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ourautumn86 · 1 year

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what about reader and pedro have this close relationship but reader start distancing herself from pedro because he got date rumours with another actress who's older than the reader but pedro just wants to be in a relationship if it's with the reader (sorryyy english is not my first language

a/n; aw this is so cute :((( so angsty n fluffy <3

your phone rang once again as you were getting ready for the upcoming gala, your manager holding it for you and announcing the caller.

“it’s pedro pascal once again, what should i do?” she inquired you, and you shook your head. she instantly ignored the call, as she had done the last 15 times he had called that whole day. “you can’t keep doing this…, you two are great friends! did you have a discussion?”

you didn’t answer, opting for staying silent, because your heart was aching.

“how does that look? good enough?” your makeup artist smiled at you, and you took in your image on the mirror, bold red lips with dark eyeshadow and great fake eyelashes that made your eyes pop. the highlighter made your skin glow, and your perfectly applied base made it look flawless.

not good enough. it’s what you wanted to answer, ‘cause you weren’t as pretty as that woman in the news that pedro had been caught in a scandal with, you didn’t have her beautiful and perfect cheekbones, or amazing waist and hips.

but instead you smiled and nodded, winning a soft smile from your makeup artist. your hair was down and in beautiful waves that tickled the exposed skin of your back, your dress having an opening there that reached just above your lower back. your outfit for tonight’s gala was beautiful, a dior black and elegant dress that brought out all your most prominent curves and showed just the right amount of skin. you had paired it with lace long gloves and a pair of saint laurent heels that were really too painful to stand on for too long. but we all know what they said: beauty is pain.

“okay. let’s go.” your manager said, handing you your coat so the streets of new york wouldn’t freeze you to death at this hour.

“yeah.” you nodded, and tried to ignore the knot on your stomach, fully knowing you’d see pedro there. at the end, you two were the new starring stars on the most watched series of the season: last of us, along with bella ramsey of course. you knew a lot of people would come to the premiere, famous people, probably her as well.

your heels tickled on the floor as you made your way to your limousine, the leather underneath you warming you up. your phone buzzed. new message. pedro.

you sighed and put it aside, turning on do not disturb. twitter was going crazy, with this photos of this new woman under his arm making your stomach churn.

you shouldn’t feel like this. pedro was just a friend. you shouldn’t care about who he was dating, or if he even was dating at all. you should be happy for him. so why… why were you feeling like this? so bitter? so hurt?

the flashes hit your face and body, and as always, you smiled and waved once your manager had taken your jacket for you, even if the paparazzis were blinding you and making you go deaf with their screams. you didn’t want to smile, you didn’t want to pose, you didn’t want to be here. but you had to, so you’d decided that you’d do a quick greeting and chat for a little bit with other actors and stars and head back home early.

you just needed to try and not meet up with pedro for the next few hours. you could do that. there were so many people inside of there, posing in the red carpet, hugging each other and chatting up while drinking glasses of champagne that you thought it would be easy to hide from him.

you thought.

“there you are darling.” but as always you were wrong. “thought for a moment you were hiding for me there.” he smiled at the cameras, your skin growing on goosebumps when one of his warm and big hands found your exposed lower back, pulling you closer to his side. the paparazzi’s cameras were going crazy.

“pedro.” you sighed, trying really hard to not get lost in his touch, or in his eyes, or his cologne…

you were about to say something, probably come out with a lame excuse as why you had been ignoring him lately, but then you heard it.

“pedro! pedro! what can you tell us about that last scandal? are you perhaps now in a relationship?!”

your heart sank to your stomach, and your skin grew cold. you probably looked as white as a ghost.

“excuse me.” you smiled at him and the paparazzis, pulling away from his touch in need to run away from there. ‘cause you didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

your chest felt heavy, and your feet were fast.

would he smile and nod? say that he was now happily in love with somebody else?

you didn’t want to even imagine it.

“i need a fucking cigarette.” you muttered, taking from your purse your pack of cigarettes and heading to the bathrooms. you headed towards the most far away ones, those who were always free and silent.

the lighter flicked twice before the smoke was finally filling up your lungs. you let out a sigh. you knew it was shit. smoking. it was actually disgusting. but there was nothing that could help you more than another addiction to get over the one you already had: pedro pascal.

the cold of the bathroom tiles hit your back when you leaned against the wall, inhaling deeply, red smearing all over the bud of your cigarette.

you weren’t expecting company, but as always, you had to be surprised once again by him. only him.

the door opened with a creak, and your eyes shot open when they met his brown ones. fuck.

he looked at you, chest heaving harshly up and down as if he had been looking for you nonstop, running up and down every damn corridor just to find you.

“what have i done? what have i done to make you hate me this much?” he inquired, his voice just above a whisper. your heart broke. he looked broken too. you had done this?

“pedro…” you tried, but he was stepping inside the bathrooms and closing the door behind his back.

“no.” he shook his head. “tell me. tell me what have i done to make you not even be able to stand me being close to you.” his eyes fell as he saw your need to take a step back when he walked towards you. and maybe you would’ve, if you weren’t already cornered against the wall. “have i done anything to make you uncomfortable?” he inquired, and you felt your breath hitching, tears starting to sting your eyes. he thought it was his fault, that he was in the wrong. you were causing him pain just because your jealousy was too strong for you to handle.

“it’s nothing, pedro.” you tried and walk away, but his warm hands were once again on you, surrounding carefully your wrist to not let you go. you couldn’t help the way your heart jumped

“please sweetheart… talk to me…” he begged, and your tears shone under the lights when his other hand reached for your chin to make you look at him.

you took a deep breath in, trying your hardest to not give into his voice, nor touch… but it was too strong, your need for him, your love for him.

“do you love her?” you suddenly blurted out, and your stomach flipped. his eyes widened, his eyebrows furrowed. “that woman from the news… are you in love with her?” you muttered, your doe tearful eyes looking into his. your heart was screaming for him to not break him, your brain for him to confirm the rotten feeling that had been growing inside your chest. he cupped your face, about to talk but being cut off by your babbling once again. “she’s pretty. really pretty. and famous, and nice, and intelligent and has like a million of awards…” you smiled, even if your heart was falling apart and your eyes were about to spill tears.

“no baby, wait, you don’t understand…”

“i’m happy for you.” you muttered, taking his hands to pull them away from your face, even if the loss of his touch was making your soul break. lie and smile. “i’m sure you’ll be very happy, pedro.” you sighed, your heels clicking against the cold floor of that desolated bathroom as you headed towards the door, although his voice stopped you as you reached for the handle.

the door closed as you tried to open it, his palm firmly pressing against the door and the side of your head to keep it shut.

he inquired, and you bit down on your lip and tried to fight of your tears as he slowly turned you around to face him, caging you with his body against the wood of the door. he had never been this close. your chests were gracing, the mint of his breath hitting your face.

“is it really not obvious?” he inquired, and you frowned, your breath hitching when his free hand was back at softly holding your face. “it’s not her who i am in love with, i could never give my heart to another woman that doesn’t smile like you, or laugh as sweetly as you, or work as hard of you, or make my days seem as brighter as you do. i could never give my heart to another woman because i’ve already given it to you…” you eyes widened at his words, your chest heaving in deep breath.

he looked into your eyes, and then to your lips. he sighed. “am i reading this wrong, beautiful?” he inquired, scared, terrified of your shocked expression.

you quickly shook your head, your own hands cupping his face. “no pedro, not in the slightest.” you whispered against his lips before you pulled him against yours, butterflies filling your chest when you felt his left arm —the one that had stood keeping the door close— circled your waist and pulled you tighter against him.

the kiss was soft, slow, sweet… everything you’ve ever wanted. it was enough to make you melt.

but it was not enough, and you let him know with a whine when he pulled away.

“i know baby, i know.” he hushed you, leaving a soft peck on your now smudged lips. he had red lipstick all over his. “but there are a couple of paparazzis out there i have to clear up things with. perhaps the fact that it’s you who i’m in love with, in the first place.”

“maybe we could just show them.” you smiled, and he couldn’t help but smile as well, eyebrows raised.

“what’s going on inside that pretty head of yours, huh?” he pinched your waist and you laughed, making his heart jump.

you hummed. “i’ll have to kiss you a little bit more for you to get the idea.” you smiled, pressing a kiss to his neck, staining the perfect kiss mark.

he laughed, hiding the shiver that went up his spine.

“you’ll be the death of me.”

—

i imagine pedro coming back to the gala with his whole face decorated in kisses and being impossibly happy about it

a/n; i hope you liked it<3

#lily!writes ੭୧—☆#pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal actor #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fan fiction #pedro pascal x y/n

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asvterias · 17 days

Text

𝖫𝖺𝗓𝗒 𝖣𝖺𝗒 & 𝖫𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖲𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗌 ~ 𝖣𝗂𝗈𝗋 𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇

dior masterlist

warnings: none!!

pairings: dior goodjohn ✘ black!fem!reader

genres: reader is an excellent baker, dior calling reader mamas (OMFG- 😩) cocky!dior, reader is VERY squeamish around snakes, gym!dior (JUST BCS), just cute sweet fluff between reader & dior, dior’s fans LOVE the couple

summary: spending a lazy day with your actress girlfriend while sometimes being involved on an instagram live is your favorite way to bypass quality time. wanting to help soothe your girlfriend’s stress from the production of her first song, ‘Focus’, so you decided to bake dior’s favorite cookies.

word count: 4.5k+

tag list: @addil244 @onxlyficcharacter @wtafaidh @mymyapplesigh @444-polar @sinmalssimp @silent-phantom120 @glwmcres @f4riedimples @babyzzlove @lov3rgirllll

author’s note: kinda a self-indulgent fanfic ngl. also if dior says she doesn’t like fanfictions about her, then i will delete this. i don’t wanna overstep any boundaries and make her uncomfortable.

Being bored in your house alone wasn’t as entertaining when you actually had the energy to make it enjoyable. Your parents and older brother had gone out for the day and your little sister, Leah spent the afternoon with her friends Walker and Aryan. Unfortunately, Dior was unable to keep you company as well, tending to her schedule. Since your girlfriend was occupied at the studio with the producers, practicing for her new hit single ‘Focus’, she couldn’t just ditch and be with you. She had her own life, consumed by other priorities that didn’t involve you.

Now, you weren’t an actress like your sister and girlfriend, yet you had a decent lifestyle despite Dior trying to spoil you endlessly with gifts from famous name brands.

Dior Goodjohn, there were so many words to describe her. Beloved multi-talented actress, who’s been a doting affectionate girlfriend of 2 years and overall a great girl in your life.

The car ride to your girlfriend’s apartment was a simple 30-minute drive and the entrance into her apartment was even easier. For your 1st anniversary gift, Dior gave you a spare house key, trusting you enough with that, telling you to come over whenever. She didn’t mind your presence beside her as she always admires your surprise visits.

It was her with the suggestion of you two living together, but neither of your parents ever allowed it, considering you’re still minors. Although you two were disappointed in their final decision, the couple made the extra effort and hosted as many sleepovers as possible.

Deciding upon doing an Instagram live whilst you waited for your girlfriend to arrive back home. Supposedly, she was busy with her first new single on the way called ‘Focus’ and you understood everything. The late nights returning back home, her exhausted state, all of it, you witnessed and supported her all the way. Whenever Dior needed you, you were there at her beck and call, helping her relax when the impending stress became too overwhelming.

An hour ago, she had sent a text, reassuring you that she’ll be home soon. By the time she’d reached home, it’d been almost nightfall, the evening disappearing.

Once you’ve started the live, you greet the fans with a quick wave and smile, observing the number of fans joining your live. At first, you didn’t keep the conversation short with them, updating them on your whereabouts.

Walking into the kitchen, you took the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies and grabbed the materials needed. Tending to the chocolate chip cookie dough as you silently read over the simple recipe placed on the counter.

Just in time, there was loud shuffling heard outside the front door and you squealed in excitement. Your beloved girlfriend had finally reached back home. Dior has been consumed at the studio, all with the anxious release of her first new single ‘Focus’. Sometimes your girlfriend invites you over to the studio to preview her song with her and honestly share some helpful insight on it.

When she walked into the apartment, her tensed shoulders relaxed and her droopy eyes lit up at the sight of you. There you were in all your glory; her beautiful girlfriend to the rescue, providing her that gorgeous smile and unlimited cuddles of comfort. She’ll always cherish her moments with you, no matter how long time will grant. Closing the door and locking it behind her, she sends you a cheery smile, discarding her bag on the floor.

Very tiredly, she staggered over to the kitchen where you were.

“Hey mamas,” She greets you, eagerly accepting your inviting hug, giving you a soft short kiss on the lips.

“My wifey is back home!” You grinned, shoving her presence in the camera, hugging her tightly.

“How was your day?” She asked.

“So boring until you arrived.”

“Hey guys,” she waved with phone in hand and her other hand still wrapped around your waist, keeping you secure in her grasp. You felt the beads of sweat on her forehead, cheeks flushed and her breathing seemed erratic. Her outfit was quite appealing to the eye, wearing a black Nike gym outfit and the kitchen light glared onto her toned stomach, causing you to be flustered.

Probably just redressed in her backup gym clothes and finished a late-night gym workout to help ease her worries. She always did so whenever her nerves got the better of her.

Often, she’d be gym buddies with Charlie but not tonight, looks like she wanted to be alone.

“Go take a shower,” you whispered in her ear, scrunching up your nose when she boops your nose, “You’re all sweaty and shit.”

“I was planning to.”

You nodded assuredly and released yourself from Dior’s hug, watching your girlfriend leave the kitchen, heading to her bathroom to take a nice shower. Staring at her figure until she disappeared behind the door, your back facing the camera and you redirected your attention back to the live.

For the time being, you comfortably sat on the kitchen counter, gaining a sudden sweet tooth, and munched down on the chocolate chips while answering the viewer’s questions. After you got a toothache from the sweetness of the chocolate chips, you balanced it out with warm water. Suddenly you gained the random urge to bake cookies, rather than continue your process of it. For some reason, you started creating the cookie dough, but ultimately got distracted and impatient…and also bored of doing so. As a matter of fact, you remembered snacking on the chocolate chips and answering questions on your live not even 30 minutes ago. You shake your head at the recent memory, amused by your own tactics, and now determined to surprise your exhausted girlfriend with a hot batch of delicious cookies downed with a fresh glass of milk.

Everything about this was the perfect timing. To help soothe your girlfriend and impress her fans with your amazing baking skills. Mostly, it was to help your stressed girlfriend.

You leaned forward, one hand still holding the mixing spoon, and squinted your eyes as you read a live comment, “Where is Dior right now?”

“Ummm….she’s in the shower because she just recently reached home.”

That statement sparked brand new questions for fans to ask:

‘Do you like Dior’s body build?’

‘Are you two gym buddies?’

‘Bet you absolutely love seeing Dior work out! 😉’

‘Where’s your little sister Leah??”

“Of course I do, everything involving Dior I’m obsessed with! Absolutely not, I can’t work out to save my life, and no I’m not my sister’s bodyguard!” You chuckle, applying the dry ingredients into the mixing bowl.

‘What are you making?’

You showed the camera the mixing bowl filled with raw cookie dough, which lacked the chocolate chips yet.

“Chocolate chip cookies, they’re Dior’s favorite,” You said, “She’s such a sweet tooth.”

@: ‘Aww, Y/N’s soo sweet.’

@: ‘Wish I had a gf to bake my favorite treats!’

“Good thing, Dior always has a spare chocolate chip bag around here.” You bite your lip, “Just need to get my hands on them.”

Deeply invested in your baking, you didn’t recognize how quickly time passed by when Dior appeared behind you, instantly going for your warm touch. She inhales your scent, hugs you from behind, and peppers your face and neck with innocent kisses, enjoying the erupting giggles from you.

“Never mind you guys, Dior’s here.”

Your head sashays with every movement making your braids tickle her skin lightly.

Paying no attention to her presence, you stirred the pot listening to her low humming while rocking you side to side. These were the days that Dior loved, a chance to catch a breather and soak in relaxation days with you.

Her eyes analyzed the Instagram live on your phone.

“Where did you hide the spare chocolate chip bag?”

“Like, I’d tell you,” she scoffs, “Last time I told you where I hid the chocolate chips, I heard you in the middle of the night, snacking on them. We had an unprepared visit to the dentist the following morning and we both know you hate going to the dentist.”

“That was an inconvenience!”

“No, No! That was karma, I warned you multiple times to not eat so many sweets at one time. You’re just a stubborn girl.”

“Yeah, and so what I’m your stubborn girl,” You leaned closer towards her, noses hovering over the other as you stared into each other’s eyes. “Which makes me your problem!”

“Oh, you’re a problem, alright.”

“Yeah, your prettiest problem too!”

She huffed as you consistently pestered about the other hidden bag of chocolate chips, finally being convinced by your whining. You beamed in excitement, gripping the fresh bag as you sauntered back over to the mixing bowl.

Another buzz feed of comments was spiraling your girlfriend’s way.

@: ‘The cutest couple to ever exist!!’

@: ‘Couple goals fr!’

@: ‘How long have you and Y/N been dating?’

Dior informs them, “We’ve been dating for 2 years, our anniversary is coming up soon.”

“What you gonna get me?”

“It’s a surprise, my love.”

“I do love surprises,”

“I know you do.”

“Just don’t pop up with no snake.” You said, your sweet tone disappears.

“Someone popped up with a snake thinking it’ll be funny.” You referred to Dior with an unimpressed look.

“Update it was.”

“Show up with a snake again, and I swear someone is getting punched.”

“You wouldn’t punch me, my face is too pretty for that kinda damage.”

“Well, I’m obviously not punching the snake!”

“You wouldn’t punch me.”

“If you bring a snake I just might,” Obviously, you were kidding. You’d never do that to your sweet beloved girlfriend.

She frowns slightly, rethinking her upcoming words.

“Last time it wasn’t funny! Everyone knows I don’t fuck with reptiles, especially snakes.”

“That just means she likes you!” Dior insisted.

“I don’t care, that goddamn yellow snake can like me at a safe distance behind a glass cage at the petting zoo!” You shout, “Either that or nothing!”

“You guys see what I have to deal with on a daily,” Dior points to you, sarcasm laced in her tone, “Such a drama queen.”

Nodding along to your girlfriend’s statement as you applied the chocolate chips to the batch of raw cookie dough.

“Yet, she loves this drama queen,” you retorted.

Dior scans some more of the fans’ comments.

@: ‘DIOR PLEASE POST THE SINGLE OUT NOW 🙏🏾🙏🏾!!’

@: ‘OMG HOW IS FOCUS GOING??’

@: ‘CAN WE GET ANOTHER TEASER??’

“Sorry guys, I already said when Focus is getting released and unless you’re my girl, you don’t get a preview.” She confirms with the viewers, “Also it’s going really well.”

@: ‘Omg they’re so cute, it’s not even funny!’

@: ‘When will this happen to me??’

@: ‘How was the preview Y/N??’

“It was fucking awesome,” you answered the last commenter, “Like her voice is so beautiful, like I fell in love with her a million times over again, it’s completely outrageous.”

“We can’t wait for you guys to hear it!” Dior cheers.

“All of your ears will be certainly blessed after hearing her magnetic voice, I know I was.” You agreed.

“Aren’t you quite the flatterer.”

“I’m just being a supportive girlfriend who’s always honest with you.”

“Never said I didn’t like the compliments,”

“Baby, can you preheat the oven to 350 degrees for me?” You gently asked her.

Dior remained quiet, complying with your request, walking to the oven, and preheating it. She skipped back over to you, arms wrapped around your waist, continuing to hug you from behind, gazing at you. You started to ball the cookie dough, your tongue sticking out slightly in concentration as the silence in the atmosphere was turning palpable.

“Why are you so quiet?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, turning to the curly-haired girl, pausing your movements.

“Nothing…it’s just you’re so beautiful.” She murmured, taken away by your beauty. “Gimmie a kiss…” she puckered her lips, leaning into you.

Instead of giving in to her demands, you swipe a decent amount of remaining flour on your finger, smearing it across your girlfriend’s cheek.

“Did you just—?” her eyes widened in shock, glancing at the flour placed on her cheek.

“I did!” you giggled, applying another ounce of flour on her other cheek, “And I’m not even sorry,”

@: ‘You can’t tell me they aren’t in love, like just look at them!’

“You’re lucky you’re so cute and adorable,” she pouts, swiping an ounce of flour on your nose.

“Not the only reason you’re letting me off so easy,” you whine as she places her head into the crevice of your neck, still placing tiny kisses there.

Her voice was muffled. “We can always order in, you know that, princess.” you turned off the stove, leaving Dior’s fingers lingering on your stomach.

“I know,” you sigh, turning around to face your girlfriend and her hands immediately redirect on your waist. you tried to avoid eye contact, in hopes of getting your point across without being distracted but her hazel eyes remained on you. “I just wanted to do something special for you cause you deserve it and I wanted to help brighten your day.” Finally, you manage to gaze into Dior’s eyes only to find her already admiringly staring back.

You never took in her outfit, eyes slowly trailing down at her body. She wore a white Nike sports bra with gray shorts and her hair was still damp from the shower.

You didn’t realize you were checking her out until Dior pointed it out.

“Gorgeous, my eyes are up here.” She teases, chuckling slightly at your reaction towards her clothing.

“I don’t need a fresh pair of my favorite cookies to know that you love me. Just you being here brightens up my day and I want you to know that.” her fingers glide over your cocoa-brown skin, drinking in your skin tone with her delicate touch. “I appreciate every single thing that you have to offer, because, believe me, I’d be a damn fool if I ever let you go.”

You chuckle and caress her face, slightly stroking her cheek. “I love you so much, Dior.”

“I love you too, mi amor.” she leaned in for a kiss and you complied, making her hum and deepen the kiss. completely mesmerized by the passionate kiss, you didn’t react when you felt two arms lifting you by the thighs, throwing your body onto her shoulder like you weighed nothing. She patted your hips twice, turning to the phone and sending the viewers a wink before carrying you over to the couch.

“No!! Babe, Dior…put me down!!” you mercifully pleaded with your girlfriend but it was rendered useless when she finally dropped you out of her hands…and right onto the couch which was nearby. The Instagram live was able to see you two, only at a farther distance.

You end up lying upside down on the couch as your braids hang over the floor and your legs dangle in mid-air. Dior’s laughs fill the atmosphere and the butterflies flutter in your stomach, due to slight embarrassment and amusement.

“Alright jokes over, help me up now, Dior.” you held out your hand, eager for reliance.

“Oh no, that’s the oldest trick in the book. I’m not gonna fall for that one.”

You roll your eyes, pulling yourself up using your elbows as support, and hastily grab her shirt and pull her down with you. A shocked gasp left her lungs as she tumbled down beside you and once she’s recovered from her fall, she turned to look at you.

With your hand still gripping her shirt, and instead of another sudden ambush, you pulled her in for a soft kiss, gently pecking her lips and giving her the widest grin you could’ve displayed.

“Now we both know that you could do better than that.”

Your harsh grip on her sweatshirt loosened, and this time Dior leaned in and kissed you tenderly, highly content that you reciprocated the action back. The brunette pulled away, “Great, now can we order in? You know, you’re my girl and all, who I wholeheartedly adore, but I don’t want to be sick for the rest of the week.”

You feign shock, shoving her in the stomach as she dramatically acts being hurt, clutching onto her stomach, and falling on the floor. You were truly offended at your girlfriend’s words while she just laughed boisterously.

“I could so cook!” You argued.

“I love you gorgeous, but no you can’t.”

You throw the couch pillow, hurling the item towards her face. Much to your dismay, Dior’s reaction time was faster, stretching a hand out to block the flying pillow and catching it.

“Guess you’ll be on a kissing ban.” You cross your arms and twist your nose in the air.

“No, I won’t.”

She stood up menacingly, stalking closer towards you, making you look at her and unfurl your folded arms.

“Oh yes, you will,”

“You’re gonna seriously ban me from your kisses all because I said you’re a horrible cook.” Dior defends herself, “You’re an excellent baker now.”

“I’m petty as hell, don’t forget it.”

“I thought you meant pretty as hell,” Dior smirks.

“That too!”

“You bet your ass you are.” She pinches your thigh.

“Wow, thanks for the compliment, d,” You roll your eyes.

“No problem, princess.” she kissed your knuckles before trailing up your arms and halting at your collarbones, “You drown in my compliments, and I love to see it.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever,” you murmur, a fond smile tugging at the ends of your lip.

Her hot breath fanned over your ear. “Come on, babe.” she groans against your skin, pressing a chaste kiss behind your ear, missing the way you squirmed lightly from her ticklish lips. Her energetic eyes met yours once again as she spoke, “Let’s order takeout, Chipotle, your favorite, it’s all on me.”

“How can I say no to that?”

She shifted her weight from you, allowing some space since she was lying on top of you, making you escape much easier from her embrace.

Keeping you on her watchful gaze, you venture to the dining room table to retrieve the Chipotle menu.

“Or how can you see no to me?” She states when you returned back to the living room.

“Real smooth, Goodjohn.” your sentence rolls off your tongue with ease. You swore you witnessed Dior shudder at the sultry tone of your voice, mentioning her last name. The vulnerable sight of your cocky girlfriend made a smile widen across your face.

“Isn’t that how I’m dating you? You were swooned by my alluring charm?!” she questioned, staring at you, curious for the answer. “Or unless,” she gasps shockingly, causing you to resist the temptation of rolling your eyes, “You’re only with me for my body and popularity,”

“No no you were a sexy dumbass and I was your smart savior,” you reaffirmed her accusations. “You being an uprising celebrity is just one of the many advantages,”

“Whatever, you fell for me and my charms, regardless,”

You huff, crossing your arms as you avoid Dior’s gaze. “I like you because of you,”

“Damn right you did,” she pulled you in closer by the waist, “And I know you wouldn’t change me for anything.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” you scoff.

“Oh but I love it when I’m right,” Dior chuckles, bringing your lips onto yours, pouting slightly when you refuse the kiss. “Makes me feel like I’ve beaten you at something,”

Her mood brightens when you change your mind, settling for a quick peck on the lips.

Anything was better than nothing, Dior supposed, but then immediately disagreed. She grew irritated at the lack of your attention, at this point feeling it was better if you didn’t reward her with a kiss anyway. Snapping her eyes at you, sending a glare of irritation, observing the cocky grin on your face.

This sneaky little vixen, Dior thought as she maintained eye contact with you. Of course, you were fully aware of Dior’s total hatred towards light kisses, and to give her a peck was so wrong in many ways. Clearly, it meant you didn’t love her anymore and that peck was the first sign of you losing interest in her.

Dior shook her head, disposing of those thoughts, knowing she was being a dramatic queen right now.

“Keep this attitude up and you’ll be sleeping on the couch,” you snarled, hoping your demanding tone would encourage Dior to oblige. Oh, Dior loves your confidence, but not when it was used against her.

It was necessary to humble you, right then and there, or else you’ll never learn your lesson. After all, you were a very smart girl and not a stupid one, it wasn’t your tendency to make frequent mistakes like this.

Without saying a word, she squeezes your stomach, her hands slithering their way upwards against your chest and you release a tiny squeal of shock. Dior had her gaze locked down on you during the whole time. You refused to look your girlfriend in the eyes as you closed your eyes, internally cursing yourself for being so submissive to her actions. and rather, a very simple action at that too. God, you thought you had more pride than you let on.

Guessing it was Dior’s way of saying; don’t bite off more than you can chew.

“No, I won’t, and I know you won’t do that. You’ll miss me too much,” she admitted, grinning at the scowl appearing on your lips. your girlfriend shuffles slightly on you, keeping her warm hands underneath the hoodie you wore, “Baby, don’t scowl, it promotes ugly wrinkles.”

That comment earned Dior a flick to her forehead and you pushed her to the floor, giggling at her dejected groans of pain.

You looked at your phone, grabbed it, and flipped the camera, showing your girlfriend sprawled out on the floor. Her beautiful curls spread across the carpeted floor as she squints her eyes at you.

On Instagram live, comments and viewers flooded in alike, observing the sapphic couple.

“Look at this dumbass,” You stated, bringing the phone closer to her as you straddled her lap. Instinctively, her arms rest on your hips, lightly tracing imaginary patterns on the clothed flesh. Limbs tangled together, constant swooning with each other through quick stares, and the faint giggles erupting from both of you filled the quiet atmosphere.

“Not too close,” she warns, puckering her lips, “My lips are all yours.” Out of the camera, your girlfriend kisses your cheek and then

“Gimmie a kiss and a real one this time!” Dior demands, mumbling it to you.

You pressed her lips against yours softly, seemingly making the kiss sweet and innocent. Tugging one of Dior’s loose curls that dangled in her face, you pulled it behind her ear as your lips moved as one. You adored Dior’s hair, thick voluminous curls flowing down to her neck and you couldn’t resist playing it in when she was close.

She could kiss you a billion times, and that still wouldn’t suffice for you, Dior made sure you know that on numerous occasions, often being the one to overextend your kisses. You felt your girlfriend’s smile in the kiss as she deepened it, her grip on your waist tightening.

It was one of those slow and steady kisses that you cherished with her. There was no need to rush your makeout, a calm chaste kiss sealed the deal and got the point across. Dior was just drowning in your lips, never reluctant to refuse your kisses, moving on one accord.

She couldn’t go on with another minute without your loving kisses. Those kisses shared with you, your soft and sweet lips, were like nicotine to her, a special type of drug, stupidly yearning for your lips even more. You were Dior’s drug and she was your addiction. Insanely addicted to your lips making her act crazy, practically begging on her knees for an ounce of your attention, wondering if you saw her in the same light she perceived for you.

Sucking in a breath as the kiss intensified, one of Dior’s hands traveled to your lower back as the other remained on your hips, lightly squeezing the flesh there. You moaned in the kiss, spurring your girlfriend further on as she tugged at your lower lips, biting down gently, hardly enticing any discomfort from you.

Dior gave you time to adjust yourself again as she stared at you in contentment. Your hand teasingly runs down from the crevices of her breasts down to her toned abdomen and her breath hitched at this. However, she gains dominance as her hands grip the flesh of your thighs, squeezing down on them as you shuffle slightly.

Eventually leading up to the risk of getting insanely high, and resisting the temptation to become sober. Never take the risk of being sober if it means that she gets to be high off of you every day, obsessed by everything you achieved. Like hell was your girlfriend was gonna waste the chance of losing your touch once more, she’d be crazy enough to beat those allegations.

“I’m your….” Dior clarified, lips swollen from the intense making out. The camera frame caught onto her loose curls and barely the side of her face, “Sexy dumbass, you said so yourself,” She nods reassuringly, smiling slightly at your laughter.

“Think that’s it for today, we’ll see you later!” You concluded, and gave Dior your phone, displaying her presence on the live, “Say goodbye Dior!”

“Bye, you guys! Love ya!” Dior blows an air kiss at the phone screen. She ended the Instagram live and placed the phone on the coffee table as you both sat upright.

“Damn, baby,” she chuckles, wiping away the flour from her cheek. Her gaze never left you, peering at the flour mess on your face too. Your girlfriend smirks at you, “Looks like we’re gonna both take a shower sooner than expected.”

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated!

#dior goodjohn #dior goodjohn x reader #dior goodjohn x fem!reader #dior goodjohn x black!reader #dior goodjohn x black!fem!reader #dior goodjohn imagine

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kill4luvina · 5 months

Text

"Only you daddy"

Jewelrystoreowner!Sukuna x bratty!spoiled!reader

"I'll go to hell and jail 'bout you, boy"

Summary : Your a regular costumer at Sukuna's Jewelry store and always come in with a new nigga making them buy you something. He usually doesn't pay you any mind especially when you flirt assuming you just want play him, but he might just be wrong. Until you curse one of them out over a few exchange of words. Sukuna can't help himself but take you to the back a thank you with some dick.

Warnings : NOT PROOF READ AT ALLLL, SMUT, Cursing, Reader calls Sukuna Daddy, Sukuna calls Reader mamas, Reader's a Player, Toxic towards the guy, Reader Threating their date, Guns, Squirting, uhm grammer errors probably.

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Sukuna stood at the register watching as you walked in noticing your face lighten up at the sight of him standing there. "Sukuna!!" You'd smile waving as the guy walking behind you seemed completely forgotten about. "How are you doin today mamas?" Sukuna would ask you as you smiled. He looked so fucking good, wearing a black fitted shirt with grey nike sweatpants and black cats. His pretty silver vampire grillz showing as he smiles at you when you tell him to bring his ear so you could whisper into it. His signature scent of Scandale Jean Paul Gaultier mixed with Versace Eros Flame intoxicating you as you. "This nigga own a 6 figure business and already bought me mad shit from LV and Dior yesterday. He bouta get me a chain today tooo!" You'd whisper giggling to him as he chuckled knowing you were about to buy the chain you tried on the other day when you came with your home girls.

"This yo nigga o' something?" The man you had came into the store said walking over to you as you turned back to him shaking your said no. "Nigga? Why the fuck would you even say that? Like shut the actual fuck up, if you insecure just fuckin say that Kaleb." You'd say rolling your eyes turning back to Sukuna. "Get me the chain I said I wanted last time bubba" You smile at him as he smiled back walking away to get his keys before walking into the back to bring out the chain. "Yo, Y/n fuck is good with you? why you talkin to that nigga like you want him, you with me rn.." Kaleb would say looking down at you as you quickly looked at the door Sukuna disappeared into and back at him. "Stop being a fucking bitch. He a good friend, I'm always buying shit in the store don't fuck this up for me please." You'd say blankly before quickly looking back to see Sukuna coming back out with the chain already boxed.

"Aight mamas, is that all for today?" Sukuna would ask starting to type things into this register as he waited for an answer. "Yes! That'll be all thank you." You'd smile as you looked to Kaleb waiting for him as he pulled out his credit card walking over as he started to put his card into machine looking over making dead eye contact with Sukuna. "I know she said not to fuck shit up with you, but you dead piss me off talk to her again and I'ma kill yo ass.." Kaleb would say pulling his designer jacket to show a gun tucked in the side of his hip. Looking over to you back to kaleb sukuna would just shrug making kaleb mad. Almost about to lash out, Sukuna would point over to you. "Exuse you?" You'd ask Kaleb, tilting your head to the side before opening your bag pulling out your own gun holding it to his chest.

"Nigga, next time i fucking catch yo stupid ass trying some stupid shit I JUST TOLD YOU not to to do I will fuck you AND your mother up and don't think im fucking playing because I WILL have niggas on yo bitch ass before you could even THINK about anything else." You spit at him catching him completely off guard. Kaleb would look over to Sukuna who just pulled up his shirt showing 2 straps tucked in his waistband. "Now get yo bitch ass the fuck outta here nigga.." you'd add pushing him back with the gun watching him quickly run out the store. "Aw, you ain't had to do allat for me mamas." Sukuna would say coming around as you tucked your gun back in your pink small Aphrodite Shoulder Bag. Smiling you'd give him a hug knowing he was the only nigga in the world you would do something like that for especially because he was one of the richest.

"Gimme a kiss as a thank you.." You'd say looking up at him as he planted a kiss on the side of your lips pulling away. Almost like instenct you pulled his head back down bringing him for a real kiss. Finally giving up Sukuna melted into the kiss which soon turned into a make-out session in the middle of the store. For a good second it felt like it was just the two of you and the whole world was just an idea that was crossed out on a piece of paper. Sukuna pulled away first looking up remembering where he was as you kept trying to kiss him again the separation killing you.

You don't remember exactly how you got to where you were now but you found yourself on your knees in the back of his store sucking on his big ass dick while fingering yourself. Eye watery from how big he was as you worked magic with only one hand. Pulling away to spit on it making bubbles as you sloppily went back down on it. Moaning Sukuna held your hair in a pony tail with his hands lightly moving his hips to rhythm you were going at. "Thank you so much mama" He'd moan trying not to cum right there at the sight on you looking up at him with those teary wet eyes. Quickly pulling out of your mouth with a slick 'pop', he picked you up with your knees over both arms before slowly sliding you onto his dick.

Almost crying from how big he was you held onto him as he gave you a moment to adjust before straight recking your poor pretty cunt. Making your a moaning mess, droll rolling down your chin from giving him head no long ago and the pounding you were getting right now. "Just like that!!" You'd scream moaning even louder when he hit your g-spot giving you quick deep strokes as he bounced you on his dick. "Such a good girl aren't you?" he'd ask giving you a kiss on the cheek, you were completely fuck out not even understanding the words coming out this mouth. You woulda never thought sex with this nigga would be THIS good like what? Reaching your high you'd quickly hold onto him as your eye rolled back so far. You started shaking your body almost spasming out as you came, additionally squirting all over his lower stomach(i forgot the word).

"Damn, Ian know you could do that." Sukuna would chuckle as he pulled out putting you down as you quickly got right back to work sucking him off until he was a whimpering mess and busting his nut right down you throat. Just know you was wobbling out that store after a few more crazy orgasms like that.

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r4ikkonen · 1 year

Note

please can you do a fernando alonso imagine where she’s 22 years old and in college and he’s her sugardaddy, because he doesn’t have time for an actual relationship ? and he had a rule of no falling in love but then he realizes he’s in love with her when he’s bringing her shopping and he confesses it to her later that day after they have sex and she loves him back too

No strings attached | Fernando Alonso x Reader

———————————————————————

Ever since you got into your dream college Yale life has been a little bit challenging.You had to work a part time job at starbucks to be able to pay the rent and your scholarship.Yale is overall very expensive and your grades are not that bad either.All your problems disappeared over the summer break.Your friend Zara and you went to the Silverstone Grand Prix.Zara was sweet enough to get both of you the paddock passes and you enjoyed your time there very much.Zara was a big fan of motorsport and you would always come with her to watch Formula 1 or NASCAR.Even though you would struggle with understanding the terms you always found a way to enjoy every race.Zara introduced you to a lot of drivers and there was one that caught your eye.His name was Fernando and he drove for Aston Martin.

Zara often teased you about him and that drove you crazy.After the Silverstone race you and Nando got into contact and you would often talk to each other.He came up with an idea to meet at the restaurant.You gladly accepted and spent 3 hours getting ready just to see him.Your hair was shiny and your satin black dress was hugging your body.When you arrived you saw a man drinking wine graciously while waiting for you.You took a seat and his eyes went straight to look at yours.

“Oh hi y/n didn’t see you there” Fernando said giving me a slight smirk.The way he talked was very flirtatious and I tried not to fall in any off his gestures.He asked me about my college and about my life.I felt like he really cared about it and he would listen to me like I was a song.

After we finished off our desserts it was time to go home.He gave me a ride home in his new Aston Martin car that cost more than my life probably.When we arrived he stopped the car and looked at me right into my eyes.

“Remember Cariño, no strings attached” He told me while grabbing my thigh placing a warm kiss on my cheek.His dark brown eyes met mine and I felt goosebumps rising up on my arms.I waved back to him and entered my apartment.We were now using each other for each others needs, like money and attention..

Few weeks went by and I was living my life to the fullest.I truly had everything, from Dior to Chanel to all of those designers.I was now a sugar baby and Fernando made sure he spoiled me go bits.We were talking nonstop and he called me any second he gets.I really felt like he was my boyfriend.He always listened to me and he always helped me.We would often see each other when we could.He was busy with racing and scoring points for me while I studied my ass off to become a Doctor.Whenever I’d miss him I would always remember his words.”No strings attached”.They are still haunting me and I tried shaking off the feeling that I have a slight crush on him.

I went shopping to get some new clothes because I’ll be flying to Oxford to see him.I was very excited and I picked some gorgeous outfits that he of course paid for.

He greeted me with a big smile on his face pulling me into a big hug.As I wrapped my arms around his neck I could feel his after shave.I gave him a quick kiss on the lips and he blushed like crazy.We had time of our lives he showed me Oxford and we tried some great food there too.Living with him for these 4 days were amazing.

It was the last day and I already felt cranky.I didn’t want to leave him, I didn’t want to go back to my sad apartment.I wanted to stay with him forever.When I got out of the bed I saw him preparing pancakes.The smell was so strong and I couldn’t help but giggle while looking at his bare back.His muscles were so defined.His Samurai tattoo was exposed.I bit my lips and sat on the counter trying to catch his attention.

“Good morning Mi Amor” He said placing a warm kiss on my cheek while holding the pan carefully.

“Good morning love” I replied starring at him and admiring every move of his.

He slid a plate across the counter.

“Eat.” He demanded waiting for me to taste one of his pancakes.

“Mmm this is delicious, maybe I should kidnap you and make you make me pancakes mhm?” I teased trying not to sound too clingy.

“I wouldn’t mind that at all” He winked flirtatiously at my joke.

We spent the whole day to ourselves chilling on his big sofa.I was sitting on top of him resting and scrolling through tiktok.He grabbed my phone and threw it onto the coffee table. “Hey!” I yelled hopping that he didn’t break my phone.He didn’t say anything he lifted me up and undressed me exposing my bare breasts.I whined to his actions and he kept placing wet kisses on my neck while whispering something in Spanish.I wrapped my legs around his waist and he pulled out his member.I moaned at his actions as he pressed his warm fingers inside of me. “Fuck Nando please..” I groaned begging him to fuck me some more. “Be patient cariño” He whispered in my ear making me want him even more.We spent that whole morning making love..

After he made sure I was comfortable.We were still laying on his sofa naked.. I used his torso as a Pillow and his fingers were playing with my hair.We were just laying there in silence

“Cariño” He said with a frightened look on his face.Holding me by my waist.

“Yes?l” I turned off my phone locking an eye contact with him.

“Cariño there’s something you need to know” His words weren’t so clear and I was scared for the worst.I’ve thought to myself, what if he breaks up with me?What if he finds me too needy?I couldn’t shake away my fear.

“Uh look, I’ve been thinking about this for some time know and honestly, I think im in love with you, I know I know no strings attached but.. I feel very happy with you and I want to take you with me everywhere I go.”

My eyes went wide to his beautiful confession and I couldn’t help but to give him a big kiss.I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled away from the kiss “I love you”.

I’ve never seen such a smile on his face before he stared at me deeply and I could sense how happy he felt.He grabbed me closer and said

“Cmon let’s go get ready there’s one more place I need to take you too”

#formula 1 #f1 imagine #f1 smut #formula one #f1 #ferrari #red bull f1 #aston martin #aston martin f1 #aston martin formula one #formel 1 #fernando alonso #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso x you #f1 fanfic

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bejeweledblondie · 7 months

Text

Fairytale Wedding

Captain John Price x F! Royalty Reader

Summary: a continuation of “A Knight in Shining Amor” After Y/N had recovered from her injuries she started to court Captain John Price. Even attending Trooping the Color with him. Soon a Royal proposal happened & the big wedding day is upon us

Warnings: Mention of a wedding night

Y/N had been waiting for this day ever since she was the flower girl at her Aunt Mary’s wedding. Years of preparation went into this ceremony, all the way from the tiara she was to select from her grandmother’s collection to the flowers in her bouquet. She had waited years to find a man suitable for her, then came along John. He had saved her life & she grew fond of him. Over the past year they had been courting each other & attending formal events. However behind the privacy of the palace walls it was a whole different story. She was able to see that tender side of him & he was able to see her without all the Royal protocol. He was used to seeing her in a gorgeous ballgown, or all done up but he found her most beautiful in blue jeans.

So here she stood in front of the golden gilded mirror in her bedroom. Her wedding dress had been designed custom by Christian Dior & was adorned with beautiful floral appliqués representing each of the Commonwealth countries. It had a high neck resembling Grace Kelly’s iconic wedding dress & her veil was a cathedral length. The blusher draped over her face & went down to her elbows. She looked the epitome of what a royal bride was to be. John’s niece, Evelyn was in seventh heaven & couldn’t believe that his new aunt was a duchess. When she saw her new aunt in her wedding dress her eyes lit up.

“Auntie Y/N,” Her little voice squeaked out. She turned around to see the little girl looking up at her. “You are the prettiest princess I’ve ever seen.” She bent down & hugged the little girl.

“Thank you Eve,” Y/N replied. “And I’m sure you’ll make a wonderful bridesmaid.”

Price’s sister, Katherine & her sister now the Princess of Wales Caroline came in. Both were wearing the custom pale blue gowns that had been designed for them. Katherine picked up Eve & Caroline helped Y/N with the train.

“Ready to go?” Caroline asked. Caroline had already experienced her own wedding day & knew the jitters that Y/N was experiencing. Then started to walk out of the room & into the hallway. The private photographer they had hired was already snapping candid photos. Y/N started down the staircase & saw all of the palace staff watching her. She gave a soft smile in their direction they had seen her grow up & were a vital part of her upbringing. They were of equal importance to her that she shared this day with them.

She finally reached the bottom & walked to where the carriage was parked. Katherine put Evelyn in first & then helped Y/N with her gown. Caroline was near the steps into the carriage to lend a hand to make sure she didn’t fall. Once inside & seated next to Evelyn both ladies joined them. The foot man climbed up & grabbed onto the reigns.

“You ready your highness?” He asked.

“Yes I am! Let’s go!” She replied. Evelyn was practically bouncing in her seat it was the first time she was in a carriage & was absolutely elated. The childlike wonder of her future niece made Y/N wonder what her future children will be like. Soon they were off towards the large brass & golden gates of Buckingham Palace. Screaming crowds of people from all over the world lined the streets. Y/N waved to the people & Evelyn being the social butterfly she was yelled “hello” & waved. Katherine couldn’t help but laugh at her child soaking in the royal treatment.

The sun was out & shown down on the carriage. Y/N’s tiara she had on loan from her grandmother reflected off of the sunlight creating a bright effect. It just added to the beauty of the day. Finally they pulled up to the Westminster Abbey, & her dress was able to be put on full display. Katherine, Evelyn, & Caroline all stepped out before letting Y/N out. Caroline held out an arm while Katherine held onto Y/N’s bouquet & Evelyn.

Once Y/N was out of the carriage the already cheering crowds erupted into louder cheers. Katherine handed her the bouquet & held onto Evelyn’s hand as they started to walk into the cathedral. The priest was waiting for her at the front doors. He grabbed one her hands & gave her some words of endearment to help calm her nerves. Very similar to the ones he gave to John earlier.

At the alter John stood there staring at the thousands people. His team was in the second row all smiles. Ghosh was Simon today, he had ditched his skull mask for a clean shave. Soap showed up in a kilt to represent Scotland. Gaz was there for a good time & to represent his Captain. John hadn’t been this nervous since his first mission. He hadn’t felt this way about anyone ever, she was his whole world. He knew that the moment he visited her in the hospital. The organ started up & the choir started to sing a religious hymn. The crowd stood up & watched as the religious dignitaries walked first lead by the priest.

Then his beloved niece & older sister. He smiled at her as she waved excitedly while throwing petals. It made him wonder what the future children Y/N & him would have. Soon he saw his beloved, looking absolutely ravishing. She radiated pure love & the sunlight from the Abbey’s skylight make her sparkle. Tears started to well in John’s eyes when he saw her. Finally she had reached the alter, & after handing her bouquet to Caroline he took her left hand.

“You look beautiful.” He whispered to her.

“You look handsome.” She whispered back. He really did know how to pull off a British Army Officer’s dress uniform. The ceremony was long but the both of them soaked up every minute. Once the ceremony was complete, they had started to make their way together down the aisle. He had looked over to his team & Soap gave him two thumbs up. John shook his head & chucked.

After carriage ride through the streets of cheering of crowds who wanted to get a glimpse of the newly weds they had finally reached the palace. While the guests were starting to arrive for the reception Y/N & John along with their families were in the sitting room that the main balcony is connected to. John couldn’t stop staring at his bride, she was the most of beautiful thing he had ever laid his eyes on. It was clear her inner beauty reflected outwards. She had bumped into him & he had grabbed onto her waist insuring she didn’t fall.

“Jonathan Price, that better be your sword poking me.” She giggled.

“Its definitely a sword my dear but one you’ll see later on.” He whispered back into her ear causing her to blush. It was soon time for them to grace the balcony that was looking out onto the crowds celebrating the wedding. It was customary the couples saved their kiss for the balcony with the entire royal family.

With Y/N & John in the front both families surrounded them. The crowds were screaming “kiss her” over & over again. John placed his hands at her waist & took her in for a deep kiss. The roar from the crowd was amplified once they saw them lock lips. Once they broke apart they rest their foreheads against each others.

“I love you.” She said & looked into his eyes.

“I love you more.” He said & pulled her in for another kiss.

#call of duty #ghost call of duty #john price x reader #captain john price #captain johnathan price #cod imagines #john price #cod mwii #cod mwf2 #captain price x y/n #captain price #captain price x female reader #captain john price imagine #simon riley x reader #john pr

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katnissdoesnotfollowback · 1 month

Note

Katniss feeling insecure one random afternoon after seeing Peeta interact with some pretty girlies and asking him later that night all quiet if he thinks she’s pretty 🥺

I meant for this to be funny and then it turned out... not funny. Oh well. Enjoy some post-Mockingjay not fluff but not really angst??? No warning tags on this one.

“Having an eye for beauty isn’t the same thing as a weakness,” Peeta points out. “Except possibly when it comes to you.” - Catching Fire, Chapter 15 “You’re not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?” - Mockingjay, Chapter 16

It takes me longer than usual to finish trading with the new butcher. She’s originally from Ten and came here after marrying a soldier from Thirteen. She refused to live underground any longer and he tried living in Ten, but felt too exposed and jumpy in the flat plains of that district. Twelve was their compromise. But I haven’t had the chance to build the kind of rapport with her that I had with Rooba.

Rooba. I make a mental note to ask Peeta to draw her for the memory book tonight. We’ll both have memories of her that need to be recorded.

When I finish with the butcher, mostly satisfied with the cuts of deer meat and the coin I walk away with, I make my way over to the bakery. Usually I’d help Peeta close for the day. I got lucky catching the deer so close to the fence, but it still took time for me to bring back enough help to drag it to the butcher.

Surprisingly, there are still a handful of customers in the bakery. Unusual, this late in the day. I hasten my steps, thinking Peeta might want some help getting rid of the chatty customers, and seeing me after a hunt usually does the trick.

As I reach the window, though, I slow my pace. It’s not just any customers. It’s the Lassiter girls. They moved here after the war with their father, who used to be the head foreman at a perfume factory in District One. Apparently someone thought his skills would translate well to running a medicine factory, because that’s what his job here is. And his five daughters -- Neroli, Dior, Ambrette, Clary, and Opal -- aged twenty-four to sixteen, spaced two years apart down the line, are each just as beautiful as the last. Gossip holds that they each have a different mother, and while there’s been no confirmation from their father on that point, they’re each so strikingly different in looks and coloring that it wouldn’t surprise me.

They’re currently clustered near the counter, a bouquet of undoubtedly sweet smelling flowers. Their dresses a rainbow of eye-catching hues in expensive looking fabrics. All I can do is snort as I think of how dull and dingy their clothes would’ve been if they’d lived here when there was still a coal mine. But their hair, although different shades, all gleams in glossy waves and curls and curtains of shimmering silk in the bright lights of the bakery.

I hear Peeta’s laughter then, followed shortly by the twittering chorus of the Lassiter girls’ giggling. Ugh. They cannot be serious. Not my Peeta.

None of them are married yet, and there’ve already been several District Twelve men turned away from their front door step with dazed looks in their eyes, like they couldn’t believe they’d actually dared to propose to one of the Lassiter girls. And while this group ambush of my Peeta gives me an idea of what sort of partner they might be looking for, it’s unacceptable.

I push through the bakery door and attempt a smile. Neroli sees me first. The oldest, and by far the smartest of this bunch, our eyes meet and her lips curl in a smile. She’s dressed in a dark, forest green dress. Her dark, almost black hair swept to one side, into a long, sleek ponytail. There’s no denying that she’s stunning. Long, sooty black lashes frame her pale eyes that I’ve never been able to decide if they’re blue or gray. Some part of me knows that if I were somehow more beautiful, I might look like her.

Neroli glances at Peeta, then back at me. She inclines her head slightly towards me, and I’m not certain what she means until she speaks.

“Father will be wondering what’s keeping us,” she announces to her sisters. “Come on. Get your purchases and let’s leave these two turtle doves alone.”

She still pauses to say something to Peeta before she and her sisters clear out, but the glance she throws my way before shutting the door behind her makes me think that maybe Neroli and I might’ve been friends under different circumstances. When I finally manage to look at Peeta, he’s head down in the cases, cleaning them out.

“Lock the door for me? How was your day in the woods?”

“Not bad,” I tell him as I throw the bolt. “I got a deer.”

“That’s great!”

“Put this in the cold storage while I sweep?” I hand him the package from the butchers and he hands me a broom across the counter. It’s one of my usual chores and it isn’t long after that we’re headed home. But all through dinner, I can’t get the image of the flock of Lassiter girls twittering around him out of my head.

I distract myself after we clean up the kitchen with the memory book, telling Peeta about the deer today and how things went with the new butcher. We share a few memories of Rooba while he sketches her and I write them down in draft. We manage to finish her page and seal it into the book before it’s very late.

And while Peeta showers with me, and stands next to me while we brush our teeth and get ready for bed, he somehow feels distant. As I lay down and watch him as he carefully removes his prosthetic, I can’t help but think again about the Lassiter girls.

“Goodnight, my love,” he murmurs as he turns to me, slipping his legs under the covers and cupping my cheek in his palm before kissing my lips once, softly.

“Goodnight,” I respond and blink when he turns out the light and lays down.

But I can’t get comfortable. And behind my closed eyes, I see a still ravaged Peeta, the hijacking reversal barely even begun. His knuckles pale as he gripped the bedsheets beneath him and restraints holding him down, safely away from me.

“You’re not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty.”

I huff out a heavy breath and jam the heels of my palms into my closed eyes, trying to push the image out of my brain. He’s laying right here beside me. He kissed me and called me his love just minutes ago. What Peeta and I have puts the stars in the sky and the poets’ words on the page to shame with its depth and significance. That’s far better than some superficial beauty.

And yet the words still slip past my lips.

“Peeta,” I whisper, and he hums in response so that I’m not sure if he’s fully awake or not. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

There’s a few seconds of silence and then I hear the sound of the sheets rustling as Peeta turns over to face me.

“Are you serious?”

“It’s just a question,” I say and smack my hands down onto the bed, right at my sides. They’re still clenched into fists and I try to hold back the sudden, ridiculous tears welling up in my eyes. Because his hesitancy to answer tells me what I need to know. How stupid of me to ask.

“Katniss, honey,” he breathes and moves through the dark, pulling me into his arms. “You will always be as radiant as the sun to me,” he tells me and I snort, wishing I’d never told him that phrase or how I’d once used it. “No, I’m serious. Katniss, you take my breath away.”

“But I’m still not particularly pretty. At least not as pretty as Neroli Lassiter, am I?” I poke and I can feel his frame stiffening besides me.

“No. Oh no, no, you can’t believe what I said that day, Katniss.”

“But you were right. I’m not very big.”

“And we both looked like shit that day because we’d been through too much shit. That doesn’t mean I meant it, Katniss. You have to know I was… I was trying to hurt you that day. Hurt you the way I thought you’d hurt me. Because I thought you’d used me, chosen Gale and the rebels, and left me to die or worse in that arena.”

“I know,” I say and finally manage to turn over into his embrace, burying my face in his chest as he caresses my back and whispers a hundred apologies for his careless words. I inhale his scent and let his hands soothe me.

So when he slips his fingers beneath my chin, I let him lift my face to his. I close my eyes and savor the brush of his lips against mine.

“You once told me that I had a weakness for beautiful things,” he whispers. “Real or not real?”

“Real,” I answer without pause. I can smell the horses and feel the warmth of Cinna’s glowing ember costume. I can see Peeta in front of me, radiant and beautiful, and smiling in amusement at my assessment of him. “But you don’t have a weakness for beauty. Only an eye for it,” I remind him.

“So yes, Neroli Lassiter is a beautiful woman--”

“And her sisters?” I prod and I can feel Peeta smiling against my lips as he kisses me once.

“And her sisters are, too. But you’re the only beautiful person I have a weakness for. No one else has left a lasting impression the way you have.”

I can’t help but smile stupidly at the repetition of his words from the cave. The reminder that somewhere amongst the acting for the cameras, we always had at least a sliver, a taste, a fraction of or at least the roots of something real.

“I’m still a goner for you, Katniss Everdeen, real or not real?” he whispers, and I already know the answer. I know what he wants me to say, because it’s true.

“Real.”

#words are peetas thing not mine #everlark fanfiction #everlark #post mockingjay #i don't even know what this is #but here you go anon #enjoy #anonymous #look at that ask

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saintmeghanmarkle · 5 months

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A Year in Review: All the times Meghan Markle been publicly called out in 2023. Highlights and favorite #MarkleMoment from last year? 📌Part 2 of 2

These are her humiliating moments over past year that she’s been publicly called out for in some way. All with proof, all archived from media reports around the world. Get cozy, save this post, and as always, appreciate the upvotes so it doesn't get targeted for downvotes! Posting it now as many of us will be celebrating Christmas with our loved ones. Although we are a diverse bunch, this unites us all :)

Here’s some from 2022 to inspire you:

Harry and Megan of “overseas”

the Funeral candle

no Jubilee balcony

voetsek Megan

I love the part where…(YouTube comments on their Netflix trailer)

Marriott Meg

12% Rotten Tomatoes rating for Netflix flopumentary, with her cutesy (mocking) curtesy

What was your favourite from 2023?

Meg inexplicably marching with the Invictus vets, at the front, while Harry is literally on the sidelines. https://archive.ph/wip/VG5SP

Meg wears a JCrew sweater to the Games. Her fans claim the Meghan effect crashed the site. JCrew comes out faster than Dior to clarify it was a confirmed outage for a website update.https://archive.ph/wufbS

Archetypes trademark abandoned. So much for the other platforms manifested clamouring for it. https://archive.ph/wip/yhziu

Embarrassing video at the fundraiser with Kevin Costner where she assumes she’s going to be given the mic by virtue of her being there, reached for it, and is very intentionally avoided and not given it. https://archive.ph/yeZDN

Despite the NDA attempts, information on how the NY Bench faux Royal visit does not let anyone speak negatively about her visit. Ever. She also demanded a new carpet. https://archive.ph/qAhnb

Snubbed by the Beckhams on their far more popular Netflix documentary. “Humiliated” by the snub from the Clooneys at their New York Foundation for Justice event.https://archive.ph/wip/GsB7j

Snubbed by Kim K birthday party, despite earlier pics with Doria and days before floating PR that Meg may do a cameo on KUWTK. Compounded by Kylie’s ‘boyfriend’ Chalomet talking about the Worldwide Privacy Tour earlier in the week. https://archive.ph/wip/BGvVP

Mocked on Family Guy for Netflix contract getting paid for nothing/ spon con Insta for Del Taco. Del Taco joins in and tweets about it. https://archive.ph/wip/Sm56V

Meg manifests a deal with Audible. Audible spokesperson shuts that down. https://archive.ph/KTLnP

William lands in Singapore for Earthshot to lit up architecture, Union Jack waving crowds, and an official tree planting at the airport. Meg and H attempt to compete by releasing a ‘candid’ pic of them at Katy Perry’s Las Vegas show (implying the standing people, phones were for them and not Celine Dion who walked in behind them). Cameron Diaz was also there, but didn’t get pics sold the same way. None of the other celebs present interact with them on camera. https://archive.ph/gnpjA

Dior signs Meg. No, not that Meg, but Meg the actress who plays Kate Middleton on the Crown. https://archive.ph/wip/lH6dY

Harry and Meg highly publicize their birthday call to Charles. The Palace discretely responds with detailed full itinerary of Charles’s busy day and evening, plus the press runs the fact that Charles doesn’t have a cell phone. Sussexes double down and pivot to it somehow being a prerecorded message sent (to where?) with Archie and Lili singing happy birthday. The world laughs or ignores them. https://archive.ph/i0uz8

Move along Meg on TikTok, after the video of her refusing to leave her basking on the press carpet at the Variety awards. Bonus is the real celebs inside clearly refused any pictures with her. The next day it’s confirmed she wasn’t even on the Guest List, which explains the Table 12 seating in no star names social Siberia. https://archive.ph/uC4Y8

Harry and Meg graciously are open to an invite for Christmas. Palace guest list leaks a day later, NFI. https://archive.ph/wip/0dEoi

Endgame is published. Omid claims to not be a friend of Meghan. Two Royal racist names are leaked to the Dutch publication based on Meg’s letter to Charles post Megxit. Omid blames the translator. No one publicly appears to believe them. There is not one single positive review of Endgame in major world newspapers. Omid later in the week acknowledges the names were in the Dutch manuscript. https://archive.ph/wip/Lr8XR

Hollywood Reporter lists Harry and Meghan as one of the biggest losers of 2023. https://archive.ph/E4hUt

Kitson’s Holiday Hypocrisy celeb window display in LA features Harry and Meg. Tik Tok notices. https://archive.ph/7yA3F

Ranker poll has both Meghan (#2) and Harry (#6) in the Top 10 list for Most Disliked Celebrities of 2023. Oprah, Hilary Baldwin,Ellen, Amber Heard (#1), and Bill Cosby also make the list. Update: They've recently become #1 and #4. https://archive.ph/OpKH5

Archewell 2022-2023 Impact Report highlighting ‘Restoring Trust in Information’, including ethical journalism, drops the same day Harry is fined $60K in court for providing misleading information - where he’s suing a newspaper. Court documents call it “ironic” given the “Duke of Sussex is responsible for misleading the court.” https://archive.ph/wip/1YtSe

Archewell’s 2022 financials reveal they only raised $2 mil (two anonymous $1 mil donations) vs $13 mill (also two anonymous donations) in 2021. Press brand it a “failure.” Notice they literally had only 4 donations in two years. https://archive.ph/wip/LqnuL

Not invited to any parties for Art Basel in Miami. Back in 2014, Markus organized a Soho party, invited Meg, and sat her next to Misha Nonoo. Context shows Meg has even less clout now than her pre Royal days.https://archive.ph/wip/aKYPL

Christmas card released. Largely ignored by world media. The response from other media: where are the kids? Called out for its embarrassing corporate look. https://archive.ph/fldEw

WME is "horrified" by Meghan Markle's sinking brand and association with Endgame, and may drop her in 2024. https://archive.ph/mye6j

(Honorable mentions to specific Harry’s moments: with Charles too busy to met, not going to France and hiking in Transylvania, and “in the realms of total speculation”. Harry pitches a Spotify show interviewing Putin, Zuckerberg, the Pope, etc on their shared bond of childhood trauma, Spare the most dumped holiday book of 2023. “Peace talks” between KCIII and Harry since he’s nearby in Germany for Invictus shut down less than 24h later. Persona non grata).

Which ones did you not know or forget about?

It's been quite the year! To quote the Sussexes, thanks for all the support in 2023!

post link: A Year in Review: All the times Meghan Markle been publicly called out in 2023. Highlights and favorite #MarkleMoment from last year? : SaintMeghanMarkle (reddit.com)

author: somespeculation

submitted: December 17, 2023 at 02:25PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit

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telekinetictrait · 8 months

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"I have my happiness, which I guard like a wolf, and I have authority now and a certain amount of daring, which, if you remember correctly, I never had before." (Two Serious Ladies – Jane Bowles, 1943)

the first half of the 1940s was, of course, dominated by world war two. just as with world war one, more women were involved in the war effort, and those who weren't often took the jobs dominated by men. icons such as rosie the riveter propagated a sort of idealized "tough girl" image, with her denim coveralls and clenched fists – yet red lips, defined lashes, and thin brows. she was just masculine enough to fit the mold of serving one's country, and still feminine enough for the general public to accept. once again, fabric rationing led to certain garments and styles being reused and revamped. some designers, like claire mccardell, worked within the confines of wool and silk rationing to create clothing made of denim and jersey knits. "ready-to-wear" clothing was becoming more popular, especially in the united states, allowing fashion trends to spread faster and further than before. at the end of the decade, christian dior debuted his "new look", which would set the stage for the iconic mid-century silhouette: cinched waists (thanks a lot, dior...), full skirts, and round shoulders. this "new look" emphasized the stereotypical ideal of femininity and ruled post-war fashion.

okay, maybe the tangent about claire mccardell wasn't that important, but i did just see a museum exhibit about her, so i wanted to include it.

(ps. i know 1942 isnt entirely accurate but it was a fit of inspiration, and it takes like 20 minutes to get my game open so i was not willing to exit when i already had two looks done)

1800’s/ 1900-1909 / 1910-1919 / 1920-1929 / 1930-1939

cc links under the cut!

see my resources page for genetics

oakley : candycottonchu's vintage waves / gilded-ghosts' big heat beret / bustedpixels' fifth avenue fashion top conversion / gilded-ghosts' victory skirt / base game gloves / historysims4's stretching nylon socks / waxesnostalgic's cuban heel mary janes

océane : javitrulovesims' clayified wings hair / gilded-ghosts' dizzy dame hat / needleworkreve's rita eyeshadow + betty lipstick / mochadonuts' ruthienne dress / blueraptorsden’s vintage stockings / historysims4's uptowner heels

odelie : strangerville hat + jacket / seasons gloves / gilded-ghosts' sleuthhound slacks / base game boots

ollie : javitrulovesims' clayified wings hair / cottage living hat / needleworkreve's rita eyeshadow + betty lipstick / sentate's 1949 grace necklace / satterlly's retro anna dress / historysims4's stretching nylon socks / waxesnostalgic's cuban heel mary janes

onyx : joshseoh's blaire hair conversion / gilded-ghosts' big sleep dress / base game saddle shoes

ophelia : twentiethcenturysims' dorothy hair / base game pearls / twentiethcenturysims' french hen outfit / historysims4's stretching nylon socks / jius-sims' mary jane pumps #2

orlando : gilded-ghosts' wartime waves and bows / lordreboot's catherine jumpsuit

osannah : gilded-ghosts' noir or never hair / paranormal hat / needleworkreve's rita eyeshadow + betty lipstick / sentate's 1949 dior bar jacket / blueraptorsden’s vintage stockings / waxesnostalgic's cuban heel mary janes

ottoline : gilded-ghosts' swingin siren bun + dizzy dame hat / needleworkreve's rita eyeshadow + betty lipstick / simsbrush's 1940's winter coat / plumbjam’s wool leggings / simtone’s oxford heels

owen : tekri's betty jo hair / needleworkreve's rita eyeshadow + betty lipstick / simplesimmer's emilee dress long v2 / plumbjam’s wool leggings / waxesnostalgic's cuban heel mary janes

thank you to @candycottonchu @gilded-ghosts @bustedpixels @historysims4 @waxesnostalgic @javitrulovesims @needleworkreve @mochadonuts @blueraptorsden @sentate @satterlly @joshseoh @twentiethcenturysims @jius-sims @lordreboot @simsbrush @simtone @tekri and @blogsimplesimmer !!

#my sims #sims 4 lookbook #ts4 lookbook #sims 4 1940s #ts4 1940s #ts4 retro lookbook #sims 4 retro lookbook #ts4 retro #sims 4 retro #223 years #historical #1940s

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theoppositeofprofound · 21 days

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Assigning First Age humans favorite foods for reasons

Bëor/Balan: Holds a traveller’s fondness and fear towards the humble mushroom; he counts himself lucky that Nargothrond is so vigorous in fungiculture.

Haleth: Though she’s eaten orc (before the elves got all hysterical about it) she doesn’t like it. As an older woman she gets a taste for dried hawthorn and very piquant rowan wine.

Marach: Grains are a new indulgence, he was never much of a farmer while on the march. In Estolad he finds a love of barley cakes.

Adanel: Raises ducks for gizzards

Imlach: Turnips in mountain goat butter. Like elves, he’s not “lactose tolerant” but cold climate girls make do.

Andreth: Innovated heavily in the field of Jellies, combining old advice from her teachers and elf lore to finalize the perfect crabapple jam.

Bregor: Lake trout with bitter orange.

Beril: Trained truffle hounds and valued her prizes highly.

Emeldir: Roast pig, fattened and butchered in autumn. As the main coordinator, she takes pride in the finished product and lets herself have a bit of crackling when it’s done.

Barahir: Is impressively lactose tolerant and enjoys an early, soft cheese, baked till its gooey.

Beren: In the dark woods, birds without a brood that year would spit crop milk into his mouth. It isn’t the taste he misses but the sense someone was one his side. Also hot drinks—after years being hunted it’s nice to have the security to build a fire.

Húrin: Lamb with a a certain blend of spices, the recipe reportedly over the mountains by his ancestors. No one uses cumin like Hador’s people.

Huor: The elves of Gondolin kept snail—he’s never been able to recapture the crisp, woody taste of their eggs.

Morwen: Dove, roasted, maybe a little more raw than is advisable but she trusts her butchery.

Rian: Nectar from the woodbine that blooms late in spring

Ulfang: Fresh wild-strawberries; his sons would bring him handfuls of them when they were small.

Bór: He likes a fermented milk, somewhere between kumis and filmjölk, but he’ll also drink milk raw just to flex on Maedhros’ kin.

Aerin: Even before she was tasked with feeding great numbers in the shadow of famine, she had a fondness for the humble onion.

Tuor: Bumblebee honey, dug out of the ground right at the coming of winter, when the bees are dying and don’t need it anymore.

Túrin: A pine nut/bear fat/mandrake pemmican Beleg taught him. None of his friends handle the alkaloid content as well as he does. He likes raw potatoes too.

Nienor: Used to catch the snakes that came to prey on her mother’s birds and make them into soup. As Níniel she eats crabapples before they can be jellied.

Dior: Little minnows found in the cold streams of Doriath and around the island of his birth. Also, eel.

Brandir: Roast chestnuts—he uses his cane to crack them open to the delight of children.

Eärendil: Enjoys shark as a child, before Morgoth’s seeping rot builds up dangerously in local bioaccumulators. Likes fennel in Sirion and the sea buckthorn that grows near his lady’s tower across the waves.

Elros: Seafood is a steady source of protein for an establishing society. Once they have the stores to use their sheep for meat as well as wool though? He’s your king for mutton in almond milk.

#since my second age post has been going around #the silmarillion #edain

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thedeviltohisangel · 3 hours

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omg maybe some soft angst bcs evelyn overworks herself and callum is so worried

For A Fortnight There We Were:

A LITTLE ONE SHOT SINCE YOU ALL SEEM FERAL FOR THEM AND I LOVE IT AND ENCOURAGE IT

tw: mentions of drug use/addiction

"Hi everyone, I'm Evelyn Shaw, and I'm so happy to finally be introducing you to the new Dior Addict Lip Glow Oil." She held the tube to her lips and pressed a cheeky kiss to the side. "It's infused with cherry oil which nourishes my lips after long days on set and even longer nights on the romantic streets of Paris."

"Cut! Let's reset and run again." Evelyn yawned as the camera turned off then looked up as her makeup artist approached with an eye pencil.

"Do I look as shitty as I feel?" Now in London, she had been in Paris this morning, finishing fittings for fashion week, The Hague three days ago for an engagement on behalf of the United Nations Women's Conference and she was due back on set for House of the Dragon by the end of the week.

"No. You look glossy and juicy," Nicole teased.

"Let me get some spray on the fly aways." Ev closed her eyes as her hair stylist spritzed a toothbrush and brushed it over her hair.

"Have we heard anything from Callum yet?" She was headed straight to a meet and greet at the Dior store in Mayfair after this before she had just enough time to change for the launch dinner she was hosting as the newly minted Global Ambassador for Dior Beauty.

"Mark was on the phone finalizing your filming schedule for next week so it didn't conflict with your brother's graduation so I'll flag him when he gets back," Nicole offered.

She hadn't seen Callum in almost a week. There were unanswered texts and calls and a red circle on her FaceTime app.

Evelyn felt awful about it but her first trip for work since the pandemic was proving to have more of a strain on her relationship than she thought it would. She was used to using work to distract herself from her ex-husband and saying yes to everything so she didn't have to be at home. Now, with Callum, that was all she wanted to do. And she knew it was perfectly in her control to change it but she couldn't find the right way to convince her brain this man was different.

"Alright, Evelyn, let's do more sultry than cute this time." She shook the fog from her mind and stared down the camera.

"Hi everyone, I'm Evelyn Shaw, and I'm going to let you on my secret for endlessly kissable lips..."

----

She kept her sunglasses on as she stepped out of the car and let the screams and camera clicks wash over her. She blew kisses and waved as her security ushered her into the store and the door closed behind her with a sigh. Evelyn made an extra effort to shake the hand of all the staff that were in the store and hugged the handful of Dior executives that she had gotten to know during the process of launching the lip oil.

"Ev, let's get some candids of you looking at the new collection over here." Bleary eyed, she slowly rifled through the racks as her stylist took a few photos.

"Hey, Mark?" she called for her assistant as everyone made final preparations before opening the doors. "Do we have any..." she brushed her finger over the tip of her nose, asking for a hit.

"I do, but you were going to stop now that you got out of that relationship, right?"

"Yeah but I'm about to fall over and just need to get through tonight and I'll be fine." They had done this song and dance with her and cocaine before. The habit stopped and started in fits. "A pinky nail. That's all I'm asking for."

"Not here, Ev. Go to the dressing room and I'll bring it back." She kissed his cheek and headed to the back, reapplying her lipstick and fluffing her hair before pacing around the room for a few laps. Finally, there was a knock at the door.

"Fucking finally, Mark, I'm-" She opened the door and it wasn't Mark. "Cal."

"It's been a minute, Ev. You pick up on old habits while you were gone?" He wasn't sure if she had read his message or listened to his voicemails since she'd left. They had gotten increasingly desperate so he hoped she hadn't. But if she was using again, it was no wonder she wasn't responsive.

"No." Her lip quivered. "I'm just exhausted, Callum." Hiding away with him wasn't an option anymore. The safety of his bed wasn't an option anymore.

"There's other ways for us to fix that. Ways that don't involve you pushing me away and letting those vultures back into your life." She fell into a chair and dropped her head into her hands.

"Everyone wants a piece of me and I don't have enough to go around." There were legal battles over dividing assets. Magazines and podcasts that spent their time speculating on the true reason behind her failed marriage and spending hours and pages devoted to convincing someone, anyone, that Callum was a controlling manipulator who had tricked her into cheating with him for status. Photographers who lined every street she walked and yelled obscenities and tried to snag a shard of her broken soul. "You're my drug, Callum. You make the voices stop when I'm with you. But I can't always be with you."

"But that's why we learn how we communicate best. We call or we text or send each other dumb photos to make it feel like we are always with each other." He sat down on the floor in front of her and put her hands on his cheeks. "I'm right here, Ev. And I'm not going anywhere. I'm not him."

"I'm sorry I didn't call. I wanted to. I just didn't know what to say." For all the benefits quarantining together had offered for their relationship, it had also introduced certain complexities. Introduced reliance and dependencies and they hadn't learned how to be apart. Let alone how to be successful at it. "I'm still getting used to things being normal. To having you as part of my normal."

"I'm sorry I didn't come find you sooner."

"Promise you'll always find me? Even when I'm just lost in my own head?" He kissed her forehead.

"Especially then, Evvie."

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner x oc #callum turner fanfiction #answered #evelyn

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maraschino-girl · 4 months

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pachinko 🎰 { part 1 }

✐ Yoshikage Kira makes a gamble when New York City becomes his new hunting ground, and he soon realizes the prize he's heading toward isn't the one he bargained for. Yoshikage Kira / Patrick Bateman

moriohpsycho AU

~6k words

multi-chapter, 80's-90's era

blood and gore, homophobia, drug use, explicit content

warning ‼️ two depraved serial killers being themselves

✦ NOTES : i have no words... except idk how this happened LMFAO ♡✮☁️✧˖ AO3 °⋆💿。°✩

My name is Yoshikage Kira. First name is Yoshikage. Last name is Kira. I’m partially named after my father, and I was considered his pride and joy.

I’m 33-years-old, not married, and I used to live in the villas of Morioh. I had worked in Kame-yu Department regional management office. It was menial work but I enjoyed it. It was repetitive, it was a routine, it was predictable. I lived a quiet, humble life. My favorite movie is The Remains of the Day, and my favorite designer brands include Valentino and Gianfranco Ferré.

I no longer reside in Japan due to an incident, one I prefer to not discuss at this moment, but this little incident forced me to flee my town and take refuge somewhere where those ants can’t find me. They can’t find me anyhow, all thanks to my Bites the Dust, though despite this, I’m cashing in my insurance just in case.

If I had to pick any city in the world, I wouldn’t say New York City was my first choice; it’s an overwhelming, bustling metropolis with eyes everywhere, both robotic and human, and from what I’ve heard, riddled with crime and filth. But, I’ve soon learned that it’s easy to be alone in a crowd, and there’s nothing wrong with ‘competition’, petty criminals who can take all those mechanical eyes off of me. They want to be seen, they want to be noticed and even hailed for their art. I do not. I have no need for it.

What I do need though is a way to perfectly mesh with this new crowd of mine, and this group of… what do you call them? Yuppies, preppies? Or, Ivy League brats if you’re bitter and sipping beer on the side of 5th Avenue (She had the most disgusting hands I’ve ever seen).

These preppy scholars and businessmen on Wall Street and inside Pierce & Pierce, my dwelling for the next whoever knows how long, adorn themselves with muted hues and statement accessories. I have to switch out my ‘lilacs’ and ‘baby blues’ for ‘eggplant’ and ‘elegant navies’. My ties at least can stay as far as I’m concerned; I’ve seen worse patterns on arguably more fashionable people.

Manhattan has a plethora of designer stores, so many in fact I’m on the verge of an anxiety attack. I’ve had a painful lunch with a Charles McBride, an audacious man but a colleague first and foremost, and I tried to discuss the plans for the fiscal quarter but he wasn’t having it– the entire conversation replays in my head while I’m attempting to maneuver the streets, only serving to worsening the panic inside me. Any store will do, any at all, and so I slip inside a Bergdorf Goodman. I nearly go in a circle due to the revolving doors but luckily no one catches my faux pas.

I didn’t know what a Bergdorf was, but now knowing it’s a department store relieves my anxiety.

Kimiko, my lady since I arrived in New York, hardly comforts me now when I entwine my fingers with hers, and the sickeningly sweet scent of rot is beginning to put me off, so I walk towards the fragrances.

I could get her something with notes of orange blossom and peony, or something sultry with cinnamon and leather, but that thought is cut short when a woman hunts me down from behind. I’m looking at the collection of Dior perfumes when she pops up, her voice extremely loud and shaky. A new girl, perhaps?

“Hello, sir! I see you’re checking out our Miss Dior! This is a very lovely perfume, suitable for the very lovely lady in your life! Um, would you like a sample?” She waves a thin white strip in front of me, and oh my god, her—

Spritz.

I gasp when the perfume incinerates my eyes, her string of apologies piercing my ears just as badly. She immediately fetches me a wet napkin, trying to help me rub my eyes but I yank the napkin away from her. Through my stinging, blurry vision, I hold up her right hand.

“That is a beautiful, uh, ruby ring you have on,” I swallow thickly, blinking frantically. “Sterling silver and ruby, very nice.” It’s a bead of blood atop of a milky white canvas, oh my.

“Why, thank you!” she gleams. I hold her gaze, enticing her, and forcefully crinkle my eyes. She has rather pretty eyes and a bright smile, albeit overlined with a crisp apple red. The red doesn’t shine as well on her face as it does around her fingers. Her name tag says ‘JENNIFER’.

Jennifer briefly checks me out, then scrunches her brow. “Gosh, I’m just a klutz today! I’m so sorry.”

“No need to apologize, really. Mistakes happen,” I reply, a tad confused, until she holds up Kimiko. My heart freezes, the blasting muzak slows down as she casually handles my now ex-girlfriend.

“Matthew, one of the assistants must’ve dropped this when setting up the display. We’re not usually so messy!”

The gold bangle I gifted Kimiko hides the jagged edges of her wrist, and her decomposition has sucked out the apricot tone she used to have. I continue to stare because frankly there’s nothing else I can do at this moment. Except, maybe cry— that’s a big possibility.

Jennifer giggles, “Listen, I’ll take this back to our storage and I’ll ring you up for the Miss Dior, yeah?”

I open my mouth but it takes great strength to speak. “Yes. Yeah, that’s fine. Um, are the registers near your storage?”

“Yeah, there’s one right by the cosmetics, if you don’t mind following me.”

“I don’t mind, no.” Go. Go! Go! Go! “I actually need to hurry to my office after this, so please, with haste.”

“Of course! C’mon, follow me.” She plucks a plastic-wrapped package of Miss Dior off the shelf and points toward the glossy collections of cosmetics. I ensure no one is really paying attention, and of course, the few patrons around are engrossed in their shopping.

Jennifer sets the item on the cash register and tells me she will be right back. I huff, and give one last sweep of the store, and trace her steps into the EMPLOYEES ONLY swing door. I don’t bother to hide my footfalls due to her heels echoing through the concrete maze of these back rooms. All I need is privacy, and I need something, anything to aid me, although simply choking her isn’t ruled out yet.

She doesn’t have a care in the world, doesn’t have a single instinct to look over her shoulder. There’s another door at the far end of the narrow hallway that she disappears into, and I’ll follow her there too, but first:

A giant sapphire and glass star-shaped perfume bottle on a wire shelf catches my attention. It’s asymmetrically shaped, and looks like it belongs atop a Christmas tree, but I deduce it must be for advertising purposes. It’s dense, sturdy, and particularly sharp. I may have had an incident but it seems my luck has yet to run out. This is not an ideal location, none of this is remotely ideal, but there’s not much to be done about it. Besides, Killer Queen didn’t gift me intelligence and charm, only an easy way out. I will do as I’ve always done and I will win.

I will do what it takes to retain my comfort and happiness, and live my life to the fullest.

✃ ✃ ✃

I’m having lunch with Patrick Bateman, a coworker, and his friends slash fellow coworkers Timothy Price, David Van Patten, and Craig McDermott at a “trendy” restaurant called Flamingo East. Apparently, a couple other bankers will be joining us but they have yet to do so; I’m fine with that.

I’m familiar with Mr. Bateman. He has the office right next to mine, but I see more of his secretary than I do of him. The scarce moments we share are somewhat bizarre, and I can’t quite place my finger on what exactly makes them bizarre, they just are. He’s cordial, refined, and narcissistic, much like the others— they’re a breed of their own, a species known only to the rich New England coast, but he still stands out. I’d like to say I’m perceptive, I have to be, and if I have suspicions about someone I’m usually correct.

I also notice that Mr. McDermott and I are wearing the same cologne, Drakkar Noir, a scent laden with lemon, mint, lavender, and bergamot. Either this cologne is thicker than I anticipated or he’s doused himself in it— either way, it’s comforting blending in.

I’m wearing a double breasted linen-and-cotton suit in the shade ‘imperial violet’, a subdued deep purple, a ‘nude periwinkle’ button down cotton shirt that looks off-white in this bright lighting, all by Cerruti 1881. My silk tie is by Alexander Julian, and it has a striped pattern in shades of ‘egg yolk’, ‘vanilla’, and ‘charcoal’; the pattern reminds me of the candy sticks in a sweets shop in Morioh. I met an ex-girlfriend there, now that I look back on it. She always bought matcha tea cakes, every day at 5 pm, like clockwork.

Well, there’s no time for nostalgia right now. I open the briefcase that’s sitting on my lap.

“Mr. Van Patten, I have papers regarding the—”

“Hey, hey,” he holds a hand up, “We’re not doing that right now.”

He then makes a neck-slicing gesture, probably telling me to shut up. He’s at least nicer than his friends. With his round glasses and round brown eyes, he looks borderline puppy dog-ish. I avert my eyes and purse my lips to avoid smirking, lest they start naming me that vulgar word they assign to any man in a one meter radius.

“My apologies.”

Mr. McDermott speaks up next. “This is lunch, we’re drinking, having a good time, no time for that shit.”

I nod my head in understanding and put away my briefcase. Does anyone here actually work, or is it purely kept to the office? Hm.

“So, what are we having?” Patrick asks the table.

I pick up the menu then, and furrow my brows at the options. Fine dining is, uh, fine dining, I suppose.

“Two J&B’s, or three?” Mr. Price asks me.

I clear my throat. “Two, I’ll just have the dry martini.”

“Fruity,” one of them says under their breath. I don’t even bother.

There’s a salmon plate topped with chives and soy sauce, with a side of mashed red pepper sweet potatoes and honeyed zucchini and squash. That’s appetizing. There’s also an ‘organic’ strawberry jello salad mixed with manzanilla olives and cream cheese. Less appetizing.

Mr. McDermott decides to bestow a secret upon us. “I heard they serve shark here.”

“Yeah, and there’s a leprechaun in Turtle Bay that hands out free vials of crack.”

“No, really man, if you tell the waiter a code or something, the chef will hand you a cloche that has a fucking shark fin under it.”

Mr. Price rolls his eyes. “You think the waiter would care if I asked him to drown you in the fountain over there?”

“The waiter looks like a faggoty actor-in-training, so give him a good tip, or just like, you know, your dick and maybe he will.”

“Did I tell you guys that Sabrina—”

“Which one?”

“You don’t know this one. Anyway, she was blowing me the other night and the stupid bitch used her teeth.” Mr. Van Patten gags.

Everyone at the table including me inwardly cringes.

“I was like, the fuck you using your teeth for? I’m already circumcised, and thanks to you, I’m now soft. She kept trying to suck on my flaccid dick and the whole thing was just fucking weird.”

“She was what?”

“You didn’t slap her? Kick her out?”

“I kicked her out right after that. And she’s been blowing up my receiver ever since. Give me another chance, David, please!” he mocks.

“I mean, if she’s willing to suck a softie…”

“She does have nice tits,” Mr. Van Patten admits. Their conversation dies down and slowly they turn their attention on me. I hold my breath and pretend I’m deciding on my order.

“What’s your type, Kira?” The million dollar question.

This is no group to be cheeky with, and too intelligent of an answer will cause me more harm than good. I choose carefully. “I do, uh, have an affinity for blondes.”

They nod.

“You like ditzy? Ditzy is cute. Patrick?”

He shrugs; I don’t know him well but he’s quiet this morning. I answer instead. “I’d prefer ditzy over arrogant and obnoxious.”

“Yep, yep.”

Mr. Bateman suddenly gets up and mumbles about heading to the bathroom. Mr. Price follows him with his gaze and has an amused smile, a knowing smile as he sips his drink. I shouldn’t be nosy but it’s common here apparently to gossip. I too watch him then lean over and whisper.

“Is he sick?” I feign concern. For a moment I wonder if he really is sick, placebo already hitting me with a bomb of nausea in my stomach.

Mr. Price scoffs. “He isn’t sick, he’s balls deep in Halcion. Did you see his eyes?”

They laugh at him. “His pupils are bigger than the fucking plates.”

I’m not entirely sure what that is but I refuse to ask for obvious reasons. The waitress, caked up in makeup and her hair crunchy with Aquanet, takes our drink orders and promptly skitters off. I noticed these things because her nails were crooked, one literally twice the size of the others, and she was noisily smacking gum in her mouth. So garish.

Mr. Bateman returns simultaneously as our drinks arrive, and he wastes no time in downing his. He whispers, “Nice tits” under his breath as our waitress leaves, and then says something else that astounds me. “Did you know I chopped off an East Villager’s hand and jerked off with it?”

I stare at Mr. Bateman as he announces this. He sips his whiskey, and annoyingly shakes his leg, vibrating the table. I look toward our colleagues, back to him, to his friends, back to him. No one says anything. Actually, his friends are too busy fawning over a ‘hardbody’ writing down another table’s order.

“C’mon, she’s smokin’!”

“Nah, nah, no.” Mr. Price is as picky as ever. “Look at her hips.”

“What? You don’t like Coke bottles?”

“I like coke-caine. And Diet Coke, which maybe she should drink more of.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, he’s kinda right. I think I saw her before, in the strings section of the New York Philharmonic.”

Mr. Bateman and I are in our own little bubble. I almost want to reply, but with what? Oh, that’s a hobby of mine as well! Are you like me? Did you also see the wonderful ad in Times Square for Tiffany & Co. and had to rush home for relief?

No, no— he might’ve said this expecting a response. He must know. How could he know? It wouldn’t make sense, I’ve covered my tracks! Or, so I thought. Is he stalking me? Is he aware of how often I daydream about my past girlfriends? Does he know about Jennifer? Has he seen Jennifer? There’s no other reason as to why he would make such a remark unless to evoke me! But what would he gain? What could he possibly gain from terrifying me?

I don’t realize I’m breathing hard until Mr. Van Patten nudges my shoulder.

“Dude, you okay?”

“Pretty sure he’s tweaking.”

I snap back, “No, I’m not. I’m fine. Um, I apologize.” I wipe my brow with a handkerchief. “It’s quite warm in here.”

They don’t believe me but luckily, they don’t care either. I glance back toward Mr. Bateman who’s silently mouthing the appetizers as he reads off the menu. He’s unaffected. He’s strange.

I don’t care for strange men.

✃ ✃ ✃

I didn’t think I’d replace Jennifer so quickly, but with a city so vast and brimming with the prettiest the States has to offer, I guess it was inevitable. And in that same vein, it’s inevitable that I would end up erasing evidence in the fashion of a stereotypical killer.

I drag Heather’s remains, a garbage bag stretched wide with the unnecessary parts of her, and a few miscellaneous things I filled it with to rid the bag of its human body shape. Again, this is not suitable for me, and I don’t like being reminded of what life was like prior to attaining Killer Queen. The act feels dirty, in a more ragged, mask-wearing type of way, and elementary, too. This is how others do this? Who has the time? Who has the attention to detail, and how do they deal with the constant anxiety of covering their tracks?

It reminds me of the last night Heather drew breath and she made me watch a horror film about a deadly surgeon. Despite eagerly returning home with me, she refused to let me get any closer to her even when she squealed and jumped at horribly-designed reanimated zombies. I even tried to kiss her on the lips, which mind you was the last thing I wanted to do, but it was a perfect segway to twist her figure around and hack off my prize, the true beauty, the love of my life.

And yet, she freaked out when I touched her waist, and lo and behold, a brand new suit was ruined from head to toe (which is also stuffed inside with Heather). The film kept playing as I cleaned up the mess, and—

Oh, yes, that’s why I brought that up… Well, it doesn’t matter. The clean-up of a botched murder is the bane of my existence. That’s all.

My stroke of luck shines when I find a dumpster right behind the apartment building I live in. It’s somewhat hidden, though not entirely thanks to the splattering of windows, some lit some completely black, that look down on the alley. Considering I’ve caught domestic violence, passionate love making, and other embarrassing acts through neighbors’ windows, there’s definitely nothing interesting about an innocent man and his garbage.

I wipe my brow and drag the bag another few meters before pausing again. You don’t realize how heavy a dead woman is until you have to dump her body. I’m tired, and want this over with so I can finish my stretching routine— I bought a book the other day that lists basic yoga positions to help loosen the hip flexors, a recent issue of mine— and listen to Mariya Takeuchi’s Variety album on the turntable I bought at Radio Shack. If I can hurry through this, expertly, I will be rewarded a lovely evening with my new girlfriend.

“Ha! Look at us! Both dumping bodies!”

Freeze. I slowly turn my head while feeling for the handle of the knife in my coat pocket.

A man carrying two bulging garbage bags of his own stands at the opposite end of the alleyway where it opens up to the main street. The shadow of the lamplights briefly obscure his face but he walks closer, and I see a goofy grin and wrinkles.

“This is the only dumpster I’ll go to ‘round here honestly, because the college kids that live below me fill the other one up to the brim, can you believe that?” He closes the distance between us and he lets go of his bags to place his hands on his rounded, lumpy hips.

“Uh.” I lick my lips then smack them. “Yeah, I can.”

“I mean this city is crazy, real crazy, and my wife always told me that this wasn’t a good decision but I couldn’t stand the heat down in Austin anymore, I just couldn’t. I mean, us old folks, just me by the way, not you, haha, you’re a handsome fellow, very sharply dressed! You should have a raincoat or somethin’, it’s been real stormy out, you don’t wanna ruin your like, Gew-chi suit, anyway—”

I’m still hunched over, Heather’s casket clutched in my hand. He hasn't studied its’ off putting shape, thank God, but this is too close for comfort.

“Are you new to the city?” he suddenly asks.

“Well—”

“There’s not a lot of neighborly love ‘round here, at least that’s how it feels to me. There’s no more lemonade on the porch and chit-chattin’ with Bobby, just drinking Bud Light and sweepin’ cigarette ashes on my balcony ‘cause of those gawd-dayum NYU kids. That’s so selfish, ain’t it?”

“Sure.”

“I just don’t care for it. That, and the winters are real brutal. Cold and icy as all hell.”

I don’t even want to entertain this, and yet: “I would say Hell isn’t very icy at all.”

As expected, he doesn’t hear me. “It’s irritatin’! But my wife, you know, she loves the lights, the hustle and bustle, the cute little shops and the expresso machines.”

I’m beginning to get a migraine.

“Also, the Chinese food. We only had one Chinese buffet when growin’ up, and I got food poisoning every single time. They told me it was the MSG. What do you think?”

Sir, sir, this is so very interesting, I’m genuinely engaged and wish to further this arousing conversation but I would much prefer if you just turned around so I can get this over with.

Beyond this man, I catch a Valentino suit and head of slicked-back brown hair standing at an ATM. He looks stick-like from this far out, but I can pick out those broad shoulders and tense stance out of a sea of stockbrokers. It’s as if he can’t relax, always coiled up like a viper readying to attack; that’s smart of him, especially while I’m around.

This man is rambling on about sales taxes and humidity, grating my ears and blocking my vision every time I peer around him. Mr. Bateman counts clean cash with elegant, black gloves on and starts walking with confidence he doesn’t deserve. Frustration is getting the better of me— he’s finally alone, very likely unarmed, and I’m about to lose a golden opportunity all because of this man!

Even when I attempt to interject with kind courtesy and ‘oh, of course, yes, but you see’, he steamrolls me. I give up then, and heave Heather and her garbage over the rim of the dumpster. Thump! She goes. This is your cue now, sir. Throw your things away and leave me alone.

“Sir,” I cut through him with a stern, deep voice. “I have to get home, if you excuse me. I have to… feed my girlfriend, she’s been alone all day.”

Awkward pause.

The man chuckles. “Is your girlfriend a cat?”

“Yes. Excuse me.” I brush past him and with great relief, he shuts up.

I count ten steps down the street, hearing the thuds of him tossing his garbage in the dumpster, and I count two seconds exactly before I turn on my heel, speed back the way I came and pounce on the defenseless man while his back is turned. My knife is sharp and easily cleaves through his spine and shoulder blades as I relentlessly stab him, enough so in such rapid succession he can hardly scream. By the time he can open his mouth, his lungs have already filled with blood and so his agonized cries are guttural and bubbly. He reaches out, for what I don’t know, maybe trying to crawl away from me, but it’s no use. His thick denim jacket soaks up most of the damage, and it’s only my gloves that are soiled. That’s fine, really, it’s a miniscule consequence.

Now that he’s mincemeat and paralyzed, on the verge of death if not deceased already, I flick my head to fix the tendrils of hair that have fallen in my face. I’ll leave his corpse; there’s a stabbing or a mugging printed every morning in the newspaper, and I doubt anyone will be questioning an older gentleman being assaulted on his nightly routine. The alleyways are dangerous, as you know. Wrong place, wrong time; it can happen to anyone.

I take another deep breath and search for Mr. Bateman, who is nowhere to be found. He went west, but there are a million doors and stops and shops and whatever else that way. Besides, even if he were right in front of me, it’d be hard to conceal bloodied hands and my frenzied disposition. I lust to take him down and for that reason, I have to be careful.

Sigh.

Until next time, Mr. Bateman.

✃ ✃ ✃

The next excursion that the fine men at Pierce & Pierce have decided on is a rendezvous at a place called Nell’s. It’s not quite a dance club, and it’s too unpleasant to be a chill rooftop bar. The shift between neon and darkness is nauseating, and they seem to have both the ceiling fans on full blast as well as the heated conditioning. I’m sweating yet chilled to the bone. I had to skip lunch due to the piles of paperwork stacked on my desk and I’m feeling the effects of an empty stomach. Apparently, the others have secretaries who do the menial work, but I am without a lady to sign off and look at these documents for me so I wasted my entire day, all 10 hours of it on reading what might as well have been hieroglyphics.

The silver lining to my mundane day is that I managed to find Mr. Bateman’s full address in his secretary’s desk once everyone else had left. That woman didn’t bother to lock any of the drawers, how naive considering there’s sensitive financial information in those folders. Not my problem. What’s next is figuring out when to use this key— I realized he lived rather close to me, another stroke of my luck, but I have to plan ahead. I could directly follow him home and stage a break-in; still easier said than done.

I stash away my plans for now.

It’s nearly 8 pm, right when I would be winding down for bed, when I’m interrupted. A colleague named Tom Hamlin called me asking if I minded meeting him tonight to discuss ‘important matters’. Like the hardworking man I am, I readily accepted and very shortly after, ‘important matters’ became a party invitation. Mr. Hamlin had me start at Harry’s to join up with none other than Patrick Bateman, Craig McDermott, and two other men I didn’t recognize, Victor Powell and George Reeves.

I hanged in the back of the group, intently watching Mr. Bateman who was glaring razor sharp daggers at Mr. Powell— I was oddly curious about why that was, as the former had a semi-permanent scowl, and to see this visceral hate directed towards someone who wears Valentino like him (like me), had slicked-back hair like him (and like me), and even had a resembling smirk, is fascinating. What is so striking about him? One might think of the common petty reasons: found cheating on his girlfriend, stole a deal from him, maybe even openly mocked him, like a bullying situation, but my perfect intuition tells me it’s much deeper than that.

Hm. It shouldn’t matter anyhow. Mr. Powell won’t have to worry about his “biggest fan” much longer.

Inside Nell’s, we sit in an open circle-shaped booth with me at one end and my target at the other. When we make eye contact, I smile but he doesn’t return it. How snobbish.

They’re sharing the menu and I patiently wait my turn, my hands clasped on my lap. I want to leave. I planned a date with Heather, and it’s unacceptable that I can’t even attend my own planned date. I’m starving, I’m thirsty, I refuse to look at the menu right now. So, when the waiter comes by wanting our orders, I ask for a glass of ice water, to the bemusement of my colleagues.

“Hard liquor ages you,” is what I say when one of them persists to bug me. My response hits where it hurts, and I hide my joy when he then questions his drink of choice.

“Hamlin, can you score tonight?”

“Uh, duh! I’m way ahead of you.”

“It’s not from that same guy, right? What’s his name, Carlos?”

“Ricardo.”

The waitress at the booth behind us has wonderfully long, luscious fingers. Her jingly diamond bracelet accentuates her tan skin so well, and those curved, almond-shaped purple nails. My god. I wonder if I should drop Heather (we’ve only dated for 5 days, that’s a little short, isn’t it?), and too late do I look over to them shuffling out of the other end of the booth. I briefly panic.

I might stay and rope the waitress into coming home with me, but I also don’t want to be left with a pricey bill because I’m the ‘newbie’ from Japan. Irritated, I follow after, barely keeping them in my sight through the winding hallways. They end up in the men’s bathroom, half of the group idling at the sinks while the other half, including Mr. Bateman squeeze into a wider stall.

I manage to fit in at the same time that Mr. Price sprinkles a mound of white powder onto an upside-facing mirror bolted to the wall. I may have been a mere office worker, but I’m not naive— that is a drug I recognize. I only knew of one person, a dolt from University, who had the guts to snort it before exams. I almost snitched on him when he was licking it from his hand in the middle of the train platform, but I figured his idiocy would be his downfall. I figured too, not my business. I was proven right during the exams themselves! I don’t know what cocaine entirely does, and it’s very likely he had a cocktail of substances in his system because he was whispering to his pencil as if it was an omniscient deity.

Anyway, I prefer to not begin whispering to inanimate objects as well, and I let my turn pass me up. Mr. Van Patten uses a handkerchief and wipes his brow, staring me down. Please don’t.

“Not interested, huh?”

I ponder this deeply, ignoring how Mr. Bateman judges me too. “I’m not fond of it, to be honest.”

“Have you tried it? I bet the stuff in Japan isn’t as good.”

“Not particularly,” I stutter a bit, and that entices them further.

“He’s scared, dude.”

“He’s a straight-edge, of course he hasn’t had the good shit.”

“What are you afraid of? You’re not gonna explode from it. It’s fucking cocaine, not bath salts.”

Mr. Bateman fixates me with a lopsided grin. “What a loser. More for me, I guess.”

I’m not acting right. This isn’t me. I don’t give into peer pressure, this isn’t Mr. Kira, and yet before I register it, I’ve picked up the rolled dollar bill and sniffed a skinny line. I clear my throat and at first, I don’t think I even snorted anything, until my nostril burns. They hoot and holler, congratulating me on popping some cherry. I blink rapidly, my right eye now stinging. What am I doing?

I just stand there, back against the metal stall. Deep breath, in and out. This too shall pass. I’ll wait it out and then go home, stretch, have my glass of milk, and sleep peacefully with my girlfriend. Remember, anything that gives effects fast, exits the body fast. I nod to myself. It’ll work out! It always does!

Besides, I don’t feel different but I might be expecting too much from a drug that resembles sugar. Actually, one of them just commented that the last gram was ‘NutraSweet’, so, there’s a chance this is all a placebo effect. Watching these men in their tight suits, wallets stuffed with cash and their ‘AmEx’, glittering jewelry, and they’re high off sugar. Damn sugar. Ha. That is hilarious.

My, my, just like the girl I dated after I finished my college education! She would sip sake, wait, no it wasn’t even sake, it was water! Water! She had made an utter fool of herself, and jumped onto a table at the restaurant she had stringed me along to, and she subsequently fell, nearly cracked her skull open.

We were kicked out, both of us, even though I was the pinnacle of elegance in my seat. She made a whole show, basically an educational presentation, of why I should come home with her, and yes, she was an easy catch, and her hands were softer than velvet, prettier than her objectively attractive face, but I couldn’t stand her whiny attitude so I had left her crying on the street.

She really thought I would have sex with her after that?

“What’s so funny, dude?” Puppy-eyes says. Why does he look so sad? So concerned?

My cackling echoes in the steel stalls, matching the thunderous tempo of some pop singer’s hit song upstairs. I don’t know what’s so funny, to be honest, but I can’t stop. I cover my face for a moment, my shoulders shaking, and I find solace in a cold corner.

My diaphragm aches and my sinuses are unbearably dry, yet my teeth rattle and the corners of my lips twitch into a smile I can’t stop. I lick my lips, tasting metal, over, and over, and over—

“Victor, how tight was Francine?”

“Pretty sure she’s a virgin. Or, was.” Hiss, smoke pours out of his mouth.

“Ha, Bateman said she was loose.”

He furrows his brow and frowns, as if it pains him to say, “Loosest fucking slut I’ve met.”

Another plume of smoke. I’m dizzy. “Really? She was tight, man. Maybe your dick’s tiny.”

They guffaw like hyenas and I make eye contact with Mr. Bateman. This isn’t the first time, and surely won’t be the last, that he’s the target of their pissing contests. Judging by his expression, the routine is stale. He’s looking through me, briefly, and indifference morphs into unbridled, sinister glee.

“I think I might chop your dick off, fry it, and throw it to the pigeons.”

The booming laughter doesn’t cease, in fact, one of them slaps his shoulder while he barely contains some need for violence. He pierces his cuticles with his thumbnail, much like I am doing right now.

Is that all you want to do? After he humiliated you?

“No. I actually might fry your whole body and feed you to the homeless, you bucktoothed bastard.”

Mr. Bateman rubs the rest of the powder onto his gums, and the sight of his fingers caressing his wetted lips, going inside his mouth, it’s—

It’s—

What? It’s what?

I clench my eyes. I need to leave now. I can not be here anymore, it is not worth it. I am vulnerable and in a state I do not wish to be in.

Someone pats me, hard, on the back but I don’t turn around, feeling stuck in place. In slow motion, his voice reverberates.

“Killer.”

“What?” My heart sinks.

“Kira, your nose is bleeding, dude.”

I wipe at my nose and brush away the stains on my bloody knuckles. I am not feeling well.

I’m growing erect, for an unknown reason, and I’m acutely aware of everything around me. The stifling cologne, the fluorescent lighting, the waterfalls crashing in the sinks outside the stall, the snorting and flushing, the vibration of my own hands. I haven’t trimmed my nails in quite some time. I should do that when I return home.

⭀ To be continued⥫

#american psycho #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo's bizarre adventure #patrick bateman #writers on tumblr #kira yoshikage #moriohpsycho #teehee #make sure you listen to sussudio and love my way when reading !!

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