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gyuswhore · 8 months

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the story of us ✦ j.w.w x reader

the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now - the story of us

synopsis: So many walls that you can't break through; except you do.

wc: 2.1K

contains: best friends to lovers, angst, fluff, humour, happy ending, alcohol, arguments

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[a/n]: im exhausted, im loopy, im hungry, but i really wanted to post this so here you go my babies I'm sorry i haven't fed you in so long (ty @toruro for making sure i wasn't talking out of my ass in this ily)

[edit; 11/04/24]: grammar and spelling.

Jeon Wonwoo was nearing boiling point when he watched you push him away from yet another conversation.

He tried to understand, just like he always had. But it was proving near impossible at the five-month mark.

There were clear signs you exhibited when you needed space, for whatever reason, Wonwoo knew you would tell him when you recovered. So he gave you what you needed.

And yet, when he finds himself pushed away from what looks like a casual conversation between your mutual friends, he finds his mild annoyance grow into something hotter.

There’s a clench in his jaw as he tries not to squeeze the red cup in his hand with too much pressure, even when all the spiteful bit of his brain wants to do is to pour its pigmented contents all over your cream outfit. He manages to control himself, choosing to get up and exit the premises entirely. In complete silence, he refuses to acknowledge any yell of his name from passing acquaintances.

Jeon Wonwoo refused to respond to any of your advances after that.

Invitations to lunch were left on a jarring sent, the notification sitting in his log until he chooses to open it too late. His response was bare when you asked for help on some accounting concepts, pushing you over into Jihoon’s hands to fulfill your requirements. There’s a blatant shrug when you touch his shoulder, concerned, asking why his behaviour had become so distant in the past weeks; he responds with a mumble of, “just tired”.

The great divide happened a few days proceeding your birthday, one for which Wonwoo did nothing for but send you a quick message during the evening, never to see you throughout the extended day.

“I can’t believe you’re putting this on me!” you all but yell, eyes wide and expression exasperated at the situation.

“Are you blind? Or just plain stupid? Because I didn’t tolerate months of your shit attitude to have you say it isn’t your fault.” Wonwoo is breathing heavily, hands motioning towards your entire figure with equal disbelief.

“What attitude?” you emphasize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I couldn’t be upfront with my best friend.”

“There’s a difference between being in a mood and blatant disrespect. I’m tired of having to put up with your mood swings like it’s my responsibility to coddle you. When was the last time you genuinely asked me how I was doing?”

“All the time!”

“Yeah, after you realize there's nobody else to whine and wail to!”

“Wonwoo, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Fine. If I’m clearly so unhinged, I’ll leave you to your liking.”

The dwindled interactions, from messages to hellos, went from sparing to nonexistent — just like that.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t expect for you and Wonwoo to reconcile in the matter of a few days, if not a couple weeks.

But when the distance did nothing but grow larger, there was a settle of resentment in the pit of your stomach as you accepted the feud you were in.

A text was sent from your phone a couple days after the incident.

[You]: can we talk?

But when you see no sign of the grey Delivered on the end, you knew he had blocked you.

This was all nothing less than baffling to you for a number of reasons, starting with how you had never witnessed Wowoo acting this way.

Wonwoo had done nothing but reprimand you the rare chance you suggested blocking an apprehensive individual, something about not showing that you cared. His voice seemed redundant after a certain decibel, the rarest chance to witness him yell at a failed video game or a frustrating professor.

You know better, which is the only reason you’re ruling off paranormal possession.

The claims against you came as an afterthought, not, however, rendering them any less strange. There’s a part of you that pondered if your shield of annoyance blocked you from seeing the truth in his words and in your behaviour, finding yourself overwhelmed with emotions when the thought crossed your mind, tears of frustration immediately blurring your vision.

You did not understand, you could not. And when it all got too much, you allowed the hurt and confusion to turn into something more dangerous. You replaced it with anger, in the same place that once occupied a more delicate emotion.

There was an uproar in Wonwoo’s mind when he sees you walk into the lecture hall, unaware of your overlapping schedule in the new semester. He watches as your eyes pass over the moderately packed space, briefly glancing over where he sat; if you saw him, you did nothing to bring a reaction out of it. You take a seat a few rows up front, right in front of him where he’s able to see the back of your head for the next two hours — for the rest of the semester.

He wonders if it’s too late to switch classes.

“Wonwoo, I honestly think this is getting out of hand.” Jihoon munches on his cashews, leaning against bark of the tree they were both sat under.

“Did you want me to keep tending to her bullshit then?” he grumbles.

“That’s not what I’m saying, you know it’s not.”

“That’s what it sounds like.” Wonwoo’s retort is brisk.

Jihoon is suddenly snapping his fingers in his face at the reply, a flinch accompanies Wonwoo’s already sour expression.

“See! See how frustrating it is when somebody isn’t making sense?”

“How does this—”

“Wonwoo, did you try talking to her about how you felt, you know, without the screaming?”

Jihoon watches as Wonwoo’s expression clears out, his eyebrows unfurrowing and the scowl fading. He doesn’t speak, choosing to let the realization kick in.

“No.”

Jihoon sighs, taking another pause. “I’m not saying what she did wasn’t uncalled for, but you need to talk shit out before deciding you hate each other.”

“I don’t hate her.”

“Right, so can we wrap this up quickly and have you confess your undying love so we can all relax.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Heat crawls up Wonwoo’s cheeks.

“What? If you don’t hate her, it’s gotta be the opposite.”

Did Wonwoo like you? Yeah, he probably did. Did he ever let himself ponder upon it? No, because he was downright mortified of the mere thought. He finds himself a hypocrite to say it was to preserve your friendship, but he figures he’s fucked it up in a way that’s arguably worse.

Regardless, Wonwoo walks away from that conversation with two things: a stark realization, and an even starker admittance.

Everything was going wrong. At least that’s what it felt like when you hear the clang of your water bottle hit the pavement, rolling off into the oncoming traffic as you sprint to grab it. You nearly cause a vehicle pile-up, swallowing a couple profanities from braking drivers.

You’re stuffing the darn thing into your bag when you trip on a loose brick on the path, nearly landing on your face. The glare you send into the pavement costs you even more when a hard shoulder bumps into your side, sending you another couple steps back. You don’t bother to see who the perpetrator is, too preoccupied with your attempts to take in deeper breaths amid the blankness of your mind.

There are no hiccups after that, what you might owe your more conscious mind to. Stomping up the library steps, you thank nothingness for the air conditioning that meets your hot face, slowing down as you take in the crowd.

Scanning the room for an empty seat is harder than you’d anticipated, hoping the heat would keep students away from the building as you left to get work done. Approaching a table, you set down your bag with a huff, pulling the chair out to finally take the seat you’ve been needing for so long.

The universe seems to have other plans.

It’s almost funny the way you and Wonwoo make eye contact across the other table, the recognition sending a jolt through your stomach.

You’ve never moved so fast, pushing the chair back in with a screech that earns you a few looks, grabbing the handles of your bag as you turn around to leave the building you’d just entered.

No way you'd sit there. Not when he was around.

You're bounding down the steps when somebody passes you, murmuring something without slowing their stride.

“I’m leaving, you can go inside,” Wonwoo says, and the sound of his voice has you halting almost immediately.

Whipping your head around to search for the sound, you watch as he takes a turn at the end of the steps, slowly moving out of your vision.

There’s a swirl of something in your chest, and you realise in that moment how much you missed hearing his voice.

Chiding yourself, you blink back the water that wells up in your eyes, embarrassed at how quickly you were losing yourself.

But the damage was done. And you wanted to be reckless, regardless of how desperate it made you look. A split second decision is made in that moment, one that lightens the heavy feet that you’ve planted on the concrete.

You’re back to bounding down the steps, but this time with aim.

Taking the same turn you saw Wonwoo take, you break into a sprint as you see his figure move farther away. You keep running, continuing to bump into both objects and people, hurried "sorry"'s the only thing you choose to throw their way.

“Wonwoo!” Your voice comes out stronger than you’d intended, the sharpness having him turn around in search, eyes landing on your accelerating figure.

Both of you realize too late how fast you’re really going, the velocity taking you directly into his outstretched arms, hands grasping the sleeves of his shirt as you come to screeching stop directly into his chest.

You don’t have the time nor the patience to be embarrassed, pulling your face back to look directly into Wonwoo’s bewildered eyes to huff out your next words.

“Why did you block me?” you ask, voice gruff and slightly out of breath.

Wonwoo’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, words refusing to come out.

“Why are you so mad at me? Why are you being nice to me if you’re mad at me?” You don’t stop, the direct questions tumbling off your tongue in desperation.

You search his face for an answer when his mouth fails, but all you find is the remnants of shock yet to ebb away.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you feel like you weren’t important, I’m sorry for taking your presence for granted, I’m sorry for hurting you, I’m sorry for…for… I don’t know! I’m just really sorry and I don't know how else to make this right.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you hear him say and you feel the moisture return to your eyes.

“Huh?”

“I should’ve…” he pauses, looking sheepish. “I should’ve talked to you before I, y’know, went off on you. I should’ve managed my feelings better, I’m sorry.”

You're silent for a few tantalizing moments before you raise your fists, and pound down on his chest with everything you have. You do it again, and then again, and again—

“What?- Ow!”

“When are you gonna stop bottling up your feelings for fucks sake, it’s landed you everywhere but good!” you say, nearly yelling.

Wonwoo whips his head around to see who’s listening, palm to mouth in attempts to silence you.

“I’m sorry! I know! I’m working on it,” he rambles, trying to get you to quit struggling. “Jihoon and I talked, that’s why I realised I was being dumb.”

“Are you gonna unblock me now or do I need to pay Jihoon to sit down with you again?”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrow. “You payed Jihoon to sit with me?”

“No, you idiot. But I should have because you can’t seem to figure out how to feel emotions.”

Wonwoo can’t help himself when he breaks out into a grin, letting out a breathy chuckle that has you asking “What?”.

He pulls you in, heart to heart in an embrace, holding you tight to make up for the weeks of no contact. He breathes in your scent and feels as though he hasn’t in years.

“I’m not gonna come running up to you the next time you decide you hate me,” you mumble into his shoulder, pouting slightly.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“No.” Wonwoo pulls away but keeps you in his arms, looking at you, “I love you. Like, the kind of stuff that makes you wanna live together forever. I love you.”

It’s your turn to gape like a fish.

“W-what?”

“You told me not to bottle up my feelings.”

“Yeah, but—wow, um.”

“Did I make another mistake?”

No! You wanted to scream. But you don’t. You instead lift your hands up to come around his face, cradling it. And you kissed him.

“I love you, too. Like the live together forever kind.”

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ohbo-ohno · 7 months

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Please please bo sort a girl out with Ghoap x Reader in an abandoned farm 🤪🤪

1k game here - no more please!

@luminousbeings-crudematter my beloved!!! idk if tumblr gives you a notif when i post an ask you sent so im tagging you just in case lol. also you said "unhinged texas chainsaw massacre" and i tried my best but i've never seen that movie :')

3.8k of ghoap x reader ft. ghost and soap hunting down their newest pet in a corn maze (cw: rough noncon sex, kinda puppy play? super light) this is mostly soap x reader, sorry!!

The collar is heavy around your neck, making every breath difficult as you pant. Your lungs seize in your chest when you stumble through the corn maze, desperate for any light at the end of the tunnel.

It doesn't come, but you push on anyways.

The corn is rough against your arms and legs, your body vulnerable to the rough stalks with so many tears in your clothes. Everything hurts - your feet from the rough ground, your throat from all the screaming, your stomach from pure fear and adrenaline. You're too blinded from terror to focus on any of that, the only thought in your head to go go go go get away.

The roar of a chainsaw is loud somewhere to your right. You nearly fall to your knees at the sound, windmilling your eyes to keep yourself steady. A loud, manic laugh echoes from the same direction, and your legs nearly give out.

Fuck, he's right there.

You can't think about how close the sound is, can't focus on how you swear you can see the corn moving, you can only run.

The stalks split in front of you, and you stumble into a clearing. You freeze, feet stopped right on the border of the new area. You bounce onto your toes, like you'd been tugged to a stop before exposing yourself.

The clearing is empty accept for an old tractor, sitting in the center of the grass. It's just a large enough circle that you'd be exposed for several seconds if you tried to reach it, totally clear if anyone was in the stalks.

But... you could hide there, couldn't you? The machine looks massive from your vantage point, there's surely a place to hide there.

It feels cruel to leave your fellow victims to the killers hunting them down, but you know that you have to try and save yourself before trying to help someone else.

You take a deep breath as you sink back to your heels, crouching a little lower in the corn to see if you can spot any movement around the perimeter.

The chainsaw revs again, and someone screams.

Your decision is made for you. The sound of death sends you forward, instinct making you move.

The dirt is rough beneath your feet, small rocks sticking into the soft parts of your sole and offsetting your run. You try your best to keep your balance, eyes trained on the tractor and the small space you know you can squeeze in.

It's silent but for the sound of your own panting, blood rushing through your ears, nothing but that perceived safety in your mind.

Just as you start to ready your legs to launch yourself up to the seat, legs tensing, you're shoved away. Your breath is forced from your lungs as you hit the ground, dirt and rocks shoved into your arms as you roll.

"Ah!" You cry out, forced to your stomach as you roll. It takes a minute to recognize what's happened, for it to click in your mind that someone's there.

It's too late by the time you realize.

You still try to get away, some animal part of you knowing that it's dangerous to stay down.

You manage to get to your knees, eyes darting wildly to spot whoever's tackled you, to know what direction to run. But the field is empty, and you're already moving before you think to look behind you.

It costs you, because you hardly get a step away before you're shoved to the ground again, your attacker staying over your body.

"Where you goin'?" The man rumbles in your ear, his chest pressed to your back and lips against your ear. He nips the shell of your ear and your eyes fly open, face shoved into the dirt.

Hardly a foot away, a chainsaw rests in the dirt. Blood drenches the blade, slowly dripping into a puddle beneath the weapon. It makes you whimper, trying to squirm away from the killer above you.

"No, no, no," he purrs, nosing his way to your cheek and just leaning there, pressing his smile into your skin, his voice rumbling through your back. "Down, pup, c'mon, you're caught. No point in runnin'."

"Please-" you gasp, neck arching to try and get away. "Please, please, please-"

He makes a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. "Please, please, please?" His voice pitches up in a mocking tone, a horrible imitation of yours. "You a broken record, lass? Only wanna say the same thing? Come on, tha's no fun, gimme something new."

You shout, the sound caught somewhere between a cough and a sob, hands stretching forward and clawing at the earth. "Please!"

He truly laughs now, a sharp noise in your ear. He stretches himself up above you, chest lifting and hips pushing into yours so that your legs are pinned. All you can do it try to drag yourself forward, hot tears beginning to fall as you're held down in the same place.

"Guess it does sound good from your lips," he muses. He shifts behind you, knees squeezing to either side of your hips and hands reaching so he can grab your elbows.

"Look'it you," he tsks, bending forward to lace your hands together. You cry out at the feeling of being covered, his chest above your head. "Ruinin' your pretty nails, and for what?"

Your head drops to the ground, sobs tearing your throat to shreds as spit falls from your lips. You feel bile working in your stomach, that horrible tension beneath your tongue like you're about to throw up.

"I can't-" you gasp, panic clawing at your mind. You know this man is going to kill you, that he's going to make it hurt, and every part of you rebels at just the thoughts. You can't stop fighting, can't stop trying to get away from him even with the weight holding you down.

"Can't what?" He hums, shifting to kneel above you so that he's not nearly suffocating you. "Can't go anywhere? Naw, bonnie, you're not goin' anywhere now. Caught you fair and square, didn't I?"

There's a part of you that screams to try and argue, to take a deep breath and settle to see if you can make some sort of deal, but the bigger part of you can't calm down, can't do anything but try and shove yourself out from the maniac above you.

"Plus, if I let you go runnin' off you might get caught by Simon." His arms settle on your shoulders and you can't help but yelp, ducking your head low to try and protect your neck. "Then I'd lose. You want that? Thought we were closer than that, lass."

You sob, teeth clenched tight. You don't fucking know the man, you don't know whoever Simon is, you just want to go home.

"That's what I thought," he hums. "Now," he pushes up, and your arms and torso are free as he settles back to rest his weight on your thighs. "I think you and I have some time to play, hm? Before Simon catches us both."

You don't- you don't know what he means, and it's hard to breathe past the fear. It clicks when his hands move to your hips, gripping them tightly.

"Wait," you gasp, eyes flying wide when his fingers creep beneath the hem of your jeans. "Wait, stop-"

"Oh, look at that," he laughs, hands shoving further down until his palms wrap around your thighs. "Learned some new words, baby?"

Your eyes squeeze as your feet kick against the dirt, unable to find any traction without shoes. Scrabbling so frantically only to stay right where you're pinned only serves to work you up more, to make your heart race faster.

"You're warm," he hums, kneading at your thighs and using his wrists to force the pants down, slowly revealing more and more of your skin to the cold night air. "Gonna warm me up, lass?"

"No," you hiss, the realization of what he's going to do sinking in. Your pants are pulled down to mid thigh, keeping your thighs from spreading and leaving your backside on display. "Stop- I'll- don't you dare-"

He laughs again, landing a harsh smack to your vulnerable ass. You cut your begging off with a yelp, hips rocketing into the ground to try and escape the sting when he lands another slap.

"You tryin' to boss me around? Real cute, pup, but you don't have a leg to stand on. Stuck pinned in the dirt and still tryin' to be in charge?" He laughs again, blows shifting from slaps to taps, jiggling the fat of your ass. "Cute, bonnie. Real cute."

You fold an arm beneath your face, try to use the other to force yourself up. "Stop fucking- stop hitting me, you bastard!"

"Oh!" He cackles, his lap slap almost bruising in it's force. "She's got some spine, huh? Maybe you'll be more fun than I thought."

You snarl into the dirt, legs kicking up behind you to try and hit his back. He's too high up on your thighs o reach, and you end up kicking the air like a toddler throwing a tantrum. It only fuels your anger, makes you feel more stuck.

"Keep fightin', bonnie." He presses himself closer to your face, and you catch a glimpse of sharp teeth from your peripheral, his smile sharp. "Makes it more fun for me. Think you'll tighten up if you kick kickin' and screamin'?"

You scream, a primal sound straight from the gut as you throw your head back and to the side, trying to hit him. You somehow manage it, but you hurt yourself just as much. You cry out at the sudden pain in the back of your skull, crumbling back to the ground.

There's a loud moan over your shoulder, and his hips press into yours. He's hard to your horror, his length pressing against the softness of your ass. "Fuck, that felt good."

God, the man is disturbed.

Your attempted attack doesn't stop him from hooking his fingers in your underwear, tugging them down to rest in the crease where your thighs meet your ass.

"Pretty," he purrs, hands stroking from your rips to your jeans, hands pushing hard enough to make you whine. His treatment is all too rough, like he's trying to mold you into the shape he wants. "Can't wait to get my dick in you," he groans, groping you.

"Nooo," you whine, trying to push yourself into the dirt, like it might open you up and swallow you whole, help you escape the horror you can't do anything to stop. "You can't- you can't fuck me, please, don't-"

He moans again, and you hear the clinking of a belt being undone. "Fuck, say it again for me."

Your eyes squeeze shut. You want to be anywhere else, anywhere but here.

You feel the heat of his cock against your ass, and tears sting in your eyes. You taste dirt against your lips, feel your palms sluggishly bleed from the scrapes against the rough ground. You try to focus on everything but what the killer's doing to you, but's impossible

His palm cups your center, fingers wrapping around your vulva and holding firmly. You flinch when his middle finger works between your folds, coming to rest on your clit.

"Need to get you wet," he mumbles, starting to work at the nub to coax some pleasure out of your body. "Simon wouldn't like it if I made you bleed." He snorts, then corrects, "Well, bleeding down there. Won't be shocked if he wants to carve you up a bit."

You shiver, focused too much on staying stiff and keeping your mind as far away as possible to put off the inevitable. What he says doesn't even properly click in your mind, floating in one ear and out the other.

"There we go," he purrs, palm growing slick as your body warms to him unwillingly. He grunts as he shifts to use both hands, one focusing on your clit and the other coming back to tease at your hole.

Two fingers slip in without warning and you yelp at the sudden stretch, hips bucking back instinctively and forcing the fingers further. Your moan is pulled from your chest, part pleasure and part pain.

"You want more lass? Here, don't mind stretching you out."

The third finger comes too soon, too suddenly, and the sting edges too close to pain for you to feel good, even unwillingly.

He's got no patience at all, fingers spreading inside of you while his thumb works furiously at your clit. The mix of good and bad leaves your head clouded, tears slowing as your mind starts to float away a bit.

He moans against your back, face pressed into your shoulder. "Feel so tight, bonnie. Can't wait til you're wrapped around me, wet and tight... fuck, can't wait much longer..."

His teeth press into you throw the fabric of your shirt, the bite only slightly blunted. You breath stutters out of your chest, lips shaking. You want to fight, tell yourself that you should bite and claw and scream, but he's already proven to you that he'd only enjoy that. All you can do is lie in the dirt, lamp and shaking.

Despite all your fear and your hatred for the man over you, you wish he'd stretched you out more.

"Gotta get inside of ya," he grunts, tugging his fingers out with a terribly wet sound. You can hear him sucking your wetness off of them as he shifts further up, letting his hard length rest between your thighs. "Don't... God, you taste good, don't wanna stretch you out too much. You get it, yeah bonnie?"

You whine forlornly, turning your head to the side. You can see him over your shoulder - tall and broad, brown hair in a... mohawk?, bright teeth shown off in a smile. He ducks down while he fists his cock, dipping himself into your wetness.

Wet lips press a kiss to your cheek, a trail of that wetness left against your face. When he pulls back you see the blood dripping from his nose, sniffle at the realization that he's left his own blood over your face.

"Look pretty in red," he whispers, tone oddly soft. It tugs another tear out of you, dripping down the bridge of your nose. His free hand comes up to your face, running a finger through the tear track and sucking the drop off his fingertip. "Taste good everywhere, love."

Your eyes close when he notches himself at your hole, pressing in just enough for you to feel the stretch. He's massive, and the prospect of him shoving himself fully inside of you... you shudder, trying to loosen yourself as much as you can.

He's not kind when he pushes in. You're not sure why you hoped he would be, not with the blood-soaked chainsaw still in your line of sight. But the sudden fullness, the sting, the stretch, draws a high cry from your lips.

His groan nearly drowns out your sounds, your walls spasming around him to try and adjust. You hate that it feels so good for him when you feel like you can hardly breathe around him.

"Feels so good," he moans, words hardly enunciated, thick accent only thickened by his pleasure. You can hardly understand him, far too upset to bother translating him in your head.

"Can't-" he pants, hips jerking out just a few inches only to buck back into yours, pushing as far inside as he can. "Can't come, but can get you off, yeah?"

There's a part of you that's confused by that, that wonders what the fuck he's talking about, but a much larger part of you is focused on the slow drag inside of you.

It would feel better if you were a little wetter, a little more stretched out, but you can't change those things. You relax, try to force your body to cooperate just to make things easier. You try to lean into the parts that do feel good - the way his cock drags against all the most sensitive parts of you, the slap of his balls against your clit - and sink into that pleasant feeling instead of the adrenaline still lingering in your veins.

He doesn't speak when he fucks into you, forehead pressed into your shoulder blade as he starts to drive you truly insane. It starts feeling good quickly enough for you to forget the pain, the horror, and you gladly fall into the oblivion creeping over your mind.

It's good, as horrible as it is to think. The bastard knows what he's doing.

It's some indeterminate amount of time later when you hear the stalks shifting again, eyes flying open just in time to see a man step into the clearing.

The man over you moans when the stranger gets closer, turning his head to the side. His hips buck into you even more roughly, your thighs beginning to ache from the force.

"Simon," he calls out, and it clicks in your head.

The new man is masked and wearing all black, and you recognize him as the other killer hunting you through the maze. His mask is just as terrifying from close up as it was when you first glanced over your shoulder while running, the sight of him in the distance almost floating while surrounded by shadows.

"Bein' good, Johnny?" He rumbles, boots stopping next to the chainsaw and toeing it away.

"Yes, sir," the man over you - Johnny - grunts, thrusts erratic. "Left-left the ring on, haven't come, promise."

There's a hum from above you, the man crouching down. "Good boy. Woulda had to ruin your fun if you got yourself off."

He whines at that, and you can't help but furrow your eyebrows. The man above you going from cocky and terrifying asshole to whining and moaning above you doesn't fit with the image you'd had in your head.

"I ken. 'S why I didn't take it off, ye bawbag." Johnny's voice shakes a bit as he switches to grinding against you, hips pressed flush with yours. The sudden pressure against your clit and so deep inside of you leaves you moaning, eyes rolling back. The peak of an orgasm is right there, just out of reach, and you reach for it desperately.

"Watch it," Simon scolds, shifting forward to his knees and reaching far enough to slap Johnny, the sound echoing through the silent clearing. Your eyes fly open, instinctually flinching away.

Simon's head tilts down to you, ignoring Johnny's whine. His gloved hand comes down to rest on your face, gripping your chin and lifting enough to get a good look at your face.

"Pretty thing," he says, giving your face a little shake before letting you drop to the ground. You can't even begin to care so close to the edge, focus solely on getting off

"'S what I said."

"Hmm. Why don't you go ahead and get the poor pup off? Looks like she's cockdrunk enough as is, might as well get her the whole way there before we take her home."

"With pleasure, sir."

It's hard to focus after that point. Johnny's hand tunnels beneath your stomach and to your clit, working his hips in full thrusts and rubbing you so perfectly. It takes hardly any time at all to get you off, the perfect mix of sensations sending you flying over that edge.

You're not sure what happens between the time when you come and when Johnny pulls out. Your vision nearly whites out, moving away from the scrapes and bruises and into the pleasure gripping every muscle. It's so much easier to lean into the good than the bad, to pretend the warmth is just the pleasure instead of the man at your back.

You're brought back into the real world by the feeling of something being wrapped around your neck, left just tight enough for you to jerk, panicked you couldn't breathe.

"Hush, pup," Simon shushes when you jerk up, eyes flying wide. "Just givin' you your collar. Makin' sure anyone who spots you can take you right home, hm?"

Johnny tugs you up as Simon speaks, grip just a tad too rough on your shoulders when he pulls you up to your knees. You're still a bit out of it as he tucks your jeans and underwear up, dick hard and slick against the small of your back.

The fear comes back as you're brought to your feet by Simon, hands on your elbows tugging you up. You're unsteady on your feet, knees almost knocking together while you blearily blink up at the masked man.

The sound of metal clinking together, a small yank against your neck, is what brings you fully back into your skin. Simon clips a leash to your collar and then Johnny's, matching pink and blue leads that make your eyebrows furrow.

Johnny - shirtless, drenched in blood - smiles at you, teeth stained with his own blood.

"Come on," Simon rumbles, a sudden tug against your throat nearly sending you to your feet. "Need to get you home, pup."

Johnny catches you before you can fall, laughing as he helps you up. The sight of a black studded collar at his throat jars you, fingers lifting to feel at the fabric around your throat. It's not studded, just a soft leather with a thick ring at the front where the leash connects.

"Looks good on you," Johnny compliments, guiding you to stumble along behind Simon as the man leads you both away, into one of the entrances to the maze.

"What..." your throat is rough and you cough, heartbeat picking up. "What're you doing?"

Johnny's smile is a little condescending, almost herding you forward by staying half behind you. "Takin' you home, lass. You're the last one alive. You make a pretty final girl, bonnie."

There's a sharp yank at your collar, tugging your attention to Simon where he's glancing over his shoulder at you. "Think you'll make a good pup. Johnny's been needing a new little friend, might as well be you, hm?"

There's.... nothing really to say to that. You're too weak, too shaky to try and make a run for it. The blue leash is held loose in Simon's hand, but the pink is wrapped tight around his fist. There's no way you're strong enough to jerk it out of his hand, and even if you could you've got no way out of the maze - they already found you first.

Johnny's hand nudges you forward, almost making you fall. He moves to walk beside you, shoulders almost rubbing together. You think the expression he shoots you is supposed to be comforting, but it's anything but.

You breathe deeply, head beginning to throb again, and hope you have the strength to survive what they'll do to you.

#so sorry lumi i feel like this is repetitive and not that well written :( hope you enjoy regardless <3 #by the way... my attempt at johnny's accent.... it happened #luminousbeings-crudematter #< aka the loml #bo writes #1k celebration #ghoap x reader

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hugshughes · 3 months

Text

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 - 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒

𝐎𝐍𝐄 - 𝐒𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 - 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟, 𝐘/𝐧 𝐘/𝐥/𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐡𝐮𝐦, 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞!

𝐰𝐜 - 1.4𝐤 (𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐡𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟!)

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 - 𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝! 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 (𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲!), 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲, 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥!

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - 𝐢 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐝𝐝 𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬!

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 - 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - @alwaysclassyeagle (𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!)

real life! december 10th, 2023. 8:23pm EST.

"I'm gonna fucking throw up. I can't do it."

You earned a slap on the back of the head after the loud proclamation. You turned to your best friend with wide eyes, rubbing the spot she made contact with.

"No you're not. And yes you can! Everyone's gonna go ballistic, they miss you babe!"

You stared down at your phone, gazing at the text messages between you and your manager, she'd just given you the go ahead to post the announcement for your new album.

In reality, you knew they did miss you, but you were so nervous. Your new album was so special to you, and you wanted it to be recieved well. Every song was so complex and unique to you. It was the first album you would release since the worst breakup of your life. After you'd finally broken up with Mat, all you wanted to do was crawl into a hole and not talk to anyone for a year. Honestly, that's kind of what you did.

"I know. I just want everyone to love it like I do."

"They will, I promise. Everyone's gonna freak! Now, I have an idea."

"What?"

"After you post, we leave our phones down here and while we go get ready, and go to that bar you love!"

You smiled, that sounded fun. You opened Instagram, sliding to create a post. After choosing the photo of the new album cover, you typed out a caption.

"Okay, we can do that! That'll take my mind off of this. Now I just need to post, shit, I'm nervous."

You looked over and your best friend just smiled and nodding towards your phone. You sighed, biting your lip before hitting the post button. You refreshed your profile to make sure it posted before shutting your phone off, dropping it next to you on the couch.

Your best friend jumped up, grabbing your hands and pulling you to stand.

"Let's go, sweetheart. We're gonna go get you happy and tipsy."

You followed her upstairs and into your bedroom, standing at the door of your closet while she grabbed outfits to offer you. You let her dress you up like a little doll. She put you in a little black dress with a white bow under the bust. She added black boots and your outfit was complete. You both fixed up your hair and makeup before putting together your going out bags.

Once you were downstairs all you did was throw your phone into your little purse, not caring to check any of the notifications you were receiving. You climbed into her Black SUV before she pulled out of your driveway, starting to the city. You lived in a few different places, having two homes and an apartment in three different cities. Currently, you were staying in your house in New York, in a more suburban and residential area farther from the city.

You also had a house in Palm Springs and an apartment in Seattle, since that's where lots of your family currently was. The drive to the bar was about 40 minutes, all spent singing and dancing with your phone connected to CarPlay. You guys parked in a large parking garage before heading down the street into the bar. You walked quickly to get away from the cold, shivering beneath your large leather jacket.

The bar was always less crowded than most, since it was higher end, and you knew some of the staff. Your face lit up as you saw your favorite bartender wiping down glasses as you sat at the bar.

"Hi lady!"

Her head snapped up, a smile gracing her face while she greeted you.

"Aw hi! Oh my gosh, girl. I saw your announcement! You don't know how excited I am!"

Your heart warmed. This being the first reaction you heard to your announcement was definitely sweet.

"Stop, thank you so much! I've definitely been really nervous about it. I haven't even checked my phone since I posted it."

"Well you are going crazy viral, everyone is freaking out!"

You best friend gave you a knowing look, she had told you so. You blushed, thinking about your fans loving the new album. You got your drinks and went to sit at an empty booth in the back of the bar, a Cosmopolitan and a lemonade, since your best friend was designated driver. There were only a couple other groups here, around 10 other people.

After a bit, you two took a trip to the restroom. You took your jacket off while you best friend took photos of you in the mirror to post later.

After around two hours, you exited the bar, the time nearing midnight. You were astounded when you saw flashes of light blinding you as you began the walk to the garage. Paparazzi. Thankfully, you were in New York, and knew the guys.

"Oh, hi guys! What's up?"

"Hey Y/n! What's up with us? What's up with you?! Everyone saw the announcement earlier tonight! Personally, I can't wait!"

You smile brightly, New York paparazzi weren't like Los Angeles paparazzi. These were the guys you knew through Taylor, they were respectful and not pushy.

"Thank you so much! I'm so excited! I literally have not looked at my notifications since posting it, I was too nervous!"

"Can you tell us what the album's gonna be about? Maybe a little insight?"

"Well, the songs are all pretty different from each other, honestly. Some are more personal than others. But the genre of music isn't too steady through on this album, I jumped around a bit!“

They nodded, laughing along with you. You answered a few more questions and took a few more pictures before they let you go. You felt happiness settle into your stomach when you got comfortable in the car.

It wasn't until after you got home, and got ready for bed that you started looking through your new notifications. Many texts from friends congratulating you, news that you were trending on Twitter, and that you post had 6 million likes in five hours.

Your manager had also texted you that sometime soon you should post the back cover, especially since the first post was so well received.

First you posted the photo from the bar to your story before going to post the back cover, some how more nervous than before. The back cover had the track list on it, it would reveal the whole album. Scary.

"Just post it! I'm not going through this with you again."

Your best friend gave you a look, one that heavily reminded you of her mother, with a hand on her hip before she climbed into your bed next to you. You nodded, sighing as you hit the post button.

The two of you laid close and talked quietly, giggling and shushing each other like little girls scared their moms were going to come in and tell them to go to sleep.

Eventually you did fall asleep, the do not disturb setting stopping your phone from buzzing off the table.

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missmonsters2 · 8 months

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Mirror, Mirror | Five

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

PART FOUR

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Deleting the video evidence of Wanda's embarrassing confession only goes slightly awry, and in the end, she can't tell if she's relieved or disappointed with herself. Perhaps she can get advice from someone who was once in her position.

Warnings: best friends to lovers. shenanigans. jealousy, jealousy. sexual tension. pining. yearning. sexual thoughts. spicy (tumblr's version). stupid steve. neurotic nat. brat & stinky. bug as in shutterbug.

*explicit version will only be available on Ao3 & will be posted there after series is completed*

Note: There's still an epilogue after this!! But after that, it's done </3

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Series Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Count: ~4,6k

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Wanda jiggles her key through the door with a renewed rush. Her hands are shaky, and she should really just take her time. This wasn't making it go any faster.

Darcy had just dropped her off after they ate their McDonald's meal in the parking lot and was on her way back to get access to her laptop to help Wanda.

Finally unlocking the door, Wanda took her shoes off haphazardly and took off towards your room. Your laptop sits innocently at your desk, unaware of all the havoc Wanda will reap upon it if it doesn't give her access to your email.

She pulls out the chair and sits down before she opens it up. The first thing that greets her is the password page. Wanda pulls out the USB that Darcy gave her and plugs it in. All she can do now is wait since Darcy said she'd text Wanda once she made it home.

The next 15 minutes feel like a bottomless pit of hell. Wanda checks her watch every couple of minutes, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Come on, come on, come on," Wanda huffs quietly. She's extremely paranoid about what you might be doing. It's unlikely you'd be returning home tonight, and even if you were, it'd be a couple of hours from now.

Yet, the unhinged part of Wanda wants to pull out her phone and text you, "Hey, what's up? You're still busy sexing up Raye, right? Definitely not ideal, but you're not checking your emails or on your way home, right?

Wanda wishes she made Natasha go stakeout Raye's house to alert her when you were leaving the place. Before she can think more insane thoughts, her phone vibrates in her hand, and Wanda checks it with speed. It was from Darcy confirming she'd made it home and it'd be any minute now.

Wanda looks up at your laptop screen, pushing her finger against the mousepad to ensure the screen doesn't time out. The USB must give Darcy some kind of access because, true to her word, something does start happening.

Wanda watches the screen with mild interest as a separate window pops up. The background is black, but it's clearly some kind of coding as random words begin running. It takes a few minutes, but then asterisks fill your password box. It only takes 3 times before the right password is entered and Wanda's gained access.

"Yes!" She celebrates before she sends Darcy a quick text.

Wanda pulls up your email and finds the latest one sent to you is a link to a Google Drive. There are many videos and some photos, but Wanda recognizes herself in one of the thumbnails and clicks on it.

"I don't see what's so great about Raye—"

Wanda immediately stops playing it, unable to bear the embarrassment of hearing herself. She quickly deletes the clip, also going to the trash bin to make sure it's permanently deleted. Wanda checks everything several times to ensure there are no other clips and any trace of her confession is gone.

Mission completed.

Relief floods her system, knowing that the clip has been deleted.

Wanda closed everything she opened, making sure she changed the status of the email to unread. Once everything is as it was, Wanda closes your laptop and unplugs the USB.

Stuffing the USB into her pocket, she's about to send another text to Darcy when Wanda hears the front door open, and you call out her name. You must've seen her shoes at the door, but Wanda still doesn't answer. She hears you walking back down the hallway toward your room and panics.

Oh, god, she couldn't walk back out that door without bumping into you, and she couldn't jump out the window either with them living on the 10th floor.

Oh, fuck, what does she do? Wanda's panicking as she shakes her hands in hysteria and looks around frantically.

Shit, shit, shit, shit!

Wanda carefully makes her way to your closet, but it's filled wall to wall with your clothes, and the floor is filled with your shoes and other boxes. There was no room to hide in there.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

Wanda's walking around your room and has no idea where to hide. She looks at your bed and internally groans. Dropping to her knees, she scoots herself until she's fully underneath, flat on her stomach, but her head is kept off the floor. She quickly opens her phone and turns it from vibration mode to silence—Wanda refuses to be caught. She would rather die than even try and explain all of this.

The door opens, and Wanda only gets a few of your slippers as you make your way back to your desk. She hears a soft clank on the desk, and Wanda can only assume it's the mug of tea you have every night.

Wanda hears you sigh quietly as you seem to settle in for the night. This is not good. This is fucking terrible.

Wanda can't tell how long she's been stuck under your bed. She's too worried about moving and accidentally making a noise. All she hears is the soft music playing and your mouse and keyboard clicking.

Suddenly, her phone lights up with a notification. It's a text from you.

Wanda bites her lip, trying to decide if she should answer. Ultimately, she decides she should because it's possible you might try to call her if she doesn't, and she definitely can't answer it if you do. Wanda would also feel bad about not answering you if you're worried.

But, god fucking dammit, she's going to have to lie. Again.

Wanda hears a breathy chuckle from you and tries not to smile.

Fuck.

Wanda doesn't know if she should say yes or no. If she says yes, will you wait until she gets home? Wanda can only dread how long she might be stuck under your bed.

The chair you're sitting scrapes against the floor a little. A reply doesn't come for a few minutes, and Wanda wishes she could see what you were doing.

Wanda stares at the text, trying to see if she can decipher your tone from just the words alone. It's something you've told her countless times when she told you she'd be staying at Vision's place. Yet, somehow, this feels different.

You stop replying to her after that. It's both a relief that Wanda could stop digging herself into another hole and a torture she's left without much to do again.

Wanda checks some of her other texts and replies to them, but her battery life is getting exceedingly low, and she doesn't want it to die on her accidentally if you do decide to text her again.

The last time she opened the phone to check the time, an hour and a half had passed. There's almost a desperation to give herself up and come clean to relinquish herself from the sheer boredom, but Wanda holds strong since she reasons she'd already made it this far.

"Hmm," Wanda hears you let out a deep hum. The mouse clicks a few times, and Wanda wishes she could see what you were staring at.

Definitely not her confession video; that much comforts Wanda.

God, she's bored. She's so bored that the fear has long left her body.

It's a miracle when Wanda hears you get up and stretch, a few cricks released from your back. You leave the room, and Wanda hears the bathroom door shut.

Wanda scrambles to get out from under the bed, nearly hitting her head 5 times. She quickly tiptoes out of your room, heading for the front door and opening it. Just as you're coming out of the bathroom, Wanda shuts the door as if she's just gotten in.

"Wanda, is that you?" You call from the hallway.

"Yep! You're still up?" Wanda calls back, laughing nervously to herself about how stupid this all was, but relief she was clearly getting away with it.

"Yeah, just thought I'd get a start on the editing stuff for Tony," you say as Wanda walks towards you.

"Oh, cool," Wanda doesn't inquire further but says, "I thought you were staying at Raye's tonight?"

"Oh, uh," you seem surprised that Wanda asks. "I was having a hard time falling asleep on her bed. The mattress is too soft and gives me the worst cricks."

"Oh," Wanda nods, knowing that your mattress is memory foam but on the firmer side.

"What about you?" You ask back. "Didn't go home with Darcy?"

"Uh, no," Wanda fumbles slightly. "Uh, it was good, but I, uh, was getting a slight stomachache from the McDonald's so I decided to go home."

You frown. "Do you want some tea? Maybe some Tums?"

"Maybe some ginger and honey tea?"

You nod. "Alright, I'll get some ready for you. Why don't you go take your makeup off and whatnot? We could watch some TV before we sleep."

"Oo," Wanda grins. "I think I saw some things come out on Disney+, let's see what they have!"

The rollercoaster of the night comes to a satisfying end for Wanda.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The next three weeks are odd for Wanda. During the first and second weeks, she was so busy with her clients and a whole PR mess that she barely had time to see you.

She spends more time collaborating with her team about how they will dig one of their clients out of the mess they'd made or if they should just drop the client. She's barely been able to think about her feelings for you and what to do about it.

By the time the third week arrives, everything at work finally slows down, and she has time to herself like a regular person again. Wanda reflects back on her position and the entire video-deleting debacle.

With the fear and adrenaline long gone, Wanda can't actually tell if she's disappointed that you haven't discovered her feelings. Would things have just been easier if you had watched the video?

At the very least, it might be better in the sense Wanda wouldn't be stuck in the same place.

Wanda's sitting on the couch, lazily trying to focus on her book but can't with her mind continuously drifting. You haven't been home as of late—Wanda only realized you've been out a lot for a week and a half now.

Sighing, Wanda closes her book. She was getting bored again. You wouldn't be home until later, and she already spent an hour on the phone with Natasha earlier.

Just as Wanda was about to text you to ask if there was any possibility you'd be home earlier, the front doorknob jiggled, signaling someone was putting in their key.

Wanda smiles, hoping she'll see you walk through the door, but smiles even wider when she sees who walks through it.

Getting up from the couch, Wanda runs and jumps, latching onto the person.

"Oof," the voice was gruff.

"Bucky!" Wanda yells excitedly as Bucky catches her, wrapping his arm around her to ensure she doesn't fall, even though her legs are around him.

"Hi, nutball," Bucky says, but his mouth is muffled by Wanda's shoulder and some of her hair.

Wanda slowly slides back down onto the floor, taking a good look at Bucky. Of all the people she adores besides you, Bucky is at the top of her list, along with Natasha, which is why they both have key fobs to the apartment.

Bucky kind of reminds her of Pietro in certain ways, if Pietro would ever grow up and get a little serious. Bucky seems to know that and has cared for Wanda in Pietro's stead now that the guy has left for Europe since they turned 18.

"When did you get back?" Wanda asks. "Why didn't you call? I would've arranged to pick you up from the airport."

"It's fine. Steve picked me up from the airport and we relaxed a little bit before he had to leave to the station to do some kind of sketch for a case," Bucky says as he takes off his shoes.

They wander back into the living room space and take a seat. Bucky had brought her some coffee and pastries that Wanda delighted over.

"So," Wanda says after a sip of her coffee. "How was California?"

"Hot," Bucky smiles.

"You said you were going to train an upcoming actor in a movie, right?"

Bucky nods, sipping his own coffee. "Yeah, some new superhero movie. Pretty young; I think he just turned 18. Definitely now super ripped for an 18 year old," Bucky laughs.

"Does he need a PR agent?" Wanda grins.

Bucky rolls his eyes with mirth. "Probably not since he has his manager handling everything, but I did pass your card along."

"You're good people."

Bucky snorts, and they spend another half hour catching up before he finally comes to the topic he's been waiting to discuss. "You know, Steve brought up something interesting."

"Oh, yeah?" Wanda raises her brow.

"Steve was bringing up how Bug seems to be seeing someone," Bucky says slowly. "And she looks a lot like you...like everyone else Bug has dated."

Wanda lets out a huge groan. "Steve should eat rocks and jump into the ocean."

Bucky laughs, leaning back onto the couch, and smiles. "So? What do you think?"

"About what?"

Bucky gives her a side-eye, and she groans quietly this time.

"Fine," she grumbles. "It was strange to realize, but like, a good strange. I don't know. I want...I want her to look at me."

Wanda's blushing at the admittance to Bucky. It makes her feel shy, but also good that someone else close to her knows and will be on her side.

"Have you confessed?"

"Not exactly."

"Ah, so you haven't done shit except probably rope people into your weird schemes that turn out poorly."

Wanda's jaw drops. "I have not—okay, well, I mean, I wouldn't say they turned out poorly." She would never tell Bucky about the videotaping incident. She was taking that to her grave.

Bucky eyes Wanda, taking in the small expressions on her face and the muted longing in her eyes as she picks at her nails. "You're so much like me, sometimes I'm convinced that you're actually my little sister," Bucky grins, and Wanda mirrors him. "Don't tell Pietro that, though. He's gets so jealous."

Wanda just gives him an, 'obviously,' look.

"When I started realizing my feelings for Steve, I didn't say anything for a long, long time, and I've known I've liked Steve since we were boys making mudpies," Bucky leans his head back against the couch, the coffee resting between his hands on his stomach. "I kept thinking about what if Steve didn't feel the same? And then there was the whole Peggy situation, and I didn't want to break that up."

"You're better than me," Wanda sighs. "I would break them up in a heartbeat if I knew how she felt about me."

Bucky can't hold his laugh in for that but continues on. "I think a lot of those fears I had paralyzed me. I kept thinking I'd have more time and there was a right moment, or if I did certain things, Steve would feel the same. I just had to wait it out."

"So, what happened?"

Bucky gave her a wan smile. "Steve and Peggy, even though they'd be on and off, were getting more serious. One night, Steve told me he was thinking about proposing."

"What?" Wanda's jaw drops. She's never heard of this. "But obviously he didn't because you guys are together now."

"Yeah," Bucky laughs, "because I totally freaked out. I started saying he couldn't and then kissed him, and then started crying. It was a mess."

"Oh, god," Wanda rests her hand against her mouth. She could totally see herself doing that to you if you said the same thing. Now, she's starting to freak out if you're getting serious with Raye.

"I think you know what I'm getting at," Bucky says, turning his head to look over at Wanda, and she feels vaguely uncomfortable. "You need to say something—now. There's no perfect timing. There's nothing extra you can do to magically know, and you're not gonna always have more time."

Wanda lets her head fall back against the couch, closing her eyes. They start to sting with tears, and she feels that same fear creep into her belly. Yet, Bucky's words resonate with her, and she suppresses that fear until it settles into a muted nervousness.

"Fuck, I swear you and Steve planned this."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Despite Wanda's talk with Bucky, she says absolutely nothing to you when you arrive home late in the evening. Wanda's eyes are glued to the TV, watching How I Met Your Mother absently.

You seemed to have a long day yourself as you carefully sat next to her on the couch.

The air feels weird, and there's a tension in your shoulders. It starts to make Wanda tense until you suddenly relax with a deep breath. You shuffle in your seat before scooting until you're pressed against Wanda's side, resting your head against her shoulder.

The smell of clean laundry and leaves fills Wanda's nose, and she relaxes against you.

"Wanna order in?" You say.

"Yeah," Wanda replies, pulling out her phone to see what she was in the mood for. The two of you quickly place an order and continue to sit in silence, watching the TV.

You seem deep in thought, but you grab Wanda's hand at some point, holding it with keen interest.

Wanda doesn't say anything. Her cheeks and the tips of her ears are warm as you stroke the back of her hand with your thumb. Her heart doesn't speed up, but it begins to thud noticeably harder in her chest.

It continues like that until the food arrives, and it's also eaten in silence with the background noise of the TV. Yet, whenever Wanda looks up, she finds you staring at her, and you don't break eye contact.

It's strange, and it's making Wanda feel somewhat nauseous.

When the food is done and put away, the two of you settle back onto the couch, but Wanda doesn't think she can handle the silence anymore.

"How was your day?"

You turn your head, staring at Wanda, and reply softly. "Okay...how was yours? Bucky told me he stopped by to see you."

Wanda tenses. "Yeah," she mumbles. "It was good seeing him again."

"It's nice that he's home," you nod. "I'm sure Steve is happy."

Steve doesn't deserve to be happy, Wanda pettily thinks. It was his fault that Wanda felt so nervous that she felt like she would puke.

Wanda needs to say something.

She knows she needs to say something now like Bucky told her to.

All those same fears and anxiety creep up, but frustration has also lingered in her since the day she realized her feelings for you.

Wanda's tired, she realizes. She's also sick of saying nothing and watching you be with someone else. She's scared but would rather say something and be put out of her misery than continue saying nothing.

Just as Wanda is about to say something else, you say something first.

"I broke up with Raye."

Just like that, the wind is blown out of her sails, and Wanda's brain stalls. "What?"

"I," you clear your throat, "broke up with Raye."

"When?"

"A week and a half ago."

"And you're just telling me now?"

Your brow scrunches, and you turn in your seat to fully face Wanda as you cross your legs on the couch. You're fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. "Yes...I needed to think."

"Think about what?"

You wet your lips. "If...if it was worth it potentially ruining our friendship for something more."

Wanda's heart drops like an amusement park ride. Her stomach feels the same way it does when an airplane is ascending.

She had all these things she was going to say to you just a minute ago, and now her head was empty, and all she could think about was what you were trying to say.

"I think it is...if you feel the same, which I know you do unless something's changed in the last three weeks."

"How do you know?" Wanda frowns. Then again, she wasn't trying to be sly about it the last few months. Maybe you've finally caught on.

Wait, Wanda pauses. Three weeks? That was when—

You pull out an SD card from your pocket. Wanda's around you enough to know what that is, and her stomach sinks.

"You know," you give her a small smile. "I was trying to edit the video together for Tony the night after the party, but as I was going through the footage, a third of the photos or videos were corrupted."

Wanda thinks back to the USB she returned to Darcy. Dammit, Darcy! That lying, sneaking, betraying—

"I didn't think much of it, but I had to meet up with the videographer to get the original files. You'd never guess what was on there," you smile wryly. "Or maybe you do since you've somehow deleted it from my Google Drive...and corrupted the other files, so I'd have to get the originals. Very conflicting motives I was getting."

"I didn't mean to corrupt the other files," Wanda mumbles. "But you should probably get your laptop professionally cleaned..."

You give her a weird look but chuckle with a shake of your head. "You're super kooky, you know."

"I do know," Wanda rolls her eyes. "I think you know as well."

"I thought I might've seen you on my first date with Raye. That rock that hit that car wouldn't happen to be something you know about, do you?"

"Not at all," Wanda replies quickly. "But if I did, I'm sure the person would want to say she wasn't aiming for the car or your head."

"So, just Raye's head?"

"Once again, not a clue what the intention was as it wasn't me."

You laugh, and Wanda joins in until it fades, and you bite your bottom lip. "I don't know how any of this works, Wanda. I've never dated anyone I consider my best friend."

"I would hope not," Wanda raises her brow at you. "That means someone else was your best friend and you've committed the ultimate betrayal."

You roll your eyes with a mirth and a smile.

"I haven't either," Wanda says softly, slowly turning fully toward you, grabbing your hand, and lacing your fingers together. "But I want to. And no matter what happens, we're gonna be okay. I don't think I'll ever love anyone the way I love you. I think I've loved you for a really, really long time."

"Me too," you mumble, squeezing Wanda's hand, feeling shy. "I don't think I ever really thought about it. I just love you. You're my best friend and I love you."

"Now I'm your girlfriend," Wanda grins, leaning closer and closing her eyes.

"Whoa, okay, let's not get ahead of ourselves now. What if we're not even sexually compatible?"

Wanda pulls back and looks at your face, shocked. It's stony and serious until your lip twitches and Wanda smacks you.

"Ugh, you're such a brat!"

"No, that's you. I'm stinky."

"Stinky."

"Brat."

"Bug."

"Witch."

"Oh, we're bringing back middle school nicknames, are we?" Wanda narrows her eyes at you. You're about to say something else, but Wanda's had enough.

Didn't she think something earlier about being sick of saying nothing? What was she thinking? Saying nothing sounds ideal.

Wanda launches herself across the seat into you, hearing you grunt as she topples you over onto the couch and presses her lips against yours.

It's not a dream this time, Wanda's very sure.

This was much, much better than any dream could give her. It feels better.

Your lips are soft, and you taste faintly like the cookie you split with her earlier.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, Wanda's mind is racing. She's finally kissing you.

Oh my god, she was kissing you!

You were kissing her back!

Wanda kisses you, pressing her lips over yours over and over as your fingers trail over the outside of her thighs and stroke up to her back. You're bolder than her as your fingers dip under her shirt, pressing her against bare skin.

It's thrilling; Wanda almost can't lie still on top of you. Goosebumps are forming, and it's forming everywhere.

You break the kiss, lips caressing her jaw, and scatter light kisses as they trail down her throat.

Your hand moves higher up Wanda's back and pauses.

"No bra?" You raise an eyebrow at her.

"I didn't leave the house today," Wanda mumbles, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.

You hum. "No complaints here," you resume your caresses of her bare skin but pause again. "Wanna move to the bedroom?"

No, Wanda thinks. She doesn't want to detach herself from this position. She doesn't want your touch or your kisses to stop.

You can tell that Wanda's debating the pros and cons, and you try to persuade her. "A bed will give us more room to do things...and I want to do a lot of things..." You nibble on her collarbone.

Wanda lets out a soft moan, and her toes curl.

"Okay, fine," Wanda acquiesces, getting up and pulling you along with her. "Move quickly, though. No dallying."

"Dallying? I would never," you smile as Wanda pulls you down the hall. "I'll mirror you perfectly."

"I think you always have," Wanda says softly, turning to look at you. "That's why it's taken us so long to get here. We're stupid."

You laugh. "Seems like one of us deviated from our mirror, mirror dance."

The two of you enter Wanda's bedroom, and she falls back onto it, pulling you on top of her.

Your body heat spreads across hers, and Wanda thinks she's dizzy again.

"Good," Wanda mumbles, cupping your face, her thumb stroking your cheek. "I'm tired of us being chickens."

You press a kiss to her, smiling against her lips. One arm wraps around Wanda while the other trails under the front of Wanda's shirt.

"Speak for yourself," your fingers trail higher and higher. "Maybe I'm just stupid." You press another kiss, lingering a moment longer, and then pull away. "Chicken."

"Stupid," Wanda smiles, her lips grazing yours when she does.

"Witch."

"Bug."

"Brat."

"Stinky."

"I love you."

"I love you more."

Wanda feels something so peaceful settle over her. The butterflies in her stomach flutter around from your touch, but she's so happy. She thinks she might cry if she thinks about it too much because this was all she ever wanted.

Wanda focuses on the feel of your hands on her skin instead and how you're making her feel hot. She focuses on the feel of your lips against her skin, the sound of her breaths, and your soft moans.

There's no way the two of you aren't sexually compatible, but Wanda's eager to find out exactly how compatible they are...over and over.

As your lips trail lower and more clothes are removed, Wanda idly thinks that maybe Steve doesn't need to eat rocks and jump into the ocean.

EPILOGUE

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff x y/n #avengers imagine #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #modern avengers au #Elizabeth olsen x reader #mm: my fics

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

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Unexpected 54

Warnings: non/dubcon, child endangerment, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, suicidial ideation, Andy is nasty in this, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Days pass. Weeks, maybe. There is no dawn or dusk to track the time. You are trapped in this basement, just you and Luna against the monster who took you.

Your only defense is to placate. You keep Andy happy so you can take care of your daughter. You don’t argue with his demands, you don’t push him away as he touches you, you don’t even cry when he fucks you any more. You just close your eyes and let him do what he wants. When you think about it, it’s not too much different than before.

There is no light at the end of this tunnel. If you were to get out of here, your haven is just another prison. Lloyd is only a warden with a different set of rules. For you it doesn’t matter but for Luna, she deserves better than this basement.

Andy snores next to you. It’s time like these you have the urge to hurt him. Your head is filled with violent thoughts. Not just towards your current keeper but to all the men who’ve wronged you. It’s the only strength you can find beneath the crushing weight of futility. Being angry means you still have something left.

A subtle buzz thrums through the mattress. You lean back on your shoulder and peek back at him. His phone vibrates him awake from under his pillow. You remember him tucking it under before he dozed off, likely noticing your straying eyes.

If you could just get it, you could call someone, anyone. But just like everything else, it's unreachable. The door's always locked and the conversation is already decided. He makes the rules and you follow them. It's the only way to keep Luna safe. If it was just you...

You roll onto your back as he grumbles, sliding his hand under the pillow to fumble away the notification. You glimpse the small letters before they swipe away, 'motion detected'. The screen lights up as he rubs his eyes and sits up. He bends over his lap, shrugging as he tries to loosen up his shoulders. 'Doorbell activated', the message pops up as the phone continues to jitter.

"Mmm," he searches around the floor as you sit up, your heart in your throat. Someone's here... "Better see who that is."

He grabs his grey tee shirt and swipes it over his head. You try not to show your eagerness, staying in bed as you watch him on alert. He pulls on his pants and puts the phone in his back pocket before zipping them up. Luna fusses and begins to babble. You move towards the crib and he raises a palm to wave you back.

"I got her," he goes to her as you stand, tense as he reaches in to pick her up, "shh, sweetie, daddy's got you--"

"Andy, please, answer the door," you approach him and he turns his back to you, keeping your daughter out of your reach.

"They can wait," he says as he bounces her, only for her to erupt into sobs. "Sweetie, shhh, shhh," he hushes as he rocks her, "be good for daddy, okay?"

He continues his efforts as you watch helplessly, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you try to get around him but he continues to block you out. You ball your hands, about to tear your hair out as she wails louder and louder.

"Please, let me take her--"

"Why won't she stop?" He growls, "little brat."

"Andy," you whimper as you grab for her and he elbows you away.

"I'll deal with her," he says, "can't have her making all this racket."

He stomps away from you. You're right behind him as he goes over the kitchenette and opens the lower cupboard with his free hand. He pulls out a chest under there, numbers on dials below the clasp. A lock box. He flips it open and cradles her over it.

"Andy, don't! You can't--"

"She's too loud," he bats you away, "the sooner I get up there, the sooner she can come out."

"Please don't lock my baby up," you beg shrilly, "please, let me take her. I'll get her quiet."

Your skin razes with fire and your lungs fill with acid. You try again to take her and he shoves you away so you stagger and hit the table. It jars your bad hip but you barely notice the pain as Luna's cries drive you to desperation.

"Andy!"

"Shut up!" He snarls as he forces her squirming form into the chest, "she's got about ten minutes of air..."

"Please--"

"I don't need either of you drawing attention. Got it," he braces the lid, "anything happens to me, you won't get her out in time."

Tears swell over and spill hotly as he shuts the lid and spins the dials with his thumbs. You race forward and fall to your knees, clutching at the box.

"Andy, please, I can make her quiet. We'll both be quiet!"

"Shhhhh," he pulls out his phone again, "I know you'll be quiet, honey. If you want to see our daughter again."

You nearly collapse as he spins away. You can only watch him go to the stairs and leave you to your panic. You put your ear to the top of the chest and try to hear her. It's too thick. She's going to suffocate in there. You try to pry the edge open with your nails then stagger to your feet, searching the drawers for anything to get the lid up.

Nothing, there's nothing. Your baby, your baby. You can only think of Luna and the terror of that box. You freeze only as a familiar timber rumbles from above. The walls are padded enough to dampen their words but you know that voice. Harlan...

You wait and listen. Is he looking for you? Down here, I'm down here! You want to run up and bang on the door. Even if they know you're there, they won't know the code and they won't have the time to get her out. So you have to be quiet. You have to wait.

There footsteps pass overhead like a clock counting down. You cling to the chest. Please go. Please, please, please....

You collapse over the chest and hug it. You shake as you listen to the voices above drone through the walls. Your heart beats faster and faster as the second pass. Then, it's silent.

You tremble as you stare up at the ceiling. The door opens and the footsteps come down the stairs. Andy appears, nonchalant and unbothered.

"See, that didn't take very long, did it?"

"Open it," you hiss, "please, my baby, open it!"

"Our baby," he nears and puts his hands on his hips, "don't be so dramatic."

"Please, please," you get up on your knees and grab the front of his shirt, "I'll do whatever you want, honey, please, just take her out."

He huffs and shakes his head. He rolls his eyes as he bends over the box and slowly rolls the dials.

"That jackass and his father," he scoffs as the clasp pops. He stands straight, unconcerned. "Sent them off. He... he never appreciated you. Not like I do."

You flip the lid up and scoop Luna out. She's babbling quieter than before, dazed as you touch her all over, checking her pulse and her temperature. You coo at her and rock her, quaking as your adrenaline recedes. A new wave washes for you, something hotter, something more vibrant. Anger. Hatred. Deep and pure.

You look up at Andy as you embrace your daughter. You will kill this man.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #drabble #series #unexpected #au #the gray man #defending jacob

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hazelsmirrorball · 6 months

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Rockstar Girlfriend VI. | Hazel Callahan

Rockstar! Hazel Callahan x Popstar! Reader

Summary: Hazel Callahan and Y/n L/n have to be in a pr relationship, but both of them can stand each other.

Warnings: Enemies to lovers! Enemies to lovers! Enemies to lovers! Angst, Fight (not physical) Not proof read. Sorry for any mistakes, English isn't my main language.

a/n: I’m back after a while!! Sorry for being MIA. I don't know how to feel about this but I'm really thankful for all the support. Lots of new things coming soon. love you guys.

part one. part two. part three. part four. part five.

The tour was canceled.

Everything Y/n had worked for went down the drain. Not only had she lost the tour she risked everything for, but she had lost her bandmates' trust. They were losing followers by the minute and receiving hate left and right. All that success she had gained because of Hazel was almost gone.

The moment everyone found out about Hazel's outburst, the show was canceled with a blink of an eye. They could hear the cries and screams of fans outside. Y/n couldn’t bear to listen, she felt bad, guilty even. Management said that her band couldn’t perform because they were only the openers, so karma was biting her ass quickly.

But after one show became two and then two became five, management canceled the whole tour, every single date. They claimed that they couldn’t do anything without Hazel, their star. Y/n tried to be positive that maybe Hazel was joking around and that she was going to come back but when management canceled the tour, her feet finally hit the floor. The tour was over before it even started. The hop of the wave of success both bands were having was cut short. The most anticipated tour of the year was canceled due to mental health issues from one of the band members. That was what got posted on the band's page and every news article.

But Hazel made it her job for people to know that, that wasn’t the case. If the tour was canceled she wanted people to know the real reason, no more tricks, no more lies and no more fake love. Y/n felt her heart stop when her phone started to blow up with notifications and her eyes landed on a video Hazel had posted on instagram after being MIA for two weeks.

That was when “Mean” was born.

“Hi guys! I know I’ve been gone for a while and all of a sudden the tour got canceled. But I’m here to tell you guys that we are currently working to get your back running again. This time we decided it was best to get new openers. Anyways, on my little break I decided to write this song I really hope you guys enjoy!” Hazel said to the camera starting to strum her guitar. Y/n felt her heart drop every second that passed by. If she was already losing everything with a blink of an eye it wouldn’t surprise Y/n if what was left of her career ended just because of that song.

hazel.callahan via instagram

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hazel.callahan rehearsals for tour are the shit! I missed this a lot, can't wait for tour to start <3

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hazelsbottoms she's backkkkkkkk

user101 mother is back, hope tour doesn't get cancelled this time.

pjandhazeparis sorry to disappoint but I'll be a groupie for life

bottomsupdates why is y/n lurking in the likes? hasn't she done enough

| ynloveshazel please leave y/n alone

| bottomsupdates she's the one lurking her comments

Hazel had uploaded an acoustic version of a song she had written through her break in an attempt for people to understand what she was going through. It was something new, different from the songs she was used to writing for herself and other people. The song quickly took the world by storm gaining everyone’s attention. Fans had caught up quickly with who the song was written for, making it their job to make Y/n’s life a living hell. Her band's account was barely existent by the minute and management was going insane.

Y/n couldn’t let things slide. She had three options, let her pr team do everything for her, clap back and deny the allegations, or attempt to do a song just like Hazel did. The thing was, Y/n was already used to Hazel’s constant help writing songs and honestly she kinda missed spending midnights with her writing songs. She missed how Hazel would slowly touch her skin in an attempt to get her attention or how she got lost in her blue eyes while she tried to explain the chorus of the song. Y/n missed Hazel. She hated herself for running things with her. Things were finally different, this time Y/n didn’t hate Hazel, Hazel just hated Y/n.

She was going to make things right, possibly ending her career. But it was worth it. If Hazel heard the song, she could lose everything and she wouldn’t care.

Y/n propped her camera hitting record while sitting in front of it, letting out a sigh. She slowly strummed the guitar she barely knew how to play but all she could think of was all the times Hazel had attempted to teach her how to play it.

“This song is for someone special in my life that I treated so badly. I know I fucked up and I wished I could go back to december, they day I met you and start all over”

y/n's instagram

liked by bottomstheband, ynnnn, and others

y/nnn but if we loved again, I swear I’d love you right

comments have been deactivated

Y/nnn let out a sigh as she looked at her phone flooding with notifications. At least if she was gone for social media, she was certain Hazel had heard the song. Maybe she could get another chance or another life where they could get together with no mistakes. Y/n’s thoughts got interrupted by a harsh knock on her door. She quickly walked towards it, ready to face her neighbor. But she felt her heart drop when she noticed the familiar blue eyes she had fallen in love with. Y/n’s eyes wandered all over her trying to tell if she was real or an act of her imagination due to the lack of sleep. But as the words slipped out of her mouth she knew it was all reality.

“My guitar.” Hazel replied, playing with her feet. Y/n furrowed her eyebrows and looked at her confused.

“What do you mean, my guitar? How do you know where I live?” Y/n responded leaning against the doorframe trying to get a better look at Hazel.

“My guitar. You have my lucky guitar, I saw it in the video you posted. Now, can you please give it back”

“No.”

“What do you mean no? It’s mine, L/n.”

“You don’t speak to me, drop a diss track on my name and expect me to give you back you guitar” Y/n exclaimed while looking at Hazel with a surprised look on her face.

“Are you insane? You do know that all of this is not my fault, right? I was willing to do anything for you but you preferred the fame over me. You fucked up your own career and you fucked up with me. Yet, I came here, to your apartment and you still want to act like the victim instead of saying your sorry. You know what stays with the stupid guitar. I don’t want it anyway. You want to play a game that I’m really tired of playing. I really don't understand why are you like this.” Hazel exclaimed loudly pulling on her hairs.

"I like you Hazel and I'm like this because I know I screwed up the only good thing in my life" Y/n said loudly leaving Hazel with her mouth wide open not knowing what say.

At least he got the chance he desperately needed.

thank you for reading

previous part.

#hazel bottoms #hazel callahan reader insert #hazel x reader #hazel callahan #hazel callahan x reader #kit tanthalos #kit tanthalos x reader #ruby cruz x reader #ruby cruz #hazel callahan bottoms #bottoms movie

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andreafmn · 10 months

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Speak | Chapter 10

Word Count: 3.5K Story Description: Bella Swan was a disaster when Edward had left. Deciding she needed a little help, Charlie Swan receives with open arms his younger daughter (Y/N) Swan. She helps Bella during her depression and becomes inseparable from her long-lost friend Jacob. What she didn’t expect was falling for a hotheaded short-tempered silver wolf. Chapter: 10/? Warnings: emotional and mental abuse A/N: can't believe I finished this on schedule! the story everyone is obsessed with for some reason just got updated😂🤍 My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts to support me and my love of writing or buy me a coffee TikTok • Instagram • Business | MASTERLIST If you’d like to be tagged in this or any other story: click here Make sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post! Taglists for Twilight get filled quick and Tumblr only lets me tag up to a certain point. Notifications are your best bet.

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Chapter 10

"Do you want to stay over tonight?" Jacob suddenly asked as the pair made their way to his truck. "It's already so late and I don't wanna make the drive back to Forks right now."

"Uh, sure, that sounds great," she said, trying to contain her excitement. A surge of happiness took over her as she witnessed Jake trying. He was trying to keep them together, at least that's what it looked like to her. "I'll just let dad know."

"Yeah, sure."

After she had settled on the center of the seat, Jacob helped his father into the truck, stepping out to say goodbye to his friends.

"I'll let you know that there won't be any funny business under my roof, (Y/N)," Billy smiled teasingly. "Though I am glad that Jacob is seemingly trying to turn over a new leaf this new year."

"I promise we'll do nothing but sleep, Billy," she chuckled. "And I also hope this is a new start for Jake and me. That everything that happened stays in the past and we can just give it our all in this relationship."

"If it is meant to be, (Y/N), the universe will find a way," he said as mystically as he always spoke. "You deserve happiness, my child."

"People keep saying that," she responded, her eyes growing far more interested in the skin of her fingers. "Does no one think that Jake can make me happy?"

"That's not what I'm saying, (Y/N)," he smiled, his hand falling on top of the one she was picking. "All I am saying is that if the love and happiness that you deserve is with Jacob, then the universe will allow it."

"And if not?"

"Then, your paths will always align."

"Then let's hope that what's written on the stars is in our favor." And as she said that she didn't know if she was wishing that to convince him or to convince herself.

The three of them rode back to the Black residence in a comfortable silence. The sounds of the woods and the whistling of the wind filled their quiet. She wondered what they said. If they whispered words of encouragement or if they taunted her downfall. She wanted to believe it was the former, because the latter would wreck her.

"Well, you two. I trust that you will behave yourselves since you're under my roof," Billy told them, eyeing the teenagers suspiciously. "And don't start getting used to these sleepovers. This is only because it's already two in the morning and we are all tired."

"Dad," Jacob grumbled. "Just go to bed already."

"Ooh, never thought I'd be shooed away in my own home," the man chuckled. "But I will leave you two. Not because you told me so, but because I am tired. Good night, kids."

"Night, dad."

"Good night, Billy."

Billy rolled away to his bedroom, turning in for the night. He left the couple standing in the living room, a heavy and tense air blowing between them. They had yet to acknowledge everything that had happened between them, much less finally putting it to rest.

"Uh, I'll get you some clothes and you can shower first if you want," Jacob mumbled as he walked into his room before coming out with a folded t-shirt and some sweatpants. "Might be a bit big on you, but it's better than nothing. There're extra towels under the sink."

"Sure," she smiled. "Thanks."

There was still remnant awkwardness between them as they tried to waltz around unspoken words. She locked herself in the bathroom, finally allowing herself to breathe. Fresh start is what she told herself. Over and over again she told herself that they were having a fresh start. As she showered and cleaned away Paul's touch and the thought of him, she had to believe it.

Jacob was who she had always wanted. The boy she had grown up with, the one she had never forgotten. Still, her mind wondered what would have happened if Paul had been the one she had met first. If he had been the boy that was in her mind for the almost sixteen years she had been alive. Maybe she would have been standing in his bathroom instead of Jake's. Maybe she would have been wearing his oversized t-shirt.

"Hey," Jacob called softly from the living room as she opened the bathroom door. "Come here."

(Y/N) walked down the hallway to where he was, a smile stretching on her face as she was met with what Jake had done while she showered.

He had pushed aside the wooden coffee table that lived between the sofas and placed in its stead plush blankets and pillows, a pair of hot chocolate mugs in front of the fireplace. His long, wet hair was plaited back, and he had changed into pajamas. And he was waiting for her.

"What's all this?" (Y/N) smiled.

"I think it's about time we put things to rest already, (Y/N)," he said, patting the pace in front of him. "I don't like fighting with you."

"I don't like it either," she sighed contentedly as she sank into the warmth of his body, his arms wrapping around her. "I like things when they're like this. When we're together and happy."

"I know, and I want it to be like this all the time. But it can't be when I hear you're running around with Paul," he reminded her. His tone was soft, but his words were as snipping as a snake's bite. "I just can't stand the guy and it's embarrassing when it happens in front of the town."

"Jake, I..."

"Don't worry, baby, that's all in the past. As long as you promise not to see him again, (Y/N). I don't want you to fall into his trap."

(Y/N) couldn't remain quiet for long. She knew it would only work to anger him. But how could she promise something she didn't want to do? Something that her gut told her was wrong. "Of course," she lied. "I promise. Paul is a thing from the past."

"That's what I like to hear," he smiled before he turned her head to kiss her. "We need to focus more on us. Focus on our relationship."

"I would love that," she beamed. "I want this to work, Jake. I want us to work."

"Then let's," he smirked.

Jake attached his mouth to her neck, nipping at a spot that took her breath away. His hand held her head back, gripping her jaw. He took in her scent, the warmth of her skin, the sounds from her mouth. All as he imagined...

"Stop, Jake," she said, her voice treading between a moan and a chuckle. "Your dad is literally down the hall."

"He's a heavy sleeper," he chuckled against her skin. "He'll never know."

"No, Jake." She separated from him; a playful grin splayed on her mouth as she turned to face him. "Not here. Not now."

"Ugh, fine," he groaned, falling on his back. "Then, I guess we'll just sleep."

"Yes," she mused, crawling over his body and planting a soft kiss on his lips. "But together."

Jacob wrapped his arms around her and chuckled, positioning both of them comfortably on a blanket and draping another over them. Her body curled into his, his arms wrapped around her waist as he spooned her.

"We'll have to talk about taking things to the next level," he said against her ear, his breath tickling her skin. "I think it might cement everything between us."

"And I think you need to take a breather, Jacob," she chuckled. "We just got to a good place. Let's take things as they go."

"Ugh, fine," he muttered jokingly. "Then, let's just go to sleep."

"Alright, Jake. Good night."

"Night, (Y/N)."

If every night after was like this one, maybe it was the universe's way of telling her that Jake was the one. Laying there, wrapped in his arms, she could let herself believe that the tides were changing. That at the end of the day, Jacob would choose her. Maybe, just maybe.

***

"I can't believe she went home with him," Paul groaned, punching a nearby tree. The way the bark splintered helped ease his anger for a second, but the burning pain inside his chest remained. "I don't know what else I can do to make her understand what a shitty guy he is."

"You know there is," Jared teased. "You could always tell her how you feel and why."

Paul's stoic stare was clear even in the darkness of the night. He knew Jared was right. The more he pursued her without telling her the reason why, the harder it would be to explain his behavior. "You know I can't, dude," he grumbled. "I don't wanna put her in the middle of all of this bull."

"It's not that bad, man," the boy offered. "Look at me and Kim. She knows and nothing has happened to her."

"Yeah, she also liked you before you were a shapeshifting freak," he joked. "And look at Emily. She's forever scarred because didn't have a grasp on what was happening."

"Come on, you know that was an exception, Paul. What happened to her was a very unfortunate accident. But an accident, nonetheless. There's really no reason for you to be running from (Y/N)."

"Look how much shit happened to Bella in so little time, Jared. And it all started when she found out the truth about the Cullens," Paul said. "I don't know what I would do if I made (Y/N) go through any of that because of what I am."

"So you're gonna continue brooding and make our lives miserable? Just tell her, man. Maybe she'll fall in love with you and turn that frown upside down."

Paul picked up a stick and threw it at Jared's head, laughing as the other boy tried to duck but failed to; the piece of wood bouncing off his forehead. "You'll have to put up with me for a lot longer then," he laughed, swallowing the sadness that threatened to overtake him. "I just don't think I have it in me to do that to her. She deserves to be safe and happy."

"Even if it's with Jacob?"

"Unfortunately, that decision is hers to make," he sighed. "I just wish she didn't have to get hurt in the process."

Jared remained quiet for a second. He stared as his pack brother paced before him, his mind too quiet aside for the sporadic image of (Y/N). But even if he didn't say it, he could feel Paul's sadness. He could feel the tug in his chest that called him to go to her. He had felt it too. Every time Kim had to go to a family dinner or visit family out of state, he felt like someone had taken his heart off his chest and sent it away.

But (Y/N) was so close. All he had to do was have one tough conversation and he could soften the grasp of the claws that covered his heart. "What are you so afraid of, Paul?" Jared finally said. "I know you say you don't want to hurt her and all that, but there's something else. Isn't there?"

Paul stared at his friend, wondering if he was that transparent. "I've never been a, uh, a relationship guy. Haven't had the best role models," he confessed. "I guess I think that if I let myself get close to her, I won't be able to handle when she inevitably goes. Because at the end of the day, everyone leaves."

"Not everyone, Paul. We're still here."

"Because you have to be," he shrugged. "If you had the chance to go, you would take it. And don't try denying it."

"Come on, man. You're my friend. More than that, you're my brother," Jared reassured. "But, sure, if I had the chance to leave the rez one day, I would take it. But that doesn't mean I would leave my friends behind. Much less, family."

"Jared, we wouldn't have even spoken to each other had it not been because of the shift. I'm not that delusional to think otherwise."

"Regardless of how or why it happened, life brought us together, Paul. And whether you like it or not, you're my brother now," the boy smiled, draping his arm over Paul's shoulders. "Now, you need to let that girl prove that she would stick by you as well. And it starts by having that difficult conversation you're so scared to have. She's desperate for a reason, dude. All you have to do is tell her."

"She's going to think I'm crazy, J. That I'm making up stories to get her away from Jake," Paul whined. "Why would she believe that there are shapeshifting wolves roaming around the reservation protecting humans from threats? And what if she goes to her sister with the story? Then Bella will know about vampires and shapeshifters, and it'll just add more shit on top of the mess we're dealing with."

"How about you stop overthinking yourself into the ground and finally grow some balls?" Jared teased. "Don't think of what might happen and live in the moment. I know last year's Paul would've had the courage to ask her out. Jacob or no Jacob."

"I technically already asked her out once, and it ended up with me, by myself, in the diner," he reminded his friend, red flooding his cheeks as he recalled the embarrassing moment. "This is not just about inviting the prettiest girl in school to the prom. This is about telling someone that everything they had believed is not real. It's telling her that it doesn't matter what she might have wanted, that something out in the universe decided that we are bonded for life. It's telling a girl like her that she's stuck with a guy like me."

"Man, I can't keep trying to convince you that you are a good guy," Jared sighed. "I'm not saying you're the gods' gift to mankind. Certainly not the you from a year ago. But you're not that guy anymore. You're not even the same guy from six months ago. So, it's time to pick yourself up and do what you have to do. Stop moping about this and do something."

***

(Y/N) woke up with warm arms wrapped around her and a pang in her chest she didn't understand. She was supposed to feel happy. She was supposed to wake up that New Year's Day with an overwhelming amount of joy and the sense that things were finally on the right path. Instead, there was an aching void in her heart that was trying to eat at her insides.

It was the same void that had started festering since that fateful night at the bonfire. The one that seemed to calm whenever the fluke was around. The one that called out his name and she had let go on deaf ears.

That pang filled her with guilt. As she lay in Jacob's arms, she felt guilty that her head was thinking of another guy. And it was a guy she barely knew. A boy that she had no business thinking about, much less dreaming about.

But she couldn't help it. She couldn't forget the softness of his hands against her skin, the brightness of his smile as he looked at her, the glimmer in his eyes when he listened to her. She couldn't get him out of her head.

And as if by divine intervention, the very constant thought appeared in Jacob's window. He knocked softly, motioning for her to go outside. (Y/N) couldn't believe he was there, much less that Jacob had yet to wake up. But what was harder to fathom was the fact that she was tiptoeing to the front door dragging a blanket with her.

"What are you doing here, Paul?" (Y/N) said as she closed the door behind her, wrapping the fabric tighter around her body. "If Jacob sees you here, he'll kill you."

"I thought I was supposed to be playing nice with him," he grinned teasingly. "What if I was here to extend a truce?"

"It wouldn't have mattered because he made me promise him that I wouldn't see you again," she whispered. "So, imagine what he will do if he sees you here right now."

"And did you?"

"What? Did I what?"

"Did you promise him, (Y/N)?" Paul asked sadly. "Is this your way of telling me that you're cutting ties with me?"

"No, of course not," she quickly replied. "I mean, I did promise him. But I never intended to keep it. I would just find a way to keep you two separate."

"So, what? I'd just be your dirty little secret?" he replied, anger clear in his tone. "Yeah, no, thanks. I'd rather take my chances with other friendships."

"What did you want me to say, Paul? Did you want me to tell my jealous boyfriend that I wanted to maintain a friendship with the one guy he seems to despise more than anything?" (Y/N) spoke through gritted teeth. "Would you have wanted me to tell Jake that I wanted to spend time with a guy he was close to dragging into the middle of town and beating the living daylights out of him? Sure, that would have ended great for me."

"Why would you wanna be with a guy like that, (Y/N)? If you're that afraid of his reaction over something as small as a friendship, what do you think will happen if something bigger happens?"

"He only reacts that way with you, and I don't get why," she sighed. "And I wanna be with him because I... because... because I..."

"Why, (Y/N)? Tell me!"

"Because I love him, Paul," she cried, shame cracking her voice. "I've been waiting for this chance for the better part of my life. I've been in love with him for as long as I've known what it was. And he wants me back, Paul. He wants me. And I'm not giving up at the first sign of hardship. So, if you really want to be my friend then you're gonna have to live with that."

"What if I don't?" Paul grumbled, his voice low and hurt. He got closer to her. So close she could feel how warm his body was, even through the blanket. "What if I can't stand around and watch as he mistreats you? Someone that loves you would never treat you like that."

"Don't make this harder than it already is, Paul," she whispered, warm tears falling down her cheeks. "For some reason I want you in my life. But I won't screw up what I just started with Jacob for a friend."

"I just don't wanna see you like this," he said, wiping away the tears with the pad of his thumbs. "You deserve to be happy, but not when it has rules and regulations like this. You should be allowed to still be yourself when you're in a relationship."

"Paul..."

"Listen, (Y/N)," he sighed. "I can't tell you what to do, nor would I want to. But I can't just watch in the sidelines as he treats you like shit when you deserve someone that will worship the ground you walk on."

"What are you saying, Paul?" (Y/N) croaked. "Are you saying you won't be my friend if I stay with Jacob?"

"(Y/N), I'm saying that I won't keep quiet if he keeps mistreating you."

"He doesn't," she said, but she knew it wasn't convincing. She didn't even believe it herself. "He just... he's just passionate, I guess."

"Then can you promise me something?" Paul sighed, his eyes glossing with tears. "If he ever –and I mean ever—gets physical with you, even as much as lifts his hand at you, you will tell me. The second it happens, you call me."

"I don't think it'll come to that," she forced a smile. "He would never put his hands on me."

"Just, please, (Y/N). Promise me and don't lie to me."

"Alright," she said, looking straight into the brown of his eyes. "I promise, Paul."

"I'll make sure you're always safe," he promised. His hand had not fallen from her face, his thumb caressing over her cheekbone. "No one is going to hurt you, (Y/N)."

(Y/N) had no idea why, but she believed every word he said. So, she promised. And, unlike with Jacob, she intended to keep it.

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siriusleee · 9 months

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Like Blood on Iron | Part 4

Historical Executioner AU

Summary: The executioner has always been an enigma to you - drawing you in. His sword drawing a line in the dirt as he made his way to the village center, and leaving back to his cottage on the outskirts of town. However, your curiosity can't stop the future your family has planned for you.

Warnings: smut, female x male sex, blood, death, decapitation

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: Three very important updates for you guys, please read:

My tag list has gotten way longer than I'd ever expected it to get. Honestly, I thought I'd have like 3 readers and that's it. It is taking me almost an hour to get everyone tagged, update the tag list, and go back to old posts and comment to people who Tumblr won't let me tag. Because of this I will no longer be doing a tag list. In an effort to make this easier on myself and get these posts out faster, please subscribe to my Ko-fi page OR enable notifications for when I post. Subscribing to Ko-fi costs nothing, and I do not expect you to send me any money. It's just the one page I have that I can send out quick updates.

However, I am currently super poor. For anyone that doesn't know, I am an English Literature teacher. This year I moved from middle school to high school, and buying all the supplies that I need for this new grade level is killing me. I am working at a part-time job to afford it, but if you can and want to, I'd love it if you donated. I just bought $40 worth of glue sticks; it's very expensive. You can donate through my Ko-fi. Thank you to @gazs-blue-hat and @devcica for donating to my wisdom teeth surgery - I just made the first payment; I love you guys.

I did not edit this. I literally finished and am hitting post; school starts tomorrow and the first 3 weeks are so exhausting, I will be going to bed at 4 p.m. each day. So I wanted to get this out to you. Adamantine Chains will have a new chapter posted tomorrow. If you see any egregious errors, please point them out and I will fix them. previous chapters + future preview: - one - two - three - preview

The sound of Lily's soft breath in your ear tries to lull you to sleep, tries to force your jaw to relax but you can't. For the first time since your outburst with Jonathan, Lily had crept into the bedroom the two of you used to share. She had curled into your side; her breathing wasn't even before the door cracked open again and Maggie snuck in to sandwich Lily between yourself and her.

Lily's hair tickles your shoulder as you keep your eye on the window - the warmth is fading faster each night, but when you tried to close it before you went to bed you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You needed the feeling of the cool air in the room.

"Are you going to watch?"

Maggie's voice is so quiet it seems to get carried away by the wind. The bed shifts as she turns to look at you over the crown of Lily's head peeking above the covers. You turn, fingers brushing Lily's hair out of your way. In the darkness, Maggie's eyes gleam at you.

"I don't know. He told me not to, but I think Father will make us."

Maggie breathes in sharply - once - just enough for you to know whatever she's about to say angers her.

"I think Father is making everyone go. Why did he tell you not to go?"

You want to tell her his name - as much as you know - is Ghost. To call him by his name, but you keep that information tucked close to your chest.

"I don't know; he didn't say."

The conversation hangs in the air between the two of you, floating with the dust that blows in from the windowsill. Maggie's eyes burn across to you before she rolls back away from you, her hair dark against the pillow, curling down her neck. Mirroring her you roll away, eyes focused on the silver starlight you can see out the window.

You awake to soft hands shaking you awake; through your sleep you see Mother pressing one finger to her lip. Her eyes say it all to you - it's time. You slip out of bed leaving the warmth of Lily behind as the cool morning washes over the bare skin that shows from your nightgown. Mother hands you a dress, a thick black one. The same one you knew Maggie wore two years ago when Father's mother died.

You pad out the room behind her, trying not to wake Lily up. You let the bedroom door shut softly behind you before you speak.

"I have to go?"

"Lily is staying behind with the Morris girls. Your father expects the rest of us to be there." Mother's voice is tight; she's already dressed in a black dress, simple and loose fitting. She refuses to make eye contact with you as she speaks. "I will be downstairs. You have to be dressed soon."

You dress quickly, ducking back into the room to grab your boots and underdress. Back in the hallway, Maggie crosses you, dark purple shadowing under her eyes - you expect the same exhaustion to be painted across your face.

The temperature feels twenty degrees colder downstairs; you wrap your arms around yourself. Father is absent from his place at the table. A single slice of toast sits in front of Maggie, the neatest nibble taken from one corner. You drop down across from her and neither of you speak.

A knock at the door jolts your heart - you shove away from the table before Maggie can. On the other side stands Mrs. Morris and her two daughters, still in their sleeping clothes and barely awake. Without her having to ask, you take one of the girls from her; Mrs. Morris follows you quietly to your bedroom where you tuck both girls in beside Lily. They fall asleep almost immediately.

On your way out of the room, you shut the window, pulling the latch down so that they can't see outside.

You wait at the dining table with Maggie; Mother and Mrs. Morris speak quietly in the kitchen. When the morning bell tolls, the two of them emerge out of the kitchen. You and Maggie follow behind them, pulling your cloaks off the hook by the front door when you pass by. You wish instead to have Ghost's cloak, the heavy and warm scent of him enveloping you instead of the cold wool you wrap around your shoulders.

The four of you fall in line with the rest of the village, letting the wave of bodies push you toward the town center. Each step you take is heavier, harder to take than the one before. Ghost's voice, warning you not to come, not to watch, rings in your ear with a high-pitched drone that grows louder with each moment. The square is almost full whenever you arrive; you let yourself get pushed away from your Mother and Maggie until you're situated near the far side of the square, right where Ghost will first walk in.

The crowd tries to situate themselves as the council shuffles onto the platform. Your father stands at the back, face pale and empty. Even from this distance, you can see the tremor in his hands as he walks. Behind him, shackled in heavy iron chains, Uncle Henry walks up the platform escorted by two men you've never seen before. His face is gaunt and slack, his lip torn and blood dripping onto his chin.

The abject horror of it hits you all at once and you realize why Ghost had warned you not to come. All at once you think about the executions you had sat in your bedroom trying to strain to see, all the times you watched Ghost come up the street eager to get a glimpse of him and all the families that had been in the same place as yours is now. You think of all the times Father left his boots outside after execution and wonder if blood had splashed on them. You feel sick, horrified. You want to search out the families who had been ripped apart by the executions and beg for their forgiveness.

A hush falls over the crowd like a velvet blanket pulled up too high. You strain past the ringing in your ears to try to hear the heavy sound of boots that you've gotten used to hearing in the midnight light. The sound is different now, leadened and sinister. Drawing your hood over your head you keep your eyes fixed on the point you know Ghost will emerge from.

He seems to dwarf everyone in the crowd when he arrives, sword glinting in the early morning sunlight. You're torn between trying to press closer to him and pulling away as the thought of what he's about to do courses through you. He walks slowly, regret heavy in each of his steps as he mounts the platform.

The head councilman speaks, but you can't hear him above the roar in your ears as you watch Ghost situate himself to the side of Uncle Henry. He turns his face towards the crowd and his eyes search through every person before they land on you. He shakes his head just a fraction of an inch, and you know he's telling you to look away - to walk away before he swings his sword.

But you're rooted to the spot - you can't move as the councilman stops speaking and Ghost raises his sword, his eyes still locked on yours.

There's a moment's pause when his sword reaches its apex - a moment where you hope he'll lower it down and walk away. But the sword falls heavy; you manage to clench your eyes shut at the right second, but you still hear the heavy sound of Uncle Henry's head hitting the wood, and your mother's scream.

When darkness falls, no one stops you from walking out the front door. Father had not come home - you knew he was burying Uncle Henry somewhere, and Mother had to be carried to bed by you and Maggie. Upstairs you'd heard Lily sobbing; Maggie was the only one to witness you slip out the front door.

The red that dripped off of Ghost's sword as he walked back home is long gone in the dust and daytime; even so, you imagine that you can see it trailing in front of you as you walk, tripping over stones in the dirt. There's betrayal here, you know, running away to the home of the man who executed your uncle, but you don't know anywhere else to go.

Eyes peer down at you from their windows as you pass through the village, but for once you don't care if anyone runs home to tell on you. You're not sure Mother or Father would even be able to comprehend what you were doing anyway.

Like he knew you were coming, Ghost sits on the step, hands folded neatly in front of him. He doesn't look up at you, doesn't rise until you're within touching distance. An empty glass sits at his side; without speaking, he pushes himself to a standing position, glass snagged up in his large hand. You don't wait for him to beckon you as he walks inside.

You grimace at the warmth of the whiskey as it goes down your throat. You had never liked the taste of alcohol, but when Ghost sat it down in front of you you had reached for it without hesitation. The glass is heavy in your hand.

"I told you not to come," Ghost says, lowering himself down into the seat across from you. His voice is stern, but without any judgment for you attending the execution.

"I didn't have an option." You speak so quietly, you're not sure if he hears you over the wind and the crackle of the fire.

"You always have a choice."

"No, you always have a choice. You are a man; you don't understand what it's like to have someone dictate your entire life to you. I had no choice because my father said I had to go. And soon it won't be my father telling me what to do, but Jonathan. And I'll be shackled to a life of listening and obeying."

You shove the glass you'd drained towards Ghost, shaking your head at him when Ghost moves to fill it again.

"I'm sorry your father forced you to watch."

"My father," you pull your tangled hair over your shoulder, running your fingers through it to distract you from Ghost's eye burning at you over his mask, "thought that if we didn't come, it would show some level of guilt. I should be thankful that he let Lily stay home, but-"

"But what?"

"But I saw what the execution did to my mother. My mother is not a weak woman, but she didn't want to go. She can't do blood - it makes her sick for days. My father told me once it had to do with something she saw as a child, but wouldn't tell me more. She never attends the executions. But he forced her, knowing she's going to be regulated to the bed for the rest of the week. And I-"

You can't get the thought out - that you are a horrible person for how excited you used to be for the executions. Ghost waits patiently, leaning back in his chair, the wood creaking underneath him. You study the patterns of scarring on his fingers as they splay across the table. They're clean, no blood and dirt crusted beneath them.

"I am a horrible person," you finally sob out, fingers pressing into your eyes to try to press the tears that threaten to come out, "I have spent months waiting for an execution to come around; all I wanted to do was see you - I didn't think about everyone that was losing their life. Or their families, or you."

"Or me?" Ghost's voice is rough; you pull your fingers away from your eyes to look into his; they're dark and unreadable.

"I've never thought about what you must experience - doing the bidding of the council."

"I think you'll find I know more about being forced into doing things I don't want to do than you think."

The wind increases outside, the sound of leaves and sticks hitting the sides of Ghost's cabin. You wonder if it's Uncle Henry, angry with the town and determined to tear it apart.

"How did you end up here?" The question tumbles out of your mouth, and you feel ashamed as soon as you say it. Ghost's eyes flash, his nails dig into the wood of the table. You expect him to ignore you, but he pushes his hands into the collar of his tunic, and pulls out a necklace. With a flick of his wrist, he pulls it from around his neck and flings it to you. It lands a tangled mess in front of you.

"Read it." His voice is a solid command you follow, fingers tracing the edge of the cross as you pick it up; the metal chain snakes across the grain.

"Lieutenant Simon Riley - King's Guard 141st Division - you were in the King's army?"

"I was a part of the King's Guard; we were tasked with protecting the king when he traveled or during battle. There were four of us."

"What happened to the others?"

"I'm all that remains of the 141. We were-" his voice is whiskey thick, and when he swallows, you hear the heaviness of it, "ambushed. I was not able to save them. And so my punishment for not dying with my brothers was to live out my days as an executioner."

The metal is warm against your fingers, as you trace the engraved letters of his name. Simon Riley. Thoughts swirl in your head, and he seems to read them as you reach across the table to pass the necklace back.

"In this house you can call me Simon. Outside only Ghost."

The weight of the day - of Simon's background pushes against you. The small patterings of rain begin to hit the windows as you stand, taking your glass off of the table. You leave Simon as you refill the glass, bringing an extra for him. You drink yours in one go, refilling it again before you pass Simon his.

The corners of his eyes are tight as you step beside him, the glass held out to him. His hand wraps around your wrist, warm and electric. A stone settles in the pit of your stomach as a fire spreads across your skin from where he grabs you.

"You drink much more and you won't be able to make it up the path home."

"Just put me under the table then."

The corners of his eyes relax, and then turn up just slightly as he takes the glass from you with the hand not holding your wrist. He keeps you close to his side as he uses the hand with the glass to push his mask up just over his nose; the edge of a ragged scar peaking out on his cheek. He downs the drink in one go and grabs the glass you'd intended for yourself before finally letting you go.

You'd never enjoyed the way being drunk had made you feel, but as the world outside Simon's cabin swirls around you, you feel nothing but the warmth of the whiskey in your veins. The rain falls slow and heavy, warm despite the cool wind that had taken over the village. You reach one hand out to let the droplets pool into your palm, the rest of you shielded by the small awning above you.

The door opens behind you, the dim firelight spilling onto the rain soaked ground in front of you. The shape of Simon wraps its shadow around you along with the musky smell of him. You watch his shadow as he leans against the doorframe.

"We could run away together."

You had thought about it for a few weeks now. It had started out as a ridiculous fantasy - the two of you riding out on horse in the middle of the night and disappearing into the forest together. It had started out innocently enough, just the two of you escaping with each other, but now -

"Where would we even go?"

Simon's voice is soft, rolling through the rain drops as it passes by you. The timbre of it makes your mouth dry, or maybe it's the whiskey.

"Anywhere. Across the sea. Somewhere just far enough that know one would know who we are."

Simon's shadow ripples; you watch his shadow as he reaches to his chest, to where you know the cross hangs.

"You could go," he says, "but I will always be marked."

You don't know what he means, can't remember if he's told you something or not. But you let the reckless abandon that started building at you so much earlier in the day take over you. Simon's figure backed by the firelight makes your fingers itch to reach out and tangle them in the front of his tunic.

"But would you go?" You ask, voice rising and falling. "If you could, would you go with me?"

The silence stretches thin. Simon chews on the inside of his lip; the doorway groans beneath his fingers as they dig into the wood.

"You're drunk," he finally says, the words falling from him. "And you're not happy. I should take you home." His warm hand wraps around your elbow; you jerk it back and in your drunken state stumble. You try to catch yourself, but your feet slip. Simon tries to catch you, his hands wrapping around your elbow, but your feet tangle together and the two of you fall. Simon twists, getting his body halfway underneath yours.

The two of you land hard in the mud, your forehead clipping his chin. The two of you lay awkwardly, one of your hands on Simon's chest and the other buried in the mud. You try to push yourself up, hand slipping, to peer down at Simon lying beneath you. Mud is splattered across the exposed skin around his eyes. He reaches the hand that had wrapped around your back - the only part of him that has escaped the mud- to your forehead, fingers gently wiping away the warmth that had started to form there.

"You're bleeding."

"Is it deathly?

"I think you'll live."

He pulls his hand away, covered in your blood, and the rain washes it away slowly - the red tinge traveling down his wrist and disappearing into the hem of his tunic. You feel his heartbeat quicken in his chest as you shift so that you're straddling one of his legs.

"Can I ask for a favor Simon?" You swallow heavily, trying to swallow down the nervousness and embarrassment that's threatening to explode out of you.

"Anything."

A red blush starts to creep up your chest as you speak, each word measured and bitten off carefully - worried that if you speak too fast, Simon will disappear.

"I won't lie and say I haven't kissed my fair share of boys. But I've never - I've always been too worried to - to do anything more."

You feel Simon's thigh tense between your legs, and the feeling tightens the knot inside of you.

"If I'm going to be forced to give myself to someone I don't want to, I want to keep something for myself. I-"

Simon's hands tighten painfully around your waist; you hadn't even realized he'd grabbed you or that your hands had snuck down so that they framed his face, your wet hair creating a curtain between the two of you and the rest of the world.

"There are some things you can never take back - that you may regret."

"Why would I regret you?"

Your question cracks the tension between the two of you for weeks. You collide together, the kiss frenetic, your teeth clicking against each other as Simon tangles his hands in your hair and pulling you closer to him.

He pushes the two of you up, grabbing you beneath your thighs as he rolls and stands, pulling you up effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist as Simon stumbles back into the cabin. Your fingers tease the edge of his mask; Simon shakes his head and you pull them away, still worried that at any second he's going to tell you to go home.

Your shoulder hits the doorway of his bedroom, but you barely feel it as Simon kicks the door shut behind you, darkness enveloping the two of you. This time when you reach for his mask, Simon doesn't stop you from sliding it off of him. His hair is warm and wet; your fingers catch on the tangles there.

Simon presses your back against the doorway as he lowers yourself to your feet. You pull away from him, unable to catch your breath as your hands slide beneath his tunic. His skin is soft and scarred; you trace your fingers across a jagged one that bisects his chest. Simon's breath hitches when you trace it to his nipple, your fingers ghosting across the sensitive skin there.

Simon lets you pull his tunic off of him, his fingers tracing the lacing on the front of your dress. He hesitates there, waiting for you to say no, to push him away.

"You've seen me naked before," you whisper, trying to loosen the tension, your fingers curling around the waistband of his pants. "No reason to be nervous now."

"It's different," Simon says, pressing a kiss to the base of your neck, tongue trailing upwards to the shell of your ear, "to think about what it would be like to touch you, and actually doing it."

His admission that he's thought about you like that - the same way you had shamefully thought of him on nights alone in your bed - sends a spear of want through you. You pull him closer, straining to reach up and kiss him again, but Simon keeps himself away.

"You can go home," he whispers in your ear, teeth nipping the sensitive flesh, "I wouldn't be angry with you. I would find no fault with you at all."

And you know he's telling the truth - if you said so at any point, he'd let you leave and wouldn't hold it against you. But you can't even entertain the idea - the instinct to wrap yourself around him, to claw at him and at yourself until the two of you are open for each other, is too much.

You reach up and place your hands over his, guiding them so that they pull at the laces of your dress, the bodice falling open. You shrug out of it, letting it pool at your feet as you kick it away. Simon's hands linger chastely at your side, fingers barely skimming your skin.

"I'm not breakable Simon."

"Of course you are," Simon sighs as you trace your fingers softly up his neck and to his cheek. His breath hitches as your fingers tease the edge of the scar you'd caught a glimpse of earlier when the two of you were drinking. You trace it, trying to map the features of his face. It ends at his hairline, a second scar bisecting it.

"It's my cross to bear." Simon's voice rumbles deep; you can feel it in your chest. "It's my mark as an executioner - the righteous hand of God."

I will always be marked, he had said earlier and you realize what he'd meant.

Simon wraps his hands around the back of your knees; he pulls you up until you're forced to wrap your legs around his waist to keep from falling. He kisses you again, clumsy - you can feel him shaking beneath the soft skin of your hands. He pulls your hair so that your neck is exposed to him; Simon trails kisses down, nipping at your collarbone.

He's hot, his skin and mouth burning you up. You try to grind yourself against him, to get some sort of friction, but Simon's hands keep you just far enough away from him to drive you crazy. His knees hit the side of the bed and buckle; he drops you gently to the bed. The dark scent of him, and the whiskey that still pulls at you makes your head swim.

Simon's hands are firm on your knees as he pushes them apart and pinning you down.

"If I start to hurt you-"

"Simon, please."

He presses your thighs down harder to the bed, stopping your squirming.

"It can hurt. If I start to hurt you, I need you to say something; I need you to promise that you will."

His fingers have inched upwards and you try to buck your hips and make the connection; Simon digs his nails into the sensitive skin of your thighs and the feeling makes you gasp - more electric than anything you've experienced before.

"I," you swallow hard, Simon's nails scratching down you lightly pulling all the air from your chest, "I promise."

You're ashamed of the moan that you let out when his mouth finds your core, your back arching off of the bed. Simon's tongue is velvet on you, lapping at your wetness with a gentleness you wouldn't have expected from his size.

You'd listened to other girls in the village talk about this - about their quick trysts with the boys in the village and how it felt to be pawed at. But this - this was like nothing you'd ever imagined it could be, and nothing like the girls described it as.

Simon's hands keep your knees apart as his tongue swirls your sensitive spot; your back arching off of the bed as you grind down onto him. His fingers trace patterns in the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. When his fingers reach your wetness, you can't help but clench your knees around him, nervousness and embarrassment filling you. You had never let any of the boys you'd kissed touch you - the thought of their fingers inside of you disgusting, but the want for Simon to stretch you out is enough to make you pull away - not sure how to react.

Simon's tongue slows as he pushes your knees back down with one arm, his mouth pulling off of you with a pop. In the absence of him you buck your hips, but he doesn't move. He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, and when he speaks, the brush of his lips on your skin makes you shiver.

"We don't-," he swallows, heavy in the darkness, "we can stop if you want."

"No." It's a pathetic whine. You can feel his smile against your thigh, teeth nipping at your skin.

"You're going to want me to stretch you out a little."

His words pull a gasp out of you; you clench around nothing at the thought of him filling you up. Simon's hand traces your wetness gently, before he pushes in one thick finger. It burns as he pumps in and out of you; you're so tight he can barely move in and out of you. You can't tell how long it takes before the burn starts to dissipate; like he can read your body, Simon slips another finger in.

Simon works you until you're comfortable; the sounds you make are filthy. You're so wet you feel yourself dripping onto Simon's wrist. He latches onto your apex, and the feeling sends you over the edge. You come with a choked sob; you try to reach down and stop his hand, but he pushes you away and continues until you can't take it anymore.

He pulls his fingers out of you, as you beg incoherently - but you're not sure what you're begging for.

Even in the darkness, Simon's a shadow when he crawls up your body, lips skimming your hip bone, your stomach, your collarbone. A muscle twitches in your thigh; you can't catch your breath in the heat that radiates off of Simon as he dips his head down to kiss you. You dig your nails into his side, and buck your hips up, but he pushes them back down gently with one hand.

Simon pulls away just enough to speak, lips brushing against your as he does.

"If you want me to stop-"

You feel crazed - the way you claw into him, trying to pull him into yourself, the way your lips crash against his, teeth clicking together in a way that would be painful any other time. Simon snakes his hand between the two of you; you jump when it brushes past your clit. You can feel yourself dripping already - wetter than you'd thought you could get.

Simon lines himself up with your entrance, and pauses, resting his hand on your chest. His fingers stretch across the expanse of skin, calluses raising gooseflesh.

"You're shaking."

And you are; it's overwhelming - the smell of him enveloping you, the expanse of his body, hard muscle under a layer of soft downy, and being broken down by him. The thick feeling of being stretched out.

"I'm alright."

It comes out whispered and broken, but you are. You've never felt like this; never thought that you would. You wrap one hand around this wrist at your chest and beg.

"Simon please. I can't - I," you can't get the words out, can't explain that you can't take the feeling of being empty; of being without him.

Simon presses into you, just barely, but it's enough to make your back arch and your nails to scratch down his arm. He hisses at the feeling, teeth nipping at your earlobe. He moves slowly; the sharp feeling of him is enough to cause you to hyperventilate. On instinct, you press your hands to his chest; you can feel his desire to move faster in the way his muscles bunches beneath your touch.

"Do I need to stop?"

"No - it's just - you're too much."

You can feel his smile, brief and small, as he presses his face into your shoulder before he bites down. Hands finding his hair, you grip tight enough that you're sure it must hurt him, but he doesn't say anything.

You can feel every inch of him stretching you out; Simon's voice is soft in your ear as he whispers to you to relax - that you're doing so well. One of his hands trace down your side, trying to soften the gooseflesh. The other pushes your hair away from your forehead, fingers pausing at your temple.

The world pauses when he bottoms out; you can feel him in your throat - he's burning you up from the inside, his skin fire against your own. Simon's mouth his hot against your skin as he trails kissed across your neck. You know there will be marks there tomorrow - something you'll have to hide - but you don't ask him to stop; you beg him to keep going.

"I need you to relax, my love." His soft voice in your ear makes your fingers curl against the blanket bunched beneath you. "You're too tight."

You try to relax beneath him, but you can't - you can't.

"I can't."

"Just breathe love."

You focus on the movement of his chest against yours, and try to synch your breathing with his. Simon lays his hand against your throat, your pulse slowing beneath the pads of his fingers. His tongue snakes out to trace the shell of your ear, and he rocks himself against you.

You're ashamed of the sounds that escape you, you press your hand to your mouth to try to muffle yourself, but Simon pries your hand away and places it on his shoulder.

"Don't try to be quiet."

His words cut into you, and you grind yourself against him trying to match the rhythm he's setting.

Sweat and slick mix between your thighs; Simon pushes your knees towards your chest and the shift in angle tugs at something inside of you; you can feel yourself unraveling faster than you did earlier. Simon's nails dig into your skin as he moves faster. Your hands press on his chest, his stomach, trying to find some space to breathe, but his grip on your waist doesn't let you move.

Simon finds a brutal pace. You dip your fingers between the two of you until you can feel him pumping in and out of you; Simon moans at the feeling, nails piercing your skin hard enough to make you gasp.

He grabs the hand you have between the two of you and guides your fingers to your apex, forcing you to swirl your fingers around yourself.

You try to commit the feeling of him to memory: the texture of his skin, the sound of him panting in your ear, the feeling of his thumb tracing the contours of your nipple. Your second orgasm starts to break around you, and in the haze, you realize that you will never have this kind of moment with someone else.

The thought puts a knot in your throat; you pull Simon down to kiss him; he must sense your desperation as he slows down, hand wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you closer.

His body shudders once and he pulls out; you feel the heat of him spill out across your stomach. The wild thought of reaching down, and taking some onto your finger to taste possesses you, but your fingers are still clutching at Simon. You can't figure out how to loosen your grip.

Simon pants between your thighs, one hand still wrapped around your neck as he shifts so that he's laying down beside you. You shuffle, kicking the blanket down beneath you until you're able to pull it up around you.

You want to say something, anything to dissipate the air that stills around the two of you. But as Simon pulls you into his chest, anything you could think of is washed away.

Tag List:

tag list: @silverianni, @milfs4lifee, @koi-feish, @shirabeastly, @pookie90, @ghostlythot, @hearts4sky, @crystallizedtime, @the-worlds-tempest, @myconglomerateromance, @elena-ph, @chaoticgoblindev, @pipocfamily, @canadianmilkbag, @caspertheassholeghost, @2512121morningstar, @glitterypirateduck, @elli0t3r, @clairdelunelove, @captainprice4life, @generaldestinychild, @crowsjourney, @c0pernicus, @wistfullyhypomanic, @arbesa-mind, @ray-rook, @daisyfrubies, @september-22-1996

If you are on my tag list - please read my author's note!

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #my fics #ghost cod #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod x reader #ghost call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty mwii

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cordeliawhohung · 1 month

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i literally always interact with ur posts and i always try to initiate some sort of friendship but you dont !!!! idk

so, it's rather unfortunate that i feel like i have to explain myself even though i know i don't have to, but i'm going to anyway because this will eat me alive if i don't and i'm gonna set healthy boundaries here.

first, thank you for your continued support of my posts. interaction makes the site go round, and all that. but this comment feels really... transactional.

i feel like i do a really good job at interacting with people who comment and whatnot on my posts. i answer asks, i enjoy the silly ones and the serious ones, i try to be fun, be funny, be kind, be engaging, be myself, be whatever. and frankly, i don't think i understand what more you're wanting from me. i respond to a majority of comments on my posts! i sort of pride myself with how often i interact with people on here despite my busy life! if you're in my notifs often, there's probably already a decent chance i enjoy seeing you pop up, and enjoy responding to you, and enjoy engaging with you, and probably even consider you a friend if we speak often in comments, etc.

it's really hard to tell exactly what you're wanting me to do based off of this very vague ask, but if you're like, wanting to dm with me or something i'm sorry. i'm like the worst person ever when it comes to dms. i work 10 hour shifts. i have family to take care of, a mortgage to pay for etc etc. ask any of my moots, i literally never dm. i leave people on read quite often because i'm just so bad at it. i'm busy all the time and it gets overwhelming. so if you've got some sort of fomo going on that i'm part of something more than just my silly posts or anything, i promise you there's nothing you're missing out on.

which is why i stick to comments. replying to stuff. mainly engaging on posts. answering asks. etc. i'm literally giving everyone all the energy i have to give already. on top of writing!!!!

and this is going to sound really cunty, but also realize that just because you interact with someone, that doesn't mean they owe you anything. and this doesn't just go for me, but literally everyone on this site. they don't owe you a reply, or a thank you, or a comment, or anything. and that sucks but that's literally how life works. not everything is a series of transactions. everyone has their reasons that dictate why they may or may not respond or initiate what you want from them. but that's what this asks feels like. wanting something from me. wanting more than what i've been giving. wanting something i mentally, and emotionally can't provide given my circumstances.

i literally love everyone who positively interacts with me, so this feels like a punch to the gut, knowing someone thinks that i'm not doing enough by not catering to some very vague and impossible to know need. i'm not a mind reader!

sorry if this sounded short, but i'm wanting to make my boundaries very clear here. i am so so grateful for everyone who interacts with my stuff, and i show my love by responding as best as i can. most of my friendships on this site are formed by interactions that way. asking anything more from me is something i simply cannot give you.

also, anon asks will be turned off AGAIN after i post this because just on the off chance this is not received well, i'm not opening myself up to anon hate lmao.

#core responds #writeblr #please i am tired #i just wanna write my stupid stories and interact about our silly blorbos in comments/rbs #idk what more i can do to make y'all happy

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jscwrites · 1 year

Text

Please Follow this Backup Blog for Vendetta-IF

Hey guys, it's jsc, the author of Vendetta. I'm making this blog to backup all of the stuff I've posted over on the vendetta-if blog because I can't access my main account. Until I can access my account again, this will be the blog I'll use to interact with all of you and post updates. And in the worst case scenario, this will become the main blog.

So, please, follow this blog as I will be posting updates and answering asks like usual here. Also, for those who want to share their fanarts and other fanworks, please tag this blog too so I can see it. I'll also start reblogging some posts and asks from the Vendetta blog here in hopes of preserving them as much as I can. So, be prepared for a little blast from the past as we walk down the nostalgia road, I suppose.

I'm really sad because just earlier today, I checked my followers count and saw that we were 30 followers away from reaching 4K Followers in the main Vendetta blog, and I was thinking about what to do to celebrate it. Plus, there are also so many awesome fanarts and asks that I don't want to just be gone, which is why I'm making this blog to reblog all of them.

For those who are new and wondering what my story is all about, please check out the intro post I've reblogged. I might need to make another intro post in the future if I never get access back to my account, but for now, I hope it'll suffice.

IMPORTANT LINKS

[ORIGINAL INTRO POST]

[VENDETTA BLOG ARCHIVE]

[DEMO | Latest Chapter: 6 Part 1 | 272.8K words total]

[FORUM]

[PATREON] | [KO-FI]

[DISCORD]

CHARACTER RELATED MASTERPOSTS:

[CHARACTERS LIST]

[ARTBREEDER PORTRAITS] [ROs] [Other Pt. 1] [Viktor] [Other Pt. 2]

[CHARACTER PLAYLIST]

ADDITIONAL LINKS

[PUBLIC SIDE STORIES LIST]

[AO3 WRITTEN FANWORK] -> Currently 3 works

For those who are interested in what happened, I'll tell the details under the cut.

So, a few hours ago, I decided to open my iOS Tumblr app to check on notifications and stuff, as I usually do. But instead, I got hit with the Tumblr error messages over and over as it keeps trying to load in.

At first, I just thought it was my cellphone Internet connection, so I tried logging in on the desktop. At first, after I input all of my login credentials, the page loaded, but it brought me to the viewing page of my Vendetta blog as a non-user. I tried again, and this time, it said that my account got terminated. I never got any email from Tumblr about this, and it came as a shock because I just used my Tumblr earlier today to reblog some fanarts with no problem and I have never really used my account for other non-IF related stuff.

So, I scrambled to ask my members in Discord whether my Vendetta blog is still up, and thankfully it still is. But, my main account is somehow gone. The problem is, my Vendetta blog is actually a sideblog to my main account, jsclarissa.

As you can see here, when I tried searching for my main account, it says "Ghost blog! This blog does not exist." despite me having used that account to respond to comments and send asks to other authors before.

I have sent a support ticket to Tumblr support and also tweeted them on Twitter. I really hope they can give me my account back as I'm pretty sure this is some kind of technical issues on their end. I'm just worried about how long it would take them to respond and of course, the worst case scenario that it actually got terminated, so, I'm making this account.

Even if I got my account back, I'll still reblog stuff from the main blog here and maybe I can finally have a more personal blog where I can talk about stuff that is not really related to Vendetta.

#intro post #important announcement #writing update #if: vendetta #if vendetta #vendetta if #if game #if wip #dashingdon #choicescript #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #interactive games #cyoa #cyoa game #choice of games #hosted games

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chocolatepot · 11 months

Text

Twitter is rapidly sinking as people are only allowed to look at it for about ten minutes a day, so I thought I would put together a post explaining the best way to get started on Mastodon! It can be an intimidating prospect as it's not as immediately user-friendly as Twitter or other corporate social media sites.

Selecting a server

The main difference between Mastodon and Twitter is that you don't just "sign up for Mastodon". Mastodon is effectively made up of hundreds of small sites (called "instances") that are all interconnected ("federated") and use the same interface. The instance you choose has only a minor effect on your experience. The main one to be aware of is that if an instance is known to be poorly moderated and have users who cause a lot of trouble, other instances may unlink from it ("defederate") and make it more difficult for people on it to interact with you. This is rare. The very big, unthemed instances like mastodon.social are more likely to have this problem than any fannish one, in my experience. (You can also make a personal choice to block an entire instance if you have an issue with it.)

The other effect is that each instance has its own universal feed of all users on it.

The sidebar looks almost exactly like Twitter's, except for "local" and "federated". Your home feed is just the people you follow. "Local" is everyone on your instance, and "federated" is everyone on any instance yours is federated with. The local feed is why it's worthwhile to choose an instance that has some sort of theme you're interested in, like fandom, tech, queer issues, history, etc.

The two main fannish instances I'm aware of are fandom.ink and federatedfandom.net. There's also wandering.shop but that seems to be more for writers, in my experience. If you want a different sort of instance, just google "[topic] mastodon instance" and you should find it.

Applying to your instance

Because instances are more tightly moderated than the rest of social media, you can't always immediately get into the one you want. (Though I suspect that many have opened up slightly as Twitter flails.) You may need to submit some kind of application and wait a few days.

If you know someone on the instance you want to join, they may be able to get you an invite code so you can skip the queue. I have unlimited invites for fandom.ink, hit me up if you want to join.

You can also join an instance that's currently taking new accounts and then transfer into the one you want later. For the impatient souls.

Posting

The mechanics of posting are just like Twitter's.

You type in the box, you hit "toot" (I know), and out it goes. You may notice that you get a 500 character limit! This is nice.

If you add an image, make sure to add alt text. Not including alt text may get you flamed or shamed. You can also make a poll, set privacy levels, and add a content/spoiler/trigger warning that will require people to click through to see the text.

Use of hashtags is strongly encouraged on Mastodon. I've seen some talk praising Tumblr's style of having a separate field for tags and suggesting Mastodon add that, but I don't know if it'll happen. But unlike Twitter, there's an earnest culture of incorporating tags into your text (eg "I just bought a new #fountainpen") and following tags to get posts about different topics. This is the main way to find people with similar interests to follow, outside of your local feed.

It's also Mastodon culture to write an introductory post with your interests, including hashtags, so that people can find you.

Something else to be aware of is that you can edit your posts! If anyone has already rt'd ("boosted") them - they will just get a notification of your edit.

You cannot qrt on Mastodon at this time. It's a hotly debated topic. You will have to settle for boosting and then replying, or making your own post with context and linking to the post you want to qrt.

Following other people

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seospicybin · 1 year

Text

ONE CLICK.

Han x reader. (s)

Synopsis: Han has a habit of stalking you online and wishes to get to know you in real life. He finally gets his wish after one night of accidentally sliding into your DM. (8,6k words)

Author's note: a big thank you to my baby @hyunee1 for helping me with this fic. Love you much much 😘

Click.

That's how Han usually ends his tough day of busy schedules, sitting on his bed with the bluish glow of his phone in his dark bedroom, clicking on everything about you.

His eyes move up and down trying to catch the speed of his finger scrolling the page of your Instagram, there's a new series of pictures you posted this afternoon. He guesses he missed the notification, and he automatically double-taps it without thinking, as he always does.

He swipes to see all the pictures of you having a day out in sunny weather, a picture of your lipstick mark on your coffee mug, your hand petting a puppy, of you looking out at the mountain view in distance, another two of your self-portraits of that cute smile he likes so much and on the last slide is a picture of a colorful kite against the clear blue sky.

The caption says ''you’re a kite that toys with my heartstrings."

Han recognizes the lyrics to a song, he goes to the comment box then types the continuation of the lyrics, "but it won’t fly cause I’m too fickle, what do I do?"

He hits send and smiles in satisfaction, knowing that you wouldn't recognize him since he's using a secondary account with a made-up name, he can't be too careful in this kind of thing.

He swipes the pictures to the second slide of your selfie, where he can see the crinkles in your eyes that get him wondering if you're just as beautiful in real life or more, he bets it's the latter.

He unconsciously double-taps the Instagram post again, it's already in his default he believes.

He moves on to the other social media you have, Twitter, to see if you share any TMI for today just like you always do. A piece of information that seems to be useless to everyone else is a piece of treasure for him, it’s a step closer to getting to know you better.

"I'm having plums after a long time, they're so sweet and I think it's my new favorite fruit."

You posted the tweet along with a picture of ripe-looking plums in a bowl and another one of you holding the fruit close to your cheek, he can see the resemblance in the way the color of the fruit matches the blush of your cheeks.

Gah! He wishes he can touch those cheeks and feel how soft they are, he's going a little crazy thinking if he could kiss them. He laughs for making himself flustered out of the blue, not to add alone in his bedroom.

He hits the like button and switches to your fan account to check new updates about you, he trusts the information he get from your fans rather than the ones he can easily access on the internet because they're mostly clickbait or fake news, he knows that better than anyone.

There are new photos of you attending a fashion event, you in that white dress with a high slit on the side, revealing just enough skin but at the same time, making him want more.

He zooms in on each picture and touches the phone screen like he could feel you physically by doing it, something is undeniably attractive about you that keeps pulling him in.

Sometimes he wonders if you're real and if you are, is it possible for him to reach you? Meeting you? Talk to you? See your cute smile with his own eyes?

To convince him that you're real, he exits Twitter to access another app.

Truthfully, he specifically made an account for stalking you on whatever social platform you have on the internet, it's the only time he's free to be his honest self, which is a fool for you.

He opens YouTube and one of your vlogs is making an appearance on his homepage, he goes to your channel to see if he missed any new uploads from you. The last one you uploaded is a week ago, he scrolls down to watch the one he always comes back to, the one that kickstarts this obsession of you.

There was nothing special about it, he stumbled on your vlog one day and he didn't know why but he watched it to the end, it somehow fascinated him, how you slowly lured him to keep on watching

There's just something about you, it's your bubbly personality or how you keep your attitude real and let everyone knows it's just how you usually act in real life.

Han met so many people in the industry he works in, he knows when someone is true or fake, and he can tell it now just from a glance.

But you, you're your authentic self, there's no pretense. He doesn't care if people say it's a biased view but he stands his ground.

He casts the video to his TV and hits the play button, the vlog starts with the opening sound that he recognizes too well, your laugh.

You went for a weekend away to a beach and the opening scene is of you waking up in the middle of the night, talking about how you like hearing the sound of the waves while clutching the blanket close to your chest.

It makes him daydream about you a lot, what it's like if he gets to lay next to you and cuddle you under the cover. It’s a wishful thinking but he can't help himself.

The scene changes to the view of the beach and you running around in the sand, there's one scene that he can vividly play in the back of his head without watching it. You look out at the sea from the pier, the wind blowing your way and the short skirt you're wearing swaying away with the wind.

He has a thing with you in short skirts or maybe this thing started from seeing you wearing this specific piece of clothing a lot in your pictures.

He keeps it to himself, he only allows himself to daydream only good things about you and doesn't want to ruin it with his lewd thoughts

Next thing he knows, he waves back at you as you waved your hand at the end of the video before it cuts to a black screen. Fourteen minutes of video is not enough.

Frankly, admiring you virtually like this will never be enough, he wants to go to you and meets you in real life.

But a man like him can only dream, right?

He wakes up with a smile to a new notification of your new Instagram story.

You're having coffee with a few different kinds of pastries for breakfast.

"I love sweets so much, what should I do?" You wrote on the post.

He types a reply in the message box,

"Then let me buy as much sweet as you want!" He writes then presses send without the slightest of hesitancy. He had done it a few times, responding to your Instagram stories with messages like that or just a simple 'goodnight' or 'you've worked hard today' to show his admiration to you.

Han never knew that someone he knew through social media would affect him this much, just seeing your pictures is enough to take his mind off things, and watching your video is how he unwinds after a tiring day.

It comes to the point that he misses you and when he does, he'll click on you.

On good or bad days, sober or drunk, he always finds time to click on everything about you.

In fact, he's drunk of out his mind when got home tonight. He crashes onto the bed without taking his shoes off first, fishing his phone out of his jeans pocket, and clicks on you again.

There's a new Instagram post from you, three pictures of you having a night out at an event and it's just like you know how much he likes seeing you in it, you're dressed in a leather mini skirt and paired it with a flimsy white top that people can see through the fabric, exposing the lacey corset you're wearing under.

He keeps hitting the like button as he's staring at your pictures.

"Are you wearing that skirt for me, baby?" He speaks to his phone screen.

He brings his phone close to his face to take a closer look instead of zooming in on your pictures, "you drive me crazy, you know that?"

He puts his phone on his chest and lays there with his eyes closed, intoxicated.

"Fuck..." he sighs at the dark of his room, forgot to turn the lights on the way to his bed.

"I can't take this anymore!"

He lifts his phone and clicks on your Instagram profile, he opens the direct messages he sent to you which come to no surprise to him are left unread.

He snorts as he scrolls up and down all the messages he sent to you, he sounded like a love fool and he admits he is.

"I'll let you know, baby, I'll let you know..." he says as he starts typing new messages, pouring out all of his thoughts and letting them unfiltered.

All it takes is just one click, one click and you'll know.

Han has been chugging water nonstop the whole morning to wash the alcohol in his system.

He has a schedule today, a performance at an award show and he's sober enough to do his job, he's just feeling a little queasy, that's it.

It's not easy though, he feels like dying after finishing rehearsal and he swears to never drink again, maybe he'll eventually do but maybe not try not to drink alcohol the night before a performance.

The other members start chattering when they bump into someone after getting off the stage from rehearsal, he wonders who it is that makes them all collectively swoon.

He feels like shrinking when he sees that it's you or he wishes he could shrink into a microscopic size when he realized that he's not well presented, his hair is sweaty and his eyes are bleary, the hangover drawn on his face.

And you, you're looking nice even in the casual attire of blue jeans and a black shirt with your hair down.

This is not how he pictured meeting you for the first time would be like. Heck! He didn't even dare to dream of meeting you in real life.

He decides to hide behind his members, out of your sight and out of existence. He hears your voice as you give encouragement for today's stage and excuse yourself to get to your rehearsal.

"Good luck for today!" You say for the last time and someone takes you away.

Back to the waiting room, he goes to his phone and opens your fan account, he misses the update about you going to attend the same show with him tonight.

You also post a new Instagram story, 'rehearsing for tonight' you wrote on it along with a smiling emoticon.

It's like he is programmed to respond to anything you post, he types an encouragement for you, 'you'll do well tonight!'

He closes the app but for a second, he notices something on the messages he sent you. He reopens the app and goes through the DM between you and him, his breath caught in his throat when he sees the long messages he sent to you last night.

His eyes skim over some parts but he can tell how inappropriate they sound, he must have lost it last night to ever let you know his unfiltered thoughts about you.

And that's not the worst of it all, he scrolls down to the last message he sent, and below it, there's a little sign that says 'seen'.

It's like his soul has just left his body at that very second, his phone drops onto his lap and he leans back on the sofa, empty eyes looking at the ceiling, his mind blanks, and his mouth got dry.

How are all of these happening in a span of a few hours? Is it real? Is he in a dream? He can't tell which is which anymore.

All he thinks about is the messages he sent you and the fact that you know.

Now you know.

Han succeeds in not meeting you again during the show but when he learns that they have to attend the after-party, he dreads his life again.

It's exclusive just for the guests of the show and that means he'll be in a smaller place, in one room with you and the possibility of meeting you is bigger.

He keeps himself on alert for any sight of you, it's funny remembering how he wanted to meet you but now he wanted the opposite.

He shouldn't be afraid because he interacts with you online in incognito. You don't know that it's him, you probably think that it's just a stupid teenager who's obsessing over you at home and not him.

He keeps reminding himself that but he just can't calm himself down, his foot bouncing the whole night out of nerves.

He secludes himself in a quiet corner of the hotel ballroom and gulps down every glass of champagne that the server passing around on a tray.

He's buzzed enough to dull his mind and calm his nerves, he doesn't know if it's better to get drunk again.

"You need one more?"

He almost jumps in shock and he's aware of how rude he is for reacting like that to you, you come out of nowhere and offer him a drink.

"I'm sorry, I-I..." his mouth got dry again and he stammers his words.

You softly laugh, "I'm sorry if I disturb you," you say.

He hurriedly takes the glass of champagne you offer him before you think that you did intrude on his space, you didn't but he did been trying to avoid you.

He grips the champagne flute so hard that he swears he can hear the glass starts to crack or it's just his imagination and he's right, he knows he's right that you're much prettier in person.

Your eyes crinkle even in the dim of lights and you smell so nice, like a slice of cake or of that dessert you like so much, creamy and nice and... sweet.

You take a small sip of your champagne, "I've been wanting to talk to you the whole night," you begin.

The fear starts to creep in again and he can feel sweat forming on his back. He keeps swallowing air as if trying to keep the truth from coming out.

"It's just now that I get to talk to you," you continue with a smile.

That sweet smile dazzles him and he blinks his eyes a few times to imprint that in his mind.

"I wanted to—"

Oh no? Do you know that it's him? Should he come clean about it before you lay out the fact?

His foot bounced faster, his mouth got drier and the champagne flute is about to shatter in his grip, the beads of cold sweat rolling down his back and...

"I'm sorry I sent you those messages!" He blurts out with his eyes closed, too embarrassed about the reality he has to live in right now.

"Huh?"

"I was drunk... I-I wasn't thinking straight, I was... I didn't know why I send those messages, I only realized it this afternoon after meeting you during rehearsal," he starts blabbering, knowing well his excuses won't cut for an apology but it's just the truth.

He heavily sighs and tries again, "I deeply, deeply apologize to you!" His face drops, looking down at his feet and feeling so frustrated over himself.

You got quiet for a while then clear your throat, "but I was about to say that I like all of the songs you wrote..." your words trail off as the knowledge registered to you.

He looks up at you with eyes widening in pure shock, oh no, he just made a fool of himself. Why did he crack so easily like that?

He knew that you wouldn't know but now you know because he blurted the truth like that.

"W-what?" He stutters in disbelief while his hand groping around to find something he can hold on to.

You probably think that he's a weirdo or a pervert or a combination of both. You must be disgusted by him, right? You must be...

Then you crack a laugh then say, "oh, so it's you?"

His brain is malfunctioning, he's losing control of his own body and all he can do is stare at you, hoping that he's invisible to you now.

"You're the one who sent me those messages," you say but in an intrigued kind of way rather than a disgusted one.

You put your champagne glass and place your hand on your chest, cracking another laugh at him, "you're one of my followers?" You ask in disbelief.

He is unable to speak yet but he manages to order his body to nod.

"Oh wow, this is so... unexpected!" You exclaim with a grin.

Wait, this reaction is unexpected to him as well. Aren't you supposed to be getting as far away from him as possible and wish to never see him again?

You take your champagne again and finish it in one long sip then gasp. There's a silence going on for a few seconds and you take a step closer to him while holding the empty wine glass in your hand, "so..."

His breath hitched and he holds his breath, afraid that the scent of your sweet perfume will enchant him.

"It was you who sent those messages?" You ask for confirmation.

Han nods repeatedly while keep holding his breath as if he's underwater.

You look away and sheepishly smile, your teeth faintly biting your lower lip.

He's turning blue from holding his breath and when you put the empty glass away is when he finally lets himself breathe. He should start speaking now before things get worse, "I apologize for—"

"Will you really do all that to me?" You cut him off with a provoking question.

He blinks his eyes, nonplussed. He has the answer but he's not sure you will accept it well.

"Buy you as much sweet as you want?" He wildly guesses to save him from making another mistake.

You laugh again from hearing his response, "you're really cute," you say to him.

One compliment is enough to get him flustered and that laugh of yours charms him well, it works to relax him a little.

"Do you have your phone with you?" You ask.

Just like you cast a spell at him, he quickly obeys you, groping his body for his phone, and takes it out from the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

You take it from him and add your phone number to his contacts, then hand it back to him after.

"You have my number now," you inform him.

"Okay," he shortly replies because he doesn't know how to answer that. His brain is still malfunctioning at the moment.

You laugh again, it's just how clueless he is at the whole situation that makes him awkwardly cute like a lost little puppy.

Your manager finds you at the right time, "we have to leave," she says to you.

"Alright," you answer and gather your purse from the table.

You stay for a while after your manager leaves and come up to him, "before we do anything else I hope you know what to do with my number," you say.

You leave him there, star-struck and in awe.

He needs time to process what just happened to him in the last 24 hours but he knows what to do with your number.

"A+ for the eagerness!"

You say the moment you pick up the phone call from him.

Han doesn't want to play cool and make you wait, that's not what he wants. You know how much of a fool he is for you so what the use in playing hard-to-get? Plus, he's in no position to do that.

That's why he calls you as soon as he gets some privacy in his home.

He's all relaxed now that your reaction is far from what he pictured in his head, knowing that you're not grossed out by his filthy thoughts making him feel at ease.

He thinks of something cool to say but his head is empty except for the heavenly smell of your perfume.

"Hi," he awkwardly says to the phone.

Then there's that giggle again, he's addicted to the sound of it already.

"I'll be away for three days and be back on Thursday but I'll be tired by then so Friday?"

It's not that he's not experienced in dating, he dated someone before but that was a long time ago and he didn't have time to do all that again between his busy schedules, now he's just as inexperienced as his teen self, having zero ideas with what you meant by that.

"Friday?" He asks back in confusion.

"Before you get to do what you wanted to do to me, shouldn't you take me on a date first?" You give him a clearer context.

He finally gets what you're saying, you want him to take you on a date. He tries to memorize his schedule and checks the calendar if he has anything on that day, he needs to do some work in the studio but he believes he can finish it earlier.

"Friday afternoon?" He asks again.

There are a few seconds of silence going then he hears a rustle from your end, he's imagining that you're talking to him on the phone while lying on your bed.

"Friday afternoon is fine with me," you finally reply with a low sigh.

It makes him feel like he's there with you, lying next to you on your bed. Without he intends to, he lays down on his bed with his eyes closed, and with the sound of your low breathing he's listening through the phone, it helps him paint the imagery vividly in his head.

Your eyes, your smile, your blushing cheeks, and your sweet-smelling perfume...

"I have to go now, I'm tired," You cut through the scene and shatter his imagination.

He takes a breath to knock some sense back into him that no matter how much he wants to keep talking to you, he can't keep you occupied just to fill his selfish need of hearing your voice.

"Okay."

You softly sigh into the phone, "Goodnight!"

"Sleep well, goodnight!" He says back.

Then you hang up the phone and the call-ending tune reels him back to the reality, that he's alone in his room with the lights off.

That doesn't change the fact that he has become the last person you're talking to before you go to sleep. He's not sure if he'd be in your dream but you'll be in his tonight.

Han finishes as soon as he can.

But he's not good at rushing things that he finished a bit longer than he intended to, he picks up some food on the way.

He doesn't want to risk being spotted by people by having a date out, he hesitated a lot when he asks you if it's okay if you're coming to his place instead.

He doesn't want to give the impression that he's forward about what he wants, but he's glad you understand his good intention.

He stares out at the rain outside as he's waiting, letting the coffee grounds sit for a few seconds after he pours hot water over and let it drip.

The sounds of the raindrops pattering against the window and the smell of coffee relaxed him, despite he has been nervous since last night, frankly though, he has been for the last few days since he spoke with you on the phone.

Then the doorbell rings and his heart skip a beat.

He gathers all of his senses, promised to not make a fool out of himself this time, then opens the door.

"Hi!" You say the second you appear in front of him.

It still feels like a dream to him, seeing you in flesh and with his own eyes, breathing the same air with you in his apartment.

"Aren't you going to let me in?"

He snaps himself out of his daze and opens the door wider, stepping aside to let you in, "come in, please!"

You flash him a smile as you walk past him, letting yourself into his apartment and taking a look around the place. You put your purse and take your cardigan off, place them on the sofa.

"You live alone?" You ask.

"Yeah," he stands there a safe distance away from you.

"No pets?"

"I have a dog but he lives with my parents since I rarely home," he answers.

You nod and turn around to see him, "it's a nice place," you say with a smile.

He feels good about himself, he did a good job at tidying up the things around his place in one night. He hides his triumphant smile and remembers to offer you a drink.

"Coffee?" He offers.

You notice that he's been brewing coffee in the kitchen, "yes, please!"

He walks to the kitchen, "with ice or...?"

"With ice, yes!" You reply.

You're following him to the kitchen to watch him prepare an iced coffee for you.

"Drip coffee?"

He sheepishly smiles at you for noticing it, putting ice cubes into the glass before pouring in the coffee.

"And that's the same coffee I always drink," you say with a raised eyebrow.

Han doesn't mean to show off, he just wanted to make sure that he provides you with everything that you like. Your favorite coffee brand and how you like drip coffee which reminds him that he bought that sweet you like so much.

He takes it out of the fridge and takes out the box of macaroons, he bought all the flavors you like and serves it with the iced coffee.

You look at it then look at him and shot him an impressed smile.

"Of course you know," you say with a smile as you take a sip of your coffee with a straw.

Flustered, Han scratches the back of his head and looks down, "the store happened to be on my way home so..." he vaguely explains.

"As far as I remember, they don't have any branch near here nor your agency," you casually say.

Uh oh! He just got caught lying to your face and doesn't know how to save himself from it.

"That's so sweet of you!" You praise him out of the blue, again giving him the opposite reaction to what he expected.

He looks up at you, finally able to see your eyes to eyes and you're glowing under the fluorescent light. He sees you taking one of the macaroons.

"You should try it, it's good!" You bring the macaroon close to his mouth and tell him to take a bite.

He slowly opens his mouth and lets you feed it to him, taking a little bite of it

"It's good, right?" You say, then shove the rest of the macaroon he just bites into your mouth.

"So good," he says back.

With the permission you got from him, you continue the tour around his house, exploring the rooms one by one.

It's his bedroom you're curious about the most while Han holds his breath as you get inside, he doesn't know what makes him this nervous.

He watches as you approach his desk, you must be aware of the mess on his desk, he was working on something last night and forgot to tidy up after.

"Are you working on something?" You ask, standing next to his desk and playing with an action figure from his collection.

"Yeah, I was working on a track," he answers with his hands gripping the headrest of the chair.

"Can I have a listen?" You ask.

He likes how you sweetly ask for permission for everything like a little child.

"I understand if you can't," you add as you put down the mini figurine back on his desk.

"No, of course, you can, let me just..." he quickly sits on the chair and searches for the track he worked on until late at night on his laptop.

Once he found it, he hands you the headphone.

"It's not finished yet," he informs you before hitting the play button.

Your eyes are looking at him for the whole minute you're listening to his unfinished track, a faint smile appears once in a while, and slightly bob your head here and there.

"I like this," you say, handing him the headphones back.

"Yeah?"

"I think I have a thing for every song you wrote," you say then turning away to move on to the next room.

His room is spacious but why it suddenly feels so small to him, not in the most suffocating way but he feels drawn to get close to you.

He hears your gasp as you step into his closet, he follows you there and sees you standing in the middle of the room.

You look over your shoulder and say, "And here I thought I have too many shoes!"

Han sheepishly smiles and stands by the doorway, watching you look at his shoe collection, then look at his clothes hanging on the other side of the wall.

You pull out one of his jackets and ask, "may I try?"

And how can he refuse when you ask sweetly like that?

"Sure!"

You take the jacket from the hanger and put it on, walking to the full-length mirror to see how it looks on you.

"What do you think?" You ask for his opinion while looking at his reflection in the mirror.

To be honest, you look good in everything but seeing you in his clothes makes you look more appealing, more alluring he wants you more and more and more.

He clears his throat and pushes the thought away, "you look cool!"

There goes your giggle, his new favorite sound and you put the jacket back on its hanger, putting it back where it belongs.

"Then what about the skirt I wear?" You ask.

His eyes instantly shift to the skirt you're wearing, it's plaid in the colors red and black. It's short and tight, he likes how it accentuates your curve and how it looks on you.

You're coming toward him in slow steps and stop right in front of him, "didn't you say you like seeing me in a short skirt?"

He wonders if you can hear his heart drumming in his chest because he can hear it loud in his ears, deafening.

You're not making a contact with him but his body's temperature is already rising from the proximity.

And your eyes are on him with a subtle sly smile on your face.

You turn around with your back facing him and take his hands, placing them on each side of your hip.

Han looks straight ahead, at both of your reflections in the mirror, and damn, he looks like he belongs there, right next to you.

You catch his eyes through the reflection before sliding his hands down to let him touch the hem of your skirt.

"I'm wearing this for you," you say, still looking at him through the mirror.

Everything else is just so quiet at that moment that he thought you were whispering.

His eyes lower to where his hands touch your skirt and without warning, you pull him closer until his chest meets your back.

Looking over your shoulder with your face merely inches away from his, "do you like it?" You ask.

He swallows hard and tries to think of something to say even though the answer is obvious.

Your head leans back on his shoulder, leaving only an inch between your lips and his.

"I'm wearing this so you can do what you wanted to do to me," you say with your sweet breath brushing his cheek as you speak.

He recalls the messages he sent to you on that one drunken night when he spilled all of his unfiltered thoughts of you.

How do you know I like seeing you in tight, little skirts?

I can't think straight whenever I see you in them. You want me to get in trouble, do you?

His eyes flick back to the reflection of you together and his hands are on you, your hand guiding his going under that he can feel the warm flesh of your thigh.

I take it that whenever you're wearing that tiny skirt you want me to cause a trouble.

And he's holding on to every last shred of sense left in him to not cause trouble. But you make his hand pull the hem of your skirt higher, exposing your thigh and the smooth skin that glows even in the dim light.

Do you want to know what trouble I'll cause?

Just one touch on your silky skin and it's enough to make him give in, he splays his hand on your thigh with your hand on top of his.

I'll touch you there, baby. Lift the hem of your skirt bit by bit, then I'll touch your thighs and that soft skin of yours.

Your skin is warm under his touch and it's getting hot as his hand inches closer to that heavenly thing between your legs.

But he stops once his fingers meet the lacey fabric of your underwear, he might be drunk that night but he remembers everything he wrote that night in the back of his head like the lyrics of his favorite song.

And you think I'll touch you there with my hands? No, baby. My hands may be impatient but my mouth is greedy.

His greedy mouth is getting impatient as well, those red-painted lips tantalize him and so he kisses you. It's even better that you welcomed his kiss with such eagerness, a burst of sweet and hot like a birthday cake with so many candles, he wants to blow on it and eat it too.

His hands are moving on their own, tracing the sides of your body and squeezing your flesh, every touch is a reminder that you're real, this is real.

For a second, he glances at the mirror to assure him that he's not seeing things, he's kissing you with his hands all over you.

You turn around to face him and put your hands around his neck, your red lipstick is fading from his hungry kisses but it doesn't make you less attractive to him.

He lowers his mouth on you again and holds you close, slowly lifting you off the floor to carry you back to his bedroom.

Once he puts you back down, you're walking backward then lying down on the bed.

Han is standing there, watching you waiting for him to let him do what he has been fantasizing about you and your body.

I'll touch you there with my mouth. I'll bury my head between your legs and smell you forever, get myself drunk in your scent.

He kneels on the floor so close to the edge of the bed and parts your legs open, he can see the flimsy fabric of your underwear that covers so little.

How can you wear something so provocative under your skirt?

His eyes are on you as he places a soft kiss on your inner thigh, he begins making a trail of kisses from there until his mouth lands where he wanted the most, he believes that's where you wanted him the most as he feels the fabric is damp from your wetness.

He rolls down the hem of your skirt until it hunches up around your waist so you can see how he doesn't hesitate to kiss your clothed core then buries his nose to inhale your scent.

I wonder what you smell like? I bet your smell will get me drooling like a kid at a candy shop. All I know is I'll crave a lick, a bite, I won't stop until I get enough taste.

This craving is growing bigger the longer he stalls, he pulls your underwear down and takes a sniff at it before tossing it aside. There's nothing like drinking water right from the fountain and he's getting thirsty with every passing second.

You make one sweet cake, baby and I'll eat you out like it's my birthday. I'll lick the icing off, gobble on you until I get to that sweet, sweet filling, and lick my fingers clean when I'm done.

And it feels like his birthday, he's not the type to celebrate it every year but he certainly like how it's all about him on that particular day and he wants to make you remember how he enjoys eating you out, from the way you tug at his hair he can tell that you enjoy it too.

"Oh— oh, fuck!" You mutter under your breath with your other hand fisting the bedsheet.

The way you arch your back against his mouth tells him you want more of it, you want him to leave nothing but how his mouth feels on you.

Oh, those soft whimpers you let out as you cum with his tongue on your clit, it feels like the confetti pops and rains down on him.

Your essence floods his mouth and he smears it all over your cunt with his fingers, so he can lick it all over with his tongue.

You prop your elbow against the mattress, look at him and ask, "How'd it taste?"

He shoves his fingers coated with your juice in response.

I always have the dessert first and that's how I like it, sweet and creamy, full of a burst of flavors.

He crawls over your body to come to you, kissing you down and planting the natural scent of your body all over his bed, pieces of clothing are off from each other's bodies.

You take a second to look at his body, the muscles on his chest, his broad shoulders, and his impeccable small waist, it's nothing like you've seen before but somehow you like it, he has his own charms.

He looks down on you as you place soft yet searing kisses on his neck and chest, closing his eyes to take it all in, how your lips feel on his skin.

"Fuck, I'm going crazy," he says, holding your face in his hands.

"But we're only halfway there," you say with a sly smile, then turn over on the bed, on all fours with your ass jutting up at him.

That skirt is what starts all this, that skirt is the cause of all this trouble, therefore it should stay on you. It will stay on you as I take you from behind, holding on to your skirt as I thrust into you.

You're naked except for the skirt hunches up around your waist, he takes a moment to run his hand down your spine and the beautiful arc of your back then when his hand meets your skirt, he takes a fistful of it in his hand.

You're moaning just from him teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock and you're so little, he doubts that you can take him well.

His doubt evaporated the second he enters you, slowly and you take it well. You continuously moan until his whole length buries deep inside your tight, velvety walls.

Han has been keeping his moans to himself by pressing his lips together with his jaws all clenched.

You want it slow, you say? No baby, why don't you try to keep up with me? You can blame that itty bitty skirt you wear later.

Your loud moans are enough to beat the sound of the heavy rain outside, the skin-slapping sounds come second, and then there are his grunts that escape through his gritted teeth.

Your head drops onto the pillow with your hands crumpling the sheet, trying to take his hard pounding as he chases his high.

He keeps adding speed as he goes while you keep tightening around his cock, giving him a hard time to last longer than he intended to.

I won't stop, I won't stop until you learn your lesson. I want you to remember that every time you put on that skirt, you'll think of the trouble I'll cause.

His eyes shift from looking at how he's fucking you through the reflection in the mirror to his cock going in and out of you, both giving him the same amount of pleasure.

But it's you, it's you who allowed him to indulge himself in you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he repeatedly says under his breath every time he almost slips away.

But it's you, you just feel too good and your moans are luring him to give himself in.

His eyes screws shut as he puts all of his into his thrusts and cumming, he realizes that he's going in raw into you a few seconds too late and hurriedly pulls out.

His cum dripping down and he got some drops on you too but he is high in pleasure to notice. His body goes limp but he feels the softness of your body when he collapses on top of you.

Fuck, how I wish I can do all that to you, my sweet pie! I'll always be in trouble just from thinking of you nonetheless.

But that little skirt, that little skirt will be the end of me.

The first thing he sees when he wakes up is you and he keeps on blinking his eyes, thinking he's still sleeping.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" You ask with a hand propping your head, looking down at him.

"Am I dreaming?" He asks with confused, squinted eyes.

You softly giggle and gently poke his cheek with your finger, "is that enough to convince you?"

You keep poking his cheek with your index finger, "your cheeks are incredibly soft," you say.

He should be the one curious about you then it hits him that he's under the duvet with you, naked. As if that's enough to convince him that he's not dreaming it, he grabs your hand and kisses it.

Then the reality hits him, he must have dozed off after the sex and cringed at himself, which surely will leave a bad impression on you.

"How long I've been sleeping?" He asks.

"Not long," you reply, turning on the bed to lay on your stomach with the upper half of your body overlapping his.

Now it feels real, having your body on him and your skin on his skin. He puts his hand on the side of your face and brushes your hair to the side, holding it there.

"Are you sure I'm not dreaming right now?" he innocently asks.

You lean in and give him a long peck on the lips, "how about now?" You ask once you break the kiss.

He shakes his head, "I'm not sure," he answers with a faint smile on his face.

"Just say you want me to kiss you again," you say with an eye-roll and place a kiss on his lips, a little longer than the previous one.

"Still think you're dreaming?" You ask again while biting your lower lip.

He doesn't answer but brings his face close to kiss you. With his hands wrapped around you, he rolls on the bed and has you underneath him, kissing you hard and deep.

He takes a break to catch his breath and looks down at you, with your eyes closed and lips wet from the kisses. You're so beautiful that it still doesn't feel real to him.

"I forgot to tell you that I can't stay the night over," you tell him, resting your hand flat on his magnificent chest muscle.

He frowns at the information but he understands, he lives the same way too where his work dictates his life, not the other way around.

"When do you have to leave?" He asks.

You glance at the clock on his bedside table, "in like two hours," you answer while dragging your hand lower to his abdomen.

"Okay," he meekly says because he can't do anything about it.

You keep dragging your hand lower and lower and he starts to notice where it leads.

He shoots you questioning glances and you respond with a smirk, then you bring your mouth close to his ear to whisper, "but I think we have enough time to..."

He closes his eyes as he feels your hand inch closer to his member, getting hard from you implying that you want to go again before you leave.

But your hand takes a turn back to his chest and you lay your head back on the pillow, "order some food because I'm starving," you say, followed by a series of a giggle from succeeding at playing him.

Han scoffs, he can't believe he almost fall for it but he concedes, no matter what he should treat his guest well.

He collapses on his side of the bed and asks, "what do you want for dinner?"

You shift to lay on your side, "Uhm..." you hum as you think with your hand under your chin.

It feels like he's looking at a pictorial in a magazine, therefore he doesn't mind you taking a long time to pick your dinner.

"On a second thought..." you say, snapping him out of his daze.

You get up from the bed and the duvet slides down your body, exposing your body to him like he needed the reminder of how gorgeous you look in your birthday suit.

"We can order the food later," you say and slip your hand under the duvet, closing into his cock that is getting hard from the anticipation.

He groans as your hand finally makes contact with his semi-hard cock with your eyes bore into him as you speak.

"I'd like to have my dessert first," you add with a sly smile.

Click.

That's still what he does every night, clicking on everything about you. Scrolling down your Instagram page and double taps on the beautiful pictures you took of yourself, leaving a comment on it with emoticons that consist mostly of hearts.

It's when he lays on his bed like this that the image of you fucking him that day flashed through his mind and he remembers everything so vividly.

Your mouth was slightly parted open with soft moans spilling out of it, your skin glows under the dim light, your breasts bouncing with every movement you made, and your ample flesh in his hands. To add to his suffering, he remembers how good to be inside you, and when you cum all over him, it's something that he does not even dare to fantasize about.

Fuck, now that he thinks about it, his cock is twitching in his pants.

He checks his phone and the last text he sent you looks so lonely without your reply.

On the day of the date, he watched you get dressed from the doorway of his bedroom, you put your skirt back on and turned around to look at him.

"I think you owe me a skirt," you said, showing him the mess he made on the fabric and he believed it's his cum dropping on your skirt when he hastily pulled out of you.

That's what was inside the package, a skirt that he owes you and he carefully picked it with the help of his stylist, frankly, he also chose one that he would love to see on you.

He's been waiting for your reply, wanting to know whether you like it or not. Alas, you've been keeping him on his toes all day.

To compensate for the absence of your presence in his day, he goes to your YouTube page to watch his favorite video of you, it feels a whole lot different watching it after he met you in real life. It enhances everything since he knows how you look like, how you smell, how you taste, and how you feel like.

He can't take it anymore, he craves you so badly like he's running low on sugar.

If you're not going to reply then he'll just send you another text, screw being a cool guy! He'll let you know how much he wants to see you.

Like you're listening to the rant in his head, the three dots appear on the chat box which means that you're typing a message for him.

He bites his lower lip with his fingers tapping the back of his phone nervously.

"I got the package!" You write.

His fingers automatically respond to your text and compose a reply even before his brain can think of an answer.

"Yeah?"

"The skirt. I love it!" You wrote along with three hearts emoticons.

He triumphantly smiles in the dark of his room, deep down, he knows that you'll like his pick.

"I'm glad you like it," he replies and presses send.

Before he forgets to ask it, he composes a new text.

"Have you tried it on?"

"Yes."

"And it fits?"

"Want to see?" You ask back instead of confirming whether it fits or not.

But you're offering him a visual aid and he absolutely can't say no to this. Heck, he would love just to see your shadow.

"With pleasure," he replies and bites his lower lip so hard that it turns white

You send him a picture and he quickly opens it, it's the lower half of your body with the skirt on and it amazes him that it fits you so perfectly, he did make a good choice.

Then you send another picture and it comes unexpectedly, he opens it to see you wearing nothing but the skirt.

It's clear that you're taking the picture yourself since you took it through the reflection in the mirror but you know how to tease him, how to get him going, and to make him crave you.

It takes him a minute to admire the picture you send him and another minute to compose a reply.

"Now that you do that, you know what will happen, right?"

Instead of answering him, you send him a video and he couldn't be faster to open it.

The video only lasts for a few seconds, it's you lifting the hem of the skirt to show him the white underwear you're wearing under. The fabric is so flimsy he can see right through and see the thing he craves the most.

"Come and cause trouble!" You send a text after the video.

It's like he's back on that night when he was drunk and being enticed by your tight, little skirt but he would never regret clicking send on those messages.

He's on his senses now, trying to make a good choice, he licks his lips before typing a reply to you.

"Aren't you the troublemaker?"

"You will be the end of me!" He adds, then paces around his room to get dressed. He's aware of how much of a fool he is for you, just pictures of you in a skirt and you got him wrapped in your little finger. Did he mind though? Not at all.

He stops by the threshold to send another text for you, "I'm coming."

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