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#real yearning hours are happening

meownotgood · 7 months

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WEEK ONE — masturbation + aki hayakawa, 18+, gn!reader, jerking off, pillow humping, sexual fantasies, edging, a hint of degradation, aki just can't help his feelings for you

kinktober masterlist

Everyone knows Aki has a crush on you.

It's as obvious as it could possibly be. He's always staring, always coming up with any excuse he can to slip away from work for a while and come talk to you. He leaves frequent gifts on your work desk: notes in his handwriting, flowers or snacks or souvenirs he got for you from Hokkaido.

He's unusually awkward when your name gets brought up in conversation, he's jittery whenever you're around — The last time you tagged along on the division's monthly drinking night, Aki was practically a mess, choosing to drown himself in as much alcohol as he had the pocket change to order, simply to keep from losing it because you'd sat next to him. Of course you had to sit right next to him.

You've kept him infatuated for forever now. The thing is, Aki doesn't care if he's obvious. You're so pretty, he thinks. He's thought so from the very beginning. You're pretty and interesting and smart and it isn't his fault; he really can't control how his heart flutters and his head goes dizzy every time you talk to him, it just happens. You just have that effect on him.

He can't help but feel shy every time you call his name in that sweet voice of yours; so polite, sticking to Hayakawa-sir even though he's told you before that you can use his first name. You grin every time, and you explain, But you get embarrassed when I call you Hayakawa. He can't help it when his face turns red all the way to the tips of his ears because you're teasing him, giving him a hard time for how stuttery he's getting.

You were particularly teasing today. Aki knew you must've been in a good mood from the moment he arrived at headquarters. You held him by his arm, you cooed praises into his ear for how hard he's been working lately. Told him if he ever needed a break, he could come to your office any time he wants to and you'd give him a massage or make him some coffee. You insist.

Maybe that's why he can't sleep right now.

He's tried to get some sleep this time, he seriously has. He hates when he's like this. When he finds he's unable to stop thinking about you, he'll try everything he can to wind down and make himself forget. He'll go for a run to try and get his energy out, take an ice cold shower, smoke until his lungs are burning to attempt to quell the noise in his mind, and yet tonight, none of that has worked.

Nothing can chase away those thoughts of you, those memories of your pretty face and your teasing hands. Nothing convinces his heart to stop pounding within his chest. Aki tosses, turns. His sheets rustle and his mattress shifts underneath his weight.

It's a real conundrum. He's felt hot all over ever since he climbed into bed. His face is warm, he's practically sweating. Turning again, he takes a quick glance at his alarm clock, the screen reads 11:54 which is several hours since he first attempted to sleep and a few minutes since he last checked it.

You were touching him so much today. So much, more than he's used to, even for you. No-one else ever touches him like that, nobody ever hugs him, holds his hand, makes him feel wanted. He wonders if you know how worked up you get him, if you can tell his heart is racing, or know the reason why he's shifting is because his slacks are getting tight.

11:56, now. Aki's head is spinning.

This is stupid, wrong of him, even. He's not super close to you. You're just one of the Public Safety office workers. If he wants to be technical, he could be considered your superior, actually. A superior fantasizing about one of the little devil hunter assistants. He's terrible.

Aki can't help but yearn to feel your touch elsewhere, everywhere. He needs it, needs you, warmth buds in his core and there's a steady ache between his legs. He was short on breath before, when you'd grabbed his arm and pressed real close, and even now, just from thinking about it, he's —

Fuck. Aki twists, rolling from his side onto his back, he rubs his knotted up temple with his finger and his thumb. It's too much. You're going to be the death of him.

His breath comes out heavy and shaking and loud in his ears. His chest rises up and down, his trembling fingers slip under the blanket, then underneath the waistband of his sweats, and his heart begins to pound faster in anticipation, hammering against his ribs.

He hesitates for a second. In the end, he gives in like he always does. Shame pools thick in the pit of his stomach, but it isn't enough to stop him from working his hand down — His palm brushes the soft fabric of his briefs, he gropes the shape of his cock through his boxers and he's already stiff. He sighs, he lets his head toss back.

You'll forgive him for this, right? You'd forgive him for getting hard when all you did was barely touch him, and for using thoughts of you to get himself off, wouldn't you? He's just so lonely, so stressed out, that's all this is. You have to forgive him, you have to understand. Aki swiftly decides you would, because he can't wait any longer; he's been needy like this for hours upon hours now and at this point, it's far too late for him to stop.

Aki pushes the blanket away, he tugs his sweats and his briefs down to his thighs at the same time, he hisses when his cock comes free. Slowly, he wraps his palm around, and he brings his thumb to the head, rubs it slow, feels himself throb steadily in his hand.

He's already dripping, precum beads in droplets at his slit and dribbles down to dirty his knuckles, each of his fingers. There's wetness sticking to his palm. A disgusting sound echoes as he pumps himself, up and down nice and careful, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth.

It feels so fucking good. Aki groans in pleasure, immediately forgets how perverted this is, he closes his eyes, thinks of you. He isn't the type to do this, he's never felt this way about anyone, he doesn't even touch himself because he's never had a reason to — but you've changed everything.

You're the reason for this, and when he's got his cock in his fist, you're all he can think about. He imagines your touch, your voice, your warm breath on his skin. Aki tries to picture how it'd feel to kiss you, to press his lips on yours and have your tongue in his mouth. How it'd feel to hold you, to have you be the one to jerk him off.

Your hands are so perfect; Aki's memorized the way they look, the way they fold when you're writing or grabbing his arm or holding your drink. They're dainty compared to his, they'd probably feel softer, so much gentler. Ever since a few weeks ago, he's fallen into the habit of using his left hand to touch himself as opposed to his right. It's clumsier this way, but it's easier to imagine his hand is someone else's, yours.

Your soft hand around his dick, stroking him just like this — Aki doesn't know if he'd be able to last. If he'd even be able to look at you, let alone talk, let alone do anything but plead your name.

Your fingers are so pretty, you'd complimented him once, Aki remembers how you sat next to him and intently watched him sign paperwork like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He'd shaken his head and written you off then, but he wants to know if you'd compliment him again, if you'd still think so when his fingers are cradling your face or pushing past your lips.

Would you still think he's as pretty — his fingers wrapped around his cock, his hair down and how you like it, his earrings you say you like so much glinting in the low light — if you saw him like this?

He wonders if you'd tease him the same as you do at the office. Oh, Mister Hayakawa, you've been wanting this for so long, haven't you? You're so fucking dirty. How long have you been jerking yourself off every night to the thought of me? So damn needy, you just want me to take care of you, huh?

Yeah, he's dirty, he's rocking his hips into his grip, he's whining and sighing soft gasps of pleasure, louder than he probably should be. He's pumping his fist faster as he pictures your face down between his legs; you'd look precious with your hair tucked back, your lips would feel as plush as he'd imagined and you'd stare up at him with such an innocent expression, your eyes practically sparkling as you take his cock in your mouth.

He can't take it. Aki pants with weight behind every breath, he twists his wrist and squeezes, pumps even faster and thinks he just might lose his mind right here — and then, he takes his hand away.

He lets go, his dick falls against his stomach and he keeps one hand in his hair and the other beside him, despite how badly his nerves are screaming for him to keep touching. He allows his breath to even out, stares at the ceiling and waits for his mind to clear.

He doesn't want to cum yet. Not when it's only been a few minutes. If he cums now, he'll probably get too exhausted to cum a second time. So he can't, not right now, not when he has more he wants to think about.

Twisting over on his side, Aki brushes his bangs away when they fall messily around his face. He presses his palm to his forehead, feeling the sweat trickling from his skin. His fingers twitch. He debates what he's about to do for a few seconds.

He shouldn't, it'll be a hassle. But when he knows how good it's going to feel, he can't resist. Hurrying, he lifts his head and grabs his pillow from underneath, he adjusts, burying his face in the sheets when it starts to feel warmer. He situates himself on his stomach, pillow firm between his legs.

Deep, slow rolls of his hips cause him to forget any of the sense he was still holding onto. He exhales hard, shakes even harder. Aki fists the sheets in a tight hand, he leans his head into his forearm, he grinds his aching cock against his pillow until his thighs are beginning to hurt.

If he was more confident, confident enough to tell you how he feels, maybe he wouldn't be in this mess. Maybe if you knew, you'd let him fold you over his bed and fuck you just like how he's been dreaming of, slowly and dizzyingly tender, enough to make him forget about everything else. Maybe. If he's good. God, does he even deserve it?

Either way, it doesn't matter what he wants. He'll do whatever the hell you ask him to, whatever you'd be willing to give him he'd be happy with — He'd be content just fucking the space between your thighs, or having you talk to him while he gets himself off and humps his pillow like a pathetic idiot; anything you want, whatever you want. As long as you're there, as long as he can hear your voice and feel your touch, and not be so alone.

The smooth cotton of his pillowcase is slick and wet with his precum. His cock is throbbing incessantly, pleasure spreads through his entire body and he doesn't care that his mattress is squeaking, that he's losing rhythm. He breathes heavy with every rut of his hips and imagines you're here, you're beneath him.

Arms strung around him tight, you'd lock eyes with him and he wouldn't dare to look away. Feels so good, you're perfect, Aki, you'd praise, and he loves your praises, You wanna cum? Oh, but you can hold out for a little longer for me, can't you?

Aki shivers. Of course. If you're the one asking him, he just has to. Especially when you call him Aki.

Aki, that's it, keep going. You're so sweet, so good for me. I belong to you. I'm all yours, forever and ever. Does that make you happy?

You're his, all his. You'd sound so perfect moaning his name as he bullies his cock into you. His first name, his and no-one else's, no extra politeness or honorifics. You'd say it softly as he slides inside, say it when you're begging him to fill you deeper, repeat it when you're telling him he's got to beg for you if he wants to finish.

C'mon, Aki. Cum for me. Give me all of it.

Yeah, Aki mumbles out loud to himself, his voice is breaking, he thrusts his hips with reckless abandon, I'll give you everything, oh, f-fuck, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum…

He shoves his face into the bed as much as he can manage to muffle his noise, his fragile moans and loud whimpers. His shoulders tense, muscles aching. A few more shallow movements and he's done; he chants your name over and over again as he finishes, cumming all over his pillow and his sheets, thick ropes of white dirtying the fabric, making a mess.

Falling limp, Aki lays like that for a while, catching his breath. Everything begins to fade, working through to tiredness. He should get up and shower, wash his sheets and his pillowcase, but he's so exhausted he can't even manage to move.

He feels warm all over again, just less intense this time. Aki realizes he was saying your name as he came. Embarrassing. He can only hope he wasn't loud enough for anyone to hear.

He'll fall asleep now, at least, with warm thoughts of you to fill his head. A date with you would be nice sometime. Nothing too crazy. He'd take you anywhere you wanted to. He also wouldn't mind taking you back to his apartment and making you something for dinner, whatever you'd like.

If you were here now, he'd hold you as close as he can get you, breathing soft and slow while drifting off silently, his arms wrapped secure around your waist.

He's almost asleep. But —

Ah. He'd forgotten he has to work at the office tomorrow. So he's going to have to face you, first thing in the morning.

The next time he sees you, he doubts he'll be able to do much talking. But he'll get busier soon, there's a lot of devil hunting missions coming up. Who knows when Aki is going to see you next, so if he doesn't tell you his feelings soon, when will he?

He's decided. Tomorrow, he's going to ask you out.

#aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #aki hayakawa x you #aki x you #aki hayakawa smut #aki smut

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elliesdoll · 1 month

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pt.2 to my angsty loser!ellie drabble 𝜗𝜚

nsfw! ellie gets caught and that’s literally it. i hate this so bad but it’s whateva

(part 3 will have lesbian gay lesbian boob vagina butt sex i promise. no more ellie masturbating)

find pt.1 here! & pt.3 here :3

daily click! don’t buy tlou free palestine

after ellie’s pathetic masturbation sesh, she vowed to herself to fucking pull it together.

she wasn’t gonna let herself mope over you, because she knew you had an active sex life. she forced herself to be fine with it. to be fine with the people you decided to bring to your bed. she wanted to be near you without feeling this suffocating feeling of yearning and lust filling her insides.

and if that meant tucking her feelings to the deepest pits of hell, then so fucking be it.

a few weeks had passed since that little moment you and ellie had. the one where she had showed up to your house in the middle of you hooking up with someone.

the morning after, she has awoken to a string of texts from you, all apologizing for that awkward moment.

11:34pm

ellie i’m so sorry you had to see me like that. i didn’t mean to come off rude.

i wanted to go after you but i couldn’t really leave her alone in my house lol

els?

i’m really sorry. i hope u don’t think you can’t come to my house ever again ☹️ i actually thought it was sweet you showed up like that.

2:12am

goodnight ellie. i hope things aren’t awkward between us.

god, you made her feel awful. you were too fucking sweet to her. the way you never missed a single night when telling her goodnight, even after something like that. she rubbed her swollen face, mainly from crying, and typed a short message to you.

9:47am

hey, sorry for rushing away like that. idk why i did that lmfao

and things aren’t awkward at all, i shouldn’t have just showed up unnanounced

no els seriously! you should do that more often. tbh i wanted to hang out with you more than that girl… but yk i couldn’t 💔💔

she smiled at your kind text, glad that you two could just put it behind yourselves. her moment of relief was quickly replaced by disgust, when she saw the state of herself and her bed. her inner thighs sticky with dried cum, and her sheets below her still damp with all the extra release.

“gross..” she mumbled to herself, getting up and immediately throwing on some boxers and a tshirt, feeling way too vulnerable being naked like that. she went to the bathroom and cleaned herself up, then threw her sheets in the wash.

since then, you two have been fine. you do your weekly hangout sessions, where you grab food and talk about anything for hours on end. it’s almost as if nothing happened.

until one of your sleepovers.

you always convinced ellie to spend the night at your house, at least every other week. whenever it’d get dark outside and ellie would start to get up, you’d give her that irresistible pout and “ughhh, c’mon els.. just spend the night. it’s too dark out for you to go home.”

and every damn time, she agreed. how could she ever say no to you?

one night, you and ellie are high out of your minds, talking about god knows what. all giggly and soft, you two exchange jokes and stories that really make no sense. but, to you two, it’s the funniest thing in the world. after a laughing fit between the two of you, you wipe your tears and sigh.

“god, i love you.”

you say, still catching your breath from that tummy tensing laugh. the words were just an expression of admiration for her. but to ellie, they were so much more.

“i love you too.”

she says, looking you in the eyes. she’s high, so she’s not thinking too hard about how sincere she sounds. but she really should’ve, because that soft tone of her voice and the glint in her eyes make it sound way too fucking real.

“woah,” you let out a nervous, breathy chuckle. “that was a bit theatrical.”

“wh..what do you mean?”

ellie asks, getting a bit nervous. she’s not her usual, stuttery self though. she keeps it together. thanks to the weed.

“just the way you said i love you. it felt like… deep.”

you move your hands as you talk, and ellie just shrugs. but she knows she’s fucked. before she could stop her feelings from resurfacing, she gets that familiar tingle in her belly and pounding of her heart.

“shut up,” she rolls her eyes, trying to play it off.“you’re dramatic.”

her voice wavered with those last words. fuck, her voice wavered. why did she feel like she was gonna have a breakdown any second now? she had to get the hell away from you.

“gotta piss. be back in a bit.”

ellie says quickly, so quick you don’t even have time to retort to her calling you dramatic. you just sit there, confused. you could’ve sworn you heard some uncertainty in her voice, but you let her go.

meanwhile, ellie made a beeline for your bathroom. she shut the door and leaned her head against the wood. she let out a deep sigh, trying to calm herself. the fact that she felt the most intense feeling that she couldn’t even describe over a mere “i love you” had her cringing.

she just couldn’t get over you. the entire night, she tried her best not to think about how good your tits looked in your pajama top, or how badly she wanted to just shove her face into your ass in those little shorts.

her thinking over these details led to the predicament that she’s in right now. sweatpants around her knees, legs slightly spread as she rubs one out while leaned up against your bathroom sink. her eyes are shut and her head is thrown back, letting out the quietist grunts she could muster.

she knew she shouldn’t be doing this, she promised herself that she would stop. but god, you made it hard. she was so wet, it made her cheeks flush red. the simple thought of you had her literally dripping around her own fingers.

you were still in your room, biting your thumbnail as you wait for ellie. you start to get worried, thinking you made her upset by commenting on how she said ‘i love you’. so, you being the thoughtful friend you are, go to check on her.

you quietly walk to the bathroom, putting your ear against the door. you were going to knock and mutter a little “els? are you okay?”, but the sounds you heard made you lose all the words in your mouth.

soft, sharp inhales and tiny sticky noises is all you can hear through the door. it’s a bit hard to listen to, since the soft buzz of the yellow light in there overpowers it. what the hell is she doing in there?

you knew this was wrong. an invasion of privacy to the max. but your curiosity was getting the better of you, and you were worried. you put your hand on the doorknob and slightly twisted it, not expecting it to open. but it did.

did ellie forget to lock the door?

ellie doesn’t hear the soft click of the door opening, too lost in her own pleasure as she practically humps her own hand. it had been too fucking long since she could touch herself to the thought of you. her only guilty pleasure.

her head was still thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as she rubbed her clit at a shockingly fast pace. and you saw it all. you had opening the door just enough for half of your face to see through the opened crack. your whole body froze at the sight in front of you.

she was so captivating. her face looking all fucked out, her pale thighs that were so tensed up, the shininess of her slick that smeared on the heel of her palm. even the quick glimpses of her gorgeous auburn bush that you could see if her hoodie rode up enough.

your tummy felt weird. first, you felt guilty for eavesdropping on your best friend. second, you were confused why the fuck ellie decided now would be the best time to masturbate. third, you were turned on. disgustingly turned on, at that.

a few seconds of watching ellie made your panties get all sticky and wet, and that burning hot feeling in your lower belly. you couldn’t look away.

“ohh, fuck— please,”

your brain short circuited hearing ellie say that. god, she was so lost in her own pleasure. so lost that she accidentally knocked over your toothbrush and hand soap on the sink, causing her to jolt and snap her eyes open.

she looks down at the bottle of soap and toothbrush that landed in front of the bathroom door. the door that’s cracked. her eyes shoot up, and there’s where she sees a glimpse of you running away. a quick flash, but she knew it was you.

she is so fucked.

I HATE RHISNSO BAD RRRR😡

btw i finished this literally like 3 days ago and didn’t wanna post it hut i did anyway ☺️☺️

#dolly’s stuff 𝜗𝜚 #ellie williams #tlou2 #abby the last of us #abby tlou #ellie williams smut #ellie x reader #lesbian #tlou part 2 #abby smut #abby anderson smut #the last of us #i don’t like this #rushed lol

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dropsofletters · 5 months

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what's up, mr. hollywood?

—SUMMARY: if someone hasn’t heard about jeon wonwoo, they must be living under a rock. one of the grandest stars in hollywood, face to rom-coms and thrillers, shows the spectrum of a real celebrity. though, that is ruined when a bitter ex-girlfriend decides to drop pictures of him almost naked for the world to see, splitting it in half—should he just do an underwear campaign or disappear from the limelight for good?

so, he decides to travel to the most secluded villa he can find, and in there, he happens to fall in love with books and a certain librarian who speaks too much and still, leaves him with too little information about her.

eager to get to know her more, wonwoo forgets that he’s actually a celebrity and that reality must strike at their door one day. hopefully, not any time soon.

—TITLE: what’s up, mr. hollywood?

—PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x reader

—GENRE: glimpses of notting hill!au ; strangers to lovers!au ; celebrity!au ; actor!au ; idiots in love!au ; librarian!au ; bookstore!au

—TYPE: fluff ; angst if you squint ; suggestive if you squint ; humor given by jun’s character lol

—WORD COUNT: 13,270 words

—NOTE: this was a kofi request! if you want to support me, you can ask me to write something for you over there.

He could get tied down by the diamonds that wrap around the wrists of the women that transcend in his life, like the pieces of paper of a script that he never really imagines in his list of cinematography. That way, it would be easier to wake up in West Hollywood, in a mansion so big that—sometimes, though he won’t admit—he gets lost in the rooms. Wonwoo wouldn’t have to think twice on promising with a band a supposed forever that ends in five months. Like everything in this plastic world does.

Wonwoo could get used to the sweet taste of fame, that bathes the gold of his latest Oscar for a film he knows will follow him to the grave. The flashing of lights, the egotistical boosting and the screaming voices that grant him the benefit of leading a generation while he feels inherently lost. Pursuing a fraction of what he was able to give through three years of pressure for completing only two hours of film, applauded by the critics, but now a shadow he will always have to follow, mimic and surpass.

He could get used to being famous.

He could.

The truth is, Wonwoo isn’t, doesn’t and won’t. He’s there, then he’s not. It’s been like that for nine days now. Spank Magazine! Decided it would be a great idea to plaster him in his most delicate and reckless state. Wonwoo had been sharing a few summers with the same woman, Courtney, a love that never really translated into nothing more than a week together, drinks to be shared, kisses to be yearned for and then, he’d leave London. With nothing to seek for other than the faint breeze that is the complete opposite of the blaring sun in Hollywood, and the idea that he has someone waiting for him in case he feels lonely in between films.

The drinks must have gotten heavy, or Wonwoo isn’t really as smart as he grants himself to be. Always. He thought he’d never miss a step and he almost hears his manager, Sandara, laughing at him straight at his face. If only she wasn’t trying to erase the image of Wonwoo looking out of a window in white boxers in some secluded penthouse in central London. This summer, it seemed like Courtney wanted something else. Fame.

He hadn’t realized the picture had been on her iPhone, neither did he think that the moment he got off his plane that took him back home he would have to see literal signs at the airport that showed him half naked. The first thing he did was hide, and the second…okay, he hadn’t really thought of a plan. Other than compulsively buy a plane ticket to a villa in France and hope, perhaps, that he won’t have to explain if his shoulders are really that big naturally or not.

“You could have totally stopped this from happening.” Sandara looks unlike how she does when they are in Hollywood. Normally, she’s wearing a straight pencil skirt paired with a button down and her hair in a ponytail. She never misses the coffee with three shots of espresso and perhaps, a line of sugar—or cocaine, her energy is unmatched—, but now, she’s trapping a croissant in between her hands and she has tried to make the enormous yellow sweater she has paired with green leggings work. The frog look isn’t half as bad on her slim body.

“I know.” Wonwoo walks slowly, while she roams around him like a puppy would. Sandara has always said it. Wonwoo’s weakness for complexity gravitates him to women that leave everything to desire. He pulls the cap a little over his head, covering more of his eyes in case anyone sees him while walking to the nearest library. “I never said it wasn’t my fault, but I’m giving you a vacation and running away from the chaos you were trying to solve.”

“I offered you a way of turning this around and you didn’t—”

Wonwoo scoffs at her words, rolling his eyes. “You knew I was going to say no from the get-go.”

“Wonwoo, people are not hating on you because you’re half naked. You just pulled a Miley Cyrus. Destroyed the whole poised, serious, intelligent guy persona and changed it for the hot guy in the white boxers thing.” Sandara pulls a finger up in the air, pointing out what she thinks is obvious. Meanwhile, the breeze plays with her hair until it is standing on various spots. “…Calvin Klein offered to help us out. A few campaigns with the boxers on, and then, we finish it off with a good sex scene in one of your films. You’re a man. If it was me on that magazine and I was famous, I would have been destroyed.”

Wonwoo hates that it is a reality, but he didn’t really intend on posing. Sure, he is not an angel. His career doesn’t let him stay with someone as much as he’d like to, for he always has to travel, film something else, prepare for a script or a new series to take on, but he also hasn’t done much else past the expected. Stories can be told about Hollywood that are rather true of orgy parties and eccentric relationships, but he doesn’t do much past the normal. Perhaps, a risky picture if he is feeling…rather comfortable, but he’s private about the matters that take up on the heart.

He just happened to be a bit tipsy, looking out of the window and not noticing that a picture had been taken of him, and while he’s pleading the case of using the law against Courtney for breaking his privacy, he’s also taking a break. And needing to read a book.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad idea,” Wonw0o starts, pushing the doors of the only library he could find in this secluded spot he had found in France. Sandara passes under his arm, still walking backwards and somehow not falling. “But it’s not who I am. I just don’t do soft porn.”

“Wonwoo—”

“My ass was displayed on a magazine. I’m lucky it’s not my dick, but I’d rather just not…milk it.”

“Oh, wrong choice of wording.”

“Sandara.” He groans, throwing his head back. The place catches his attention in the matter of seconds. The walls are baby blue, like the revelation of a child’s bedroom, with sprinkles of brick walls here and there in a beige color as an addition of texture. The tables are smaller in comparison to the rows of books, lined up by genre and color. It’s a pleasure to a thoughtful mind, as he traces the outline of the romance plethora. His least favorite genre. “You’re sexualizing your client.”

“I swear I’m not. You’re the one talking about milk!” She jokes around, laughing at the flush that he’s certain appears on the apples of his cheeks, before she’s grabbing one of the smaller books in the row, standing at the tip of her toes to reach it. “The Duke’s Final Wish. Oh, so the duke dies in this book. What’s the point of reading something you know everything about just by the title alone?”

He doesn’t understand it either, so Wonwoo shrugs. “I’m more of a thriller guy myself, but I’m in France, I’ve just dumped someone entirely from my life and…” His nose scrunches up upon the sight of the naked, sun-bathed abs on the duke on the cover. “Maybe, I just need to read softcore love times to feel less miserable about…everything.”

Sandara’s brown eyes turn mellow, sighing deeply. “Wonwoo, this is just another turn in your career. I promise everything will get better.”

It will, he’s certain. Matters always go back to place.

However, he remembers his start as an actor. He was this shaky, flimsy sixteen-year-old teen who cried on the outsides of a casting because he was tired of receiving no’s. Who wiped his tears on a pillow when he got called from another casting to participate with just one line. He’d wake up every single day at five in the morning; giving up adulthood, growing up, having friends, dating, studying, just for the sake of getting in better movies. He hit it big when he was twenty, skyrocketed in a military film, and from then on, he never rested. Movie after movie. A show, then another one.

And just like that, it lost sense. With every critic that shadowed him with that one big film he did last year, whatever product that came to fruition was worthless. It was a race with himself—and he’s tired of running.

And—

Oh, wait.

It smells like insect repellent…

“Roach, go away, you!”

“Huh?” Wonwoo’s curiosity gets the best of him, peaking from behind the shelf to see a slender, tall man holding, indeed, an insect repellent and spraying it on a blonde gentleman. He recognizes the first one—the attacker in question—to be one of the workers because of the uniform. A cloud sweater inside white pants, according to the name of the library—Somewhere On The Clouds—, but he’s flimsy in comparison to the buffer, taller man that he’s trying to go after.

The cockroach character, per say.

He hears more shushing and spraying, along with a woman’s name that escapes the blonde’s lips. “I wasn’t talking to you, Wen Junhui, my wife is over there and you’re not letting me talk to her—”

“She’s not your wife anymore.”

“You can’t physically get over someone so quickly.”

Another spray and now, this Junhui guy with the long brown hair and septum piercing, has finally landed on the taller man’s eyes because he hears a groan that reverberates throughout the library. “If it’s you the someone we are talking about, oh, trust me, it’s easy. No woman could ever—”

“I’ll close your mouth up with a good old fist, Junhui. Stop! Stop spraying me!”

He hears another commotion, of closed doors and shushes that follow after someone physically more peaceful than the other men. And for once, Wonwoo loses interest in physical matters like the cameras that could flash around him and the book at hand. His heart hums, singing a melody when looking at her. Her hair is tied in two braids and closed in a bun behind her back, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, looking at the blonde man with the firing rage of a million wars that went unfought.

Even Sandara is listening closely when she speaks. She’s rain in its biggest form; when it pours down and becomes unstoppable.

“I thought he said you could go away, Pierre.” She outs to the world, only to have the blonde man shaking his head, twinkling green eyes staring back at her.

“Love,” He’s trying to grasp her hands, wishing to say something more, but when their hands interlock, she slaps his away. “Don’t you push me away.”

“By law, you pushed me away yourself.” She instructs, pushing at his arms when he’s trying to get closer. “Pierre, I’m being serious. Stop disrupting my library and just go away.”

“But—”

Wonwoo is not a hero, neither does he think this is the situation for him to try to be one. However, he does accidentally—or not so much so—happen to slide his hand across a shelve that wasn’t holding up tightly. The books fall one by one, like a domino effect that gain him the attention of the woman with the attitude of an owner and a dislike for her ex-husband and the man in question.

He smiles, tight-lipped and shy, with the Sun blessing his cheeks along the lines of red coloring. He expects her to launch at him, ask him to leave Somewhere On The Clouds, but instead a gentle smile takes over her face. Oh, of course, someone like her would just know what he’s doing…and why.

“Let me help you with that.” She says, moving closer to him and crouching down at the same time that he does. Wonwoo is spurting out a short laugh as he hears whom he thinks is called Junhui pull Pierre away from the library.

“I’m sorry. I’m a total mess.”

“Or really observative. Guess we’ll never know.” She shrugs, smiling at him when standing up with a pack of books pressed to her chest and the lingering scent of mints following after her.

“Witty.”

“I’m a woman. One has to be.” The answer that leaves her lips has him grinning like a fool, looking down only to be blinded by her sight when staring up again. “I’ll give you a discount just for that.”

“There’s no need—”

The pocket of his jeans is filled by her hand, sliding something quickly there before she’s fleeting away with a simple: “Just take it.”

Half of his mind thinks she has left her number there, and he’d be more than happy. However, Sandara is looking over his shoulder by the time he takes the paper out, viewing a small coupon with clouds drawn all over it that reads off ‘fifty percent off your next order’.

“Dang, I thought it was her number.” Sandara whispers, snapping her fingers. “I’m going to get it for you.”

“No!” Wonwoo shrieks, plastering his hand on top of her arm and dragging his manager closer. “We’re…we’re just going to take the coupon. This is supposed to be a vacation. No love involved.”

“No love involved…” Sandara repeats, laughing at his words. “We’re calling your autobiography that. That’s for sure.”

Huh, even he admits it wouldn’t be a bad name. Much more if it was a rom-com of sorts.

But that’s not going to happen.

The sky looked like a child’s portrait, painted outside the lines. The stars blurred in between the deep shade, though he knew it could be that he needed a new pair of glasses. He kind of forgot his new formula back in Hollywood, and the ones he got were bought on a whim. However, he walks through the empty, too-small streets of the villa, hands fisted in pockets, trying to understand the change of weather. It was windy, but it was a kind of humidity that made him scrunch up his nose every once in a while to sniff a bit of snot.

Allergies. It’s whatever.

Wonwoo rolls on the heels of his shoes, looking up at the sky and wondering why the world feels so unlit as of lately. He’s at peace, but running away from something. Empty. Lonely. And sure, he has gotten used to solitude, at least for now, but what was once something he chose is now the only option that he gets to fulfill. Cornered, in some place far away from home, where he can only wish for life to be different, for better or for worse.

What interests him is the shout he hears after, a commotion of a solid against iron that has him rushing his step the slightest. He doesn’t know if he’s prepared to run or go help, but what he sees at eleven at night—when he should be asleep and trying to conceal a good night of rest with a warm glass of milk, as Sandara said—is rather surprising. The owner of Somewhere In The Clouds, a library that he has visited often in this past week, stands in front of a house’s gate, forehead pressed to the iron, hitting her boot against the surface once again.

“Shit.”

She looks rather different than she does with the pastel colors she wears at her library. Wonwoo has seen her a bit, with faint glances and a few exchanged words of good books and prices, but he has never fully developed a conversation. One that matters. Right now, he wishes he was braver, for the expanse of her back is shown in jeans that are falling off her waist and he swears he sees the hairs on her arms stand up upon the breeze that he can’t understand but seems to cherish her in shivers.

“This is all Pierre’s fault!”

She screams at the world, the sky, the heavens that decided divorce was meant to be on her side. But, instead of leaving it at that, she grabs a rock from the ground, molds it on her fist before throwing it at something. Something being Wonwoo, who shrieks at the touch of the rock against his cheekbone. Gasps mingle with the weight of her steps against the pavement when she rushes to him, shouting:

“Goodness gracious! I am so sorry!”

Wonwoo feels the warmth of her skin against his own, palms connected to him in the least delicate of ways, thumb and index finger tracing the cheekbone that must flourish with the tone of roses. However, when he opens his eyes, he realizes that her own hold a weight that he can’t understand. As if every speckle of golden that brims the natural color of them anchors him to a dilemma that he should not want to solve.

“I…I totally didn’t see you there. It’s all the gate’s fault.” She says, only to have Wonwoo clasping her hands on his own, pulling them away from his face softly.

“Where’s your key?”

“My ex-husband took the spare key and now that I left my keys inside, I don’t know what to do.” Her digits wrap around the gate once again, moving it from the front to the back in a motion that causes it to noisily make its state known. Closed as ever. “This is what happens when I decide to have a great time. Jun just…he just wanted to share some mojitos and now, I’m out here, probably a step away from sleeping in the cold.”

Wonwoo chuckles to himself, pondering: “And you’re telling all this to a stranger?”

“You’re not completely a stranger. Judging by your book selection, I can tell a lot about you.” She crosses her arms over her chest, beautiful as ever in the way the wind blows at her hair and connects it with the skin of her face. And on top of it all, she remembers who he is. “You’re not a complete asshole, and that’s enough for me to tell you that this fucking night sucks.”

Tipsy, she is, and Wonwoo chuckles at her antics softly. He remembers, before stardom, how he used not to give a damn about the world, quite like she does. “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do.” He crouches down, caging his hands together to make a socket for her to place her feet on. “You’ll step here and I’ll get you up the gate.”

He shouldn’t be thinking about doing this. For God’s sake, she’s not in her right mind considering there are, at least, three mojitos in her system, and she must think the same because she shakes her head.

“Wonwoo, I’ll crush you.”

“Or you’ll get home safe.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure I didn’t just decide to squat in the middle of the street.”

She rolls her eyes at his words, though a smile transcends to her features. She moves with carefulness, placing one boot on top of his hand and then, the other leg lifts up to follow after the trail of the gate. Wonwoo’s eyes go down her legs and he admits he does peek at the curves that form there, but soon after, he’s more worried about the way she’s clinging to the top of the gates to pass over it.

“Help.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Wonwoo mutters, hoisting her up in his shoulders before pushing her upwards by the back of her thighs. She clings to the metal with strength, only dropping herself when she feels safe, and though she lands directly on her ass, the thud is soft enough for him to ponder that maybe, it didn’t hurt her as much. “You okay?”

“In one piece, so…okay!” The smile that spreads across her features is worth a million dollars, and Wonwoo finds himself gravitating towards her, hands expanded on the gate, separated by the mere iron. He returns the grin, because a gift so beautiful can only be given back, right? “What are you doing out at this time of the night?”

Midnight, it strikes in the imaginary clock. He hasn’t checked his phone because he knows he’ll have missed calls from a sleep-dazed Sandara who wants him to return back to the place they rented for their time there. “Jet-lag has been killing me, and I just needed some time alone to think.”

“Jet-lag? Where are you visiting us from?” Leaning on the gate, her eyes close to slightest to rest, and Wonwoo knows soon will be time for him to leave.

“California.”

“Well, hope my villa traps you a bit longer.” She announces, yawning into her fist before smacking her lips together.

“You’re falling asleep.”

“Possibly, probably, maybe. All synonyms. All right.” Once again, that smile that could paralyze traffic if she dared is given to him, but she pushes herself off the gate. “Sorry for stepping on you.”

“No problem.”

“A free book will wait for you.”

“I can totally pay the next one I’ll buy, don’t worry.”

“Never deny a librarian the benefit of giving you a book.” She announces, pointing at him as she swings towards the door. “Wait, the front door is locked, too.”

She stops on her tracks and Wonwoo is ready to stay the night seated outside the gate, just in case someone causes trouble to her, for leaving a woman alone in the middle of the night is not precisely something he is thinking of doing, but when he opens his mouth, she’s already pushing the front window upwards.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting in through the window.”

“I’m not telling you, I’m showing you.” She announces and, for the first time in a while, Wonwoo full on laughs. He doesn’t remember feeling his chest so tightly put-together in a while. The more he sees her wiggle herself through the window, the more he cackles.

“Please, be careful.”

“I am!” And she is, waiving at him once she’s through the window, hair done a mess, shirt falling off one shoulder. “Thank you for your service, Mr. Hollywood.”

“Go to sleep, you.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

The nickname, strangely, doesn’t settle badly in his stomach. Much less when he gets to see her turn off the lights and doze off to God-knows-where.

Wonwoo has made common occurrence for him to start a new book every Monday. He was on a reading strike for years, only yearning to find the next story he could act in, but it’s much different now. Much more after he decided to accept the book that the librarian had, oh-so-sweetly, decided to gift him.

The story read in utmost perfection. A thriller that chilled him to the bone and cradled him in fear late at night. Something different; and hell, maybe, he’s a little bit insane for wanting to feel something other than anxiousness. All he does is read the pages that week, weakened by the figure at the end of the road, in between clouds of smoke that the book always talks about. Is it real? Is it not? And why does the book end in a way that caused him to drop all the things that were on his hands as he was reading, perched in a boat in the middle of the lake near the library?

He dropped the damned book. He needed to return it. The worst possible outcome happened, because the moment Wonwoo decided to pluck it out of the water, the pages were torn, ink shredded, heart racing within his chest.

He runs away for a while. Escapes the library in hopes of her thinking that he’s just taking a little bit more to finalize the capturing pages of a well-written text. However, life isn’t so great when the next Wednesday, he comes face to face with her. She’s not in her work clothes, hair pulled away by a hair-clip, eyes a little drowsy with sleep as remaining pieces of her mascara cling to her eyelashes. Her hands hold a bag of groceries weakly, a little bit lazily, and while Wonwoo is trying to grab a snack to continue his Wednesday movie marathon—You’ve Got Mail is paused on his screen because he just wanted something salty—, he comes face-to-face with her.

Alright, the anxiousness is back.

“Do I terrify you?”

Wonwoo fixes his glasses, crossing his arms over his chest. Magazines would have torn him apart from the plaid shirt he is wearing today, antique and brought out of a film from the early nineties. He stammers. Gosh, when was the last time someone made him stutter? “Uhm, no?”

“You haven’t gone back to the library, and I’m not certain if it was because I gave you a thriller book or if it was because you saw me drunk out of my ass.” She’s speaking rather quickly, scoffing out a laugh that dies down soon after, rubbing the back of her neck out of nervousness. “I’m sorry. Uh…I must’ve looked like a total serial killer giving you a thriller book.”

The book. What can he say about the book? “Not at all. It was one of the best books I’ve read in a while.” He admits. Too bad it is in the depths of the ocean by now.

“I’ll give it to you, then. The copy, I mean.” She shrugs her shoulders, biting on her bottom lip and staying silent for a brief second that he takes to study her face. Something about her is always rushing; as if she can’t stay still for too long in fear of being caught. By life or someone else, he doesn’t know. Or catching feelings, like he musters could happen if he doesn’t get away soon.

“I wish I could read it again.”

“Then, do it.”

“…I accidentally dropped it in the local lake.” Wonwoo whispers, expecting her to get mad, but she extends a hand on top of her chest and starts laughing. “I—I’m sorry. The ending surprised me that much. Stupid hands.”

“I imagine. I imagine.” She hums, mimicking his pose and crossing her arms over her chest. “How are you making it up to me, Mr. Hollywood?”

He’s knowledgeable in the art of flirting. Not because he has mastered it, but rather because Wonwoo is the one of the being-flirted-on end. He must be reading into it, but the twinkle in her eye incites him, bringing him closer as he shrugs his shoulders.

“Anything in mind, Mrs. Countryside?”

“Ew, I don’t know why I don’t like the sound of that.” She enunciates, only to have him laughing. He sees the portions of her that are fractured, from the way she covers her mouth when laughing, to the slow blink she gives after a minute of silence. As if she wants to be awakened by her thoughts. “Mhm, how about burgers?”

“Burgers?” Wonwoo asks. “That’s what would make you forgive me?”

“A great burger can make me consider forgiving you.” She answers, pressing a hand to his shoulder to balance her weight as she takes her phone out of her pocket. “Write your number down there.”

Wonwoo jots down the digits that he has learned just the past few days, smiling at her. “Alright, you’ve got a free coupon for limitless burgers until we find a book as good as that one.”

“You don’t know what you’re promising.”

“Possibly. But it’s an excuse. Either we find the greatest burger or another good read.”

“Huh, you’re right.” With that, she puts her phone back in her pocket, smiling at him with her full teeth. “I’ll text you for my price.”

“Anytime.”

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking after her step after she left. How someone so gorgeous hid in such a secluded villa? He would never understand.

The Headlock For Two Challenge.

When Wonwoo ventured into one of the best rated burger places in the villa, he didn’t expect it to be…so simple. Wooden walls and heated tables in bright red, with towers of meat and chicken stacked with perfectly-spiced veggies and sauces that would mingle into one’s tongue for an entire day. She seemed to be impressed when he linked her over to this place only three days after they started talking through text, but she was equally as interested when she read about the challenge in the menu that was presented to them in a small piece of wood, carved letter after letter, honoring the toughness of the place.

“We can totally down this one between the two of us.” She turns the menu around, showing it to a wide-eyed Wonwoo. When he sees the picture, he doubts they can for a little bit. His glasses push his hair away from his face when he takes them off to check it out a little closely. Three layers of bread. This is final—he might die if he takes up on this challenge.

“What’s the price?”

“The burger is a price on its own.” Claiming, she turns the menu around once again before clearing her throat. “We’d also get a picture of us hanging from these very own walls, and, if that’s not a lot on its own—a grand price of a month-worth of free French Fries.”

“You bought me with the fries. I’m not much of a picture guy.”

He has gotten pictures of him taken from every angle and while he adored to catch a sight of the world from another point of view, he hates the way he has been portrayed in such imagery. He’s always perfect. Never himself. And yet, never enough.

“Waiter!” She lifts a hand in the air, catching the attention of the short man with the buttons of his shirt almost popping out from how closely it clings to his belly, but the smile he gives through plump cheeks and a dense moustache would have anyone trusting him with their orders. “We’d like to take over the challenge.”

“Oh, really?” The waiter starts jotting down on his notepad. “A group of men tried to take it down a few days ago. Couldn’t make it without throwing up.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Wonwoo asks and he sees her spread a hand on her stomach.

“I meant it when I said I was hungry.”

“Fine. And two glasses of cola with that, please.”

“On our merry way, sir.” The waiter gives a sharp touch of his pen against the pad before closing it and leaving to the kitchen. This is the moment he gets to see her again, closely as she lifts the sleeves of his yellow sweater up to her palms and leans her cheek against one of them, elbows well-prepped on the table.

She tried a little today. He has been under the limelight for long enough to know that there is a glimmer of pink on top of her cheeks, paired with sweet highlighter. She has a red lip on, eyelashes curled until they seem like her eyes are flirting with him just by sharing a glance.

“Why here, Wonwoo?” She asks. “You were in California. Everyone dreams about being there, around celebrities and all. Why here?”

The column of his throat contracts at her words. He almost fears that she has caught him for who he really is—a well-known actor.

“Take my word for it. There’s nothing special there.”

“You’re awfully negative, aren’t you? Here we are, in a villa that no one knows, where the lake could eat me alive one day and no one would remember me, but in a city so grand, where every step someone takes feel like part of a movie, you wish to run away.” She’s babbling, eyes twinkling with excitement. “Isn’t that exciting to you?”

He shakes his head. “No.” Wonwoo adds. “Because in a city so big, only a few people are remembered. We don’t choose what we are remembered for, either.”

“Oh, trust me,” She says. “You’d be remembered by good. Everyone in this city coos about the possibilities of you.”

“And that’s the thing. I don’t like expectation.”

“I understand.” She stops. “So, reason—?”

“I’m negative, but you’re good at prodding.”

“I was once a journalist in the making, but I ramble too much. I’d get in front of a camera and freeze, or say something really stupid. Probably both.” She conquers, sighing into her hand. “But you don’t have to answer, actually. I just want to get to know you. You could ask me something of your liking, too.”

He could ask about her library, but they have talked about that through text. He knows that it’s a family’s tree doing, where she loved literature and happened to continue down the road that was crafted for her. A place that was meant for her to walk on, but the wood on the floor was not precisely brought to life by her.

“Why didn’t it work out with your ex-husband?”

The reason why he left California is, perhaps, as personal as her divorce. She doesn’t swallow thickly, but she is left thinking for a moment, looking ahead and towards where he is, before the waiter returns with the burger in his hands and three glasses filled with a yellow, pink and white sauce.

“Thank you. This looks delicious.” Wonwoo compliments, only to have the waiter nodding.

“We start the timer now. Thirty minutes to finish all of this.” Just as he clicks the clock, she takes the half of the enormous burger and places it on her plate, and while he gives it a huge bite that fills his mouth and leaves his jaw hurting, she eats it bit by bit, plucking the food and swallowing it quickly.

“Probably my best kept secret.” She says, shrugging her shoulders. “I was promised until death, and then, I realized living one more day with him would be the cause of my death. It’s like…being pricked little by little, being married.”

“In general?”

“To him, precisely. Pierre has his own issues to figure out. He has…these experiences that he wants to go through in love. He wants to try with other people. And I wasn’t going to wait there, watching him mindlessly flirt with people, asking me if I’d ever been with more than one person, until I was finally hurt by something I expected.” She motions, sighing. “And now he’s trying to come back, so maybe, he already tried and thought returning home was the solution of the mess he made.”

“That’s pretty common. I happen to never last more than two months with somebody.” Wonwoo cackles at his own state in relationships, moving his head from side to side. “For a while I thought it was me.”

“How so?”

“Uncapable of being loved, if that makes sense.” Wonwoo announces. “I’ve never tried hard enough to make someone stay.”

“So, you’re the complete opposite of me. I have a hard time letting go.”

“I have a hard time making someone stay.” The mingle of tastes inside his mouth makes him wonder if she just wanted an excuse for them to try something good and new, not precisely break a challenge. Make herself memorable. Or maybe, that’s just her personality. Not everyone has to be trying all the time. “It probably is me.”

“Everyone has their little glimpses of red in their flag.” She jokes, tilting her head to the side when Wonwoo groans. “But hey, I’m a divorced woman, who am I to judge?”

“So, California…stinks a little bit, feels way more dense than this villa does, and it just…it reminds me of who I could’ve been. And who I am not, clearly.”

“Well, Wonwoo,” She picks up a portion of her burger, dipping it in what he thinks is corn sauce, before lifting it up in the air. “Cheers to that. We can be remembered for the picture we’ll have hanging here later this night.”

“Not at this pace.”

“Just say ‘yes’ for once. I promise, it doesn’t hurt.”

She could teach him that life is not filled with ‘no’ responses all the time.

Wonwoo thought the following times they’d see each other; they wouldn’t have any interruptions. However, much to his distaste, the moment he steps inside her house for what she called through the text ‘dinner and a movie’, there was another person invited.

The library’s worker, Wen Junhui, is not commonly known by him, but he has heard wonders about the man around town. As it goes, no one could ever tame him. Not from going around dating, but from being less eccentric. He sits in front of the TV they could have been using, holding fried chicken in between his digits after dipping it in barbeque, and he’s watching some Steve Harvey show that he is not quite sure he’d getting a glimpse of before. Too old for his liking, maybe.

“We have…companionship.” Wonwoo whispers to her, feeling the weight of her hands glide down his arms as she takes off his jacket. When he turns around, he sees her hanging the jacket, running her palms over it to keep it straight before humming.

“I didn’t know we had some either, but I totally promise Jun movie night every Friday. I can’t just kick him out. Or I can. But like, look at his face,” She points a hand towards Jun, who is still munching happily and laughing at whatever the host of the show had said. “One can’t just break a heart that easily. At least, his.”

Wonwoo can accept that Jun, while wearing a tank top and shorts, looks entirely different. A bit childish, with his bangs pushed back by a small clip, eating to his heart’s content. “I’m not saying you should kick him out.”

“But you had the hope it would be the two of us.”

“Awfully conceited, woman, don’t you think?” Wonwoo jokes around, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-grin. He’s normally not a sweet talker, but he’ll take the merit he can.

“Anyone would want to spend alone time with me.” One of her shoulders shrugs up, the structures of her face fighting their hardest to let out a smile. “Would you want some water, coffee, tea, juice, cocktail? I don’t know how to make cocktails, but I can fetch something up.”

“None.”

“Oh, maybe some energy drink, perhaps? Or, oh shit, you’re from Hollywood, maybe you’d like sparkly water, or bubbly water…”

“Trust me, we have normal water in Hollywood. I think.” He leans down to fix her hair over her shoulder, jotting his chin towards the TV. “Are we ordering something else or we’re sharing chicken with Jun?”

“He will notice there are only two pieces left in a few minutes and order some for everyone, so we just wait.” With that, she walks ahead of him, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to snuggle to the density of her white sweater, or that he’s not a bit enamored of the way her thighs fill the ripped jeans around her hips. She’s unique—so homely in a way that he hates he can feel that a little more time with her could end up in him in love.

“Wonwoo!” Jun speaks through a mouthful and in the month that he’s been there, he has gotten to know him a bit. The man is as sweet as one can get, but he’s also a bit odd. “I didn’t know you were coming. Do you want some—?” He stops on his tracks when extending the takeout bag towards Wonwoo, looking down at…yes, two pieces of chicken left. “Let me grab my phone,” He speaks after plopping his thumb in his mouth to lick the remaining sauce off. “And order something else.”

“Told you so.” She mouths after sitting down next to Jun, who is in between them like a child would. “Would you mind ordering a pizza? I think that’d last us some more than the chicken.”

“Oh, totally. There’s a two-for-one coupon in my phone case.” Jun is mumbling to himself, tossing glances towards the TV screen every once in a while before returning to his phone.

“I’ll pay for it. Don’t worry.” Wonwoo announces, but Jun shakes his head.

“The whole coupon thing is true—”

“But I want to pay, let me.”

That’s how they end up watching old marathons of family shows, with one hand holding a slice of pepperoni-filled pizza and the other on the couch behind them as they sit on the couch. When he can, he looks over to where she is and he catches her looking back, with eyelashes fluttering against her under-eyes and lips mingling in a small smile. He’s a bit surprised, however, when Jun is rambling with him about nineties shows, because a hand lands on his behind her friend’s back.

The touch of gentle fingertips hold back when tracing the outline of his knuckles, hesitantly slipping in between his own. Wonwoo feels his heart hammer against his chest, a beat that almost leaves him with ringing in his eardrums, for the blood rushes through his entire body until he can’t mask a smile. And sure, Jun may think that he’s smiling towards him, immersed in a conversation that now is a stammer in his head, considering her thumb is drawing on the veins of his wrist, like the gentle kiss she is not promising, but is making him think about.

In the midst of a villa, Wonwoo starts thinking about possibilities, and percentages have never been his thing more than art does, but the interlude of this story starts to make him think about staying. When Jun leans to grab another slice of pizza, Wonwoo takes this moment to bring that hand closer to his mouth, slotting his lips against her knuckles and watching her widen her eyes while staring at the screen.

Their little secret, now even more engraved in his brain by the expression on her face.

The inhibition of love is a saddened matter. Wonwoo never thought he’d be on the end spectrum of not being able to fully open up. After all, acting takes up the imagery of shredding every portion of himself in order to make a character come alive. He needs to unalive his motions in order to be someone else in front of a camera. However, when laying on that bed of his, in his place in the villa, that had felt more like home than any mansion could ever do for him, he is awfully aware of the person next to him.

“Do you have…um…any idea why I call you Mr. Hollywood?”

The question is soft against the sheets. She’s laying on her side, knee angled until she is almost resting a thigh over his hip. Wonwoo shakes his head, turning his head to look at her from up close. She has forgone the makeup today, hair a bit dirty and laying on top of her head by a ponytail. When she opens her eyes, he’s staring back at her.

“You didn’t answer.”

“Oh, I thought I did.” Wonwoo mumbles, trailing a finger on the side of her face before shrugging. “I have no clue. Anything in particular I should be aware about?”

Wonwoo, when asking to spend time with her almost every day, is knowledgeable of the fact that she’s a very smart woman. However, as the night slips through his clear curtains, cascading along her features in the moonlit nature of a November midnight, his mind forgets the fact that he’s Jeon Wonwoo, and that maybe, his stigma as a person is harder to hide than he thought.

“…I saw you in a movie once.” The confession has his heart hammering against his chest, and he sits up immediately. Not angered, but terrified. Afraid of being used for what is always loved about him—his power, love for acting, his money. “I want you to listen to me, okay? You’ve been here for almost two months and I feel like…it’s time to tell you something. Nothing bad. Just something.”

“You talked to me because of me being an actor?”

“God, no. I didn’t want to talk to you for the same thing. You terrified the hell out of me.” She says, sitting up with him and pressing a hand to his thigh in order to keep him in place. Her eyes beg him to stay close and somehow, he does. Though the alarms in his mind tell him to fleet. “You still do, but for different reasons. I saw you in this movie…Stay With Me? The one where you played a secondary character. The main guy’s best friend. I didn’t recall enough about the movie, but I knew that face. I thought you were…good looking. That’s all. I’m not a fan.”

“That’s a very old film.” It was in the start of his career, when rom-coms would call him just to play the knowledgeable best friend. He has the face of a man who knows how to give advice, they told him. “So, you call me Mr. Hollywood because you know who I really am outside of these walls I’ve built to run away?”

“To remind me you’ll leave, I guess.” She sighs out, running her free hand through the locks of her ponytail. “Calling you Mr. Hollywood reminds me you’re…you know, somehow unreachable.”

“Gosh, I am not!”

“Come on, Wonwoo. I’m just a woman who happens to sell books for a living. Each day, I wake up to a bed on my own, wondering what kind of legacy I’ll leave in this world, but I am also timid enough to not want to be remembered. And it’s the paradigm of being…just somebody else. I won’t be listed as one of the most gorgeous women, neither one of the most talented, but I can reassure you…Wonwoo, anywhere you stand, as an actor or not, you’re special.”

He has seen love in scripts, written to be perfection, clouds of pink that cascade the fall of a person who would have never thought romance would be on their way. He has acted it out, softened eyes and sweet words that come with the clash of lips, but he doesn’t expect how love really feels like. Numbed out of every word that could make him feel insecure, trapped in the odyssey of wanting a kiss that has him leaning forward, capturing her face in his palms and looking into her eyes, not seeking softness, but the reassurance of something else. Of the feedback of warmth.

“And I am just a man who wants you to see him as he is. Hollywood or not.”

“I see you, Wonwoo.” She mumbles, and that’s enough for Wonwoo to lean forward. Fill her with a kiss that threatens to whimper in her mouth when her mouth parts and clashes against his.

Wonwoo feels complete, like a thread follows after him and whispers in his mouth everything he wants to hear without a noise at all. Her hands mingle on the back of his head, legs interlocking with his own. And he hates that even when he is kissing her with fervor; tracing the outline of lips that he wishes to remember to the day of his death, there is still a voice of insecurity.

He leans back on the bed, with her body trailing after his, settling a leg in between his own and pulling away to press a chaste kiss to his jaw, soon after pressing her mouth to his neck. Both of his hands expand on her back, under her shirt to feel the softness of her skin when he whispers:

“Could you please turn off your phone?”

“Excuse me?” She questions, only to have Wonwoo shaking his head.

“I…I got some pictures taken of me. I was intimate with a woman I used to date on-and-off and now…everyone has a picture I didn’t consent to of me in my boxers.” Confessing it has his cheeks blaring in heat, and he expects her to laugh. “And sure, you may think it’s stupid, but—”

She settles her hips on top of his, sitting and reaching for her phone in the bedside table, only to show the screen turning off to him. “It’s not stupid to me. Whatever makes you feel comfortable, I can consider.”

“Where were you my whole life?” Wonwoo asks, feeling her mouth return to his neck. And she laughs against his skin, drawing sparkling stars in his stomach and letting them tingle with…whatever feeling he’s starting to let cascade over him.

“Far, far away.”

“But I found you.”

“…You found me.” She interlocks their hands together, smiling at him. “Thank God, you found me.”

“What is this?”

Sandara positions three things on their coffee table in a specific order. A cup of coffee, with a savory smell of Bailey’s that he has been obsessed with every since he tried it on a café shop downtown. A croissant, with an extra layer of powdered sugar on top of it, and of course, what takes him off guard. A stack of papers, placed neatly like a script would. He picks up his coffee, giving it a taste even though he’s eyeing the paper, not touching it.

“Well, we’ve been here for almost three months…” Sandara sits down on the couch next to him. Her hair is shorter than how it had been when they got there, and she has dyed it back to a light brown. She moves it to a side on its entirety before pressing her knuckle to her cheek. “I think it’s time we start to think of a comeback. I was introduced to this idea where you’d star with Cillian Murphy, and I just couldn’t say no. You’re totally reading it.”

Acting is a prolongation of his anatomy. Wonwoo can’t exist without acting, but taking a break has never hurt anybody. He believes that most good actors take one in their lifetime. However, being pushed into stardom once again it’s not something he had thought about. Or he has, but he has always pushed it to the back of his head. That would mean going back to Hollywood, casting interviews where he’ll have to talk about the whole photo incident, perhaps take up on that Calvin Klein campaign that Sandara was so excited about…and that all sounds like a ton of work.

“You didn’t ask me about this.” Wonwoo announces, but Sandara is already placing the script right on top of his lap, pointing at it with a manicured nail. “Sandara—”

“I didn’t ask you, but you need to continue, Woo.” She says. “You’re one of the biggest talents of this generation and you’re throwing it all to Hell because of a picture? No. That’s the answer. We’re not letting that happen. We’re going to meet the team the following Monday and Cillian is going to be there. We can read over some—”

“What?” Wonwoo stands up, throwing the script on the table and shaking his head. “I didn’t consent on going back to Hollywood.”

“Wonwoo, it’s where you’ve grown to be the person you are today. You can’t escape it forever.”

“Yes, but I also don’t have to return just because you’re telling me to. It’s more complicated than that.” Hence, he has spent almost every day sharing kisses, touches, stories and whispers with a woman that he has promised is not temporary. It’s been almost a month since they shared their first kiss…and from then, they have fallen into the comfort of…

A relationship, maybe. That’s what he calls it inside his head, but he’s too afraid to voice it. For reasons as such, like this, when he will need to fly away to Hollywood just because reality is calling.

“They are offering millions of dollars for this, and Wonwoo, you’re going to miss acting eventually. I’m sure you do now, as you are standing here every morning just reading books and doing nothing.”

“Healing is not doing nothing.” Wonwoo corrects, and when he tosses a look at the script, he can admit he is a bit intrigued. How can a person be both here and there at the same time? How can the man he has grown to be in the villa meet the celebrity that he really is?

“Just read it. We both know you want to.”

“And then, what? I never come back here. I have a…someone, a girlfriend, maybe, and I don’t want to leave that behind.”

“I’m not—Just don’t get ahead of yourself. Think first about what you want to do and sure, if it’s staying here for a while more, I’ll accept it. But this is such a good film that is going to rise from the ashes and I want you to be part of it. You need to. It’d be iconic, Wonwoo, I swear.”

Does he want to be remembered by everyone as the actor who could do it all, battle against the tabloids and shine as one of the best performers of the generation? Or perhaps, does he want to be remembered by one person as the man who mended her heart after not wanting to believe in anyone because of a horrid break-up?

“I’ll think about it.” He feels bad about saying it and sitting down with that coffee and croissant to read the first page. “Just leave me alone for a while, will you?”

“Right.” Sandara presses a kiss to the crown of his head, patting the hair soon after. “I’m only doing it for you, I swear.”

“I know.”

That’s the only whisper he can muster to give her as he traces the outline of the title. The ink, the indents, the fresh paper…he misses this, but at the same time, he doesn’t feel ready to return to the emptiness that is felt when going through stardom. He’s enamored of reality, and that isn’t supposed to be a sin.

The more he reads the script, the more he likes it…and he starts to wonder if there are two men living inside of him, or if there is one that perseveres more than the other.

Molding against somebody’s body is a connection on its own. Wonwoo could get used to the dance of breathing that comes with laying next to somebody, when his chest connects to her back, arm weighting her waist down, chin squished to her shoulder. However, this morning is different. They don’t wake up to the sound of her alarm but to something else. His ears make out a noise that is familiar to him.

Flashes.

Clicking.

Shouts.

His name.

Her name.

Why do they know her name?

Wonwoo stands up, breathing quickly with the flaming hope of only being in a nightmare. However, the coldness of the floor seeps through his bare feet when he moves towards the window, moving the curtain to the side in order to see a herd of paparazzi standing outside of her home. Jun is in front of them, waving his hand like an idiot and posing for the camera. Quite like the characters in White Chicks would.

“Love, where are you going?” She’s mumbling against the pillow and for a moment, all Wonwoo sees is white. He feels let down by the woman waiting for him in the mattress. How could they have found him here, when he has gone months to no end completely unnoticed by the citizens? And Jun is enjoying the attention, that has to say something.

“Nowhere. I am unable to go anywhere because there are fucking paparazzi in your front yard.” Wonwoo lurks through the clothes left on the floor, running the fabric of a cotton t-shirt over his body and sighing in distaste. He’s walking from side to side in the bedroom. The paparazzi will only leave when he gets out of that door, after all.

“What?”

“Just tell me the truth. When did you call them? I was with you the entire night.” Wonwoo points out the obvious, placing his hands in his waist and frowning towards her. Her eyes widen and he swears he sees the little, fragile glass that she has within her chest playing as a heart breaking with one look alone. “You did exactly what everyone did before you—”

“Fuck, Wonwoo, what are you even saying? I would never do that to you!” She stands up and though he wants to believe her, he has heard that before. She’s walking towards him, sheets pressed to her chest, pleading at him with her vision alone. “Let me see.”

“No!” He shouts, taking her by the arm and keeping her away from the window. “If they take a picture of you, it’ll be everywhere in a second.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how t—these things work.” She stutters, pressing her hand on top of his and trying to rub at the skin there. “Wonwoo, you have to believe me. I would never betray your trust like this.”

“Your roomie is out there making a show out of this.”

“Jun would never, either! He’s probably just enjoying the attention.”

“My God.” Wonwoo takes another glimpse out of the window, feeling his eyes get filled with tears. “How…How am I supposed to believe you when it all ends like this? Another scandal. I don’t deserve to be in the highlights of a magazine once again!”

“I’m sorry…” She mumbles, trying to catch him in her arms but he’s moving. Walking out of the bedroom, he goes down the set of slim stairs as he prepares to go through the masses of paparazzi and perhaps, lose himself in the process of stardom once again. Vacant answers, eye-rolls, and the undignified tilt of his head looking down because of the flashes and the lack of sincerity towards his self. “I don’t want you to leave. I’m—I’ll go with you, just let me get dressed and I’ll talk to them with the truth. They just need to know who you really are.”

“You truly believe that being sincere is what helps me here?” Wonwoo turns around, looking down at her and scoffing. “Sunshine, I’ve tried to be sincere in a world where they only want to see my worse and I expected you to understand that.”

“…You know, I’m starting to feel offended that you don’t believe me. I understand you, but I would never do this to you.” Wonwoo sighs at her words, sparing one good look at her face. He will miss the shared laughter and even more so the love that she had gifted to him without nothing in return. Nothing more than loving her back.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience in your home.” Wonwoo says, putting on his jacket and his sunglasses before turning around and nodding at her. “And thank you for giving me the benefit of loving you.”

“Wonwoo—”

He opens the door in a hassle, eager for paparazzi not to see her in her pajamas and shred her to pieces. Jun greets him happily, offering him a cup of coffee that he ignores as he walks through the masses. The cameras go wilder for him, asking him questions:

“Where is your new love?!”

“When are you returning to Hollywood?!”

“Is she aware of your soft-porn pictures?!”

“Is this the end of your career?”

At this last question, he turns around, grabbing the microphone from the journalist’s hand and adding: “I don’t know, you’ll be the judge of that.” With that, he gets inside his car, hands trembling as he years to get out of there. They will follow after him, but the best he can do is reach Sandara and hope that she can take care of it.

With a broken heart and his wheels swirling, Wonwoo gets out of her life for good.

And he doesn’t look back.

For twenty-one days, she curses believing in love again. Even so, she starts to ponder if she should take out the entirety of the romance shelf off her library, but Jun is the one to stop her before she wiped out the best-selling row of their plethora of books. A fraction of her being understood where Wonwoo was coming from, and maybe, that’s the reason that upon hearing he’d be holding a press conference in a city nearby her own, she decided to go give it a glimpse. Perhaps, be another fan that just happened to get a little too close to the star.

“You’re losing your damn mind.” Jun says when following after her, entering the crowds of people that mingle to get a glimpse of Wonwoo as he’s expected to enter one of the most popular hotels in the city. “And I’m starting to like it. You’ve never acted like this before.”

“Jun!” She drags, a little mortified that she’s here. She has tried contacting Wonwoo, but the last thing she heard about him is that he had taken a plane back to Hollywood. She was even a bit surprised that he had come back. Everyone was trying to deduce who was the one that had captured him for three months in some secluded villa that no one had been able to find him in, but the masses of rumors were met by silence from his team as they announced his new film. “I shouldn’t even be here. He hates me, and for pictures that I wasn’t even in.”

“And I finally got the number of the girl in the supermarket because she saw me on TV. One of us is winning, so that makes two of us winning.” Sometimes, she wishes to pluck each hair of Jun’s head one by one only to see if he has a proper adult reaction. However, her best friend wraps an arm around her shoulder, grinning at her. “Are you sure you want to be around here? I looked up the best places to visit around here and we can totally go. It wouldn’t be on vain either.”

“I want to see him. One last time.” She ponders, humming at his words. Though, she has to scream a bit, considering the fans are going crazy, talking within themselves about the announcements he was supposed to be making today. “You know, maybe I can pluck him out of my heart that way.”

Though, that thought completely vanishes when looking at him. Wonwoo has decided to wear a long brown coat, sunglasses propped on the tip of his nose, getting out of a limousine as two guards help him get through the groups of people. A black shirt enters his black slacks, accentuating the waist she’d rest her cheek on when hugging him from the side as he poured coffee for her in the early mornings. She had lost that, along with the smile that characterized him when being with her. Though, she can say it had been taken away from both of them.

They are placed in a corner of the grand room in the hotel that is supposed to be taken up by Wonwoo and his team. He’s seated on a table, well perched and high on the stage, with Sandara on one side and another man whom she does not recognize on the other, but he’s making sure that the microphone is working well. The fans, such as them, are on the side to support him as the journalists take up most of the space.

Like parasites, she realizes, when the interview starts to enroll.

It’s supposed to be a press conference to announce the return of Wonwoo to acting and stardom, but they have made it all about the pictures that months ago had reached a magazine because of his ex…situationship, and also included glimpses of her. Of the mysterious woman whom he can’t find words, for he chooses other questions and gets shouts from the journalists who want more from him. He does admit to have signed a contract for a film, and she’s entranced in the way he speaks about the plot and what he wishes out of it.

A woman in her forties stands up, heels clicking when she plots her hip to the side, grabbing the microphone in between her hands with expertise before adding: “We have gathered information and found out, Mr. Jeon, that you have lived in the villa for almost four months by now. Reading books, having coffee, just living the life of a man in his fifties while also being in your twenties. What was the reason to stay out of stardom for so long and do you wish to go back to it any time soon?”

Wonwoo is uncomfortable; she can tell by the way he wrings his hands and turns them pale after taking off his sunglasses. He’s rotting in between the sense of lying or being truthful to himself. However, before Sandara could say to ask another question, Wonwoo leans over the microphone and sighs.

“Because I…happened to meet people who made me want to stay, and I sadly did not have the chance to stay for longer.”

“How so?” The journalist keeps prodding now that he has answered, and Sandara takes up over the microphone.

“I think it’s time we cut this round off—”

Though, Wonwoo gently pushes her away, rubbing at one eye before clearing his throat. “Because, as an actor, I have played enough roles for people to visualize me as such. I wanted to be someone normal for once, and reading books, like you said, made me unite with the citizens around the villa. I—I would have stayed if I could, but…reality wants me here. This is who I am.”

That could be the finalization of them, and it should have been, but damn her for being stubborn and knowing precisely when a good person is leaving her life, because she places a hand on top of Jun’s shoulder and whispers in his ear:

“Hoist me up. I’m going over the gate and getting to him.”

“What?”

“I can’t let him leave like that. Not without knowing I love him, at least.”

“Alright. If you’re going to jail, I’m going with you.”

What a paradox, it is, that the start of their story included him helping her get over her own gate and now she does as such, earning gasps and shouts from the masses of people as the guards rush towards her and catch her just in time for her mouth to let out:

“I just—Hey, I just wondered, Mr. Jeon, if you’d like to hear something from one of the citizens!” She’s battling against the strong hands of the guards trying to drag her away, feet kicking and asking to be given a second by Wonwoo.

She swears she sees a smile creep up his features when he leans over the microphone once again and says: “Let her go. I know her.”

The strong pair of arms unravels from around her waist and she sighs out in glee before she’s granted a microphone. She fixes her hair, stands up a little straighter and hates the fact that she didn’t try to look better after twenty-one days of missing him. “I was wondering, Mr. Jeon, if there was anyone who would have made you stay in that villa if it weren’t for your duty calling you. If…if it hurt you leaving the villa at all.”

She should expect the worst, judging by the ways cameras start flashing and people start whispering within themselves. However, Sandara is talking in Wonwoo’s ear, eager to get him to say the right thing, but as they look at each other, they are back to the nights in which she’d ask him to turn off the lights because she didn’t want him to see her without makeup or sick and he’d shrug his shoulders without a care in the world. They are back to the first time he was able to sleep next to her without turning off all the phones in the house.

It’s just the two of them. Their world. Their villa. Their three months.

“…You. You are the only one who could make me stay.”

That’s what makes everyone talk louder, after the bead of silence that leads up to the grandest reveal. The cameras turn towards her and she’s afraid of how she’ll look after, but that won’t matter if Wonwoo returns…one day, even after the movie, even for the weekends or when he’s free.

“That’s…that’s lovely.” She says, looking up as not to feel shy or embarrassed by what she’s about to admit. “Because I want you to stay, Wonwoo.”

“Um, I think we need to return to the questions—” Sandara is speaking, but Wonwoo has lifted his eyebrows, smiling softly and standing up from his spot and going over to where she is. Each step slows down the closer he gets, and the guards move to his place in order not to have journalists or fans jumping at him.

“Before you say anything,” She starts, interlocking her hands together in front of her body. “I…I love you. I just need you to know that. I don’t need anything else right now.”

Wonwoo quirks his head to the side, cheeks blushed and hands fisted in his pocket. “Well, I was about to offer three months in Los Angeles to film a movie and then, back to our villa indefinitely but—”

“You have to be joking.” She coos with a smile on her face, but Wonwoo shakes his head.

“Pretty honest. I am characterized for being such, aren’t I?”

Before she knows it, she’s launching herself at his arms, lips jotted to his own and even though everyone is looking, she couldn’t care less.

Indefinitely. That starts to sound a lot like forever, and with him, that doesn’t seem impossible.

“I love you, too.” He whispers as she hides her face from the cameras in his jacket, laughing at his words.

dedicated to @wisteria-woo

#wonwoo x reader #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo #seventeen #kpop scenarios #writing #actor!au #notting hill!au #and my return from writing after months be nice to it omg

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slickfordain · 1 month

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POOKS I HAVE AN IDEA

Ahem...yandere aiden, logan, tyler n ash or whoever u want w WEAK READER N YK THEY R PRETTY OVERPROTECTIVD OF HER WHY? bc she is fragile af-- always manage to get herself injured in the most dunb ways possible n how tf is she gonna manage to survive in this realm? She needs them ‼️‼️

𝕭𝖗𝖚𝖙𝖆𝖑 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞 // School Bus Graveyard

TW: Yandere themed, NO NSFW, gore/injuries mentioned, fragile!female!reader who is paranoid and anxious, AU explanation-wise writing? It’s kind of short but it’s like an explanation what my SBG x reader AU is;;u ;

You don’t know how you even ended up here in this situation…. Restless sleep, insomnia, hallucinations,— Ah… Who am I kidding? You knew exactly what was happening and it all started way back when you were ordered to tutor around the new students. Being the one who wasn’t new, it was hard to keep a conversation with them because….. One would keep her distance away, one would be thrilled to nag the girl who distanced away, the twins didn’t give a damn, and… Ben and Logan were probably the only ones who ever offered to listen to you.

However despite those hours you eventually got to bond with them, all because of… Well…. You tripping down the stairs all of the sudden until Ashlyn caught you. And that’s where the spark happened… That’s what clicked in Ashlyn’s mind to suddenly want to protect you, with you in her arms looking hopeless and defenseless. The group claimed you as their pink princess but, you didn’t thought much of it….

And why they even bother to call you that, you still felt loved at least by your friends.

But… Every time you walk home after hanging out with them, especially on that trip, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The thought of that hideous creature behind Ashlyn…. You haven’t left your house since then, and gave excuses to your teacher even for him to understand.

You’ve never felt anything weird like this before… The ones you are looking to avoid were mostly creepy men, or just in general a group of people who you think could possibly bully you, or take advantage.

So why? Why did you suddenly have to endure horror?

❝[NAME]!!!❞

You’ve impaled yourself on accident by trying to get away from a monster, you’ve tripped and fallen into a dark void where you died by the fall, you even somehow died by trying to save Tyler, but you ended up dying anyways! It was getting so… So much harder…

You’ve gotten injured. Over, and over, and over again. It’s pissing Ashlyn, Aiden, Tyler— everyone off. It was as if they saw life flash before their eyes…. And while you’re alive in the real world, with no scratches or injuries, they couldn’t afford to lose you again. To make you hopeless, to make you unable to walk.

It was another dream, another dream where suddenly you’re locked in the bird cage Aiden had somehow decided to buy… You stared confused, yearning for an explanation…. But the boys and girls wouldn’t give you any.

❝Guys..? Please… I thought we were a team..❞

❝Princess… We are! We swear…! Please don’t take it badly! We’re doing this for your own good…❞

You couldn’t really argue with them. You’re just tired and you have been unable to get proper sleep… You suppose it’s okay but… It wasn’t getting better as you thought it would. Despite dreams having you only locked up every now and then, in the morning in reality- you are FOLLOWED constantly by either the twins, Ashlyn, Aiden, or Ben… Logan? Probably cameras in your house (not your bedroom or bathroom) to ensure you made it home safely.

It’s getting out of hand. It’s going bizarre, but are you doing something about it? NO! Their parents scares you! You don’t want to break your friendship either… You knew how easily broken they’d be… And… You don’t want to handle or deal with Aiden’s family, nor do you wanna karate with Ashlyn’s mother. You can’t even fight!

So the only thing you could do was just… Accept it as it is. And let it be… Although you probably aren’t aware that the parents adores you, finding you so sweet and matchable for their little children. You don’t pay attention to that, all you could focus on were your eyebags and your injured body…. There wasn’t anything, reality-wise, but God it stung that you could barely make it through school. Even though I kind of said you give excuses…. You still had to do exams for at least collage….

Don’t take them wrong, they’d love for you to stay safe and to not join the horror attraction… But also, after the reveal when the parents could also see the demonic creatures, it instantly clicks that you weren’t safe. Nor were your parents. (Don’t give a damn about your parents, they don’t like them)

They need you. They constantly need you. They can’t have you out of your cage, but they can’t have you out of the dreams as well…. Which considers leading it to having you as some sort of a motivation. They need you to support them for everything they do.

So when the parents are going into that situation, it’s best to believe they NEED you with them so nobody in reality can kidnap you while they’re asleep…. Fighting off monsters, you know?

And the shady guys? Do not worry a single thing about them at all.

I mean, what more could you possibly do than to be stuck in your own bedroom or classroom? You’re going nowhere near the stores or arcade. Not after that Logan incident, that is….

#various x reader #various #yandere x reader #school bus graveyard x you #school bus graveyard x reader #school bus graveyard

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lakesbian · 2 months

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the andalite chronicles are fucking great so far because aside from how they're genuinely interesting and well written it's got. The lore detail that a warrior being pointed out to have Nerd Traits (like skill with technology) is genuinely insulting even if the skills are desirable just on a cultural level. which has fucking HILARIOUS implications for aximili "insecure jock yearning to be a brave warrior" esgarrouth isthill's current situation where he can't go three seconds without being told "in english, four eyes." that particular bit of world building made me stare into space fondly recalling every time the animorphs have treated ax like a weird nerd so far. he's having such a bad time and it's so funny.

it's ALSO fucking great that it's all ohhh elfangor the great warrior poor ax trying to live up to his legacy. and it's like we can Say he was awesome and badass but it's not as true feeling until we see it in action you know? and then we get to the book where we actually see elfangor in the flesh and even at his absolute teenage dorkiest he:

confidently declares to himself that despite sucking at combat training he'll probably definitely magically be perfect and survive when he gets into a Real combat experience, and then does actually proceed to do just that

pulls a cool alien girl within like two hours of meeting her

drives a mustang at 100mph through the desert while blaring the rolling stones and drinking dr pepper

like it's hopeless for ax. No hope even at all for being as cool as his big brother. It's not happening.

#animorphs lb

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lemonsdaydreams · 9 months

Text

breaking the distance. |c.b|

summary: You and Colby have been dating for nearly two years, enduring long distance and making the best out of time zones and chaotic work/ school schedules. The two of you knew one day the distance would be shortened to where there would be no more planes needed to see each other, and date night could finally be more than just facetiming and watching a movie together at the same time. One of you just happened to know it would be happening sooner rather than later.

~*~*~*~*~*~

No one ever expected Colby and I’s relationship to last, and I couldn’t really blame them. On the outside looking in, It seemed like it was a storm waiting to happen. Colby, a very well known social media content creator, constantly traveling and investigating new locations with his best friend in and outside the country, and lives on the west coast of the united states. Me, a non social media content creator, studying emergency paramedicine, lives on the east coast, and never even had a passport until two months ago. The main thing people always loved to throw at us was the distance. ‘Why date someone who lives a 5 hour plane ride away, when there’s plenty of people here in the same state for you to choose from?’

I personally didn’t fully expect us to be where we are right now when I met Colby over two years ago. It’s crazy how things happen though, how quickly you connect with a person. It’s as if I’d known him my whole life, as if I was connecting with an old friend I hadn’t seen in years that night at the bar. We talked and talked for hours, the rest of the crowded bar tuned out and all I saw was him. Colby and his friends he had traveled to the east coast with a few days later after we first ended up coming over to my apartment for a game night after constantly texting and getting to know each other more. Ironically, one of his friends that came with him, I knew from my childhood. Talk about a small world.

The buzzing of my cellphone in my hand snapped me out of the daydream I was in. A smile quickly spread across my face as I spotted Colby’s name on the caller ID before answering.

“Finally waking up, Mr. Brock?” I smiled as I held the phone to my ear.

“I’m so sorry beautiful, I slept through my alarm. I totally planned on waking up earlier to be able to talk to you in case you began to stress over your exam today.” His morning voice was something that always caught me off guard, the deep rasp. It always made me yearn for the day I’d be able to hear it in person, and not over the phone.

Of course over the past two years we’ve met up and spent time together, however it was usually when him and Sam were on a trip to film or when I had a small break between semesters at school and could afford to visit him.

“It’s okay Colby, I promise.” I smiled to myself and attempted to contain my excitement as I scanned the empty apartment once more. “I’ve been just cleaning and relaxing on the couch. I think if I tried reading any more of my textbooks my eyeballs might fall out of my head.”

Colby chuckled as my apartment door swung open, and I quickly muted myself as Seth, the friend of Colby’s that I’ve known since childhood came in. “Who’s ready to mo- oh shit, are you on the phone?” He quickly covered his mouth with a hand.

“Yeah, with Colby.” I giggled before giving him a ‘shh’ and taking myself off mute.

“You’re going to do great. You always do great. This is the final bridge needing to be crossed and then I’ll be able to have you in my arms every night and hear about the crazy encounters you have at work in person. God, I can’t wait for that to be real, beautiful. I miss you so much.”

“I can’t believe that it’s finally here. Just this semester and then I’m done, graduated, nationally registered to work anywhere in the country. By the way, My supervisor reached out to the base that’s not far from where you live, and they have an open paramedic spot that is up for grabs.” I bit my bottom lip and glanced at Seth who also shared the same nervous look.

I’ve always hated lying, and lying to Colby these past few months have been absolute torture. But he’s always the one surprising me, I wanted to finally surprise him. I ended up taking an earlier program that Colby didn’t know about, which allowed me to graduate and become a paramedic three months ago. However, Colby still thought I had another two months to go. During this time since finishing school, I’ve been working and studying protocols for the state I’d be moving to, coordinating with Sam on shipping my stuff to Vegas from New England without Colby seeing the boxes, selling stuff I don’t need to bring, and basically getting ready to move to Vegas. Of course, Colby knew this day would be coming, as we have a whole checklist we share on google docs to make sure we have everything lined up for when the day comes, He just doesn’t know it’s happening sooner. Or that I’m going to be there, in like 12 hours.

“Baby, Is it okay if I let you go? I can call you back later. I have to bring my phone to the apple store, I finally got an appointment to get my battery fixed.” I ran a hand through my hair, constantly reminding myself mentally the lying would be over soon.

“Oh good, I’m so glad you got that appointment babe, I have to get going anyway. Sam and I have to go meet up with some friends to film a video, but text or call me as soon as you finish your exam okay? I love you.”

After saying goodbye and hanging up, I groaned and laid back on the empty granite counter. “Dude, no wonder you hate lying. Thank god that wasn’t a facetime call or one look at your face and Colby would see your face and just know you were hiding something.” Seth chuckled and I flipped him the bird.

“Can we go get coffee before we head to the airport? This whole not having my own car thing sucks.” Seth chuckled once more before nodding and holding out his rental keys that I snatched out his hand before he could speak. “Yes, I’ll drive. You drive worse than my grandmother.”

“Now boarding Group A.”

“I’m really flying to Vegas without a return ticket.” I mumbled as I handed my ticket to the flight attendant at the gate. I glanced over my shoulder at Seth who stood behind me, laughing. “You’re finally moving to Vegas. Which means Sam and I won’t have to hear Colby talk about how much he misses your voice all the time and try to figure out what haunted places we could go see near where you live.”

“Are you sure he won’t question why my phone is off for over five hours? I mean we don’t talk on the phone all day every day, but we usually check in over text to say Hi and that we miss each other or something. I don’t think a phone battery replacement would take five hours.” I buckled my seatbelt once Seth and I got to our assigned seats. “You seriously worry too much.” Seth patted my hand as he smiled. “We’ve got it all figured out. He isn’t going to have any time to check his phone with what they’re filming.”

“This is going to be a long ass five hours, Seth. This is why teleportation should be a thing. I could already be there, with Colby.” I sighed as I turned to look out the window, anxiously tapping my foot on the ground. Seth laughed and out of the corner of my eye, I spotted him hold his phone out to take a photo.

“Don’t you dare post that.” I looked at him wide eyed, which caused Seth to laugh more. “Relax, It’s a video. For memories.” I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms across my chest. “Should I yell it out now that you’re a paramedic, just in case there’s a medical emergency?”

“Don’t you dare. I’m too nervous to provide any care, nor do I want to start my career as a medic off by taking care of someone on a plane. Why aren’t we moving yet?” I peered up and around the seats, huffing as I noticed not everyone was seated.

“God this is going to be so funny to look back on.” Seth mumbled as he put his phone down.

~*~

“I’ve got all your stuff in the storage unit, and your car should be arriving in the next few days.” Sam smiled as he drove Seth and I from the airport. Colby was back at the house editing and thinking Sam had just gone out to get food for the two of them. “It’s really good to finally see you, by the way. Colby is going to lose his mind.”

“I’m so nervous.” I mumbled looking out the window of the car and taking in the change of scenery. “He thinks I’m still in my exam right now.”

“Oh I know. Dude is a love sick puppy right now.” Sam laughs and gives me a smile. “Once we get to the house, I’m going to go inside to ask Colby to come out and help me grab some stuff from my car, but in reality it will only be you.” He added while Seth readjusted the camera on the dash of the car. I nodded and prayed we’d be arriving at the house soon.

Once at the house, I laid down in the back seat of the car to hide until Colby came out. “Yeah it’s on the passenger side in the back, If you can just grab it for me as well as the camera!” Sam called out, signaling that Colby was coming my way. Before I knew it, the door was swung open and I quickly sat up and smiled as my eyes landed on Colby. “Surprise!”

Colby stared in shock for a moment, eyes wide with confusion. Next thing I knew, He was grabbing my legs and pulling me out of the vehicle and up into his arms. My arms quickly wrapped around his neck, resting my head on his shoulder and wrapping my legs around him as he held me. “What is going on?” Colby yelled out, turning to glance at his friends back at the doorway before slamming the car door and moving so I was pressed against it and using one of his hands to pull my head back so he could see my face. “You have an exam?” His eyebrows furrowed.

“Baby.” I laughed softly. “Oh my gosh I’ve absolutely hated lying to you. I graduated early, That’s why I was so busy over break and couldn’t see you. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to surprise you by being able to finally be here sooner than you thought.” I cupped his face in my hands and blinking back tears as I finally got a good look at him. “I can’t believe I’m here.”

“I missed your graduation?” He frowned, resting his forehead against mine. “I’m so confused baby.” He quickly closed the distance between us and kissed me gently. “But dear god have I been dying to kiss you.” He mumbled against my lips.

“No, It was a winter graduation so there’s no walk you didn’t miss anything.” I kissed him once more. “But I’m here. no more distance. It’s finally broken.” I ran a hand through his hair as I stared into his blue eyes. Colby pulled me closer once more and began kissing me again, deeper this time before beginning to head towards the house. “You guys should probably head our for a while.” Colby mumbled as he passed Sam and Seth, his gaze still set on me. “Already planned on it. We’ll be back later. Welcome home!” Sam called out as Colby walked away from them, still carrying me. I let out a small laugh and began kissing Colby’s cheeks and playing with his hair at the nape of his neck.

“I can’t believe you lied.” Colby fake pouted as he gently tossed me on his, ours now, bed before climbing on top of me. “But it was so worth it.” He mumbled before kissing me. “Now it’s time for me to welcome you home.” He smirked.

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querenciasturniolo · 9 months

Text

missing you ⮕ c.s.

word count: 822

warnings: swearing

summary: chris is back in boston from chicago, and you decide that you were sick of missing him

a/n: i’m just in the mood to write for chris, lately. also a two word title ? crazy concept.

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

“Just come over.”

You rolled your eyes and rolled over in your bed. Chris’ request sounded almost impossible as you pulled your comforter over your shoulders.

“I’m exhausted, I wouldn’t dare getting out of my bed.” You whined, Chris chuckling and shaking his head. He’d facetimed you only moments before, aimlessly walking around and making way too much noise.

“I’m surprised Mary-Lou hasn’t told you to quiet down.” You teased, Chris pulling a face and looking down at you on his screen.

“She’s at the store, so I’m free to be as loud as I want.” He said. You snickered and finally pushed yourself up.

“No, you aren’t. Shut the fuck up, I’m trying to take a nap in here.” Nick’s voice rang through your speaker, Chris whipping around with wide eyes just as you heard Nick’s bedroom door slam shut.

“We just picked him up from the airport—needless to say, he didn’t appreciate us messing up his room and not cleaning it.” Chris said, his voice significantly quieter than before. He wasn’t looking at the camera anymore, but you didn’t care.

Facetiming Chris was either him rambling about something he thought of for a solid three hours, or it was just sitting in silence as he went about his daily routine. You didn’t mind, you knew it was just because he wanted your company, even if you weren’t there.

“How are you?” You asked. It’d been a while since you’d last seen him, considering they’d just gotten back to Boston from Chicago. He glanced down at the screen for a moment and shrugged, his eyes going back to whatever he was doing.

“Oh you know, the usual. Seeing Skies was fucking awesome, but it’s good to be home. Missing you.” He said. He paused, pulled a face and shook his head. “That was corny, ignore that.”

You laughed. “I’m telling everyone, I’m gonna completely ruin your street cred.” You teased, Chris mocking you playfully as it sank in that you really did miss him. Even talking to him had your heart constricting in yearning. It had been too long since you’d seen him.

“I’m gonna take a shower, I’ll call you back after, okay?” You said, Chris humming and nodding his head. “Alright, I love you.”

“I love you too.” He said before you finally hung up, jumped out of your bed and headed to your bathroom. You decided about halfway through your shower that you were going to see Chris.

You got dressed and ready before grabbing your keys and heading towards the door. You could feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, most likely being a text from Chris joking about how long your showers take.

The drive to their house was almost routine, each turn and stop being done on autopilot until you pulled into the driveway. You stepped out of your car and shut the door lightly, pulling your phone out and shooting a text to Matt to let you in.

Before you reached the door, it was swinging open and Matt was looking at you with furrowed eyebrows. “Why didn’t you text Chris?”

You shrugged and stepped into the house, turning to face Matt when he shut the door. “I told Chris I wasn’t coming over, and I realized I wanted to, so it’s kind of a surprise, I guess.” You said, Matt nodding and following you up the stairs.

“He’s in his room, I think.” He said. You followed him and went up the stairs after him, walking past him to get to Chris’ room. The door was open, Chris laying on his bed with his back facing the door. You smiled and tiptoed across his room, reaching his bed and deciding at the last second to jump. You hit the mattress, Chris shouting and whipping around to see you curled in on yourself laughing hysterically.

“Jesus Christ, Y/n! You gave me a fucking heart attack.” He said, his own laughter consuming him as he turned to face you. Tears were rolling down your cheeks, your stomach aching as you tried your best to calm yourself.

“You should have seen your face!” You squeaked, your hands wiping your cheeks roughly as Chris rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around you.

“Well, yeah. I thought I was under attack, or something.” He said, his smile wide. He pulled you close, your laughter finally subsiding as you relaxed into him, your cheeks sore from how hard you were laughing.

“So what changed your mind?” He asked. You hummed and closed your eyes.

“I just figured I could lay in your bed with you instead of in mine alone. Also, missing you was getting old.” You teased, Chris rolling his eyes and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m never gonna live that down, huh?” He said. You smiled and turned your head, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Never.”

#chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets

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dutchdread · 30 days

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Ouch, that's gotta hurt.

Watching Cleriths celebrate NPTK these past weeks, knowing they'll, as always, be proven incorrect has been an exercise in patience. Sometimes it's just clear that you won't be able to convince people of a complex truth when so often discourse is limited to 280 characters. The reason Clerith exists is that people are unable to see the big picture, it survives by people squinting and not seeing the "but" that's located right after every piece of evidence they put forward. This means that you'll often be perceived to be arguing against what is to them the blatantly obvious. It's futile, nuanced argument never wins from emotion, so often you just have to take solace in the idea that "well, it will be fun to see their surprise 4 years from now". So when you get an interview like this, mere weeks after the game releases, which confirms everything that Clotis had been saying about, and had been mocked for, NPTK, you can't help feel a sense of schadenfreude.

Man that's gotta hurt. This is the difference between Clotis and Cleriths. Cleriths don't really like Aerith, because they want to assassinate her character. Rather than a sad tragic tale of a lifetime of love and loss they want to reduce her character to a shallow cliche rom-com about a capricious girl whose fickle affections change by the hour. The fact that the first person Aerith starts developing feelings for after 5 years of pining after Zack is a man who is almost literally channeling Zack becomes a meaningless coincidence in the story. The fact that she knows Cloud for 2 weeks, most of which is also spent pining over Zack is viewed as confirmation of how special their love is. It doesn't matter that Aerith doesn't even know who Cloud is. It doesn't matter that Cloud is shown to very obviously be in love with another woman. It doesn't matter that Cloud is clearly losing his mind. It doesn't matter that Cloud is constantly show as being apathetic towards her advancements. Even them fighting is recontextualized as "good chemistry" just to avoid facing reality. Usually nonsensical romances are seen as bad-writing, but here the cope makes people excuse all the nonsense as "how brilliantly written is this story? They love each other despite it making no sense, now THAT is romance". Zack is called irrelevant, CC is a "ret-con" and can be ignored, ACC is about how romantic it is to want to die to be with someone. The reason Zack is so predominant in Rebirth is in no way connected to Aerith yearning for exactly the bond he's constantly showing to have with her. The contrast with Clouds apathy means nothing, he definitely isn't there to have some sort of pay-off with Aerith in part 3. Nah, he's just there to give Cloud and Aerith his blessing and to F-off. The reason Tifa is silent and heartbroken at the end has nothing to do with her best friend dying and the man she loves losing his mind. The distance between her and Cloud at that moment is totally not used to illustrate the severity of the situation, or to set-up Tifas importance in the events for part 3. Nah, she doesn't get lines because she's just a side character duh!. That is how they think, every single character and story is assassinated, everything happens only to service Cloud and Aeriths romance, even Cloud and Aerith themselves are pushed through the mud. Screw the death of Ifalna, screw the death of Zack, screw the complexity surrounding Clouds Zack shaped psychology, screw Aeriths childhood and desire for real bonds of friendship, screw even the story of Aerith dying and how maybe, JUST MAYBE, the scenes surrounding Aeriths death have SOMETHING to do with the strong emotions surrounding death rather than just being "a cute romance scene uwu". Never have I seen any story interpretation reveal such rampant hatred for a character as Cleriths reveal for Aerith. To them, Aerith is totally the kind of person who would bond with Tifa, hear the very personal and intimate story about the promise shared between her and Cloud, hear that Cloud thinks that Zack is dead, and not 5 minutes later write a story about how "she loves Cloud and they wouldn't need no promises like that other girl". But sure, I'm the one who hates Aerith, not the people who think this is who she is, but me, the person who assumed she'd be less vile than that and that any song she'd write would encompass more than that. I stand up for her character and get mocked, called an Aerith hater, and called "toxic"....and then you get an interview like this. God it feels good to always have all your positions validated by future content. One has to wonder if the people still arguing for Clerith ever sit back and think "wait, the last 100 times I dismissed these peoples arguments I was proven wrong almost immediately, I am constantly having to shift my goalposts while they're just happily sitting there laughing as they consume media about Cloud kissing Tifa, or proclaiming to become her special existence....maybe I am the delusional one...." God I can't wait for part 3, it will be hilarious.

#cloti #ffvii #ffvii rebirth #ffvii remake #cloud strife #tifa lockhart #aerith gainsborough #ff7 #shipping

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almightyellie · 2 years

Text

all your'n

in which you both know that he loves you. of course, you do.

word count is 1.6k

author says i simply love jake seresin, but not as much as i love a wedding date fic <3

title inspo is all your'n by tyler childers

“you two are a beautiful couple.”

an hour and a half ago, you might have corrected jake’s aunt (cousin?), but how many times can you smile politely and say, oh, just friends, actually and face that expression, half confused and half disappointed? now, you and jake just smile, and jake squeezes your waist while you say, “that’s so sweet, thank you.”

a wedding had seemed like an easy favor, but now you wonder how it ever could be. a room full of seresins, a little boozy and high off a joining of two souls. they’re as southern as southern comes, and the thrill of love and alcohol only further emphasizes this. jake laughs softly in your ear, squeezing you close.

he should have known that this would happen—you have a sneaking suspicion that maybe he did—but he had a little extra faith in his family, hoping they would be focused only on his baby sister on her day. you can tell she kind of loves it, though, because every time you catch her eye with a silent plea for help, she giggles and claps. she’s almost as bad as her brother.

neither of them are half as bad as their mother.

“isn’t it wonderful?” she croons, holding the two of you together. “i’ve been telling them to get together for years. they finally listened.” she finishes with a wink in your direction and a knowing smile. she truly had been telling you two to get together as long as she’s known you, but she’s taking this opportunity to really play it up.

you pinch jake’s side, sharing a knowing look with him. his tux offsets his tanned skin beautifully despite his complaints. beth had insisted he not wear his uniform (“don’t steal my limelight, asshole!”) to her civilian wedding, and though you loved a chance to see him in his uniform, it had been years since you’d seen him in any non-military formal wear. oh, was it a sight.

with a soft smile, he nods once. “c’mon, sweetheart,” he goads. “i think you’ve earned a drink.”

it’s almost a struggle to get to the bar unscathed, but it’s oh so worth it when you do and jake pays for your drink. “you shouldn’t have, babe,” you giggle.

he laughs good-naturedly. “you’re annoying. sit down.”

jake’s feeling like a real big man with you on his arm, looking so right and pretty. he’s been looking forward to this for weeks; any excuse to spend a few hours with you making him look better. he has to admit, his family is right. the two of you are a damn fine couple, and the ache he’s gotten so used to hurts a little more than normal.

you’ve known one another for years. somedays, jake thinks you know him better than he knows himself. most days, though, he knows that couldn’t possibly be true. if you knew him better than he knew himself, you would know that sometimes you smile at him and he gets a head rush. you would know that he lies awake at night just in case you text him something ridiculous about your cat or your job. you can’t know that just the sight of you makes his heart pound and his mouth dry because if you did, you would never look at him the same. you could never treat him like he’s just jake ever again, because you would know that you weren’t, and never had been, just you. you had always been everything.

you know a little more than you let on, but you won’t ever bring it up. he hadn’t always been so obvious, but since his return from top gun, he’s been just slightly different. you can’t know the specifics, but you know that he’s had a change of heart; he’s a little more open, a little more apologetic. a little less subtle. your best friend has such an ego, he might never survive if you told him that his jealousy, that his almost-yearning has been clear as day for the last few months.

he doesn’t realize that he’s been staring until you tilt your head at him with the sweetest smile he’s ever seen. “what?” you ask, taking a long pull from your water.

“i like this,” he answers honestly, brushing his knuckles softly against your hairline.

you smile disbelievingly at him, slightly incredulous. “like what?”

his cheeks pinken up and his smile, though still trying to pull off that smug act, can’t fool you. he’s bashful. “i just mean…that i like when we’re together.”

with a quiet laugh, you say, “well, i should hope so. we’ve spent the last ten years glued together.” the song changes and he loses what little nerve he managed to scrape together, so he finishes your water and nods when you insist, “come dance with me.”

“the road cones blur like memories of the miles we shared between,” he sings easily, wrapping one of his arms around your waist and grabbing your hand with the other. it’s one of his favorites, one you know far too well, and you’re happy to let him hum in your ear. he’s only a little tone-deaf—he struggles with the higher notes, and it’s such a familiar sound that you melt into his chest.

with his mouth against your ear and his thumb stroking circles against the back of your hand, you two sway on the dance floor. you like this, too. you like the way he holds you, how he smiles at you like you’re the only person he can see. you like when he sings to you even though you always jeer him, even though there are people around, even though he doesn’t need to.

the lights strung across the venue ceiling reflect in your eyes when you pull back to look at him. he’s entranced, especially when the corner of your lip turns up. “now what’s that look?”

he shakes his head with a growing grin, pulling you a little closer. “just thinking,” he answers.

your brows pinch in faux concern. “careful, seresin. you’ve been doing a lot of that tonight; don’t hurt yourself.”

with a roll of his eyes, he pinches your side. “watch it,” he warns, the smile evident in his voice, and you giggle.

“i think i smell smoke.”

jake heaves a long sigh, still swaying with you as you muffle your giggles in his suit jacket. “you think you’re cute, huh?”

you beam at him, tilting your head. “i think we both know that i’m adorable.”

“and you’re lucky you are, honey,” he murmurs, warm hand stroking up your spine. he’s looking at you unflinchingly, that twitch of his lips giving away his thoughts. It’s the first time all night that he isn’t shying away from openly adoring you.

you shiver under his gaze; he looks better than ever, under the soft lighting in his fancy suit. it’s the low rumble of his words, your chests pressed together, and the way he looks at you. you’ve always seen that little glimmer of adoration in him; you know him too well not to. part of you was waiting on him to make a move, but something about this moment—the warmth of his body and the way his eyes flicker to your lips, the unconscious way he pulls you closer.

jake feels faint at the sober way you look at him, like you’re looking right through him into his very soul. he almost shivers against you, but you don’t notice. you’re too busy leaning into him, resting your weight against his chest and nudging your nose against his. you’re sure his mother is staring, but you can’t find it in yourself to pull away; the thought of being watched doesn’t even cross jakes mind. he’s too wrapped up in you, eagerly awaiting your next move.

featherlight, your lips brush his. it’s hesitant, a little bashful, and he doesn’t want to startle you away but he can’t help himself. he makes the final leap and presses his lips to yours. a large, warm hand fills the dip of the small of your back, and you take in a deep breath as he kisses you earnestly. you stroke his cheek tenderly, allowing him more access. a little shiver trembles down your spine, goosebumps blooming across your arms; you hadn’t realized how desperate you had been to break the contract of your friendship until you had. years of waving off his mother and sister, years of waiting for him to make the first move, and you could have had him like this the entire time.

you pull away to suck in a soft breath, keeping him close when you press your forehead against his shoulder. his nose buries itself in your hair, breathing you in while you take a moment to consider him. over the speakers, the emcee—jake’s little brother showing off his seresin charm, naturally—begins to calling for the bouquet toss. “single ladies,” he croons, arching a suggestive brow. “what are y’all waiting for? get up here.” jake chuckles, rolling his eyes, and you can’t help your own laugh, muffled against your best friend’s chest.

“he’s such a showboat,” you scoff.

you lean back to look at him, and those green eyes look back at you so tenderly. his hand lifts, fingertips brushing your cheekbone, and in that soft tone that you love so much, he asks, “you gonna go up there?”

as if it were possible, you lean even closer and give him another soft kiss. “no. think i’m going to stay with you.”

he beams.

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin oneshot #hangman seresin #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #hangman oneshot

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heartsforhavik · 5 months

Text

i loved you from the start (raiden x gn! reader)

warnings: none!

summary: just a pure sfw story of raiden having a crush on the reader. (gender neutral, only pronouns used are “you”)

a/n: yeah so. remember when i used to be a havik account? LMAOO sorry i think raiden is very laufey coded and he’s so wholesome in mk1 :> anyways this has been sitting in my drafts for 3 days i'm so glad i finally let it out of the basement

“hi y/n! it’s great to see you. lovely weather we have today, right?” raiden greeted, with his signature bright smile.

raiden was well beloved in your village, and everyone always appreciated his and kung lao’s efforts as farmers to help the village thrive. you were never very close to him, but you still respected him.

"thanks, raiden. yeah, the weather's been real nice lately. i'm glad i can finally walk outside without my skin boiling." you sighed.

raiden laughed. "indeed. i'm glad the weather's been going easy on you."

"i suppose so. what about you? i can imagine you aren't very comfortable working under the burning sun. has it been better for you these past few days?" you asked.

you both continued your little banter for a couple hours, just walking around the village with no particular destination. but little did you know, he had the biggest crush on you, and he was ecstatic that he could finally talk to you.

it was because he was usually very shy around you. he gets quiet when there's nobody else around, it was usually you two being together in awkward silence. but today was different. he woke up that morning wanting to talk to you. he immediately got himself freshened up and went around the village to find you with his newfound courage. he was glad his day with you went well and he didn't mess up or say anything weird.

"it's getting dark. the time went by so fast, but i didn't even notice because i was having such a fun time talking to you." you admitted.

"well, i suppose time goes by when you're having fun." raiden smiled.

you chuckled. "yeah.. i guess so."

you both stood in silence for a bit, neither of you wanting to go home.

"you should get home now. it's getting late." raiden advised. he didn't really want to see you go, but he also wanted you to stay safe.

"okay.. goodnight raiden. i'll see you tomorrow." you said, before placing a kiss on his cheek and walking away.

raiden stood there for a solid minute, frozen where he stood. did that really just happen? is he dreaming? he hoped he wasn't.

he walked home with a cheeky grin on his face, and even went to sleep with that same grin. that moment where you kissed him replayed in his head over and over until he finally fell asleep.

that next morning, unfortunately he couldn't immediately talk to you. he had to go back to work. but he was okay with that. he knew once he was done, he can go talk to you again and maybe even offer to take you out for a nice dinner. he was tired of just looking at you from afar, yearning for more than friendship. he was tired of not having the courage to make a move, fearing rejection. he was tired of being completely head over heels for you, and never doing anything about it. he was always feeling as if cupid himself shoots an arrow through his heart every time he speaks to you. he had to do something now.

"you seem happy today. is there something exciting about our harvest?" kung lao scoffed, noticing his best friend's excitement as they worked.

"the harvest? no, not really." raiden replied.

"oh? so if it's not the harvest... is it a special someone? ooh, does someone have a crush?" kung lao teased, playfully elbowing raiden.

"w-what? no.. i mean.. maybe.. how did you know?" raiden stammered.

"i saw you walking around the village with someone yesterday. is that who it is?" kung lao asked.

raiden blushed, hiding his face with his hat.

kung lao laughed. "oooh, i wanna meet this person! let me see if you two are a match made in heaven."

when they got done with their work, they both immediately went to find you. when they found you at madam bo's, kung lao was ecstatic.

"hello there! y/n, is it? raiden talks about you all the time." kung lao greeted. raiden elbowed him.

"oh really," you laughed. "i'm flattered, raiden."

raiden loved hearing you laugh. it was like a sign that you were pleased by something he said or did. there are many things he would do for your approval or just to make you laugh. even if it slightly makes him look like a fool.

"it's such a coincidence you both found me here. you know, raiden and i talked almost all day yesterday. it was very fun." you shared. after hearing what you said, kung lao had a mischevious grin on his face and raiden blushed.

"oh really? that sounds like lots of fun. wanna tell me more, raiden?" kung lao teased.

"i- uh... um.. i have to excuse myself to the restroom." raiden stammered, running off.

you looked over to kung lao, in confusion. "what was that all about?"

kung lao laughed. "i think raiden has a crush on you!"

"me? really?" you asked.

kung lao shrugged. "but you didn't hear it from me. i'll leave you two alone to figure it out."

you sat there, confused, as kung lao left.

"hey, y/n, sorry about that. i guess i ate something weird." raiden laughed. he was lying. he didn't even touch the toilet. he had paced around the restroom nervously until he gained the courage to come back. he sat down across from you, hoping you wouldn't question it.

you laughed. "your friend says you're interested in me."

raiden blushed. "me? uh.. i.. don't know what he is talking about."

you smiled at how flustered he became all the sudden. "no worries, raiden. i am interested in you too."

his eyes widened in surprise. "you are?"

you nodded. he let out a sigh of relief.

"in that case.. how about i buy you some food? we're already in madam bo's. might as well enjoy a nice dinner." raiden offered.

"i would love to." you replied. you both ended up enjoying the food, and became closer that night. surprisingly, raiden was thankful that his friend exposed him. if kung lao never revealed raiden's feelings to you, he wouldn't have such a wonderful significant other now. (kung lao is forcing you two to offer him free food at your future wedding just because he's the reason you two are together.)

#raiden x reader #raiden mk1 #raiden x you #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 1 x reader #raiden mortal kombat #i love flustered raiden #anyways thanks for all the support guys #i cry when someone compliments my stuff #in a good way

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hheaven-sentt · 3 months

Text

healing

summary: healing wounds you couldn't even see | leon kennedy x reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: yearning and pining, depictions of injuries and first aid, leon being weirdly chill, softness

notes: i like dis one | ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sense the knock before you hear it. You’re curled up on the couch, a few files spread out on the coffee table that you’d been pursuing for the last few hours. You’d grown bored with them, opting to stare out the window as the traffic down below on the street began to disperse and disappear. It was growing close to half past two in the morning. Which is why you almost expect the knock. It comes at exactly 2:18, and you practically jump off the couch to answer the door. Eagerness oozes from your skin.

He’s leaning against the wall, propped up with a single arm while the other cradles his stomach. With a sigh, he looks up at you, bright blue eyes looking a little more glassy than normal. A breath gets caught in your throat.

“Leon?” you ask, reaching forward to help him into the apartment. He grins up at you from his bent position.

“Sorry about the mess, sweetness,” he chokes out. He’s hurt, badly. You haul him into the apartment and set him up on the couch.

“I need you to count to ten and back out loud while I look for the first aid kit,” you say. He huffs a laugh. “I mean it, Leon. I need to know you’re still awake,”

Rolling his eyes, he says, “One,”

You smile as he continues counting, and begin your search for the kit. You find it just as he hits six for the second time, and you’re back in front of him as he reaches three. Crouching between his spread knees, you hoist the hem of his shirt up to see where the blood is seeping from. You grimace as you take in the injury. It’s a red and angry slash from his hip toward his sternum. You’re unsure of how deep.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” you ask, digging through the box for something to wipe away the excess blood with. He groans when you lay your hands on him the first time, and you have to remind yourself that he’s hurt and not enjoying this.

“Wasn’t paying attention,” he hisses between teeth. You’re threading the needle for his stitches. “Guess I should’ve been, huh?”

You shake your head. “You’re not reckless, Leon. What happened?”

He lets out a low whine as you sink the needle beneath his flesh. “Got distracted, thought I saw something I didn't,”

You know you won’t get a more direct answer out of Leon, so you don’t press for one. Instead, you continue sewing up his wound. “You see a medic, a doctor, anyone other than me?”

He laughs. “No, sweetness. No one’s as gentle as you,”

You try to fight the blush on your cheeks, and you’re thankful for the half dark room. He groans again as you tighten his freshly finished stitches. You spread an alcohol wipe across the suture, and you hear him let out a strained breath. Gingerly, you run your fingers over it.

“If it’s not better in two days, I order you to go to a real doctor and get antibiotics,” you say. “I can’t guarantee it won’t get infected,”

Slowly, he nods and lowers his shirt. You take the bloody part of it between your thumb and forefinger, contemplating on whether or not you should offer him another shirt. When you pull away your hand and see the transfer of red on the pads of your fingers, you frown.

“Need another shirt?” you ask. He grins. “I’m sure I’ve got something for you,”

You help him off the couch carefully, eyeing the way he favors his right leg. You draw your brows together, but don’t press him on the matter. Instead, you lead him to your bedroom where you force him to sit on your bed while you dig through your drawers for a shirt from a long forgotten boyfriend or something your brother left when he was last here. You find an old shirt you’d stolen from your dad at the bottom of a random drawer. It’s black and huge; when you wear it, it goes past your knees. It’ll do, you decide.

“Here,” you say, passing the shirt to him. He takes it. “You’re more than welcome to shower, but call for me if you can’t reach somewhere. Do not tear those stitches because I won’t redo them, Leon,”

Heat creeps up your neck as you say it, and you see the faintest amount of pink coloring Leon’s cheeks, but he nods and attempts to stand. It’s a slow process, but he does it on his own. As he passes you to head into the bathroom, he stops for a second, looking at you in the dim light illuminating half your face. He half smiles and takes your hand in his. He gives it a quick squeeze before dropping it, and then he goes to shower.

It’s more than a want, the feeling you have for him. It’s an odd sort of craving. An itch you long to scratch and tear away your flesh at. In any other story, he’d be the villain. He’s mysteriously beautiful, ethereal in his ways. In any other story, he would break you down to your barest essentials and make you pick the pieces back up. And maybe you’d let him. He’s someone you shouldn’t share your secrets with, someone you shouldn’t care about this deeply.

Maybe he’s still the villain in this story, your story. But he’d only be the villain to everyone except for you.

You hear the water running in the bathroom. You anxiously bite your nails, pacing the living room. After a few moments, you hear the bathroom door squeak open, and you busy yourself with something to look more natural. He emerges a second later, hair still dripping as he runs the towel over it. Something lurches in your stomach, a breath catches in your throat.

He lays the towel over the back of a dining table chair. There’s something unholy about the way you look at him, something sinful. You attempt to school your features.

“Alright, sweetness?” he asks, voice low timbred and honey sweetened. You feel it in your bones.

You nod, swallowing thickly. “Really worried about you,”

He smiles at this, that sort of half smile that only lifts one side of his mouth and crinkles the apple of his cheek. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll heal,”

“Hopefully,” you chide, matching his smile. He shrugs. “Seriously, Leon. You have to swear to me that you’ll get that checked out by someone actually qualified,”

He raises his hands in surrender. “I swear,”

He takes a seat on your couch, and you move to join him. There’s something sacred about the time you share here, between the four walls of your apartment and the dust accumulating on your shelves. His arm is slung across the back of the couch, inviting you into his space. The other hand fiddles with the hem of the shirt you’ve lent him. Without thinking, you seize his hand, examining the splits and cuts surrounding his knuckles. They’re beginning to heal on their own, crusted over with scabs and skin. You run a gentle brush over them, and he twitches as you sweep across the tender skin.

“Does it hurt?” you ask, looking up to meet his eyes. You see something in them that you can’t place.

“Yeah,” he says, watching you. Then, with a breath, “Nothing I can’t handle,”

You frown. “Maybe we should get you a desk job. Come to work with me,”

He laughs, a bright sound to counteract the dim room. “If you could make that happen, I’d take it,”

You wonder if he’s telling the truth. From what you understand, he’s been doing this for a long time, longer than you’ve known him, and you’re not sure he would walk away given the opportunity. You hope that he would, but you’re not confident that he’d give it up. You’re not sure he knows how to do anything else. He squeezes your hand, bringing you back to the present.

“Sorry that I only ever seem to show up when I’m half dead,” he whispers. He phrases it like a joke, but you know he means it. You wave a hand.

“I’m getting pretty good at patching you up,” you say. “Maybe I’ll run away and become an EMT,”

He smiles softly. “You’d be good at it,”

“Don’t know if I could handle all the blood,” you say, shrugging. “It’s different with you,”

Even when he’s fully healthy, you look at him like a fresh open wound. He’s something that should scare you, make you faint, but adrenaline kicks in and you need to fix it, need to mend.

“You should get some rest,” you whisper. His mouth sets into a line, but he nods.

“I take it I’m on light duty for the foreseeable future?” he asks. You roll your eyes and move away from him.

He says a hushed goodnight, and you disappear into the dark hallway. You hear him shuffle as he gets comfortable on your couch, and a weird sense of guilt washes over you. He’d deny you if you were to offer your bed to him, you know him well enough to scratch that idea before it’s even born. Instead, you allow him his ego, and settle between the sheets.

You’re surprised that he’s still here when you wake, even more so when you see him still asleep on the couch. The blanket is pulled up to his chin, his face bent inwards so that he’s almost in a fetal position. It makes warmth radiate in your chest and you smile. You resist the urge to join him.

He wakes while you’re making coffee. You hear him shuffle around, the creak of the couch as he moves to sit upright. He lets out a low groan. You halt your work on the coffee and rush to help him. He’s about halfway to sitting when you find him, grimacing against the pain and stretch of his stitches. Gently, you pull him into a sitting position, and he looks at you with something you can’t place.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say. He frowns. “You took a hard hit. You’re not going to heal overnight. I’m not magic,”

“I know,” he responds. You sit beside him. “Thanks for trying, though,”

You laugh. “Keep it up, and I won’t stitch you up next time,”

“We both know that’s not true,” he says, looking at you like you’re an angel. “I know you too well,”

You could kiss him, right here and now. You think, for a moment, that he might just reciprocate. Flush creeps up your neck at the thought, and you remember that he’s still looking at you.

“Where do you go?” he asks. You blink at him. “When you stare off like that. Where do you go?”

You shrug. “Just get lost in thought, I guess,”

He doesn’t pry further, just accepts the answer and remains silent. You can’t tell if you’re satisfied by that.

“What made you come here?” you ask quietly. He looks at you, studying your features. You wish you could snatch the words from where they linger in the air. Clearing your throat, you add, “The first time, I mean,”

He shrugs. “Figured you wouldn’t ask questions,”

He’d been right. You hadn’t asked questions. You’d tried to, thought about what you could possibly ask, but the idea was too daunting and he was bleeding out in your doorway. You’d hoped that stitches were as easy as they seemed.

“I’m good at keeping secrets,” you say. He smiles. “Can I share something?”

“Anything,”

“I’m glad you showed up that night. For a while, I was angry. Felt like I couldn’t wash my hands enough to scrub away the blood. But I’m glad you came,” you say, feeling short of breath. He’s staring at you, and you worry that you’ve said the wrong thing. You worry that he’ll get up and bolt. Instead, he brushes a few stray hairs from your eyes and smiles.

“If it’s any consolation,” he says. “I didn’t stick around for your stitching abilities,”

The apprehension wipes from your bones and you let out a laugh. “You’re so corny,” you say.

He rolls his eyes and kisses you like it’s something he does every day. It’s sweet and soft, plush against the jagged beat of your heart. It doesn’t last long, but you don’t need it to. You’re breathless anyway.

“What was that for?” you ask, starry eyed and far away.

He shrugs, as if this wasn’t the single most important thing you’ve ever experienced. “Figured it was making you anxious, so I got it out of the way,”

His cheeks are pink as you look at him. “What do we call this?”

“Healing,” he says, and kisses you again.

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #x reader #resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy #fanfic #m writes #my fics

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loguetowns · 1 year

Text

ocean pull

eustass kid x reader

kid accidentally wakes you up

mentions of sex but nothing happens

0.7k words

a/n: yes i wrote another fic that takes place at night because i am in my late night lovey dovey feels oKAY

as if something has called him out of his slumber, kid finds himself awake. he could be convinced that it's a siren who's woken him up, singing a song that blurs the line between infatuation and wonder.

it's a line he's familiar with, for he — and his long list of friends-with-benefits and almost-lovers — have been there countless times before. but kid has always been careful because he knows he could fumble over that line and fall headfirst into the waters.

wouldn't that be the worst?

the rhythm of the tide echoes through the window and, for a second, kid thinks that maybe sirens are real.

because when he rolls on his side, he’s met with your sleeping face — so pretty and coy that even those wicked beauties of the ocean would be jealous.

kid has been drawn to you, like a ship to the waves, since the day you met. lying here in your bed, he reaches out to ghost your hickeys that match his own. he surprises himself with how tender his touch is — far softer than what he’s used to — and, maybe it’s the sleep talking, but he doesn’t hate it.

you stir in your sleep, a minor interruption to your tiny, steady breaths. the action sparks a cascade of curiousity in kid's mind — if you're this enchanting when you're asleep, what are you like in the morning?

are you cranky and adorable, or do you awake with sultry and sleepy eyes? what if you were to wake up next to him, with a small smile and a half-asleep good morning, baby? would you greet him with a kiss that tastes like lingering dreams?

kid would give anything to know — and maybe, in a few hours, he will.

"hey, you okay?"

kid is pulled out his reverie when you drape your arm across him, fingertips resting along his bicep. so lost in his thoughts, he didn't even realize that you've woken up. he falls into your eyes, surprisingly steady for having been sleeping only moments ago.

“‘m fine,” he says but you don't look convinced. you purse your lips and kid thinks,

god, you're cute.

he brushes hair out of your face, and instinctively, you lean into his touch. his heart stirs, buoyant in his chest, as he adds, “i’m happy.”

it’s happiness that he feels, much more profound than anything he's ever felt with his past lovers. actually, he wouldn't even dare to call his previous partners "lovers" anymore.

he realizes now that sex was just sex before you. with you, every intimate moment travels beyond lust. it travels to a place of yearning, a place of longing that doesn’t feel uncomfortable or painful at all.

it feels like home.

as he traces the curves of your face, your half-moon eyes, your beautiful smile that guides him home, he realizes that this is where he was meant to be — what he needed all along.

an emotion that tethers him to something true and sincere, that anchors him beyond the physicality that he's so used to.

you nuzzle into his chest and kid finds his place in your embrace. the sheets tangle further between you, and kid lets himself return to falling — falling back towards slumber, falling deeper into you. he feels the pull of your ocean and, like a true pirate would, he follows the currents.

“good,” you say. you smile against his bare skin, fingers searching for all the places you've marked him. “now let me sleep, or i'll force you into a second round.”

he chuckles, “pretty sure i’d fuck you straight to sleep.”

“always so crass.”

you relax in kid’s arms, sleep seeping into your teasing words, “also, it’s called ‘making love’, ya dumb pirate.”

love, kid repeats to himself.

this could be love, kid thinks. and maybe the idea of it should scare him more, but right now, with you all around him and his heart in your hands, he thinks that love doesn’t seem so bad.

maybe i wouldn’t mind love if it’s with you.

#eustass kid x reader #eustass kid fluff #eustass kid x y/n #one piece x reader #one piece imagines #¡! ❞ [ fics ]#one less kid fic in the drafts u_u

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infinite-orangepeel · 1 year

Text

✨steddie ficlet: public escapades, frotting, drinking, past stommy, hurt/comfort

steve harrington has always been a horny ass drunk.

he thinks back to when he was fifteen and tommy hagan came over to ‘hang out’ while his parents were attending a business dinner.

it had been tommy’s idea to break open steve’s dad’s liquor cabinet and steve had obliged if only to impress his friend.

he wanted tommy to like him. he wanted tommy to think he was cool.

so he broke out an expensive handle of whiskey and beckoned his friend over.

over the next hour, they passed the bottle back and forth. inching closer as the night went on. a buzzing warmth spread through steve’s veins and something about the tickle of tommy’s breath on his neck made him painfully hard.

he’d tried to be subtle about relieving the ache between his legs but tommy wasn’t an idiot and steve’s little whimpers of pleasure were hard to ignore.

especially when they were sitting pressed up against each other side by side.

‘woah—are you jerking off, dude?’ tommy slurred, swigging from the bottle.

his pupils trained on steve’s right hand which he was currently using to palm himself over his jeans. the denim made it difficult but if steve didn’t get a hand on himself he’d die.

‘shit. y-yeah. guess i kinda am,’ steve cackled and threw his head back, landing on tommy’s shoulder, ‘sorry. i didn’t mean to make it weird. i’ll stop. pretend it didn’t happen.’

shockingly, tommy groaned, crowded into steve’s space and surprised him by moving his free hand onto the stiff clothed line of tommy’s hardened cock.

‘no. ‘s cool. keep going. i’m horny too. ‘s just the alcohol. doesn’t mean anything,’ he’d said as he slipped a hand down steve’s pants and pulled a deep moan out of him, ‘fuck. you’re so wet, man.’

after the initial incident, steve and tommy made quite the habit out of getting drunk together, touching beneath layers of clothing, dry humping each others thighs while they sipped beers and chatted about ‘guy stuff.’

despite continuing this pattern throughout the next few years, tommy never kissed steve. steve never kissed tommy.

eventually, they both got girlfriends, no longer saw eye to eye, and the past became the past. nothing more to it.

so when steve finds that he and eddie munson are in the same predicament years later—it doesn’t occur to him that eddie could ever have real feelings for him.

‘doesn’t mean anything. ‘s just the alcohol,’ tommy said time and again.

he and eddie started to casually drink together. hands began to wander. small touches, nothing serious. steve logically assumed their nights together would fizzle out into something similarly meaningless.

that is until the night of robin buckley’s 22nd birthday.

they’re at a queer nightclub in indy to celebrate. steve, eddie, robin, nancy, jonathan, and argyle.

robin and nancy have somehow convinced steve to wear a skintight black mesh bodysuit that dips low and reveals a thicket of tawny chest hair, a pair of tight black trousers, and smudged eyeliner.

eddie keeps telling him he looks like a rockstar but steve tries not to think too much into it.

eddie, himself, looks undeniably gorgeous.

only intensifying the annoying crush that steve has spent the last six months trying to squash like a bug.

his hair is tousled messily with mousse.

there’s a new tattoo peeking out from beneath his intentionally shredded tee.

steve yearns to lick the fresh ink, to bite along it. he wants to touch it and watch eddie shiver.

needless to say, it only takes a few drinks for steve to loosen up enough under the flashing lights of the club before he’s sauntering over to eddie and giggling his way through asking him to dance.

eddie smirks, sets down his drink of choice, and immediately grips steve by the exposed flesh of his hips.

‘fuck, baby. it’s ‘bout time. i thought you’d never ask,’ eddie growls into his ear and steve has to hold on strong to his belief that it’s ‘just the alcohol talking.’ doesn’t mean a damn thing.

eddie’s just drunk and horny like he and tommy were all those years ago.

except there’s something noticeably different about being drunk with eddie versus being drunk with tommy.

as the bass thumps across the dance floor, eddie turns steve around so they’re pressed like bookends—chest to spine.

his ringed hands confidently traverse every available inch of steve’s skin. focusing heavily on the fuzzy line of his happy trail and toying with his belt like he might just go ahead and undo it at any point. take steve’s cock out and jack him off on the spot.

eddie’s touch is warm and assured. his breath smells like whiskey and cigarettes. his heart drums against steve’s back and matches the beat of his own.

steve really doesn’t mean to but he can’t take it anymore. can’t hold back.

eddie’s so fucking hot and he feels so good and suddenly, steve’s rolling his hips back into eddie’s cock.

closing the small gap that had previously existed between them and grinding down hard.

eddie gasps in his ear, kisses the side of his neck and uses his firm hold on steve’s waist to increase the friction.

‘ohh, stevie. you have no idea how much i want you right now. your tight little ass feels so good on my cock,’ eddie nips at his jaw and steve can’t help but cry out for more.

‘eddie,’ steve breathes his name like a desperate prayer, ‘please, eddie. need you. want you. please. so fucking turned on right now. fuck.’

eddie snakes an arm fully around steve’s waist and tightens in response.

‘gonna give you everything you want, princess. gonna get you off but i need you to trust me.’

eddie ruts against his ass for a few more minutes and sways along to the music.

steve’s cock is leaking all over the inside of his pants and he’s thankful for the dark atmosphere of the club otherwise he’s sure there would be an obvious stain.

eddie presses kisses to his cheeks, tugs at his hair, shoves away anyone who dares get to close to steve or looks at him the wrong way.

steve sighs to himself somberly.

he’s having the time of his life. he feels like he’s on cloud fucking nine but he knows this will all be over once eddie sobers up and realizes he doesn’t want him in the light of day.

‘bathroom. big stall. now,’ eddie orders him and directs steve forwards with a hand at the nape of his neck. likes he’s walking a dog.

eddie wastes no time. they’re still moments away from entering the bathroom and eddie is unbuckling steve’s belt in front of a crowd of dancing bodies.

‘eds!’ steve half heartedly protests, ‘what if someone sees?’

eddie tugs steve’s jeans down to his thighs right beside the busy bar and grabs a fistful of his ass.

‘let them. you’re beautiful, baby. they should count themselves lucky to get a glimpse,’ he purrs and pets a gentle hand over steve’s dripping cock.

he trembles. moans. turns his face to catch eddie’s gaze for the first time since they started dancing and notices the fullness of his lips. the soft plushness that he wants to slot together with his own.

‘i wish i could kiss you,’ he says with a sad smile and reaches up to trace eddie’s cupids bow with his fingers, shuddering at the thought.

‘who says you can’t?’ eddie backs him into the biggest stall, locks the door and presses him against the wall. face to face, ‘you can have the world. i’ll give you anything you want. all you have to do is ask.’

steve’s knows he shouldn’t but—

‘please kiss me, eddie. please.’

and eddie is on him.

‘i’ve got you sweetheart. gonna kiss you ‘til your dizzy.’

eddie cups his jaw, strokes over the rough stubble that grows there. tongues into his mouth and swallows each of steve’s pretty whines.

they kiss ravenously.

they kiss like they’re starving.

they wrap coiled fingers into each other’s hair and eddie pulls his own dick out to fuck his fist while he works away at steve’s bottom lip—sucking it between teeth. steve follows his lead. jerks himself and inhales sharply when the wet tip of his cock bumps into eddie’s.

the act is devotional, feverish, sacred.

steve’s waited his entire life to be worshiped—never before believing he deserved it.

but kissing eddie—

kissing eddie changes everything.

kissing eddie is the holiest sin he’s ever committed.

‘can i—can i touch you?’ steve asks, breaking the kiss and breathing heavy against eddie’s parted lips.

‘fuck yes. of course you can, baby boy,’ eddie moans back at him and guides steve’s trembling hand to wrap around both of their cocks.

steve weakly mewls at the view. his fist barely fits around the two of them because eddie’s so fucking girthy. measuring a good four inches wide.

‘you’re huge,’ steve says in drunken awe, admiring the spurt of pre that slicks its way down eddie’s length, ‘i want you inside me.’

eddie shakes his head, bites his lip, eyes lidded when he kisses the shell of steve’s ear and nibbles.

‘not tonight, princess,’ he fucks up into steve’s fist and catches on the underside of his cockhead, ‘soon. tonight, this is perfect. don’t wanna rush it.’

steve nods agreeably. he adores the rasp of eddie’s voice. thinks he’d do anything for him if he said it just like that.

‘is this—is this good?’ he asks shyly as he rolls his hips up in time with eddie’s and watches them both become wetter and wetter with obvious desire.

‘so good, baby. so fucking good,’ eddie adds his own hand into the mix and wraps around the base where steve’s hand has trouble reaching, ‘you’re gonna make me cum all over your pretty cock. is that what you want? you want my cum to get all sticky between your thighs so you don’t forget our time together tonight?’

‘yes. wanna feel you. wanna be marked by you. please.’

steve’s abdomen flexes with heat and arousal beneath the thin cover of mesh. he removes his own hand to slap the tip of his cock onto eddie’s. they moan simultaneously.

he gets an idea.

‘move your hand,’ he instructs and eddie obeys without question.

steve drags him in by the hips and uses all of his strength to create as much friction as possible between their dicks.

he thrusts and everything is so fucking slippery that he ends up mostly rubbing himself off against eddie’s v-line. but it doesn’t matter because eddie’s mirroring him and they’re shaking and crying out from the sheer force of pleasure.

‘gonna cum,’ eddie groans, ‘gonna cum. gonna cum—‘

‘me too. close,’ steve bites down on eddie’s shoulder to muffle his screams and watches as they spurt ropes of cum all over each others stomachs, clothes, and cocks.

the next morning, steve wakes up in a bed that doesn’t belong to him.

it takes him a minute. it takes putting on his glasses and blinking a handful of times to remember that he’s in the hotel room he booked for robin’s birthday trip.

it takes him a second longer to remember that eddie munson is sharing a bed with him and that the arms wrapped like a swaddle around his middle belong to the tattooed man, himself.

steve slumps down. sighs. eddie must still be asleep.

he must not realize what he’s doing, but when he wakes up he’s going to do exactly what tommy always did and—

‘mmm. morning, sunshine. you smell good.’

steve freezes.

a sleepy kiss is pressed between his shoulder blades and surely eddie’s dreaming because steve’s not someone worth sticking around for and—

‘i was thinking and look,’ eddie yawns and strokes a hand over steve’s stomach which relaxes him instantly, ‘you can say no, but would you—would you want to go on a breakfast date this morning? i know we’re like hungover and kinda gross, but it’s taken me months to be brave enough to officially ask you so what do you say?’

steve smiles. really smiles. for the first time in a long time. rolls over in bed to face eddie and kisses him square on the mouth.

morning breath and all.

‘i’d say—yes. yes, i’d like that very much.’

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on-a-lucky-tide · 4 months

Text

When Simon struggles, he finds Price for relief.

CW: D/s dynamics without it being explicitly outlined, blowjob, a bit of yearning Price.

Price looked up at the sharp rap on his office door and blinked out of the trance-like concentration that had kept him focused for four hours solid, without even a coffee break. The nearby clock said 0200 in flickering red numbers, which meant it could only be one person. No one else sought him out at such an ungodly bloody hour without an imminent mission.

"Come in, Simon."

The handle twisted instantly, like Simon's hand had been resting on it in readiness, and the looming figure of Ghost crossed the threshold. But it wasn't Ghost who needed attention now; Ghost was asleep, waiting for the moment he was needed once more, which had left Simon Riley to surface. The mask did little to hide the difference; Ghost moved like a force of nature, unrepentant and ruthless, but Simon... he moved like a man uncertain whether he was even real.

Price threw his biro down and leaned back in his chair, head tilted to the side. He knew that waiting for Simon to speak was futile; he never would, not in these fragile early hours when he was exposed like a raw nerve. So it fell to Price to take on the burden of deciding, just like in the field.

Price turned his chair to face to the side and Simon drifted over to stand before him, his fingers twitching at his sides in regular little ticks. The tension hummed off of him like radiation, a tight heat on a hair trigger. Price tilted his chair back, fingers twined together over his belly as he looked up at his officer.

Other than his mask, Simon had presented himself practically naked. Well, by Ghost's standards. Cotton shirt, trousers held up by an empty belt, not even a utility knife at the side, his boots were unlaced where he had clearly rolled from his cot and shoved his feet into them in a hurry. Price couldn't see his eyes; the light in the office was too dim, the battered lamp only enough to illuminate the dossier he'd been working on. The shadows hid Simon from him.

He spread his knees and dipped his chin towards the floor. "On your knees, lieutenant," Price said, and Simon obeyed. He dropped between Price's knees without hesitation, hitting the old rug with a dull thud. His shoulders remained squared, his arms rigidly at his sides, but now he was looking up at Price with doe-wide eyes, and Price felt the first stirrings in the pit of his stomach.

He made Simon wait as he evaluated those eyes, the only window he had into the man before him. They were still blacked out but the camo had partially smeared off in sleep; Price could see a few wisps of a blonde eyebrow and damn if Simon didn't have the fullest lashes Price had ever seen on a man.

"The airport," Price said, and saw a flicker in Simon's eyes that confirmed it. "I see."

Price leaned forward and saw the first judder in Simon's composure; a hitch in his chest, a twitch of his broad shoulders. There was no point in telling Simon it wasn't on him; Price carried the rank so he carried the responsibility. All Simon would be thinking of was the families he hadn't saved; the stand-ins for everything he'd lost. Ghost understood; collateral damage, the enemy taking their pound of flesh. That was just what happened in the field. Simon needed help forgetting and letting it go, because he would never be able to understand.

Now, Price wasn't a fool. He knew they were one and the same man, but trauma did something to a man's head. Fuck, it had done a number on his that he was sure some army psych would take great joy in unravelling when it eventually all caught up with him, but they managed in their own ways. Simon has pulled on a mask and called it Ghost, because his call sign was the one defence he had left.

So, to reach Simon, the mask had to come off. Just a little.

Price reached forward and Simon flinched from his hands despite the needy jut of his chin. "Stand easy," he said, the words falling out naturally as they would with any twitchy greenhorn about to take his first jump. Calm authority. And it worked on Simon like a dream; his chin pressed into Price's palm and his shoulders eased.

Price held him there, letting Simon rest in the literal and metaphorical safety of his commanding officer's hands. He felt the warm puffs of breath from Simon's nose on his wrist, and squeezed only enough to feel the strong lines of Simon's jaw. A handsome bloke, if memory served. One day, he'd get this damned mask all the way off and admire it once again, even with all of Simon's past etched and burned into it.

Price hooked his thumbs beneath it and curled it up until it folded just over the tip of Simon's nose. Those intense eyes were flickering, alert, and Price let them settle again until he turned to tracing Simon's lips. They were so unique; full, pale, gnarled across one corner by the scar twisting from his jaw to his cheek, disappearing beneath the band of his balaclava.

Simon was breathing a little heavier; excitement, anxiety, it didn't matter, the body reacted the same. Hairs on end, goosebumps on pale skin. Simon wouldn't pull away, wouldn't stop Price at any point. In these early hours, Price could make him do anything, which was precisely why he couldn't. Simon would shatter and Ghost would be there to harvest the pieces, absorbing them until Simon disappeared forever. Price would only go as far as they always did, because he couldn't risk losing Simon. Not this way.

"You're a good man for coming to me," Price said, the low timbre of his whisper sounding loud in the small office. "Always so good. So loyal."

Price tugged at Simon's lower lip and then stroked the pad of his thumb over Simon's teeth; Simon opened obediently under the lightest touch, and Price stroked his tongue, cupping that strong jaw as Simon surrendered to him, each breath coming easier. "Good, lieutenant. Come on, show me what you want..."

Simon's eyes flickered and rolled, his mouth closed only to suck Price in as far as his thumb would go, those full lips pressing down to his palm with the softest groan as the last of Simon's hesitant restraint tumbled away, like glacier ice cracking off a distant mountain.

"Ahh, there you are, Simon. Good boy." Price pressed a little on Simon's tongue and looked down between his knees. The front of Simon's trousers were bulging out, but his big hands remained firmly on his thick thighs; thighs that Price would give his damn pension to have wrapped around his waist, they would snap him in half and he'd be bloody grateful for it.

The heat under his own skin throbbed warmer and he spread his legs a little further, yielding space to his hardening prick. As if he could sense Price's building arousal, Simon sucked harder, his teeth grazing Price's skin. "Hmm, eager to please, I see." Price pressed down, urging Simon's mouth open, as he pulled at his belt and button. It took only a little fumbling for him to free his cock, the shaft sitting over the elastic of his boxers and dripping shamelessly. Price grunted, a little abashed at his own eagerness. "You do things to me, lad."

Simon's eyes flickered between Price's face and his prick, his tongue wriggling beneath the weight of Price's thumb. "Fuck," Price breathed, fingers tightening on Simon's jaw once more. He eased thumb free and then his foreskin back until his frenulum could tease over the soft, supple skin of Simon's lower lip. Simon held fast, his eyes not leaving Price's face, and Price let him see the pleasure, the admiration.

He teased himself on Simon's lips, rocking backwards and forwards, leaking into his lieutenant's mouth until Simon's tongue was saturated in scent and taste. Price couldn't deny the feral attraction of it; of having Lieutenant Simon Riley on his knees, Ghost tamed into quiet submission, all that power coiled away, and the man himself so desperate to submit.

Simon's tongue curled up to press at Price's slit and Price groaned as his glans yielded to the tip of it. "Impatient, as always," Price said, the words croaked through a miasma of listless pleasure. He leaned back and drew Simon with him, sliding that hot, eager mouth down his shaft. Price wasn't sure what was better; the wet, needy heat that swallowed him to the root, or the way that Simon's eyes rolled back into his bloody head.

Simon pushed his nose to Price's groin, his throat spasming reflexively. "Steady," Price managed, checking the swell of his own excitement as his balls pulled tight. Fuck, so soon? His own bloody thoughts had ridden him to the razor edge and Simon hadn't got his fill yet. Price let his head fall back and closed his eyes, but his hand stayed on Simon's chin, not guiding once Simon had slowed so much as holding. He pressed his thumb into Simon's cheek and felt his prick slide through Simon's mouth and it was almost enough to shove him over the brink.

"Bloody hell," Price hissed through clenched teeth as Simon drew off to lick through his slit again, seeking that concentration of taste and arousal. He licked the thick vein that snaked up from the base, finishing just shy of the tip and then slowed. Slowed right down. Price played with the fuzz of blonde hair at the back of Simon's neck, revealed as his mask hitched a little higher, and felt the cooler tip of Simon's nose at the cusp of his boxers, the puff of hot breath and another deep, guttural groan, and Price's stomach bunched tight.

It was sweet, sweet torture, but Simon was teasing him deliberately, baiting him out for something a little more, and Price gave gladly. He pushed his lieutenant back enough to stand, before hauling him around by the chin until the back of his head pressed to the edge of his desk, cushioned by the meat of Price's free hand.

Simon's mouth hung open for him and Price thrust in deep with a low growl. Price rolled his hips slowly, savouring each drag of Simon's lips and tongue down his shaft, but he couldn't temper his pace for long. He moved faster, stopping only just short of ramming Simon's head back into his hand. Simon's eyes were closed, his body completely slack, and the absolute submission was enough to rip Price's orgasm from him.

His hips stuttered as he emptied down Simon's throat and the lad took it all, consumed every last drop of it, and Price once again revelled in the power yielded to him. He may never have Simon over his desk in the way he wanted, but fuck was he going to enjoy every shred of him he could have like this.

Price dropped Simon's chin in favour of propping himself up and watched as Simon licked absently at his softening prick, the sparks of oversensitivity leaping up his bloody spine like burning shrapnel.

When he was certain his legs would hold him, Price pulled back, returning to wipe Simon's mouth clean of spit and cum. Simon hung in his hands, soft and light, and Price stared at his lips. The urge to kiss in these moments after was almost overpowering, a breath between Price and the taste of himself in his Simon's mouth. Ahh, and there was the bloody problem. His. Not now, not ever.

Price swallowed and sat back on his heels, discarding the scarf he'd used to clean Simon's face, and eased Simon's mask back into place. He rose on aching legs, the afterburn of his climax making him a little dizzy. "Bed. Now. Mess at 0600."

Simon uncurled to his full height - all six-foot-giant of him - and left without a word. Price slumped at his desk and stared at the ceiling. The dossier would have to wait. He felt like he'd just run Test Week at double time.

***

"Ahh, L.T., bit of a wee bounce in yer step t'day. Get lucky at the bar?"

"Focus on the mission, Soap."

"Ahh geddit, you don' kiss an' tell, pwoper English gent."

As Ghost walked to the back of the plane, Price was sure Simon glanced at him from beneath that balaclava, but it was Ghost that rumbled through the intercom. "Ready, sir."

"Ghost takes point, radio silence until we rendezvous at agreed coordinates, go."

Ghost slid his rifle behind his back and threw himself into free fall.

#call of duty #cod: mw #simon ghost riley #captain price #priceghost #ghostprice #john price

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