yours.

Your pussy is squelching so loudly that Jungkook adds another finger. You’re moaning helplessly, your thighs aching too close to stop the overstimulation but Jungkook isn’t going to allow it. He forces his knee between your legs to assure you stay exactly like this.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, a hand on his wrist. “s-slow down, please. I-i can’t-”

“Shut up.” Jungkook hisses. He was enjoying fucking his fingers into your pussy. He can feel it - the throbbing and clenching and unclenching.

“I have to…” you’re breathing heavily. Your eyes squeeze shut and your hands, to no avail, are attempting to pry Jungkook off of you. His hand only tugs on the belt.

There’s pressure building up in you. You felt as though you had to pee and you weren’t going to humiliate yourself and do that now. “P-please…!”

“Let go, Y/N. I know you feel it.” Jungkook’s voice is so deep that it tickles something in you. He wasn’t going to release you - not until you did what he said.

You have no control over the pressure that builds and builds until your body forces it out. It sprays entirely onto your thighs and onto the silk bed sheets.

“Such a good girl you are, Y/N.” Jungkook shakes his head, his wet fingers removed from your hole.

Jungkook isn’t going to let you regain any peace - not when you and he had to perfect your roles. When you feel something else at your entrance, you’re too overstimulated to say anything.

Jungkook enters you. You’re so wet that he slides past your walls effortlessly. He groans, feeling your wet pussy around his cock is mind blowing. You were amazing, he thinks, so wet and willing. He finds pleasure in knowing that it was him that is going to discover you and all your talents.

Jungkook begins to pump, forcing you onto his bed so he can get a better grip on you. Your legs are forced apart and your head is shoved into the wet sheets. You’re unable to form words and your eyes are still shut. He’s so deep, pounding into you with every ounce of aggression the script calls for.

“You’re going to be a star, Y/N. I’ll make sure of it.” Jungkook hisses. He’s positive that you’re only half listening, the other half of you babbling and moaning to yourself. But he’ll make sure to tell you once more in the morning.

Your hands grip the sheet, unsure if you were going to be able to handle another orgasm, but Jungkook wasn’t going to stop until you both were there.

Your ass bounces against his abdomen, your wet pussy gushing with more and more juices that he’s unsure just how this was possible. You’re creaming around his cock, so good that he’s positive you’re cumming over and over again.

“You love this, don’t you? You get to get fucked by me and have the world at your hands. You and I…” Jungkook speaks, now more to himself. To think about it, he could be your guide. Someone to protect you from harm in this industry - you were new and naive. Anyone could take advantage of you. “...I’ll protect you, Y/N. Make sure no one has their way with you.”

You whimper once more when you feel another sensation flowing though you and Jungkook are chuckling with delight. You’re limp, forced to allow Jungkook to have his way with you.

“Maybe we should become the next power couple, huh? Dominate the industry…the perfect actress I can have you be…”

Jungkook’s thrusts become sloppy, satisfied with the possibility of making you the star he knows you can be. The one you and he could be together - fuck, he was going to cum. His eyes squeeze shut, a few more thrusts and-

You feel warmth pool through you and Jungkook falls right on top of you. Your thighs are trembling and your eyes are heavy. You’ve cum more than you ever had before and you had no energy in you to move.

Jungkook is panting, his mouth right against your shoulder. He’s still pumping cum into you, sweat forming on his forehead. One thing for sure, Jungkook couldn’t wait to make you a star.

@investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @minshookie29 @darkuni63 @chimmy-licious

teaser!

part two

#jungkook is crazy #jungkook smut #actor jungkook #bts smut #bangtan smut #trivia-yandere #jungkook x reader #btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #bangtanwriters net #btswritersclub #bangtanwritershq #starstruck #explicit-tae #bts yandere #jungkook yandere

2K notes · View notes

hs-is-loml · 6 months ago

Text

He's My Favorite. (ln4)

Pairing: Lando Norris x Sainz!Actress!Reader

Summary: fans are speculating who y/n might be dating but it turns out it was in front of their faces the whole time. or y/n and lando are mistakenly considered to only be best friends and people are in for a surprise.

Type: Social Media AU! face claim is Bruna Marquezine!

Warnings: probably a few grammar errors. lots of fluff. drivers standing their ground against neymar jr. because he deserves his own warning. inaccurate timelines but then again this is a fictional smau! UNEDITED

a/n: i'm on a kick rn. nothing can stop me.

all translations come from google! english translations are in parentheses!!

masterlist

twitter

instagram

carlossainz55 just made a post

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, landonorris, and 1,560,937 others

carlossainz55 so proud of this one! but papa did say your head is growing too big after you saw yourself on the billboard...and i agree with him. anyways, go support y/n by watching her new movie Blue Beetle now in theaters!

tagged yourusername

view all 117,342 comments

sainzforlife this family is too talented for their own good-

yourusername papa did not say that.

→ carlossainz55 just ask him then @/carlossainzoficial

→ carlossainzoficial mija, es de lo único que has estado hablando desde que lo viste. (daughter, that's all you've been talking about since you saw it.)

→ yourusername papa, that's not very nice. don't try to pretend like i didn't catch you sending the trailer to all your friends last week...

iamrebeccad beautiful girl and amazing movie!

→ yourusername i love you more than my brother.

→ liked by iamrebeccad and 217 others

xolo_mariduena at least you didn't see her crying when she first saw the billboard

→ yourusername XOLO, NO ONE WAS SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT

→ landonorris send the video.

→ yourusername now, look what you've done. all the drivers are going to see me crying now-

→ xolo_mariduena you'll still take me to the next gp right...?

landonorris just to let you guys know she cried after this photo was taken too

→ carlando4life does this mean lando was with the family for the private screening??

→ 4papaya lando is a part of their family so probably😭

instagram

landonorris just made a post

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, mclaren, and 1,860,657 others

landonorris can't believe this girl is going to be blown up on the big screen coming to theaters near you. jokes aside proud of you and everything you do.

tagged yourusername

view all 99,342 comments

thatonebakucorner this post is so sweet!

yourusername thank you, lan🫶🏻

→ carlossainz55 why did you send him a heart?

→ charles_leclerc yeah, what's that about?🤨

→ yourusername carlos, you're just jealous you didn't get a post from lando

georgerussell63 i never get appreciation posts like this

→ landonorris what do you want me to post about your slideshows?

→ alex_albon it's because you're not y/n

welovey/n LOL not the drivers grilling lando about this post

ln4csforever "proud of you and everything you do" LANDO JUST TELL HER YOU LOVE HER ALREADY

→ paddockfashion please- like lando could pull someone like y/n

twitter

instagram

yourusername just made a post

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, neymarjr, and 1,341,972 others

yourusername such a crazy week but glad i got to spend it with some of my favorite people. thank you for all the love and support you guys have given to Blue Beetle!

tagged carlossainz55 and landonorris

view all 117,593 comments

worldchampionsisaid what is neymar doing here?!?

→ neymarandy/n they need to get back together asap!

→ mywifeisy/n yes because that would be such a good idea even though he cheated on his baby mama while she was pregnant??

oscarpiastri lando is asking if you're serious with the guy in the third photo

→ oscarpiastri apparently, i wasn't supposed to ask you on here so now lando is yelling at me.

carmenmmundt proud of you, love! ❤️

→ yourusername love you, carmen! ��

ferraricountyourdays the third pic?? Y/N, WHO IS THAT MAN??

→ y/nismilf she needs to hard launch him already!

neymarjr linda como sempre, amor. (beautiful as always, love.)

→ carlossainz55 no, go away.

→ charles_leclerc wrong post, buddy.

→ georgerussell63 abosolutely not-

→ danielricciardo don't forget what happened last time you tried to contact her.

→ maxverstappen1 move along.

→ fifaandf1crossover do you know you have 30 minutes?

→ y/npleasemarryme love that they always protect her!

shesmyfavactress weird she posted picture with her bf along with one of lando and carlos

→ f1girlies maybe because she's an adult and allowed to be friends with her brother's ex teammate?

fernandoalo_oficial i remember when i used to be your favorite driver

→ carlossainzoficial those were the days

→ yourusername you two are still my favorite of all time.

→ carlossainz55 i'm hurt, y/n.

→ landonorris so was your caption meaningless?

→ yourusername i can't win.

whatacrossover oh, lando and y/n are definitely dating.

yourusername just added to their story

shared post by yourusername and landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55, anasainzvdec, and 2,493,968 others

yourusername and landonorris just kidding, he's my favorite.

view all 136,975 comments

carlossainz55 that hand is getting a bit low, don't you think?

→ yourusername get over it. you've had years to get used to this already.

→ inmyf1era YEARS you say?

landonorris i get to be with you every day. what a life.

→ yourusername i love you.

→ oscarpiastri you're ridiculous

→ charles_leclerc mate, look what she has turned you into

→ yourusername charles, i will tell alex about this.

→ charles_leclerc I WAS JUST KIDDING. PLEASE NO

lilymhe was waiting for this hard launch!

→ alex_albon i thought lando was going to spill before they could even do one

carlossainzoficial what can i say i love my son so i approve

→ yourusername could've said that you love and care for your daughter's happiness

sebastianvettel actually, y/n forgot who her real favorite is

→ yourusername love you, seb!

→ landonorris back off, old man.

2K notes · View notes

shouyuus · 4 months ago

Text

─── Ⅵ FOR THE LOVE OF FLOWERS

violet; 4,403 words; fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, bartender!vi, florist!reader, (probably) incorrect depiction of florist/bartender life, sun and moon dynamic, so much pining, dad!vander, bff!mel, mylo and claggor being... mylo and claggor, mindless, tooth-rotting fluff, lapslock, no "y/n"

summary: in which you work at the flowershop directly across the street from the last drop.

a/n: happy belated valentines day!!! i know i have like a bunch of other wips but i wanted to write something cutesy and it's still valentines weekend for me so... i hope you guys enjoy! :)

─── Ⅵ THE FIRST TIME SHE SEES YOU, it’s valentine’s day — after a long night of serving drinks and arguing with progressively drunker and drunker men (doubtlessly hoping to land a lay at the bar the night before valentine’s) and a botched hookup attempt (vi texted; hookup did not respond. the crowd boos), the sight of you across the streets had felt something like a dream.

she’d always known about the flower shop directly opposite the small, two lane street from the last drop —

for the love of flowers.

it’s a cute name, written in looping, ornate script, and she’s never paid it much attention till now, what with her schedule being so opposite yours, but that morning (february 14th, she’ll never forget) she sees you, pushing open the gorgeous french windows and setting up the sign, in a teddybear coat that looked like a wayward cloud had wandered down to earth and made itself into a jacket, just for you.

you were humming — she doesn’t know how she knew this, but she did. she could just tell, from the way you moved through the motions of your morning routine like a dance, trailing delicate fingers along the wooden frame of your door before disappearing into the shop and reappearing a moment later with a vast bouquet of ruby-red roses.

the smile on your face had been nothing short of incandescent.

it’s been a full year since then (so they say, time slips by quick when you’ve got a crush — or, whatever) and somehow, she still doesn’t know your name.

she knows other things though — she knows the shape and weight of all your smiles, the way your eyes glitter when you’re helping a customer pick out their flowers. she knows there’s a very fluffy white cat that sometimes likes to sunbathe on the shop’s windowsill, and that when it does come to visit, you always have a warm bowl of milk ready. she knows the cadence of your mornings, the rhyme and rhythm of your opening and closing routines. she knows the colors of all your favorite dresses, and how you like to match them to your seemingly endless collection of cute little flats.

she knows your laughter sounds like bell-chimes, the few times she’s heard it ringing out across the street. she knows the fragments of your voice she’s sometimes overhead, carried on the autumn wind, sometimes reminds her of birdsong.

and, she knows that she doesn’t stand a chance.

“you do,” vander chimes, wiping down the bartop one morning, even as vi helps him stack the stools, the window facing the street thrown open. vi groans, unable to help the way her eyes flicker towards it, towards the shape of your flower-shop across the street, where she knows that in about 10 minutes exactly, you’ll throw open your own white-paneled windows and start prepping for your day.

“how could you possibly know that?” vi asks, crinkling her nose at the whine that sneaks into her voice.

vander makes a sound not unlike an amused bear before slinging the large washcloth onto his shoulder and shooting her a fox-sly grin, his eyes beetle-dark and twinkling.

“just trust your old man on this, yeah? it’s valentine’s day tomorrow, so trot on over after we close… and buy ‘er some flowers. see how that goes, hm?”

vi chews on her lip — it sounds simple enough when vander says it like that but…

heat plumes up the back of her neck at the thought of you, in one of your myriad dresses, perhaps with leggings on underneath to protect against the mid-february chill, the flower patterned apron tied around your waist, a pair of red scissors tucked into the front pocket.

she’s shaking her head before she can stop herself.

“no — i — i can’t, she doesn’t even know i exist — how creepy would it be to just show up and —”

vander cuts her off with a massive hand on her shoulder, giving her a tiny shake that nonetheless makes vi’s head wobble.

“she does know you exist,” vander says, and from up this close, vi can almost see her own reflection in the dark of his eyes. “just… give it a go. and if it doesn’t work… i’ll cover all your drinks here for a week.”

vi puffs out an incredulous laugh.

“vander, i work here — i already drink for free.”

vander chuckles, “fine then, you’ll get the next two weekends off, how’s that?”

vi’s face brightens, “really? and… if it does go well?” she taps her fingers nervously against the worn wooden bar.

vander’s grin widens by degrees, “then… you’ll get the two weekends off anyway — for your first and second dates, sound good?”

vi blinks, staring up at vander for a solid few seconds before laughing and holding out her hand.

“yeah, sure — thanks old man.”

vander huffs, taking her hand in his and giving it a soft pat, and for a moment, vi feels the inexplicable urge to throw her arms around him and bury her face in his chest like she used to when she was still small enough for him to lift onto his shoulders. instead, she only swallows and gives his hand a tight squeeze.

his whole face softens as he lifts a hand to cluck at her chin, chuckling as she scowls and makes a half-hearted attempt to duck away.

“that’s my girl.”

vi turns away with burning cheeks and a giddy smile spreading across her face. she makes her way to the back where the door opens out onto the alley where the delivery truck for the next night’s liquors is already idling. she waves at the benzo, and reaches into the back for a crate of fresh beer bottles, counting down the seconds till tomorrow morning.

she doesn’t see, across the street, the flicker of lights click on in your shop or hear the slight creak of hinges as you push open the windows, shivering slightly in the pre-dawn wind. she doesn’t see the way you crane your neck out to try and catch a glimpse of her, of the tiny pout that pushes at your lips when you don’t see her familiar silhouette in the bar’s old, wooden window.

she doesn’t see the way your shoulders slump, or the way you glance down at your fingers, clutching at the window sill as you try to tell yourself that maybe, maybe this time, you’ll go over and talk to her. she doesn’t see you mouthing the words to yourself, as if going over lines for a stage-play — hi! i hope this isn’t too weird but… i’ve seen you across the street almost every day and… i just thought… well… would i be able to buy you a drink?

you shake your head, groaning inwardly to yourself as you slip back into your shop and grab the large sign that usually goes out front, boasting of the currently in-season flowers and any discounts you might be having.

“god, who even offers to buy a bartender a drink? she’ll probably think i’m an idiot or something —”

“i’m sure it’s not the first time she’s heard that line before, darling,” mel says, barely glancing up from behind the register, taking stock of the previous day’s sales.

“yeah, and i’m willing to be that it’s sucked for her every single time.”

“you won’t know till you’ve tried it,” mel sing-songs, even as she sighs and rounds the register to help you pick out the most eye-catching flowers for the outdoor display.

you scowl down at a fresh batch of roses, just in time for valentine’s day. you reach for your scissors and start the methodical work of ridding them of all their thorns.

by the time you carry the floral display outside and duck back in for the sign, it’s to catch a glimpse of vi, laughing as she jokes around with a pair of boys (who you’ve surmised by now also work at the bar), her ducking beneath an attempted jab and jumping up to loop her arm around one of them in a headlock. the sound of their yelps and laughter rings bright and clear against the mid-morning sky, a second before the wind kicks up and sends the hem of your dress fluttering.

you squeak, pushing it down, your eyes slingshotting back across the street, but vi’s already gone, disappeared into the back alley, the memory of her voice still echoing in your chest like the opening bars of a love song you’ve always known, but can never remember the lyrics of.

you catch sight of vander as he reaches out to close the window of the last drop, and for a second, your eyes meet. he cocks his head, a knowing grin slung across his lips even as you blush and raise your hand in greeting. he pauses to dip his head at you, before turning to say something to someone you can’t quite see, and then he’s turning back, lifting a hand to his lips as if to say — your secret’s safe with me.

something thuds in your chest as he shoots you a furtive wink and pulls the window shut.

“darling? come help me with these snapdragons — i can never get them to sit as nicely as you do.”

you turn and hurry back into the shop, your mind spinning even as you busy yourself with the task of arranging the shop for opening.

the day passes by in a whirlwind of cut-stems and wrapping paper, of satin ribbon and hard twine. and by the time you’re closing up shop, the familiar, heart-warming glow of light is already pouring from the window of the last drop, and a few seconds later, you see the heart-rending shape of vi as she pushes through the front door, holding it open with a hip to let vander through, chattering about this or that.

you whip around before she can catch you staring and busy yourself with checking over the leftover flowers from the outside display, warmth creeping up the back of your neck. you’re sure you can feel the weight of her eyes on you, and you tell yourself that it’s nothing — just something friendly, or neighborly, or — something bumps against your ankle and you glance down to find poro the cat twining herself between your legs.

“hey there,” you greet, bending down to pick her up. poro lets out a pleased mewl, purring loudly as you run your fingers through her silken fur, “we missed you today — but you never liked the big crowds, huh?” you smile, making your way to the window and setting her down on the wide ledge. she spins herself around twice before settling, her fluffy tail wrapping around her paws as she watches you with large, sky-blue eyes.

across the street, vi watches, her heart in her throat, and nearly walks into the edge of the door with an armful of empty crates, catching herself three seconds before faceplanting into the pavement. behind her, mylo lets out a bark of laughter even as claggor groans, shaking his head and sidestepping them both back into the bar.

“y’know, this whole lesbian pining thing’s gone on for a bit too long,” mylo says, spinning a beer bottle opener around his index finger as he and vi make their way in behind claggor.

“shut the fuck up,” vi snipes, shouldering passed mylo towards the stairs leading to the basement, her stomach twisting at the thought of perhaps asking you out in less than 24 hours. she sighs, dropping the crates into a corner and turning to leave again, only to find mylo leaning against the narrow stairwell, staring at her with the a sanctimonious smirk.

her eyes narrow, “you’re one to talk,” she grumbles, making her way back to stare him straight in the eyes; she sees him falter, the flash of uncertainty in his eyes before he squares up again, puffing out his chest, “how long’ve you been thirsting after the lead singer of that indie band again? two years now? three?”

“th-that’s different!” mylo insists, stumbling after her as vi shoves passed him back up the stairs.

vi cocks an eyebrow, reaching up to grab a barstool, setting it on the floor with a loud clack.

“yeah? how so?”

mylo licks his lips, “it’s — she — she’s like a celebrity, y’know? so it’s — it’s normal that i haven’t —”

“what celebrity? her band plays here like every other week — you’ve had more facetime with gert over the past few years than i’ve had with —” vi gestures towards the door, “flowergirl, in like… ever!”

on the opposite end of the bar, claggor is helping vander wipe down tables, glancing up from his work with a deep sigh.

“so is she gonna do it, or what?”

vander grunts, “think she actually might, tomorrow morning.”

“yeah? how’d you convince her?”

vander shrugs, “offered her two weekends off.”

claggor snorts, “figures. well — if it finally gets the two of them together then…” he mimics wiping sweat off his brow and shaking off his fingers. vander laughs, nodding.

“one can only hope.” he casts another glance towards where vi and mylo are now locked in a full-out brawl, vi having pinned mylo’s face to the recently wiped bar top with his arm twisted behind his back.

across the street, you’re sighing into a handful of Iron Plant leaves, stripping out the ones with yellowing tips and keeping the most vibrant ones for the next day.

“you’ll age yourself if you keep sighing like that,” mel says, reaching over your shoulder to pluck a particularly green leaf from the bunch and swatting at your head as if it were a feather-duster.

you frown, wiping your hands on your apron before moving to the next batch of leaves.

“it’s just… been so long and i — i don’t even think she’s looked at me.”

mel groans, “oh trust me — she has.”

“you keep saying that, but i’ve never —”

“just because you’ve never seen it, darling, doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened.” she reaches out to tug the sheers from your hand with dexterous fingers. she snaps them once, the sharp snip making you wince.

“yes, yes — i know…” you lick your lips, glancing at the window. outside, the setting sun has burnished the entire street in gold. a second later, the door of the last drop swings open again and vi appears, her eyes casting towards your shop and for a fraction of a second — no longer than a hummingbird’s wingbeat — your eyes meet.

the contact is electric, scintillating and strange — it shocks through you, staticking through all your nerve endings till your fingers and toes are tingling with it — the buzzing energy, the potential of something.

anything —

more.

and then, mylo bumps into vi as he clambers by, and the moment is broken, the tenuous connection between you shattering like sugar-string. vi shoves mylo back hard, and by the time she looks back, you’ve melted back into the flower-decked interior of the shop.

it is a long night, though in general, the one before valentines day always is. too many bruised egos, sloshing over the sides of beer steins. too many puffed-up, washed-up, has-beens, wandering the darkened corners of the town in search of a warm body inside which they might partake in the delicate art of forgetting. and in vi’s experience, wounded prides have never mixed well with alcohol — no matter what the occasion.

so by the morning, she’s exhausted, the sunrise greeting her in all its fool’s gold glory.

vander gives her a pat on the back and slides an irish coffee down the bar towards her. she stares at the white frothy top before cracking him a grin and chugging down half in a single gulp, wincing slightly a the sharp bite of whiskey.

vander laughs, shrugging as vi stares at the remainder of the glass.

“thought you could use a little liquid courage.”

vi sniffs, sucks in a breath, and downs the rest of the drink, raising the empty glass to vander before sliding it back down the bar. vander reaches out to catch it in a single smooth motion, waving her off.

“right, now go on and get your girl.”

vi coughs, “she’s not my —”

claggor tuts, “just go already — we’ll finish up here —”

vi opens her mouth as if to respond, but at another hard look from vander, she deflates, grumbling to herself as she drags the back of her hand across her lips to make sure there’s no residual whipped cream, before pushing out the door, bracing herself against the mid-february wind.

the street is nearly empty this early in the morning, and the dawning sunlight has yet to settle into it’s usual richness, still a bit wane, papering the street in the palest shade of gold. on the opposite horizon, the night is is bleeding out the last dregs of its own inky darkness, a crescent moon hung like a ghostly petal, floating across the surface of a late winter sky.

vi shoves both her hands into her jacket pockets and hunches her shoulders against a kick of wind, half-jogging across the thin, two-lane street just as you push your windows open.

“oh! hi! uhm —” your voice is just as beautiful as she’s always known it would be.

vi squeezes her fists inside her pockets, scuffing her feet against the pavement as she watches the way your cheeks flush rose-petal-pink, and then you’re ducking back into the store, only to appear a second later, stepping through the front door in a velvet dress red as holly-berries (or perhaps just the shade of bleeding hearts), your usual apron tied around your waist, a thin scarf looped around your neck to protect against the chill.

“hey! sorry to just — randomly run across the street like this —” she waves a hand awkwardly at the last drop, closing up behind her.

you shake your head, pressing your palms to the front of your apron, “no! it’s okay — actually i —”

“i wanted to ask — oh, sorry no —” she speaks over you in her haste, backtracking immediately, even as you flap your hands, seemingly just as flustered as she is.

“no, no! it’s fine — what did you want to ask?” you open your hands, expectant.

and you’re looking at her, gods, you’re looking at her. and vi can’t think for the rabbit’s foot thump of her heart, beating inside her chest, making her vision swim as a rush of blood floods her ears, washing out all sound except for the silver-bell chime of your voice. she digs her nails into her palms, clearing her throat.

“uh… it’s just… i was — i was wondering — shit — well, okay — say… i wanted to get someone flowers —”

you blink, your eyes flickering between both of hers at her words. and then, you turn, if only to keep her from seeing the way your expression falls, ever so slightly.

“oh… yeah? okay, sure — i can help you with that — do you know what kind of flowers you’d like?” you lead her into the main body of your shop, holding the door open for her.

vi steps through, scratching at the back of her neck, glancing around, trying not to seem so overwhelmed by the utter explosion of fragrance and color.

“th-that’s the thing though — i — i mean, i don’t know anything about flowers so — i thought — i wanted to ask for your help —” she glances back at you; you clear your throat and look away, reaching out to brush a finger along the petal of a single red rose, lying in the middle of a perfectly cut square of wax paper.

“uh… yeah, i — i can do that — uhm — i’m assuming this is a… romantic kind of floral-endeavor?” you ask, bracingly, making a small attempt at your usual humor.

vi purses her lips, the freckles dusted across her nose made all the more prominent by the way she blushes.

“yeah — sort of.”

you take a deep breath, then start to make your way around the shop.

“okay, well — do you know their favorite color or… anything?”

vi follows a few steps behind, glancing around for any indication before she sighs.

“uhm… i know she likes colors in general — bright ones —”

you pause over a display of button mums the color of honey.

“oh! cool okay —” you make to move away again but vi jerks forward, reaching out in an abortive movement, her hand caught in midair as you turn. you stare, unable to entirely keep the skip from your heartbeat.

“i just — holy fuck —” she runs a hand over her face, looking strangely abashed as she drops her hand, squeezing her fingers into fists before letting them loose again. you wonder, for a moment, why she might be so nervous before she licks her lips and continues, “— so — say you were going to get flowers from someone… on valentine’s day —”

you go almost preternaturally still.

“uh… huh…”

vi chews on her bottom lip so hard you’re worried, for a second, that she might draw blood. still, she looks anywhere but at you.

“w-what kind of flowers w-would you uh — would you want them to get you?”

you stare at her for a beat, and then another. a tentative hope blossoms in your chest, a single creeping vine at first, threading through your veins. you lick your lips, clasping your hands behind your back, worrying at your own fingers.

“d-depends… would this person be uhm… asking me out? or…” you trail off.

vi nods, almost too eager, taking half a step forward.

“y-yeah! maybe — if you’re… open to being asked out —”

“i — i am!” you blurt out. heat plumes into your skin like the first wisteria bloom of spring, one at first, and then another, then another — tiny flowers popping open, fragrant and shockingly violet until your chest is full of them.

“great! so… uh… the flowers —?” vi lets out a soft chuckle.

your lashes flutter, and then, you spring into movement. anything to dance off the mid-summer fire collecting beneath your skin.

“oh! sorry — right — i guess i’d like… gardenias, for secret love,” you say, rounding the shop towards the large white blooms, your heartbeat a riotous mess, clattering against your ribs as you pluck out a few of the choicest flowers. behind you, vi watches, her heart caught in the back of her throat, her breath lost somewhere in the air between you.

“maybe… a few pink camelias, for longing —” you move through to the other side of the shop, collecting the flowers one by one, your fingers trembling as you tug each of them from their stands, “hydrangeas for understanding… or at least —” you suck in a breath, “i hope…”

“y-yeah — i — i hope so too — i mean — that’s good, that’s perfect —”

you swallow, turning around to show her the budding bouquet, but when you hold out the flowers, she barely spares them a glance, her eyes fixed on you.

“y-you’re — they’re uh… beautiful.”

“u-uhm — and then… a few fillers…” you say, oddly breathless, if only to fill in the electric quiet, the air thrumming with it, as lightning might brew beyond a monsoon sky.

you finish the bouquet with a piece of twine, smiling down at your own handiwork. the flush in your cheeks only grows as you turn to offer them to her, and she smiles, pursing her lips.

“is… is there a card or something i could —” she motions towards the flowers.

you nod passed the giddiness collecting in your throat.

“s-sure! and… who —” you gulp again, tugging a small red-heart shaped card from the cash register, “who might this be for?”

vi lets out a helpless laugh, “i… i was hoping that’d be kind of obvious…”

you hesitate for a second longer before scribbling your name at the top of the card. vi leans over to read it; the way she says your name makes your chest stitch, your lungs constrict.

“and…” you finally allow yourself to look up at her, your pen hovering over the from line on the card. her gaze, when you meet it, is the most gorgeous morning-glory blue.

“vi — violet,” she says.

you smile, “pretty name.” before bending down to write it on the card as well.

“thanks. yours… isn’t so bad either,” she says, reaching for her wallet.

you wave her away.

“on the house.”

vi cocks an eyebrow, “i don’t think that’s how buy someone valentine’s day flowers works.”

you crinkle your nose, “it is if the person you’re buying them for runs a flower shop.”

at this, vi laughs, the sound sweet and clear as a winter’s thaw. you find yourself giggling too, looking down at the bouquet with soft eyes.

“how about… you buy this for me… and you let me… buy you a drink tonight?” you ask, setting the flowers aside and pressing your palms to the register top. vi blinks.

“yeah?” vi’s smile lopes to the side, a sharp, dangerous twinkle caught behind her eyes, “and… what would you be getting me?”

you trail a light finger along the length of the register with a small shrug.

“actually… i was going to ask — say someone were to buy you a drink for valentine’s day…”

vi puffs out a breath, her gaze darkening by degrees.

“uh huh.”

“what kind of drink would you want them to get you?”

TAGLIST: @traiitorjoe @rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly @drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22 @lipsent @lewd_alien @jack-frost-2010 @starsfortaylor @onesockcat @lesbian-useless @armins-slvt @the-drama-is-real @froggybich @chwlogy @xrhyllamyx @yaeil @sweetybuzz25 @lustfirepoison @gigizwrld @bruisedbygod @luvmoo @autisticgirlkisser @elegantunknowncloud - join the taglist

#⛈ monsoon season #arcane #vi x reader #arcane x reader #vi fluff #arcane fluff #vi x you #arcane x you #vi arcane #violet arcane #violet x reader #vi arcane fluff #vi x y/n #arcane x y/n #for the love of 💐#<- thats gonna be my tag for this au bc YOU CAN BET im gonna write more shit in this au oh my god

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earlgreylatte · 5 months ago

Note

Hi can you do yanderes with a hypersexual darling? Like they dont like their partner but still need it, its okay if you dont want to love your work (its up to you about yanderes)

Friends with Benefits

Hal Jordan: Your next door neighbour was annoying, incorrigible really, in how much he seemed to relish in being a bother. Loud and arrogant, flirting with you at every interaction, but infuriatingly attractive, you don’t like him, at all. Especially since he seems to wait until all he has left is a pair of sweatpants to actually head down to the basement to do his laundry, proudly showing off his slim waist and defined abs. Okay, maybe you want him in a purely sexual way. And he feels the same way, so you find yourself falling into a purely transactional arrangement with him; you’re both clean and neither of you expect a follow up call, so it works. And he’s gone half the time, leaving no room for awkwardness as he’s more concerned with jumping you. And he knows how to put that annoying mouth to use. But during one of his longer stints of absence, you find yourself calling an old hookup over instead. Before you can even take your clothes off, Green Lantern of all people is bursting into your bedroom and throwing the other man off you with a brutal punch, daring him to show his face near you again before throwing him out. And, oh god, Hal is Green Lantern. That explains the constant leaving he does. But you’re more concerned about his audacity. It’s not like he’s your boyfriend and he no right to interfere in your affairs. When his face goes blank, you’re almost thankful his eyes are covered. But he only smiles before yanking you towards him by the wrist, “Looks like I’ll have to change that then.”, and you don’t think you can say no.

Booster Gold/Ted Kord: It’s not that you disliked them or anything, you even found their antics humorous at times. But, that’s as far as you would go. The whole hero community wasn’t one you wanted to involve yourself in, preferring to just do your work and return home without having to go to any of their holiday parties. But the one time you are roped into going one, and after a certain beetle starts flirting with you, you find yourself in supply closet and being joined by Booster Gold who walked in on you two. And, it’s easy being with them, not having to explain your bruises and being able to take what you want, what you need. Ted even offers to create toys that could better fit your desires. And they both seemed to understand your arrangement well enough. But soon they goad you into playing Smash Ultimate after you shower, then they’re making you food and even bringing you pastries if you’re working together. But it’s still casual, even as they refuse to let you leave their cuddle pile and start wrapping their arms around your waist after you finally agree to platonically hangout. But when a villain gets the upper hand on you, and you find yourself whisked away in the Bug as Ted cradles you and Booster nearly beats a man to death, you realize you’re totally dating them, or at least they think so. Fuck.

Kyle Rayner: Kyle’s never had the greatest luck with romance, so at some point, he just says fuck it and gives up on the whole true love thing. He just pours himself into the whole Green Lantern thing, remaining in space, exploring and tending to his duties, rather than try to cultivate a relationship back home. You enter the picture as a fellow lantern, assigned on a diplomatic mission with him, and those always take a while to complete. So when you two are bored out of your minds in your shared room, one things leads to another, and you two begin a series of flings with each other. By the time your mission is over, Kyle has already told the Guardians you need more training and that he’s more than willing to help you for the foreseeable future. He knows he said he was done with love, but he couldn’t help himself. He needs to stay with you just a little longer, just to make you feel the same way as him. And you can’t really say much, seeing as how he’s your superior and saviour of the Corps.

Johnny Storm: Everyone and their mother knew about the Human Torch, former teen idol now a general nuisance. It’s a bit hard not to be envious of him, with the glitz and glam of his hero/explorer life, surrounded by models and fast rides. So, when he asks you out after saving you, obviously you reject him. But you keep running into him afterwards, much to your annoyance, and eventually he’s grating on your nerves enough that you say fuck it, and skip the date and fuck him instead (and maybe the look of shock on his face was worth it). And that was your first mistake because god was he disgustingly good in bed, leaving you utterly satiated and covered in bite marks, so of course you proposed to keep things casual, seeing how he probably wanted sex too rather than something more intimate, playboy that he is. Until he starts referring to you as his future wife to others before insisting he’s joking when you confront him. And showing up at your work while suited up, causing everyone in your vincity to start recording. After appearing on TMZ, you decide to distance yourself from him, but kidnappings and villain encounters push you back into his arms, while his nephew starts to call you ‘auntie’ and his niece stares at you menacingly. Well, if the world is going to see you as the Human Torch’s lover, the least he can do is put his powers to some use in the bedroom…

Peter Parker: You can’t really escape him, or at least that’s how it feels like. You and Peter have attended school together since kindergarten, but that hasn’t necessarily forged a friendship. No, he’s just kid you’ll have in your class some years or see around. You thought you’d never see him again once you reached adulthood, but he’s a student of Empire State University too. You don’t have anything against him, really, but you’d rather have one of your friends show up as much as he does. But you can’t deny he’s attractive, muscle hidden beneath those baggy shirts he wears, toned stomach revealed when he stretches just so. So when you see him hanging around at a party, awkwardly nursing his solo cup, you approach and one thing leads to another, and you’re back at his place. He’s stronger than you expected, able to manhandle you into any position he likes with a near punishing force, so you stay a bit longer. You thought he knew things weren’t serious between you two until, he’s confessing he loves you, that he has for a while, as he’s climaxing in you. You wait until he falls asleep to sneak out, but you knock a box off his desk. One filled with pictures of you. And when you feel someone hovering above you while you were inspecting a particularly risqué photo of you, you don’t turn around in fear of the expression on his face. God, you’re fucked, in more than one way.

Matt Murdock: He doesn’t have the time or capacity for a relationship, but he has his urges, ones that he isn’t able to control, if his body count or meetups with the Avengers aren’t evidence enough. He knows that you’re like him too, and that you won’t get attached, so you two come to an arrangement. But the more time he spends with you and the more accustomed he becomes with your body, the harder it is for him to keep his feelings down. He knows you don’t feel the same way, from the reactions and chemicals he can feel and smell from you. But even then, he can’t bring himself to push you away. So he listens to your heartbeat from outside your home, makes sure no one even thinks of approaching you when you walk home, and continues to pine. And when he overhears a coworker plan to make a move on you, he pays them a visit as the Devil. Even if he wants more, he would rather die than have things change with you.

Thanks for the ask! Changed the request just a bit—

Also 2025 is the year of Johnny Storm, whose comic version has no fics here!! Hopefully marvel rivals creates some hype!!

Masterlist

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strawberrypumpkins · 3 months ago

Text

Thinking about Soft!Simon Riley

xoxo ; both are introverts. || SFW

Sure, when people look at the Simon Riley, it's extremely hard not to get intimidated. He's a bulky man, works in the military, and towers over everyone. On base, he's known for his shut-off attitude towards most and his frightening experience towards the other men, despite them all having the same attributes. Apart from the once-in-a-while dad jokes they hear him exchanging with Johnny or the little bickers they have, they'd think he was a total recluse.

In daily life off base, Simon Riley takes the mask off when his sweet little partner is going through the daily routine with him, either going out or staying inside. Of course, the mask has to be off no matter how much he dislikes it. He just can't risk anyone seeing the mask and realizing who he is, lest he put his dear partner in danger; they're innocent , and it's his life mission to keep his work and life two separate things.

When Simon Riley finally gets home after an almost 6-month deployment, his only role is to settle back into his comfortable home with his partner and their cat, Beetle. From the moment he gets home, he's stripping himself of the black top and cargo pants he has on; he'd much rather prefer skin-to-skin with his lovely.

They're a deep sleeper, barely even noticing him getting into bed, but out of instinct they move closer into him, making themselves comfortable as Simon wraps his arm back around them, pulling them closer. When they wake up in the morning, it's not really a surprise to see Simon there with the tight grip he has on them and the deep rumbling as he sleeps, finally able to get a good night's rest after sleeping on the uncomfortably hard bed on base and the thin blankets they use.

The couple gets comfortable immediately as Simon wakes up; they shower together. Simon helps as the gentle man he is, finishing up first and grabbing their towel and holding it out for them as they finish up. He helps dry their hair, calloused hands holding the towel against their hair, doing his best to help dry them off. He grabs the pomades they use for their hair, hoping it's the same routine as before he left. He passes his lotion to them to use; he just came back; he expects them to smell like him just for a few days, and as they take it with a soft smile, a giddy smile finds its way onto his face.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner, making coffee? Tea? Simon is standing behind them, not touching, crowding over their space, his eyes watching what they're doing; he just wants to be close.

Movies and reading are the same; his head is laid in their lap, hands wrapped around them, his attention nowhere near the movie and more on them, smelling his scent on them. How delightful.

Grocery shopping, a walk in the park, or walking through the hallways headed towards their duplex apartment? His hands are holding tightly onto their own. It doesn't matter if you don't want it, not that you can say no when he holds your hand so tightly. He just wants to be close.

And at the end of the day, as he lays in bed with you, he looks over what you're doing, leaning back on the headboard, drooping down to rest his head on your shoulder as he reads. with you, or watches the TV with you, his nose buried in your neck and hair, sniffing every once in a while, taking in your scent as if it's oxygen. Both of you haven't really said much the whole week he's been back, just subtle glances here and there. But it stirs butterflies for both, either way.

I don't know; I just really like Simon. -berrina

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon #cod #ghost cod #call of duty modern warfare

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griffongrey · 3 months ago

Text

He's Morrigan's child, which means feathers are good, shirts are the enemy, and he's perfected the art of the Sassy Lean.

Me: I'd love to get some writing done today Me to me: Make grown-up!Kieran in the pretty pretty Veilguard graphics

#in my head he's kinda fussy and fastidious and gets awkwardly formal/stiff in social settings #unless and/or until he finds an opening to infodump about beetles or fade harmonics or something #all around a very Polite Young Man who happens to insist that 'tis unfortunate' is a perfectly normal thing to say #unfortunately he learned his fashion sense from his mother and inherited both his parents' resting bitch faces #so everyone assumes he's edgy and mean :(#solona would LOVE him #souls made of dream and idea (headcanon: misc)#the tempered soul is everlasting (kieran)#spirit and mortal to me appeared (image: misc)

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luvwestwood · 1 year ago

Text

❝ DON'T WORRY 'BOUT IT DARLING! ❞ - Toji Fushiguro

— (18+) YOUR CAR BREAKS DOWN DURING A SOLO TRIP, AND A KIND MR. FUSHIGURO OFFERS TO HELP.

₊˚༊*· warnings. nsfw (18+), slow burn, rough sex, hair pulling, p in v, rough sex, slight age gap (r is 22, t is 37), pet names, raw sex, backshots, pulling out/cumming on face/mouth, pussy eating, fingering, light faceslapping, toji lives in a cabin..

₊˚༊*· notes. I missed writing sm... also, this was one of those stories where i just got carried away writing.. also if your car breaks down in the middle of no where, please don't follow a random man back to his cabin. toji is not real.

7,035 words (25m read)

header art used - credits to @/yunonoai on twt!

A holiday. The perfect thing you needed to ease your mind— work had been fucking you up lately, so you specifically had requested a few days off.

Realising you never spend time with yourself, and yourself only, had brought you to the idea of going on a solo trip. Although with budget cut short, you could only opt for a solo-road-trip; still well away from the city, and everyone.

So far, you thought it was perfect. Just you and your trusty volks beetle, cruising off for a few days to be surrounded by the county’s evergreen trees, and going down a spiral of constantly smelling wet bark here and there.

Crashing at the nearest motel just a few miles south, and digging into a typical, pancake breakfast at the closest diner the next morning. Quite basic, but you thought that it was unironically the calmest idea for a 'holiday' yet.

Pressing on the playback button, the car radio immediately sounded out the currently inserted tape that was halfway played through, your eyes rolling at the song choice.

“..I wake up in the morning I got murder on my min-“

The sound of the tape bypassing the opening filled with the car, along with silence and the engine running. “Oh for fucks sake, Yuji definitely put that in there.”

Balancing between keeping your eyes on the road, and your surroundings, you toss the DVD away to the passengers side; rummaging around the glove compartment for another disk.

But you found the peace as of now quite calming, resulting in you rolling your windows down by the slightest— taking in the natural noise of the environment.

Your cheeks turned cold to the touch as the breeze wafted throughout your entire car, your back pressing against the fabric seats, eyes only closing for a millisecond to take everything in.

Dressed in a tank top and shorts, my, it seemed like you were ready for.. who knows what. Hopefully no one takes you, accidentally, for a side-street hooker.

Bit silent, you suppose— seeing that there was no other car on this specific road too. It was eerie, but enjoyable at the same time. I mean, the road was in the middle of the woods so I doubt people would be passing in and out of here often.

Hand reaching back into the glove compartment, you grab a hold of a random disk, analyzing it as soon as you withdrew your hand back into your lap.

..The Cranberries, not too bad. Something to lighten up the mood a bit. Biting down on your bottom lip, you divert your attention away from the road for a millisecond— pushing the disk into the radio player with a swift movement.

The familiar intro of Linger began to play. Your two hands clutched onto the wheel tighter, letting out a squeal as a result of hearing one of your favorite songs.

What seemed like forever, you wondered if the road was going to look different anytime soon. It felt as if you haven't seen some sort of sign telling you there would be a bed and breakfast ten minutes up, but you simply brushed it off.

"..And I'm in so deeep, you know I'm such a fool for youuu.." Taking advantage of the empty roads, you notched the volume a bit higher, belting out your shower-learnt vocals with all your heart.

Concerning LEDs flashing on your dashboard suddenly caught your eye, your singing stopping right in the middle of the chorus.

Frantically looking down at the light, and at the road in front of you, the sensible decision to pull over came across your mind— your car quickly swerving to the side of the road, Linger still, playing as everything started to go downhill.

"W-what the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" Your hands fall onto your lap, brows furrowed at one warning appearing after the other, a whimper slipping past your lips as worry grew.

Looking out the rear window, then to the front, you've realised you're all alone. No help nearby, not for another while. Groaning, you darted your eyes back to your dashboard, seeing about three more warnings show up.

"Fuck- not now, oh come on!" ...Can't even get peace on my day off, can I?

Pulling on the latch underneath, you popped the hood open. Killing the ignition, you grab your zip-up from the backseat, throwing it on before stepping out of the car; sizzling, and smoke coming from under the hood.

"I swear.. if this is a trap for a murder film, just take me already. My survival instincts are through the roof.."

Sighing, you lift the hood up, a big cloud of grey smoke slapping you in the face, like you could suffocate any moment now.

"The hell?!" Coughing, you fanned your face, taking a few, cautious steps back from the vehicle. As soon as the smoke had went away, you leaned back in; analysing each part of your engine.

A scoff escapes your mouth, silently laughing at yourself. "Literally what the fuck am I meant to be looking at." Knuckles resting atop your hips, you stood up straight, chipping away at your fingernails with your teeth.

"..Okay, maybe I'll try and start it... and if all goes wrong- call the insurance company."

Blowing out a relieving breath, you sit back into the driver's seat, twisting the key, trying to get your car to start.

Nothing but the sweet sound of failure. Two more tries, and still the same outcome.

"..Insurance company.. right."

Unable to locate your phone, you let out a confused noise- looking sideways and upside down your car for it. "..Where could it.. be..?"

Though.. something seemed, off. Your head slowly rose up from below the passengers seat, peeping just above the car door.

A man, walking- closer, and closer.. It seems. Your heart began to thump against your chest- begging to jump out. Breathing labored, your eyes widen, body freezing at the most inconvenient of times. Wait, is he holding an axe?

"M-my.. my phone?!" With haste in your movements, you rummage through everything like a mad man, making a total mess of your car- the same mysterious guy getting closer and closer, tauntingly walking out from the deep woods.

Sitting back against your seat, your mouth gapes open; eyes glued straight ahead. This is it, I manifested it. Now why on earth did I say that?! It's over for me, I'm cooked.

You let out a mewl, attempting to sob, solely squeezing your eyes shut. Too scared to look one last time to your side, you took a few deep breaths, chanting mini prayers to save the last bit of you.

A tap on the window came from your side, your one eye opening itself. Hesitant, you slowly turn your head; seeing a muscular torso at the window tapping the glass with the handle of his axe, before the man leans down to show his face.

Dressed in jeans and a flannel, with jagged, raven colored hair— and a face to perfectly compliment his jacked up body. I see. But now's not the time to play a dating game.

"..Ma'am?" His voice deep, and rusty, your face grew more concerned, mouth still gawking like a freak in fear.

"..God, p-please don't kill me.." A quiet peep comes from you, the man resting a hand on your roof, still bent down, and chuckling.

"Lady, I could see your car smokin' all the way from my cabin. I couldn't help but see what's the matter. You want me to check it out for you, or not?" His voice happened to be quite faint from behind the glass, though you could make out what he seemed to be saying.

"..Oh... I don't mind, I just have no clue what to do, I.." Words coming out in a blabber, you stumbled over what you wanted to say, confusion written all over the mans face.

"Slow down, will ya? Can't even comprehend half the words you're saying."

Shaking your head, you brushed it off. "You know what.. forget it.. just.. check what's happening under that hood, please?"

He nods, disappearing from your window to walk around to the front of the car. Deciding to step out too, you came to the conclusion that he seemed like an okay man to trust with your car. But you just had to make sure he wasn't gonna fit some sort of tracker underneath your engine..

Crossing your arms, you walked closer to the man, who seemed to know what he was doing. Observing from a few steps away, you watched him twist and turn at a few things, no fear in getting his hands dirty. He seemed bigger at this angle, a bit bigger than you, so if he were to murder you right now... it's over.

"..Do you always carry around that axe?" Referring to the same tool that was now on the ground, you noticed his lips curl into a smile, taking note of the fading scar on the side of his mouth also.

Letting out an amused chuckle, his eyes remained focused on the problem in front of him, but his voice was able to answer something else at the same time. "Living in the middle of the woods, I think you'd do the same."

You nod, accepting the answer with no further questions. Although a few more silly ones came out of you..

"Have you ever been chased by a bear.. while living out here?" Swaying back and forth on your tippy toes, your arms stay crossed, teeth chewing at your bottom lip as you anticipated a genuine answer.

He stops, torso still bent down but head looking up at you, facial expressions unimpressed. "Do pretty girls like you always ask all these stupid questions..?"

Blinking, you freeze, at the blunt compliment and sharp stab of his words. "..I was just curious. Also, I don't even know your name. You know, if you try to kidnap me, and I happen to escape, and-"

"Toji." Short and direct, he answers that question. "Now that you've told me your game plan, I could've easily lied about my name.

Your throat running dry, you clear it out with a grunt, Toji standing back up with an unhopeful look on his face. "..Yeah, your car is busted." He picks his axe back up, turning his body to you.

"..What? But- there's no reception here and.. I have no where to go..." Great. You've told him that you're helpless, and a young, vulnerable girl who's all alone on a solo trip.

"Wait- so you're telling me you're all alone, in the middle of these woods. Lady, do you not know that there's literally nothing here but dirt and trees?" His face scrunched up in disbelief, he genuinely wondered what a girl like you would be doing here.

"..I just wanted a holiday... on my own and.. I thought.. I could crash at some motel like in the movies and.. and.. pancakes.. oh the pancakes.." A sob chokes out of you, warm tears beginning to stain your cheeks at the thought of your vacation going downhill.

Toji, on the other hand looks more confused at this rate, his voice stammering, unsure of how to console you. A random girl, crying in front of him.. Great.

"Uh, don't cry- I didn't mean to.." Scratching at his nape, he waits until you stop crying your guts out, and successfully, you do. "Look, how about I'll fix your car for you, but first we get you a place to stay."

Sniffling, you look up at him, an ounce of hope springing back into you. "..R-really?"

Relieved, Toji was able to relax by the slightest after finally getting you to stop sobbing in front of him. Comforting wasn't his forte. "Yeah, don't worry 'bout it darling. But my cabin is the only thing I could offer right now. I told you, there's nothing in this place. No.. 'motel'..."

Looking back at your busted car, then returning to Toji, he shrugs his shoulders; mouthing, 'the choice is yours.' He wasn't pressuring you at all, but it was true that there was no other option. Outside the city wasn't all that, and you learnt the hard way.

"...Fine, just don't.. don't murder me.. I don't wanna die." Toying with the zip of your hoodie, you divert your gaze away from Toji, deciding to look at the ground instead.

He grunts, grabbing his head in frustration. "Would you quit with that murder bull-crap?! How many times do I have to say it. Should be me who's scared of a Michael Myers venturing 'round these woods." Toji shakes his head in disapproval. "Just grab your things and get movin' will you? Sun's about to set soon."

Unamused yourself, you shoot him a glare, walking over to the backseat door to grab your backpack full of everything. Slamming the door shut, you sensibly grab your keys, properly locking everything before Toji shuts the hood, resting his axe on his shoulder.

The man gestures you to follow him, hopefully not towards your death. Trailing behind his large figure, Toji occasionally glanced over his shoulder to make sure you were still there and didn't happen to run off; more than certain that you were shitting your pants right now.

Readjusting the heavy backpack on your shoulder, you struggled, mentally complaining, but too afraid to ask if you were there yet. Guess you'll take the blame for this one. Should've packed light I suppose..

"We're here, incase you were wondering." Toji stops in his tracks, turning his body back around to face you before making his way to the onto the porch.

Surprisingly, it was nice and big, and seemed homely. "Not gonna lie, I thought you lived in a run down shack in the middle of no where. With like, bugs and stuff?"

"Who do you take me for?" He scoffs, "Come in when you're ready. Also mind your step." Toji points out the mini stairs just below the porch, before disappearing off inside. He really made sure that you didn't feel pressured to do anything whatsoever. So he let you enter at your own will.

Taking note of your surroundings outside one last time, you let out a deep breath before stepping inside.

Warm air engulfed you, heat coming from a well built fire place. It actually was nice inside, and everything everywhere made sense. The architecture of the cabin really had Toji written all over it.

Nothing was run down. It felt like a home, just with a rustic style to it. The sofa actually had a throw draped over it, a flat screen tv mounted just above the fireplace. There was also a nice view of a body of water outside some large windows.

Toji paced around the sofas just after resting his axe safely in a corner, stretching his arms out; toned muscles flexing from the warm, yellowish light in the cabin.

"Make yourself at home, you take my room tonight. I'll crash on the sofa." He makes his way to the other side of the cabin, supposedly the entrance to his bedroom. Toji leaning against the door frame, he watched as you stood still in one spot, still observing your surroundings.

"Also has its own bathroom, so no need to worry about me walking in on you. There's locks too from the inside. And I don't care about you going through anything. I've got nothing to hide." Toji continues, he sure knows the questions you're about to ask. This man is always thinking ahead.

"..Thanks, Toji. That's really nice of you." Walking closer to the entrance of his room, you slide the backpack off your shoulder, holding onto the heavy load with two hands at this point. The backpack swings between your legs as you walk past him, Toji grunting before leaving you be.

He fucks off somewhere into the kitchen, meanwhile you lock the doors behind you immediately. You already smelled of bark and leaves, and not to mention, the stinky smoke from your car earlier.

Tossing your backpack onto an armchair nearby, eye glancing over a few frames with Toji in them. Some of him alone, with a fish in his hand, the other.. Possibly some old friends.

Curious, you looked around the dresser for some more things that could tell you a bit more about himself.

In the corner was a birthday card, which didn't evidently tell you his age, but you found out as soon as you opened it up to see what was written.

"Happy Birthday big guy, can't beleeve your old ass is 37! - Your pal, Gojo🖕"

Who the hell is Gojo? And, that's not old.. right? You scoffed more so at the fact that the word 'believe' was spelt wrong other than the badly drawn middle finger. Just a little habit of yours you can't control. Considering you were 22, Toji was kind of old enough to be your guardian, somehow.. but let's not get into that.

Attempting to place the card exactly where it had belonged, you were happy enough with your first try; still curious to find any hidden gems, but you were unsuccessful.

Letting out a hum, you took another look around your surroundings, nodding gently in approval at the view that he also had just outside of his bedroom. Seems like he knew how to build this place the way he wanted to.

Halfway pacing around his room, you realised that he probably thinks you've been silent for too long. Deciding to step into his bathroom, notice a shaver and some cream on the sink. Allowing the shower to run, you hoped the noise would calm his nerves to let him know you're still here, and alive.

Oh, being a curious cat you open his mirror cabinet just to take a tiny peek before your shower. Says he's got nothing to hide, so..

After-shave, lotion, pain-killers and a box.. An unopened box of extra large condoms.

You gulp before blinking rapidly, closing the mirror cabinet without a second to waste. You weren't sure if you should be mortified or impressed and relieved that they were unopened. Wait, as if it matters?

Locking the bathroom door just to be cautious, you quickly did so before stripping your clothes completely to the ground, kicking off your converse and socks before hopping into the warm shower.

The droplets trickled down your body, feeling more calm now that you've had a shower. Allowing the water to run over your hair, you scrubbed your scalp with your fingertips, completely soaking your body. You looked over to the shower caddy hanging on the wall before grabbing a familiar brand of shampoo.

Massaging that into your hair, you hurried on with your shower, making sure that you didn't hog all the hot water. You assumed that he had to start up a big ass generator minutes away just to get a drop of it, forgetting the fact that it was '24, and there was some such thing as a boiler.

The shower ended up being just fine, and Toji didn't bother you at all. He didn't force the door open, don't worry; and everything was just the way it was left in the room.

You didn't have anything else left to wear than the matching tank and shorts set you bought at TJ-Maxx solely for this solo trip. You didn't have to worry about your feet being cold, as the hardwood floors were surprisingly heated.

Quickly drying your hair with one of his towels, you figured that he didn't have a hairdryer, so you had no choice but to leave it to air dry.

Finally unlocking the bedroom door, you opened it to see Toji busy behind the kitchen island. Assuming he was cooking, you made your way closer, sitting on a bar stool nearby.

Toji had a tea towel draped over his shoulder, and the smell of cooked meat entered your nostrils.

"If you're a vegan, it's your unlucky day." He says, clearly knowing you were seated behind him.

You laugh, resting your elbows on the counter, watching him like a hawk . "I eat everything, don't worry."

"Good." He says before turning back towards you with a plate of steak, potatoes and asparagus. Unlike earlier, this time a pleasant cloud of steam hit you in the face, the smell making your tummy grumble.

Toji has a plate of his own, leaning against the counter behind him as he watches your every move, waiting for you to take a bite. He pokes at a potato, tossing it into his mouth before saying something.

"Wake up early tomorrow, I'll teach you what to do in case something like this happens again. I don't expect you to follow a man again back to his cabin in the middle of no where.." Prodding at a few more pieces of steak, he notices you were busy digging into your own plate.

You just let out a hum of approval, Toji slowly sliding a glass of water towards you before you could choke anytime soon.

Setting your cutlery down, you look up at Toji standing, busy eating his own dinner. Here comes the wave of questions.. "Hmm, do you ever get lonely out here?"

Unphased by the question, Toji continues eating, but answers your curiosity. "Nah, I like being alone. I'm used to it anyways. Friends do come visit, but not always." He shrugs, unable to make eye contact with you.

"..I see.." Nodding, your mind jumps back to the unopened box of condoms back in Toji's bathroom, your inner voice mentally cursing at yourself for being too curious.

Letting famish get the best of you, you devoured everything on the plate in record breaking time, politely pairing the cutlery together on the dish. "Uhm, Toji? I can clean up. It's the least I could do."

The man just finishing his own plate, he sets it on the counter beside him, looking at you, impressed. "Seriously? 'right then."

Hopping off the stool, you make your way past him, feeling Toji's gaze burn into the back of your head, before you reached around him for his plate, and your own on the island. Bringing the two to the sink, you began to wash them with the sponge, occasionally looking out the kitchen window.

It had gone dark quickly. Who knows if Toji never had come across you.

"You got a boyfriend or what?" A first time question from the man, and it was one you didn't expect. He remained leaning against the counter, watching your every move from behind you.

Suppressing a panicked turn of your head, you kept your vision down at the dishes, gliding your hand over the dishes and under the water, you gulped before answering.

"No, not anymore. I broke up with him cause I found out he was cheating on me with some girl on the majorette team in college." Your insides burned at the memory of you walking in on them at a party bathroom, but you didn't let it get to you, not now.

Toji didn't let out a hum of approval, and instead stayed quiet. All he did was place your empty glass beside the sink that you seemed to have forgotten all about. Taking that too, you scrubbed it with the sponge before rinsing it off and placing it on the drying rack.

"All done," you dried your hands on the fabric of your shorts behind you, turning back around to Toji who was in the same position, but this time, his hands held onto the counter's edge on either side of him.

Peering at the drying rack around you, he pouted in approval, "Done a fairly good job I suppose,"

You scoff, "It was just washing dishes. Nothing hard."

"I'll be right back. No tomfoolery, and don't open that door." Toji glances to the front door, before disappearing off into his bedroom, the door closing. You thought nothing of it, walking over to the L-shaped sofa to see what was on TV. Some stupid deer documentary was on, typical, but you changed it to something more entertaining like a soap.

You assumed that he had no Netflix on it, and you were right. You can't really imagine Toji watching an episode of The Office.

Propping the side of your head onto your knuckles, your eyes bored at the screen, barely paying attention to what was on the TV. Glancing over to the clock on the wall, you read the time to be almost 9 o'clock, which shocked you.

Letting out your fifth sigh of the day, you flickered back and forth through the channels before hearing a door open behind you, Toji stepping out of his room, and this time, dressed in grey sweats and a t-shirt. His hair was slightly damp, as you noticed him sitting just after your feet, ensuring a distance between you two.

"What's this crap you're watching?" Toji rests his elbows on his knees before relaxing back onto the sofa, legs spreading as he made himself comfortable.

Tossing the remote over to his side, you roll your eyes. "Knew you would say that."

The man attempted to focus on the shit show in front of him, brows furrowing, but eventually he seemed interested.

Sitting up, you cross your legs, groaning. "There's nothing good on TV. I'm going to bed."

Toji looked to his side, watching as you stood up and left, and he had to admit— he did get a look at your behind. But no one could beat that out of him. "Alright, suit yourself. Sweet dreams. Remember, up early tomorrow."

You glanced behind your shoulder before stepping into his room, not shutting the door fully but leaving a slight gap between the frame and the door itself.

After scavenging through the side pocket of your backpack, you returned back into Toji's bathroom with your toothbrush this time. Stealing a pea of his own toothpaste, you stared at yourself in his mirror as you brushed away.

You could still hear his TV coming from outside, and it sounded like the channel didn't change. He was probably fixated on the show by now. After spitting out, you rinsed off your toothbrush, before heading back out to place it back into your backpack.

Before hopping into bed, you neatly folded your things away, ensuring you cleaned up after yourself as you hated leaving a mess behind, especially if you weren't in a space of your own.

Letting out a sigh, you crawled into his bed, surprisingly filled with two fluffy pillows, and not just one flat ass cushion. Toji's bed strongly smelled like aftershave, supposedly the one in his bathroom mirror. It was comforting though, and wasn't an unpleasant scent.

Covering your upper half with the duvet, you laid flat on your back, eyes staring up at the ceiling before your lids slowly grew heavy and soon enough, closing shut.

You managed to sleep halfway through the night, until, it had began to thunder, and rain heavily. The drops pattered against the glass window, waking you from your slumber inconveniently.

Sitting up in bed, you look around, noticing everything was still the same. The door remained slightly open, and you could see that the TV has still been on until now, but sounded different.

Looking out the window, you couldn't see much from the heavy rain blinding the environment. It was lashing outside, and unfortunately, you were unable to fall back into sleep.

Pursing your lips together, you climbed out of bed, making your way to the door before opening it by a bit.

You treaded lightly, seeing Toji's head behind the sofa. Unable to tell if he was asleep or not, noticing that the TV was on, you approached him closer. Your head peeked over the sofa slightly, voice calling out his name.

"..Toji? ....Toji." You let out a loud whisper, the man grunting and turning his head around. It seems that he was fast asleep, but... sitting up. How scary.

"I can't sleep.. the weather, it's really awful outside." Nipping at the fabric of your shorts, you sucked in a labored breath of air through your nostrils before initiating a question. "..Can you- sleep beside me?"

Toji seemed less asleep, and now, he was wide awake. He looked over to the clock before reaching for the remote to switch off the TV. It was halfway through one in the morning. "What are you, nine?" He laughs before getting up from the sofa, trailing behind the sofa to follow you back into the room.

He questioned no more, and agreed. He'd do anything to be back in his room anyways, in the comfort of his bed, but of course knowing Toji— he'd never admit that.

The two of you hurried back into the bedroom, Toji automatically walking over to his side, while you, crawl back into bed. Making yourself comfortable again, you drape the cover over yourself, feeling the weight of the bed shift beside you, Toji making himself comfortable also.

You turn to your side, back facing Toji, unable to have him stare at your face all night. The room grew silent, and only the sound of the rain tapping against the window could be heard. Though you could still feel his gaze burning into your back, which happened to go away soon enough.

"No stupid stuff." He suddenly blurts out, which you were unable to decipher. Was he talking about what you thought he meant?

You decided not to respond, and instead, shifted around. You could feel Toji's natural body warmth all over your back, and with one more shift, you realised that he was close to you, actually, way too close to you.

But it was too late to move back, as you were too scared of irritating him by shuffling around so much that he'd kick you out.

A large hand snakes onto the side of your waist, gently gripping at your stomach. "Quit movin' around so much, will you?" It was Toji's hand, and he firmly kept you in place. Preventing any further movement. The continuous friction of your shorts against him had aroused him of some sort, and it was uncontrollable.

Another hard bump rested on the behind of your shorts, your eyes flying wide open, unable to shut now. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't know.. I'll stop."

"Sure, you didn't know what you were doing?" You couldn't see the expression on his face, and could only judge by the tone of his voice. Too bad you were facing away from him right now.

Giving in, your body aggressively shifts to face him, the natural moonlight peering through the windows leaving a bright enough glow on his face.

You gulp, Toji hesitantly using his finger to move away the fly-aways covering your face to get a better look at you. "..Don't know why that jerk cheated on you."

"..You don't know me, so.." You let out, Toji's brows furrowing as he studied your features harder.

Alternating between your eyes and lips, he let out a mixture of a grunt and a laugh. "Should go for a real man."

Your breath hitches at his remark, your mind trailing off to other translations of his sentence. He talking about the fucking, or dating aspect?

Silence grew between you, his thumb carefully swiping over your soft bottom lip. The air grew thicker and thicker, a sort of tension lingering throughout the room. You couldn't tell what initiated it, but the air felt suffocating, like it had its own hold of you.

Leaning in closer to his face, your warm breath fanned against his lips before he cupped your cheek with his hand, holding you close as your mouths latched onto each other. The tension between you two diminishing as your tongues intertwined.

Toji laid flat on his back as you straddled him under the sheets, the kiss turning sloppier, with a blend of spit coating your chins, the two of you moaning into each other.

You whimper, pulling away as you felt his teeth tug onto your bottom lip, a long, string of saliva creating a bridge between the two of you, both panting, chests heaving heavily.

Swiftly stripping your tank above your head, the sudden air had bit your skin, nipples growing hard to the touch, all perky and erect. Unable to see in the midst of the fabric covering your sights, you could feel both of Toji's large hands cupping your breasts, massaging them— thumbs toying teasingly at your nipples.

Palms pressing onto the flat of your back, Toji guides your hips with no rush in his movements, back and forth, groaning at the grinding sensation over his sweats, head heavily leaning against the pillow. Your top slides down onto the bedroom floor, breath irregular as you felt the thick tent in his pants dig into you.

You both swap positions, Toji flipping the two of you around with ease and no struggle in his demeanor, the man anchoring himself between your thighs.

Toji's lips latch onto your breasts, warm mouth wrapped around one, sucking away hungrily as he fondled with the other. A pop leaves his mouth as he lets go, using a finger to flicker your nipple gently, your warm, spit-covered nipples growing hard once again as soon as it meets the cold air.

You watch as Toji goes down on you, breath shaking as he peppered kisses down your stomach, disappearing underneath the sheets; leaving a few pecks dangerously close, and somewhere on your inner thigh.

Feeling his pointer and middle finger tug at the waistband of your shorts, you could tell that he was waiting; and so you raised your hips up slightly, allowing him to drag them down your legs.

His hands clasp around your two thighs, bringing you closer to his face, though you just couldn't see; Toji's tongue leaving behind a wet stripe against your clothed pussy, your body shuddering at the feeling.

Your mouth could only gape open, your eyes peering up at the same ceiling as you let out breathless moans here and there.

Toji's middle finger tugged your panties to the side, allowing your bare pussy to be on show to him completely, finally landing yet another stripe with his warm tongue. He eagerly sucks, sticking his same middle finger in, fucking your hole gently as he alternates between licking and fingering.

Letting out quiet moans, you fondle with your breasts, legs squirming as he inserted another digit, Toji using both hands to rip your underwear completely as he sucked on your clit

Your hand reaches for the pillow behind you, fingers clawing at the fabric.

Toji raised his own hips, practically on his knees to be able to palm at his own cock as played with you for your own pleasure, getting off to your moans as he continued to have you undone with his touch.

You could hear him grunt lowly, from time to time, but grunting in disapproval whenever you'd stamp your thighs on either side of his head, trapping him between your legs.

Your head leaning back, you gasped, eyes rolling as Toji curled his fingers up into you, eventually allowing his movements to come to a complete halt, your throat mewling in dissatisfaction.

"Not so fast, wanna feel you cum 'round something else," Toji appears in front of you, arising from under the sheets; stripping his own shirt off his body before tossing it somewhere across the room.

His body shifted around, and you assumed it was to get the condoms, where you already knew was located. Though you quickly took a hold of the strings on his waistband, pulling him back.

"No- I wanna feel you raw, Toji," Looking up at him as you said so, still laid on your back; the man could've sworn that his cock twitched at what you had just said.

Surprisingly, he nods, moving about to get his pants fully off him, struggling a bit, but managing in the end.

Toji uses a hand to jerk his thick length repeatedly, the other free playing with the flesh on your waist. "You sure about this?"

"I am." You replied, busy wondering how he was gonna fit inside of you. The condoms weren't lying.

Slightly and slowly pushing his tip into you, followed by the rest, the two of you groaned at the feeling, Toji grabbing onto both sides of your waist eventually; grip growing tighter as he stuffed you full. Your fingers clawed at his wrists, a moan escaping your mouth as you felt his girth stretching you out, Toji using his thumbs to caress your sides gently.

"All good?" He made sure, and you nod, letting him know that he could move, and you were perfectly fine.

Toji's hips began to rock back and forth, occasional groans coming from him, mentally thanking you for the fact that you let him do it raw.

"..F-faster," you let out, Toji now placing both of his hands on either side of your head, his hips bucking into you faster and deeper; the bed slightly creaking from his movements.

He continues to groan endlessly, head jerking back as he felt your gummy walls take him completely, cursing over and over again. Toji smashes his lips onto yours again, you moaning as a result, the man taking your head into his hands as he held you close; forehead leaning on yours as his cock bullied your insides relentlessly.

Pulling away, Toji grabs both of your legs, resting your ankle on each of his shoulders— allowing him to fuck into you deeper, and be impossibly closer, the man fucking you into a nasty mating press as the creaking intensifies; the headboard beginning to hit against the walls, the legs of the bed scratching all over the floorboards.

"S-shit, To-oji," Voice breaking up your words, you dig your fingertips deep into the muscle on his shoulder, Toji moaning closely against the shell of your ear.

He growls, resting his forehead on yours once again, maintaining eye contact with you, so intimately; "That's it doll, moan my name, come on," he coos, watching as your eyes squeeze shut; the man reaching his hand up to gently slap it against your cheek— telling you to keep your eyes on him.

You do so, and endlessly chant his name like a prayer; Toji grinning and leaving a peck on your lips before letting your legs go, allowing them to flop on either sides of his waist, effortlessly flipping you back around.

Pulling out rapidly, the flat of his palm presses against your spine. Hands kneading at your ass cheeks as he spreads them apart, leaving a long wet lick from your pussy past your asshole, he slides his cock back into your dripping hole— maintaining his previous pace as he holds onto the headboard, drilling into you with no mercy.

Beads of sweat glistened his body like that pane of glass, strands of his recently washed hair now sticking to his forehead.

"Atta girl," he moans, slapping your ass and leaving a red hand-print. "Fuck, take this cock," Your ass rippling against his pelvis, Toji grabs a handful of the soft of your cheeks, fucking you back onto his cock; a symphony of ass slapping, and balls hitting against your clit sounding throughout the room.

Your forehead falls heavy onto the pillow, voice muffled as you moaned helplessly into it; Toji fucking you in all the right spots, he meant it when he said you should find yourself a real man. He was showing you, what a real man was.

"C'mon baby, I wanna feel you cum all over me, p-please?" Toji pleads, his thrusts slowing in pace, but still rutting in deep as he fucks you passionately, guiding you by your waist back and forth on his cock to get those last few strokes.

Toji leans forward, pressing a tender kiss on your shoulder blade, feeling down your back as he left a few more, shivers going down your spine as he roamed his hands all over you,

A creamy ring forms at his shaft, thickening over time as he continued to fuck in and out of you; playfully pulling his thick cock out to heavily rest it against your ass, gliding it between your cheeks before sliding it back in. His tip red, and glossy, your eyes rolled as he slipped himself inside.

Toji picks up the pace once more, urging you to your orgasm; your fingers clawing behind you, trying to stop him from moving any more, your two legs shaking as they attempted to stay up, and support you in your arch.

He grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling you back towards him; fucking your mind as he finishes you off from behind. "I'm gonna c-cum, oh fuck," you squeal, eventually making a mess all over his cock, squirting— Toji still fucking into you as your orgasm had washed over your body.

A dark puddle forms on the bedsheets underneath you, and your slick soaks on the flat of his thighs, a squelching noise emitting from underneath as you lazily rubbed circles on your clit; eyes rolling from the several sensations hitting you all at once— Toji’s cock continuing to piston into you.

Toji grunts, feeling you clench and unclench round his cock; a firm slap stinging against your left cheek as he instantly pulls out. "Turn around," he commands, breathing heavily and you obey; a firm grip still in your hair— the man guiding his cock with his index and thumb towards your lips.

Slapping his heavy girth against your mouth, warm ropes of white decorate your face; Toji grunting as he watches your face be painted with white, smearing his artwork all over your face, pushing his tip gently into your mouth as you sucked, sticking your tongue out for visual confirmation of the white orb of cum resting on it.

"Fuck.." he whispers, "Swallow it baby," Toji smacks his tip against your cheek, soon enough letting go of your scalp as he jerked his cock with a last few strokes.

Upon letting go, he immediately cupped your face into his palms once again, rewarding you with a tender kiss on the lips, sneaking a quick fondle at your breast.

Toji glances out the window, returning his gaze back to you glowing under the moon's light. The loud storm had stopped long ago. "..Don't you think those backshots were louder than that thunder clapping out there?"

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ © luvwestwood ‘24. all works are owned by me, and originally come from my own head. please do not re-post on a third party platform without my permission!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ as always, thank you for the love on each and every one of my posts! it means the world to me. ily all soo soo much!

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siriusleee · 4 months ago

Text

beating, twice

↳ 3.8k words

↳ simon has a new heart

↳ author's note: this has been sitting in my google docs since december of last year. so i'm posting it now because i've become stuck and can't figure anything else out with it

The mountains had never appealed to Simon; he preferred the asphalt jungle of London; the glittering beetle eye concrete of New York City. Easier to disappear into, the pulsating feel of the crowds giving him a sense of anonymity. But at discharge, the doctor's told him to take it easy - to enjoy retirement.

"You're not exactly a young man anymore Mr. Riley," the military doctor said, a silver wedding ring glittering on the back of her clipboard. "You're being medically discharged - you need a plan to keep yourself healthy."

A new identity. A retirement account. A generous do-over to a life filled with one time only regrets. His heart had been grafted over with a piece from a soldier who died in the same blast that nearly killed Simon. He'd told the doctor when he woke up that he could feel it squeezing his heart, but the doctor told Simon that it was just psychosomatic - he knew there was a new piece to his heart and so he felt it.

It took a year of rehab before they finally got tired of him, and another six of bureaucratic hell before the paperwork was finally processed.

The relocation specialists asked him where he wanted to live - Simon didn't know what to say. He'd been all over the world, and yet the name of a singular town couldn't crawl towards his lips.

"You can just point at the map," the specialists had said, fingers twirling a pen. "Some guys do that." So that's what he did - the clock ticking in his ears growing louder and louder as he stood, stupidly, staring at the map on the wall. He tried to count the seconds. How many had passed? Two minutes? Three? His eyes scanned the map, looking for places that he hadn't been to before, places that didn't leave a bad taste in his mouth.

And then he spotted it - a little dot on the map nestled in the Black Hills. No where he'd even been before, or nowhere he had a memory of. But that graft on his heart squeezed when he saw the name, and before he could think, he was tapping the map with his fingernail.

"Alright - I'll have you a place in a week."

The compulsion to walk starts the moment the last box is moved in; the pile of boxes pathetically small in the little house the military bought for him. Or maybe it was once a safe house - Simon didn't know and he didn't care. The walls are faded and the porch sagging, but it's a fresh coat of paint on the water stains that have plagued him. Simon can sense the neighbors peering out at him from behind their curtains; they twitch back into place when Simon steps out onto the porch, the wood moaning beneath the weight of his boots. The sky threatens to spit snow onto him; the first snowfall of the year comin' soon the movers had quipped to him. Simon hadn't replied, just grunted as he passed over the two hundred dollars he owed for moving everything in.

The air bites at his exposed face. When was the last time he was exposed like this? When was the last time he was allowed to show his face like this? Something like self-consciousness presses against him, making it hard to breathe until he tugs his hood over his head and he can breathe again.

The grass crunches beneath his feet, curled brown to protect itself from the oncoming storm. He doesn't look at where he's going, just lets his feet take him where they want to go as the sun slips beneath the treetops. The town falls to sleep around him as his boots carve patterns into the concrete.

The music stops him short. It's entirely out of place on the starlit street - the notes tripping over one another to spill out onto the asphalt with a gentleness that rolls through the darkness. It makes him sick to his stomach with something he can't place, some feeling on the edge of his tongue that he hasn't felt since Johnny's funeral, since he heard gunshots and saw the way Price's hand shook as he shook the hand of Johnny's mother. The absence of something he refuses to name. He's sure he's never heard it before, but it pulls him back to sand beneath his boots and to the hum of Blackhawks above him.

The street is devoid of life; light spills out of the windows and onto the streets, little jewels that hang onto the rough and cracked concrete of the sidewalk. The music is faint- a radio turned down so a conversation can be heard. The entire street is frozen with him, the little flurries that were attempting to collect on the street cracks hang heavy in the air, breathing with him.

Simon doesn't know how long he stands there, hands in the pocket of his jacket and letting the music wash over him. But it stops eventually, and the entire street lets go of the breath it's been holding; the flurries start to fall again, faster to make up for their pause with Simon.

It suddenly occurs to him that he must look like a fucking freak, standing there on the sidewalk, David beneath Michelangelo's hands. It takes every bit of strength in his body to keep his boots moving, moving away from the last notes that linger and swirl around him.

He walks all night, finally falling into the bed with no sheets when the sun starts to peak back out.

He gets a job as a mechanic. His references - names all made up and cell phone numbers that lead forgotten CIA workers whose only job is to answer and read a script- give him the best recommendations, and the old man running the garage doesn't really need Simon to know how to do anything other than change spark plugs and change the oil. The man looks Simon up and down, and Simon catches the POW-MIA embroidered on the man's hat, and that's that. There's something that passes between the two of them that neither of them speak about, but they recognize it in each other's eyes. He starts the next Monday.

He doesn't need the money. Between all the years of hazard pay that wasn't eaten away at by daycare fees or wedding bands, he has a small fortune to practice spending, but he needs the distraction from the walls that should be holding up his military honors, but instead hold blank emptiness. He hasn't been able to unpack anything. He just digs through each box when he needs something, slicing his hands against the knives and sharpened memories.

He walks his path ad nauseum. Each night there's a new symphony that washes over the little town. He tried, more than once, to not be a fucking creep and stand in the middle of the street listening for ten, twenty, thirty minutes. But even across town he could still hear the music creeping its way through the buildings and beneath the cars.

It stalked him beneath the street lamps until he was pulled back towards the street, trying to figure out which house the sound was coming from.

The snow is thick on the ground, being pounded flat each night by his boots by the time he discovers which house it's coming from. The curtains are pulled back, light spilling further out onto the street than usual. The window is pushed open and the music doesn't pour out, but rushes over itself angrily. He finds himself drifting towards the open window - the music is a siren song to him. He knows it. He knows.

He knows this song. He doesn't know how he knows it, he just knows that it pulls on his grafted heart in a way that's painful.

She plays with the kind of look a person has after years of practice. Simon recognizes it as the same one he has when he cleans his gun - the look you have when you don't need to fully pay attention to what you're doing because your body knows it by memory. The song ends abruptly - the last note wrong. It stops Simon in his tracks - 15 yards from her window. He suddenly panics, thinking she's going to look at and see him standing there. She must have stopped playing because she finally caught the stalker who's been standing on her street each night.

But she doesn't.

Instead she stands, and reaches across to slam the window shut. The house shutters from her anger, and she pulls the curtains closed. A moment later the sliver of light that was left is extinguished and Simon knows then, he needs to move.

He's getting too comfortable. He spends too many nights outside her house listening to her play - too many nights getting closer to the window until he's found that he can stand right on the sidewalk and see her through her curtain when it's closed.

He learns the pattern of each song by heart until one night when he passes by and the street is silent. There's no light in her windows - he immediately thinks the worst. The gun at his waist feels a thousand pounds; he reaches back to grab it as he walks up her steps.

The front door is cracked open, and his heart jumps to his throat.

Each room is empty - nothing seemingly misplaced. When he clears the final room, his shoulders sag, his gun finds its place back in its holster. He suddenly feels like creep being alone in her house.

Her.

He doesn't even know her name, and he's standing in her living room. A decrepit calico cat meows angrily when he walks by the couch, and then bounds out from its hiding spot beneath the couch to rub against his leg - completely unafraid of Simon.

The place is empty - almost depressingly so. It mirrors his own house, no relics of family or friends. The only thing that looks used regularly is the piano. He runs his hands across the top, and it spooks him.

He leaves, making sure the cat is left sleeping on the couch and the front door is shut tight.

He finally figures out her name when he sees her standing in her driveway, kicking the shit out of the passenger side of her car.

Hands tucked tightly in his pocket, he stops a respectable distance away before speaking.

"Car trouble?"

She jumps, swinging around to face him. Her face is closed, guarded from him as she takes in his face and he wishes he had his mask back - wishes it wasn't strange to wear a mask out in the civilian word, wishes -

"Yeah it won't start; the piece of shit."

Simon keeps his spot on the sidewalk as he speaks, worried that if he moves towards her, she'll move away.

"I work at the shop in town if you want me to give it a look."

She's shrewd; she looks at him like she's waiting on him to say something else, and he knows she's used to men hitting on her. But he can also tell she's desperate, and he can see the argument inside herself as she debates letting him look at her car.

"I'd like that."

Her starter is completely fried, and he tells her that. She kicks the tire, but this time all the fight is removed from it, and it's a pathetic kick.

"Thank you for telling me," she says as if the words are bitter on her tongue.

"I can fix it for you this weekend if you want."

"I can't afford it. And I'm not sleeping with you to pay for it."

Simon snorts in spite of himself.

"I'll get a recycled part - don't worry about it."

The argument inside herself is written all over her face, and even when she reaches out to shake his grease stained hand and tells him her name, the fight is still written across the wrinkles in her face.

It's still there when she hands her phone to him, tells him to put his number in and to text her when he's on his way back over.

"I can't afford this, you know."

Simon can barely hear her as she speaks over the engine, her words crawling between the houses and housing of the innards of her car to reach straight up to him.

"You can pay me later."

"I just told you I can't afford this."

Simon's mind lingers on the emptiness of her house that he'd seen the week before - he knew better than he wanted to how little she had at the moment. But he can't let her know that, can't let her know that he's traced the inside of her house while she was gone.

When he's satisfied with the noise of the engine, he slams the hood shut. She's leaning against the driver door, her breath fogging around her - it crosses Simon's mind that he could corner her right here, tell her what repayment he wants. but he's not a fucking freak.

He's not.

So instead he wipes the grease and dirt from his hands onto his jeans where it mixes with the grease and dirt from work and mirrors her lean.

"Cook me dinner?"

The hint of a smile starts to creep on her face, but she bites it back. She picks at an invisible piece of lint on the sleeve of her sweater before she answers.

"You want me to cook dinner for you? How do you know I can cook?"

"I'll take my chances."

She chews on her chapped lips before sighing, boots kicking at her tire.

"Come by tonight, alright."

He doesn't own anything fucking nice. He's pushed all his clothes around - in the back corner his dress blues hang sadly, and everything else has a grease stain on it.

"This is ridiculous," he growls to himself, annoyed with everything all of a sudden. He reaches into his back pocket to his phone. He's just going to fucking cancel. This is fucking stupid. This is-

She's sent a picture. He doesn't know what he's going to see when he unlocks his phone, but a little piece of him has some hopes. It's a chicken in the oven, surrounded by oranges like something out of a magazine his mother would have flipped through in the grocery line.

Hope this is enough to repay you :)

"Fuck," he says to his pants that hang limply, and they say nothing back to him.

He chooses the jeans with the least amount of stains.

She's wearing a skirt with a slit dangerously high when she opens the door.

You shouldn't wear that around the wrong men, he wants to tell her, but he is the wrong man, and he knows that, but she doesn't. He doesn't want to be the first person to tell her that about him.

His repaired heart knows the curves of her - somehow he knows that if he were to run his hand up the part of her thigh the slit is showing, there's going to be a scar there, he knows -

"Are you alright?"

"'Course. The smell stopped me."

"That bad, huh?"

"Terrible."

She wears a hint of a smile as she steps to the side to let him in; he catches a whiff of her perfume, vanilla and tobacco and whiskey, and he's got the sudden urge to lick the base of her neck. He holds himself back, hands held behind his back as he follows her through the living room, past the piano, and into the kitchen.

The scruffy cat comes out of the shadows to intertwine around his ankles like they're old friends. A pot boils on the stove and the chicken is on the side, steam pouring off the golden skin.

It scares Simon how at ease he feels in her kitchen, how the kitchen table's chair is so comfortable to him. She's tense - he can read it in the tightness of her shoulders, in the way she taps her nails against the counter.

Simon's heart beats too fast watching her flash around the kitchen and nearly jumps out of him when she places a plate in front of him.

It feels familiar in a way that terrifies him.

He's like a stray dog - she fed him once, and he keeps coming back. She only complains once.

"I'm a teacher, you know. I don't make enough money to keep feeding a big man like you."

Simon buys her groceries after that, his own refrigerator growing empty as he spends more dinners at her house. He knows they both feel it - they both feel how fucking weird it is that they can orbit each other so easily despite knowing nothing about each other.

He reads in the evenings. She doesn't have much, but she has more books than one person should, and she plays the piano and he pretends not to know the pieces. He pretends that he hasn't stood outside her house night after night committing each song to memory.

If she finds it suspicious that he hums along too fast, picks up the melody too fast, she doesn't mention it.

"I was married once," she says, like it's a dirty secret. She taps her fingers against the glass of her beer, a sharp staccato that increases in speed like it's her heart.

Simon doesn't say anything, just takes a drink of his own beer to quell the storm that's conjured in his chest. Married once? He doesn't know what he's supposed to feel, but it can't be this, can't be this anger that suddenly starts beating against the architecture of himself, the anger that unhooks something in his blood.

"It wasn't very long," she continues, the rhythm of her ring getting faster, "We only were married for a year before we divorced."

Simon's beer hits the countertop with a little too much force.

"Why'd you divorce?" He doesn't mean for it to sound so eager, so fucking needy, but if she hears the edge to his voice she doesn't say. He needs to know what led to the destruction of her first marriage, so he doesn't make the same mistake with her.

"We were kids, you know. We shouldn't have gotten married to begin with, but neither of us had anyone else. And there was no one there to tell us it was a bad idea."

"Where's he at now?"

"He's dead."

Her ring stops tapping.

"He died in a bomb blast almost two years ago. He was in the army, and he was deployed. There was nothing left of him for them to ship back to me. I didn't even know that he listed me as his family."

Simon's mouth is suddenly dry, and he feels like he's going to choke. She's still not looking at him, her eyes are still trained on the red neon sign behind the bar, so she misses the way he presses his hands into the bar to keep them from shaking.

"I just thought I should tell you," she says, half turning in her chair to finally look at him.

The ground beneath him has shifted, he's off tilt and he doesn't know what to say. I might have his heart in my fucking chest and that's why I feel this way about you.

"Can you take me home, please?"

There's a million things he wants to say, a million ways he wants to take that request. He swishes them around in his mouth with the last of his beer.

"'Course, love."

The two beers are nothing to him, but she's a different story. She stumbles on the ice in the parking lot, and steadies herself on his elbow. She doesn't let go until he opens the passenger door of his truck for her and he helps her climb in. Her foot bounces as he pulls out of the parking lot. It's a three minute drive back to her place, four for him to put the truck into park.

He expects her to unbuckle, to climb out. But her hands don't inch towards the buckle. She seems to steel herself for what she's going to say next, and he's waiting on her to tell him that she noticed how weird he's been - she doesn't want him to come back.

"Do you want to fuck?" She asks suddenly, and the abruptness of it takes Simon off guard.

"What?"

"Do you want to fuck?"

Simon's hands grip the steering wheel so hard he's surprised it doesn't shatter beneath his grip. He waits just a moment too long, and she scoffs, unbuckles the seatbelt and has her hand in the door handle before he can react.

He reaches across to grab the handle from her, keeping her from opening the door. She won't look him in the eye, instead pushing roughly on the door to try and shake it loose from his grip.

"I didn't say no." The gentleness in his voice shocks him, but it's not enough to get her to look at him.

"You didn't say yes either."

She breaks the door from his grip and slides out, her skirt hiking up high enough that he catches the edge of her curves.

His stolen heart beats, trying to escape his chest as she disappears inside - to get the fuck out from behind the steering wheel, to knock on her door and explain that his timing is bad, he doesn't know what to say and when he's supposed to say it. He tells himself he's going to leave when the light from her bedroom turns off - he just wants to make sure that she's safely asleep before he leaves.

But the light doesn't go out.

His watch creeps past midnight before the front door opens again. The nightgown she has on makes his hands sweat - it peeks out below the heavy jacket she's thrown on top. She veers towards the passenger door and when she climbs in, Simon's hands start to shake at the amount of thigh that flashes him.

"Why don't you leave?"

"I wanted to make sure you were safely asleep."

"You saw me walk into my house."

"You never know."

And she doesn't ever know. She doesn't know what kind of horrors could be around each door. Simon wants to explain that to her - explain what he's seen to her, but he doesn't know how to do that. He doesn't even know how to broach the subject of the million things that he should be telling her.

"Why didn't you want to have sex with me?" She asks in a small voice that Simon hates, and he hates himself for being the reason she sounds like that.

"I didn't say I didn't want to."

"Then why didn't you say yes?"

"I don't want to just fuck you."

Her knee bounces nervously.

"Alright. We can do the other stuff."

He almost tells her, more than once, about the heart that beats in his chest. Once, when he had her folded over the piano, and again, when she tangled their legs together in her bed and the ancient cat was purring on his chest.

He's too cowardly.

#my fics #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #ghost #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #zombie au

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thereweredragonshere · 2 months ago

Note

Pleeeease redesign the other fucks from the nine realms.

Oooo this was such a fun little project! Not a fan of the nine realms which is pretty standard within this fandom, but I do like the uh. Vibe. Of some dragons. The designs are always a miss apart from like. One or two.

Starting off with Thunder - species Night light:

Thunder being so night furyish makes little sense if we’re taking Toothless being the last night fury as canon. Either that mother fucker had the strongest genetics known to man, or dragons live for hundreds and hundreds of years, which considering httyd likes its realism(sometimes), I doubt is the case for a species like the night or light fury. So, I made his design lean way way more into being a light fury, but still making it clear that he is actually a night light.

Also, didn’t include any of the weird fucked up ‘evolution’ to the tail/wings/earnubs, because little short from it being a birth defect or cross breeding with a non-fury dragon (Which genetically speaking is 99.99% impossible) is absolutely NOT possible at all. 1000 years is fucking NOTHING for evolution. Maybe you’d get a slight gene change or something but you are not getting anatomical shifts that fucking visible in only 1000 years.

And anyway, the evolution Thunder supposedly went through is so stupid?? What’s the point of his wings’ surface area being decreased?? He can catch marginally less draft with those shit fuck wings??? And his PROPORTIONS OH MY LORDDD. He’s just inbred I have no other explanation. And his stupid fucking snout. Pugification of the night light. And I’m not even going to comment on the stupid ass tail there is literally no point. Why did they give him an aeroplane tail. They took one of the most recognisable features of the fury species and just fucked it. He can’t fucking shift air flow and change direction with that shit oml😭

Anyway moving on before this post just turns into a tnr night-light rant,

Feathers!!! - Species Featherhide (how creative)

Feathers is probably my favourite design from the canonical tnr dragons. I’m a massive fan of the parrot theme they went with!!! But one gripe I have is that she does seem just a bit too generic. She has pretty colours and some feathers on her head and tail. But like. That’s it. They didn’t really do anything else with the chameleon crap she’s got going on (for those who don’t know, her species has the same camouflaging ability as the changewings).

So, I went a lot more traditional reptile looking with her, and added way more feathers and general details to her design. I did consider making her eyes chameleon like, but it ended up looking a bit off. I like to think she scampers around and constantly licks her eyes, even though she’s perfectly capable of blinking.

Next up, Plowhorn - Species Gembreaker

I love love LOVE the beetle thing going on with her wings!!. It’s just incorporated into the design in such an awkward way😭 There’s so much space Beneath the beetle shell and her back, which makes them look glued on.

Anyway for the redesign I leaned more into the rhino theme they got going on, tough skin and big chunky face horns. (By the way- the placement of the horn on her face is SO off putting and I can’t quite explain why. It’s just. ????. Why is she an extremely scaly unicorn that got the pug treatment???) and I gave her ears cuz her canon design looks insanely bald.

I also attempted to un-derp her a bit. Cuz. I mean fucking look at her bro that shit is NOT scary😭

Neeeeeext is Wu & Wei - Species Mist Twister

The eastern zippleback

I really like the idea of half blue half red on this guy (I think it’s a he?), it makes for a cool Fire and Water theme.

My main problem with the canon design is how forced the colours kinda feel. Hard red to yellow to blue with a slight fade transition. Come on guys, incorporate your colours into the design!

Their heads as well. They’re just. Not nice to look at. The ends of their noses are making me incredibly uncomfortable. They look like spoon billed borzois

Anywho, I really enjoyed designing those guys!! Maybe I’ll do some of the other tnr dragons in the future lol

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ilium-ilia · 4 months ago

Text

Everything You Touch

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | previously known as "soft spot" | masterlist

Chapter One: glass half shattered

tw: verbal abuse, name calling, domestic violence

It’s seven in the morning and you’re already crying.

Dirty plates and bowls teeter upon one another in your sink, balanced so flippantly you fear your breathing might knock them down. You’re not sure how it’s filled up so quickly. Full to the brim, nearly overflowing. Dried food crusts on every prong of each fork and the rim of each glass—neglected, and not even rinsed before being placed in the sink to rot and fester. An old Halloween themed mug catches tiny drops of water that fall from the rusty faucet, and you find the sight oddly comforting. How relieving it is to know that you are not the only leaky thing within the pallid walls of this apartment.

“Really, babe? This is fucking ridiculous.”

Your hazy vision clears slightly when you blink, forcing more tears to roll down your cheeks in a never-ending tidal wave. Choking back a pule, you look at the man in front of you with an irritatingly quivering bottom lip. His eyes are dull—bored. There was a time when he once looked at you with adoration. Those irises used to be so vibrant when he caught sight of you, glistening like the prismatic refractions of stained glass windows. Now, heavy set brows furrow as he gestures to the sink flippantly, as if he has better things to do than be here with you.

“You can’t be crying over dirty dishes,” Eric says, his voice far from demulcent.

“I’m not crying over dirty dishes, I’m crying because they’re not done,” you correct.

“So then fucking clean them!” he huffs, exacerbated. He gestures at you with both hands, palms facing up and fingers curling inwards like the rotting legs of dead beetles. “I don’t understand why this is so hard for you. Jesus Christ, you’re crying like a goddamn kid over this and it’s pissing me off.”

Closing your eyes, you force a deep breath into your lungs. You don’t feel much better when you open them again. “I’m just frustrated because I asked you to clean them last night so I’d have clean dishes for breakfast before work this morning.”

��Okay, so I forgot! You don’t have to crucify me for it,” Eric snaps. Groaning, he runs a hand through mussed hair which only further disrupts the strands.

“You forget every time and that’s why it hurts,” you cry, tone all but begging for him to understand. Your hand rests against the countertop as you attempt to stabilize yourself, lest you fall through the floor. “It was the same thing last week! It’s the same thing every damn time! You forget, and I have to do it. I always have to do it!”

“God forbid you have to pull your fucking weight around here, right?”

Your quarreling pauses for a split moment and the only sound that dares to sing is the faucet spewing its tears into the sink. Cordolium morphs into bitter shock as your lips part, your heart suddenly struck with an aching sorrow. The shock itself is almost enough to kill you, but the contempt in Eric’s eyes is the final blow.

“You did not just say that to me,” you mumble, dumbfounded.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Eric challenges. “Look at you. Just woke up and you’ve already found something to bitch about. I have to do everything around here, don’t I? I work, I pay your bills. Hell, you wouldn’t be able to survive without me.”

Incisors chewing on the slick flesh inside your cheek, you tilt your head as you smear your tears off of your cheek. “Eric, you can’t even do the fucking dishes. Don’t pull that shit on me. The apartment is in my name. You moved in with me. All I’m asking for is a little fucking respect and-”

Your monologue is interrupted by sharp nails and the edge of the counter in your low back. Eric’s face is suddenly inches away from yours and you have no choice but to look at the virulent rage in his eyes as he holds your head still, unforgiving fingers digging into your jaw and hips pinning you to the counter. He snarls like a rabid dog and you can nearly taste the stale cigarette smoke on his breath. He pulls a squeak from your vocal chords as his forehead rests against yours. It’s difficult to tell if he’s going to kiss you or rip you to shreds, but he licks his lips all the same.

“You get respect when you give it, and all I’m hearing is an awful lot of bitching,” he seethes. “You’re really starting to piss me off, love. If you want to act like a child I’m gonna start treating you like one, you understand?”

It’s difficult to nod when he’s gripping your face like this, but you manage the movement. Humiliation burns the back of your neck as you let out a shuddering breath. Desperate fingers slowly wrap around his wrist, and you find your thumb rubbing over his wrist as if to soothe him.

“Let go of me,” you say, words balancing on the edge of an order and a plea.

Eric contemplates your words as if he doesn’t want to listen. There is an insurmountable amount of power that he holds in the palm of his hand—the soft flesh of your cheek and the brittle bone of your jaw. He could move his hand down to the soft flesh of your throat. All it would take is a little squeeze. Instead, he relents. Bony fingers slip away from your face as he steps back. He stares at you for so long you think he might change his mind; eventually he turns away and scoffs.

“You think you’re so fucking tough,” he grumbles before leaving you alone in the kitchen. “Can’t even do the fucking dishes.”

Eric rages through the house, heavy feet stomping on the floor until he reaches the bedroom where he slams the door shut. Trembling fingers rub at your face in an attempt to quell the ache but you can feel the blood begin to pool in your cheeks already. Your downstairs neighbors have turned the TV on again. It’s loud enough to drown out the sound of the argument you were forced into, but the damage is already done.

You don’t eat breakfast.

It’s difficult not to lament your lost meal, but as you trudge into work with a forced smile on your face, you remind yourself that it’s for the best. After all, Eric’s right; you really do need him. He might not help around with cleaning as much as you’d like him to, and he spends his weekends god knows where doing who knows what, but he shares the bills. Nothing more than a glorified roommate, he’s always petulant these days—snapping at you for any mere sight of conceived retraction from you.

A growl gnaws at your stomach, but the pain doesn’t hit. You lost your appetite the moment your boyfriend laid hands on you.

Computers and cash machines whirl to life as you ready your teller’s station for the morning rush. Within no time everything begins to hum with electricity. You turn on the large television screen on your right where it displays exchange rates and helpful information, and before you settle behind your desk you ensure to straighten out the sign informing patrons of common financial scams and how to avoid them. Everything is up and running. As you log in, you remind yourself to be the blithe, helpful bank teller you always are.

“Rough morning?”

The quiet voice of your coworker—Cheryl—scares you out of your skin. Lips parted and heart thumping, you jump and look on your left to find her polite smile and neatly pressed blazer. Cheryl tosses her faux leather purse on the back counter before looking at you expectantly with a raised brow. In the worst of ways, she reminds you of your mother.

“I’m sorry?” you reply.

“You’re here extra early. Earlier than I am,” she explains with flapping hands before walking to her desk. “Usually you’re having a bad morning when you’re here before me. Eric isn’t giving you trouble again, is he?”

Sighing, you give her a gauche chuckle before turning your eyes back to your monitor. Clicking on your mouse, you pretend to do work while the cogs in your mind begin to turn. Your jaw still aches, but you don’t feel like spilling your guts on the floor before work begins. “Oh, not really. Just… had issues with the dishes this morning.”

Work drones on the way it always does—with a push and pull. It’s a dance that you know well. One that you could do with your eyes closed. A gentle trickle of customers waxes and wanes like the waves of the ocean as your queue begins to fill. It starts out soft before it becomes a flood that forces you to wade through waist-high water. Still, you are amicable. You show an equanimity that most people only dream of achieving as you handle deposits, withdrawals, and everything in between.

It’s an easy job. Mindless—for you, anyway. Each word you speak flows off your tongue like thick honey as you politely smile at grumbling customers and send them on their way. You’re treated like a brick wall. Nothing more than an object to be barked at until you magically dispense the service they desire. You don’t mind. It’s easier to act this way—like a performer. Completing tasks like a metallic android until—

—until he arrives.

His name is Simon Riley, and he stands in front of you like a cyclopean statue—unmoving and unbreakable. Surrounding customers eye him with wariness as they soak up his masked face and the drawn hood of his jumper. His bulk is so wide that he blocks out the line behind him like the moon eclipses the sun. It’s fitting, you realize. He is mysterious like the moon; dressed in black with eyes as stygian as the streets at night. A medical style fabric mask obscures his face, but you can still see the way his jaw dances beneath it as he slides his ID face down across the counter.

“Hey there,” you greet him with a smile. It feels like the first authentic simper you’ve given anyone all day today.

“Morning,” he hums.

“The usual?”

“Yeah.”

Simon is your inconsistent consistency. At least, you like to think of him as much. He arrives every Thursday around mid-morning to withdraw the same amount of cash—enough for what you assume he uses in the week. He refuses to use any sort of ATM, and he always chooses your lane. At least, he does while he’s here. Internal records logged on his account show he’s a military man; a soldier. He is volatile in where he is in the world, but so long as he’s in London, you can always count on him to end up in front of your desk somehow.

He watches you with quiet eyes as you ignore his ID and go straight to retrieving his cash. You’ve only seen that picture of him once when he first started banking, and ever since then you’ve refused to look at it again—as if you’re doing him a favor for not witnessing what he tries so hard to obscure. Each movement of your fingers is scrutinized as he slips a thumb into the pocket of his jeans. Simon always feels like such a stain in places like this—around people like you. The people with bright smiles; who wear clean clothes and attend the perfect nine to five. Each wall in the room glistens with power and wealth, something that he’s never really felt like he can come close to without it tarnishing.

If it wasn’t for you, he would have switched banks a long time ago.

“Here you go!” you say, your voice chipper as you hold out the envelope for him.

Large hands threaten to engulf yours as he reaches for the money, but his fingers never do so much as graze your skin. Simon doesn’t bother counting the cash before folding the envelope and shoving it into the pocket of his jumper. He’s been banking with you for quite some time, and you’ve never miscounted before; he trusts you with that much, at least.

“Thanks.” It’s short, gruff—to the point. He gathers his ID off of the counter and stows that away next to his envelope before turning to leave. Several wary looks burn into the back of his skull, but he ignores them.

“Have a good one!” you call after him.

Have a good one. It’s the same farewell you always give him. Of course, there’s a factitious answer that burns the tip of his tongue every time you say it. Have a good what? But he knows better than to be a smart ass. Though really, the question is a valid one in his mind. Have a good what? Day? Afternoon? Life?

Would you still say that to him if you knew how far gone he is?

After that short interaction, Simon doesn’t see you again for a few weeks. He’s off doing what he does best—being a soldier. At times, it feels like it’s all he knows how to do. Run. Shoot. Kill. Stab. He’s long since made peace with his contriteness. The bodies stack up behind him like a pyre waiting to be lit and the stench of it doesn’t even bother him anymore. All he does is wash the blood from his uniform and repeat it all the next day if he even lives long enough to see it.

But he always does, even when he knows he shouldn’t. Which means he always returns back home to his small studio apartment. It’s not much, but it’s not on the ground floor, and it’s quaint enough for a man who’s never home to enjoy it anyway. The walls are tawny and forever ooze stale nicotine from every pore due to some asshole who couldn’t be arsed to open a window when they smoked. The wood floor is scratched to the point Simon’s certain someone was murdered here, which would explain the odd stain outside of the bathroom door. The only item worse for wear than he is, is the ugly nightstand sitting next to his bed that he bought off of some old man at a car boot sale for a fiver.

Some nights it feels too cramped. Like there’s not enough elbow room and the ceiling scrapes too close to his head for comfort. Sometimes it’s as if the walls are closing in around him like the tight confines of a coffin, and his mouth goes dry as if he’s choking on dirt. Everything—every detail, every crack in that damn apartment suffocates him as he lays in bed and stares at the water damaged ceiling above him.

His only solace is his training. Countless years spent wading through gore and limbless bodies has chipped at him just as much as it’s built him back up. Thick fingers curl into the sheets as he grounds himself—he tells himself he’s far away from his grave; far away from Mexico and those reprobates. By the time his heart stills, the alarm clock on his nightstand glares at him in unforgiving crimson light.

05:23

He has to go to the bank soon.

Simon manages to get two hours of sleep before the morning sun peeks through his window and rouses him. He wakes himself up with a frigid shower before washing the dishes and making breakfast for himself as he watches the morning news with dull eyes. There’s a segment on rising tensions between Russia and Urzikstan that makes him chuckle, and he finds himself savoring his tea, glad to not be in the field fighting off terrorists.

After breakfast, he sets off across London for a walk to the bank. He splits crowds like a razor before he broods for a bit on public transport. He sits at the back of his bus with his eyes scanning every person trudging their way to work. There’s not a single face on that vehicle that he has not committed to his temporary memory, or an exit that’s out of view. He likes it this way—being able to watch. Never leaving his back exposed.

He breathes easier when he gets off at his stop and his bank is within view. The structure glistens with freshly washed windows, and customers keep the doors swinging as they come and go like schools of fish.

When Simon enters the building, he’s able to immediately sense that something is off.

Shaking off his discomfort, he stands in line with his ID ready for viewing, but as he waits with his head tilted down he realizes what’s missing. There’s no sign of your usual winsome voice—the same one that’s so saccharine that it makes him feel queasy at the mere sound. Your voice is hoarse; raw and dry as if you’re spewing sand from your mouth with each word you speak.

Keeping his eyes trained at the exits, Simon passes it off as you having a cold until he’s the next person in line. Standing before you, he’s able to witness your appearance and he feels apoplectic bile begin to rise in his throat. It sears his tongue into submission, forcing him to keep quiet as he looks at your face.

Bright as always, you greet him with your standard the usual? but your words sound clogged in his ears. He doesn’t answer you. All Simon can look at is your smile, and how lopsided it is because of the deep cut that slices the corner of your mouth and the swelling that consumes your left cheek.

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#ilium writing #sr ilia #everything you touch #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #female reader

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 2 months ago

Text

halfway there (fully smitten)

written for @steddie-spooktober Halfway to Halloween pop up event!

rated G | 2,832 words | on AO3: halfway there (fully smitten) | prompt: half-o-ween meet cute, modern au, flirting, steve harrington is simultaneously super charming and on his game AND easily flustered

Steve would do anything for his kid siblings.

He would.

It’s just…

“Why’d it have to be this Saturday?”

“Because that’s the halfway mark?” Dustin says as if it was obvious, rolling his eyes for good measure.

“Oh you’ve got to–” Steve scrubs a hand down his face; Yeah. fine. That makes sense. It is called the ‘Halfway to Halloween’ craft fair. “You don’t even like crafts.”

“There’s going to be more than just crafts.” Dustin says, again, like it should be obvious. “C’mon Steve, even Max wants to go. Like, actually wants to go.”

Steve looks over at the Max in question, gazing up at him with her usual scowl on her face.

“She doesn’t look like she wants to.”

“Yes she–”

“She does.” she says.

“See??” Dustin gestures excitedly towards her.

Steve sighs again. Of course she’d want to go, she’s always been all about that spooky crap.

He looks down between the two hellions he’s so proud to call his siblings.

Internally.

Internally he is.

He sighs again, turning away from where they’d corralled him at the end of the hallway.

“C’mon Steve where’re you–”

“I gotta call Angie,”

“But–”

“I have to call off our date, dingwad!"

Dustin insisted that they be there right when the fair opened at 10 am, but after a syrup incident at breakfast and a couple bathroom breaks, their two hour drive to the 4H grounds the show was being held at, turned into two hours and 45 minutes, landing them in line at 10:10 am.

They waited their turn to pay the entrance fee, Dustin bouncing on his toes the whole time, and as soon as the bright orange bracelet was on his wrist, he was off.

Surprising Steve further, Max was right on his heels, scanning seriously over the first line of vendors.

“You shits better have your phones on you!” Steve calls after them, getting offhanded waves in return.

He watches them go a little on ahead, sliding between the already hearty crowd much easier than he would, then turns to look at some of the vendors’ wares himself.

It was not a great place to start paying attention, to be completely honest, the racks and tables filled with all sorts of stuffed animals with bloody gashes, exposed broken bones, and dangling bloodshot eyes..

His shock must’ve been fully apparent because the bearded man behind the stall table guffaws at his expression.

“S’not for everyone, kid. I get it.” he says when Steve apologizes.

There are people selling their collections of movie memorabilia, specialty indie costume companies selling their scarily (ha) detailed rubber masks, some folks are selling crystals, some are selling crochet, some have tiny taxidermied mice..

It’s honestly kind of overwhelming.

He stops at one end of this barn (the second in the grounds’ row of five that were full up for the occasion), leaning up against the open double doors.

He’d originally been concerned about the cool cloudy weather, thinking it’d be too cold to be walking around outside like this, but a lot of vendors had space heaters plugged in behind their booths, and there were so many people bustling through and around the space that the wide open doors were a blessing to his already sweating brow.

Taking advantage of his spot out of the flow of people, he opens his phone to check on where the gremlins were (two barns down already what the hell??), when Dustin’s text comes through.

He puts his phone back in his pocket and continues on.

The next booth he comes to is another with taxidermied things, though these are all bugs. Different beetles, bees, and butterflies pinned into shadow boxes.

For some reason, he gets kinda stuck at the display of colorful wings. He’s never really liked bugs, never had a strong opinion about butterflies, but these things are… seriously beautiful.

Some he remembers the names for without having to look at the little tags the vendor wrote up for them; Monarch for one, and he knows this blue one is an Emperor Butterfly from that Animal Crossroads game Max got him hooked on for a while a couple years ago, and he’s inspecting the pattern of greens and oranges on another when he feels someone brush up against him.

Suddenly aware of how long he’s been standing in front of the display, probably blocking a whole bunch of others from getting to look too, he glances back, stepping out of the way with a “Shit, sorry!”

“No worries man, I can look just fine from right here.”

Steve’s busy looking down at his feet to make sure he’s stepping around the boxes stored under a nearby display table, “No, really, I just got caught up looking at them;” he finally gets his feet in a safe spot, and turns to the newcomer, “They’re all really–”

He’d made the mistake of looking up at the source of the voice, and now his own is stuck in his throat.

Steve’s a sucker for all things 80s, the aesthetic (a new word introduced to him by Max) at least, and this guy looked as if he was plucked right out of time and delivered to him on a shiny silver platter.

A mess of dark frizzy curls, deep dark eyes, ripped skinny jeans and some sort of band tee under a leather jacket and denim vest..

Even the sun decided to point out how much of a simp he was about to be over this guy, choosing that moment to break through the clouds outside the doors and give hot 80s metal guy a hell of a glow.

“--pretty.”

Hot Metalhead smirks and ohjesusfuckingchristhehasdimples.

“You’re not too bad yourself, big boy.” the man says, and Steve swears he can feel the other man’s gaze trail over him. “You got a favorite?”

He gestures back to the display of bugs, and Steve shakes his head clear, “Uh.. The orange one maybe, the Monarch? But this one is really cool.” he points to the green/orange one.

Hot Metalhead nods, “The Madagascan Sunset Moth, that one’s my favorite.” then he levels a smirk at Steve, “Seems you’ve got good taste, pretty boy.”

Something kicks to life behind Steve’s ribs, and suddenly he feels completely back on his game. He slowly drags his gaze over the other man, lingering on his lips (chapped, but perfectly pouty even in their smirk), “Seems like I do.”

Steve meets the man’s eyes, and he opens his mouth to say something else when they’re broken from the moment by none other than Max.

“There you are! Do you ever check your phone?” she gripes, pulling him out of the booth

“What–Max?” A rock sinks into his stomach, “What’s wrong?”

“I need your help picking something for Lucas,” she puts her hands on her hips and it’s like he’s looking in a mirror.

The rock rolls out his stomach with the roll of his eyes, and turns to say something to Hot Metalhead, but he’s already a couple booths away, bending low over a table of books.

“You can flirt later, I really need your help!”

Sighing, but figuring he can find Hot Metalhead later, he follows Max to a bigger movie memorabilia booth in the center of the next barn over.

Eventually, they settle on two gifts for Max’s “He’s not my boyfriend nor do I want him to be.” boyfriend (“He’s not my boyfriend, Steve! Urgh, you’re the worst.”): a Freddy Krueger sweater, and a jersey boasting the Haddonfield Butchers, with the last name Myers and number 78 on the back.

“Are you sure that’s not secretly for you?” Steve asks, clocking the reference immediately. He had, afterall, been made to sit and watch Halloween close to a zillion times over the course of he and Max’s foster journey together.

“No, it’s for him. It's something I like fused with what he likes." She reasons.

“Sure, sure,”

Max wanders off again after that, and so does Steve, scanning the crowd for messy brown curls as he scans the other vendors.

Eventually, he comes to a booth covered in pins and earrings.

He immediately thinks of Ms. Hender– Claud— Mom when he sees all the earrings, and starts looking through the spinning racks, snapping a picture to send to the goblins as he does

“Find something you like?”

Steve glances up, one of the two ladies manning the booth has stood from her chair, the strawberry blond with the ponytail, smiling brightly at him. A pair of cigarette earrings hang from her lobes, one new and one half burnt down.

“Yeah, sorry, I was sending a picture of these to my siblings,” he picks up the fangs, “Our mom would love these.”

The woman holds out a hand and he passes the set to her, “Awesome, let me get them bagged up for you!”

“Do you want a different color?” The other woman says, looking through a basket of what looks like even more pairs of earrings; she’s a dirtier blond with a choppy bob and freckles.

“Another color?”

“Y’know, black, orange, purple, glow in the d–” that’s when she looks up at him, “Steve Harrington?”

Steve’s brain goes into a jumbled state of ???????????

“Uhm, yeah? How’d you–”

“You went to my high school!”

A rock plunges into his gut, “Oh, uhm.. I’m sorry? I don’t–”

“You dated Tammy Thompson.”

He feels his face pull into a cringe, “Yeah, that was… yeah.”

“She was on American Idol!” the strawberry blond says.

Steve finds himself laughing, “I don’t know how she made it, she sounds like a muppet when she sings.”

“She does!” She laughs at the same time Choppy Bob says an indignant “She does not!”

The rock is back, “Oh, sorry.. Was she a friend?”

Ponytail laughs again, saying “No,” at the same time as Bob but continuing on with “Robin here had a biiiig crush on her.”

Bob, Robin apparently, goes all splotchy, “Shut up Chris!”

Chris just waves her off, “Oh he’s fine, he’s one of us, did you not see his pin?”

Steve looks down at his own chest, Max’s gifted bi flag pin glinting up at him from his jacket, then back up at the two; the lanyard around Robin’s neck jumps out at him, striped in pinks and oranges and whites, and Chris has what looks like one half of a heart in colors matching his pinned to her sweater.

“Huh.” Robin says, looking perplexed, “Who’da thunk?”

“You’re telling me.” Steve jokes, finally getting Robin to smile back at him.

Suddenly, and at the same time another potential customer comes into the little stall behind him, Dustin comes out of the woodwork to tug at his arm, “Finally, there you are! Stop flirting and come with me, you gotta see these cars!”

“Whoa, dude! Chill out for a second, okay? I’m trying to pay the nice lady.”

“Well hurry it up dude,” he mocks, “They’ve got the Ghostbusters’ hearse back there!”

Dustin squeezes very impolitely past the other person in the booth, and Steve turns back to Chris, “Sorry, brothers you know?”

“He’s got a point, the Ghostbusters one is pretty impressive,” She says as Robin accepts his $10 bill for the jewelry, and passes him back a small bag and a card, “I wrote our cell numbers on the back, we should all meet up again sometime!”

“Course! I’ll let you know how my mom likes ‘em, yeah?”

Steve squeezes out the stall and Chrissy picks up her phone.

Dustin was right (what’s new?), this last building is packed full of hearses of every shape and size.

A 1940s era one, a slightly newer model painted entirely in matte black, one with a padded coffin hanging half out the end for people to pose for pictures in. But the real star of the show, at least according to Dustin, was the one for one remake of the Ghostbusters’ white one.

Steve follows him down the row, pausing at the hood of the replica to take a picture of the giant slime ghost plush in the passenger seat, then on to peer into the cab.

He was still inspecting all the old dials in the dash through the open window, when someone says, “See something you like?”

“I was told by a very reliable source that yours was the one to beat.” Steve says, taking in the shockingly low number of miles on the odometer, “And I gotta say, still having the original dials in the dash is pretty cool– Hey! It’s you!”

The guy leaning his weight onto the car’s roof with one hand grins, “Hello again, your majesty.”

“Majesty?”

“You liked the Monarchs, remember?” Hot Metalhead pushes himself up off the car and offers Steve the same hand, “I’m Eddie.”

“Steve.” he breathes, taking Eddie’s hand in his.

Eddie shakes his hand once, his fingers calloused and warm, “Well, King Steve, what brings you all the way to my neck of the woods?”

“I heard there was a super special hearse back here so I had to come see it for myself.”

“Good eye, Stevie”

“Only if it’s easy on ‘em.” he says, starting to get his normal voice back, “‘Easy on the eyes’ y’know?”

Eddie just laughs, “Yeah big guy, I got it.”

Steve’s face is on fire. He clears his throat, finally letting Eddie’s hand go. He notices a familiar pin on the front breast pocket of his denim vest that he hadn’t noticed before, this one striped in shades of blue, green, and white, the opposite half of Chris’ pink, purple, and blue one.

“Oh, hey! You know Chris?” Eddie's face flashes into confusion, so Steve clarifies, “She’s got the same half heart pin as you…?”

“Chrissy you mean? Tiny? Ponytail? Bangs?”

Steve shrugs, “That sounds right.”

“Has a girlfriend about yay tall? Freckles?”

“I mean, she didn’t stand up..”

Eddie considers him for a moment. “Nope. Never heard of ‘er.”

Oh god he’s a dork.. Steve’ll never survive this.

“D’she send you over here?”

“Kinda? Dustin wanted to see the cars anyhow so..” he holds his arms out at his sides, “Here I am.”

“So this curly-haired menace is yours then?” Eddie asks, turning to stand at Steve’s side and gesturing to where Dustin is talking with a balding man at the end of the car, “He’s been talking my Uncle’s ear off each time he’s come by.”

Steve nods, “Him and the redhead who’s… around here somewhere– there!” He points out Max as she heads outside into the sun, making her hair glow bright, “She’s my foster sister, Dustin’s mom took us both in about a year ago now, she was really great to take us in together, even with me being ‘aged out’ and all.. I wanted to make sure she had something stable going forward y’know? And I really don’t know why I’m telling you all that but.. There it is..”

His face is going to be permanently red at this point, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind his rambling, looking at him with a mix of amusement and something else in his expression. “You can tell me whatever you want, whenever you want, Stevie.”

“Is that your way of asking for my number?” Steve asks on impulse.

Eddie laughs, “You give me way too much credit Stevie, I’m not even remotely close to that good of a smooth-talker,” he reaches into his back pocket and produces his phone, “But no way am I passing up the opportunity.”

Steve smiles and takes it, entering his information into Eddie’s phone, “Apologies to your uncle by the way,” he says as he sends himself a devil face emoji from Eddie’s cell, “Dusty can get to be too much sometimes. I hope he’s not giving you too much trouble?”

He hands back the phone as his own chimes in his pocket, taking it out and passing it to Eddie.

“Not at all; Wayne’s more than happy to talk about anything to anyone who’ll listen; He’s already told me everything he knows.”

“Don’t you mean ‘taught’?”

“Not in the slightest.” Eddie grins at Steve’s laughter, punches something into his phone and passes it back. “There you go, big boy, one brand new phone number just for you.”

Steve looks down at the screen, ‘super hot sexy metal deathlord eddie 😈🤘’ is at the top of his message screen.

He looks up at Eddie, who just waggles his eyebrows at him; Steve rolls his eyes, but can’t keep himself from smiling. “Perfect, thanks.”

“No problem…” he mimes looking down at his phone, “‘steve’.”

“Oi! Can you two flirt your way to the gut trucks, or are Dusty and I gonna have to get some grub ourselves?”

The two jump apart at Wayne’s words, both their cheeks burning (brighter in Eddie’s case).

“Yeah, yeah, shut your yaps, we’ll go get something.” Eddie grumbles, striding off toward where the food trucks are parked, pulling Steve along with him.

if you don't have one around you at this time, this is a real thing that happens in my area every may!! and it's on the 10th this year!! all of the things mentioned are things i've seen at my fair; my own pair of vamp fang earrings are truly a favorite pair of earrings i own :o) spiderweb divider from @saradika-graphics! vampire earring pic is from this etsy listing!

there will also be a part 2 to this tomorrow, LINK HERE!

#steddie #steddiehalfoween #steve harrington #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #robin buckley #background buckingham #steve harrington x eddie munson #noelle writes

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