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yeyinde · 1 year

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in undertow | Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!Reader

They won’t shut up about why he wears the mask.

This isn't anything new. You've heard it all before.

Maybe, then, it's the rookie inside of you still burning to be included, to be acknowledged, accepted, that makes you flick your mic on with a single press of your stupid little finger. Makes you open your stupid little mouth, and say:

"You're all wrong, boys; he's just keeping my seat warm."

(a joke at your lieutenant's expense has unexpected consequences.)

part ii

tw: gratuitous smut; unfettered filth; face-sitting: oral - f!receiving; female!reader; male-solo: Ghost makes himself cum whilst drowning in pussy; some plot. kinda. but it’s mostly 7K+ of clownfoolery

notes: Ghost eats pussy like he’s starving. that’s it. that’s all, folks.

(also, this is so thirsty. this man is making me feral. send help pls)

*bonnie-scottish term of endearment, kinda similar to hen or lass, and is not a name. MC is not named.

It's not uncommon to tune into a channel on downtime, and hear your Lieutenant being mentioned in some manner or another.

Ghost is infamous. Legendary. The men in your unit, and the ones you ally up with, are–in equal measure–his biggest fan, and his bitter rival.

It's all one-sided, of course. If Ghost was any other man, you'd confidently say that he didn't even know who they were, but he isn't. And he does. Which, of course, makes the rivalry all that more bitter, blistering, when he refuses to acknowledge their challenges.

He proves himself time and time again, and isn't even trying to.

So, they flex their arms– see, bigger than yours –but he hardly notices, much to their chagrin.

Sometimes, they'd turn to you–the unofficial arbitrator, a denomination that seemed unanimously decided on by the whole team; Ghost, bemusingly, included–and ask stupid questions:

Who's arms are bigger? Mine, come have a feel, lass.

Ghost seemed decidedly tolerant of these moments, watching with those dangerous eyes as your hands flexed around the bulk of your teammates' bicep, cooing cloyingly at him. Ooh, working out, I see. Feels like the leg of a fawn!

Now 'im, they'd say, your heart would warble in your chest.

A strange, off-rhythm pulse that almost hurt. He'd match your gaze when you looked over your shoulder, peering at the imposing man lurking in the midst of everyone else. Firm, steady. Unflinching. He'd hold it, always.

He does that, doesn't he?

When Ghost looks at you, the air in your lungs dissipates; dissolves into ashes, then into smoke.

(Sometimes, he stares at you, and it feels like a challenge. Like he's waiting for something.)

Your smile folds, wan. Lieutenant–

Go on, then! He ain't bigger than me.

It turns several shades of apologetic when you slide up to him, palms spread flat, docile. Walking up to him feels like approaching a predator. Any sudden movements, and he'll have your neck between his jowls. He never would, you know this deep down. But still.

You, uh, don't have to let me.

His head would duck down–too tall to look at you without bringing a kink to his neck–and his eyes would waver in the light. Midnight black to charcoal. Smoke. Ash. The same taste in your lungs.

S'alright. He'd prop his arm up for you, eyes dancing. Best get it done with before these geezers get into a fit.

He doesn't look away. Doesn't break contact. It's intense. Too much.

You demure.

You're not submissive to anyone. Your teammates, the enemy, politicians–no one makes you break. No one makes your chin lower to your chest, your eyes drop. You can't–not, really. Not here. Not in this world where everyone is looking at you like you're too soft, too vulnerable, to be of any use. When even your teammates slip sometimes, try to carry you despite knowing how capable you are on your own.

The hurdle you have to fling yourself over just to prove yourself to your teammates, your backers, is a skyscraper.

They call you Nile –the moniker born from the startling resemblance to the aggressive, territorial crocodiles that live in the water–and you do your best to live up to the comparison.

You don't shy away from anyone.

Except him.

Your eyes fix on your feet. Hands tremble as they slide over the hard muscle of his biceps–firm, unyielding: flesh-covered iron. Your stomach in knots. Chest too tight.

Ghost's eyes are glued to your face. His muscles flex under your exploratory fingers. Ticking, bulging. His flesh jumps when you touch him. The heat of his skin sear your fingertips, so hot you think it might burn the prints off your hands.

You both love and hate these moments.

When hypoxia flashes through your head–dizzying, nauseating–you step back, clear your throat, and stammer out the winner.

Ghost, always Ghost.

His eyes are shades lighter. Slate-grey, now. Amusement, you think.

The men around you riot, demanding a rematch.

(You blame it on testosterone.)

One such occurrence happens to be right now. The comm is clogged with feverish conspiracy theories as to why Ghost wears the mask ranging from the grounded (to conceal his identity–he's a big OP: can't go showing his ugly mug to everyone) to the absurd (he's probably hideously deformed; heard he took a hit to the face–considering what I heard is under there, I'd say he's doing us all a favour), and everything in-between.

This isn't anything new. You've heard it all before.

"You're all wrong, boys," you purr, eyes fixed on the weapon you were tinkering with. "He's just keeping my seat warm."

The line goes pin-drop silent. A poignant shush. It's so eerily, unnaturally quiet on the comm, that you look up, blinking. Was it frozen?

You glance at the computer, checking the channel to see if you'd changed it by accident. It's on. And–

Open, it says. Open mic. Open broadcast.

It never occurred to you to check the channel they were using.

It's not a private one between groups; it's the main one.

Why would these bellends use the main comm to talk about a man, their superior officer, on the channel he preferred, the one he was always tuned into?

You pale. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You blame your stupid little mouth, and testosterone. Mostly, testosterone.

Maybe, Ghost wasn't listening. Maybe, he –

"Jesus Christ," Soap groans after several agonising seconds. Soap, who was on recon with Ghost. Soap, who was with Ghost. Soap who –

The line falls dead once more. No one says anything. Not even a murmur of how well and truly fucked you are. Then, it crackles again. You jump, tensing. Please be some stupid rookie. Please be someone else. Please don't be–

"Fuckin' hell," comes the brassy timbre, the sandpaper tone scratching your ear.

You shiver. You're fired. No, no–they can't fire you, you know too much. You're dead. You're–

"Rookie," he barks. You struggle to stifle a whimper. "Report to me when I get back."

You weakly stammer out a yes, sir, Lieutenant, sir.

"And everyone else – get off the main channel."

Nervous would be an understatement.

It's the crushing weight of utter humiliation, embarrassment, and shame all admixing into an imbroglio of dire consequences looming ahead. Your stomach is in knots.

There are murmurs of sympathy from the others when they eventually make their way back into the pseudo-compound, but you notice none of it. Eyes fixed on a crack in the concrete. Shoulders up to your ears. Cheeks stained the colour of the Russian oligarch you gunned down the night prior.

Nile is nowhere to be found. You're no longer the wet-behind-the-ears Rookie, barely of legal age, as you clamber through the ranks in a spiteful, feverish effort to prove yourself. Now, a fully fleshed adult: moulded by your determination and grit to persevere.

You're the little girl pushed to the pavement. Skinned knees, blistered palms. Drenched in rain, and told you're not enough.

"Fuck me," comes the slurred drawl of Soap. You flinch.

"Yeah," you agree.

No words need to be said. You're done. Over. You stroke the barrel of your rifle, and wonder if you'll be forced into an office job, running the numbers, working in a barren cubicle that sinks of fresh paper and ink. The only action comes from Martha's affair with Josh in Finance.

"Y'know…," he adds, because apparently, some words need to be said. Your gaze flickers toward him. He leans against the metal pillar, arms folded. "Never seen the Lieutenant speechless before."

You let out a whimper. Fucked, royally, of course–Soap only confirms what you already know. What you've known the moment you looked up, a stupid little smirk on your stupid little face, and saw the meagre amount of respect you clobbered together from your Lonewolf–actions have consequences and if it were you or the mission, don't even bother asking what his choice is Lieutenant being summarily flushed down into the depths. Obliterated because you couldn't keep your stupid little mouth shut.

Because you heard ugly and deformed and immediately thought of smoke. Ashes. Gasoline. Gunpowder. Firm biceps that leapt at your touch–the only man to do so when you feigned annoyance and reluctantly felt them up–and the velvet steel of his bulk. Your hands didn't fit around the thick of him. It made your head dizzy. Made your heart ache. Heat throbbing between your legs in a way that most men never even accomplished with you spread out and willing. And–

Eyes darker than the ocean, framed by ashen lashes that fluttered when he glanced down at you, brushing over the coal smeared around his face.

You thought of him–that stupid Cockney mouth and those stupid jokes–and how – how stupid he makes you, and you –

Stupid.

Full stop. End. Done. Fin.

Maybe, you can grovel for transfer. Please don't kick me out completely, I've done so much to simply prove myself – more than most of the men here because I've had to, and I don't want to lose it all because I'm–

"Stupid." You spit the word like a curse.

Beside you, Soap huffs.

"Ain't the only one, bonnie."

Shame blisters your cheeks, and the burn of it makes you a coward. Weak.

You spend the rest of the day idling away in your makeshift quarters (a closet, really) in the compound loaned by the government who requested your aid. Stiff-limbed, you lay back on the cot, and try to commit everything around you to memory.

Noises from the men downstairs. Chatter and laughter. Loud and raucous. The heady scent of testosterone is thick in the air, mixing with the cloying tang of cigarette smoke, cigars, and the bitter taste of gun oil. Kerosene rich, and stifling.

The bed is lumpy, but in the middle of nowhere luxury is hardly needed when you're making a massacre of men who want to start a war. It's far more than you'd gotten before. Alvarez jokes, saying at least it isn't the ground. You're inclined to agree.

Your gear sits in the corner, tightly packed as it had been when you'd first arrived, and dropped it there. You never unpack your things. Experience gives you the foresight to know it's useless, dangerous. Your location can be slipped at a moment's notice. Gunfire ripping through the metal on a whim.

Ghost never unpacks, either. Soap. Most of the men here don't.

But now you wish you had.

The pile of it feels like an omen as it sits, mocking you; ready to go when you're given the boot.

You wrench your eyes away from it when the salty burn of tears you haven't shed since Porthmadog rear. It's fine. You clench your fists into tight balls by your side. It'll be okay. You'll get on–your experience and insight make you a desirable name to have; someone lusted after when they needed intel only you managed to wiggle out, and get. Another team will be easy to find once the politicians paying for them read about your exploits.

On paper, anyway.

Nile is a name that makes their fingers spasm.

You, however, are a name that makes them hesitate.

You'll have to start at the bottom again. Kissing the gravel with your palms once more; struggling to find your foothold along the chossy that wants you weak. Wants you broken, and docile. Obedient.

Ghost never asked that of you.

He looked at you, hands curled into half-moons by your side, eyes unwavering as you glared at the man backing the mission, and ground out your accomplishments like you were spitting in his face.

"I don't know…" he started, hesitating; his eyes flickering down the length of your body. Too small compared to the men they'd seen before you. Too fragile. Giving.

All at once, you were back in Porthmadog. Salt on your cheeks. In the air. Your throat. Gravel digging into your palms. Broken down into a crushed shell with nothing inside. It was the day you realised you were empty. Hollow. Nothing. Vacant. A vacuum.

Worthless.

What good is a man if he has nothing to lose? Ghost speaks for the first time, and your eyes find his through the palpable cloud of rejection. So, what've you got to lose, soldier?

Soldier. Not girl, not Dame, not Duchess, Princess. Soldier.

You square your shoulders, eyes blazing. Everything, you vow. All the substance you pushed inside of the barren landscape of who you once were, filling it with purpose, and dignity. A reason to live. A reason to be. Everything.

His head tipped back. The whites of his eyes were fuller under the flushed lamp on the desk.

Inside, you could almost glimpse that same emptiness you found when they'd broken you into pieces, and nothing spilt out.

"A'right." He nods. "Welcome to the team."

The team. The patchwork family of people far too unhinged to fit into the rest of the world. Names and faces came and went. Many were lost to the effort, to the cause. Time to mourn took place outside of this microcosm when no one was around to see you break.

You'll miss them. It rings out in the hollow gap between your rib and your heart, an aching sting that has your hands spasming around the sheets to stem the sudden hurt. Fuck, you'll really miss these goddamn idiots.

And Ghost, too.

The prickly leader who says he'd sacrifice all of you if it meant finishing the mission, but still throws himself into the fire so none of you gets burnt. The man who bites at your heels, snaps at your attempts to get closer, but brushes his fingers along the seam of your arm, chin jerking toward the only closet in the compound where he'd dropped your cot.

Up there, soldier.

He's a bastard of the worst kind. Surly, mean, and gruff around the edges, but he's a good man despite what he says. He's a great leader–the best, undoubtedly, that you've ever had. That you will have.

And you might be a little bit in too deep already. Washed out to sea in the middle of a hurricane, and left floundering as waves crashed over you in the form of a brutal, off-limits affection for a man who keeps everyone at a distance.

Maybe, this is for the best. Leaving here now, when these feelings are simply tugging at you, and not yet dragging you under. It might be a better alternative than being discovered with your head under the waves, and your lungs filled with salt from the sea.

It's better this way, then.

The call comes hours later. The compound is empty. Silent. Your comm rings, and it feels like a guillotine being hoisted into position.

Right.

You haul yourself out of the cot, and go meet your end.

You will yourself not to demure under the heavy slate of his eyes, but it's futile. You wilt, pathetically submissive to this behemoth of a man. Face downcast, shoulders hunched.

"Let's not fuck about, alright?" the gritty timber of his voice makes your chest shudder.

You nod. Sharp, and deep. Dutiful soldier. You brace yourself for it. He won't draw it out. He isn't the type.

But you falter when his hands tug on the end of his mask.

"Keepin' it warm, huh?" He asks, but you know by the tone alone that it's rhetorical.

"Sir, I–" you falter, stammering into a terse silence. What excuse do you have?

"Well," he asks, lifting his head. Eyes brand your body. The command is clear. "Aren't you comin' to take your seat, Rookie?"

You sputter. Shattering. The world as you know it flips on its axis. Upside down and wrong.

It's a joke. It has to be. A cruel one. A bad dream that will leave you in aching shambles when you wake, stealing with it a piece of yourself that you'll never reclaim. Another etch in the exterior of who you are. A fracture.

"S-sir–," you gasp, choking on the word when his hands lift, pulling up the bottom of his mask until a full, pink mouth is revealed to you. "What–"

"It's gettin' cold, now."

Seeing him speak is blindsiding. You're so used to painted jowls moving, a mockery of bared, white teeth, and a warped jawbone. This is – this is too much. This is –

Not good.

Ghost doesn't seem bothered at all when he settles, leaning on the back of the desk, eyes burning through you. Bulging forearms cross over his massive chest. The ripple of ink flexing, breathing, with his impatience that thrums in the air like a heartbeat.

"Best hurry up." His tongue–his fucking tongue; blood-red and wet –flicks out, gliding over chapped lips.

"Lieutenant–," his title is a strangled wince from the depths of your bewilderment, flavoured with uncertainty. "This is–is a joke, yeah?"

His head tilts. "Do I look like the joking type?"

And that's such a misleading question. So utterly stupid, you choke a little on a bark of hysterical laughter.

"How am I supposed to answer that?"

"Or were you joking, soldier?"

The breath sucked in between clenched teeth is audible.

"Fuckin' hell," he rasps in response. "Then stop muckin' about and get over here if you want it."

If you want it.

He addresses the power imbalance by placing the choice in your hands. By giving you the freedom to decide what to do with this. Take the step, or leave his office, and never speak of this moment again.

If you stay– sit on his face –you're not entirely sure how you'll handle being around him afterwards. Will it be a–a thing? A one-off?

And could it just be a one-time thing for you? Once you have him so intimately, can you forget it, move on? Go back to the pining. The slow descent into an inescapable chasm where you have feelings– blasphemous –for your Lieutenant. For Ghost.

But could you just walk away from this?

You don't know. Neither question has a clear answer, and you're once again treading frothing waters. Left to sink or swim all on your own.

Ghost says nothing while you mull it over, but there's a weight in his gaze that makes your stomach prickle with want. A heaviness inside the inky black of his stare that makes your thighs squeeze together, pussy aching with need.

The choice is pretty obvious.

Your hands drop to your trousers, fingers peeling off the buttons.

For once, your eyes never leave his.

For the first time, Ghost is the one to look away.

His tongue slides out again when you wiggle out of your pants, thumbs crooked in the band of your panties, until you're bared before him. Your trousers pooling at your ankles. Panties caught on your calves.

His swallow is a gunshot. It clicks in his throat.

"Christ, Princess."

You step out of them, licking your lips. "No muckin' about."

His eyes darken at your words. "Get the fuck over here, then."

"Is that an order?"

"Affirmative, soldier."

With your approach, he sinks to his knees on the floor, eyes only for you. His breath is haggard when he catches a glimpse of your cunt when you're less than an arm length away from him, eyes fixed on your mound.

"M'gonna touch you, now." His head lifts, stare bores into you.

The brass in his voice makes your belly tingle, makes heat bloom inside of you. It has you whimpering your consent, and the moment it leaves your throat, his hands–fever hot and rough–are on you.

They settle, heavy and firm, on your hips, pulling your stomach into his face. The plastic of his mask digs into your skin when he presses his covered nose above your mound, breathing in deeply.

His eyes flutter shut. Ashen lashes brush over the bulge of his mask where it sits, piled up, on the bridge of his nose. You want to reach out, and touch. Slip your fingers through his hair. Cup his jaw. You want to press your mouth against his, and taste the flavour of his tongue. You want, you want –

His eyes snap open. Black holes. Unfathomably deep, and quivering around the edges.

"C'mon, Princess," his voice sounds like it was wrenched through barbed wire, smokey and thick. "Kept it nice and warm for you."

You can't stop the shiver that rockets down your spine at his tone, dark and primal. He looks at you, and you feel like a meal. A lavish banquet in face of a man starved.

"Fuck, Ghost–" you moan, your hips jerking in his hold.

"Simon," he rasps, tongue flicking over to taste the skin of your mound. You feel the knick of teeth, grazing and blunt, and it almost wrecks you. He hadn't even started, and your knees are practically knocking together; cunt dripping slick down your thighs.

His hand glides down the curve of your flesh until he meets the seam of your legs. "Spread 'em, pet. I wanna see your pretty cunt."

Fuck–

Your knees quiver, almost giving out under you at the base tone, drenched in the slick coil of want, hunger. He's there, hands firm and unyielding on your body, a low chuckle falling from his lips when he catches the shake in your legs.

"Little fawn is just achin' for it, ain't you?"

"Please, Simon –" he pulls your thighs apart, peering at the apex where your glistening sex is waiting for him.

He buries his head in your belly, groaning at the sight of you–all pretty and pink for him, and so wet he can see where it leaks out, drenching your flesh.

"Fuck, pet," he grinds the words out from between clenched teeth, inhaling deeply as if he can't get enough of your scent. "You're gonna make a mess outta me, aren't you?"

You've never heard him sound so excited before. The tremble in his voice is enough to keel you over, sending you toppling down into an inescapable abyss where his eyes brand your flesh, and his mouth devours you whole.

Your hands fall to his shoulders. The plea you utter is painted in the colour of desperation, and it makes his eyes flutter again, makes them spume with that white-hot desire, that dark promise of how much he's going to ruin you.

He takes one last breath, nose pushed against the bottom of your mound, as close to your pussy as he can get, and he moves.

One of the things you've never really understood was how a man so massive managed to move the way he did. Agile, lithe. Like his body was elastic. Liquid.

He's on the floor, mask pulled up high until his nose and mouth are bared to you, and then he's beckoning you forward with a crook of his finger. His eyes burn like wildfires when you tremble down beside him–all of your honed, practised grace dissolving into nothing with just a flick of his too-red tongue wetting his lips for you.

You fumble, pussy clenching with the thought of having his mouth on you–soon, so soon; and yet, not nearly quick enough–and settle before him, kneeling by his head.

"C'mon," he snarls, the bite in his tone blistering.

It has you whimpering, cunt spasming at the urgency, the impatience, in your once-cold leader. Distant, unshakable. You've never seen him so eager, nearly driven mad by the frustration of not already having your weeping slit on him, the taste of you on his tongue.

You've never sat on someone's face before. When you tell him this, his eyes shudder, blunt teeth digging into his lower lip to keep the filthy groan from rolling out.

You can't say shit like that, he grouses, his hands gripping your hip, pulling you closer.

He helps you settle over him, thighs spread over his head, ass resting on his chest.

His eyes are glued to your cunt as it opens up for him.

There is a war raging inside of you, one that taints the room with the scent of ichor. It fuels you, makes you bite your lip, coy and playful, and notch your knees further apart until you're bared, fully, to him. Fingers slipping over the hem of your shirt, hiking it up so he can see all of you. Teeth sink into the end of it, keeping it up as your hands drop–one to your covered nipple, the other to your soaked pussy. Two fingers glide over your mound, your clit sitting in the V. You spread them slowly, splitting your folds apart.

Your cunt pulses with the vibrations of his chest as he groans again, low and deep, at the sight of you spread out before him. A breath away from his lips.

It feels like a battle when his hand grips your flesh until it bubbles between his fingers. You'll be bruised when he's finished–a mosaic of black and blue and purple and yellow; a palette startlingly similar to his own–and it's the notion of his mark on your body, the proof of that his indomitable man, this untouchable entity, was between your thighs, gazing at you as if he wanted nothing more than the pink folds of your swollen slit on his tongue.

You shiver. Pleasure stroking through your body as your knuckles graze your clit.

You're not submissive to anyone–can't afford to be in this world–and you feel the swell of that intoxicating confidence return to you, the incipient spume of what made them liken you to an apex predator, one who hunted human men for sport pooling inside of you.

Does he see it when his lids lift, eyes seeking yours instantly. Does he read in the list of your head? The flutter of your lashes. You drop your shirt. Your hand falls to the side of his face, the brush of his skin on your fingertips somehow more intimate than this. He's warm. Feverish. You burn, too.

"Is my seat ready?" You purr, belly filling with victory when his eyes twitch, lowering back to your aching cunt.

"Always," he grunts, a soft sound polluting the word with the noxious promise of more.

You shudder, panting, now as you rock forward onto your knees, arched over his mouth.

Ghost's hands settle on the outside of your spread thighs, fingers gripping your flesh. He tugs, harsh and demanding, and you quickly settle, body turning into malleable polymer in his burning hands. He manoeuvres you until your pussy is right where he wants it, eyes flickering up, catching your glossy gaze. He holds it, lashes fluttering as he inhales, deep and long, and then breathes it out through his mouth, warm breath ghosting over your exposed, slick cunt.

"Well?" He drawls, the word nearly shredded and raw when it slips out of his throat. "You gonna take your seat, pet?"

You shudder again, shoulders tensing so tight, it aches. Pet. Pet. Pet. Fuck –

"Yeah," it's a whisper, a gasp. Needy and quivering.

Your hand moves from his face, fingers chilled without his warm skin against them, and you settle it on the desk beside you, muscles in your thighs straining as you slowly position your sopping wet cunt over your Lieutenant's waiting mouth.

His lips brush the seam of your pussy, and the groan he lets out rumbles over your flesh. Liquid pleasure blooms. He hasn't even touched you yet, and you're already aching for release. Already inching toward that precipice.

When you're close enough, he pulls; glueing you to his mouth. He wastes no time before diving in.

His tongue laves over your drenched folds, dipping inside your swollen pussy to dance over your aching clit, your throbbing hole. You press your wrist to your mouth, biting down hard to stifle the moans that threaten to spill out–somehow more taboo than having your Lieutenant eating your pussy out like he's starved for it.

Pain blooms on the fat of your ass cheek, your surprised gasp swallowing the sound of his hand smacking your flesh.

"I want to hear you," he growls into your cunt, wrecked and drunk off your taste. His words are slurred, accent thick and heavy. Almost incoherent.

His eyes are pits. Little black holes. The pupil completely eclipsed his irises. Desire spumes.

When you pull your hand away, settling it on the corner of the desk instead, he flashes his approval, and then buries his face back into you. His tongue is demanding as it licks over your folds, circling your throbbing clit.

Liquid pleasure seeps from the tip of his tongue to the base of your spine, where it pools into a molten puddle of bliss. It's good. No, it's better than that. It's –

Your head drops back, hips rutting into his mouth, chasing that euphoria his tongue brings when it toys with your flesh, then slips down, pushing into your drenched, fluttering hole. He fucks you with just the tip, groaning when your hips cant into his face, smearing your wetness all over his chin, jaws. He'll be drenched in your slick by the time this is over.

He's still your superior. Still your boss, technically, but fuck –

Your hand drops from the desk, sliding into the fabric of his mask until a fistful sits in your grasp. A tug makes his eyes snap open, darting up to meet yours. Is this okay? you want to ask, but the question is swallowed by the filthy groan he lets out into your cunt when you pull a little harder, accidentally snatching the hair beneath.

It's good, then. You pull a little more. His mouth drops, panting into you.

You whine when he stops, hips bucking into his mouth. "Please, please, don't stop–"

"Fuck, Princess," he slurs. "That's it. Ride my face, c'mon."

You're a good soldier. So, so good. You could never deny a command from your superior officer.

It's clumsy at first–hesitant. A slow roll of your hips, too afraid of smothering your Lieutenant, and having to fess up to being the one to murder him with your cunt keeps you from pushing your core into his face, taking your pleasure. You want to, though. Want to so bad your thighs quiver with the effort of holding back.

The room is filled with the sticky slick sounds of your sopping centre dragging over his eager mouth. Breathless pants spill from your throat at the obscene pleasure that burrows into your core.

And his groans.

God, his noises are enough to make you whimper. Filthy growls into your aching pussy as he eats you up, as if he can't get enough of your taste. As if he's parched and your wetness is the first drink he'd had in years.

It rumbles through the slick, softness of his tongue, and straight into your clit. The vibrations make your head numb, fuzzy, until you're stupid off the way he devours you whole.

"Fuckin' hell," he breathes into you–voice reverent as his molten tongue slips inside again, as if he can't get enough of it. "Gimme this pretty lil'pussy. C'mon… yeah, that's it…"

His voice is muffled when your hips rock faster against him, but the praise in his tenor has you shamelessly bucking into his mouth, against his tongue. The sounds wrenched from your throat are wonton, and needy, a breathless plea for more. Fuck, so much more –

His tongue parts your folds, gliding through the drenched slick until he's pressing the tip into your aching hole, splitting you apart. It pushes into you–quick flicks, a pistoning motion; a facsimile of what you want his cock to do to you so badly. It has you keening. Has you riding his face, unbothered whether or not he suffocates between your thighs so long as he keeps doing what he's doing with that sinful fucking tongue that has you singing, has your eyes rolling back in your head, reaching so far you can see the cosmos.

It's a deep, toe-curling pleasure. The dangerous kind–the one that teases, that makes dark promises against your core about how badly it'll mess you up, get you hooked on the taste of it, and then absolutely delivers. The kind of bliss that has your stomach clenching, roiling with molten heat that happens too fast, you barely have enough time to warn him before you're begging for it, whining for the thickness of his tongue inside of your throbbing cunt.

His fingers bruise your thighs when they grip your flesh between his fingers, dragging your puffy, drenched pussy over his mouth to suckle on your aching clit until Nirvana flashes behind your eyelids. A whiteout so divine, you nearly slip into him when your knees give out.

His responding grunt sends pleasure blistering through your core when you lose yourself in the rasp of his tongue sweeping over your weeping slit.

Ghost's hand leaves your thigh as you tremble through the shockwaves sputtering out, leaking molten bliss through each synapse, each nerve, until you're moaning, shameless and desperate with the release that bludgeons through you.

The world dissolves into white noise. The buzz of it rings in your head as you break apart, ground, once more, down to atoms and molecules that burst with the undulating wave of molten euphoria that drags over you.

The white static in your head fades in a gradual ebb and flow as the world slowly pieces itself back together again.

His mouth hasn't stopped.

He rides you through it all, tongue laving over you as you clench around nothing but the phantom thought of how good his cock would feel inside of your soft, fluttering walls.

You pant, heaving for air, and grip the edge of the desk tight when his insistent licks become too much.

"Simon," you whine, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't slow.

His tongue drags through your folds, thrusting back into you. You clench around the thick muscle, whimpering as whips of pleasure spark through your core once more.

It's too much, too intense; the pleasure is battered into you until you're forced to accept it, forced to take the bliss he flicks into you with a quivering gasp, and trembling thighs.

He's not done with you. The taste wasn't enough.

You lean back, almost desperate to get away from that greedy mouth that consumes you, but the slick sound from behind you makes you pause.

Pleasure rolls through you again; a molten pulse of agonising want, pulling taut and snapping against you like a rubber band.

He's touching himself.

To the taste of you. To the feeling of your pussy drenching his face.

Fuck. Fuck –

You peer over your shoulder, whimpering when you catch sight of his furious strokes over his hard, weeping cock. The tip is flushed blood-red, leaking spend all over the mushroomed head, and down the long, thick length of him. Your thighs snap together, knees pressed taut to his ears.

He grunts into you but doesn't stop. Doesn't slow down. His tongue fucks into you at the same pace as his almost brutal strokes. Thick prepend puddles around the base of him, soaking his trousers, his hands. His fist.

"Fuck, Simon," you purr, too blissed, too far gone, to think properly. "You're so big." You grind down against him, eyes fixed on his hand. "I want you inside me. I want you fuck my pussy with your fat cock–"

He makes noises against you that sound like a wounded animal–low bellows into your swollen lips, groans of a starving man–and his relentless devouring of your cunt has your belly fluttering with the lashing of pleasure spooling in your core. It's everything–the hungry sounds he makes as he consumes your taste; the furious, almost desperate way he fists his throbbing cock in his hand, hips jerking into the tight seal of his palm as if he was imagining how the clutch of you would feel around him.

He could have taken his pleasure in reciprocity. Had you on your knees, sucking him off until he came down your throat. He could have bent you over the desk, and fucked into you like he so clearly wants.

He could've had you any way he wanted; he put you in any position he desired, and you would have gone willingly, eagerly.

But he doesn't.

His mouth glues to you like he can't get enough, like he doesn't want to stop, and he takes his pleasure from the taste of you alone.

It's –

It's so agonisingly hot.

The mask is rough between your fingers when you grip it tight, rolling your hips against his mouth–a tease of how you would ride him if he let you–and the sight of him, hips battering into his hand when you move, sinful groans whispered into your slit, sends you plunging into those depths once more.

It takes you by surprise: the orgasm is ripped from you, stolen by the sight of his cock twitching, spitting out ropes of cum all over his hand, his stomach.

You keen, toes curling as he squeezes every last drop out, panting into you as he rides himself through it, nose pressed taut to your raw clit, swollen and so sensitive it hurts.

He grounds out your name, a wrecked whisper into your pulsing slit, and the sound of it has your head dropping, gaze cresting down to gaze at him.

Simon's eyes are lidded. Heavy. All black. Endlessly so. They flicker up, as if he can feel your stare, and the glazing of pleasure in those slate-grey eyes makes you lose your footing once more, hurtling over the edge of a precipice too steep to climb out of.

A chill grazes your spine. Fuck. You're fucked. You're absolutely, utterly, irrevocably fucked.

He's a mess, absolutely drenched. Slick with your wetness, and covered in his own cum.

You hate how enticing he looks.

You sit on the ground, knees pressed together, watching him as he cleans up, wiping his hand on his shirt, and then dragging the hem up to his mouth.

The muscles in his thick abdomen make you squeeze your thighs together, a low throb brimming up at the sight of his inked, bulky flesh. Fuck. He's good-looking. Maybe. You only saw a peak of his face. A glimpse of his chest. But God, it's enough.

He could be a troglodyte under there, with just a handsome chin, and full pink lips, a long, curved nose, and you wouldn't care.

You'd gladly sit on his ugly mug any day.

He releases the bottom of his filthy shirt, and tugs the ends of his mask down. You wonder if he still smells you under there. If it whets his appetite as much as the thought of it does yours.

There are things you want to say, questions you want to ask, but they slip, reluctant, and–for the first time since Porthmadog– fearfully into the recesses that broke open when you'd said those stupid words. When you came face to face with the hideousness of wanting a man who wasn't allowed to want you back.

Simon– Ghost, now; Lieutenant–is an amalgamation of every bad decision. He's wrong and off-limits personified.

It's not that he's a bad man. Far from it. If there were any good men left in this world, then he was undoubtedly one of them.

But he's an illicit drink. Ambrosia. A forbidden elixir.

He's a man you're not allowed to want—a man you're not allowed to touch, to covet, to need.

It's all moot. Rendered out into ashes, dust. You can't have him.

You turn away when he straightens out. Ghost has the uncanny ability to read you unlike anyone else. He'll see this moment of weakness when your defences are in shambles.

"Y'alright?"

Your chest thunders at the rawness in his voice. "Y-yeah…"

"Good," he murmurs, hands falling to his sides, shoulders straight.

You pull yourself together. Try to, anyway, but it's hard when he's staring at your sticky thighs when you shakily stand up, and wrench your pants on.

"Hey," he calls, softer than you'd ever heard him speak. It makes you tense; the blistering sting of rejection is already there in the periphery.

"Yeah?"

He's quiet for a moment, and you risk a peek over your shoulder. It's –

Well.

It's fleeting. There for a second, and then gone the next. Barely a flicker. Had you not spent a whole year in the desert with him dodging scorpions, and men with machine guns and a lust for blood, you might have missed it.

But it was there. You saw it in passing.

His resolve seals over the fissure. His eyes are blown black and distant.

"We move out tomorrow."

You respect the fact that he doesn't press, doesn't push. He doesn't ask if you're good, if you're okay. Doesn't try to hash things out when you have death looming over you in a few short hours. He compartmentalises. Draws a thick delineation in the sand, and picks a side. Instant. Effortless.

Right.

Your fist quivers. You shove it in the pocket of your trousers.

When you look up, the gleaming gaze of a crocodile lurking in the murky waters stares back.

"Roger that, Lieutenant."

And you leave. It's simple. Effortless.

(Another hole in the veneer. Nothing leaks out.)

A week later, and the world around you is at peace once more. Mission: successful.

You keep your feelings a tightly guarded secret, and tuck them inside your ribs for safekeeping, unwilling to let them go quite yet.

You're a dutiful soldier. A professional. You look him in the eye, and don't flinch. You face the men around you, and pretend you don't know what Ghost sounds like when he grunts your name in pleasure. He, in turn, acts as if his breath doesn't carry the taste of you. As if you don't linger behind his front teeth; piquant and damning.

It's a dance.

The choreography is new, but the rhythm is the same. You follow the beats, and let him lead you around the ballroom until the cracks inside have been plastered over. Something normal settles–or, rather: something as close to normal as you can get when you can still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin.

Soap looks on with something a bit too keen in his eyes, but mercifully says nothing at all. He isn't the type to pry–least of all when it comes to Ghost.

The others pick at it like a scab, watching it peel and bleed for their amusement. To them, nothing happened. You got reamed out, reprimanded, and that's all. A slip of the tongue; a joke gone too far. It's nothing new. Stuck in a foreign country with men trying to kill you at every corner, tempers fly. Fists, too.

When the dust settles, all is forgotten. New again.

They hear you call out to Ghost over the comm, and when he responds back–tone pinched and gruff like it always is–they know it's done. Dealt with.

Sometimes, they mock you.

Never in front of him, of course: not when the last man to do so, tapping his chin with a toothy grin, and a singsong, gotta seat for you right here, doll falling from his lips, was met with the brunt of his Lieutenant's anger. Scathing words that slash, deadly and sharp, pointed enough to vivisect a man clean through the gut.

"I hope you have a brain in your skull to use instead of just that tiny pecker in your trousers, because if that's the only one you got, I think it's safe to say we're all fucked, aren't we?"

And with that, it's over. Done.

The world goes back to shades of espionage and counterterrorism. Games of poker between putting a bullet in a man's head. A drink after cutting the throat of a shady politician. Drenched in blood. Dressed in metals.

When the mission finishes, you find yourself staring at your bags already packed up in the corner, and wonder if you'll ever unpack them one day.

(You wonder if he ever will, either.)

It's Soap who knocks on the door. "Wheels up in twenty."

"Roger."

Soap doesn't usually linger, but today he hesitates.

You lift your chin and meet his pinched expression.

"Alright, bonnie?"

The bags mock you. Filled to the brim with things that should be a necessity, but haven't been used in years. It's bursting. Chock full. Pushed to its mettle. And yet, decidedly empty at the same time.

A picture of what you do, what you are.

Your head lists to the side. "I think so."

His nod, too, is sharp and deep. A soldier, a brother in arms.

"Hey… you, uh… what did you mean by–um." You falter. It's your turn to hesitate.

"What?"

"Before, you know… with Ghost."

The confusion slips deftly into understanding. And then a distinct grimace. "Why?"

"Curious, is all."

There is a weight in his stare, too, but it's different from your Lieutenant's. Less intense. Invasive. Soap looks at you like you're an idiot. A wet-behind-the-ears rookie nursing a crush on the one man who is firmly off-limits. And really, that's what you are, in a sense.

In that single degree of separation, you think you find the substance you were looking for all along. You think it's been there the whole time. Mocking you like the bags in the corner. Untouched. Unnoticed. Waiting.

You suck in a breath at the thought.

It's not enough. Not yet. You need to know–

You do what you’re good at. You gather the intel.

Soap shakes his head. An imperceptible movement, almost missed.

But you catch it.

"Bonnie," he says, heavy. His shoulder sags against the door frame. Then he sighs. Shakes his head. "There are very few people out there that can distract him from a task. From a mission."

Your heart is in your throat, featherlight. The wings of a small bird preening its plumage.

Your breath shudders out of you.

Mission, you think–

"Better know what you're gettin' into."

You smile, wide and bright. Bigger than any you'd carried with you in Porthmadog. "I think I do."

He always sits alone on the plane unless he needs to go over the game plan, or discuss positions with others. Head always turned. Eyes shuttered, fixed out the window.

He never looks up. Never moves.

You think about that thing you saw. The vague glimmer in his eyes. It's the bolstering confidence you need, the one that carries you.

What good is a man if he has nothing to lose? It propels you forward–a mantra, a gospel–and you use it, now, in this sleepy jet that reeks of men, gunpowder, and sweat. They're all riding high on the success of a victory–one with no casualties on your side: a rarity–and most of them are out cold, or blubbering over finally going home to their family.

It's an earned break. Deserved.

You don't know what to do with it. Where to go. Home hadn't felt like home since you sunk your palms into the pavement, and stained the gravel with your blood. Years on the move, living in the shadow, has reduced the idea to a whim, an evanescent thing. You don't quite mourn its loss, but you miss the compunction that used to sit low in your belly when you turned your back to the place, and shouldered your duffle bag.

Now, it's just another city on the list of many.

His head lifts when you approach. Your heart stammers, featherlight, and heavy as a paperweight.

You find his eyes over the pews that separate you.

Slate. Charcoal. Black holes.

You wonder if he'll tear you apart if you get too close.

Your fingers ache to find out.

"Rookie," he grouses, hoarse from the meagre sleep the night prior. It's a bland acknowledgement in itself, but his look alone belies the nonchalance in his greeting. There's a question there.

You have one, too.

The sun crests over the plane when it rises, drenching him in ochre. Your smile feels a little too full and a touch too wobbly, when it quirks on your lips.

His shoulders ease. Eyes drop, lidded and heavy. Unguarded, disarmed, for the first time in years.

You think if he could, he'd be smiling, too.

"Is this seat taken?"

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #call of duty #cod #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #myfics #Simon Ghost Riley

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disneyprincemuke · 6 months

Text

midnights, 7 * mv1

the news is out: three time world champion, max verstappen, and his girlfriend of 6 years have been broken up since the singapore weekend.

pairings: max verstappen x fem!reader

warnings: -

notes: wow i took thE longest break from this

(series masterlist)

(prev) // (next)

max isn’t typically the type to let panic settle in. at least, that’s what he likes to think. he likes to tell people he’s not bothered but outsiders are always quick to catch up with his suppressed emotions.

alas, his worst fears have come true. news has broken that you’ve been broken up for almost 2 months.

he has not been able to talk about it with daniel, so he can only imagine how things will break down in austin.

he hopes that it’s not actually that big of a deal. plenty of other drivers have gotten themselves in messier breakups — the post doesn’t seem to touch on any speculations about how yours had come about. he can only bank on the hope that journalists are empathetic enough not to bring you up.

but you’ve been very involved in his career and the cameras on the paddocks. they never missed the chance to have you speak into a mic or have a private conversation with you.

pictures snapped of you together are never posted, but would be directly sent to either of you to truly encompass the privacy of your relationship. the respect shared between you and everyone on the paddocks was treasured, which is probably why your presence had been notable after you abruptly disappeared.

he sinks into his couch, phone in hand as he stares at the pictures that sparked up speculations. it’s a low-quality picture of you leaving the red bull home, head down as your hair shied you away from the camera. the second picture is of him coming out of the building, hair dishevelled as he stood with his arms folded over his chest.

“what do i do?” max mumbles, his finger swiping over the screen again and again, staring at the two pictures. as if it would change the course of things if he did it enough. “do i talk to her?”

“i don’t know, man,” daniel sighs, his face in the far corner of max’s screen. “i mean, the best you can do is to wait it out, right?”

“rumours could spread,” charles mutters, looking away briefly with his eyes widened. “if i were you, i’d want to do some damage control. but that’s probably just me.”

max sits back, staring at the empty half of his hotel bed. your absence is always noted when he’s all alone and he's too awake for his own good, once having the luxury of your company and bright smile making him feel giddy.

the difference between this breakup and all of charles' is that there is no controversy in this one. as far as he's concerned, this is all speculation from photos that are now circulating the internet and your obvious absence on race weekends.

nobody can even really confirm if it's true unless you or max say something. for now, they're just rumours. right?

unless you've started speaking to people, and gossip platforms. but you wouldn't do any of that, or at least that's what he's telling himself. but from what he can dig out of the grave in his brain, there was nothing that happened between you that can be twisted.

but what does he know?

he can only keep praying to the fact that you'll keep it as private as you usually do.

his phone is buzzing endlessly, his other friends sending him texts as the news shocks them as much as the world. lando is asking him if he's holding up fine, martin is expressing how he feels for max, and his own mother asking him why he hadn't told her earlier.

only victoria's message will be getting an answer. after all, she's the first person that found out.

"should i talk to her?" max thinks out loud, maximising the facetime call to get a good look at his friends' reactions. "she never does well with things like this, what if people are bothering her?"

charles' picture is overtaken by alexandra's face, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. "you wanna talk to her?"

max shrugs. "i don't know. maybe?"

"would that be the best choice though?" daniel tilts his head. behind him, heidi is approaching cautiously with a small smile. "babe, what do you think?"

heidi shrugs as daniel's camera slowly turns to her. "my opinion is probably not - it's been two months. and judging by the comments that i read, i don't think there's much disrespect that has to be told off publicly."

alexandra nods as charles slowly comes back into the frame next to her. "it's up to you, max. as of right now, it doesn't seem that serious."

max sighs again, this time louder as he feels everything coming down on him. he drops his head back and stares at the ceiling. "i don't know, you guys," he sighs again loudly. "i just want to know if she's alright."

"maybe not now, mate," charles answers sympathetically, frowning at him through the camera.

"just wait it out. it could die down quicker than you think," daniel says hopefully.

max nods, now suddenly feeling disinterest in their conversation. he only craves to be by himself now. "alright, i'll catch you guys in a bit," his eyes turn to the cats sleeping peacefully on the cat tree, "i've got to feed the cats."

taglist: @merchelsea @leclercdream @labelledejourr @laneyspaulding19 @lpab @graciewrote @hollie911 @thatsojasminesworld @mycenterfold @princessria127 @ironmaiden1313 @dl-yum @crlsummer @brekkers-whore @minkyungseokie @honethatty12 @barelytolerabled @vellicora @lokigoeschoki @avg-golden-retriever

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fanfiction #max verstappen imagines #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke midnights

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songmingisthighs · 2 months

Text

Wanbelyn

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

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ch. lv - uncle yuyu

neurosurgeon!hongjoong × reader

buy me coffee ?

where love and peace is held, i never expected for this to happen. i planned and i planned, i expected, and i hoped, but it was never you. you held what i wanted hostage to make room for you, the thing that i needed but has no means of acceptance. deny me, live your best life.

For some reason, Yeonjun felt compelled to sort trash out that day. He had been staring at the bags that his kitchen staff would bring out for 20 minutes straight before deciding he couldn't stand the damn thing any longer.

It wasn't like the task was fun or it had benefits. Heck, he had to recycle and risk meeting a recycling nut who would attack him for not crushing his cans first. So his plan was to just get the bags there, throw it out and return ASAP.

But one thing caught his eye when he turned around to walk back to his cafe. He noticed a very familiar boy looking around the park with furrowed eyebrows and he noticed people looking at him, probably as confused as the little boy was, maybe even concerned because it didn't seem like he was there with someone and that was concerning.

"Hey, bud," Yeonjun called out after jogging towards Kijoong who turned around at the sound of a familiar voice. Though it seemed like Kijoong recognized him, he didn't make a move to approach Yeonjun. Heck, he took a couple of steps back and made it seem like he was ready to run away. "It's me, uncle Yeonjun! I know your nanny (y/n) and your uncle Woowoo!" He said, desperately hoping the boy won't run because if he ran and he chased him down, that could seem like a humongous problem.

Thankfully Kijoong nodded, "You're the uncle from the cafe," he stated though seemingly shying away from Yeonjun's kind gaze slightly. Yeonjun was glad to hear that Kijoong remembered him but there more pressing matters he needed to prioritize. "That's right! So... What are you doing here alone? Is your daddy nearby?" Kijoong immediately shook his head and furrowed his eyebrows, "No, I want (y/n) and daddy don't know where (y/n) is," he said, obviously hating the fact that his dad didn't seem like he was going to round up a search party to look for you. Though Yeonjun couldn't help but notice that Kijoong was so keen on looking for you, he knew he had to get the boy back to his dad. "So, your dad's not around here, huh?" Kijoong shook his head at Yeonjun's question, "So where is he?" "Daddy's cutting people with his friends," and boy did Kijoong said that with much confidence because some people heard and couldn't help but stop in their tracks and stare at the innocent toddler and a panicked adult who immediately look around and waved his hands frantically, "It's not what it sounds like, folks. His dad is a neurosurgeon, a very good one at that."

It wouldn't take a genius to realze that the kid had ran away from wherever he was supposed to be and whoever he was with, but knowing that it would be hard to ask Kijoong about where he was and who he was with, Yeonjun decided to just cut the middle man and call up his friend.

"What's up cutie pie?" Wooyoung snickered, not looking into the camera though Yeonjun had face-timed him. "Yeah I kind of have a problem and you're the only one who could help me," Yeonjun said, shifting his eyes between his phone and Kijoong who was looking around as if disinterested or worse, trying to find a means to escape. Yeonjun's words made Wooyoung roll his eyes, "For the last time, I am not dressing up like a cupcake and handing out flyers. You're roommates with Jongho, ask him," he scoffed which made Yeonjun groan, "No, dude, look." It took Wooyoung longer than he'd care to admit to realize that he wasn't hallucinating when Yeonjun moved the camera to Kijoong who upon seeing Wooyoung, beamed up and waved. "HI WOOWOO," he yelled into the mic but Wooyoung was unbudging, still confused, "Hey bud, what- why are you with my friend Yeonjun?" and Kijoong shrugged his tiny shoulders, "Uncle followed me," and Yeonjun immediately turned the camera back on him, "That is not true, I found him at the park!" "The park? Why is he there? He was supposed to be in daycare," Wooyoung asked but it was apparent that he was doing something else frantically, "He was looking for (y/n)." That seemed to cause both men to stop momentarily and stare at each other knowingly.

With a sigh, Wooyoung mustered up a smile, "Kijoong, buddy," Kijoong, who heard his name being called, popped his head into the frame and tilted his head to the side, "I need you to go with Uncle Yeonjun here back to the hospital, okay?" Kijoong momentarily glanced up at Yeonjun before he furrowed his eyebrows, "But... (y/n) said I can't go with anyone I don't know," he said, looking at Yeonjun suspiciously. "But you do know him! You know I know him and he's going to take you back to the hospital!" Wooyoung tried to reason but Kijoong only stared at the screen with furrowed eyebrows. "Tell you what," Yeonjun spoke up finally, "How about you keep calling Uncle Wooyoung on our way to the hospital, huh? That way Uncle Wooyoung can see that I'm really bringing you to the hospital, how about that?" he reasoned. Kijoong seemed to be satisfied with the idea by nodding and opening his arms up so Yeonjun could carry him.

During the whole way to the car parked near the cafe and the hospital, Yeonjun took notice of how Kijoong seemed to be calmer though he kept talking about you along the way. What made Yeonjun sigh heavily was when Kijoong told Wooyoung to tell you that he was being so good and that he listened to you to not follow strangers so you could come back home. He actually said home and while it could easily be about the apartment he and his dad lived in, he had a feeling that Kijoong was talking about the place you belong in. Even when Wooyoung told him that he and his dad would be waiting by the lobby he asked about you, seemingly hopeful that you would be there for him.

When Yeonjun took Kijoong out of the backseat's seatbelt, he took notice of how Kijoong simply waited by his side as he made sure his car was locked before offering Yeonjun his phone before lifting his hand. "(y/n) said hold," he stated though innocently, his eyes was showing determination. Yeonjun barely knew the boy but he could tell how much he had grown to get used to and close to you so much so that he was dependent. For some reason the knowledge made him feel bad that you had been absent from his life.

Even before reaching the lobby, Yeonjun could see the neurosurgeon pacing back and forth worriedly with Wooyoung next to him with his arms crossed and disgust on his face, talking about something so serous that it caused Hongjoong to stop in his tracks and put his hands on his hips, replying Wooyoung something that was probably ridiculous to Wooyoung as seen from the way he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Daddy!"

The very second the automatic door opened, Kijoong let go of Yeonjun's hand and ran to his dad, grabbing the man's white jacket as if to crawl up. Hongjoong crouched down and scooped his son into his arms and burying his face in his hair. Hongjoong visibly let out a shaky sigh and you could almost see the stress leaving his shoulders.

"Where have you been? Why did you run out of daycare?" Hongjoong asked, momentarily letting go of his relief to scold his son. Before Kijoong could answer, Wooyoung stepped up and answered for the little boy, "Because he missed (y/n) you dumb fuck. Remember her? The strong as hell woman you manage to mess with YET AGAIN with whatever you said?" At the mention of messing with you, Hongjoong visibly shifted, seemingly uncomfortable that he was being called out like that. "What the hell did you say to her?" Wooyoung pressed, taking a step forward when Hongjoong lifted Kijoong into his arms, "What the hell happened that she couldn't seem to talk about it?" Hongjoong sighed and shook his head, "It's honestly not my business that she doesn't want to talk to you, but honestly, her running away and abandoning her responsibilities because I made a mistake is not on me." Had it not for the fact that his son was right there (and that it could jeopardize his employment), Wooyoung would have definitely punched Hongjoong in his face. "She ran away because of whatever it is you said or did, I can definitely be sure of that," Wooyoung scoffed but Hongjoong was not backing down, "You kept saying that she's an adult, she's a grown-up, she's a woman or whatever, so should a grown-up just hide when a mistake was made? I was and still am willing to talk about what I did wrong because I did, I can admit that, but frankly, I don't know how effective that conversation is now that she selfishly closed the door to have a conversation from her side and blocked other means of conversation. I get her need to preserve herself, to shield her from potential pain, and to tend to her wounded feelings first, I do, but she can't call me names when she herself is in hiding and is refusing to talk without even notifying anyone in her life. So before you bite my head for being stupid and God knows I was, do your friend a favour and help her back," he said before turning around and carrying Kijoong back to the daycare after bowing to Yeonjun and thanking him before excusing himself.

Hongjoong could feel Wooyoung and Yeonjun staring at him but he couldn't care less. 1. Wooyoung is stubbornly statued on his convictions so if he were to fight him off on it, he'd just be wasting his breath, 2. He didn't know Yeonjun and he knew Yeonjun is your friend so he would most likely side with you and try to defend you in front of him, 3. Kijoong had been returned and he would much rather focus on his son than strangers. But with each step he took, he couldn't help but let his mind go back to that day you left, that day he sat under his home office desk and let the fact that he had hurt you badly sink in slowly, drowning him in guilt and feeling of stupidity. Then his mind connected the memories and feelings to the ones he experienced years before, the day his ex abandoned him with their 3-month-old. And once again, he blamed himself for being abandoned by someone he had leant on, someone he trust, someone who was hurt because of him.

network :

@cultofdionysusnet @sandsofire @kflixnet

taglist :

@yunho-mp3 @strawberry-yeo @luvt0kki @allisonleannn @dinossaurz @khjcs @blackb3ll @aloverga @at1nys-blog @itsbeeble @potatomountain @axo-l0tl @green-thots @intancollins @galaxypox @11glitch11 @maddiebabyxoxo @alyssajavenss @mirror-juliet @gxlden-bxbyy @charreddonuts @dreamlesswonder86 @mayonnaisehoeshit @kodzukein @teenyfinds @dear-dreamie @mitchloveswriting @soobiverse @satsuri3su @phenomenalgirl9 @guess-monst3r @dimeb29 @ka-ni-ma @yayaistime @angelicyeo @kyume02 @thedistractedwriter @surveilenceysystem @ateezourstars @aursmrt @mismatchfluffysocks @puppyminnnie @nycol-ie @yungilia @writingbarnes @worcesheshestershiresauce

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atimeofyourlife · 5 months

Text

A song for the night

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: open mic night | rated: t | wc: 689 | tags: pre-steddie Eddie performs at open mic night at the bar Steve works at

Open Mic Night was somehow both Steve's favorite and least favorite night of the month to be working the bar. It was his favorite because it usually wasn't too busy, and he got to enjoy the local talent of musicians and comedians. It was his least favorite because for every one good or half decent act, there were five or six bad ones. And unlike the patrons of the bar, he couldn't just go out for a smoke during every comedian whose jokes sat firmly in the misogynistic, homophobic, and racist categories, or every tone-deaf singer that didn't understand how to tune an instrument. And to top it all off, he had to be the one to get up on the stage between each act, enthusiastically thanking them, trying to rouse something of an applause, before introducing the next act.

It was after a frightfully painful comedic routine, that seemed to have consisted solely of the guy talking about how much he hated his wife, that Steve caught sight of him. An attractive guy with long dark hair.

"Okay, thank you Derrek, for that interesting comedy routine. Everybody, give it up for Derrek." Steve kept his voice full of fake enthusiasm as he brought his hands together a few times. He then checked the list for the name of the next act. "And next up, we have another local musician. Please welcome Eddie Munson to the stage." Steve clapped a few more times as he made his way offstage, heading back behind the bar. He glanced up at the stage, and saw the most handsome man he'd seen in his entire life. It felt like it didn't matter whether or not this Eddie was any good, Steve was going to enjoy just watching him.

He couldn't keep staring the entire time, having to serve drinks to the other patrons of the bar, but his attention did keep getting drawn back to the man on the stage. He looked and sounded incredible, playing an acoustic medley of metal songs. Steve had to shake himself out of it after he'd gotten distracted while pouring a drink, overfilling the glass and covering his hand in beer. He handed the beer over to the customer, before drying his hands on a paper towel. Thankfully, it was nearly time for the next act, so Steve made his way back to the stage, hoping that someone else being up there would help him focus on his work again. Eddie finished the last song, and stepped back from the mic, starting to pack down his guitar. Steve stepped on to the stage, applauding as he went.

"Now, wasn't that incredible, ladies and gentlemen. Everyone, give a hand for Eddie Munson." Steve said into the mic, not having to fake his enthusiasm as he clapped this time. "And after that amazing set, next up we have Tammy Thompson."

Steve went back to the bar, wincing at how this next singer sounded. She'd performed several times at previous open mic nights, giving Steve an in joke about her sounding like a Muppet with Robin.

He started serving drinks again, noticing how the bar had emptied significantly, most of the regulars heading out to smoke for a few minutes to save their sanity, Steve just wished he could join them.

"What can I get to make this sound better?" A voice asked.

Steve turned quickly to see Eddie, and it took him a moment to get his brain to formulate the words needed to respond. "Legally, I don't think I'm allowed to sell something that strong."

Eddie laughed at that, his laugh as breathtaking as his singing voice. "In that case, I'll just take a PBR."

"Sure." Steve grabbed the beer. "Anything else I could get for you?"

"Your number, maybe?"

Steve's eyes widened for a second as he blushed a deep pink. He scrambled for a pen and a napkin, scribbling down the number as neatly as he could. "Here. Maybe we could get a drink some time?"

They both winced as a particularly pitchy note came through the speakers. "Just not when it's another open mic night."

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #pre steddie #steddieholidaydrabbles #open mic night #stranger things #atimeofyourwrites

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sassypantsjaxon · 5 months

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Kurogiri is not Aizawa's villain to take down

he never was, and he never will be, if for no other reason than because Horikoshi hadn't decided what to do with Kurogiri when he was first introduced.

Kurogiri and Shigaraki are the only two villains that we're introduced to at USJ who are part of the final war. because Horikoshi hasn't figured out Kurogiri yet There's nothing between Kurogiri and Aizawa. They did not recognize each other then. At all. There's nothing there. This is later confirmed at Tartarus, when Aizawa and Mic are told the truth about Shirakumo and Kurogiri.

Horikoshi likes foreshadowing. If he had intended for Kurogiri to have been Aizawa's childhood friend from the start, there would have been some sort of hint of it back then. Okay, so then when did he decide on Kurogiri's origins? Probably by the time we got the remedial training arc, because that's the first time we really get Mic as a character. Granted, we don't get a whole lot of insight into him, because he's not the focus of the plot. But we do get some glimpses of who he is. He's smart and sarcastic and weird and doesn't seem to like conflict or at least awkward conversations and most importantly Aizawa trusts him.

Mic is Aizawa's other childhood friend, of course he trusts him- No. It's not just that. Here's the thing. Mic and Aizawa and Shirakumo are so intrinsically tied together that when we first learn of Shirakumo-through their memories-they are both present in each other's memories with Shirakumo.

Mic had to be allowed to become a full character because he was going to be part of Kurogiri's story.

I would almost make an argument that Kurogiri is more Mic's villain than Aizawa's even. Okay? Remember how I said Kurogiri doesn't recognize Aizawa? He recognizes Mic. Or at least according to Garaki he does. He confirms that they were after Erasure, so if they were watching Aizawa back when he was a student, they should know that all three of them were friends, right? But he refers to Mic as Kurogiri's friend. Present tense. Kurogiri still knows who Mic is.

And this was confirmed back in Tartarus when they first confront Kurogiri too. This time Kurogiri recognizes them both (he only indicates that he knows Aizawa from USJ btw). Aizawa starts talking to Shirakumo, who tries responding, but he's not able to actually break through until Mic also calls out to him.

Aizawa's never able to reach Shirakumo alone. He confirms that he kept trying while they were both at central hospital, but was never able to get a response. If Kurogiri was solely Aizawa's villain, then he would have been able to get through to him then. Shirakumo would have been the heroes secret ace in the hole during the final war, there would be no need for Monoma to have learned to use warp gate. There would have been no reason to use Mic as an actual character. There would have been no reason for Aizawa to ask Mic to be at the hospital. Because again, Aizawa trusts Mic. He knows he's not able to reach Shirakumo alone and is hoping Mic can.

And he's not wrong. When it comes down to it, and Kurogiri wakes up, there's a part of Shirakumo fighting for control too. Because Mic called out to him.

Kurogiri is not Aizawa's villain. He is, at the very least, both Mic and Aizawa's villain (and maybe it's just me projecting as a Mic fan, but I'm almost inclined to believe Mic is going to play a bigger role than Aizawa in this plot) But the last time we saw any of the three of them, they were together, so we'll just have to wait and see how this plays out for them.

#bnha #my hero academia #eraserhead #present mic #kurogiri #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #oboro shirakumo #loud cloud #i promised i would post the evidence #so here it is #i'm half asleep so hopefully it's semi-coherent

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mrswolffs-blog · 5 months

Text

I Want Her: Lewis Hamilton x Black!Caribbean!Reader

The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix has finally come to an end and it was now time for the post race interviews. The drivers were moving slowly from one journalist to the next, most times giving the same answers to the similar questions being asked as they just want for this segment to be over.

Lewis had been rushing through his answers, trying to get away from the scene as quickly as possible until he saw HER. A pretty, short and dark-skinned woman that was currently in the act of interviewing a flirtatious Lando Norris as he was asked the last question.

Lewis politely ended the interview and walked over to George whom he was supposed to go before. "Hey George can I ask for a favour?" he asked Lowly as to not disturb anything, to which George nodded in response. "I don't want to go before you, you were supposed to be her last interviewee, however I want you to switch spots with me?" Lewis asked the younger man. George looked between the pretty woman and his teammate as he finally realised that Lewis had a crush and wanted to spend some extra time her.

"I see what's going on here, you like her don't you?" George asked to which Lewis nodded shyly while blushing. George smiled as he moved up in the line taking Lewis' space as he asked to be interviewed before him. As George listened and answered his questions, Lewis looked on with fire in his eyes as he admired the beautiful woman before him. The way that she spoke, the pretty dark brown colour of her eyes, her curly black hair ect.

After George was done, he turned around to hand Lewis the mic while shotting him a wink as a form of encouragement. Stepping forward slowly, Lewis noted the way she smiled brightly at him as he settled at the stand. "Hi, my name is Y/n and I recently transferred from Sky Sport MotoGP." she greeted him as she offered her hand for him to shake. Taking her soft and delicate hand into his own, he shook it gently before placing a soft kiss to the back and releasing it.

Throughout the whole interview, Lewis would constantly ask her to repeat her questions even though he heard them loud and clear, also taking a long time to 'think' then answer her questions, all in the reason of him wanting to spend more time with her as he also asked personal questions about herself in between.

After a couple more minutes, the interview has finally come to an end and everyone had went off to pack up their stuff to head back to the hotel. Lewis on the other hand had been waiting in the parking garage for his Y/n to arrive, his palms sweating as he anxiously bounced on the spot.

Y/n had finally gather all her equipment and secured them into her bag and was making her way to her car when she spotted Lewis standing at the door. "Lewis, hi! I thought you had left already since everyone else is gone?" Y/n cheerfully greeted the British man who smiled adoringly at her. "Um... there's a reason why I haven't left yet... I wanted to speak to you" Lewis started off nervously. He swayed back and forth as he analysed Y/n's features. Y/n on the other hand was also nervous as she was only thinking of two things: How big of a crush she had on him and if she had made any mistakes with asking any questions that made him uncomfortable.

It turned out to be addressing her first thought as Lewis explained himself. "I know this might seem a bit too forward, but ever since I saw you earlier I had been very fascinated with you. I was hoping to see you again so that i would have the chance to ask you out on a date if you're interest whenever you're free?" Lewis explained, his heart beating in his mouth waiting for her response.

Smiling up at the most beautiful man she has ever laid her eyes on, Y/n held her palm out, gesturing for Lewis to hand over his phone. After seizing the piece of technology, Y/n placed her number into it and handed it back. "You can pick me up at eight tomorrow" she said sweetly before placing a kiss to his cheek and made her way off into the her driving away. Lewis, left alone in the parking lot, started dancing in excitement as he made his way to his car, going home happy that he has the chance to date the most beautiful woman he has ever met.

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fluff #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x oc #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton fanfic

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pynkgothicka · 5 months

Note

Inspired by one of your reblogged posts..

I really want to see dark! misogynistic Jason Todd with a somewhat innocent! girlfriend. He was so sweet to her until they started dating; Now he just can't be bothered with her. He consults his friends about it on COD, or some other incel hangout, and they advise him to put reader in her place.

He comes home one day to reader laying in bed on her phone and he just can't seem to control himself. He's spewing out degrading thoughts, about how he's just so sweet to her and all she can do is complain, and not even be grateful that Jason's using his precious time to breed and lay his claim her needy cunt. Using and absolutely destroying her like the plaything she is.

(also, can i be 🐢 anon? i feel like I'll be returning to you for a while.. i love ur work!)

ＩｍａｇｉｎｉｎｇＪＳＴ

Pairing - Dark! Misogynistic! Incel! Jason Todd x Innocent! Girlfriend! AFAB! Reader

Featuring - Rest of the Batboys

Tags and Warnings - Incel behavior, noncon, name calling, misogyny, medication, gaslighting, degrading, abuse, violence against oc/reader

Authors Note - Back tew my roots!!!! And ofc I would love to finally have anons!! Also sorry this took eons-

A friendly reminder that all my works are dark fanfiction! Please if you do not like that do not read them! These depictions don't pertain to reality. This is your final warning before hitting the keep reading button!!

Jason watched you in your shared small apartment. He couldn't figure out what went wrong between the two of you. It started whenever he moved in. Jason was never so used to having somewhere there 24/7.

You were just so needy and particular.

“Jason? Baby… what do you want for dinner tonight?” You ask coming to sit by him. Your hands ran over his arm and kissing at his visable scars. Jason pulled away from you, the feeling making his skin tingle.

He watched as your face fell and you sigh before getting up and grabbing your purse. “I'm going grab something to eat tonight. Please remember to take your medicine.” You say heading to the door and leaving.

“I don't need them.” Jason replied quickly looking at you as you straightened up the living room before leaving. “I told you about reminding me to do shit.”

Jason watched as you just sighed again. “I tell you because I want you to be better baby. I don't want to keep doing things alone, I just want us to be better.” You said doting once again, keeping your sweet nature with Jason. But he only saw that as pity and he hated it. He hissed before rolling his eyes and getting up, the couch going back by his sheer strength. “I don't care what's for dinner. Just get out.”

💭

“I don't know what to do with her. She's just so fucking annoying.” Jason rambles into his microphone. He was playing COD with some online friends. One of his friends, N1ghtVV1ng laughs into his own mic.

“Well what is she doing huh? My girl treats me just right, and even allows me to fuck whenever I want.” He taunts. Jason rolled his eyes at his friends comments. “And she's so tight, god I trained her right.”

“Dude that's so gross.” RedRobinYum, another one of his friends said.

“Well, she just keeps bothering me. Then whenever I try to ask for something she just reminds me to take my meds.” Jason sneered. “Its the same shit, all these dumb questions. I just want her to stay with me and not bug me.”

“Well have you tried putting her in her place? Show her what you want from her.” DamitheBest says. Jason hummed at that suggestion.

“She's just so fragile, I'm afraid she might bre-”

“Get that shit out of your mind now.” Dami says. “Show her who's the boss before she does. Women will kick you to the curb and leave you for someone who'll tolerate that shit they pull.”

“Literally don't listen to these freaks, sit down and talk to her.” RedRobin chimes in. “With any relationship just talk it out, trust me I do that with my partner and we just talk everything out.”

Jason could hear Dami make a buzzer noise that almost broke his mic. “Nope, don't listen to him. Red, he's gotta put his foot down. Cut out any disobedience from his girl.”

Jason looked down at that, the thought of hurting you almost sickeningly turned him on. Dami was right and had always been. Jason just needed to man up and confront you.

💭

“What are you doing?”

You turn around from your spot on the bed too see Jason, standing in the doorway. You smile before getting back on your phone, his voice making you feel better that he's still around.

Yet majority of the time, Jasons voice always brought you a sense of worry and hurt. Worrying so much for and about him made you into someone who barely cared for yourself. It was always Jason, and everything you did was for him.

“Nothing really, I'm just kind of bored.” You reply. Jason stares at you, face blank. His eyes leered at your body as you just so casually laid down. Almost as if just waiting for you to say something. Anything.

“Your not going to bug me to take my meds?” Jason practically spat out. You turned around moving to where you sat on the bed. “Not gonna ask me to take out the trash, help around the apartment?

You furrow your brows. “What? Why are you talking to me like that?” You asked looking at him. “I- What did I do?”

“You dont like it when someone stands against you?” He replied completely ignoring your question. Everything about Jason's words and demeanor frightened you. It was like he genuinely hated you.

You stood up walking towards him slowly. “Jay… it's okay. I think you're having a episode…” You say keeping your voice low. Jason's chest came up and down as he kept getting more and more enraged. You reached out a hand to touch his arm, but Jason pushed you away. Your lower back hit the vanity you both built when you moved in.

“You think I'm having a episode?! Of course you do, you don't just think I'm pissed?” He replied moving to tower over you. You put a hand on the vanity to stand back up. Your chest heaved as your lungs tried to keep up with your heart. You pushed past him leaving through the bedroom door.

Back burning, you looked for your keys. “I'm done with this, all I want is what's best for you. But you've treated me like shit, and I'm done with it.” You said seeing reaching for your keys.

But they were picked up and thrown across the room.

Jason pushed your head against your kitchen island. You groaned out and began to thrash around. Jason snarled at you, keeping you detained.

Hr laughed in your face and seemingly just waited for you to calm down. “I like it when your quiet.” He said leaning down to kiss the back of your head. Your breathing shuddered as you began to cry quietly. Jason reveled in your weakness a hand resting on the back of your neck, the other on your back.

“What did I do Jason … What did I do so wrong…?” You said, your words breaking with your own tears.

“Get on my nerves… I'm such a good boyfriend, yet all you do is complain. I'm sick of that, so I'm going to change it.” Then you feel Jason's arm brush against you as he reached for the kitchen scissors. “Stay still, unless you want to get hurt. I could care either less.” He said as he took the scissors to your shirt. Cutting down the fabric, leaving you exposed as you chose not to wear a bra.

Starting to kick at Jason again, flipping around to try and get away. That attempt was failed, as Jason took your throat in hand, slamming your head back onto the counter. Your vision blurred on impact as he took off your shirt completely. The impact made you dizzy and start to become unaware. Jason saw that, and quickly took advantage of it, kissing at your neck.

He was going to get himself off.

It was what you owed him.

His kisses trailed down to your stomach, tongue dipping into every dip in your skin. You let out dazed cries as tears poured down your cheek. “You've always been so gorgeous. Don't you see how good you could have it?” Jason commented quietly as he pulled down your sweatpants along with your panties. He blew on your cunt, watching just how wet you became at his actions. “Do I have to keep beating you for you to keep still.”

Biting at your bottom lip to hold back tears you shake your head. He smiled as you shivered from his breathing. Jason pushed his head into your cunt, lapping at your exposed pussy. You bit at your bottom lip, trying to stay quiet. You couldn't give him that satisfaction, just once you wanted to be stronger than what you actually were. But Jason knew you, his hand coming down on your ass, making you yelp out. “Stop that, I want to hear you.” He said into your cunt as he continued to eat you out.

But Jason is Jason.

And Jason is selfish.

He only eats you out close enough to make you cum. He pulls away with the bottom half of of his face coated in your juices. You grabbed at the counter top, full on sobbing. “Please… Jay. Stop we can ta-” Jason's hand came crashing down next to your head, the sound of tile making you cry out more.

“You had your chance. You had multiple chances to talk, but you didn't. So now I'm putting you in your place.” He said, ignoring any protests you had. You could hear him undo his pants, the taunting noise of his zipper making your cries only louder. A dribble of spit hits your cunt, Jason's palm coming down to rub at your cunt. “Now shhh, while you take this dick.”

You let out a yell as Jason pushes his length all the way into you. He sits there, breathing heavy and labored.

His eyes stayed fixated on your pussy, swallowing his cock. He pulled out then pushed back in, your walls clamping on his length. His groans were deep as he took no time for you to adjust, fucking into you. Your body shook and shuddered as he held you down, using you for his own pleasure.

“You're so pretty like this,” Jason said his body pounding into your own. You continued to whimper under him, feeling your body become weak. His hand tangled in the mess he had made of your hair, using his strength to pull you up. “You need to be like this all the time, then I wouldn't have to deal with a bitch for a girlfriend.” He snickered into your ear. He said it like it was a threat, or a suggestion you couldn't turn down.

So you nodded in agreeance, his smile turning wicked as he fucked into you. You could feel his hips stutter as he reached his peak. Jason's hand moved to your clit as he rubbed at your bud. “You better cum with me or I'll keep raping this cunt.” That quickly snapped you back to reaily. The realization of needing to end the abuse he put you through, you tried feeling pleasure from the trauma he was putting you through.

Then you feel it. The feeling of you cumming alongside your cunt getting filled. You let out a choked gasp, Jason groaning as he filled you to the brim. His hand grabbed at your ass as he hissed. He pulled out watching as a dribbles of his cum dropped from your abused cunt. He quickly pushed it back into you with two thick fingers. Jason snickered before pulling up his boxers, leaving his jeans on the ground.

“Clean up in here, I'm getting back on the game.”

Let me know through a dm or ask to be included in my official Taglist- @darkuni63 @fangirl-death-rose @captainengineer-trixie @chimmisbae @iloverubberduckiez-blog @mageprincess7 @looneybleus @whipwhoops

#dark writing #tw dark content #tw yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere blog #tw gaslighting #yandere jason todd #dark jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd #yandere dc #dark dc #dc smut #dc fanfic #tw violence #tw abuse #tw noncon

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elliesmainhoe · 1 year

Text

Procrastination

Streamer!Ellie X Reader

Summary: While Ellie leaves her office for a moment, leaving her stream unattended, you sneak in.

Contents: nothing really, pure fluff, kisses, pet names.

This is a part 2 of Player Two.

My Masterlist

You'd been watching Ellie's steam from your shared bedroom, using it as a distraction from your assignment you had meant to be completing. But as a chronic-procrastinator any excuse is a good excuse.

So here you are, laying in bed, your original word document being abandoned for Ellie's stream. She was doing a pretty chill stream, playing various video games and chatting on and off with her chat.

Ever since you had officially been introduced to her stream, they had been talking about you non-stop. Her subs seeming finding teasing Ellie and making her go bright red fairy amusing.

"Yo guys." Ellie spoke, breaking the steady pace if the conversation she was having with her viewers "I need to go, I'm gonna be back in five minutes okay? Please don't start a cult while I'm gone? Okay thanks." She joked, taking off the head set and leaving it on her set.

A smirk on your face as you spotted the perfect opportunity. You got out of bed, quickly fixing your hair and throwing on a sweater before you creeped stealthily across the hallway to Ellie's now abandoned office. You creaked the door open, the harsh blue light making you squint.

You walked into the room, hiding off screen until the last second were you clapped into the mic, grinning as the spam typing of

"Oh Fuck!!"

"That was unnecessary"

Fled through the chat.

"Oh look it's my favourite people in the whole wide world" you giggled, sitting in Ellie's blue gaming chair.

User2: OMG😭

User3: Yay!!!!

User4: Hi Y/N 💙💙💙

"Hiya guys" you waved at the camera, a small ginger flurry of fur jumped into your lap "oh Garf, you gonna join me?"

"meow".

"yeah, yeah alright"

User5: I love Garfield so much

"I know I love Garfield aswell, don't I baby?" You laughed scratching the cat underneath his chin.

"How are you all doing?"

User6: Really good actually!

User7: epic

"Good, good. I'm glad to hear that." You hummed. "Oh-!" You exclaimed a thought coming to your head.

"The other day I was laying in bed ,scrolling through TikTok while I was waiting for Ells to wake up and I saw an edit. OF US!"

User8: I know all my favorite twitch editors edited you. It was so cute 😭

"Hold on let me pull it up," you say tapping the screen if your phone, clicking on TikTok and then favourites. "Right, okay, so it was this one" you said, you turned your phone around showing an out of focus video of you and Ellie edited to the song 'Glue Song' by Beabadoobee.

"When I tell you that when I saw this I cried. I am not kidding. Ended up waking Ellie up cause I was sobbing" you laughed once you finished, shaking your head at the ridiculous memory.

User9 donated $30 'Buy Garfield a new toy'

"aww thank you~" you smile scratching the purring cat between it's ears "You hear that baby, your gonna get a new toy'".

"meow"

"He says thank you and says he appreciates you and thinks your amazing".

You began talking about everything and nothing, talking about different goings on in your lives and thanking donations, all while swiveling around on Ellie's chair, stroking your cat like a bond villain.

"You look... Threatening" a voice you could tell was trying to stifle a laugh came from behind you.

"Ellie baby~ Hi~" you giggle turning around a stupid smile painting onto your face.

"Yeah, hi babe" she laughed in reply, be ding down and pressing a brief kiss to your lips. "What are you guys doing?" She asks looking into the webcam suspiciously.

"Oh we were just chatting"

"and why are you, my gorgeous beautiful smart girlfriend, talking to my chat instead of finishing the assignment you've been procrastinating about for a whole week, hmm?"

"uhhh I plead the fifth" you said, smiling sheepishly at the woman.

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Right guys I'm gonna have to end this stream here. If I don't babysit my girlfriend she will wonder off, forget about her work and end up being upset when she hasn't done it. So, girlfriend duties call, bye"

She clicked a few buttons, the screen changing and then switching off, "c'mon baby, let's get to bed" she hummed her arms wrapping around your torso and lifting you out of the seat.

------------

Just a quick one before I go to bed 💙.

Taglist: @aunslie @lonelyfooryouonly

Join my taglist here

Part 3

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sirthisisa-wendys · 1 year

Note

please, any Mochi, Mucho, and/or Izana talk or content. ✨️P✨️L✨️E✨️A✨️S✨️E✨️

I beg. There is so little out there about them. It's depressing. Please, sir , could we have some more (of those 3)? We are so hungry and thirsty, and much aggrieved for it. 🥺

Yeah, this is something I can do tonight. Yes, it's all coming together... and I'm going to hell for this lol

Fresh Out: Kanji Mochizuki/ Yasuhiro Muto /Izana Kurokawa x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.3k

tw: office smut, oral, handjobs, blowjobs, edging, overstimulation, c*ck milking, you name it, we got it.

masterlist

Kanji "Mochi" Mochizuki

"Mochi..." Your fingers curl into a fist and knock on the professional's door. Mochi is in his chair, staring at the screen and solving what appears to be an unsolvable problem.

"What's going on, y/n?" Mochi asks distractedly, turning a little so he can see you walk into his office.

"We're out of creamer in the break room." Mochi turns away from his computer fully, his gaze trained on you. You look so upset, so desperate, but Mochi can't understand why you're in here and not complaining to the administrative assistant instead.

"I'm only IT," Mochi notes, gesturing at his computer. "Why don't you ask one of the interns to get some creamer for you?"

"My coffee will be cold by then." You pout, and Mochi sighs, feeling the urge to tell you "no" subside. Maybe he could do you this one favor. "I know you have the best creamer in here." His right hand slides up to wipe his face, but Mochi gets p anyways and moves towards the mini-fridge to reveal his secret stash.

"You can't tell anyone about this," he begins, opening the cold box with a grunt. "This is just a one-time thing. Do you want French vanilla or regular?"

"Ew." His eyes slide toward your figure, which is now leaning against the door, pressing it closed with a soft click. "I don't want that creamer."

"That's all I've got, princess," he quips, shutting the fridge door. "Looks like you'll have to drink it black."

"That's not what you told Annie last week." Mochi grips the door once more.

"I owed Annie a favor."

"You can do me one right now, and I'll owe you one next time." Mochi resists the devilish urge to take you up on the offer, but when you flip up your skirt and flash him - no underwear - Mochi forgets about the false show of genteel manners.

"You want it in the cup or in your mouth?"

"In my mouth. I'll wash it down with some coffee."

Mochi isn't sure why he's the hot item at the office, but as you bob up and down on his length and fondle your tits, he feels the masculine urge to not give a fuck crest.

"Fuck, just like that..." he whimpers, wrapping his fingers into your hair. "Suck a little harder, pumpkin." You apply as much pressure as you can, and he jerks, bucking into your mouth.

You gag slightly, drooling after Mochi's thrust as he stands up from his chair and holds your hair in one hand. He pistons his hips forward, touching the back of your throat with his tip. You make slurping noises and do things he's never felt a woman do to his cock before, and it coaxes his cream quickly.

"Yeah," Mochi moans, letting his cock throb angrily in your mouth as you swallow repeatedly. "Get every last drop." Once he finishes, you do as you said and wash his cum down with the coffee.

"Next time," you purr, wiping your mouth. "I'll ask you to give it to me straight, no chaser."

Yasuhiro "Mucho" Muto

"Mucho, are you listening?"

"I... Yeah," he grunts, trying to keep his composure in the group call. There's no video this time - thank God - but you're beneath his desk, on your knees, and sucking his cock roughly. If his boss wasn't so adamant about remote work, he would be totally fired.

Mucho mutes his mic and leans back to look at you. Your eyes are lidded - not quite shut - but it's obvious you're enjoying tormenting him.

"You seem to enjoy edging me."

"It keeps you sharp," you note, lips wrapped around his tip. "Keeps you alert for the sales pitch meeting."

Like hell they do. Mucho's found himself wired in front of clients, practically selling his own soul for a chance to cum inside of you if the sales went through. So now...

Mucho feels his muscles tighten. "Ah, ah..."

"Awww," you murmur under the table, changing from sucking him off to holding him by the balls. "Don't cum yet. It'll ruin the fun. I want to make a nice pie for you tonight. Do you think you can wait?"

Like hell I can. Mucho strains to hear anything besides your chiding voice, but when he comes down from his almost-high, he hears his name being mentioned in the work conversation.

"Alright, I'm going to make this sales pitch short and sweet so we can all get what we want." The hand around his cock shifts upward, and Mucho tries his best not to react. "I won't need any more than five minutes of your time."

"Mucho's fast and furious with his pitches," his boss notes with pride. "He's always been a man on a mission."

There's laughter, but no one knows Mucho's only mission is to drain his balls in your cunt tonight.

"Alright, gentleman, how about we turn to page three of the report?"

Izana Kurokawa

"One more orgasm for me... Then I'll let you get back to your duties."

Izana's earned this; he knows he's earned this milking for weeks. He's been nothing but the top performer in his field, the best person to have as a mentor, the best of the very best.

And you - his direct supervisor - knew it, too.

"You really worked hard this quarter, hm?" If anyone knew Izana - COO of your company - let you strap him to a contraption on the wall and blindfolded him while wringing his dick of every ounce of cum he produced that day, they'd never look at him the same way.

"I heard you gave your managers a nice... long break since they worked so hard."

"I did," Izana pants, working himself in your hand. He eases his hips back and forth, stimulating his prostate. "I worked so hard for you, y/n."

"I know you did, baby." You press your lips to his cockhead. Izana wants to moan as loud as he possibly can, but that would alert everyone to the things going on in your office. And the last guy that did that was quickly sacked and hasn't recovered.

You continue to stroke his cock with care, and Izana writhes back and forth, trying to fight off the sudden urge to cum and cover you with it, even though he couldn't see you. He'd already made a mess he'd have to clean up off of the carpet, but that would be after aftercare and cuddles and pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

He'd clean it up for you later.

"Are you going to cum for me?"

"Please," Izana croaks, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his face. "I want to cum for you."

"Cum for me..." Izana wants to; he desperately wants to tip over the edge one more time. "I know you want to," you hum, standing up and stroking his cock forcefully. "What if I let you cum in me?"

Izana cums so hard at the thought of even touching your pussy that he almost blacks out. His eyes roll into the back of his head, and you place a hand over his mouth as he lets go all over your plush thighs. He'd clean that up to, and with a joyful spirit. His tongue slaivates at the memory of cleaning your breasts after he came prematurely his first time. It tasted like heaven...

"That's a good boy... Ready for me to take you down?"

"Yes," Izana whimpers, parched and aching and needy. When you press the man against your chest, he exhales deeply, feeling the warmth of the love he thought he'd get from a mother figure. But alas, he's here with you, cumming to your tune.

"You did so good," you murmur, patting his head. "And you'll keep doing good for me."

"Yes," Izana breathes. "Yes, I will. Only for you."

#izana kurokawa x reader #izana kurokawa smut #izana kurokawa #yasuhiro muto smut #yasuhiro muto x reader #yasuhiro muto #kanji mochizuki x reader #kanji mochizuki smut #kanji mochizuki #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers

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rixsjwb · 3 months

Text

gojo x f!reader

summary: your a close friend of gojo that he recently introduced to his fans on stream, you have a thick French accent and can barely speak any good English but his fans love you, here's some interaction between you and gojo that's fans go crazy about.

note: just wrote did not reread sorry if it doesn't make sense make it make sense and enjoy✨️

𖣔 ──────────────────── 𖣔

𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 1:

gojos fans were quick to fill his chat with comments people often heard or seen him play duolingo learning French he'd often get asked 'why are you learning French?' or 'who's the special girl?' but gojo brushed it off very casually

"who am I learning French for? oh! just a close friend of mine; you want to see her? one day guys.. one day!"

gojo has talked to you before about joining his stream? infact you supported him by watching some of his streams on your free time.

you adjust your rimless glasses to better see gojo as he's talking to you in broken English, so you can better understand him? but its still a little hard to understand eventually he gives up pulling a translator out and translating what he has to say

est-ce que tu veux joindre mon stream?

you nod you head showing you don't mind joining him stream, su-sure you stutter out trying to pronounce the word in a more english way than in a french accent.

he's pretty much jumping in his seat saying 'merci!" in a terrible englishified way you can't help but stiffle a laugh.

when you first joined his stream you couldn't really understand what the chat was saying, but you watches as it passed by so fast. gojo often replied to people's questions while you just sat beside him with a soft smile on your face

"she's pretty! I know she's such a cutie."

shokir:"I love her glasses!."

toji_fuhsji:"yoo gojo can pull??? since when?"

megu:"who'd this?"

gojosecondballsack: "nevermind gojo give me that sexy thing beside him😊✨️"

he reads every comment smiling as he's glad his fans are welcoming you with open arms, he then hears a familiar sound ringing from his computer as he xs out the stream app he sees that the groupchat he's in is blowing up and that yuji started the call📞.

"YOO GOJO WHOS THAT BUEATIFUL WOMAN BESIDE YOU??" yuji screams in his mic making it sound bassboosted.

gojo can hear suguru's light chuckles in the back as he watches more of his close friends join the call while still on stream.

"she's my bestie/roomie! what chu hoes laughin at?" he says questioning them.

sukuna who rarely shows up decided to answer the question

" weve known ya for awhile now why's this the first time I'm s'eenin her?"

"facts she's actually adorable tho" shoko pipes up

"hi y/n bonjour salute!! comment ça va?"

shoko says you're almost shocked that one of gojos friends seem to know french you pipe up to speak back to her your velvety, soft voice responding back.

"ça va bien, tu peux parlé le française?"

you say, but your getting your answer as she doesn't seem to respond back "you speak french?"

you say your accent evident as you attempt to come out your comfort zone speaking english

"ahh she can speak? she sounds great to have just started learning it."

shoko says gojo pulls out the translator translating what shoko said so you could understand what she said, you've always let gojo know how self conscious you were of your accent but hearing that complement made you feel bashful you shake your hands one in front of the other waving them back and forth to show your denying that your English isn't very great.

gojo can't help but feel awe about how bashful you get when someone complements you.

☾︎ ──────────────────── ☽︎

𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 2 :

while gojo was gaming playing a scary game his fans recommend with suguru and sukuna. despite hie headphones being on and occasionally looking back at the cam to see if it's recording his face he notices movement of his slightly open door.

he watches as the door eventually gets wider showing you who seemingly just woke up from a nap, from your neck and up is cut of from the cam as you come closer to see what game he's playing.

you eventually lean over more to see more of the game he watches as the chat seems to move at nano seconds he's thinking it's moving fast because a monsters there or obviously because you showed up after dipping and not showing up on his streams for a good 2 weeks or so.

he then realizes it's because of how low cut your shirt is and how your pretty muching creating a invisible chair to sit on to get a better view of the computer he notices your cleavage is pretty much on full display and yoi don't seem to notice he feels almost bad that his fans were probably gonna say inappropriate stuff about you he's quick to speak up tho.

"yo yo hold on hold on.."

gojo tells suguru and megumi there characters in the game pausing to look back at him.

gojo was quick to find a spare chair in his room and even got you a shirt to pit over your chest to avoid the possible sexulization coming.

"put this shirt on.." gojo mutters to busy on seeing if he can pull your shirt more up to cover the cleavage but desided to just help your put on his shirt he gently pushes you down to sit on the spare chair he had, pulling the collar of the shirt over your head that popped out. and fixing it taking a good look at you to see if the white shirt he'd Givin you was see thought.

once confirmed he resumed playing.

" okay we back gang, sukuna move your fantasy character he's blocking my way!"

gojo says, minutes later sending a glance to you

making sure your fine.

later it was pretty much trending that he was looking out for you.

sugurughetto: yo jojo siwa your trending on tiwtter.

jojosiwa: I know I'm just that famous youk?😍

suukunatuna: shut your bitch ass up.

shokoloco🥳: I'm surprised usually you wouldn't give a shit bout girls but looks like this ones serious.

jojosiwa: it's not serious! we're just close guys YOU MAD YOU AINT TRENDING HOE.

jojosiwa:guys let's brainstorm streaming ideas😊

tojiskidmarks: I'm tryna see s'this bueaty in person.

chosokamotod4agon: play gta 6

to say he was praised for looking out for you.

────────────────────

𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 3:

you had a tattoo on your lower back and just right under your boob there small tattoos not to big not the small your lower back one doesn't tend to show but with the low rise flared out leggings you wore where low enough that if you bend over far enough it'd show a bit.

gojo was making a stream about opening gifts from fans and there was alot to open, sine yoi were curious about one small box you desided to open it but it was quite father away from you.

"gojo you pass, can you pass box?" you stretch out trying to make a accurate point to which box you specifically want you learn in further have to lean off your chair to reach, he stands up to pick up the box his lanky long legs taking just one big step to reach it as he turns back around to sit on the chair he notices writing in your back.

"woah what's that's on your back?" he motions. placing his hand on the exact area we saw the tattoo, you show the tattoo on your lower back causing gojo to be shocked as he never thought you'd have a tattoo.

"bro! that's fuckin crazy, yall look at the tattoo!" he says in shock grabing his camera and showing the tattoo much closer " do you have anymore?" he points at your back and trys to make a motion signifying 'more?' because you're intelligent you understood immediately, lifting your shirt to show your other tattoo.

"WOAHH THERE woah don't go flashing the fans now" he cackled knowing dam well you wouldn't even understand what he said.

you lift your shirt up careful to nor flash your boobs you watch as satoru zooms in to the tattoo, touching the tattoo like a curious child touches glass when looking at a toy that interest them. you pull down your shirt after feeling a arm snake around your waist.

"she's mine buddies you ain't stand in a chance." he says arrogantly , he eventually puts the camera back where it was, you open the small box seeing a bueatiful swan necklace with a note inside your soft gasp caught sayorus attention causing him to look over at you.

when he sees the necklace he's also surprised he takes the small note in it reading it aloud.

"this is for y/n! hope she enjoys and I've been a fan for so long gojo! you make my day!" the fan wrote.

gojo digs in his brain to find the right words in french to tell you the necklace is yours.

"pour toi!"

gojo says he can tell your very touched by the gift. as you mutter a thank you with a bright smile.

thank you for the support and critique on my french it will definitely benefit me in the future thank you🙏🙏🙏

#gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader

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justsomerandomfanfic · 4 days

Text

Bright Lights - Timothée Chalamet X Female Reader

Title: Bright Lights

Timothée Chalamet X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Zendaya (Mentioned), Denise Villeneuve (Mentioned), Cynthia: your manager (Mentioned), Jody: the interviewer, and your adoring fans (Mentioned)

Requested by: Anon!

WC: 2,363

Warnings: Reader is mentioned wearing a dress, celebrity Reader, Reader is mentioned to have anxiety, nicknames, secret relationship, slightly suggestive, very small angst, and fluff

Your eyes were closed, your breathing slow and deep as you concentrated on your said breathing. You fiddled with the fabric of your attire, a black dress that you were wearing for the red carpet premiere of ‘Dune: Part 2.’ You had played the lead alongside Zendaya and Timothée - your boyfriend. Well, secret boyfriend. You both treasured privacy and liked to keep both your private life and life in the limelight separate. This had been something you both wanted, and so far it had been working out pretty well for the both of you.

Yes, there had been times when the tabloids would assume and make assumptions about the two of you; digging way too deep into the relationship and scrutinizing the simplest of paparazzi photos. It was stressful, as it was for any celebrity couple, but you both got through it; it helped to communicate and talk things out when one or the other was upset by anything. But you'd deal with all the stress and paparazzi over and over again if it meant that you were with Timothée. He made everything worth it.

Letting out one more breath, you flickered open your eyes and stepped out of the car as the door opened. The roaring and the screaming from the many, many fans seemed to be coming from everywhere as you stood up. They rushed to the rope, arms reaching out, holding things for you to sign or pictures to take. You gave them all your best smile, thanking them and signing as many autographs before you were sent to the carpet.

Going to your first interviewer, you gave the young woman a smile before she spoke, "Y/N, it is so lovely to meet you, my name is Jody, and I'd just like to start out by saying that I love your dress." She complimented, making your smile widen.

"Thank you! I love your outfit too." You replied, seeing Jodi was wearing a simple black suit. Clasping your hands before you, you held onto your bag tightly, feeling a little bit overwhelmed.

"Thank you!" She gushed before getting into the real questions, "Do you mind telling me who made this particular outfit tonight?"

Clearing your throat lightly, you spoke, "Well," You began thoughtfully, looking at your dress. "The dress was made for me by Valentino, and I just have to thank them for doing such an amazing job. I was stunned when I first saw it." You answered, “The jewelry and bag is Gucci, and my shoes are also Valentino.” Jody seemed impressed, nodding her head slightly before she went into her next question.

"How did you get cast into the movie, if you don't mind me asking?" She asked, and you felt yourself become more at ease.

"My manager called me up one day and told me that Denis wanted me to come in for auditions. Cynthia, my manager, never told me what it was for, though I did have a feeling that it might’ve been for the second Dune movie. But it seemed that I did a good job since I was cast." You let out a small laugh, and Jody gave you a smile and a nod, bringing the mic back over to her.

"So, Denis Villeneuve specifically asked you to be in his movie?" She asked, bringing the mic back over to you.

You nodded, shifting your weight slightly, "Yes, he had told me once when we were filming for ‘Dune: Part 2’ that he loved my work in the ‘Transformers’ series and ‘Barbie.’" Your lips quirked upwards into a grin. It was simply phenomenal working on the movie with Denis and the rest of the cast. And I feel very honored to have had the chance to be a part of this, honestly, groundbreaking movie."

"That's amazing, I love those movies, and I have no doubt you are incredible in this movie as well." Jody spoke, "So, I wanted to bring up a little something." Her words made your stomach twist unsurely, you knew what was coming, "There have been rumors that you and Timothée Chalamet are involved in some way, and I'd just like to ask if that rumor is true?"

You could feel your cheeks grow hot, as your eyes glanced down the carpet, seeing Zendaya and Timothée further down. You couldn't help but let your eyes wander over Timothée, wearing a black baggy top, and silver shiny pants. Zendaya wore an amazing robotic-eeque suit, which was mighty impressive. And Timothée looked absolutely handsome, the lights of the multiple cameras flashing as he smiled with Daya by his side.

You let out an awkward, breathy laugh, turning back to the interviewer, "Well, we're just really good friends. Timothée has been my biggest supporter through everything, the same goes for Zendaya, and I feel really lucky to have worked alongside them in this movie." You said as professionally as you could as Jody gave you and nodded in thanks before you were asked to go to your first mark.

Standing before the flashing cameras and paparazzi yelling out your name, you posed and looked at the many cameras as best as you could. Your eyes burned from the constant flashing but your smile never wavered. You had been doing this for a long time, so you were pretty used to it. You were snapped out of your thoughts though when you felt a familiar hand wrap around your waist. Your faux camera-ready smile quickly turned into a real one when you looked over to see Timothée, already looking down at you. His green eyes were soft as they took you in, and you felt yourself melt under his gaze as he gave you a soft, loving smile.

"Hi, Timmy," You greeted your boyfriend, leaning in more toward him subconsciously, hoping he could hear you over all of the people; you felt his grip on you tighten.

"Hello, mon amour," He muttered, his voice deep. His eyes flickered to the cameras, then back to you, "I've missed you," He then said, and you looked up at him once more, giving him a smirk with a small tilt of your head as your eyes glanced from his eyes, to his hair, and back. You had to suppress the urge to run your fingers through his hair. But, you know that you'd have him all to yourself after the premiere was over.

Timothée was feeling ever-so-much the same, the urge to just lean down and kiss you was strong. His hands itched to pull you close, press against your body, and kiss every inch of skin that you could offer until the world fell away. But Timothée had to hold off on doing anything of the sort. He felt his smile widen, his eyes gazing from your eyes, the soft slope of your nose, and down to the smile on your face. He loved your smile. Your smile was breathtaking. He couldn't believe that he was dating you. You. He was so in love with you. He felt so lucky to get to wake up and see you beside him, to share his moments with you, to just be with you. He had no difficulty imagining spending the rest of his life with you.

"We saw each other no more than four hours ago, Timmy," You laughed lightly, breaking him from his thoughts of you as you felt your cheeks heat up from his intense gaze.

Timothée only returned your smirk, “And I’ve been missing you the moment we left the hotel," He turned back to face the cameras, looking like a complete natural. You felt your heart skip a beat at his comment, admiring the way he looked as he smiled at the cameras. You were so proud of him. You felt his hand tighten once more on your waist, his thumb brushing against the soft fabric as he waved to the many cameras with his other hand, "I'll see you inside?" He asked, and you gave him a nod.

"As always," You watched as he looked down at you once more before slipping his arm from your waist and taking your hand in his. Raising your hand to his lips, Timothée kept his beautiful green eyes locked on yours as he pressed a lingering kiss to the back of your hand; leaving you breathless. Reluctantly, he let go, your hand dropping back to your side as he headed to his mark. He got his kiss, and you got yours.

Letting out a happy sigh, you knew there were going to be rumors, tabloids, and whatever else talking about what had transpired but you didn't care. You were just content with having Timothée with you tonight, even for a little while. You could still feel the warmth that his arm had left, and it gave you butterflies in your stomach. You knew when this was all over, you’d be with him again, cuddled in your hotel room, and you couldn’t wait.

Finally, you made it inside the theater, finding Timothée and sitting down beside him. He quickly turned his head when he felt you sit down, giving you that stunning smile of his. You returned the gesture happily, your heart swelling at just the sight of him. As the lights dimmed and the many celebrities around hushed, you felt Timothée's hand land on your thigh; your hand swiftly moved over to cover his. You bit your lip lightly as you let the soft pad of your thumb brush over his knuckles, he then interlocked his fingers with yours just as the film began to play. The intro music echoed throughout the theater, and the first scene began to play out.

How did you get so lucky?

Around more than halfway through the movie, your eyes began to droop. Your head fell to the side and landed on Timothée's shoulder. You tried to fight it, you really did, but you were tired and slightly overwhelmed by the paparazzi and flashing cameras. Timothée turned his head slightly, his nose brushing the crown of your head, a small smile on his face as he gently squeezed your hand.

"I'll wake you when it's over," He whispered to you, gently rubbing his thumb against your wrist, and you hummed quietly in response, "Go to sleep, sweetheart."

You slowly nodded, letting your eyes flutter close. How did he get so lucky?

~~~

When you opened your eyes, you frowned deeply, confused. You sat on your bed, phone in hand, on Tumblr. You looked around your hotel room, saw your TV playing some YouTube video, your clock on your bedside table read ten in the morning, and the sun was sitting high in the sky outside. You felt your shoulders drop, a deep breath falling out between your lips. You dropped your phone onto the mattress, rubbing your tired eyelids with the palms of your hands before you looked around your bedroom.

You were a bit confused, not remembering how you got into bed in the first place. You shut your eyes as you tried to remember the night before, remembering the premiere, but the memories from that event were blurry. It was hard to tell if you actually went to the premiere or if it was all a dream. Such large and public events were a bit stressful for you, and you often had to sleep the overwhelming sense of anxiety away before you could function properly.

But as you opened your eyes, you brought your gaze to the closet door, you spotted the garment bag that hung there; you could see your tan dress inside through the sheer fabric of the bag. Sweeping your gaze back around your room again, you spotted Timothée’s black premiere shirt draped over the hotel room chair; his black shoes were next to your heels by the closet. You sighed heavily, running your hands through your hair. It wasn't a dream, you had gone to the premiere. You knew that your anxiety sometimes caused you to forget details from these big and stressful events, and the more you sat there, the more you began to remember the events of the night before.

Letting out a small sigh of relief, you turned your attention to the other side of your bed, frowning slightly as Timothée wasn't there. Before you got out of bed to get ready for the day, your eyes spotted a small pink sticky note on Timothée's bedside table. Reaching over, you pulled the sticky note from the wooden surface, your small frown turning upside-down at the sight of Timothée's handwriting.

'I got a call from my manager, I didn't want to disturb you. Ordering breakfast whenever you’re ready. Forever yours, T.'

Kicking off the hotel covers, you felt your stomach rumble at the mere thought of food. With a smile, you jumped from the bed and slipped out of the room, your eyes immediately spotting Timothée as he lightly paced around the main area of the hotel suite, phone to his ear as he spoke to his manager. You leaned against the doorway, crossing your leg over the other, your arms crossing as you smiled; watching as Timothée's eyes darted to where you stood, his expression changing instantly as he gave you a second glance.

His face softened as soon as you smiled at him, pausing his pacing, unable to look away from you. Timothée finished whatever he was saying to his manager before hanging up the phone and walking towards you, "Good morning, mon amour," He greeted, stopping in front of you as he tucked your hair behind your ear and cupped your cheek with one of his hands, dipping down slightly to press a loving kiss to your lips, "Sleep well?"

You hummed softly, nodding your head, "Very much so, yes." You replied, pressing your hand against his hand on your cheek, his skin warm and soft under your fingertips.

He chuckled softly, pulling away from your touch and taking your hand in his, leading you backward into the suite. "Ready for breakfast then?"

"Absolutely," You nodded, your chest warming from the overwhelming happiness and adoration that you were feeling, "I'm starving."

---

Main Masterlist | Celebrity Masterlist

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uhdrienne · 1 month

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

04. 53,000 won

🌼 feat: wonwoo x reader (written and a bit of smau), fluff, mild angst??, hometown chachacha!inspired

🌼summary: going back to the countryside where you grew up was at the bottom of your list. unexpectedly, your life changes course, and you eventually find your home in weekly village cleaning, the sound of the waves, and with the local jack-of-all-trades, jeon wonwoo.

🌼 warning: mention of a funeral (but no one dies, it's just a description)

🌼 word count: ~3k

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"Ugh!!" Your head is in your hands, sitting in the middle of your newly-furnished apartment, mulling over the incident. A part of you feels bad for saying all that out, but how were you to know the mic was on?

A knock on your door breaks you out of your struggle. You sigh and pull yourself up. When you open the door, you're surprised to see Wonwoo outside. His mouth is set in a mocking smile, all the previous friendliness and teasing tone gone.

He cuts in before you can ask what he's doing here. "You really think you're better than everyone, don't you?"

"What?" You ask in shock.

"You must have had a smooth life, right? I told you before, Miss L/N. This isn't the city." He continues coldly, not a usual shred of humour in that sentence to be seen. "We live differently from you bigshots in the city, that's true. We make honest livings, and everyone has had their fair share of struggles. And what did you say -- 'too simple it's aggravating'? I'm not sure you know about anything any one of us has gone through. I humoured you at first because I thought you were just awkward with us, but I guess I shouldn't have." He gives a mirthless laugh.

You snap, "If this is about earlier, just stop. I don't need you to rub it in."

He raises his eyebrows. "You went around calling us all simpletons in essence, but you get upset the moment I call you out for it?" You shoot a glare at him, but he continues, unfazed.

"Listen here, Doctor. Life isn't so fair on everyone. You may have had it easy, but a lot of people spend their lives on unpaved roads, and some run at full speed only to reach the edge of a cliff. You have no right to undermine that, got it?"

He stalks off without looking back.

You slam the door shut and return to the middle of the room, fuming. Not even three minutes later your pity party is interrupted by yet another knock on the door.

Fed up, you storm to the door and pull it open, ready to vent on the man...

"Delia??" You ask, and she breaks into a smile. "Surprise!"

"What are you doing here?!" You burst into tears and crush her in a hug. Her expression turns into one of concern. "Wha- are you okay??"

"I messed up!" You sob into her shoulder as she hurriedly comforts you and pats you on the back. "When I was telling you about the town, I was in the broadcast room, and it played out for everyone to hear."

"Oh." Delia pauses the patting for a second before pulling away from the hug. "Yeah, you really did screw up."

"Delia!" You wail. "What now? I can't face them anymore. I'll have to move out, but I'll be unemployed. I-"

"Okay, calm down, shh, shh," Delia says, rubbing your back to soothe you. "It's okay. Just apologise -- sincerely -- and make sure you don't do it again." After a pause, she asks, "Is that why I saw Chief Jeon walking down the path earlier?"

"You saw him?" You ask, stricken. "Did he say anything?"

"No, he just smiled and said hello," Delia replies. "He didn't seem any different."

"Crap," You groan, leaning against the couch.

"Yup, crap indeed," Delia says bracingly. "Look, really, try to have fun here, okay? I know this wasn't your first choice, but a lot can happen in three months. I think you need to give them a chance before you say anything. I mean, if someone just assumed shit about you, you'd be mad too, right?"

You shrug. Delia rolls her eyes. "Go take a walk or something to clear your head. You might go do something rash if I keep on yapping, so go on."

You throw on a cardigan over yourself and make your way out the door with Delia's encouragement. You finally walk to the harbour, rather chilly at this time of night, and to your dismay, you spot Chief Jeon, sitting with Seungkwan and Joshua along the steep step at the top.

Oh. It was all three of them.

You brace yourself to walk right past them but sigh, Delia's words replaying over and over in your head. But they probably hated you now, you reasoned. So if you walked past them, they might not even bat an eyelash.

As you approach, Joshua looks up and raises his eyebrows. "Why're you here?"

"Walk," You reply hesitantly, trying to avoid eye contact. Seeing them again, in person, like this -- amplifies the embarrassment you feel. You can feel your ears turning red.

Chief Jeon huffs. "Sit down. You're not at a court sentencing or something."

Seungkwan finally looks up at you and motions with his head slightly, and that is your cue to sit, a small distance away from the three men.

"That," Chief Jeon says, pointing at the large, red lighthouse in the distance, glowing with bright lights against the night sky, "is the lighthouse. Fishermen use it lots when they can't get back before nightfall. It helps them navigate, and make sure they don't hit rocks and capsize."

You look at him curiously. "What?"

"Miss Hwang -- you've met her, the cafe owner-- can be a bit of a chatterbox, but she's really friendly. She's noisy, but she has a good heart, and she makes good company on lazy days." He continues, as if he hasn't heard you.

"Hey," Joshua nudges him, amusement on his face. "Tell her about Grandma Lee."

"Grandma Lee is everyone's family," Chief Jeon adds, a fond expression on his face as he looks out to sea. "She's lived here all her life, so she's watched practically everyone grow up, and she's seen lots of them come and go. She... she raised all three of us when we were kids, actually."

"She's the best person ever, and she's a good cook." Seungkwan tells you, the first sentence he's said to you since the fiasco.

Your confusion doesn't ebb. "What on earth are you three talking about?"

Chief Jeon rolls his eyes. But it's Joshua who speaks up first.

"We were getting to that," He says. "We're angry, yeah, that you jumped to the conclusions of us being simple that it was annoying. And Wonwoo was right that everyone's lives are different and you really shouldn't have said that." You're ready to retort, but Chief Jeon cuts in.

"You must be angry about what I said earlier."

"You know meddling can be dangerous, right?" You return. "You probably haven't caught up to the world yet."

"Probably," Chief Jeon shrugs. "But I'd appreciate it if you met them halfway."

You huff.

"I know this wasn't in your plans," Chief Jeon continues.

"...But?"

"This may sound old-fashioned, but this town hasn't had too many city people come in to stay," Seungkwan adds, tossing a pebble in the air and catching it. "So we're very tight-knit and our behaviour can be different from city people."

"Sounds exhausting," You mutter.

"Yet you chose to open a clinic here. Don't we all need some time to adjust?" Chief Jeon asks you. When you don't reply, he says, slightly sighing. "We were talking about it, and we figured all people make mistakes. Strictly speaking, it's not like you knew the mic in that room was on."

"We badmouth everyone at some point anyway, right? And everyone is probably talking shit about you right now," Seungkwan shrugs. "So you're all even. It's time for you to start over."

"And we want to tell you about life here," Joshua says, not unkindly. "So we can get to know each other a bit more, and we won't just be awkward up until you leave."

You stay silent, your irritation fading slightly. Perhaps these three weren't that bad.

Seungkwan launches into a quick briefing of the villagers. You find out that Mrs Woo, your landlord, has a seven-year-old son, who's top of his class and a quiet but obedient boy. That a young couple is running a small convenience store near the main path, and they're expecting a second baby soon. Wonwoo and Joshua stay silent, mostly, only chiming in very occasionally.

You don't say much, simply nodding at the right places, until Seungkwan snaps his fingers. "Ah, right! Reminds me, have you given out rice cakes?"

You stare at him in utter confusion, only for all three men to stare back at you, baffled. "You haven't? Seriously?" Wonwoo asks incredulously.

"No wonder," Joshua muses, before explaining. "You ever heard of the custom of handing out rice cakes when a business opens or when you move in?"

You nod slowly. "I thought that was a past tradition."

"Some of us see it as a form of courtesy," Joshua replies. "We'll help you make them, so pass them out. Maybe they'll take it as an olive branch."

You nod hesitantly. "Okay. I see."

Wonwoo shakes his head in mock amusement. "All those brains to be a doctor, and you really forgot rice cakes?"

You shoot him a wilting look, and he cracks a smile. "Don't start on your spiel about city life again."

"I wasn't going to," You say obstinately, but you know damn well you were on the verge of it.

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To little surprise on your end, no one really changes their impression of you even after the rice cakes three days after you move in.

Some accept it with barely-there enthusiasm, while some don't even bother to spare you a second glance. It was expected, you muse, as you exit your twelfth household of the day.

"Miss Doctor!" A voice you know all too well calls out to you, and you look up wearily.

"What?"

"You handing out rice cakes?" He asks, outstretching his hands to take the few tins you have in your hands.

"Yeah. You guys said to."

He huffs. "Show some backbone about it, would you? You're promoting your clinic, not a funeral."

You cross your arms. "You try getting brushed off by so many people and see if you can still keep that grin on your face."

He rolls his eyes. "Don't be a baby. I bet you just went in, said "I hope you come to the clinic!" without apologising, and left."

You stay rooted to the ground. "So?"

He looks at you, shock on his face. "Did you really think that's enough? Of course no one would be convinced! An apology would be more than welcome."

You shrug, already worn out. "Whatever."

"Don't get grumpy on me," He says bracingly. "That's pathetic. Where's your friend, by the way?"

"Back in Seoul." You shrug.

He rolls his eyes. "Alright. Come with me this evening."

"What?"

"You're pretty stubborn. I said, meet me this evening. We're going somewhere."

"Wher-"

He stalks off, his hand stuck up in a wave.

"Idiot," You mutter.

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You meet him at the junction near the small convenience store at the junction at six sharp.

"Oh, you're here early," He remarks as he approaches you. "Come on. We're going to the village meeting."

"What?" You recoil instantly, and he clicks his tongue. "Don't be a baby, honestly. Come on."

He leads you, with lots of complaining, back to the same place with the broadcast room. This time, you hear the buzz of people's voices, some laughter, lively conversation from inside.

Your hesitation is obvious as Wonwoo ushers you, and he sighs. "I'm giving you a chance to go in and try making things right. They need you as a doctor like you need them as companions, you know?"

You try to glare at him, but with your unwillingness and nerves combined, it's much milder than usual. He's clearly unbothered as he cocks his head towards the room. "I'll catch up with you. Go on."

"You're not coming?" The words shoot out, more alarmed than you intended.

"Time's a-ticking. I'm not the one who should apologise, Miss Doctor."

You huff, turn your back to him, and steel yourself. "Fine." Your heels crunch into the gravel as you walk towards the room.

He watches you as you march away.

You open the door warily, and all eyes turn to you. Disgruntled mutters break out as you step in awkwardly, but Seungkwan and Joshua, who are already sitting cross-legged near the back, smile slightly and wave you over to sit with them. Amongst the not-so-discreet chatter of the grandmothers who eye you disapprovingly, you make your way through and sit next to them in relief.

The conversation is muted until Ms Hwang asks (although it sounds more like a confrontation to you), "Why are you here, Doctor?"

"Um..."

Seungkwan clicks his tongue before he cuts in, clearly sensing your discomfort with all the villagers staring at you, not kindly in the slightest. "She's living here with us in the town now! Of course, she should be here."

Joshua murmurs assent, hand coming up to pat your shoulder in comfort. You try to smile awkwardly, and the villagers go back to mumbling under their breaths. That is until the door opens and Wonwoo comes in. He's carrying a box of fruits, you observe, and the villagers make way for him on autopilot. He sets the large box down, makes eye contact with you, and breaks out into a grin.

"Ah, Miss Doctor! I see why you needed my help carrying this in." He makes a show of stretching his back. "This is rather heavy, huh?"

"Wha-" You start to ask, but Seungkwan jabs you in the ribs. He's smiling when you look at him, and you finally figure out the act.

The murmurs continue, but more so in surprise, and as Wonwoo looks around in mock confusion, he deliberately chuckles out. "Ah, Miss Doctor heard about the village meeting today. She went to get fruits for everyone, but it was too heavy. She didn't even want my help until I insisted!"

The three grandmas turn to look at you, but the air of disapproval is replaced by something more questioning. The change is rather welcomed, though, the feeling of being scrutinised slowly fading. You manage to laugh out awkwardly.

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The meeting goes without a hitch. The villagers help themselves to the peaches and apples Wonwoo — “you” brought— as your landlord addresses the issues of village cleaning and trash bags. Joshua even throws in a few deliberate praises on your choice of fruits. As the sky outside darkens, your landlord finally wraps up, and she adds, "Let's all thank Y/N for bringing fruits today, okay?"

A few mumbles of thanks are heard, but that alone sends endless relief through you.

Everyone files out after a while, goodnight's and see you's exchanged. You hang behind the rest, walking with Wonwoo. Seungkwan and Joshua go on ahead, saying they want to have an early night.

He stops you at the junction and holds out his palm.

"What?" You ask.

"53,000."

"Huh?"

"53,000 won."

"Wha-"

"For the fruits. I didn't want to say this to you earlier."

You huff and reach into your bag, but he stops you. "Bank transfers are fine. I'm not going on another wild goose chase with you for money."

"God, do you ever get tired?"

He chuckles at your annoyed tone before speaking again, slightly warmer and less sarcastic. "Good job today. I think the grandmas are warming up to you."

Before you can respond, he's striding back down the path, waving goodbye to you.

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wonwoo is our saviour 😋

💌 taglist: @gaslysainz @lev1hei1chou

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