#I hate my fucking job but I’m still basing all these decisions around it like it’s the end all
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#I don’t understand how I go from having a decent day to being in a shitty mood#I’m in a mood about everything#I hate my fucking job but I’m still basing all these decisions around it like it’s the end all#I’m sick of myself#I got out of my writing funk but I fucking hate everything I’ve put on paper#can’t seem to clean up my tiny living space to make it feel better#I was talking to a friend after the movie we saw and got struck with that almighty of realizations that I’m the least accomplished#at least in this friend group#they have things they consider careers or at least not fucking Starbucks#they don’t have to work bullshit jobs anymore because they have degrees!#and job experience!#and I can’t even get myself to look at a college website#because my fucking brain doesn’t work right anymore#and I have no energy for any actual productive thoughts just stupid fucking fanfiction#Jesus fucking christ I’m sick of it all#I’m tired#I want to delete this fucking blog#it makes me feel fucking stupid
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But is she really yours? (141 x Reader)
Note(s) -
It's long, so be warned.
The guys are doing a little of what we like to call Dirty Mackin, and yes, I think this is something they’d all do in their own way.
Still working on getting those accents to come through, while not stepping into cringe/wrong territory.
I apologize, this is a very messy format (borderline stream of consciousness), and I’m trying to figure out a cleaner way to do this. I hope it doesn’t hurt the reading experience.
And I am the only one who kinda wants to see the reverse scenario, where Reader tries to get the guys away from their trash gfs? 👀Thanks to @bunnyreaper for the idea, it wrote itself as I read that.
Simon:
Annoying. That was the first thing Simon thought of you. So of course you had to work at the only cafe near his flat that made tea the way he liked.
You were always on your phone, arguing with someone (he guessed a boyfriend), and he hated getting stuck at your register. The calls clearly distressed you, and he didn’t know why you kept taking them. Especially on the job.
You’d gotten his order wrong more times than he could count, and you were always having to turn around and ask him to repeat the things he wanted. It got to the point where he waited until the other barista’s line was open.
Unfortunately, other customers had done the same, and it was causing a backup.
Then there was the day. His day started as it always did on his off time. The three S’s, and then he was at the gym to get his time in when he knew it was mostly empty. Then finally, his black tea.
He sighed, mentally preparing himself for the wait before he entered. As expected, there was a line.
You were there, and you appeared to be deeply engaged in conversation with the only person at your counter.
He was surprised to see you had a customer. ‘Must not be a regular.’
As he got closer to the counter, he could overhear the whispered argument. The man wasn’t a customer at all, he presumed he was the boyfriend from the phone calls. Based on the things the two of you were saying, that made the most sense.
‘Great. Getting the live version today.’ Simon had to wonder how you kept this job. Were you the boss's daughter? Did you own a share? Could he steal enough of the signature black tea blend and go into hiding until he had to ship out again?
You looked exasperated, and your co-worker stepped over to your side, coming to your aid.
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Simon groaned, realizing the wait would be longer.
He stepped outside for a cigarette, making the mental decision that if by the time he was done with it there was still a line, he would forgo his drink that day.
He chose the alley on the side of the shop, not liking the openness of the sidewalk, and staked out against the opposite building’s wall.
He was halfway past the tip of his cigarette when the side door he’d been eyeing warily opened, and out came you.
You looked frustrated, anxious, and maybe a little embarrassed. He didn’t think you noticed him, instead, walking over to the dumpster and kicking it, hard. It sent a loud, tinny groan echoing through the alley. He narrowed his eyes, feeling that itch of frustration under his skin.
You noticed him finally, and stopped angrily muttering to yourself. Instead, you started talking to him. It was mostly an uninterrupted stream of dialogue for two minutes straight (he timed it), before he could finally understand you.
“Mandatory break! That’s the second one this week, can you believe that?”
He started to say yes, and that he hoped the third one won you a prize: getting fired. He kept his mouth shut though.
“It’s not even me, it’s my boyfriend. He means well, but he just…I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.” You were searching for something in your apron, but he couldn’t tell what, out of the corner of his eye.
Simon flexed his fingers, eyes narrowing until the shop’s logo mural was a blur. You found it, and walked closer to him until he turned both eyes to you.
“Can I get a light?” You gestured with the unlit cigarette between your fingers to the one burning between his lips.
“Bloody. Fuckin’. Hell, Bird! S’not enough you keep half the fuckin’ place backed up on a good day, but then you prance your arse out here to annoy me some fuckin’ more? Fuck off.” He jabbed his pointer finger at the door you’d come out of.
The alley echoed his baritone, and somehow made his outburst sharper.
You stared at him like he’d taken his head off, instead of having bitten off yours. Eyes wide, bottom lip trembling, he thought you might cry, and he began to feel guilt grow in the pit of his stomach. He’d forgotten, in the midst of you stirring up similar agitation, that he wasn’t on base talking to some recruit dumped on him.
You did cry, but once you started talking, he suspected it was more due to anger. “Fuck you! You fuck off, I work here!”
He ignored the small voice telling him ‘stop’, and fired back. “Work?” He snorted. “Real fuckin’ rich that is. Don’t confuse work with your million mandatory breaks.”
You clenched your fists, eyes wild with adrenaline and voice shrill with anger. “Go to hell. You’re just some freak in an alley who can’t remember when Halloween is. You don’t know me.”
You angrily wiped at your tears to no avail, as more quickly took their place, and then you started sobbing.
Simon sighed, feeling like shit and wishing he’d held it together just a little more. “Alright. Alright. ‘Nuff of that now.”
“I’m not crying *hic* because of you…” you huffed, trying to get your voice under control. “Just go back to your cigarette. I hope you suck it up and *hic* choke!”
He chuckled, you were the first person in a while who’d lashed back out at his harsh disposition. At least to his face. “Was uglier than I should’ve been, but won’t pretend there wasn’t some truth to it.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“You’re a shit barista, wanna form a band?” His lips quirked into a smirk around his near-stub cigarette.
For a beat there was silence, until the two of you burst into laughter. Yours a raucous peal of giggles, and his, raspy chuckles.
“Well, you earned that light. Got more balls then a lot of soldiers I know.”
The two of you stayed in that alley for thirty minutes just riffing off different topics. It ended with Simon giving you the friendly (read: rough) advice to not let your boyfriend cost you your job.
That’s not how he saw his day going. Having the most interesting conversation he’d had in a while with the woman who annoyed the piss out of him for the better part of his leave.
You were no longer annoying, you’d been upgraded to interesting, and that was the second thing Simon thought about you.
After your talk in the alley, Simon was pleasantly surprised to find that you’d taken his advice and stepped your skills up. It turned out, you were distracted by your boyfriend, but Simon had come to see why. He was obsessed with knowing where you were, and if you were thinking of him, and wondering if he should drop by.
Simon felt more guilt for being so impatient, and he decided no matter what, he would pick your line. That was the only reason too. It certainly wasn’t because he couldn’t stop thinking about you after your last conversation.
Sometimes you would take your breaks with him now, exhibiting that same forward nature from the alley, but it no longer annoyed him. He’d tease you about whether or not that break was mandatory, but he looked forward to it all the same.
You talked about anything and everything, from where you were from, to Simon having to explain the delicate ins and outs of football to you. (He was pretty sure you were pushing him to have a heart attack by pretending you forgot a different detail every time you talked).
It was an unstated, but mutually understood, thing that your time together fulfilled something missing for both of you. For him it was cutting into his habit of cutting off socialization until he was back on base or a mission, and for you, it was a break from your relationship.
He liked to think that you looked forward to your talks as much as he did, if your expression every time you saw him was an indicator.
Unlike him, you were an open book, so you did most of the talking. Simon soaked up everything you told him, filing it away. You were funny, and fascinating.
On his end, he was careful about some of what he shared, and nervous about other things. He had more dark or restricted anecdotes than humourous or endearing ones, and he didn’t want to bring you down. After all, you had more than enough of that to deal with.
The boyfriend. He was a nightmare of obsession and insecurity. It was perhaps your fourth break-hangout that Simon saw it completely for himself. He’d all but dragged you out of your seat, which made Simon rise from his so quickly, it almost toppled over behind him. He wasn’t unaware of his size, nor was he afraid to use it on the shorter man, but you assured him it was fine until he sat down.
Your boyfriend was panicking, wondering why you were keeping someone like him company. He wanted to know what it meant for the two of you, and Simon hated seeing you in an endless loop of begging the pathetic prick to believe you loved him. All of your humor and your cute little habits disappeared as he forced you to become a helicopter girlfriend, concerned only with his fears.
Simon decided then he would sway you away from him. He didn’t deserve you, and Simon may not have known you long, but he couldn’t stand to see you withering under him and his emotional blackmail. No one ever accused Simon of being sane.
You would be his, and that was the third thing Simon thought about you.
If he said so himself, he was slick about it. He’d forgotten about the amount of energy it took to pursue a relationship with someone, and why he limited his romantic interactions to hookups with women he found interesting.
You weren’t just interesting, he was fully infatuated with you by the time he started to actively move towards getting you away from that neurotic dumpster. You were worth the effort.
It started with seeing you outside of the cafe in a way that seemed natural. He thought about it for a while, before he settled on inviting you to a football game. He couldn’t believe he’d worried that you’d say no, your ‘yes’ came out before he was even done asking.
You were impressed with his timing, confessing that the night before, your boyfriend had thoroughly embarrassed you at a party, and you needed a fun day.
Simon had smiled tightly all through your hurried explanation that everything was fine, and that he had apologized once you got home with him.
The day of the game, you were absolutely adorable when he picked you up. Giddily introducing him to your roommate. She eyed him with approval, and even congratulated you for trading up.
Before you could correct her, he slipped in his answer. “That remains to be seen. Depends on if she embarrasses me at the game.”
You snorted, launching into that now familiar peal of giggles. “I promise I won’t. Now, which of these soccer teams is yours again? The Manfordshire Mermaids?”
“You wanna ride there on the roof?”
The trip was a better investment than he thought. You were enthralled with what was going on, the hype of the crowd, the skill of the players, and just being there in person. However, you had to rely on him to translate this new world to you, and that left you literally clinging to him in interest. Simon was your whole world in that stadium, and he locked that feeling down tightly for motivation.
Step one had gone off without a hitch, and now it was on to step two.
Outings with you became a series. Simon encouraged as many as possible in order to trigger the response he wanted.
He knew it wouldn’t be long until your boyfriend started getting antsy, and insecure again. You were going out twice as much as you had before you started hanging out with Simon outside of the cafe.
To push the matter, Simon told you his work schedule was getting hectic. It was a half truth, the training period before the announcement of a deployment had commenced, and Simon planned on having a girlfriend to come home to this time. Namely you.
He used the excuse to create later meetups. Dinners, movies, wandering the street and stumbling into things to do. All the while getting you hooked on his touch. Simon wasn’t a touchy-feely person by nature, and this was something everyone who knew him picked up on quickly. You picked up on it too, but he wanted to touch you. He didn’t though, at least not often.
Starting off with little touches that could be confused as an accident, he increased the pressure but kept the frequency low so you became addicted to his rare touches. He wanted you to feel special that someone like him indulged you in that way, so that you’d seek out more, even though HE was the one who felt blessed every time he felt your skin on his.
When you were together, he made sure things were about you. He didn’t imagine your boyfriend left much room for that with his paranoia, but he wanted to show you what you were in for once you were together.
One night, Simon kept you out later than usual. He’d stayed away from you for two weeks, which wasn’t hard, work was starting to pick up. He could’ve carved out a day or two though, but he wanted to make you crave his time like he did yours.
It worked. He scheduled a late dinner at an upscale restaurant, letting you fill him in on all that he missed. Namely, you missed being with him. You weren’t the type to keep your feelings to yourself, and you’d inevitably vented to your boyfriend about missing your friend. He didn’t like that label at all, but he liked what would come from your actions.
Periodically throughout the dinner, your phone rang, increasing in frequency as the night wore on.
You had to excuse yourself multiple times, and Simon pretended to be annoyed. In reality, he anticipated that. Each time the phone rang, you cringed and looked at him apologetically.
On what had to be the tenth time, Simon said. “Go on then, run off to pamper the pathetic bastard. Powder his arse too this time.”
Your face screwed up in objection to his barbed words. “He’s just worried…”
He shrugged. “Don’t owe me an explanation lovie. S’just a mystery why you’re in such a rush to be a nursemaid.”
Rolling your eyes, you stood up from the table. “I’m in a rush to be a good girlfriend thank you. Stop being an ass, I’ll be back in a minute.”
“S’go,” he downed the last of his bourbon before he pulled his wallet from his pocket. “I’ll pay the tab and take you home.”
“What? We’re supposed to have dessert, and then maybe a movie.”
Simon watched your distressed body language and expression with mild amusement, and he was proud of being able to hide it, even though he’d forgone his mask that night. “You’ve gotta tuck in your kid. S’not on me you won’t date a man.”
You pouted and sat back down. “If I put my phone away, you put your wallet away. You promised me dessert.”
He smirked, refusing to hide it now. This was the first time, since he’d met you, that you’d ignored your boyfriend, and it said a lot.
You did it once, so Simon was able to turn it into a habit. Your boyfriend looked increasingly unhinged as Simon made sure you starved him of your attention.
The ugly voicemails and text messages began soon after. He didn’t like that at all, and he had to remind himself the time to deal with your boyfriend would come, but he did appreciate that you were becoming less tolerant of him.
Every time you returned to Simon after having to soothe your boyfriend’s ego, and stop his tantrums, Simon made your life easier. He worshiped you in subtle ways, reminding you of what a man was, compared to a child.
There was guilt on your part, but it felt so good to be taken care of for once. To not have to worry about Simon bursting into a fit of insecurity that made you completely responsible for his feelings, and left little to no room for anything else.
When he touched you, it lit your nerve endings on fire. You knew that the touches were bordering on inappropriate, since you were still taken, but you also knew that your brain went numb with good vibrations with even just a brush of his fingertips.
Simon still kept it light, almost questionable as to whether it even happened, and you finally began to seek it out. Wearing backless tops so that his fingertips would brush your bare skin, sitting next to him in diner booths so a thick thigh was always brushing your own, going for things in high places so he’d steady you by your waist.
He never seemed to miss a beat on when and where to touch you, but it wasn’t enough.
The breaking point came when he invited you to a dinner Price was holding as a goodbye to civilian life until next leave. The verbal invitation was the most valuable thing to you in a while. Not only because you were increasingly becoming addicted to him, but because for someone like Simon to invite you into that part of his life, it meant that he was in deep with you too.
All of Simon’s friends were funny, inviting, and very taken by you. They were so polite to you, complimenting you, and telling you as much as they could about their work, trying to impress you.
You were having fun trying to keep up, but you got the impression that Simon inviting a woman he was seeing to meet them was a new thing, and they didn’t know the protocol.
You were surprised to find he went by Ghost in his field, and they were unused to hearing Simon. You shared how the two of you met, and how polite he wasn’t in your first conversation, and they weren’t surprised.
You were enjoying your time with them, the conversation never stopped, and you would venture to say Simon looked fond at times. Though, as each man became more flirtatious, his expression would change. It became an unspoken game between you and his team to try and make him speak up about it. He didn’t take the bait.
Then came the topic of your boyfriend.
“Come now love, you’re a smart girl. Why do you wanna waste your time with that bellend?” - Price
“I don’t ken what the situation here is, but if Ghost and the other one don’t appreciate you, I promise I will.” Soap
“I had a girl once, who used to follow me in her friend’s car, sit outside my apartment, and call me from different phones to test me. You’re fit as hell love, dump him.” - Gaz
It was a little embarrassing, and you were slightly annoyed that Simon had told them, but your mind kept shortening it to ‘he talked about me to his team.’
During dinner, you excused yourself to the bathroom. While you were washing your hands, Simon slipped into the room, making you jump.
Your eyes met in the mirror, where Simon just glared.
“Have fun with the boys, bird?”
“Have fun broadcasting my business?” You raised an eyebrow, but your tone held no anger to it.
Simon chuckled, locking the door. “S’not my business is it?”
You swallowed hard, shaking your head slowly.
He trapped you between the sink and himself, hands locking onto the counter on either side of you.
“Let’s fix that.” His lips pressed to the pulse point on the side of your neck, speaking his command against it. “Get rid of him lovie, and come home where you belong.”
You tried to do just that, but for the first time that you could recall, your boyfriend wasn’t taking your calls.
Simon watched you while he packed, tucked beneath his sheets where you belonged, bare. It’d been a week since you took that next step in his captain’s guest bathroom, and you’d been trying to inform your ex he was now in fact, your ex.
You gingerly rolled over to face him, mindful of all the reminders that he loved you he left your body. “Si, he’s still not picking up. I don’t want to do it over the phone, but…”
“Don’t get worked up. Maybe he got the message already...”
Kyle:
He’d re-visited Chicago on his downtime, and met you in a club. Unknown to him at the time, your boyfriend had stood you up for the third time that month, and you decided not to waste the night. It’d made you so free and enthralling to watch, he couldn’t look away.
Gaz spent the entire night with you, glad he’d ignored the jet lag, even when you took him to all the best after-hours spots.
The only problem was your boyfriend, Keith, who Gaz personally believed formed in the bottom of a toilet, and sought life elsewhere. His team thought he was delusional, and/or giving you too much thought.
“You hitting the States again then? Don’t get in the kind of trouble that you can’t get out of because you’re jealous.” - Price
“Garrick! Get your fuckin’ head off your cock, and on the exercise, before I shove my boot down your throat!” - Ghost (after he fumbled a training exercise twice)
Except for Soap, Soap backed his delusions %1,000. “She let you charge your phone when hers needed it more? That’s wedding bells lad, and I wanna be best man.”
Then there was the relentless teasing every time he spent his leave with you, but Gaz didn’t care. He couldn’t bother being embarrassed when you were waiting for him. Your grin was for him, your excited laughter was for him, and your hug was for him. The one he always held longer than friends do, his heart racing when you relaxed in his hold. Smirking when he felt your nose brush over chest quickly. You were sheepish when he grinned down at you, realizing what you were doing.
You’d gotten him cologne on his first (date) daytime hangout with you. You’d been strolling through the mall, Gaz trying to make you forget about the ugly scene he’d walked into between you and your boyfriend when he arrived at your place.
You’d been so sad, and it didn’t suit you at all. He just wanted to take you out of that environment, and let your real-self blossom again.
His hand brushed with yours, pinkies locking and unlocking so he could feel his stomach dip again and again.
He was able to slowly bring you back, into a little world of inside jokes and friendly culture clashes. Gaz fully had you back by the time he stopped in front of an expensive looking fragrance shop and said:
“You know what? I need a new aftershave, but I’m clueless about shopping for that stuff.”
“Uh, aftershave?” you’d looked puzzled, peering into the store window. “Do they even sell that here?”
He let out a confused laugh, pointing at the bottles on the glass shelf. “We’re looking at it, so I’d guess yes.”
“You mean cologne?” you gave him your first real smile since you’d gotten there, and Gaz forgave yet another correction in favor of it.
“Get in here, and help me find an aftershave.”
He proposed that you guys find the perfect scent for the other and buy it as a gift. The two of you spent the better part of thirty minutes teasing and sniffing each other. Every time Gaz lifted a part of your arm or wrist to his nose, he let his lips brush across your skin accidentally.
“Kyyylee..” you whined every time, making him stir in the right places at the wrong time.
Eventually you both settled on something for the other, but Kyle slyly placed himself in the position of paying for both. The thought of you paying never having been a real thing in his mind.
“You’ll get it next time, love.”
He treasured that scent, you’d specifically picked it out for him, and he’d savored the look you gave him when you’d finally found it. Now he was in front of you again.
“Yeah, it’s the one you bought me. Did me a good turn with that. I get compliments like they get paid to give ‘em.”
“Who’s complimenting you?” you asked, your wince revealing it’d probably come out sharper than you meant for it to.
Gaz didn’t mind, he liked you as jealous as he was.
He chuckled, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “Just..other girls with good taste.”
Your pout and sharp head turn went right on display in the mental gallery he had of you. He couldn’t resist teasing you again.
“Are you wearing the one I picked.” he leaned down hovering just over your neck where he knew you could feel the soft puffs of breath on your neck. He heard your breath hitch when he hummed, confirming that you were.
“I am, and don’t worry about who’s complimenting it, since you have sooo many of your own.”
Gaz laughed as you yanked him after you with a huff. If he was delusional, you weren’t helping.
This visit was going how he imagined it, and he intended to end it exactly that way too. Finally getting that bastard out of a picture he should’ve never been a part of.
When clubbing, Kyle kept you close. You both loved to dance, and every song that came on seemed out to prove that your bodies were built to fit together like a puzzle.
He took an interest in your life, wanting to see what you got up to when he wasn’t there. You’d resisted, thinking it’d bore him. It did not.
He enjoyed meeting your co-workers, and eating at the cafe you loved a block from your job. You even took him to spend an afternoon with your family. Every time he scored a point with them, you gave him this dreamy expression he was determined to see for the rest of his life.
When he suggested making plans with your friends, so they didn’t feel like you were ignoring them while he was there, you were thrilled at how considerate he was, and he got the pleasure of overhearing you hype him up to your friends while you invited them out to do something.
It was you blocking your girlfriends every time one of them tried to push the flirtation with him too far, that let him know it was time.
He decided he would make his move when the two of you were having a movie night at your place. It wasn’t ideal, because that piece of shit was lingering around the place. Kyle hated that you lived together, but wouldn’t let that interfere. He had work to do.
“Kyyyleee.” you giggled, dragging his name out the way he loved when he ran a finger down your cheek to your neck, complimenting your skin.
“Just admiring your skin routine. You’ve gotta share.”
Or, when he shivered, and you instinctively extended your blanket to him. He took it without question, trying not to think about all of the things you could do under a shared blanket. Although, your boyfriend walking in and out of the room, pretending he had things to get out of the kitchen, made the thought more enticing.
You’d invited him to watch in earnest, and he’d just cut you down in a way that made Kyle quickly remind him he was in your apartment, because he’d lost his job, and had nowhere else to go. That you’d sweetly taken him in, and that he should remember that.
He enjoyed kicking him down while raising you up.
Your boyfriend finally just sat at the kitchen table in the dark, fuming. The living room was visible to him from there, but Kyle was glad to have him as an audience to him reminding you of your worth.
You two exchanged snacks and commentary, easily ignoring the unwanted third party.
“No offense love, but beer here is straight piss.”
You laughed, stealing one of the cookies left on his plate. “Beer tastes like that in general.”
“How would you know? You’ve never been anywhere.” your boyfriend snapped at you nastily, from where he’d been glaring at the two of you for an hour. “And why don't you go back to jolly old England if you hate it so much?”
Gaz lazily rolled his head in his direction, body language shouting how much he didn’t respect him. “Mate, you’re being a right prick right now. It’s not like you bought the beer, or anything else you’ve been shoving in that hole.”
Your boyfriend leapt to his feet, fast enough to knock over the chair. “Come over here and repeat that teacup.”
“Blud, that’s not what you want.”
“Kyle don’t, he’s just drunk and embarrassed. Ignore him when he’s like this.” you quickly passed a hand over the back of his, but he just gave you a soft smile instead.
“That’s his problem, he embarrassed himself. Why don’t you go in the back and find something to do.” He was so effortlessly dismissive, that your boyfriend mistook this for being unprepared to fight.
Kyle’s one rule for his plan was that he wouldn’t physically handle your boyfriend unless he got physical with you. He’d planned to show you how you should be loved, and let a smart girl like you do the rest. That went out the window.
He kept it clean, the other man was stocky, but didn’t stand a chance against his training. If you hadn’t been there, he might’ve taken it further, grinding his hatred of him into harsher blows. Instead, he gave him quick, almost surgically effective, blows to put him down. He was too intoxicated and unskilled to retaliate.
“See, he just needed a nap.” Gaz tried to lighten the mood.
“I’m so embarrassed,” you whispered. “I don’t know why he’s always like this now. He didn’t use to be. I just want this to stop.”
Kyle shushed you, crossing the room to pull you into his arms. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. You’ve been dealing with this for too long.”
“I’m so tired.” you admitted, clutching his soft shirt, and inhaling his scent (your scent, that you gave him) that made your eyes roll back in your head. He was so solid, warm, and a darker word popped into your mind, ‘mine.’
“You’ve been so good to everyone, too good. Let me take care of you.” he whispered, hands roaming from your lower back to cup your ass.
He heard the hybrid of a whimper-moan, and it had him at attention before you were done.
“I’d be just like him…” you trailed off weakly.
“That’s not possible.” He lowered his lips to yours, giving you the first kiss from him that couldn’t possibly be mistaken as platonic. You kissed back without any hesitation, not even willing to pull away when he started to lead you to the back. To your room.
Hate him as he did, Gaz noted somewhere in his mind how dark the scenario was. The location, and situation, in which he was about to fulfill the second-to-last step of his plan was kind of fucked.
He cupped your jaw in both hands,“Babe…we can go back to my room at the hotel.”
He didn’t want to. He wanted to erase any trace of him here, starting in your room. He wanted you everywhere he could have you in the apartment, and he wanted him to come to just enough to hear it.
“Makes no sense. Too far. Here.” you murmured, pupils blown wide.
Gaz didn’t need to be told twice. You were barely able to string a sentence together, and it was top three one of the hottest things he’d ever heard.
“Yes ma'am.”
Kyle didn’t doubt you’d complete the final step in the morning, and officially dump the forgotten man on the floor.
Johnny:
You and Johnny met through social media. He thought you were gorgeous and, being John “Soap” MacTavish, couldn’t leave your profile without letting you know. Though he threw in some playful critique.
You responded with a thanks, and a challenge for him to do the picture better. It resulted in a months-long photo battle that quickly became a real friendship.
Late phone calls, video calls, and constant strings of texting built a whole world between the two of you.
You were the highlight of his day sometimes, especially when he’d been gone awhile. You helped him reconnect with the world after shutting it out to defend it.
The only problem was your boyfriend. Johnny prided himself on being able to get along with all kinds of people. It was just in his nature. Hate was so rarely felt by him, that he always had trouble identifying it when he felt it.
He felt hate for your boyfriend, and it didn’t take him long to figure that out. He thought he didn’t deserve you. He was always talking to you reckless, like he didn’t have the most beautiful woman in the world in his life. Johnny wouldn’t talk to you like that, he wouldn’t have time to even consider it for all the worshiping of you he’d be doing.
He’d cheated, only to make you feel like that was on you, and you took him back.
When Johnny heard your pained sobs for the first time, he’d been halfway through texting Simon to ask for help with a dark favor before he was able to talk himself down.
It was then Johnny realized how much you’d come to mean to him, and that only made him hate your boyfriend more.
Your conversations ranged from anything to everything, but they always ended with you venting, and Johnny comforting. He didn’t mind it, in fact, most times he initiated it.
He realized, he must mean a good deal to you too, because you got all your comfort from him. Johnny’s thoughts mattered to you, and you sought his advice all the time. He hated what for, but he loved that you did.
“He didn’t even like the dress Johnny. I told him you thought of it, and he accused me of wanting to wear it for you.” your screen shook violently as you stomped into your bedroom, sending said garment sailing through the air.
“M’sorry to hear that. I meant what I said when you showed it to me in the shop. Any guy that doesn’t lose it to you in that dress deserves to be committed.”
You sniffed, choking out a humorless chuckle. “I’m glad you liked it at least.”
“Oh, you don’t ken how much sweetheart. In fact, put it on for me again.”
Six months into the friendship, he convinced you to come visit him in Scotland. You’d been having more trouble with your boyfriend than usual, living with him didn’t exactly give you a lot of places to take a breather.
Once Johnny confirmed he hadn’t hurt you physically, he’d switched to coaxing you into coming to see him for a couple of weeks.
“C’mon bonnie, I’ve been stateside more times than I can count. You haven’t been here once.” He watched you do your bedtime routine, as the sun came up in the windows behind him.
He loved how despite being countries away, the moment felt as intimate as if you were with him. In his home, getting ready to come to bed with him. Except if you were, he’d tell you not to bother brushing your hair. You’d just have to do it again later.
You laughed as you ran a comb through your hair. “It’s not like you came here for me Johnny. We didn’t even know each other the last time you were here.”
“So…you’ll return the favor later. Be my pretty tour guide.”
You wound up in Scotland barely a week later. A suitcase full of clothes haphazardly thrown into it.
“I don’t even know what I packed, it's a mess!”
Cue Johnny, who can’t quit hugging you, and they feel less and less platonic. “Don’t worry ‘bout it bon. I’ll find somewhere for it all to go.”
Somewhere turns out to be designated drawers and shelves, that he’d cleared in advance, for your clothes and bath products. Johnny putting them away himself like the simp for you he is. All the while distracting you from stating how you wouldn’t be there long, and you don’t need all that space.
“We’ll see.”
Johnny had been coaxing less and less innocent behaviors out of you all week, and just worshiping you when he wasn’t. You were a worked up hybrid of desperation, and restored self-confidence. It was addictive, and you started to lean into Johnny’s touches and kisses. You pretended you didn’t hear his murmured dirty statements so he’d have to try again and again.
It came to a head when you finally accepted a video call from your pathetic boyfriend.
You were in Johnny’s living room, wearing his favorite football jersey, with him behind you, absolutely refusing to make himself scarce. You didn’t want to take the call anyway, but Johnny convinced you it’d be good for closure.
Your boyfriend started going off, yelling about how you didn’t respect him or your relationship, and demanding that ‘you bring your ass home’.
“The thing of it is lad, there’s not really anything about this relationship to respect.” Johnny slipped around to your side, tilting your head up to press his lips to yours.
You hummed in surprise, but all of his gentle touches and sweet kisses over the week had you pliant. You immediately responded, squeezing his arm when he slipped his tongue into your mouth as a tease.
He pulled away, looking way too smug, and looking all the more impossibly-handsome for it. “Say bye to your ex-boyfriend then bon. The rest of this isn’t for him.”
You gurgled something like goodbye as you slammed the lid on your laptop, attention still fully on Johnny.
John Price:
Price thought your fiance should crawl in a fire and stay there. Yeah. He wasn’t ashamed.
The man was garbage, and hardly worth you giving him a glance, let alone this much sacrifice. You’d moved countries for him, happy to make your home with him because of his job. He treated it as though that should’ve been a given.
That’s how Price had gotten to know you. You lived in the apartment across the hall from him, and the first moment you smiled at him, John was a goner.
You introduced yourself with a smile, your pretty little hand extended out towards him. He’d stood there, wishing he hadn’t worn his ratty sweatshirt with his old football team logo in fading letters. You looked gorgeous, hair framing your face, slightly out of breath from lugging in your things.
He’d stumbled in his mind until he finally remembered proper social protocol. “Price…Captain John.” He cleared his throat. “Captain John Price.”
Your mouth formed an ‘o’, you were visibly intrigued.“Captain? You’re in the military.”
“Yes.”
“Well…thank you for your service.”
Normally, John didn’t react to that line as expected. He’d heard it enough times to wish he had a pound for every time, but that was about it. He didn’t do his job for thanks, and sometimes felt they shouldn’t be for him anyways.
Coming from you however, it was different. He had the reaction he knew most people wanted. He knew from the heat in his cheeks and the tips of his ears, they were red.
Your fiancé, who’d appeared in the doorway behind you, stole his chance to answer.
“Yeah, thanks or whatever. (Y/N), come in here and figure out where you want your hair crap to go. I’m just going to toss it anywhere in a moment.”
“Oh, you could’ve just put it under the sink.”
“You should be getting ready anyways, we have a dinner engagement.” He adjusted his shirt cuffs, eyeing John like he was picturing ways he could kill him.
John wanted to see him try just one.
“Bye John,” you gave a wave, a soft smile on your lips. “I’ll see you.”
You disappeared inside, leaving the two men in a stare down. There was a silent conversation at play, what your fiancé wanted to say was stated without a word. How much John cared about that was conveyed in the same manner.
Your fiancé broke first, slamming the door behind him.
“We’ll see if I’ll stay away.” He muttered, going into his own place.
Over that first month, you two got to know each other well. Your fiance was often at work, and you turned to John with your questions as you tried to settle into your new home. You had no one else there, and even though John had planned to decompress in complete isolation, he couldn’t do that to you. Didn’t have a part of his being that wanted to.
However, as John got to know you, he got to know your fiance too. Enough to know if he was ever going to murder someone outside of work, it’d be him.
It started with small things like what takeout you should go for, or which grocery store did he use? It seemed your fiance was useless.
One day, you needed help putting together your beauty table. You’d come to John, clearly embarrassed, and something told him you’d debated on asking him for a while. Your fiance refused, because you hadn’t paid attention when you were checking out, and didn’t select the construction help option.
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me love. You mean to tell me that he never made a mistake?” John was already coming out of his apartment, ready to help.
“It’s stupid, but I don’t feel like arguing with him over it. We’re in an ok place right now.” you laughed awkwardly, leading him inside.
“Ok probably isn’t a place you want to be when you’re headed for the church.” it came out of his mouth before he could think about how it wasn’t his place.
He was so used to being blunt, and dealing out cold, hard facts or opinions. It always took him a minute to readjust to what was appropriate, but by then he was back on duty.
You looked stunned, clearly not expecting that from him. Your arms crossed defensively, giving him a side glance while you mulled over responding.
He meant what he said, but he never would’ve delivered it to you that way, or at all, if he had thought two seconds more.
“‘M sorry. It’s really not my place is it?” he gestured to the back of the apartment. “Where do you need me?”
There were many more opportunities to spend time with you, and with them, opportunities to point out the toxicity he was seeing. It wasn’t in John’s nature to ignore obvious problems, he got paid to do the opposite. He had to resign himself every time so he didn’t upset you.
With every time he gave you directions, or answered a local cultural difference that confused you, you two lingered in each other’s presence a little longer. He wasn’t going to spoil that.
Your requests started to leave the territory of furniture building and directions, and started to cross more into trying a new recipe, and how you could do better at fitting into your new home. Your conversations started to get deeper, more information about each other being shared.
There were times where you dropped off food, having made too much, or your fiance didn’t want what you cooked. John loved your cooking as it was, he normally lived off whatever he could grab and nuke, but he threw in extra enthusiasm for spite and your pretty smile.
Sometimes John found reasons to come over to your place.
“Share a cake love? Don’t get excited, I picked it up at the shops.” “Just bringing back your bowl.” “I can take a look at that window if maintenance is still laying about.”
And without fail, you made him stay every time. You got lonely, and you still knew very few people in the area outside of him. Your fiance didn’t seem to care, he felt he’d set you up with plenty of friends in his circle. John called them posh knobheads, and you couldn’t agree more. You had nothing in common with them, and you always wound up back with John to vent.
He found it easier to talk to you than he had anybody else, and from the never ending conversation between you two, he guessed you felt the same. The topic of the nature of your relationship was verboten, but that was fine by him. By that point, he was more interested in making you forget you even had a fiance. He really hadn’t even made an effort to do it, it just tilted that way, and he leaned into it.
You weren’t exactly stopping his flirtatious comments, in fact, you seemed to light up in ways he hadn’t seen until then.
Then came the outings. As your fiance got more negligent, you got bolder. It started with you taking a chance to invite John to a movie when you two bumped into each other in the mailroom. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to the cinema, and he couldn’t say what was playing if someone held a gun to his head, but ‘don’t see why not’ fell out of his mouth with no resistance.
Then it was shopping together, or you dragging him to a museum and him bullshitting his art knowledge to make you laugh. He didn’t normally spend his time off being this active socially. He decompressed, and prepared for the next assignment. Maybe he’d meet a woman at a pub and bang out some release before getting back into formation.
He’d wondered if he would regret doing things differently on his next deployment, but that stopped the first time someone mistook the two of you for a couple. That alone would’ve been enough for him to keep his delusions (that he definitely did not have) going, but it was the fact that you didn’t correct them. It happened again, and if he thought he imagined things, he hadn’t. You never corrected the person, just gave a coy smile and accepted the compliment.
Well if you didn’t, he certainly wasn’t going to.
The final time that John could say he only found you attractive, instead of wanting you completely, you’d come to him to ask him if he could drive you to a little farmer’s market outside of the city. Things hadn’t been going well with you and your fiance.
You didn’t have to tell John, he could attest to that himself. He’d heard your arguments in his place, and between the noise level, and trying to make sure it didn't go to a place where you weren’t safe, he wasn’t getting much sleep.
Your plan was to cook your fiance a favorite meal from his childhood, using nothing but farm fresh ingredients. You figured that all you needed to get things on track was a quiet night in, focused on reminding each other why you were engaged. John nearly bit through his tongue to keep himself from bringing up the fact that it seemed the workload on maintaining the relationship fell solely on your shoulders.
Instead, he shoved his bucket hat on his head, and lied about needing to head out that way anyways.
The car ride started out quiet on his part, with you filling in the conversation. Price may have flexed his fingertips in jealousy more times than he could count, but you were so goddamn beautiful when you were excited. It almost hurt to look at you head on, so he gave you side glances to show he was listening.
At the market, your excitement didn’t die down. In fact, it turned into infectious playfulness. You two teased each other, engaged in playful scams to get more samples, and dared each other to come up with crazier and crazier stories about yourselves for the owner of each stall you visited.
Price would die twice before he admitted that he imagined you were on a date a couple times during the day. You never brought your fiance up, and he had to remind you to check your grocery list more than once.
It was late afternoon when you returned to the car, laden with goodies and constructing inside jokes. John was enjoying his time with you so much, he almost forgot he had to tell you he was shipping out the following week. He didn’t know if you’d care so much as to need an announcement in advance, but he felt he should.
He was worried about you, and he would think of you wherever he was bound to wind up, hoping you’d come to your senses and leave the garbage behind. Of course, he’d miss you…and he certainly wasn’t under any delusion that when you’d taken out the trash, maybe you’d consider him.
“Why’re you so quiet?” you’d squeezed his bicep to get his attention, and he instinctively pushed his arm into your hands, encouraging the touch.
It was quiet for a moment, before you slowly uncurled your fingertips, and placed your hands in your lap. His face flooded with embarrassed warmth.
Had he gone too far by leaning into the physical?
Price white-knuckle-gripped the steering wheel, swallowing down what he thought was a rejection he had no right to be hurt about, and cleared his throat. “Right. I’m heading out next week, and it won’t be short. Just thought you should know.”
Whatever reaction he expected from you, it wasn’t the one you gave.
“What?” You placed a hand on your chest, and then rolled your eyes. “Well that’s great.”
John gave you a bewildered expression, and it must've shown, because you quickly straightened up and faced forward.
“I don’t know about great, but it is my job. The one I was quite clear about when we first met.”
“Pull over.” you said so quickly, he wasn’t even sure you’d heard his response.
“What? Why? Are you feeling il-”
“No..just..please.” you gestured to the side of the road.
He obliged, brows drawn tight and carrying all of his questions. “Your boy is going to be home soon, and we still have a bit of a drive ahead of us. What-”
“I wanted to come here because of you.” you breathed out, still facing forward, your posture almost impossibly rigid.
“Me? You’re not making much sense (Y/N).”
You huffed, and when you turned to him, your expression took his breath away. In that moment he could read every thought you were thinking, and it would’ve bowled him over if he wasn’t sitting.
He felt electricity beneath his skin, the feeling he got any time he was about to do something drastic and dangerous.
It was the little hidden thing in your eyes that he couldn’t place that gave him pause.
“I came here, because I wanted to get away with you for today. I needed to.” you turned your whole body to him. “I don’t give a fuck about fresh ingredients for him, he probably won’t eat it anyways.”
You huffed, rolling your eyes. “We agreed to start over. And I’m going to try, I really am, but…I still can’t stop feeling need.”
In the looming silence, all John could do was scratch his beard, and try not to look as stupid as he was sure he did. He knew what you were saying, what you were toeing at, but surely you were just venting. You couldn’t-
“S’not right love.” Now it was his turn to look ahead. “Not for him, fuck him. For you. You’re upset and you’re scared, and you're raw.”
“And I need this.” you breathed. “If you’re trying to protect me, stop. If you don’t want me in that way..ok, I’m a big gi-”
“Oooh,” his voice came from deep in his chest, baritone thrumming through the car. “That’s not it. I promise you, that’s.not.it.”
Your fingertips gently pulled his face in your direction. “You’re leaving me…and when you get back things are going to have to be different.”
There it was. John swallowed, hard.
“I’m being selfish, but..I thought I’d have a little more time with you before..” Your eyes watered. “It’d be one thing if you really were just my friend, but that’s not right is it?”
John wiped at your eyes with his thumb before cupping his cheek in his hand. “No, it’s not.”
“Just one time.”
It was a struggle to say no to you, and that didn’t stop now. He pulled your mouth to his, hands gripping your shoulders in a subconscious effort to prove this was happening. You were in front of him, kissing him back as hard as he was kissing you.
He unbuckled you, and pulled you into his lap, sliding the seat back.
“I’m gonna miss you.” you were crying now, and neither one of you did anything about the tears.
His hands cupped the back of your head, fingers gently threading through your hair. “Oh, sweet girl. Why didn’t you meet me sooner?”
What transpired after was the most bittersweet moment he could recall. He had heartbreaks and troubled relationships before, but he’d never had to have a breakup with a woman he wasn’t sure he’d been seeing in the first place, but knew that he loved.
He took you twice in his car, before finally, the two of you could no longer ignore the setting sun and had to return home.
John remembered why he preferred to take a girl somewhere quickly, and then spend the rest of his leave in solitude, occasionally seeing a trusted friend. It wasn’t as fulfilling as what he had with you, but it didn’t hurt this deeply either.
He sat in his apartment for hours after he watched you disappear into your own. He didn’t even bother turning on a light when it got too dark, he just sat there, continuing to contemplate how things had gotten to be such a mess. How could he continue to pride himself on being the logical leader he thought he was, when he’d made such a mess of himself so quickly?
How was he supposed to forget you? How was he supposed to forget that he loved you, and that you loved him with another man’s ring on your finger?
The thought of seeing you, carrying your fiance’s child, and looking miserable during what should’ve been one of the happiest times of your life made Price leap from the couch. That familiar electricity raising every hair on his person to a point.
He didn’t know what he was doing, or what he was going to say, but he was moving like he’d planned it for months.
When he stepped into the hall, he paused.
You were sitting on the plush hall couch, eyes puffy, with a death grip on a pyrex dish. Your hair was perfectly styled, and you were wearing a low-cut silken dress that made him want to fall to his knees now that he knew what lay beneath. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, trying to curb your sniffles.
“I was right, he wouldn’t eat it. He got mad and left.”
“You should’ve made him wear it instead.” John’s fist clenched at his side, itching to do what he wanted from the moment he first saw him get short with you.
You shook your head, rising to your feet. “I don’t blame him this time. I didn’t make it for him, anymore than I shopped for it with him in mind, and I told him so.”
You held up the dish, and John saw it was his favorite. His idea of a perfect Sunday roast in one pot. Your meaning was clear.
“I just kept thinking, it shouldn’t be this hard. I mean, it shouldn’t be, right?” you stepped forward.
“No, it shouldn’t be.” He also took a step forward.
“It’s not that way with you.” Another step.
“I would hope not.” he also took another step
You stopped when all that separated the two of you was the dish.
“So this belongs to me then?” he was staring at the dish, but his hands gently grasped your wrists.
You, however, were looking directly at him when you breathed out. “Yes.”
#141 x reader#cod#call of duty#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#john price x reader#kyle gaz garrick#john price#reader insert#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#Soap#soap x reader#tf 141 x reader#fem reader
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Snow was my favorite character when I read Hunger Games. Do not yell, do not hurtle rocks of hate at me, I finally understand why. I’ve read Songbirds and Snakes and watched it.
Snow is posh and polished, he is a statue of respect and authority. That’s Jonah Magnus, that’s Gabriel(GO), that’s Stede(to a degree- Stede is not an ass), that’s Sherlock, that’s the Doctor. It’s a Poshness that only certain villains can accomplish, and most English characters are gifted with.
The backstory adds another level of respect and appreciation for Snow from me. I am not rich, and I am surrounded by rich people in the state I moved to from North Carolina(where I was raised). I went to a school where money was practically flung around, a donation to the school that wasn’t mandatory but very much suggested was almost 200 dollars. I understand Snow, not because I’m dirt poor and barely living off of my parents jobs, I understand being surrounded by people who can use money to get out of shit that deserve to face.
Snow and I also have a father that is extremely proud of his name, my father isn’t dead, neither is my mother but I understand wanting to live up to the expectations of your father. I have expectations also from my father just like snow who is expected to love up to his father’s name.
Snow doesn’t seem to quite understand to love correctly, just like me! He love bombs Lucy Gray(TO A DEGREE- SAVING SOMEONES LIFE BECAUSE YOU WANT TO IS HUMANE BUT ALSO ITS CORIOLANUS SNOW) and he is extremely possessive. Now I am not that extreme because I literally cannot find the way to love someone without completely throwing myself into Michael’s domain because I spiral(haha I’m funny).
Coriolanus is also the smartest person in his class and his makes sure that that is known, I am like that but not the smartest just pretty smart. He also helps his peers even if he despises them, and given I have Social Anxiety I am terrified to disappoint so I do that too.
Coriolanus also respects people on a level of perspective before becoming a peacemaker that’s commendable. Given the fact his father was killed and he had to SCAVENGE for food as a kid he is allowed some disrespect for the districts. He still respects them once they’re in the capital and he tries to get them an alright time, for his own sake but still.
That leads on to the fact that based on how he’s been treated for DECADES he wants to go as high as possible to help his family and to live up to his father’s name is understandable. I feel like that to a degree because I have constantly been put on high standards by my parents but also because I came from a poor town where GT was only for fourth and fifth graders and had no advanced classes and was IMMEDIATELY placed in an advanced class for math when I moved.
Anyways, all this to say, he has an inclination to make decisions for others on a whim that’ll it will help himself because he cares deeply for Tigress and his Grandma. Yknow who also acts on whims? Stede Bonnet. We love him- Ed teach, we love him too. Aziraphale??? Yes some of the fandom hate him, but I don’t. James and Sirius make A LOT of choices on whims at Hogwarts as the marauders- JONATHAN FUCKING SIMS MY GOD DONT GET ME STARTED- Trexel Geistman- woo-boy…
Anyways, thank you for listening. I love him, you can hate me for that, I’ll take it. 😀👍
#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#coriolanus snow#i love him#he is me I am him but I haven’t killed people or betrayed people so#kinda#love him anyway
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it’s really fucking hard (impossible) to have any kind of healthy reflection or growth when every time you try and be an honest & straightforward adult in a conversation, & try to be like “well, here are my feelings, but i get it, that doesn’t change anything. you asked, and i don’t want to lie or dump things on you, so here’s my answer”
only to be met w some of the guilt tripping passive aggressive manipulative shit that completely turns it around and blames it on you
and then it’s like
“....was what i said/did terrible? am i being unreasonable?”
i legitimately just can’t fucking tell anymore
every time i think i’ve made some kind of step of handling my feelings & situations on my own, every time i think there’s been progress in our relationship where we know and respect boundaries and needs, i’m wrong.
and i’m sick of being wrong
and i’m sick of being paranoid and anxious that i’m always the idiot who’s not in the loop or in on the joke, who’s having something kept from them
i fucking hate it
i’m so tired
i’m trying so fucking hard to grow and be a decent person
and my life rn is literally: jobless, isolated at home until the pandemic is actually over, at LEAST three new medical diagnoses one of which is kind of scary just bc of what kind of meds i might have to take, fascism is on the rise, lgbtq people are getting murdered basically every day, and i have no independence or mobility on my own bc i am running out of money because again i do not have a fucking job and i CANNOT GET ONE BECAUSE OF THE PANDEMIC
i made so much progress in my life & was continuing on, and then the pandemic hit, &i’ve been gutpunched back so much and it FUCKING SUCKS.
and despite that, despite the fact that my base level anxiety is SO FUCKING HIGH that i CAN BARELY FUNCTION
i am trying to be a functional person in this relationship as much as i can
and instead of getting any grace or compassion or understanding or being met even halfway, i get blamed and gaslit and manipulated and guilted and all of this passive aggression
and i’m not trying to say she’s the villain here
but it’s impossible to NOT frame it that way
bc i am fucking trying and she appears to not be trying at all
and it hurts
it hurts to feel like you’re not worth any effort
you’re not worth listening to or respecting
you’re not worth the concern or consideration
i don’t get to be a part of any decisions
and it hurts, too, every time we’re watching tv and some parent on whatever we’re watching says “you stop living your life when you have kids. everything becomes about them. you do everything for them.”
and she just goes
“YEP”
it makes me wish i was dead
i don’t understand any world where that wouldn’t make me wish that
and she does it. all the fucking time.
so i’m sure to her, me not wanting her to do things THAT ARE UNDULY RISKY AND FUCKING DEADLY DURING A FUCKING PANDEMIC somehow seems to her like a fully grown kid demanding “more” of her bc i’m “selfish”
if there was no pandemic, i would never in a million years ask her not to go (which i didn’t even DO this time) or be AS SCARED as i am rn
but i guess that doesn’t matter
no matter how many conversations we have together abt how batshit other ppl are being abt the pandemic
she still does shit like this
and it’s like
no, i’m truly alone on this
literally no one in my life is like this
my friend of 16 years, who was great to talk to, even asked me
“what’s your limit?” wrt the pandemic
and i’m like
bro i just found out i have an autoimmune disorder. also i have access to information abt covid that you don’t bc our govt and media are failing us, on purpose.
my limit is when i won’t get covid anywhere i go
my limit is ZERO RISK
and that’s not stupid. it’s not. that’s a perfectly normal healthy perspective that our government SHOULD HAVE HAD.
this is terrifying and isolating and i just don’t even know what the fuck to do.
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I saw your post re boobs and I get you — I feel fucked up about it as well. It’s not really the appearance to me at all. I actually still “prefer” this from a simple how i look in clothes standpoint. But that isn’t it either. It’s like if I had gotten a nose job. And then came to understand how bad the whole industry around that is. And the culture. Even if I still can’t fully shake (Yet) the internalized idea that made me like the body mod better … I see how people who didn’t go that path get shit for it or envy me for the change and I feel sick.
I wanna have been there alongside all the large chest women who don’t wear bras and retaliate against creeps and dress how we want — not conforming — and embrace how our bodies as they are look. I wish I had done that and I can never have done that.
This is all aside from the pain I get now. Which ironically is worse than any back pain I used to get, which was more from time to time and I suspect now that I work out a lot it wouldn’t happen so much at all. Idk.
One thing that helps me is to just be like hey I learned. We both learned. And we live and we can speak to what we learned.
Yes I agree, I don’t hate not having boobs in that I am less noticed by people and that I am not sexually harassed for them. I do like how my chest looks in clothes. I however have weird nipples. I call them my permanently hard nipple and my flat nipple. Certain materials I wear less because it makes my permanently hard nipple more obvious. I wish that I hadn’t felt like it was the only option to be treated like a human being. I hate that it feels so much so when you get harassed for it regularly.
It’s like, I understand that the female chest is neutral and natural and nothing is wrong with it. I just wish that I had realized that at the time and had surrounded myself with women who understand and agree. Instead I was surrounded my males who were super shitty and misogynistic and gross and I was tired of being excluded and othered and mocked. But I was neck deep in my own mental health bullshit so nothing was really making sense anyway. I remember hearing all the time growing up my friends being like “I wish I could have your boobs” etc etc. and I wanted to be rid of them so bad because I’d had enough. I had large boobs so there was only so well you could conceal them.
Whenever I see women considering top surgery now I always try to like…talk about it with them. I don’t try to tell them what to do I just try to talk and hopefully they realize there’s another choice. I also wish I’d have like had the courage to keep them and tell everyone to fuck off. It’s tragic to think about and I usually try not to think about it too hard because I find it very upsetting, but I really would have liked to not do it and to have found solidarity amongst other women. Like I don’t have much feeling in my chest now. Certainly none in the nipples, but around the scars sometimes hurt. Then it’s usually just nothingness. I had mine done in 2020. It hurt a lot for a while and the nerves were really sensitive. When I had boobs, the only back problems I had, “funnily” enough, was from poor posture while trying to hide them.
But yeah, I try so hard at this point not to dwell too hard on how much i wish I could change the past. I know it may not seem like it based on this but I try to just move on. What’s done is done and my boobs were incinerated years ago. I can’t change the past, I can only change the future. My wife is a great supporter of me trying to do so. It’s nice to have her there for me because I think it really helps. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be okay with what I had done to myself, but I can move past it in time and stop hating myself for it. I can try to help convince other women not to make the same decisions I did.
#op#geth-unit-157x#anonymous#detrans#detransition#mastectomy#thanks for the ask#sorry for the jumbled brain mess 😂
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𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭 ~ 𝐇.𝐋 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
Based off the prompt: “𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭. 𝐖𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬.”
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.7K
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Swearing
𝐒𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: Family always came first to you. That’s why you moved to Tokyo with your baby brother despite being miserable every single day, until you met him.
If NYC was the city that never slept then Tokyo was it’s younger sibling who was constantly trying to outdo the elder child. You ignored your younger brother who sat beside you in the taxi, leaning your head against the window and admiring the bright neon lights that stood out against the black of the sky.
No stars were visible, and the noise of the city was audible from inside the taxi, grinding against your ears. You hated it.
“Y/n.” You yanked my head from the cool glass of the window, leaving it foggy in your absence as Sean gently called your name. “We’re here.”
It was then you noticed the taxi had come to a stop, in front of a small looking building.
“This is it?” You asked, only getting a nod and sigh in response as the two of you exited the small vehicle, him sighing loudly as he picked up the bags.
You approached the door and knocked, waiting impatiently as the city air bit and nipped at your rosy red cheeks and nose.
It opened, revealing the man you recognized to be your father. You took a step back, turning the volume of the music in your ears up and letting Sean do the talking. You observed as their mouths moved, and the door closed on the two of you, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion before relaxing as it opened again.
This time he was fully clothed and a woman quickly scurried out from behind him, not giving any of you a second glance.
You pulled the earbud out, looking between your brother and father.
“Who was that?” You asked, following the two of them into the cramped building.
“A friend.” Your father responded sharply, before going over the ground rules and showing you to your rather small rooms.
The sleep was terrible that night. Unable to get comfortable on the thin mattress, and longing to be back at home in America. After all, you weren’t the child who had screwed up.
【~~~】
It took about three days for the reality of the situation you were in to settle in.
You were living in Tokyo. And you wouldn’t be returning home any time soon.
It was quite a rude shock when it finally hit you, and that’s when the tears every night started to pay visits.
You sure as hell weren’t the one who had fucked up, destroying not one but two cars, illegally racing and crashing through the frame of a house waiting to be built. No, that was Sean. But as usual you also had to pay for his mistakes and so off to Tokyo you went with him, leaving behind your friends, your family and your car.
It wasn’t like your mother was expecting you to live here forever with Sean. After all you were almost nineteen and very much so capable of making your own decisions.
She had wanted you to go with him for the first month though, not wanting him to be completely alone with no one but your father there for him, and by painting it out to be some exotic holiday she had convinced you to tag along.
It was a mistake.
Sean had started coming home later and later every night, adjusting well to life in the city. You on the other hand, had absolutely no friends, and despised your days with every fiber of your being. You had begun marking days off your calendar, counting down eagerly for the month to be over and for you to return home.
“I hate it here.” You shoveled food into your mouth, standing with your back against the counter of the kitchen as Sean absentmindedly filled a glass of water. “Why did I choose to come with you?”
“How would I know?.” He mumbled under his breath, pulling his phone out of his pocket as it buzzed.
“You know if you hadn’t been so-”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” He cut you off, rolling his eyes. “I get enough if that from Mom and Dad. Don’t need it from you too.”
His accent was far stronger than yours, and you mocked him, feeling defeated when he just rolled his eyes and turned back to his phone.
He read whatever was on the screen with a small smile on his face and nosily you leaned over, wanting to get a look.
“Fuck off.” He shoved your shoulder, still smiling.
“What’s got you looking all happy?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.
He looked at you, a mischievous smile on his lips as you waited.
“How do you feel about going out tonight?”
【~~~】
Bodies crammed together in the parking garage, all surrounding the hundreds of cars parked in the lot. The immaculate paint jobs shined in the harsh neon lights, and most of them had their hoods up and their incredible engines on display, leaving your jaw on the ground every time.
You stuck close to Sean and Twinkie, feeling safer with your younger brother and his best friend. You felt intimidated by the gorgeous women who surrounded you, not that you were there to impress anyone. You were there for the cars.
The shitty 1990 Accord you had back in the states was nothing compared to the beasts that were parked in here.
You could feel vibrations in the ground, from the music and cars and it brought a small smile to your face as you walked through the swarm of people.
Sean’s eyes were scanning the crowd intently, clearly searching for someone.
He finally located who he was after and pulled you and Twinkie in the direction, his smile growing.
“There are some people I want you to meet.”
You were introduced to some faces you knew you wouldn’t remember, a gorgeous girl named Neela being one of the few you did.
You didn’t miss the way they looked at each other, or the way her boyfriend would possessively interrupt when you were talking to her, much to her dismay.
“And finally,” Sean said as you approached a man leaning back against his car, a small smirk on his face. “The one and only, Han.”
You flicked your eyes up to meet his, ignoring the way your breath slightly hitched in your throat.
He stuck his hand out to grasp yours, and you gripped it back with the same smirk he was wearing.
“Y/n.” You introduced yourself, not missing the way his eyes slowly traveled up and down your body. “I’m sorry about what my brother did to your car.”
His eyes returned to you, a smile on his face.
“It’s fine. Plenty of others sitting in that garage.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, his smile turning into a shy grin.
“Better keep Sean away from them then.” You teased, turning to your brother only to realize he had left.
You noticed him standing by Neela again, walking around her car while her boyfriend, Takashi, watched intently from afar.
“He’s in love. Has been since he saw her.” Han rolled his eyes, popping a chip into his mouth.
“Hard to see why he wouldn’t be.” You said. “She’s beautiful. Kind. Into cars.”
“And what about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you kind? Into cars?” He asked, following your eyes to Sean and Neela.
“You forgot beautiful.” You said with a small laugh as you moved to stand next to him, leaning against the Mazda RX-7 behind you. You were praying to god it was his car, otherwise the lucky owner would probably get very, very pissed.
“Nah.” He turned his head and looked down at you. “Don’t need to ask you that to figure it out.”
A blush crept into your cheeks and you couldn’t stop the smile from appearing on your face.
“Well, usually when someone is kind they don’t run around telling others about it.” Your eyes met his again. “And I love cars.”
He grinned at you, and you turned your head to look back at Sean.
A part of you wanted to play hard to get, but the other part knew that even after only five seconds of talking to this man you were fucking done for and he knew that as well.
“And what about you?” You copied his earlier words, elaborating when you saw his confused face. “Are you kind? Into cars? Beautiful?”
“Beautiful?” He scoffed. “Sweetheart I’m a damn model.”
You let out a laugh, feeling yourself relax.
“I was kind enough to not beat your brother to death after he totaled my car.” Han joked. “And as for cars-” He gestured to the garage, full of stunning, high performance cars capable of stealing your heart in a matter of seconds. “-I probably wouldn’t be here if I didn’t like them.”
“Yeah I suppose that was obvious.” You let out a content sigh. This was the first time you had forgotten about your little countdown, and also the longest conversation you had had with someone who you weren’t related to.
The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, admiring the cars that surrounded you for a few minutes before he turned back to you again.
“What are you doing here Y/n?”
Your head turned to his, your eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Oh come on, you think Sean doesn’t gush about his amazing older sister every chance he gets?” Han rolled his eyes at you like you were stupid.
“No. I find that very hard to believe.” You let out a small laugh. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”
“Sean told me that you were eighteen, turning nineteen in a few months time. No one is forcing you to be here, in Japan.” Han explained, his dark eyes staring into yours. “And yet here you are. Living in Tokyo, miserable, because your delinquent brother couldn’t stay out of trouble in the states. Why?”
Your mouth opened, then closed, then fell open again. You turned your head away from the piercing dark eyes and glanced at your brother.
“Because that guy who destroyed your car is my baby brother. He’s the closest family I’ve got.” You watched Sean as he spoke to Neela, hearts in his eyes. “Family stick together Han. I couldn’t let him just up and leave to a brand new country, with no one but our father there for him.”
Han watched the way you spoke, feeling a warmth across his chest.
“It’s my job to protect him and be there for him, and I don’t care if I’m miserable the whole time I’m doing it. I’m going to be there.”
His jaw almost dropped as your words hit him like bricks.
“You know,” He started. “You remind me of someone I used to go way back with.”
You scoffed light-heartedly.
“How old are you?”
He just grinned. “Too old for you.”
“Well luckily for you, my age is too young for me.” You said. Despite your tone being confident your body was completely betraying you, bracing itself for rejection.
Instead he just laughed and ran a hand through his hair.
Both of your heads snapped to the right as someone called his name, and you felt your heart fall when you realized that he was probably going to leave.
He sent a quick wave to the person who called out and pushed himself off the Mazda, gazing down at you.
“You know,” He started, a shy smile creeping onto his face. “If you ever get bored during the day you should come by the garage. I think I could make it worth your time.”
You let out a small laugh.
“We’ll see.”
【~~~】
“You made friends pretty fast.” Sean said teasingly as you entered the kitchen, your hair sticking up in all kinds of directions.
“Yeah and so did you apparently.” You sent a sarcastic smile back in his direction. “Pity she’s taken.”
The smile on his face dropped instantly and he went back to his breakfast, ignoring you.
After a few minutes of silence between the two of you he spoke up again.
“So are you gonna?”
You looked up from your phone and coffee, furrowing your brows.
“Am I gonna what?”
“Swing by Han’s garage?” He had a knowing smirk on his face. “He told me all about your little conversation.”
You just shrugged casually, not wanting to let him know how you really felt inside.
“Maybe, if I have the time.”
“All you have here is time.” He scoffed. “All you’ve done for the past few days is buy food, eat it, then sleep. You may as well.”
You let out a sigh and finished what was left of your drink.
“Yeah, and for your information Sean, it’s been great.”
“You know you wanna Y/n.” He teased, a grin on his face.
“How about this,” You started. “Let me know next time you head over there. Maybe I’ll tag along.”
“Sounds good to me.” Sean said. “Especially given that I’ll be there tonight.”
Your cool demeanor dropped and your eyes widened.
“Tonight?”
“That’s what I said.” He grinned. “I’ll be sure to let him know he can look forward to seeing you there with me.”
“I’m gonna fucking kill you.” You whispered under your breath.
He just shrugged his shoulders.
“You’d be doing me a favor if it meant I’d never have to see your gross face again.”
“What are you? Five?” You asked.
“I’d say that’s about right.”
You just scoffed at him, heading back to your room.
Not that you’d ever admit it to Sean, but you were glad that he’d be heading over to the garage tonight.
You would definitely rather die than tell him that though.
【~~~】
You shut the car door behind you and stepped out into the cool evening air.
Sean had come by to pick you up after he had finished school, and you had been anxiously waiting all day.
Now you were finally here, and still very, very anxious.
“This doesn’t look like a garage to me.” You furrowed your brows, looking out at the water.
“That’s because it’s in there.” Sean pointed to the large brick building. “We’re gonna stay out the front, this is where Han’s been teaching me how to drift.”
“Oh.” You managed to get out, following your baby brother to a group of people who were all sitting down by stacks of tires.
All four faces were familiar, but you only remembered the names of two of them.
“Y/n.” Han greeted you, nodding his head with a smile as he casually held the bottle in his hand.
“Hi.” You smiled back at him, your nerves starting to melt away.
Sean gestured to the empty seat beside Han, and you took it.
The others tossed you friendly smiles which you returned, and Han looked up at Sean.
“Go get your sister a drink.” He said.
Sean did as he was asked, reaching into the cooler that had been brought along and handing you a bottle of something.
“Are you gonna have one?” You asked your brother as you opened it and took a small sip.
“Can’t drink and drive now, can I?” He smirked, digging his keys out of his pocket and heading back towards the Evo.
“Well that’s a first.” You scoffed, and you heard Han let out a small laugh beside you.
“I’m guessing the cowboy doesn’t wanna fuck up another one of Han’s cars.” Twinkie said, watching Sean as his climbed into the car and started it.
You looked over at Han.
“That’s your car?”
“Yep.” He nodded proudly, watching Sean as he started his usual route around the dock.
“How many more have you got hiding in that garage of yours?” You asked with a small laugh.
“You’ll have to come see for yourself.” He shrugged.
“Maybe.” You shrugged as well, missing the way Twinkie and the others looked back and forth at each other.
“You know,” Han started. “If you haven’t got any other plans tonight, I could take you out for a drive, grab some food. Maybe come back to the garage when everyone’s gone.” He said the last part quietly enough for only you to hear.
You looked over to Sean in the car, able to make out his face of concentration despite how far away you were from him. He wouldn’t miss you for one night.
“When do we leave?” You asked with a smile.
He grinned with a surprised laugh, and you could tell he had been expecting you to say no.
“Now, if that works for you.”
You looked back at Sean, wincing at the sound of the tires screaming against the road.
“Sounds good.”
【~~~】
The two of you had ended up getting cheap food from a side-of-the-road vendor, eating in silence in the car before making small talk about everything, from your life back in America to what kind of animals you thought you could take on in a fight.
You were laughing when you stumbled out of the RX-7 and into the cool night air, following Han into the garage which wasn’t that much warmer.
You didn’t know what you had expected when you walked into the garage, but it definitely wasn’t what you saw.
Han gestured for you to follow him up some stairs to an open second story, furnished with a small kitchen, table and chair, and living area.
“Wow.” You mumbled under your breath, realizing he must have some serious money to be able to afford all of this. Not to mention the cars in there, some of which cost more than your house, car and life savings combined.
“It’s my pride and joy.” He pointed towards the sofa, and you took a seat, sinking in to the plush material as he opened the fridge and called out to you. “You want a drink?”
“Yeah thanks.” You smiled, and he pulled out two of the same bottles you had been drinking from earlier.
He took a seat beside you, on the opposite edge of the relatively small sofa, and the two of you sat in silence for a moment, reflecting on your night, before you spoke up.
“Thank you.” You said quietly, and he looked at you in confusion. “For what you’re doing for Sean, I mean.”
“It’s not a problem.” He brushed it off. “He’s a good kid, the kinda person I want to be around.”
You let out a scoff.
“Well I wouldn’t go that far.”
He chuckled at you.
“Thank you.” He said, and this time it was your turn to be confused. “You might not realize it. but coming out here with Sean has made it so much easier for him. He probably won’t ever tell you, but he’s grateful as hell and crazy lucky to have you in his life.”
A small blush crept up onto your cheeks, and you almost didn’t notice as he crept closer towards you. Almost.
“Yeah well he’s also crazy lucky to have met you.” You said quietly, your eyes meeting his as the two of you drew closer and closer. “I am too.” You whispered.
“And why’s that?” He asked, his tone matching yours, and you swore the room got hotter by about twenty degrees.
“You’re kind,” You started, remembering back to last night when you met him. “Into cars.” You continued, and he nodded along, agreeing with you.
“You forgot beautiful.” He whispered, just inches from your face now, and you smiled cheekily.
“You’re a damn model sweetheart.”
He grinned, his eyes flicking down to your lips briefly and before you could realize what was happening his lips were on yours.
Your hands instinctively went to his hair, pulling him closer to you as you laid down flat on your back, feeling his hands roam up and down your body.
You felt butterflies erupt in your chest as your hands wandered from the back of his head, and so did your mind.
Sean’s face flashed in your mind and you inhaled sharply, pushing Han off of you and sitting up, breathing heavily.
“Shit.” You hissed, moving to the edge of the sofa and holding your head in your hands. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“What? What’s wrong?” Han asked, also breathing heavily. His tone sounded confused, and guilt racked through your body. “I’m sorry.” His voice changed to apologetic. “I thought you wanted to.”
“I do.” You whined. “I want to, but I can’t. We can’t do this.”
“Why not?” He asked, placing a hand on your thigh.
“Sean.” You turned to look him in the eyes, and his face dropped.
“Shit.” He said.
“Shit.” You agreed.
The two of you sat in silence, still trying to catch your breaths, and trying to think of a way to fix the now incredibly awkward situation.
“I think I should leave.” You said, pushing yourself up off the sofa.
“Y/n don’t go.” Han protested. “It’s the middle of the night and you’ve been drinking. Neither of us can drive and I’m not going to let you walk home or get into a taxi with some creep.”
You let out a sigh, not letting him see how the fact that he cared that much made you all warm and fuzzy inside, or how the fact that it made you all warm and fuzzy inside made you want to gag.
“What do I do then?” You asked.
“Take my bed.” He nodded towards a door that you were assuming led to his bedroom. “I’ll take the sofa.”
“No way.” You protested. “This is your home Han, you aren’t sleeping on that tiny ass sofa. I can, it’s no problem.”
His eyes looked like he wanted to argue, but he kept his mouth shut.
“Ok. I’ll go grab you some blankets.”
“Thanks.” You smiled, laying down on the sofa.
It was undeniably comfortable, and you let your eyes close before Han returned, vaguely feeling him place a thick blanket over the top of you before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, leaving you with butterflies.
Your mind started to slip out of consciousness, and you let it, forgetting about how you were sleeping in Han’s garage, and planning on being out of there before he woke up the next morning.
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Just a fun little something that took me about a week to finish writing! Hope you like it and requests are most certainly open <3
If anyone would like to be on the tag list for part 2, please let me know!
#han lue#han seoul oh#han seoul-oh#x reader#han lue imagine#han lue x reader#han seoul oh imagine#han seoul oh x reader#han seoul-oh imagine#han seoul-oh x reader#fast and furious imagine#fast and furious x reader#the fast and the furious imagine
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Continuation of Request #14?
Request #23
Warning: mentions of past rape, beliefs of oneself being unlovable/unwanted.
Honestly, at first, I wasn't sure where to go with this, but I ultimately gave it a wholesome(?) ending that I'm satisfied with. (Of course, If y'all want another continuation, I'm down to write more in the future.)
Enjoy!
Part 1
~~~~
Welp...
It was morning now.
...
A sigh left Villain's lips as they lay freshly awake in their bed, staring at the ceiling. They had to go and deal with Hero, even though they really didn't want to. They were still rather puzzled about what had happened yesterday. Why the hell...? Did Hero actually enjoy...?
Shaking their head to clear their thoughts, the villain lifted themself with a slight groan and dragged themself out of bed. Now, first things first, they were in dire need of a shower. Their nemesis' unexpected late-night visit had drained what little energy they had at the time, so they had just collapsed into bed as they were, all sweaty and gross.
Entering the bathroom and turning on the water, Villain freed themself of their clothing and hopped right in. As they rubbed shampoo into their greasy hair, they pondered how they should deal with this situation. On the one hand, they could probably use this to their advantage. They could make an arrangement of sorts. Hero gets what they want as long as they follow Villain's orders.
Lightly chuckling, they imagined the looks on their nemesis' teammates' faces as they realized the hero had betrayed them. And only to fulfill some fucked up fantasy of theirs, too.
But on the other hand, this was super weird, and the villain probably shouldn't indulge Hero. This could get out of hand very fast. After all, the hero had already snuck back into Villain's base; who knows what they might do next to get what they're after.
With another sigh, they turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and went to get dressed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Hero sat in the corner of their cell. Their arms had gotten tied behind their back, and the familiar power-suppressing collar was back on their neck. They weren't sure why they had come back. I mean, they knew why they came back, but they also... didn't.
It was such a stupid idea. Of course, Villain would freak out! Why the hell did the hero think they would react any other way?! What was wrong with them? Why did- Why did Hero enjoy being used like that...?
Were they into all that shit, or were they just... really that desperate for contact?
...
Hero couldn't deny that they did, in fact, enjoy being at the villain's mercy, but... physical contact was still their main desire. Even during their fights, they often let themself get pinned down, just so that they could be close to someone, even if only for a short moment. And Villain... Villain just happened to be the one person who willingly got closer to them...
...
Maybe they were just sick in the head... People probably avoided them for a reason... Villain didn't care about them; they were enemies after all. They only got close to the hero because they were fighting. It made sense, didn't it...? It made sense that Hero was unwanted-
The door suddenly creaked open, and light flooded the small room, blinding the hero for a moment. They blinked their eyes a couple of times to adjust, and once they did, their gaze met with the dark form of their nemesis.
With their arms crossed and a stern calculating look on their face, the villain stood before them, looking down at them. Hero fidgeted nervously under their stare and eventually looked away, head hanging low in their shame. The sigh that left Villain only made them curl in on themself more.
"Hero." - the criminal started, mentally preparing for one hell of a ride. "Why did you come back? I mean, you told me why, but- but why?"
Silence was all they received as an answer, and it honestly got on their nerves a bit. Hero fucking breaks back into their base and then doesn't even want to talk? Fine. They would do this a different way then.
Villain's footsteps echoed through the cell as they approached the quiet hero whose face still turned away from them. As they knelt down, they grabbed the other's chin and forced them to turn their head. The villain noticed the way Hero shivered from their touch and had expected them to try and pull away in fright, but instead, they leaned into it, albeit a bit hesitantly.
With how cold it was in the room, the villain could easily feel how hot the captured's face burned. As their eyes met, the hero looked embarrassed and like they seriously didn't want to be here right now. The sight just made Villain's blood boil even more.
"Why so hesitant all of a sudden, Hero? You were so eager earlier." - the villain spat out angrily, their nemesis' indecisiveness irritating them. Just what the hell did they want?
Hero tried to stutter out an answer. They wanted to explain themself, they really did! But all they managed to say was a quiet "I-I'm sorry..." as tears slowly gathered in their eyes.
"You're sorry?" - Villain pressed, demanding a better answer.
Tensing up as their stomach twisted in their stress, they tried to explain again, voice meek as they admitted, "I- I was just... lonely..."
Their captor was quiet for a moment, studying their face. Trying to figure the other out, they eventually asked, "You let me rape you because you were lonely?"
"Um... Well... when you... put it that way... I... um..." - the hero mumbled, their gaze darting all over Villain's face, avoiding their eyes, too afraid to look into them.
The villain was silent again, slowly catching onto what Hero's deal was. The way the other's eyes were moving all around was annoying, so they decided to test something. Using their free hand, Villain softly cradled the hero's face, making them freeze, their gaze locked on the new point of contact. The criminal's touch slowly glided to the back of Hero's head, making them shudder as their hand tangled itself in the captured's hair.
The hero's eyes looked off to the side, trying to ignore the new feeling, but Villain brought them back to attention as they suddenly gripped Hero's messy locks and roughly pulled, getting a yelp out of them. They shivered as the villain forced their faces closer and ordered, "Look me in the eyes, or I'm leaving."
With a small whine, Hero's eyes immediately snapped to Villain's own.
"Bingo." - the criminal thought as they loosened their grip on the other's hair and instead tenderly began to massage their scalp.
As another whimper crawled out of the hero's throat, they pleaded meekly, "S-Stop... Y-You- You d-don't-"
"You're touch starved." - Villain said, matter-of-factly, anger disappearing as their expression turned more neutral as Hero's tears started to flow down their face. "You let me hurt you because it meant I would touch you."
"I- I- I'm-" - the hero tried to deny their nemesis' words but ultimately failed as they broke down into sobs, still looking into the other's eyes, not wanting them to pull away.
The villain paused in their petting and instead cradled Hero's face with both their hands, the hero inhaling shakily at the feeling. As they hiccuped and sniffled, Villain continued their conversation.
"I admit, seeing you under me is fun, but you seriously need some help." - the criminal watched as Hero only cried more, still desperately keeping eye contact. They really needed help. I mean, to just let themself get raped? They could've just told Villain what they wanted, and they would've let them go!
And yeah, sure, the villain wasn't the best for doing that to them in the first place either, but they only did it because it was Hero. Raping some random person is of no interest to Villain, but the hero? They knew what they were signing up for when they picked this job, so the villain didn't mind being ruthless to them.
But still... this was... honestly just sad. Did Hero genuinely have no one who cared about them? Villain supposed they had fans, but that wasn't really the same thing. Someone liking them as a hero is a lot different than someone loving them as a person.
...
Did... Villain like them?
...
They didn't exactly hate them, but were they interested in the other like that?
...
Well, they did tell their henchmen to put Hero in that... revealing outfit...
It was mostly just to humiliate the hero, but...
...
Shit.
...
With a small sigh, they made their decision and continued talking from earlier. "And I'm gonna be the one to get you that help, 'cause God knows you won't get it yourself."
"W-Wha...?" - Hero's confusion made them pause their crying. What- What did Villain...
"W-What do y-you mean?"
"You're staying with me."
Hero's chest fluttered at that. Villain... wasn't going to push them away?
"R-Really...?" - the hero asked uncertainly, doubt still gripping at their heart.
With a smile that melted their worries away, the villain answered, "Yes, really. We'll get some oxytocin going in that brain of yours." They gave Hero's forehead a gentle boop for emphasis, and the hero found it oddly comforting.
"Also, we're getting you a therapist." - Villain added, more seriously this time. "And... you know what? Fuck it. I'm getting myself a therapist too. Got some shit of my own to deal with..."
In a slightly better mood, Hero playfully asked, "B-By 'get' do you mean you'll literally g-go and grab some therapists?"
The villain snorted in reply, and as they pulled the hero to their feet, they said, "For you? I'd kidnap a therapist any day, darling~."
The blush on Hero's face only worsened at the nickname, but they still found themself smiling, a bit giddy. As Villain undid their restraints, they rubbed at their wrists and neck, shyly looking to the other. "S-So, what now?"
"Now, we're going to go and have breakfast." - the villain answered, offering the hero their arm, which they flusteredly took as their stomach grumbled and as Villain grinned at them endearingly.
As the two of them walked, they talked about how exactly to proceed from here. Neither of them was of a very... healthy mindset, and such, this relationship probably wasn't the healthiest one out there. But... that was fine. They would get there someday.
If no one else would help them, then they would help each other.
#hero x villain#villain x hero#writing#writeblr#hero#villain#short story#prompt#writing prompt#request#request prompts#prompt request#hero x villain community#writing community
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seattle worries
a/n: it was about time i wrote for the toothless love of our lives mr erik johnson. im still mad at him for waiving his nmc even though people saw it coming so i wrote this while at work and because im in a slump. enjoy. gender neutral reader
pairing: erik johnson x reader
word count: 1.5k+
warnings: mentions of pandemic, a few swears, expansion draft
disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and real person fiction if you don’t like that, please don’t read! this lovely gif is not mine! credit to the wonderful gif-maker
You and Erik had been dating for about 2 years now and things could not have been better. The two of you had been set up by a mutual friend after the Avalanche were eliminated from playoff contention. EJ was a natural charmer and swept you off your feet, despite any nerves he felt that night.
Then a pandemic hit and Erik decided that you should move in. In case we have to repopulate the Earth, you know, he joked, but he was serious about his proposition. Your friends all gave you skepticism when you accepted; after all, you were moving in with a man, a professional athlete at that, after less than a year of dating. But you knew it was the right decision. Even when Erik went to the Edmonton bubble, you never felt lonely because you were in the space you shared with him, the space you knew he’d come back to.
Now, a year later and your relationship had been through injuries, an infectious disease, and hectic NHL life. You honestly thought nothing could break you.
Until now.
You were seething. How couldn’t he have told you? Sure, he could be a dumbass sometimes but he’d have to be a whole ‘nother kind of stupid to think you wouldn’t find out.
The thud of his hockey bag and the clang of his keys hitting the trinket dish on the hall table shook you from your thoughts. He walked into the kitchen, where you stood with your hands gripping the counter, with a smile on his face that quickly disappeared when he saw the scowl on your face.
“Hey baby…” His voice was hesitant, obviously testing the waters.
“How could you not tell me?” Your eyes were set, your jaw hard, and you could feel the tension in your shoulders. He sighed but didn’t say anything. “How could you not tell me you waived your no movement clause Erik? I found out from fucking SportsNet!”
“Look, I was going to tell you-”
“When?! You couldn’t find a good time to talk about how you might throw away your life here in the past two months?!”
“That’s not fair! No one ever said anything about throwing my life here away.” His voice raised but you didn’t back down, not with the way your cheeks were hot with anger.
“Oh, so you just expect me to drop my life here to go live in Seattle? Because your career is more important than mine?”
“I never said that! God, I hate it when you put words in my mouth!”
“Well, I hate it when my boyfriend doesn’t consult me on something that affects us both!”
“Why are you so angry about this? Nothing’s happened yet, they might not even take me!”
You scoffed at him, but it came out breathy because of the tears welling in your eyes. “I’m upset because it feels like you aren’t even considering us in your career. Like you don’t care how this affects me too. Like you don’t even notice you’re throwing us away.” Your voice cracked at the end, tears falling from your eyes. You turned away from Erik in an attempt to hide your emotions but he knew. He knew from the way you hunched your shoulders and the way you shut your eyes, you were crying.
Slowly, he came towards you, his step gentle. His arms around you were like glass until you clung to his shirt; then they became like a warm blanket- all encompassing and familiar. Sobs racked through your body and he traced his hand up and down your back. He placed a kiss on the top of your head lightly before smoothing your hair, trying to soothe you. When you finally calmed down, with only hiccups left, he took your face in his hands, wiping away the tear stains off your cheeks.
“Who said anything about me throwing us away? Hmm?” He spoke softly as if he was trying not to frighten a calf. When you didn’t answer him or meet his eyes, he bent down to your level, meeting your weary eyes and repeated his question. When you stayed silent, he kissed your forehead before placing his own against yours.
“I’m not throwing us away, okay? I’m not. Even if you think I am, I promise you I’m not. You’re stuck with me, okay? You got it? I’m not leaving you,”
“But what if Seattle-”
“If. If, baby. It’s not set in stone, it’s an if. A possibility. Joe doesn’t even think they’ll take me. Waiving my contract meant they could protect another D. I haven’t played in practically a season, Seattle probably won’t want me.”
“Probably. Meaning there’s a chance they do want you,”
“There’s also a chance I get hit with a car tomorrow, or that it starts snowing in July.” When that didn’t crack a smile from you, he sighed. “I don’t know what’s going to happen and I wish I did and I wish I could guarantee I stay here but I can’t. But I can guarantee that I’m not giving up on us, even if I go somewhere else,” He ended with a soft smile but furrowed his eyebrows when he saw your eyes go hard again.
“So you’d still expect me to go with you then?” You broke away from his embrace. “To pack up everything I’ve ever known just because you waived your contract?” You shook your head and started off towards your bedroom.
“What, no! No! Baby, c’mon,” He grabbed your hand and turned you to face him. “I don’t expect you to change your whole life for me. I know your job and your friends and your life here is important to you. But I do expect you to have a little bit more faith in me, in us, that we’d figure it out.” He sighed again and dropped your hand to run his hands through his hair.
“Look, hypothetically, hypothetically, if Seattle took me, I only have a year left on my contract. After that, I can decide where I want to go. So it’d be one year, not even, just one season where we’d have to do long distance if you don’t want to move. We could do that. I know we could. And… I’m not as young as I used to be. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to play. And so when that day comes, I can be wherever you are. I don’t care if it’s Milwaukee, Hawaii, Seattle, or here. I want to be wherever you are, even if it means we do 8 months apart. I’ll do 8 months apart if it means the rest of our lives together.”
The two of you stood there in the hallway, silent, contemplating what was said. Even though you had lived together for a year now, this was your first major fight. And your first real glimpse into your future. Sure, you’d mentioned in passing getting a dog or a house with an acreage for his horses, but it was all in passing. EJ was a joker and although he makes you laugh like no other, he isn’t the kind of guy to get serious too often.
“You want forever with me?”
“Fuck yeah, baby. You’re it for me. And you have for a while now.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me you were waiving your clause?” You were pleading with him at this point, your eyes searching his for any sort of answer.
“I didn’t want you to freak out, which based on tonight, was fair enough on my end. And seriously, Joe doesn’t think they’ll take me. I’m old and injury prone. But Sammy isn’t. And we need Sammy. It was for the good of the team. And if I told you, you would’ve tried to talk me out of it.” He shrugged. “But I’d already made up my mind.” He reached out to take your hands again, his thumbs rubbing your thumb knuckles. “It wasn’t against you. I didn’t tell anyone I was waiving it until it was done,” You were silent as he continued to caress your hands.
“I want forever with you too, you know?”
His eyes sifted and his signature goofy grin made its way into his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You looked up at him and squeezed his hands. “Even when you’re being stupid and leave me in the dark,”
“Well then I’m a very lucky man,” He pressed his lips to your cheek in a sloppy kiss which pulled a smile from you. His smile grew wider in triumph. “There’s the smile I know and love. C’mon, let’s go to bed, yeah?” You nodded and kept your hands intertwined as he led you to the bedroom. The two of you slowly got ready for bed, EJ slipping under the covers first. He opened the blanket for you, and you turned off the light before finding you spot cuddled into his side, your head resting on his chest. His hand ran over your hair, whether to soothe you or him, you weren’t sure.
“I love you. And nothing, not even Seattle, will ever change that.” He whispered into the dark room.
“I know.” You pressed a light kiss to his chest and laid your head back down. “I love you too.”
“Whatever happens, it’s me and you babe. I promise.” He kissed the top of your head and slowly you both fell asleep, his promise of the future lulling you into a peaceful slumber.
let me know what you think! thanks for reading!
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#erik johnson#erik johnson imagine#nhl imagine#erik johnson fic#nhl fic#colorado avalanche imagine#nhl x reader#hockey imagine#hockey fic#abby writes
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Friends Don't Lie Ch. 1
Pairing: Jungwon x reader
Warnings for this chapter: underage drinking and smoking, mention of porn
Chapter word count: 2k
Based on: Stranger Things
Sunoo
“Can we play please?” Sunoo pleads, tugging at Sunghoon's sleeve.
“No, you’re not a baby.” he rolls his eyes.
“Who said d and d was for babies?” Sunoo scoffs and plops onto the couch.
“Everyone,” Jay says while trying on one of Jungwon’s jackets. “Even Niki doesn’t play anymore.”
Sunoo groans. “You guys are boring.”
“I’ll play with you.” Jake ruffles his hair.
“We need at least four people.” he whines.
“You guys play, we’re gonna go to the drive-in.” Niki says.
“And do what? Makeout with people and get gonorrhea?”
“That’s not how STDs work, dumbass.” Jay laughs.
“Whatever,” Sunoo rolls his eyes again.
“It’ll be fun man, just come with us.” Jungwon grabs at his arm. “Plus you like scary movies.”
“It’s Videorome, isn’t that movie about porn?” Sunoo frowns.
“Just come,” Jungwon begs. “I’m gonna be the only one without a chick, you have to keep me company.”
“I’m just gonna go home, Heeseung hyung will be mad if I stay out.” Sunoo stands up and slings his backpack over his shoulder.
“You gonna bike home?” Jake asks while spritzing cologne on his neck.
“Yeah, I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” Sunoo says while making his way up the basement stairs.
“See you.”
“Bye Ddeonu.” Jay teases.
Sunoo walks by Mrs. Yang who’s cleaning up the kitchen.
“Bye Mrs. Yang, thank you for dinner, it was delicious.” he smiles at her.
“Of course Sunoo-shi, are you going home now? I thought you boys were going to the drive in?”
He shrugs. “Yeah but I figured I should go home so that my hyung doesn’t worry.”
She smiles and pats his head. “Such a sweet boy, tell him I said hi alright?”
He nods and heads out the door.
It’s pitch black out and the air feels dry.
Sunoo mounts his bike and starts to peddle home, but something moving in the corner of his eye catches his attention.
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Jungwon
Jungwon feels bad. He hates feeling this way. It’s eating at his conscience.
“Why are you guys so mean to Sunoo?” Jungwon says while steering his Camaro.
“What are you talking about?” Jay lights a cigarette and Jungwon slaps it out of his hand.
“Don’t smoke in here, my mom will kill me.” he scolds.
Jay rolls his eyes and throws it out the window.
“It’s just our way of showing affection.” Sunghoon says with Niki sitting on his lap. The car doesn’t have nearly enough seats to fit all of them, but they make it work.
“You need help if you think that’s what affection is.” Jungwon grumbles.
Jake shakes his shoulder. “Loosen up Jungwon, he knows we love him.”
“I hope.” he replies.
Jungwon always wishes he could be nicer to Sunoo. Everytime he sees him he thinks, I should compliment Sunoo or tell him that I appreciate him. But he never does and he hates himself for it.
Jungwon parks in their usual spot.
“I’m gonna go try to con us some beers.” Jay says before hopping out the car.
“Don’t get arrested.” Sunghoon jokes.
Jake rolls down the window to chat with the girls next to them.
Jungwon slumps into his seat. Something feels wrong. They go to the drive in all the time, but something feels off. Everything feels, sounds, and smells the same. But there’s a tinge of pain in Jungwon’s heart. Maybe Jay’s cigs are starting to get to me, he thinks, but he knows that he’s lying to himself.
“Can you just go to her car?” Sunghoon groans. “We exist too you know?”
“Fine,” Jake opens to car door and merrily makes his way to her Ford.
Jay comes jogging up to the car with two cans of beer in each hand. “I am incredible.”
“Indeed you are.” Sunghoon reaches out for one. Niki does too but Jay pulls his hand away.
“No way man.” Jay chuckles and Niki groans.
“I’m literally taller than you.”
“And I weigh more,” Jay says. “No beer until you’re seventeen.”
Jay hands Jungwon a can and he reluctantly cracks it open. He never liked beer but he figured he needed it today.
He lets the bitter substance go down his throat. He holds his breath before swallowing so that he can’t taste it.
Jungwon watches the movie in a daze. The alcohol has gone to his head and everything feels calmer despite the gore being displayed on the screen.
“Shit, it’s eleven thirty.” Jake says. “I’ll drive us home, you’re all too drunk.”
“I can drive.” Jungwon insists.
“No you can’t.” Jake pulls him up by the arms and guides him to the backseat.
Jungwon rests his head on his hand as Jake drops everyone off.
“Alright get up Won, we’re here.” Jake parks the Camaro in the driveway.
“I’m tired.” Jungwon whines and gets up sluggishly.
“You’re such a lightweight.” Jake chuckles and helps him to the door. “Get to your room before your parents see you.”
“Roger that.” Jungwon mumbles and tries to sober up before heading through the door.
The stairs moan underneath his feet as he quietly climbs them. He can hear Jooyoung chatting on the phone as he walks to his room.
He changes into pajamas and heads to the bathroom. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are half open.
“Damn, I am a lightweight.” he says while observing his face in the mirror.
He splashes water on his face and rakes his hands through his hair.
The bathroom light flickers. He furrows his brow.
“I thought dad fixed that last week.”
He washes up quietly and knocks on Jooyoung’s door.
“What?” she calls out.
He creaks the door open. “Don’t be on the phone for too long noona, mom will get mad.”
She rolls her eyes. “She doesn’t need to know, don’t be a snitch.”
“I never am.” he sighs and closes the door.
He climbs into bed and turns to look at the photo on his nightstand. It’s him and the gang at seventh grade graduation.
Jay is smiling big and towering over the rest of them. He was always the tallest among them and Jungwon was dead jealous.
Jake’s arm is slung around Jungwon and Jungwon’s arm is around little Sunoo. Sunoo’s smile is bright and cute. His suit jacket is too big for him, he probably borrowed it from Heeseung.
Jungwon still remembers the day he and Sunoo met. It was the first day of kindergarten. Sunoo was alone on the swing set, staring at his feet. Jungwon had a few friends that he met in preschool but he wondered what the harm was to have one more. He asked Sunoo if he wanted to be friends. It was the best decision he ever made.
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“Breakfast!” Jungwon’s mom calls out as he pulls on a striped polo.
He skips down the stairs and sits down at the dining table.
“Have you seen Sunoo? Heeseung called this morning.” Mrs. Yang says while handing him a plate of waffles, bacon, and eggs.
“No, I thought he biked home.” Jungwon cocks a brow while pouring syrup over all of his food.
“That’s disgusting.” Jooyoung remarks while taking a seat next to him.
“Your face is disgusting.” he jeers.
“Well make sure he’s at school today okay? Heeseung sounded really worried.” Mrs. Yang sits down next to her husband.
“Does he think he got kidnapped or something? As if anyone would want him.” Jooyoung snickers.
“Fuck off, that’s not funny.” Jungwon says.
“Language.” Mr. Yang says sternly.
“She’s being an ass.” Jungwon rolls his eyes.
“What did you just call me?” Jooyoung’s head snaps towards him.
“Whatever.” he dismisses her.
She shoves his shoulder. “No, say it again.”
“Stop it! Both of you!” Mrs. Yang yells. “Can we not have one peaceful breakfast?”
“I can, I don’t know about her though.” Jungwon grumbles.
“I’ll kill you.” Jooyoung grits her teeth.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Jungwon replies.
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Sunoo’s not at school.
“Do you think he’s sick or something?” Jake wonders.
“That doesn’t make sense though, his mom said he never came home last night.” Jungwon chews on his pencil.
“Maybe he went to someone’s house.” Jay suggests and Jungwon gives him a look.
“Who’s house would he have gone to? We’re his only friends.”
Jay shrugs. “Maybe he has a secret lover.”
Sunghoon chuckles.
“Why aren’t you guys taking this seriously? Something could have happened.” Jungwon crosses his arms.
“I’m sure he’s fine. Nothing bad ever happens in this shit town anyway.” Jake says right as Mr. Jones walks into the classroom.
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Jungwons heart drops further and further into his stomach as the day goes on with no sign of Sunoo.
The boys are playing basketball during p.e when Principal Coleman and a policeman walk into the gym.
“I wonder who’s weed they found.” Jay jokes but his smile diminishes as the two men approach them.
“Gentlemen we need to speak to you,” Principal Coleman says, “outside that is.”
They all give each other nervous looks but follow suit. Jungwon can feel eyes on his back as he makes his way out of the door.
“Do you know what route Sunoo takes to get home?” the chief says. He towers over them and his biceps look the same width as Jungwon's thighs.
“Yeah, he takes Mirkwood.” Jungwon replies quickly.
“Don’t fucking call it that anymore.” Jay rolls his eyes.
“What the hell is Mirkwood?” the man says and crosses his arms. “Stop messing around, this is serious.”
“It’s where Cornwallis and Kerley meet.” Jake says.
“Why do you call it Mirkwood?” the cop says, unimpressed.
“It’s from The Hobbit.” Jungwon says and Jay shoves his shoulder.
“What? I’m just telling the truth.” Jungwon exclaims.
“So what happened to Sunoo?” Sunghoon says plainly. “Where is he?”
“We’re not sure, he’s probably at his Dad’s-”
“Why would he go there, his dad’s a cock.” Jay argues.
“His dad sucks.” Sunghoon says under his breath.
“Enough, let me do my job alright?” the cop says, exasperated.
“We can help look for him, we know all the places he likes to go.” Jungwon says with hopeful eyes and Niki nods.
“Yeah, we can help.” Jake says.
“No,” the cop shakes his head. “After school you are all to go home, and if I see any of you searching around, I’ll have you in shackles. Is that clear?”
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“We have to.”
“What if we get caught?”
“Then we run.” Jay says while packing a backpack of supplies.
“You think we can out run him?” Jungwon gets up and pulls a jacket on.
“Of course we can, that dude was huge.” Niki says while chugging down a Coke.
“Don’t drink that,” Sunghoon tsks. “You’ll have to pee.”
“I’ll just piss in the woods.” Niki rebuttals.
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The sun had set an hour ago and the stars were twinkling bright.
“Where are you boys going?” Mrs. Yang asks while watching tv on the couch.
“Party.” Jungwon says quickly.
“With backpacks?” She raises an eyebrow.
“Uhm, yeah.” Jungwon nods and she giggles.
“You’re not a good liar Jungwon-ah. Have fun, don’t be stupid out there.” she says and they happily head out the door.
Jungwon drives to Mirkwood with his headlights off. He couldn’t risk getting caught, that cop scared the shit of him.
“There’s a barricade.” Jake says quietly.
“Yeah,” Sunghoon says while getting out of the car, pulling his flashlight out of his backpack.
“Shit, it’s raining.” Jay wipes a raindrop off of his cheek.
Jungwon takes his flashlight out and pulls his hood over his head.
They hop over the blockade and venture into the dense woods.
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It’s pouring at this point and their hoods are only making things worse.
They can’t even hear their footsteps over the sound of crashing rain.
“What are we supposed to be looking for?” Jake asks.
“Anything, his bike, his jacket, him.” Jay says.
Jungwon was starting to regret this decision. They’ve been walking for what seemed like hours with no clue of Sunoo.
“Maybe we should turn back,” Jungwon says. “This isn’t working.”
“No,” Jay says. “We need to keep looking, cops miss shit all the time.”
“Hold on hold on,” Jake stops in his tracks.
“What?” everyone asks.
“Shut up, do you hear that?” he says and they all try to open their ears. There’s rustling coming from ahead. Something is coming towards them.
“Fuck.” Jungwon whispers and grabs onto Jay's arm.
They all lift their flashlights to find a human in nothing but an oversized yellow shirt, breathing heavily and squinting from the lights blinding their eyes.
#enhypen fic#enhypen angst#enhypen fluff#enhypen x reader#Jungwon x reader#Jungwon angst#Jungwon fluff#enhypen imagines
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Filterless
Corpse Husband x Plus-sized Reader (Female)
Warnings: Body Image Insecurities, Low self-esteem, Swearing
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)
Summary: Feeling comfortable in her skin has hardly ever been the case for Y/N who’s been struggling with body image issues all her life. However, they only get worse when she sees the ‘type’ of girls her crush is into.
Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your request (hits close to home 😅) I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to fulfill it and post it but here it finally is and if you’ve stuck around long enough to read it, I hope you enjoy! ALSO! - Never forget how beautiful and amazing you are. Never compare your beauty to someone else’s. We’re all beautiful people and we all shine so brightly and uniquely. No one deserves to be compared to anyone when we’re all so different yet so incredible. Love you and appreciate you with all my heart, Vy ❤
If I ever need my ego taken down a few notches - it never does, it’s barely even present, to be honest - all I have to do is go on Instagram. To be honest, regardless of how I’m feeling, opening that app is bound to make my mood plummet and come crashing into the ground so hard it drives a hole in it - probably in the form of a broken heart.
Being a content creator myself, I often get asked questions about my absence on that social platform specifically. I mean, the questions are based and rational I guess, considering I’m not a faceless YouTuber and yet my Instagram account is void of any photos. It’s not like I don’t post at all - I do! I post on my story often but it’s more often than not scenery I find pretty or a poster I’ve made for a movie/video game. Bottom line is: I barely ever allow a picture of me to make it online. The most my fans are ever gonna get of me is a selfie which is also a super rare occurrence because of how long it takes me to take and choose one I don’t hate.
Ok, but how am I supposed to find the motivation to post any sort of picture of myself when on my timeline I’m always faced with people worthy of posting pictures of themselves. People with such perfect bodies and beautiful faces. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not jealous or envious of those people - good for them! They know what they’re working with and they’re working it well. I have nothing against them, in fact, I love seeing people proud of their bodies no matter their size, shape or weight. Those are my role-models: people who are proud of themselves, their bodies, their attributes and capabilities and don’t hesitate to show them off. Those are the people I look up to but, deep down inside I know I’ll never be like.
Insecure about my body, having been referred to as ‘chubby’ and ‘squishy’ all my life. Inappreciative of the stuff I do: starting from my job as a graphic designer leading towards my job on YouTube - nothing I do, professionally or otherwise, satisfies me. Nothing I do is enough in my eyes because I feel incapable of ever being able to do enough. I’ve been called lazy and a half-asser a few too many times to be able to brush it off as a meaningless insult.
With these problems I’ve had with myself and my own perception of who I am and the work I do, I’ve never had the time for romance or romantic relationships. I second-guess the intentions of everyone who ever shows any interest in me because in my mind I’m nothing special and I have nothing to offer - nothing attractive or likable at least. That being said, I haven’t even been one to make heart eyes at others either. I busy myself with my job and some side-gigs, brushing off any relationship questions with the excuse that I’m ‘just too busy to be in a relationship’ which is technically true.
Having spent twenty plus years with that mindset, one can imagine how surprised I was when I found myself catching feelings for someone. And that someone just couldn’t be any other than the biggest YouTube sensation at the moment - Corpse Husband.
I’m close friends with Poki - her and I were roommates at one point too - so her inviting me to play Among Us with them wasn’t so strange. One or two games, I thought, nothing unusual there, just friendly curtesy. I wasn’t expecting to warm up to the group of famous streamers nor did I expect them to welcome me among them so easily, mostly because my channel is so small and practically invisible to the YouTube algorithm. But soon enough, I became a permanent member of the team, making friends with every single one of those YouTubers I practically thought of a celebrities.
This journey of branching out to other content creators has proven itself to be surprisingly pleasant and has packed my book of friendships to the brim. All of that came unexpectedly, along with a wave of new subs and a higher view count. However, as I mentioned, it hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows.
I came to finally understand what my high school friends were talking about when they were head over heels for a boy - the butterflies in the stomach whenever he speaks your name; the importance of the laugh you share with him, how special and different it is; how cool it is to be impostors with him - ok they never said that, obviously, but it’s what I have as a substitute to the ‘when the two of you make eye-contact’ bullshit since Corpse and I have never seen each other in person. That is, of course, because of him being a faceless YouTuber and me being a self-conscious and insecure girl.
We do talk all the time though - texting, calling, chilling on Discord, you name it. Our conversations range from deeply philosophical to ones that might mislead someone into thinking we’re high. There’s no topic we haven’t touched upon and yet we still manage to find something new to talk about. We have plenty of similarities but we also never seem to run out of differences we slowly come across as we keep getting to know each other better and better.
And somewhere along that journey I ended up catching feelings.
Human nature of wanting to connect with other people, I curse you for what you’ve done to me.
You might think I’m being overdramatic about the whole ordeal and that this is just a normal, natural occurrence many people experience in their life - some even daily. Well, not only am I far from used to it, but it’s also taking a toll of a different kind on me.
It’s like a constant slap to the face.
That slap turned into a punch when Corpse and I started following each other on Instagram and I started getting daily reminders of how out of my depth I am with this crush on him. In over my head, especially when you look at all those girls whose pics and videos he reposts on his story. Imagine how that makes me feel, what that does to me - puts me back into the ‘Constantly not good enough‘ basket, the one I’ve been fighting to get out of all my life.
In the past and in different contexts I could easily say that it was all just my mind hating me intensely but now - now that I know for a fact I’m not good enough and don’t fit Corpse’s criteria - it hurts ten times as much. I’m not one to do shit for someone’s attention or to attract someone’s eyes, but it really hurts my feelings. Often times, it also leads me to doing dumb things and making rash decisions.
Like the one I made two days ago.
Imagine me cringing and shaking my head at my own stupidity as I admit this: I, in a frenzy, ordered a whole e-girl getup with overnight delivery.
Wait, hold up, it gets worse.
I received it yesterday and spent the whole day regretting that decision, but then, in my most insecure hours - which was somewhere around midnight - I equipped the get-up, took a picture and posted it on my Instagram page. First full body pic I’ve ever posted on there. First pic I’ve posted there of any kind. There to stay, not to be gone in twenty four hours. First pic, and it’s not even of me. It’s of who I want to be in order to fit someone’s criteria. And that fucking stings.
As you might imagine, I’ve spent today’s day regretting that decision as well. Recently my mood’s been nothing but regretting rash decisions that have surfaced under the influence of my ridiculous, constantly-present insecurities. And I would’ve probably gotten over it rather quickly had I not received a message from Corpse that read:
“Didn’t think of you with an e-girl aesthetic“
I didn’t open the message, I peeped at it as it was a notification on my lock screen. It’s still there, an unread notification. It’s been two hours since I received it and I cannot think of a single thing to say in response to that.
Truth is, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of so many things right now.
I’m afraid of becoming that girl in the photo, cause I’m most definitely not her.
I’m afraid of letting Corpse down by admitting I’m not her.
I’m afraid of what my own mind has made me do because it hates me so much and I’m terrified of what it might do in the future.
I’m afraid and stranded on things to do.
You can’t be her forever, you know. Being her won’t make your insecurities go away, it’ll only make them worse. Haven’t you learned that by now?
I sigh, frustrated and irritated with myself as I grab my phone and tap on the notification, finally deciding to face the music and allow my instincts to carry me through the interaction. Improvisation, that’s one of the few things I’m good at. Let’s hope it doesn’t fail me.
I’m just about to type out my response - not sure what it’s gonna say - when I give the message Corpse has sent me a second glance.
I furrow my brows, finding there’s more to it than that peep through the notification let me see.
“Didn’t think of you with an e-girl aesthetic. You’re personality is so bright and colorful, I could’ve never imagined you were into the darks and blacks“
Because I’m not
I fail to realize until the message has been sent that my thoughts are exactly what I typed out and sent.
And honestly, I’m glad. It feels like I’ve spoken my truth, like I’ve lifted a huge boulder off my chest.
With that rare confidence in mind I go on and delete the picture.
In its spot, I post a picture I just now took - a mirror selfie in my homey get-up consisting of hot pink sweatpants and an oversized blue tee, my hair in a messy bun, my face free of make-up.
I caption it: ‘Oops, had the e-girl filter on for the last one. This is filterless me tho so...Hi 🥴’
A lot better, I’m surprised to hear my inner voice say. I hope I don’t get used to all this kindness on my brain’s part, probably won’t last, but damn if I don’t milk every second of it.
Just then, I receive a new message from non other than Corpse.
“Now that’s the girl I see when I think of you. She’s super cute 😉“
My, oh my, who would’ve guessed Corpse has a game like that - and by that I mean the ability to make me blush so intensely with only a text message.
Now ain’t that better than being someone else, Y/N?
It sure is, it sure is.
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Titan!Eren x reader (sort of) Ain’t SFW
This fic is in part dedicated to @ererokii who wrote about that titan tongue and sent my mind into making this. You are responsible.
Anime: Shingeki no Kyojin
“WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO FUCK EREN���S TITAN?”
It was still barely the crack of dawn, before the sun was visible in the sky, before you had finished fastening the straps on your uniform, before the birds had even fully woken up.
Yet your door was flung open slamming back against the wall with enough force to wake up anyone who was still smart enough to be unconscious.
“Good morning Commander Hanji, how are you this morning Commander Hanji?” You calmly continued buttoning your shirt while she waved off your snark with a look of undampened enthusiasm across her face.
Something that would surely put fear into some unlucky souls today, and it seems you should be the first one of them.
“Yes, yes, good morning, it’s morning?” She walked in the room past you to pace in the center of the room, mumbling in thought with gears almost visibly turning in her head.
“Doesn’t matter! This is important, it could be a breakthrough in understanding titan shifters and priceless knowledge to use against them.”
You had slipped on your jacket and tried to brace yourself when she turns back to you, eyes shining with glee.
“So will you do it? Will you fuck his titan? I would gladly participate in this experiment myself but Moblit says “That would be inappropriate” and “honestly rather disturbing” and “an invasion of privacy on the highest levels.” She rolled her eyes mocking Moblit’s words with air quotes.
“Well, Commander, no disrespect but as his titan form has no genitals and his tongue’s as thick as a pig, no.”
She deadpanned, face falling flat and starring at you sharply. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’ve never done anything nasty with those 15 meters.”
“I-”
“Exactly! So you’ll do it?” There was no arguing with her plans, there never was.
“You know, some of the stuff you come up with is really intrusive Commander.”
“I’ve been told that many times!” She grabbed your wrist and was tugged you along with her down the hallway.
_____
You stood beside the Commander in a small clearing, 3DMG prepped and ready, staring up at Eren’s titan form that awaited “A fantastic new experiment!” as far as he knew.
“So you want me to slice open his neck, crawl inside, and start jacking him off?”
Hanji was practically vibrating in excitement, gripping her notes clipboard tight enough you think it would break soon.
Moblit was called to help transcribe the coming events but was standing off to the side looking like he’d rather Eren step on him.
The titan looked down towards you and huffed through his nose in question.
“Yes! That way we’ll know how disrupting the body inside the titan effects it’s actions!”
You’re rather impressed at how professional she can appear while telling you to give your boyfriend, her no. 1 specimen, a handjob.
Moblit seemed to have steeled his nerves and stomach walking back towards you both, you acknowledge and give him a curt nod. “Since all of history was black lined, I hope everything we do gets put into history books so people will read it and wonder what the fuck was wrong with us.”
You take a deep breath and angle your gear ready to launch. “And molesting him would give better results than say, one of those tiny knee hammers? Poking him with a fork?”
She shakes her head as if you’re the ridiculous one.
“Not enough physical stimulation for a definitive reaction.” She mulls over her thoughts for a short moment. “But you could cut off his leg while you’re in there?’
“Honestly, I’d rather not.” Your face scrunches at the sensation whiplash your poor boyfriend would get. “And the reason for not telling him what I’m going to do it because?”
She ignores your question, only briefly having said something before about the "element of surprise."
“You never know! This could be the perfect way to bring a titan shifter to its knees without killing them!”
You cock your gear’s angle “...if this works I get a front row seat to you telling Connie and Jean this new, required protocol.”
In the blink of an eye your gear first hooks into the flesh of his hip, to his shoulder, then into each cheek with you safely perched on the bridge of his nose.
“It’s just me, okay baby? Hold tight.” His eyes focus on you and gives a an affirmative little growl. You pat the side of his nose and are off.
You remove one of your blades after landing on his shoulder, taking a deep breath before carefully cutting into the flesh of his neck where Hanji had showed you on a diagram before.
Steam poured from the large slit but when you pushed the side you could see there was indeed as you were told, a small cavern sort of area around Eren, nearly in awe looking at how the tendons attached to his arms, his face, cocooning him only where it needed to attach.
“Just stay still Eren!” Hanji’s far away shout make you shake from the stupor, sheathing your blade and crawling in towards his body.
The cut steamed and resealed shut after you had crawled inside, it was strange enclosed inside the titan, small but with enough space to move around. The dry heat was stifling but nothing like what poured out out of incisions.
Eren’s leg moved slightly, you wonder if his titan had readjusted its’ stance?
The space is cramped and strange in the way it surrounds your suspended boyfriend, but you move to be sat directly in front of his waist, observing how the tendons keep hold on him.
You can see his eyes, standing against the flesh to peek over the tissue, how they flit bored, his body poised that you know he’s waiting for something to be done. He has worked on endurance in his form, but still. He hates just waiting.
You trail your fingertips down his jawline, a ghost of a touch, and his head tilts. The titan’s head tilts.
As you unbutton his pants you can tell he fells something happening, his mouth turns downward into a frown, his legs shift and you would bet his eyebrows are furrowed.
You unzip his pants and push down his underwear and you can tell he can feel exactly when you grip his cock in your hand. His posture straightens and you can feel the titan shift in copy of it.
He’s hard in seconds of you freeing him, the most predictable trick he has and you run your hand up and down his length a few times, squeezing firmly near his base. Precum leaks generously from his tip and drips down for you to use.
His thighs clench and you place your free hand running over the tense muscle.
Your hand speeds up, fist spreading the precum across him and rubbing your thumb in circles below the head of his cock, you can tell he’s having trouble staying upright, a shaky breath and legs begin to tremble.
You leave him lacking for a moment and reach your hand below, slicked fingers rubbing slow and decisive massaging and pushing firmly against each of his balls and the whole being around you shakes as much as the one directly at your mercy.
A simple squeeze at the top of his balls and he breaks, falling to his knees and there’s a short weightlessness as the titan slams down to follow suit.
You can’t seem to find it in you to care but the movement knocks you back against the wall of flesh and your grip on his dick yanks him harshly, a moan, a whine, from Eren above you and a growl resonating from the titan.
You wonder if the titan’s eyes have rolled back the way you know Eren’s have.
It takes a second to re-steady yourself and Eren whines from the lack of attention, your hand goes around him again, barely touching around him before deciding to run your nails along the bottom of his shaft.
A moan spills out of him that makes the whole titan seem to shake with a growl and you quickly go back to jerking you grip up and down his length, precum slick and fast and you know he’s close, finally you can hear his mindless begging between breathless pants asking for more, please, wanting anything and everything you would give him.
Tightening your grip to squeeze around him every time you pull forward and he tries to follow but it stuck in place when his hips try to jut closer.
His beautiful moans filling your senses and the distant sounds from the titan echoing his cries spur you on to make him finish. To watch how his jaw clenches from below and how be bites his lip enough to pierce the skin as his orgasm finally hits, your nails of one hand digging harshly into his thigh and making him see stars with the other.
Your thumb presses directly over his whole while he cums, white pouring out around it and giving just too much stimulation rubbing in short, fast circles that makes him cry out to you with his whole body quaking in pleasure even while he’s held up securely.
With Eren truly spent, you watch in delicious satisfaction how his chest heaves with each breath, thighs still shaking and panting heavily.
You almost can’t help it. This was to “test” him after all, right? You move your hand, still covered with cum and stick two fingers in his open mouth, his entire body goes rigid and you can feel the titan around you freeze as you drag down the expanse of his tongue and pull them out.
You’re not sure if he can hear you, he can from the outside but you rest a hand on the tendon holding his arm, lean close to his ear and praise. “Good boy.”
A shiver visibly runs down his spine and you grin. Moving your attention back to his pants, tucking him back into his underwear which are still soiled with cum anyway and buttoning him shut. But pulling the waist band forward so it lightly snaps back against taught pelvis for good measure. It’s still enough to make him jolt and the titan quake.
With a quick wipe of your hand down your thigh to get clean off what Eren would usually be up for taking care of, and your job here is done.
Taking out your blade you start cutting approximately where you had entered, knowing you wont accidentally cut Eren makes it easier.
Crawling back out is trickier, the angry steam hindering your vision making it hard to see where to grapple even with the titan still as stone.
But you can hear Hanji shouting with excitement before you’re out of the cut, something about how amazing that was, incredible research, you’re sure if you tried you could hear Moblit moaning about what his life has become.
Once you’re safely on the ground you look at the damage you did from the outside.
Eren’s titan is on it’s knees, craters in the ground from how hard he dropped. Arms limp and his head hanging down, mouth open and hair shielding his face much how Eren is inside.
You never thought you’d see a titan be “disheveled” but that’s the only word that could truly describe how wrecked he looks.
“Oh, YOU CAN COME OUT NOW EREN!” Hanji finally pauses her joyous dance to inform him, but the titan stays still. “Eren?”
You don’t think he’ll me moving on his own for another few minutes.
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Simon x Billy
Chapter 7: Where’s the helipad
Most gifs from @vousnavezrienvu If I have left an image or gif of yours uncredited, please tell me
AN: Enjoy the sweet sweet sounds of helicopter blades slicing through the air. I love the helicopter scene so much. It is happy-making. It just makes me love both of them for each other. (Let's ignore the fact that I wrote it.) And it's been sitting there patiently, completed, waiting for me to write literally every chapter before this one.
We are so close to the sex, guys. So close. This is the last SFW chapter for a while. Bask in the virginal dude-bro atmosphere, and let people know that you read the chapters before they were cool.
TW: Drunkenness. If alcohol is triggering for you, no need to read the last teeny section after we first meet Barry. Rest assured that Simon gets home safely and says cute stuff, then happily goes to bed.
Masterlist | Start: Chapter 1 | Prev: Chapter 6 | Next: Chapter 7.5
Playlist! 1. Me Myself & I by De La Soul || 2. Mirror in the Bathroom by English Beat || 3. Sunday Bloody Sunday by U2
Chapter 7: Where’s the helipad
—--/Simon/—--
I am trying to stop thinking about falling to my death. Give me a minute.
Ok, so this is…..This is a long flight of fucking rickety, wind-blasted wood. Not like that metal set of stairs with all the switchbacks I was complaining about last time I encountered stairs. I take all of my complaints back about that place. That was the height of stair-building technology by comparison. This place is just…..language fails me, like I’m picturing the stairs failing me any second now.
So have I mentioned that the Hotel di Limoni was originally a private home? Pretty big family, I guess. Prolly a summer vacation villa, cuz this coastline has been a summer-getaway spot for centuries. Scratch that. For millenia. Yes, the view from my room is insanity. But what you can’t view from up in my room is the tiny strip of beach wayyyyy down there at the bottom.
Both shots are from the website of the actual Hotel La Tonnarella, which is the hotel I based my fictional hotel on. Yes, it really looks like that. Yes, I did stay there. Best decision I’ve ever made. You can faintly see the stairs, at left. It’s that pale diagonal line down the cliff from the hotel at top left down toward the beach, crossing right in front of that ruin in the middle, halfway down the cliff.
Beaches are a rarity on the Amalfi Coast. Anybody with two inches of it will stick a beach umbrella in it. So imagine owning the only access to an entire beach. There is one stairway, and the hotel owns it. Yeah, its size is probably more aptly described as a mini-beach, but still, it is a goldmine for a hotel. And the public pay handsomely for what the guests get for free: a beach lounger. (These are pebble beaches. Nobody wants to lie on sharp and lumpy rocks.)
The only other access to the beach is from the water. And there are a lot -- I mean a lot of yachts around here. They will never, ever look normal to me. But they’re starting to look like a normal thing around here. And I’m told these aren’t even the big ones. Fuck me.
Anyway, we’ve seen the (only) road and there’s definitely no place to do my morning run. It doesn’t even have a shoulder. I guess if I can’t run without being squashed, I could do the steps when I wake up. Better than nothing. It’s just… we’ve seen that I hate stairs. Steep stairs. Cliff stairs.
Fuck. Besides being terrifying, it was tiring just getting down here. What am I going to do when I have to go back up?
Anyway, Billy’s working down here today. And I really feel like disrupting his job well done.
“Will yeh just look at your man now. Down the beach, explorin,” he calls, as I approach the hotel’s beach cafe. “You didn’t take the stairs, did yeh?”
“Um, yeah? I wanted to see the beach.”
“Why didn’t yeh take the lift?”
I fix the man to his spot with a very frowny, very deep, “Would you mind repeating that, Billy?” Like if Patrick Warburton was playing me in the movie. I can barely see through my eyes that have now narrowed to slits of disbelief and distrust. “There’s an elevator?”
“Well, yeah man. How else are people meant to get down here? The cliff’s a dangerous way down, innit.”
Ok, Lewis. You can incorporate this new information without flipping out. Just be proud of yourself for facing your fears. You descended steep, unsafe stairs. Good job! And you were only vaguely terrified the whole time. Good job!
“Is the cliff so dangerous that they should close it down due to the mounting death toll? Or is it only dangerous in an inoffensive, cute way?”
He huffs out a quick laugh, then returns to slicing up lemons and limes.
“Billy? That was an actual question. Care to provide an answer?”
“Meh, it’s safe enough,” he says. And that, ladies and gentleladies, is all I need to convince me I can indeed use this as my new Italian morning exercise routine. 1. Cliff, 2. Coffee, 3. Cliff, 4. Vomiting coffee. Perfect.
—--/-/—--
I’ve spent the week forging a grudging relationship with the beach stairs.
I’m getting a little more used to it. I have a few specific stones and broken twigs I’ve chosen as landmarks, whenever I require reassurance that I am indeed climbing down the right cliff. And if I’ve survived it the last four mornings, I can survive it a fifth time. Flawless reasoning.
Behind the bar, Billy gives me a wave as he sees me approaching. “You packed, man?”
My insides instantly start fizzing. I am so freaking pumped. I got us an airbnb in Naples for the weekend so we can check out Sabina’s show tomorrow night. Billy could not say yes fast enough. He’s a social guy, and there’s not a lot of nightlife around here. I have no idea how he’s managed it all this time. Oh wait. He’s managed it with women. Lots of women.
Over the last week, I’ve come to the realization that management does not mind a guest hanging out at the bar distracting their employee all day, because while that person is distracting the employee, he is also ordering drink after drink, and healthy fruit-based foods. It’s like they’ve realized that my distraction of Billy might actually be lucrative for them.
“I have come to a decision,” I declare as I take my seat at the bar. “We need a convertible.”
“Sorry?”
“A convertible. We need one.”
“Yeah, mate, heard yeh.”
“What, it’s a convertible!”
Billy remains unmoved. “Why can’t we take the train? It’s simplest-”
“We are not taking the train.”
“But I quite like the train.”
“Because you’re insane and don’t like convertibles.”
“See now, I never said I don’t like convertibles. I-”
“I need to do something.” Because my brain just exploded with potential.
“What?”
“Be an Ugly American.”
“Em, that sounds terrible,” he says.
“If you’re gonna be American, you might as well own it. Watch me own it, Billy, just watch me.”
He still looks wary. “That sounds-”
“Awesome.”
“-terrible. You’re not going to wear one of them caps with straws into beer cans, are yeh? Actually, I might pay yeh to do that.” He snorts at whatever he’s picturing.
“Ok, not that ugly.”
I’ve got the phone out and I’m already dialing before I’ve even reached the stairs. And then I remember I can also take the elevator.
—--/-/—--
You ever notice there’s an ugh in ugly?
Billy has finally met up with me at the fountain by the hotel entrance. Thank god, cuz I really don’t want him to miss the arrival of that Ugly American thing that required a phone call.
“There you are, Delaney. MWAH hah ha ha hahhhhh! Prepare to hear the sweet sweet sound of helicopter blades pulsing through the air. It’s done, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”
“Simon-”
“So where’s the helipad?” I inquire.
“The what now? Mate, it’s not that kind of hotel. Why are we taking a helicopter to the city?”
“The appropriate response would normally be ‘because we can’-”
“That is not a normal response.”
“-but not this time,” I finish. “That’s not the real idea.”
“Oh, so you’re tellin me this is a superfluous helicopter. That is ugly.”
“No! It is most definitely not superfluous.”
“Your carbon footprint’ll be spendin all eternity in hell, man.”
“Billy.”
“Simon.”
“Stop talking. And just enjoy the mounting anticipation. The mellow sense of terror. Or at the very least a nasty case of creeping dread. MWAH hah ha ha hahhhh!”
“Stop it, mate. You’re gettin evil genius all over my uniform. And you know how I feel about laundry.”
“Just a little bicarbonate of soda. Gets out even the most organic of stains. MWAH hah ha ha hahhhhh.”
“Simon.”
“Billy.”
“Stop talkin. Like an evil genius. Stop evil cackling all the time. We’re gettin complaints.”
“Are not.”
“From me. I’m complainin.”
“What am I going to wear?”
“Simon. Oh my god.”
“I’m serious! I packed for Italy in ten minutes. It’s all socks and shorts.”
He’s shaking his head at me. For some reason, this makes me happy. In my tummy. How novel. And then…
“Is that the fire alarm?” he asks.
“Huh? I mean, MWAH hah ha ha haaaah, oh no. It is the sweet sweet purring of a helicopter bearing my booty.”
Billy jumps on it swiftly. “You didn’t think that one through, mate.”
“Oh, but yes, yes I did. The booty is worth baring. Can you feel it? The heady excitement of anticipation? The mellow terror?”
“Yes. I feel the terror,” he says blandly.
“That would be the best cologne flavor ever. Mellow Terror, by Simon Lewis. Pour homme.”
“Are you manic right now?”
—--/Billy/—--
I was joking, but Simon just went very still. I’ve put my foot in, haven’t I?
“I am a bit manic, am’nt I?” he offers, with a fake little laugh.
“Somethin wrong with your shoes, mate? Simon, man, my eyes are up here.”
“Just wait til you see what I’ve done,” he says, sheepishly, eyeing me from under his caterpillars.
“Simon. Should I be worried?”
“Oops?”
Oops? I haven’t a clue what to do with oops.
He grabs me excitedly by the forearm and starts dragging me toward the hotel gates.
That’s…Wait, is that-
“Simon. Did you buy a Mini Cooper?”
“A convertible Mini Cooper.”
“But why ?” I ask the reasonable question.
“Because I can!” He’s practically vibrating. I can tell he wants to do his jumping-clapping thing by the way he’s currently bouncing on his toes.
“Simon.”
“Billy.”
“You bought a Mini Cooper. Convertible, ” I swiftly add. “You’re in the land that built the Maserati, the Lamborghini, the Ferrari, and every other sports car that ends in i-”
“Not Audi.”
I huff in annoyance, “-and you bought a convertible Mini Cooper. And had it airlifted here. Because you could.”
“I’ve always wanted a convertible Mini Cooper.”
“But not a convertible Ferrari,” I clarify.
“No.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m awesome,” he answers, because he’s Simon.
I decide not to mention that we could have skipped the car altogether and taken the helicopter to Naples.
This is so childish, and impetuous, and reckless, and I refuse to find the actions of a grown man adorable. Jaysus.
“Oh my god!” he squeaks. “They were driving Minis in The Italian Job!!!”
Shaking my head. Just shaking my head.
“Did you have them airlift in some clothes, too?”
“Shit! I totally should have!” He appears to actually mean that.
“You should see your face,” he hoots. Feckin hoots, all half bent over from laughin.
And now he’s ignoring me. It’s like I’m not even there. He only has eyes for his Mini. “Oh my god it’s so kawaii.”
His smile is kawaii.
“Go away,” he flaps a hand at me. “I want to fangirl freely and without judgment from a judgy Irishman.”
“Fine. I need to pack anyway.”
And off behind me I hear him call, “Wait! What am I gonna wear?”
Shaking my head. Just shaking my head.
—--/-/—--
I’ve gathered my gear, and I can see Simon out by the car park. I’m hitching up my pack, so it isn’t really until I’ve cleared all the foliage, that I realize Simon is humping his Mini Cooper convertible. “All right?” I ask, tryin to keep a straight face.
“Oh, yes. All is definitely right,” he purrs.
“Have you turned her on yet, or is it just you who’s turned on?”
He slides off the car til his Converse hit the pavement with a slap.
Now he’s draping himself over the boot. I can’t help it that I’m laughing. Sometimes he just hits me at exactly the right moment to set me to belly laughin. Doesn’t happen often with Simon, but when it does, he wears the greatest surprised happy face I’ve ever seen. This time there’s giggling. Off to a good start, which is good. Yes. Good.
I hesitate. “Look, mate. Will this thing actually fit us? Have you tried?” I eyeball the car. “I am quite seriously concerned that we might actually need the top down to ride in this thing. How tall are you, anyway?”
“Six feet. Why? How tall are you?”
“Just a bit taller. But not enough for you to get intimidated, mate. I’m sure the ladies won’t notice when I introduce my small friend.”
“You’re short shaming me. No, that’s ok. I don’t take offense. You just seem to need a lot of reassurance about your size, Billy. I mean, sure, it’s ok to want to be bigger. I assume. I wouldn’t know.”
“Mate, get off the boot so I can shove this in there, and we can go.” He does, and I do. “Thanks for not getting the red, white, and blue one.” There is a god. Thank you, Poseidon.
“They were out of orange, white, and green, too.”
“You asked about the tricolor, did yeh?” Alright fine, he’s got me laughin again.
“Fuck out of the driver’s seat!” he roars.
Wow. He looks proper angry. I admit I may have even flinched.
“Don’t you want a car and a driver? No, serious, don’t yeh want me to drive, since I know the way?”
“ Get the fuck out of the driver’s seat, Billy. Now!”
“Alright! Fine, fine. You’ll be usin GPS then, will yeh?”
“Si si si, certo.”
I groan. “This is all about to go so very-”
“Awesome,” he declares. “This is all about to continue to be awesome. Be the change, Billy. Be the change!”
“Oh my god Simon.”
“I can hear you rolling your eyes from here,” he says from behind the boot, which he slams shut a little too hard. I feel it in every moving piece of this tiny automobile. Bigger than a SMART car, so I suppose I shouldn’t be complainin. Well, here’s hoping he’s still so enthused about it at the other end.
“Gotta say, mate. I’m surprised you’d want to drive at all.”
“Why not?”
“Because mate, it’s Italy, innit. Famous for frightenin foreign drivers.” He has to remember what the drivin was like his other three trips down this road. “Well,” I sigh. “At least you get to drive on the wrong side of the road in Italy.”
—--/-/—--
“See? I told you you’d fit.”
“Alright man, you did.”
“Come on, give it up…
“What?” I’m not laughing, I promise. “Is she a smooth ride? I don’t know, man, why don’t yeh start her up ‘n find out?”
“Well there is that. So yeah,” he says as he pulls out of the car park and up to the mouth of the hotel driveway. “It’s to the left, right?”
“Em, yeah. Yes, the city of Naples is still in the general direction of left. Like the other three times we’ve done this road together.”
He rolls his eyes, and all is right and well in the world. Until the moment he pulls out onto the road. Then I’m brought up quick by the realization that between us we know fuck all about the convertible Mini Cooper. “Wait, where’s the GPS on her, for the flat’s address?”
“I dunno, check the screen thing.” So helpful, my man Simon is.
“Do you even have an Italian driver’s license? Or insurance? I love this guy. How’ve yeh managed to live this long being the way you are?” I pause for an answer, but none is forthcoming. “I mean, fucksake, Simon. You called someone to buy you a car and suddenly you’re on the highway to Naples. Do you even know where the directionals are? Or like, the wipers? D’you know what I mean? Should I be concerned for my safety, Mr. Clever Clogs?”
“Shoosh. Don’t jinx us. Do you need to have registration in Italy? Or insurance? I don’t know. Italy doesn’t really strike me as a big insurance-y type of country.”
“Not a bad point, actually. But I take it you have….whatever, I dunno, papers and all that?”
“Don’t know. What’s in the glove box?” He makes a flappy gesture in the general direction of my knees.
“How are you like this? Were you actually born like this, or did it come with fame and wealth?”
“You mean, was I actually born a flaming asshole, or just become one?”
“Meh. Yeah,” I shrug. “We’ll go with that. So, what’ll it be?”
“Ow. Straight for the throat, Delaney.” His tone is recriminating. “Uncool, man. Uncool.”
I’m flipping through the owner’s manual. Before long, I’ve got the time plugged in, programmed everything for his phone, located the GPS, cued up some tunes, and even found the button to pop the bonnet. “There you go. It’s workin now.”
“What’s working?” he asks.
I shrug. “Everything, man. Everything.”
He barks out a laugh, and I realize I’m smiling to myself. Grumpy fuck.
I plug in the address for the flat and immediately the voice pumping out the radio is a woman speaking Italian. Now I’m fumbling with it again, while Simon’s stuck in a fit of laughter.
“Aw, come on! Let’s see how we do in Italian,” he gasps out.
“Fucksake. See how we do in Italian.” Shaking my head.
“No, seriously. Let’s hear what she has to say, this ummmmm, what should we call her - Maria! Because obviously, Maria.”
“Certo.” That gets me another laugh.
“Santa Maria, show us the way, in Italiano,” he pleads in a truly horrendous accent. “I am so happy right now.”
He says it with a laugh. Such a thing to so easily roll off the tongue. Fella I met a few months ago, I never would have pictured bein happy, let alone noticing it, naming it, declaring it. Nice to see. Unexpected, know what I mean.
“I don’t trust you when you’re quiet that long, Delaney.”
“Hm?”
“Exactly.”
Am I missing something?
“Ok, so.” He clears his throat. “We know who I am. Who are you? Let’s hear it. Who is Billy Delaney?”
Aw, man. Serious? “How long we got?” Please don’t make me.
“How would I know? Maria’s speaking your language, not mine.” He shrugs.
“Fair enough.” I hit play on my playlist, hoping the conversatin will trail off from there. But of course it doesn’t, because this is Simon. Si. Certo.
“What. Do you have some horrible second identity thing going on? Are you really even Irish? Truth time, Delaney.”
“You show me yours, I’ll show you mine?”
“Yeah, ok.”
“Oh.” Uh, erm…..”So, what mate? What do you want to know?” I ask, though truthfully I wish he’d just let it go.
“Is your name really Billy Delaney, and are you actually even from Ireland at all?”
“Yes.”
“Boring.”
“Brief.”
“Obtuse.”
“Si.”
“Oh my god, Billy. So where are you from?”
“Ireland.”
He looks around us rapidly. “Is she going to start speaking Italian? Cuz we just passed Ercolano.”
“Already?”
“Yeah! I know, right? Time flies when you’re torturing someone for information. So should I panic?”
“Nah, we've a bit more road before we turn aside. Maria can sleep on.”
“Alright. I swear to God, Billy. If you don’t start coughing up some details, I'm serious, I will pull this car over. Do I have to pull this car over, kid?”
“Wow, that’s forceful.” Cos it is. “Ow!” I flinch when he swats my shoulder with a backhand.
“Fine, ye bastard. My name is actually Lola, but I go by Billy Delaney. And I’m only mostly joking. One of the summer cousins I used to play soccer with couldn’t say William, when we were little. So for a few months every year, I was Lola. There. Was that not juicy enough for yeh?”
“Charming. But from that I got these few details: 1. You have cousins. Conceivably fertile ground. We could continue that way. 2. You play soccer, and you call it soccer. Isn’t that illegal outside the US? No- don’t answer that. I’m not finished. 3. You go someplace where there are cousins to play soccer with in summer. Are we even still in Ireland?”
Em. I just sort of sit there and wait.
“And you really don’t want to talk about this, do you?”
“You are so easily distracted,” I tease him. “No, but seriously, here’s some details for yeh. I’m 27. I left Ireland at 18, after gettin out of culinary school, and was sent out to do my apprenticeship. That was at a manor house near Galway.”
“And…..”
“That’s not enough?” I thought that was a fair bit of information, if I’m honest.
“Do I have to turn this car around, young man?”
“I feel like I’m missin some essential cultural reference, here.”
“Don’t distract me with your distractions, Delaney. Feed me.”
And that’s when Maria tells us to turn left.
—--/Simon/—--
I can’t fuckin believe that there are Irish pubs in Italy. Nor can I believe I’m in one. I mean, where do Italians go to watch soccer? This can’t be right.
“All right?” Billy asks the bartender.
“Howeyeh,” says the man back to him, and Billy’s eyes go comically wide.
Next thing I know, I’m bored stiff, pretending to find the intricacies of European football interesting with a Welsh guy named Barry.
And whoa, turns out Billy’s day-to-day accent is pretty washed out in comparison to the thickness of his accent when he’s speaking to his new BFF. They’re speaking so fast that I can’t understand a word through their accents. Welsh is so much easier.
That is, until I hear a voice disturbingly similar to Billy’s, requesting a Bud.
I swing back around in time to see Billy’s new BFF nod at him and begin turning toward the draft beers.
“No! Wait,” I wave. “He’s only joking,” I say, emphatically shaking my head no.
“Oh,” the Irish bartender looks back to Billy in surprise. “Were you?”
“Course he was! Certo.” Ok, fine. It might not have been Billy’s best-executed joke, but what , does the guy think I’m just making it up?
“Why ‘ of course ’?!” Billy turns on his barstool to face me. “What the fuck, Simon?”
“Sorry if I fucked up your joke, dude, but don’t drag it out, ok?” I say under my breath.
Disparaging other people’s beer of choice is like a national pastime in Brooklyn, because it frequently employs irony, and we are naturally good at it from birth. Don’t blame him, he’s new.
“I’ll take that Bud,” Billy reiterates. “Ta, mate.” The barkeep returns his nod and goes about the business of it.
“Billy? We’ve talked about this. You swore you’re Irish. Were you lying to me? Are you a lying liar who lies?”
“Why do yeh say that?”
“Because you can’t – you’re not – you’re not, like, allowed to drink bad beer when you’re Irish. Isn’t that illegal? Or fatal, or something?”
The big ape is just lazing back against the bar, sipping his pint of piss beer, looking at me in amusement.
“You’re like a caricature of yourself sometimes, Simon, d’yeh know what I mean?”
“Fuckin- What?! That’s not very nice! I’m outraged.”
“You should see yerself, mate. Yeh look like your face is about ready to split down the middle and outrage’ll start pourin out like lava from the fissures.”
I stop and cock my head at him. “That was both specific and descriptive. Nice one. But that said, how dare you! I demand an apology.” I’m trying really hard to keep a straight face. He has no intention of making it easy for me.
“Apologize? For what?” He gives me a cock-eyed grin. Oh look, his cock eyes are doing that twinkly thing again.
“You have offended my good taste and have let down your countrymen and native soil. Or water or whatever it is that makes all beer taste better in Ireland. The least you could do is the decent thing and apologize to your countrymen, and me , and then hide it in your jacket where no one can see you sneaking sips!”
He laughs because he thinks I’m joking.
“Do you just not like beer at all? And that’s why you don’t order the good stuff?”
“Simon, you are such a snob,” he says, and goes right on twinkling.
“Correct. And if you’re going to drink cheap beer, for god’s sake, order PBR and salvage at least some of your self respect.”
“Do you know this man?” the bartender asks Billy. “Is he harassin yeh?”
Billy is now laughing so hard that he’s almost fallen off his stool.
“We know each other,” I reassure the barkeep. “Don’t know how long that’ll last, all considered, though. Check back for updates.” I raise my pint of Guinness in respect.
“It’s czech. Budvar,” the man informs me.
“Ah, no! Why’d yeh tell him, mate!” Billy raises his hands theatrically. I’m telling you, theatre school. “Yeh just had to put him out of my misery, yeah?”
“And my misery,” says the man.
—--/-/—--
Ok, so what is it with the whole pub drunkenly singing “oh-ay-oh-ay” at the top of their drunken lungs, sloshin beer out of their pint glasses, whenever Europeans play soccer. Mebbe they sing it in Southmerica, too. Butwhatevercuz I don’ really care.
If you can’t – beat em then join em. Thassmymott, um, -o. Thassmy motto. Motto.
Where’s Billy? I can’t see him. If thissperson would get out of the frickin way. He’s all backed up against my face’n I can’t see. Anything. Nothin to see here, folks. Move along, people, move along.
Where’s Billy? Oyeah, right right right. Right here in my face.
I figure it’ll be easier to keep track of him if I hold onto his belt loop. Or a pocket or something. Yeah, I’m just gonna hang on to his pocket.
Pocket.
I like the word pocket. Lossa hard consnits that pop. Pop.
Pop.
I like the word pop. It sounz like it pops. And it’s the same backwards and forwards an’itsall about the lips. Pop ’ing.
What? Where’s he going. I’m trailing after him with my hand in his pocket. He keeps pullin it out and I keep puttin it back in. Oth’wise I’m gonna get lost and then where would I be? Huh? I wouldn’t even know !
“Oh! Now I know where we are! We’re on the block where we’re were where gonna sleep.” If make it up th’stairs. But Billy’s helping. He’s nice like that.
“You’re nice like that,” I say with a big smile. “And you‘re funny lookin.”
Wait.
“Oops! I mean yerlookin funny at me right now. Whass funny? ‘m’I funny? Or juss funny lookin?”
I crack myself up. Like in real life, cuz I’m laughing. Right now. Sometimes iss hard to stop laughin but I’ll be ok.
“Billy. Billy! Hey, Billy. What’re you doing? Tryin to get in my pants? That tickles! Oh, hey! Did we win? I mean, I don’really care - just wonren.”
Hey! Tickles! “Stop that! How’dyou know I don’t wanna wear those? I’ll take ‘em off when I feel like it. Prollymaybe take ‘em off tomorrow. Hey! I was wearing that! And that!”
He’s very pushy. “You’re very pushy. Stop pushing.”
I land on the bed and it’s like fluffy clouds of teddybears. “K, fine. I’ll go to bed, jeez .” Alls I wanna do is bury my face in pillow, but can’t breathe when I do that.
“Don’t close the door all the way, Ma. And leave the hall light on, K? g’Night, love you too.”
Masterlist | Start: Chapter 1 | Prev: Chapter 6 | Next: Chapter 7.5
#simon x billy#chapter 7#where’s the helipad#simon is simon#teamsimon#simon lewis#location beach stairs#location beach#simon#billy delaney#billy#locations#sorrento#robert sheehan character fic#location car#location Lola#location irish pub#location naples#location naples Irish pub#barry#tmi#the mortal instruments books#the mortal instruments#a mortal instruments au#mortal instruments au#robert sheehan#nikolai#the song of sway lake#sheehanksgiving 2021#amalfi coast
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This will be big but i felt like sharing my thoughs. I love camila, so so much…but I feel like sometimes people are praising her too much. Camila loves fame, no matter how many of you deny it, it’s pretty obvious that she does. I’ve seen plenty of arguments on twitter regarding the 4H vs C topic and I can’t help but notice some people saying stuff like “camila didn’t choose to be in this position”, “all the girls treated her like shit when it wasn’t even up to her decide”. Well obviously I know the feud between the 5H girls was fake, but it really messes with me that people still continue to paint camila as the victim. Even tho camila may have not betrayed the other girls as they tried to make it seem, she sure as hell accepted this full of privileges position she was given since the beginning. And I’m not saying this is a bad thing, because honestly which one of us would deny such opportunity, if we were in her place? But most of us and I’m also talking about me, tend to forget that camila is also a person who has negative traits, not only positives. Unfortunately one of her biggest negatives, is that she grew to love the spotlight. And if you really think about it, it makes sense since she was always so shy around people and when she got a taste of the “pop star” life, she felt mesmerised by it. From my point of view, as soon as she got that taste she also started craving the “bigger” things. Big arena concerts, awards, people loving her. For example lauren might love her job as an artist, but she undeniably hates the fame that comes with it. She’s just in it because she truly wants to share a piece of her soul and justify the definition of a true artist. And I’m not saying that mila is not, she sure as hell wants to create art. But if you ask me, the difference between these two is that lauren would be completely content with singing in a room full of people who simply appreciate her art, whilst camila would prefer to be in an arena full of people who sing her songs and scream her name. Not that laure wouldn’t like that, but I think you get the point. And I don’t know if anyone noticed, but until a few years ago well actually before the pandemic started, her management continued to push down the image of this “goofy innocent” girl who was happy all the time. She also pushed it herself because that was her job! No matter how much we think we know her,camila is still a pop star in the music industry who plays a part, just like everyone else who works in that damned department. And based on the above I’d like to point out that (no matter how many of you disagree with this) nobody is forcing camila to stay in the closet. Yes I know I sound ridiculous but hear me out. There isn’t a single contract which can legally force someone to hide their sexuality. Yes her management may have warned her not to come out in fear of losing profits and even blackmailed her, but at the end of the day it’s her choice. If she desperately wanted to come out as we all make it seem, she would’ve done it by now. The fact that she doesn’t, should tell us, that afterall she does care about her image. Even if that’s taking a toll on her now, it was her decision to follow that path. It was her decision to stay in the closet, it was her decision to accept the pr with shawn and it was her decision to keep playing the “happy” girlfriend to the media. No matter how much she was manipulated by this hell hole, camila is a pretty clever person. If she didn’t want any of this and simply wanted to be authentic to herself and the rest of the world, she simply wouldn’t care if she lost the title of the pop princess. But she does care. And it’s completely normal at this point, cause in this industry either you lose yourself or you come out stronger. Unfortunately I believe that camila’s case belongs to the first occasion. I don’t think that present camila we see in interviews or shows or whatever is the real camila. That camila is long gone. Anyway sorry if this was exhausting and thanks to anyone who read it all,cause I really wanted to share this with someone
someone
Good Lord, Anon, that's a lot to unpack. I will start by saying, I agree with some, and disagree with some of what you had to say. Now, where to start...
You say it still messes with you, that everyone still portrays Camila as the victim. Are you going to deny that Camila WAS/IS victimized? The truth is, they were ALL victimized. They are ALL victims of an abusive Industry.
You said, "she sure as hell accepted this full of privileges position she was given since the beginning." You are either forgetting, or just plain don't care, that Fifth Harmony was a highly controlled entity. There was no choosing, or "accepting" privileges. They each did what they were told to do, said what they were told to say, and acted the way they were told to act. They were each given a role to play, and they were contractually obligated to play that role.
Yes, they were contractually obligated to act a certain way. There has been ample proof given, that none of the girls had any control over their PUBLIC image. Camila still has no control over her PUBLIC image, because there has been ample proof, she is still operating under her original contract.
Did Camila choose to sign that original contract? Yes, she did. Did she read that original contract? According to Lauren, probably not. None of them did. Did Camila agree to sign her solo contract? Yes, she did. But as I've explained before, if she wanted to continue in the music industry, she had no choice but to sign the solo contract they offered her. That solo contract is still connected to her original contract.
Camila is a human being. We ALL have positive and negative traits. Camila, all the ladies of 5H, you and me, we all have our positives and negatives. None of us are perfect.
You said, "one of her biggest negatives, is that she grew to love the spotlight." Why is that a negative? Hell, they ALL wanted the spotlight. Every person who gets into the Entertainment Industry, wants to get themselves in the spotlight. They all want to succeed in the field of their choice. To succeed, they have to garner the attention, and live in the "spotlight", in one way, or another.
Every one of them auditioned on a NATIONALLY TELEVISED talent show. They wouldn't have done that, if they didn't want to be noticed, and hopefully thrust into the spotlight of success. They ALL wanted that spotlight of success to be as solo artists. It's didn't quite work out that way. But, they ALL chose to try and achieve that spotlight as a group.
If one has been paying attention, from the beginning, Camila made no bones about her desired dream. She has stated from the beginning, she wanted to be a "pop star". Of course she wanted the spotlight. Lauren has said, from the beginning, she wanted to be "famous and travel the world". She wanted to be a famous star, in the spotlight.
Since you have chosen to compare Camila and Lauren, I'll answer to them. You seem to think there is this big chasm between the two. There really isn't. The only difference is the outcome, thus far. Lauren STILL wants the spotlight and fame, she just wants it on her terms. The problem is, it's damn near impossible to get that success on ones own terms, in an Industry that insists on dictating the terms.
That's a more recent decision on Lauren's part, by the way. You seem to be conveniently forgetting, that until 2019, Lauren also "chose" to play the game on THEIR terms. It was most likely, a two year PR contract, with a drug addicted gang-banger that turned her off of THE GAME. Lauren was pissed, that after all that, her debut album got shelved in 2019. I DON'T BLAME HER!!! I'm sure that also contributed to her decision, that THEIR TERMS suck ass.
Does Camila "crave" the big concerts, accolades, and people loving her? Yes, she does. They ALL do, or they wouldn't have signed solo contracts after putting 5H on hiatus. Instead, they would have said "this Industry sucks" and walked away. They didn't. They ALL craved more.
Lauren wants the same thing Camila has, just on her terms. Lauren doesn't "hate fame". She hates the negative side of fame. She hates having her life dictated by terms and schedules. She hates being told what to say, and how to act. She hates that fans get all up in her business.
She loves the nicer side of fame. She wants to see a lot of people come and see her perform. She loves to be on stage and see her fans singing and dancing to her music. She appreciates the accolades. She loves the love she gets from her fans. She would love even more, if her fans would multiply, and buy and stream the hell out of her music, instead of always bitching, telling her who she is, and how she should be, and getting all up in her damn business.
All one has to do, is listen to Lauren and the anger inside her about all this mess. She wants more. She wants more than a fucking "room full of people" enjoying her art. She wants a stadium full of people enjoying her art. WHO THE FUCK WOULDN'T. She just wants that stadium full of people to enjoy her art, and not expect more than that from her. I'm sure Camila would appreciate the same damn thing.
Unfortunately, that's simply not how the music industry is set up, these days. The difference is, Camila has accepted the fact, that she IS the product. Lauren has not. Lauren don't want to be a product. She wants her music/art to be the product.
I've said it a million times, the music industry hardly sells music, anymore. The music Industry sells the artist. The music has become a bi-product of the Artist. The Industry knows which artists will sell, and which ones won't. They know what image will sell, and which ones won't. Be the artist THEY want you to be, THEY'LL make you a star, and maybe even famous. If not, good luck.
Finally, you are completely right. There isn't a contract out there, that says someone can't come out of the closet. That would be blatant discrimination, and wouldn't pass the muster of the legal system. But, when you sign away control of your own image in a contract, that gives the contract holder the rights to dictate what your PUBLIC image will be. If they want you to have a straight PUBLIC image, then you'll have a straight PUBLIC image. If THEY want you to have a "good girl next door" image, then that's the PUBLIC image you'll have. You signed away your rights to be your authentic self, when you signed away the rights to control how others see you, period!!!
IN MY OPINION, Camila has come out of the closet so damn many times, I can't even count any more. She just has to do so, in a way that isn't obvious to those who have control over how others see her. Take her last video, for instance. When one listens to terms she chooses to use, and does a bit of research, you'll discover, what I believe is the hidden meaning behind that video. If I'm correct in MY THINKING, she has yet again, screamed her truth from the rooftops, for those who choose to listen, and understand.
As for the PR contracts...I was the first person to say, Camila made the choice to sign into those particular contracts. When one signs away control over their own public image, it also allows those in control to dictate that one MUST enter into PR contracts to help THEM present the PUBLIC image THEY want for that particular artist. The artist gets a say in which person that PR is with, simply because they HAVE to agree to sign the contract with that particular person.
So, did Camila agree to sign into this PR contract with the human hair ball? She absolutely did....And NO ONE should be surprised by it. It is quite clear that this shit has been in the making, since June/July of 2015. Hell, after that shit show with the British Bore, even the majority of the fandom was asking for it. The timing was right, and here we are.
Lastly, Camila is always stepping out of the closet, like I said above. IN MY OPINION, she wants her fans to know who she truly is, but that doesn't mean she wants to tell the world in definitive terms. Like Lauren, she wishes people could simply appreciate the music, and leave per private life out of it, but she also knows that's a pipe dream, and not reality.
She knows, the second she decides to speak her truth aloud, her career takes, yet another, blow. I also think, that's one of the reasons THEY, through the media, make sure her ignorant youth is continuously brought up. The more she has to fight to get through that hardship, the more she will want to keep her truth a secret. (yes, a definite manipulation tactic)
Camila could decide to say, fuck it all, and come out with her truth at any time, after her contract is up. She could also decide never to PUBLICLY come out. It's her choice, unless people in power decide to take that choice away from her.
Whitney Houston took her truth with her to the grave. Taylor lives with her truth, one foot in the closet, and one foot out. That's basically what Camila is doing now. IN MY OPINION. Her public foot is in the closet, and her music/art foot is out. If people cared more about the music/art, they would get the authentic truth. If you care more about her public image, you'll get exactly what THEY want her to be.
People try to tell you, and others this all the damn time. Take the recent interviews. If you notice, Camila, and others are always saying how vulnerable, honest, and authentic she is, IN HER ART. Her truth is in her craft, whether acting or music. Her PUBLIC image, is just that, an image to sell to the PUBLIC. Everyone in the Entertainment Industry has one...Even Lauren. Yes, she did play the game. She still has her toe in the game, she just isn't playing it at a high level, right now...and, unfortunately for her, it shows!!!
There! I answered your book with a damn novel. As always, I could be wrong with my opinions, but they are my opinions!!!!!! !! !!!!
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It’s probably too early for The Meta No One Asked For That I’m Gonna Write Anyway about XQC, alas…here we go
Dr. Xie Qingcheng, 32, male, straight (so far), 180 cm with only one current family member.
Xqc is introduced as a cold, aloof and apathetic retired doctor who has no passions, cares about nothing except for his sister, and unless he’s angry, you can barely get an emotional response out of him.
Through meatbun’s character notes on how he has no favorite food, no favorite color or animal, no personal preferences outside what’s most practical and how he’s very very responsible and rules abiding and honest and sober and serious, and through he yu’s POV that continuously paints him as this heartless cold blooded person, I dare say we were…deceived by this so far shades of gray picture we had of him.
Xqc was born into a finically stable middle class family consisting of two cops for parents and a younger sister that came into the world 8 years after him. When he turned 13, and his sister was only 5 at that time, his parents were fired from their job due to a case they shouldn’t have been investigating going wrong, and they had to move to a rural area. Not long after that, he witnessed both his parents’ deaths and saw their corpses with his own eyes, the site was bloody and there’s no way it didn’t traumatize a pre-teen like him. He then was tasked with taking care of his sister, becoming a doctor despite not wanting to, owing others favors and spending all his money on smth that’s yet to be revealed instead of enjoying it. He got married, not to a woman he loves but to someone whom he thought of as “suitable and appropriate”, got cheated on and went through a divorce before losing full interest in the marriage life. He was finally able to retire (we don’t know why yet) and live a quiet, normal, boring life.
I believe xqc loved his parents, I believe he loved them so much cause in chapter 20, he mentions how he thought he wouldnt be able to live past the grief, he wouldn’t be able to go on or move forward, how the grief completely overtook him. He also mentions how he used to play with knots and handcuffs when he was a child, which shows how close he was to them. So for a child who had a good stable life with two loving parents to suddenly fall from a class to a class, suddenly lose both parents and see their corpses with his own eyes, that must’ve fucked him up big time. I’m talking “when can I fully register all of this” kind of fucked up. But he didn’t have time to fully absorb all of this, didnt have the time to sit down and cry, he had a sister, she was only 5, where will they get the money from? What were they gonna do? How was he going to continue school while caring for her? He didn’t have the time to sit down and grief, to sit down and adjust. For a child who had a normal life and didn’t have to worry much about the money like every other middle class kid, he was suddenly burdened with poverty AND loss, and duty and responsibility. Good bye to the days of playing with handcuffs and knots huh?
You ask me, why does xqc not have a favorite food? I answer you, because many many nights, he didn’t know what to feed his sister, much less himself. Cause I bet that many nights, he would have to give up his portion for Xie Xue, to make sure a kid like her is full. Cause he couldn’t afford to be picky, couldn’t afford to choose; whatever was edible will be eaten, taste and flavor be damned. He had to start working from a young age, balance school, babysitting and working all at once. The last friend he made (I think) was that Chen Man guy whose parents were friends with his parents, back when they were alive and life was good. He didn’t have time to make friends, or go out, or have a favorite color or visit the zoo and decide on a favorite animal. No, he had to study, and study hard to become more financially stable and support Xie Xue, he had to raise his baby sister and protect her, he had to work or else how will he put food on their table? Yet he never lost his soft kind heart, cause when his sister asked for a laptop, he bought her one just so that she wouldn’t feel less than any of the other children.
Xqc had to SURVIVE, he had to make do with what he had and what he didn’t have. He didn’t have time to sit down and cry or process his trauma, didn’t even have time to think of adolescent love or his youthful days or do what kids his age did. And all of that carried forward into his adult life. He pushed his emotions back so hard and had his practical, business like mind take care of everything in order to make it through the days. He started to believe that passionate emotions such as love and hate and lust and desire were all a waste of time, a distraction from his duties, smth that will rock the delicate balance he created with his everyday busy schedule. Emotions will stunt you, emotions will delay you, crying and not going to work today means no food to feed his hungry sister with. That’s when he started thinking, strong emotions are a DISEASE, they will take up your time, cloud your judgement, have you make reckless decisions that you’ll regret later. And he couldn’t afford any of that right? Strong emotions are for the weak, they put you in crutches and disable you from moving forward. Wasnt that what he told his ex wife? If he had submitted himself to his grief back then, where would his sister be? Where would he be? How could they have grown up to be healthy and successful adults?
So this man taught himself practicality and duty and priorities. He stopped thinking about himself, about what he wants and what he feels, and instead started making sure that those around him are happy and content and safe and well taken care of. He no longer had desires or passions, he only had rules and regulations. If a person lost their sense of taste, would they still want chocolates and burgers? Would they still have cravings and foods they’d rather swallow medicine than eat? No. If so, how will they decide on what to eat every day? They’ll simply start following a “perfect nutritional plan” and “balanced diet”. They’d eat what they have to eat, when they have to eat, and in the exact portion they need. To them eating would be another chore they have to do every day to keep their bodies going. Similarly, with xqc, graduating, working, marrying, taking care of his sister and auntie, these all became “tasks” and “chores” that he had to abide by and follow. They became the dietary plan for his life till he dies, the outline he shall follow, the textbook rules he will carry out, no need to think of what he “wants” or “desires”, what will make him “happy” or bring him “joy”. He no longer listened to his emotions when making decisions. Even when marrying his ex wife, he married her cause she was “a suitable match”, not for her looks or personality or anything. Feelings are life’s taste buds, and once you remove them, everything becomes tasteless and mundane, and practicality/logic takes over. He stopped knowing what it felt like to choose based on your preferences, cause he stopped having the luxury of choice ever since that night when he was 13, and he no longer was able to re-teach himself the meaning of free will and choice.
So when he yu, in chapter 20, asked him how he would’ve acted if Xie Xue had died, and he said, “I would’ve continued living as I am today till my last breath,” he wasn’t being “cold” or “heartless” or “indifferent” as he yu likes to say. He was being practical and methodical and thinking with a logical approach, rather than an emotional one, just the way he taught himself to throughout all these years. His almost 2 decades of pure survival mode and severely repressed feelings spoke in the form of autopilot. “I would do what I have to do, what I’ve always done every day of my life so far cause what choice do I have?” Is what he meant to say.
But I believe that he’s a soft hearted, kind and loving person. He never says no his sister, never says no to his auntie, helped that homeless man as best as he could, taught he yu that he was normal and that he wasn’t a monster, believed in treating his patients with words instead of medicine prescriptions, believed that the mentally ill deserve to live normally instead of being locked up. I believe that underneath all the shit he has buried, there’s a lot of passion and love that’s been kept dormant for 19 years.
In conclusion, idk where meatbun is gonna take his character but I genuinely hope he gets to heal, and start having more color and flavor in his life. Start allowing himself to live, not just survive.
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guilty | knj x reader | chapter one: how odd
summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?
pairing: namjoon x reader
genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut
rating: 18+
word count: 2.8K
notes: you guys have been so amazing with your feedback on “guarded” and it warms my heart that you loved hoseok and ms. kim -- so it’s time to show mr. kim some love, too. this series will not be long (probably three parts) but i had to break it into chapters because of the POV shifts. please let me know what you think about this chapter and as usual thank you so much to all the tiger wives and my amazing betas @ladyartemesia and @hobi-gif.
this series is dedicated to the amazing @sahmfanficbts who is an incredible writer, an awesome woman, and kim namjoon’s number one fan.
this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece.
Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | Epilogue
**********************
“You fired me?”
Namjoon turns at the sound of the quiet accusation that comes from over his shoulder.
There is color in your cheeks as you cross the length of his office. Your jaw is tight, one lock of hair falling free from the loose knot at the base of your neck. One perfectly-arched brow is raised high.
You look hurt.
Beautiful -- but hurt.
Guilt hits Namjoon like a freight train.
“Of course not,” he deflects, taking a seat. He picks up one of the papers scattered across his desktop and pretends to read it carefully. “I reassigned you to a position I believe will be a better fit.”
There’s no way he could miss the irritated breath you suck between your teeth but Namjoon keeps his eyes glued to that paper in his hand. He realizes, absently, that it’s a takeout menu.
He hopes you haven’t noticed the same thing.
“Well, was there some kind of problem with my performance?”
Namjoon winces at the dejection in your tone. He finally forces himself to meet your gaze and finds your eyes brimming with frustration.
He certainly can’t blame you on that account -- you have every right to be frustrated. You shouldn’t be made to feel somehow lacking when it’s him who is lacking in every way that counts.
“Quite the opposite,” he says carefully. “I think it’s a waste of your skills to have you keeping my schedule and taking calls. Seokjin can make better use of your talents on the business side.”
A strained silence settles over the room and Namjoon clears his throat before looking back down to his papers.
“Well, the new girl is terrible at this,” you say flatly. “I certainly wouldn’t have let me walk in here unannounced. She’s too busy looking at her phone to look after you.”
Namjoon knows you’re right about that.
In the few short months you’ve worked for him, you’ve proven yourself to be unnaturally attuned to his needs. You knew without asking which calls he was trying to avoid and when, when to clear his schedule the day after a rough night on the streets. You’ve kept his office stocked with every comfort he’d ever wanted and some he hadn’t even realized he wanted.
You are the single best assistant he’s ever had and he couldn’t stand to keep you around for one minute longer.
You don’t wait for Namjoon to formulate some kind of response to your damning and accurate observation. By the time he looks back up from his papers, you’ve already turned on your heels to leave.
He watches you walk away with regret weighing heavy in his gut.
**************************
Namjoon’s keys clang loudly when he drops them on the table in his foyer.
This penthouse is the best apartment in one of the best buildings in Seoul. It’s filled with lavish furnishings and expensive paintings and boasts a stunning view of the Han River. It’s one of the finest residences in the city.
And Namjoon hates it.
The vacant rooms and the echoing walls seem to mock him, making him all the more aware of how empty it is. How completely devoid it is of any life. Most nights he stays at the office until he’s delirious with exhaustion just so he can collapse straight into bed once he gets here.
Tonight though, for once, this place seemed like a better option.
Namjoon pulls off his tie and releases the first few buttons of his shirt before pouring a scotch.
He’s drinking too much these days -- he knows it -- but the drinks help slow the constant movement of his mind. They help dull the anxiety that seems to take over when he’s too still for too long.
He walks to the window to look out over the night sky.
This is his favorite way to see the city -- high up enough that everything looks pristine. Get closer and you’ll be assaulted by the noise and the crowds and the pollution. Get closer and the flaws are too hard to ignore.
“Was there some kind of problem with my performance?”
Your words echo as clearly in Namjoon’s mind as if you’d spoken them out loud in this cavernous apartment. He takes a seat in his plush chair and sips his drink, savoring the familiar burn of the scotch.
He thinks back to when you both were kids.
Your father -- one of the few decent men in his own father’s inner circle -- didn’t bring you around much. He can only recall a few social functions you’d attended before taking off to university. News of your father’s death came shortly after that and it had been years since Namjoon had even spared a thought for you.
Then you came walking through his office door.
You definitely weren’t a kid anymore, that much was clear.
What was much less clear was why you -- a college graduate -- turned up one day, desperate for a job. He hadn’t questioned your need for fast work and fast money and you hadn’t questioned the long hours and strange requests.
You repaid him with a flawless work ethic.
And he repaid you by fantasizing about fucking you blind over his desk basically every chance he got.
So yeah, there was a problem, all right.
The problem was Kim Namjoon.
*********************
“There you are.”
The voice on the other end of the line practically slithers into Namjoon’s ear when he answers the late call.
“Mina,” he sighs, infusing the name with a displeasure that comes through loud and clear across the connection. “This line is for business only, you know that.”
Mina makes an exasperated sound.
“I wouldn’t have to call your cell if you’d return my messages from the office. I’ve been trying to reach you for more than two weeks now. I’m starting to feel like you’re avoiding me.”
Namjoon pulls the phone away to allow himself a long exhale before putting it back to his ear.
“How did you get this number?”
“You’re hung up on that?” Mina groans. “Honestly, Namjoon. I reached out to your new assistant who was more than happy to pass it along.”
Fuck. He’s going to have to fire the new girl, isn’t he?
“She’s a nice girl,” Mina muses. “Far more competent than that last assistant of yours. Excellent decision on replacing that woman if she fails to complete a task as simple as delivering a message. Three messages, actually.”
Namjoon mulls that information over in silence.
“Where is your mind these days, Mr. Kim?” Mina tries to cover her displeasure with a laugh but he hears it anyway. “You’ve been so distant lately. It’s been too long since we had the chance to enjoy one another’s company.”
Namjoon can envision the pout she is wearing on the other end of the line and it aggravates him beyond belief. Pouting ranks near the very top of his least favorite female manipulation tactics.
Pouting makes him want to put his fist through a wall.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes,” he mutters. “I’m here.”
“Are you drunk?”
Namjoon grits his teeth, fingers tightening around his glass.
“No, Mina,” he grinds out. “Not drunk. Just not in the mood. Not anymore.”
She sputters on the other end of the line as Namjoon ends the call.
Maybe he should feel bad about being so blunt, but he doesn’t. It’ll be a week before she’s onto the next wealthy, connected man. Women like Mina make sport of locating and latching on to power.
She’ll survive.
Namjoon stares out into the night sky and sips his scotch, letting his mind wander back to the one piece of the conversation that did capture his interest.
What are the chances that you -- a woman with seemingly unerring attention to detail -- forgot to deliver three separate messages from the same caller?
He contemplates that in the dark.
How odd.
***********************
YOU
Kim Namjoon was the most serious boy you’d ever seen.
Even as a young man, he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. You can still close your eyes and remember exactly how he looked back then -- standing solemn at his father’s side, lanky body swimming in a suit he’d not yet grown into. His hair just a touch too long and falling into his eyes.
You thought he was the most handsome boy in all of Korea.
Namjoon kept mostly to himself -- no easy task given that his status alone made him the most celebrated catch amongst the children of the Gajog.
Everyone fought for the attention of the boy who would be king.
It would have been so easy for him to abuse the power he had over his peers, to treat them with disrespect, but Namjoon never did. You noticed how kind he was to the children who idolized him. You noticed how well he managed the volatile moods of his alcoholic father. You noticed how he hovered protectively over his sister.
He never noticed you, of course.
Your own father was careful to limit your exposure to the Gajog and as such, you lived on the outskirts of the social circle. By the time you were a teenager, you’d only spoken to Namjoon directly a handful of times. The few times you did see him face-to-face, you’d had to suffer through that awkward moment before his eyes lit with recognition.
It always took a minute for him to remember who you were, but when he finally did -- every time he finally did -- your heart would stop just a bit at his shy smile.
That was the image you held on to when you held your breath and walked into his office a few months ago. You’d taken a deep breath and prayed that the quiet, kind kid you’d known so long ago hadn’t changed too much over the years. And then you stepped into his posh office.
Kim Namjoon definitely wasn’t a kid anymore.
The Namjoon who stood up from behind his desk to bow a greeting was nothing short of devastating.
Standing in place of the slender boy from your childhood was a man with deep, dark eyes and a striking, angular face. His suit -- cut to fit every line of his body to an exacting standard -- did nothing to conceal his powerful frame. He had grown into the full lips that once seemed a bit too large for his face.
Without a doubt, he’d become the most handsome man in all of Korea.
The shy smile remained, though -- dimples prominent when Namjoon extended a hand to shake yours and you woodenly accepted, blinking back. You’d realized, absently, that you were gawking.
You hoped he hadn’t noticed the same thing.
If Namjoon had picked up on your mortifying reaction to seeing him after all these years, he was far too much of a gentleman to let on. He’d offered you a seat and then listened patiently as you explained that you were in need of a job -- any job -- so long as you could start right away.
You left out the painful details, of course.
Namjoon nodded quietly as you outlined your education and qualifications and emphasized your willingness to serve the Gajog in any role he saw fit. His eyes were warm and reassuring as you spoke, but you still braced yourself for the possibility that he’d send you away empty handed.
He didn’t.
At the end of your impassioned speech, Kim Namjoon made you an offer you could not refuse.
Reporting directly to him and starting right away.
***************************
The serious boy you’d known so many years ago had grown into an even more serious man.
It didn’t take long on the job to notice the bone-deep melancholy that seemed to emanate from Kim Namjoon. He was good at concealing it in front of others but you saw it clearly. The way he would stand at his window at night, drink in hand, brooding. The way the shadows behind his eyes would surface when he thought no one was looking.
But you were always looking.
You wanted so badly to help.
You wanted to do something to help ease the burden he seemed to carry around at all times. So you threw yourself into the work, memorizing his routines and taking note of the things he needed. You organized his files. You streamlined his schedule. You ran interference on Yoongi and Hoseok and Seokjin on the nights when his moods turned dark and ominous.
Tiny gestures, in the grand scheme of things -- but there were days when you could convince yourself the gestures made a difference.
Days when Namjoon would look at you with a quiet appreciation that made you feel heat down to your toes. Days when his eyes would soften as you’d instinctually met some need he hadn’t voiced out loud. Days when the darkness inside of him seemed to recede and one of those heart-stopping shy smiles would emerge.
You convinced yourself over time that this was enough -- that taking care of him like this would be enough for you.
It had to be enough.
To allow yourself to imagine otherwise was nothing short of delusion.
**********************
“Eomma?”
You call out into the quiet as you lock the door behind you. You can barely make out the sound of your mother’s soft reply from her bedroom.
This is where she spends most of her days now, shuffling between her bed and her chair, too weak to stand for more than a few minutes at a time. Pill bottles litter the nightstand, obscuring the yellowing photograph of your parents as newlyweds.
“My sweet Ttal,” she rasps, voice hoarse from disuse, “You’re home.”
“I am,” you sigh, sweeping into the room and pulling off your coat. You bend down to drop a kiss on her forehead before taking a seat at her side. Your mother’s once-luminous skin is now spotted with age, eyes cloudy and dull, but she is still one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen.
She flinches when you take one of her hands into your much colder ones.
“Sorry,” you murmur, massaging over the paper-thin skin. “It’s freezing outside. I should have warmed them first.”
She gives your fingers a gentle squeeze.
“Home early again,” she croaks. “Is everything okay at work?”
Her innocent question brings the sadness simmering just under the surface of your thoughts back to a full boil. You still can’t understand why Namjoon chose to reassign you -- and you still can’t forget the sting of getting the news secondhand from your replacement.
Your face falls at the memory and you hope your mother doesn’t notice.
The last thing you’d want to do is add worry to her already long list of concerns.
“Yes, Eomma,” you soothe, smoothing back her hair. She leans into your touch with a tired smile. “Everything is fine. My new boss doesn’t keep me as late as the old one did. But that’s a good thing, right?”
“Right,” she agrees, closing her eyes. “Mrs. Sim left just a short while ago. She brought some Japchae for dinner. Not as good as mine, but not half-bad, either.”
You laugh at the way the corner of her mouth lifts into a smile at her jest.
People like Mrs. Sim are in large part why you’ve fought so hard to keep your mother here in your childhood home. The financial strain has been tough -- particularly when paired with the medical bills -- but you need the help. With no siblings to share your burden, you’ve had to lean on the goodwill of longtime neighbors.
“Leave Mrs. Sim and her Japchae alone mother,” you tease, standing to stretch. “I’m going to get a shower before bed.”
Your mother makes a noise that sounds like approval, but you can tell she’s already drifting off again.
She’s on so many pills these days; a blessing and a curse. More pills means less pain and better rest -- something she desperately needs. But more pills also means far fewer moments of lucidity -- much shorter windows of time for you to enjoy your mother’s quick wit and dry humor.
She’s back in a sleep state before you even make to stand. You stroke your fingertips across her face just as your phone pings in your pocket. You pull it out and very nearly dismiss the routine banking alert altogether -- but something catches your eye.
You swipe into the app to confirm you’re seeing the numbers correctly -- that your tired eyes and tired mind aren’t playing games with you.
They aren’t.
The direct deposit of your paycheck is coming on the date it should, at the time it should. But the number glaring back at you from the screen is higher -- much higher -- than it should be.
A demotion and a raise in the span of one week?
How odd.
******************************
GLOSSARY:
Gajog: Family
Eomma: Mother
Ttal: Daughter
tag list: @barbikatherine
#namjoon smut#namjoon x reader#namjoon mafia au#bts mafia#ficswithluv#networkbangtan#btswriterscollective#btscreatorscorner#ksmutclub#bangtanarmynet
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So Happy
Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky Barnes AU x Female Reader
Summary: After a night with your favorite artist, you’re left wondering where you both really stand.
Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual, but unprotected sex, oral [male & female receiving], vaginal penetration and fingering, size kink and dirty talk). Language. Light mentions of substance abuse. Lying asses. Internet toxicity (I hate it here sometimes). Angst, I guess...TIME SKIP...and absolute horrendous fluff (that’s not my brand, alright).
Disclaimer: You can read part 1 here! It would make some sense.
A/N: This follow-up is still based on some true events. Can’t hate the players, hate the game. For the most part it’s made up because some of us deserve the ending we think we deserve. I’m dedicating this to @shawnie--jo for all the love, enthusiasm and the patience because this took me a while. It’s a doozy! & with that note, enjoy!
“You owe me,” is the first thing you hear your friend say the moment you stepped foot back into the hotel you had booked for the night before. It was in a much different tone than of the one she had in line for the concert.
Frozen in place, you turn your attention to her sitting figure on one of the single couches of the lobby. She wasn’t happy that much you could tell judging by the expression on her face and the way she sat impatiently, one leg over the other and her arms crossed against her chest.
The bag next to hers on the ground adjacent to her feet were your belongings. The way it was misshapen suggested she had hastily shoved your things back in it for you. She must’ve been in a rush to leave before checking out or…
“You owe me $50 for the late check out fee,” she clarifies, ceasing all thoughts of why she was currently pissed at you.
Now begins the walk of shame. It wasn’t something you were used to. Could you even call this that? You had no reason to feel ashamed because you were completely aware of last night’s events. You defended your decision as so! Then why did you feel this way?
Perhaps it had to do with you just now returning to the hotel you were supposed to have been checked out of hours ago, but instead you’re greeted to your more than displeased best friend staring daggers at you for a different reason.
Sheepishly bringing a hand to rub the back of your neck, when you’re close enough to her, you open your mouth to begin apologizing, but she wasn’t done as she got up on her feet to level with you.
“You said you would be back before check out,” she said voice slowly rising in volume, no matter the distance between you two was close or not, you could tell this was just the start of a catalyst, “and it’s...oh,” she stops to look down at her phone, which shined bright revealing her lock screen and more importantly the time, “...only three hours past check out!” Yup, not happy with you at all.
“I know you’re upset,” you start with the obvious, “and you have the right to be. I said I would be back in time, but I wasn’t,” maybe admitting you were wrong would allow her to see you were indeed aware of your mistakes, soften the blow to come a little bit.
“Upset? I’m disappointed!” she says, her arms falling to her sides and with a look of disbelief but is quickly washed over with indisposition. “Some sell-out rockstar invites you over to see him and you lose your sense of mind?”
“Look, I’ll pay you back. It’s no big deal.” At least on your end, you’re trying to remain calm even when her tone and choice of words get under your skin. You didn’t need this weekend to end on a bad note.
“This isn’t about the money!” She proclaimed.
“Then why are you bitching at me? I’m a grown adult! I know what I did-” Yeah, at least you were trying to stay composed, right?
“Do you?” She challenges. It’s one of those rhetorical questions, in which she didn’t need an answer to, but you were still going to give her one.
“Yes, ok. I slept with Bucky and I don’t regret it.”
The defense you put up so quickly around you weren’t something your friend was used to witnessing...maybe to your parents, yeah, but not at her. Sure, you’ve both had the occasional quarrels, but your relationship and sexual life was different because she really cared for your wellbeing and would be damned if someone hurt you.
“I’m just worried,” she admits for her initial brute front, “what you did was totally unlike you and I…”
“What?” You interrupt her, growing more tired of this conversation by the second.
“I don’t trust Bucky.” She blurts out.
You scoff at that reasoning, “you don’t know him-”
“And you do?” This time she interrupts and catches you off guard on that one. “You’re right. I don’t know him, but you said it yourself. Bucky meets tons of people every day. He’s on the road a lot. It’s easy for him to get lonely.”
There it was again. The self-conscious thoughts questioning everything about last night’s events. In a pathetic display of defense, you start counter-questioning her with some of the statements Bucky said to you. Why would he tell you all those sweet things and pretty promises if he knew he could have you so easily? Why would he think you weren’t like the other women out there who exposed their escapades for their 15 minutes of fame? What made him think anything of you? There were other girls in the crowd.
“He’s going to tell you things he wants you to hear to get what he wants.” She really believed that. She knew what some men were capable of. She had more experience than you and you often turned to her for things like this.
Her last sentence was something to let sink in. The way last night played out and the last few hours you spent with Bucky; you were blinded by a rose tint world.
Earlier that morning...
“You know,” Bucky starts with his gaze first set on your face, slowly starting to drift down your body trying to catch a glimpse of uncovered skin that the blanket was doing a horrible job in concealing. You watch with bubbling desire the way he bit his bottom lip and eyes growing darker, ”...if you ever need anything. I’m here to help. I can get you out of that town and you can stay with me in Brooklyn. We’ll find you a place to work in that’ll appreciate you more.”
He was a dream. He was so sweet, but you weren’t going to deny it. As much as you adored what little you knew about the real Bucky, a part of you that was always so careful was also skeptical. That voice in the back of your mind, whether it was your parents, teachers in the past, PSA spokespersons or your best friend, was still trying to tell you Bucky wasn’t an exception.
Then on the other hand, you were finally getting what you wanted. You weren’t a little girl anymore. You could take care of your own heart. Why couldn’t you have some fun? Indulge a little. Life is too short to sit around and wait. If he was serious about any of the things he said, then great! If not, oh well, you’ll live. What’s life without experience, right?
You just never imagined any of the harmless mentions or replies through social media were going to get you in bed with him and so smitten.
When Bucky pulls his lips away from you, he repositions himself on the bed to lie on his back and bask in the comfortable silence. You’re still on your side, but your eyes suddenly widen as you curiously take a peek over his frame and notice the red numbers of the alarm clock on the bedside table. The curtains were drawn shut, so you had no trace of the actual time of day.
“Shit,” you muttered to yourself, but was no use. It was just you and Bucky in the room and he’d definitely wonder why you’d grown frantic.
“Whoa. What’s the rush?” He says slowly sitting up, still exhausted, and watching you throw the hotel comforter over your body to get out of bed. You didn’t even care that you were naked in front of him. He’d have a souvenir to remember you by.
The sex tape was the least of your worries though. You fucking missed check out! You can only imagine the look on your friend’s face when you reunite.
“I missed check out,” you respond while momentarily being thrown off course in search of your underwear, but then instantly remembering how Bucky tore it off of you, and you did your best to push aside last night’s activities.
“What?” He asks, rubbing his face trying to rid himself of sleep. He had to get going too. The band was off to play in the next city in some hours. Unfortunately, you didn’t have enough time to take off from work to follow him.
“The hotel I’m staying at. I missed check out and my friend is going to be so pissed at me,” you explained beaten. You can’t for the life of you see where your clothes were in the dark room.
Drawing the curtains open or switching the light on without warning wouldn’t be ideal to the both of you and not only that, the effects of the substances your body was coursed through, the physicality of you and Bucky’s actions last night, the consequence of it all topped with the lone fact that you’re now standing naked in front of Bucky starts to seep in.
You try not to stand there awkwardly and do the only thing you can do. Inhibition creeping back in, you cover your face with your hands and breath in and out, hoping the floor would swallow you whole so you could escape this embarrassment and your friend’s pending wrath.
“Look,” Bucky says now in front of you, pulling your hands away from your face, he’s naked too, washing away some traces of vulnerability away, “you’re already late. You can’t change that. We can only keep moving forward,” he says, his arms slipping around your body to pull you close to his.
The sudden jolt from the skin-to-skin contact quickly subsides with the warmth of his body transferring onto yours. You hold onto his biceps and nod in acceptance. Any attempt to rush back to your hotel wasn’t going to do you any favors now.
“So then, what do you say we get cleaned up and try to enjoy our time together?” The way his head tilted to the side, a not-so-subtle hint in the direction of the shower in the bathroom, his smooth voice and his eyes half-lidded, ready to get lost in you one more time.
You said it yourself, life was short, so if you already knew your friend was going to chew you out, why deny yourself of its pleasures right now, especially if it’s coming from Bucky.
“Can we just get going? We’ll catch traffic on the way back to the city if we just stand here and keep putting each other down,” you ask, slightly shaking your head of the early morning activities and straightening yourself up, bending forward to pick up your bag and sling it over your shoulder.
This little spat would eventually pass. None of the arguments you two had were ever threatening to your friendship with each other. You’ve both fought over things much more critical that it’d be a shame to let it be over someone like Bucky.
Before you could turn back around to exit, your friend grabs a hold of your arm and stops you. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. I could be wrong. Bucky could be the one, but I want you to be smart about doing whatever you end up doing with him. I just want you to ultimately be happy,” she says wholeheartedly.
You knew she was only coming from a good place. She only ever encouraged you to do your best and the right thing. She was the one you sought out advice from and she never led you astray. In the end, you knew you couldn’t ever truly be mad at her. You owed her more than $50 alone.
“Thanks. I’m sorry for snapping at you. I know your intentions are in the right place and I really appreciate you for everything. You even agreed to come to this show with me! But I’m only human and I’m going to make mistakes along the way,” you say and notice the fallen look on her face, but you don’t give her long enough to feel sorry for you with your follow up statement, “...if I get hurt, it’s going to suck, but I’ll get back up, learn from it and move on. Plus, I’ll have you there by my side to tell you I told you so...again, and we both know how much you enjoy that!” You end it on a joking note.
A look of hope creeps back in on your friend and she’s pleased to see your resilient attitude again. You give her your best steadfast smile and it seemingly proved to be successful enough for her to accept your answer as she pulls you in for a warm hug.
You wonder, what Bucky’s motive was? He was Bucky Barnes. He could have anyone. Why did he trust you enough to be intimate with? What was his game? You just had to keep telling yourself for your sanity and wellbeing, with or without Bucky, in the end you’d still be happy.
The months to follow after that tour, you and Bucky had continued to stay in touch. You genuinely felt happy. He was giving you attention! From daily texts and long phone conversations or video calls, some rather suggestive than most, you were able to really learn a lot about each other. While you minded his glamorous lifestyle, each interaction erased all notions of it and he was just another normal human being.
If you were being truthful, a part of you was hoping whatever the two of you had was exclusive. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were in a way reserving yourself for Bucky because you felt there was something between you two and maybe he was just like you and too shy to be the one to bring it up first.
At times you’d find yourself being the one to initiate conversation...especially when the communication started becoming less frequent. They then reduced to just Holiday texts and suddenly they’d become unresponsive and you’d even be left on read. He never flew you to Brooklyn. He never followed you back on social media. You’d accepted he was most likely busy and the excuse of not wanting to attract unwanted attention to you, but the reality of it was he had seemed to move on.
It’d been close to a year and things were really quiet. The Avengers hadn’t released anything new nor did they have an upcoming tour to rehearse for. You’re trying to not let Bucky’s silence bug you and do what you’ve always told yourself - keep living your life. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you were angry at first for letting him get to you like that and realize that boys will be boys. They would never grow a real pair and be straight with women. They always had to go and sugarcoat everything. You had to accept it. Don’t hate the player, hate the game. You were just a one-night stand and the worst part of it was that you consented to it, so you couldn’t hold anything against him.
Things picked back up in your life, work demanded more of your time and you were dating again, taking it very slow and casual. You knew nothing more would come out of it, but it was enough to distract you from Bucky. Life was slowly returning back to normal, even though it never truly could be, until you notice Bucky is posting regularly on his social media accounts again.
It’s not so much that but is one of the comments from another user that is a constant in each sporadic post. You recognize the user as an international model from another country. Curiosity gets the best of you and you decide to check out her profile, noting all the photos of them together and realizing that while you thought Bucky went M.I.A., he was spending his free time getting cozy with her in exotic places.
Her comments start out harmless in the beginning, but quickly become more and more persistent until one sets the record straight. It read, “that’s MY man” followed by a number of heart eye emojis.
You didn’t even know Bucky and the model knew of each other, but why wouldn’t they? He was exposed to extraordinary people, so finding someone in the business was a better bet than settling with you. They lived in a totally different world than yours.
There’s a plethora of thoughts that run through your mind. This is why he isn't responding to you. He had a girlfriend, who was in a much different league than of your own, and he didn’t really go public with it on his end. It made you sad, that much you could admit to yourself because you held back for him, but you weren’t going to admit this feeling to him or your friend or the world. You were going to prove to them you’d do the same thing - move on.
It’s a rather slow day at work and you’ve resulted in mindlessly scrolling through your Facebook newsfeed, but growing tired of lame memes and life updates from people you haven’t spoken to since high school, you switch over to Twitter for a more different kind of news and also a bit of some entertainment.
You’re not expecting the particular topic to be trending - #BuckyBarnesIsCancelled. You’d manage to move on from whatever it was between you and Bucky and returned back to your daily routine. You tried to remain a fan of The Avengers, but it wasn’t the same. The fling, if you could call it, with Bucky wouldn’t let you. You’d always be grateful for how their music impacted your life, but you’d have to keep living your life despite what transpired.
Sitting up from your slumped position in your office chair, you ponder for maybe two seconds before clicking on the hashtag. Things were still pretty quiet with The Avengers, with the exception of paparazzi photos here and there, but this seemingly came out of nowhere. What stupid thing did he get himself into?
“No way,” you mock at the headline. Claims of Bucky being mentally abusive, and an addict were being made left and right.
You scrolled through the timeline and threads of replies to find the source of it all and you were shocked that it came from none other than his own girlfriend...well now ex-girlfriend you assumed. The vindictive side of you only allowed a small part in finding some humor in this, but if Bucky was any bit of the Bucky you spent the night with and got to know for those few short months then this was sad for him.
There wasn’t much you could do though. What were you to do? Send him a message of condolences of some sort? He’d probably just leave you on read. Whatever you two had was long over.
Bucky’s agency did well to defend him and save his reputation. They released one statement to clear things up. There’d been images before of him partying and no doubt high on some substance, but that didn’t prove he was an addict. Then again, did you ever really know him? You’d been exposed to that stuff around and because of him. Some people just had more access to certain things than others did.
In some time, when things leveled out once more, he seemed to be back in the clear, but at a rate where people have already decided whose story they believed over the other, whose side they were on, the damage had been done. If there was a recurring theme here, Bucky had one thing to do after the scandal - move on with his life.
It felt a little strange being here again. If you take into consideration some of the things that had already happened, a lot has really changed since you were last in a line to see The Avengers live.
The band had taken a short hiatus to let the fire die out from Bucky’s scandal. It was probably a smart move - to let people cool their jets and forget. It was last reported Bucky had turned a new leaf...something about getting help. Steve took time off to focus on other projects...something about humanitarian work. Sam released some solo stuff...something with a different sound, but still as successful. The time off was probably the best for the guys.
There weren’t as many people it seemed, but enough for them to play in one of the city’s largest venues. You suppose that’s what a span of three years could do to an artist. When the tour was announced you weren’t sure if you should buy a ticket or not, but it’d been some time since you had a night where you could forget about the stresses of the world for a few hours. Never mind the short stint between you and Bucky, you were still a fan of their music and the joyous feeling you got from it was timeless.
This time you were alone. You didn’t even tell your friend they were touring again. Bucky was almost a nonexistent topic for a good while now. Plus, she had her own life to live and couldn’t always be there next to you. You were the bigger fan after all. On top of that, she would’ve most likely have advised against you attending.
Your attire was not to impress, electing on something casual and comfortable with a simple pair of jeans, a leather jacket over a nice top that did a better job at controlling your cleavage than the last one, and cute boots. Yeah, a lot had changed, but the scene didn’t as there were still a mix of fans, old and new, over and under dressed.
The guys still had it. They looked great! They definitely belonged on the stage for the world to see. They even played a 3-song encore. You could tell they loved doing what they did and anyone who was a fan could feel the passion and energy they poured out in the performance.
You’re currently sitting in the seat of your car, head resting against the headrest as you try to unwind a little from standing for a few hours and from the walk back to the parking garage when your phone vibrates and chimes loudly.
You glance over at the device you placed next to the driving console and your eyebrows scrunch in confusion at the name that appeared. Bucky Barnes. You’d never deleted his number and his text message thread had remained at the very bottom of your messaging app all this time. A sense of apprehension flows through you as you wonder what he could possibly want. How do you just text someone after ghosting them for over a year? Not to mention to someone you did something so intimate with and made all those promises to in the past. How does one do that?
Not wanting to dwell on it any longer or slip into restless thoughts about Bucky again because it wasn’t a walk in the park to forget about him, you open the text. It asks if you were in attendance because he claimed to have seen you in the crowd. This time around you’re not overthinking about what to respond with, you simply say yes. He’d been quick with his next message asking if you were still in the area to meet up.
The wise thing would probably be to reject the invite, but you find yourself once again staring at a hotel door waiting for him to open it. Initially, you’d suggested he tell you what he wanted to say via text, but he said it was something that had to be told in person. So, having been through what you had as a result of meeting up with him in the past, you had some sense of mind this time, you’d just have to make another mental note to not jump into bed with him again. If you were being truthful to yourself, the sex tape left you feeling a little cheap. He didn’t even send it to you as some form of fucked up courtesy or assure you that it wasn’t ever going to get leaked and luckily it hasn’t. You hoped he’d deleted it.
It was almost like Deja vu. You might as well have been reliving the night the first time Bucky invited you over to his hotel room. In the beginning it was kind of awkward and quiet, and it was exactly that years later, just with added history of course.
You’d chosen to sit on the end of one of the beds while Bucky moved slowly around the room trying to gather his thoughts and where to start. He notices the change in you. You were more confident and as you should be. Bucky Barnes couldn’t intimidate you this time. He had more to be embarrassed about than you did now.
Even though you had nowhere to be in the morning, it was getting late and you really would just like to get this meeting over with and Bucky was stalling.
“Bucky, why did you invite me here?” You say, the one to break the ice. He finally stops fidgeting around and focuses on you.
“I...I wanted to apologize,” he starts off, and you’re unmoving silence allows him to continue, “I realize how much of a complete dick I was to you…”
“What do you mean?” You ask. It’s not like he spread any dirty rumors about you or anything. He didn’t need to apologize for anything that you’re aware of. Maybe for leading you on, but you came to terms some time ago that maybe he didn’t owe you an explanation or perhaps you’d never get one. Yet here you both are.
“I used you,” he explains, now you’re confused, and he can see you’re not getting it entirely, which pains him. You didn’t think anything he did with you was wrong because you consented to it. It took two to tango, right?
Except it wasn’t like that at all and he wanted you to know how he strung you along all just for a quick fuck in the beginning and to cover his tracks he acted like he cared in getting to know you afterwards not realizing something purely good could come out of it for him. The confession wasn’t meant to hurt you again, but for you to realize your worth. He messed up with someone so special.
“I wasn’t lying when I said I remembered you from years before when you tripped in front of me,” there’s a small trace of happiness in the fond memory, “...and when I saw you in the crowd that night, fuck you looked so good and you still do…” he ended up a flustered mess after that small admission.
“Where is this going?” You ask hoping he’d get back on track and reveal the rest, trying to keep the fact he admitted an attraction to you in the back of your mind.
“Right...I’ll admit my ego got the best of me. The band was doing so well, everyone noticed us! I was getting attention from all kinds of people! I got hooked to different things,” suppose those articles were true then about him getting clean, you thought to yourself, “...it does get lonely on the road and I was so desperate for anyone,” oh you hoped and prayed he wouldn’t say what he was going to say next, but he does, “...and I knew there wouldn’t be that much effort on my part to get you to sleep with me.”
Great. Your friend was right then, and he was just like any other house name artist.
“Um...okay, that’s not something I was wanting to hear about myself,” you said after letting that sink in. Did you still appear to look easy?
“No, I’m sure it’s not, but when we were alone together everything was just easy-”
“Yeah, I got that. I’m easy!” You interrupt, and now you’re angry. As he’s trying to explain his actions, you started thinking about how mad and hurt you were when he started ghosting you. You couldn’t be upset about him getting a girlfriend, but the fact that he didn’t think he could continue even being your friend and instead just chose to ignore you was the better option was hella annoying.
“That’s not what I meant!” He says trying to justify his choice of words.
“Then how did you mean it?” You demand, and Bucky is a bit stunned with your new attitude. He foresaw that he would have a difficult time in explaining himself, but he didn’t think it’d be this hard dealing with how much his actions affected you.
“Everything was easy with you because you made it easy to feel,”
“I don’t know if I understand,” you say and attempt to get up, “...maybe this was a bad idea.”
“No, please. Let me finish,” Bucky is quick to get in front of you as he pleads for you to stay. You give him a slight nod and sit back down.
“Things with you were easy in a sense that being around you I was able to just be myself. I’ve never said those things to girls before you! I didn’t have to impress you with anything flashy. I even forgot I was some rockstar! You’re an incredible person, really-”
“I’m sorry, Bucky, but I just can’t,” you say, hating to interrupt him again, but you’re not ready to hear any of this, “...none of this still doesn’t sound right. It was just one night and then how do you explain just ghosting me the moment you get a supermodel girlfriend?” that last part came out unintentionally feisty but might as well let him know how you’d felt, “You couldn’t even be my friend when you were with her! I guess it was easy to just forget me too…”
Bucky lowers his head ashamed of how he handled that and just nods in acknowledgement of his actions, “you’re right. It doesn’t make sense, but what I feel is even harder to explain...”
“None of this accounts for her,” you demand. A part of you just wanted to know where she came from. How did it happen? Who asked who out? It wasn’t important information to know about, but the urge of human curiosity was large.
“She wasn’t even my idea,” he muttered, not really wanting to talk about her.
“What?” You ask.
“Getting with her was the label’s idea,” he admits, hating he was coerced into the idea of an on-screen relationship.
You scoff at the stupidity of fake relationships in the Entertainment industry. Why did people get their rocks off over it? Were OTPs really that a big deal? Are people so bored with their own lives that they have to push corporate into bringing two people who don't have feelings for each other together? However, Bucky thinks you don’t believe him and given how little you developed in trusting him with things, he’s not entirely wrong.
“I know it was a dumb thing to agree to and it’s one of the horrors working in this business, but I know now I should’ve just been forward with you,” Bucky says, voice still riddled begging for forgiveness.
“Why couldn’t you then?” You interrogate and notice the creases of distress on his face soften. “If I made it so easy to feel, then why wasn’t it just that to tell me the truth?”
“I-I don’t know,” he replies.
“Yes, you do,” you retort, and pretend you’re going to leave, but by doing so you know it’ll only get him to spill the beans quicker.
“I was scared!” He admits, stepping in front of you and keeping you still in your place on the end of the bed.
“Scared? Of what? Me?” You ask incredulously looking up at him.
“Yes!” He says and kneels down in front of you. “You’re so perfect! You’re real! You don’t treat me like I’m some celebrity. You didn’t even participate when people started cancelling me or whatever! You could’ve and you had every right to expose me, but you didn’t!” Your act did the trick, because the words just kept coming out of Bucky.
“I’m so sorry for ignoring you, for not telling you I was with her, but the more I got to know you, a part of me got really scared that I couldn’t keep being the kind of man you deserved because of my problems,” by this point, Bucky has placed both his hands on either side of you, his arms trapping you, “...trust me, I had a lot of time to think about everything I did wrong and what harm my reckless lifestyle has on others…I just feared it was already too late, but the one thing that I always thought about that helped me get through it was the lone night I had with you. I was so happy! I wanted that again...I had to get back to that, so I invited you back to try,” you didn’t even realize how close his face was to yours. He looked so torn and you hated seeing him like that, but there was nothing you could say that could fix things right now.
Bucky now felt vulnerable and almost pathetic. Just because he wanted another shot of happiness, and with you of all people, what made it okay for him to think you wanted to try again? You weren’t so certain of what you wanted with him anymore.
“Wow,” is all you give. You’re not sure what more you could add. After all that, he actually liked you? Were you still sure you weren’t living in some fanfic world? You needed some time to think about that and much to Bucky’s expectations, you weren’t going to come to a conclusion before you left this room tonight.
“Is there anything else you want to say?” You offer him the floor, and he gets it. You’re not going to say anything particular to his confession, at least not now. He’s not upset at all. It was a lot to take in. He had time to think, and he had to respect the time you’d need now.
He nods and backs away, realizing the close proximity, “just one question,” you nod this time and let him ask, “do you regret it?”
You know what he’s referring to, sleeping with him, the sex tape, the countless conversations, meeting with him right now - everything.
“No,” you answer honestly.
He lets out a weak smile, looking down sheepishly and adds, “I’ve never done anything like this with anyone before, I promise.”
He could promise and swear up and down all he’d like, but how could you be really sure? The only response you could give him is a small, neutral hum in acknowledgement.
Bucky knew this conversation wasn’t going to go as he had hoped. He really didn’t have a plan, he just really wanted to see you again. He goes silent and you know at this point, everything was all laid out. Time would tell the rest if this was worth saving.
“I can forgive you. I know I can because in a way part of moving on allows one to do so but completing a session or doing time in rehab doesn’t really prove anything,” you said brutally honest with him, he looks up at you almost defeated and just waiting for the final blow.
“You said a lot of promising things back then and you said a lot more tonight,” you add on, and gently begin to remove his hands from the spots either side of you to let you free, and get up to head out, however not with one more thing he could reflect on, also giving him hope, “...you need to show you’ve really changed,” then the conversation was over.
In some ways, these events needed to happen. He had to hit rock bottom to learn from his mistakes and kick out the bad habit. He knew now that he had to work hard to give you a reason to trust him and maybe even in the long run be with him.
On the other hand, you had to go through this whole thing in order to not base your happiness on someone else. You could be happy on your own and open enough to be with someone that wasn’t Bucky.
For the next few months, to your surprise, Bucky had actually made an effort to keep in touch with you. It wasn’t overbearing and he minded your space as well as he could from a distance, given that he was still busy with the band and other duties that came with his status.
While at times he could be flirty, you learned it was part of his charm. Your friend wasn’t entirely thrilled when you’d admitted to her that you visited Bucky that night. You might’ve not shown it, but she knew how much his past actions affected you. Granted it did its job in teaching you a lesson and in return allowed you to be more confident and to not take anyone’s bullshit, she’d be damned if Bucky tried to pull another act like that around you again.
By now, you were comfortable enough with him to even tell him about random dates you’d gone on; none proving to be long-term, but it was nice to confide in someone else other than your best friend and get an opinion from a male perspective.
You weren’t going to lie, there was a part of you that still liked Bucky more than a friend, but you weren’t sure when it was okay to willingly go all in again with him. Sure, you’d given him another chance, but just how low could people really go to get what they wanted? Some people could just be really manipulative, and you weren’t wanting to ruin what you’ve both rebuilt for yourselves. Either way, you’d be happy with him in your life even as a friend, which is how it could’ve gone if he’d been honest from the get-go.
The year was coming to a close and you’re at your job’s annual Christmas party. You’d managed to convince your friend to be your plus one, but she claimed she didn’t need bribery because your company always ordered outstanding catering and who in their right mind would turn down free food anyways?
Aside from pretending you were having a great time talking to your co-workers, most of which whom you barely spoke to at the office and as faux-friendly as they were tonight, you felt stupid for glancing at your phone every now and then hoping to get a message from Bucky. He’d been keeping you entertained the first half of the party until he just stopped responding.
Your friend had ditched you to take advantage of the open bar several minutes ago, so you were sitting at a table alone trying not to look pathetic. You started thinking of when an appropriate time would be to leave when the Market Manager of your job took the mic. Too late, you thought to yourself and decided to get comfortable in your seat and listened to what cheesy Holiday speech they had to give, but what you hadn’t expected was a surprise guest.
“What the hell?” You said to yourself as you watched Bucky, Steve and Sam shake hands with one of your bosses before settling into what would appear as an acoustic performance.
How’d they manage to get in contact with your job? Who gave them the in? Bucky knew what you did for a living, but you never stayed on that subject long enough to think much about it. Then your friend slides into the empty seat next to you, a drink in one hand and a knowingly smirk on her lips, one that suggests she was definitely in on this act. You didn’t realize how long you’d been staring at her with a stupid look of disbelief all over your face until your name is echoed throughout the speakers.
It snaps you out of your trance and you focus your attention to Bucky on stage, a huge smile on his face. All formalities set aside, he highlights you and your friendship before jumping into their new single, which was widely popular right now. Normally, you weren’t one to take compliments easily, not used to so much attention, but the whole world disappeared with Bucky.
Once their little set was over, the majority of your colleagues enjoyed the performance and asked for photos, to which the guys were more than happy to appease to. Your friend had managed to escape your clutches once more, this time abandoning you for the dessert table. You’re not alone for long as Bucky occupies the seat left open next to you. You look around your surroundings, hoping there aren’t any more surprises in store, and practically attack him with a big hug.
Bucky’s chuckle is muffled, his face buried in your hair, as he wraps his arms around you to return the gesture. When you pull away, you’re almost left speechless, but you’re dying to know how he managed to get here. He was technically still on tour and this was not one of the passing by cities.
“How?” You ask.
“Hi to you too,” he said with a cheeky grin, to which you playfully slap his arm, and he responds with your friend’s name. He explained how he’d wanted to see you and how much he had to grovel for your friend to trust him. She’d helped him arrange a meeting with your boss, who turned out to be a huge fan of The Avengers, and even sneak them inside the building all under your nose. She wasn’t easy to persuade, but if she was convinced enough to work with Bucky on anything then you knew this meant something more.
The initial notion of wanting to leave the party immediately vanished and you wanted nothing more than to just sit there in Bucky’s company all night. Steve and Sam greeted you and you never realized that this was actually the first time meeting them formally and not outside of a venue. They weren’t rockstars to you any more than you were just a fan to them. They were Bucky’s friends, of course he’d confined to them on his end as much as you did with yours.
At some point they had excused themselves to catch the last flight headed back to Brooklyn, but Bucky had decided to stay longer. When it was time to leave, you found out Bucky hadn’t planned long enough to where he would stay the night in your city. The original plan was to fly back home with the guys and pick up on the remainder of the tour. They had a few days off, but it was just a few days shy of ending, and he couldn’t wait that long to see you.
It’s funny how life works because this time you’re the one inviting him to your place. You weren’t going to blame it on the open bar or how late it was or the underlying tension that was surrounding you two, but one thing was certain, it was mutual, and you both weren’t going to deny the attraction any longer.
You’d missed the weight of Bucky’s body on yours more than you’d realized as your hands held his face, keeping his lips attached to yours. You could taste the remnants of the unfinished drink he’d abandoned at the coffee table on his tongue. Bucky’s hands hiked your leg over his waist to get you to lie flat on your couch.
You’re the first to attempt to remove clothing by popping open the buttons of his button-up shirt before completely ridding of the item leaving him in his thin undershirt. You feel his hands slide up from your hips along your back as they dig into the minimal space the arch of your back had created for him to slowly unzip the back of your dress. With your lips both still attached, you manage to sit up, your dress falling down and bunching at the waist in the process, exposing your breasts. He couldn’t have picked a more perfect time to see you in an outfit that would not work with a bra.
Bucky curses breathlessly when he pulls his lips away from yours for a quick breather, but in the process, he takes a peek at your half naked body. You can tell he’s just itching to touch you and you take the commanding lead and place his hands on you. The atmosphere grows thicker, him kneading your breasts, you smash your lips on his in a sloppy lock.
You push Bucky down on his end of the couch and manage to kick your loose dress all the way down your legs and off your body. Bucky’s hands travel down to the curve of your ass before he grabs a handful of flesh, causing you to moan into the kiss. Your hands rake through his styled hair, the product he used unstiffening and his hair falls limp in your grasps.
Bucky’s hands started to aid your hips in moving roughly against his clothed member, desperate to relieve some friction, and you internally blushed remembering how thick he was, how full it felt to have his cock stuffed inside of you. You didn’t remain celibate during the hiatus of your relationship, you both had urges, but Bucky had really ruined others that came after him.
Your lips drifted down Bucky’s body, kissing at the skin of his chest in the pattern following the swoop-line seam of the undershirt that he was still wearing. You skipped the expanse of his toned stomach, until you’re met with the small amount of skin that peeked between his bottoms and hem of his undershirt. You slightly lift the material up and place small pecks at his lower abdomen, which causes a low groan to rumble in Bucky’s throat.
Your fingers deftly unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants, with the zipper pulled apart, you’re marveling at the imprint of his hard cock, already twitching and staining his boxers. You manage to break your gaze and look up at Bucky, who is desperately pleading with you to proceed. Your eyes never leave his as you lower your head closer to his member, tongue darting out to the dark spot of his boxers, tasting the precum.
The contact causes him to squirm and lips form in a tight line. You pull down his pants and agonizingly peel off his boxers slowly, dragging it down to his thighs, just enough to expose him enough for you to work with before you wrap a hand around his length. Bucky’s upper body is supported by his bent elbows so he could watch you.
You kiss the tip of his leaking cock, a small string of his precum sticking to your lips when you pull back, to which you run your tongue over. Bucky’s head falls back just in time when your lips enclose the head, tongue twirling around the ridge and teasingly at the slit and loving the sound of his breath getting caught in his throat. You inch your mouth down his length and your vacant hand gets quick to work on what you’re not able to intake while the other runs up his exposed abdomen, your fingers curling in and lightly scratching down as it runs down to massage one of his thighs. You can feel the muscle in his thigh flex at your touch the more your head bobs up and down on him.
A plethora of curses spew from his mouth, but the rush of sucking his cock, the gurgling of your spit mixed with his precum and occasional choking noise when your throat contracts around him, is all you can hear from your perspective. When you part from his member, you’re breathing intensifies, desperate for more air to enter your system, eyes slightly watering, lips swollen, your hand lazily slathering the wetness all over him.
“You’re so good at that,” Bucky comments and he finally manages to pick his head back up to look at you. He reaches forward to swipe at the mess on the corner of your chin, but you’re hungry for more, and you move your head to the side to suck on his thumb, eyes closed as you hum at the taste of his skin and essence.
Your soft tongue running against the pad of his somewhat calloused thumb, it pops lightly when you release the digit, a small, devious smile on your lips as you scoot away to lie on the other end of the couch. He’s almost at aghast by this, but even back then you were just always full of surprises around him and he wasn’t going to deny the appeal of your sexual allure.
Bucky is quick to get to your side, completely riding himself off the rest of his clothes - the undershirt, pants and boxers - he had dressed to impress but right now nothing more than but overdressed. He gently parts your legs, kissing up your calves and thighs, until settles between them, you can feel his warm breath fanning against your scantily covered core.
Unlike last time, you’re not afraid to watch him and he sends you a knowingly wink, quickly ascending up to give you a sweet kiss, while his fingers slip inside your panties and between your lips. Your hips eagerly thrust upwards hoping his fingers slip in.
“Baby, we got all night,” he says cradling your face in his other hand. You let out a small whine, but regardless attempt to be patient. Bucky studies your face, mesmerized by every structure and unique feature, then what felt like an eternity, but in reality, was only a few seconds, he sinks a finger inside your wet pussy.
As soon as the gasp leaves your lips, his lips swoop in and tongue instantly dipping in search of yours. The heated kiss only heightens the sensation in the pit of your stomach, your hips losing control and every buck up into his hand, your clit rubs up against his palm, invigorating it. The curl of his finger, lightly probs at the right spot inside you, you uncontrollably squeal against his lips, with a hand against his chest you gently push his body away from yours.
“Oh my God! Fuck, Bucky…” you say with your head tilting back to the curve of the couch’s arm. You feel Bucky’s lips kiss and suck at your exposed neck as his fingers continue their handy work, the lewd noises causing your eyes to roll back.
His lips find their way next to your ear, gently nipping at it, and you could just drown at the sound of his husky breathing and filthy words. “Can I taste you?” He asks. You’re not sure why he was asking, you’d want nothing less. You nod almost instantaneously before allowing him to remove your panties.
Bucky’s hungry eyes remain fixated on your glistening core, “oh, I missed this pussy,” he comments before his tongue fondles the lips. He has a hand lying flat against one of your legs, pressed on the couch to keep them spread apart, the other blocked by his body. His routine contrasts his old with how his tongue moves in slow and calculated laps. His mouth was very talented, given whatever style he chose to play.
You’re tethering on an orgasm and Bucky wanted nothing more than to watch you come undone for him. Bucky’s fingers and tongue work in tandem and fast to help you reach a climax.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” Bucky manages to ask in between, eyes peering up at you. You don’t actually answer because you can’t concentrate from the pleasure he’s bestowing and the impending release. “Good. I want you to cum. I want all this pussy has to give,” his voice hitting a different low, even his fucking voice was so sexy. Your hands clutch on fistfuls of the couch cushions when you feel the first wave of pleasure wash over your body, your hips stilled in place as Bucky laps up at your arousal.
“The sweetest thing ever,” Bucky mutters mostly to himself, but hearing that comment only feeds your ego, which never is a bad thing in an intimate setting. Your chest heaves up and down from the impact. Just as Bucky is about to crawl back up to parallel, you stop him with a foot at his chest. He grabs your small foot in his hand and blinks at your resistance.
“Sit back,” you command. He drops your foot and watches as your body maneuvers around to climb over his. He didn’t even realize his body had complied to your demand, absolutely hypnotized by you.
You lean in for a deep kiss, one that leaves his brain a mush, yours too almost that you have to steady yourself with one hand on the couch armrest. You reach a hand down between your bodies and grab a hold of his hard cock. Your fingers tracing along the vein before you start rubbing his head through your sensitive, wet folds. Bucky’s hands lay lightly on your hips, trying with all his might to not force you to take him all the way in. A large part of him liked this dominant side of you. There was so much about you he was dying to unearth.
“Baby, please…” he begins pleading as you barely press the tip of his cock just at your entrance before you slowly lower your body down to engulf his entire length. You sit still once you’re sure you’ve bottomed out, not noticing Bucky’s fingers digging into your hips, sure enough to leave crescent marks and tiny bruises.
Bucky’s face is buried in your neck, your cheek pressed against the top of his head, lost in the mop of dark hair. You feel his cock twitch inside of you causing your hips to ground on his. He was in so deep, you weren’t sure how long you were going to last in this position, but you’d be damned if you denied it.
You start with slow swivels before sliding back and forth on his cock. Bucky’s hands released their death grip from your hips, one travelled to the front to grope at your breasts while the other supported your body settling itself on the small of your back. Your hands set themselves on the back of the couch on either side of his head, using it as leverage to ground down harder on him.
“Mm, I missed fucking this big cock,” you lean down to whisper right in his ear, “you’re so deep, Bucky.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he spits out curse after curse at your dirty words. “You gonna cum on this big cock, hmm?” He asks. The question comes as a challenge and you weren’t ready to give up the ropes to him.
“Yeah, is this big cock gonna cum inside this tight pussy?” You counter the question, speeding up your gyrations until you start to feel the burn in your thighs and stomach begin to twist. He lets out a low, long growl, his eyes lulling shut and head falling back against the couch, ready to succumb to euphoria.
“No,” you say, suddenly ceasing all movements to pull at his hair. The sharp pain in his scalp causes his eyes to snap open and look up at you. “Keep your eyes on me,” you command much like how he did with you the first time. You watch him swallow the knot in his throat and give him a wicked smile before picking back up where you left off.
Your hands are sprawled on his sweaty chest as you bounce up and down his length. Bucky’s senses are on overdrive, the way your pussy naturally hugs his cock, walls squeezing occasionally, your breasts swaying right in front of him, your skin shining from the layer of sweat coating your body, and the look of immense pleasure written all over your face because of him.
“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he says over and over as some form of warning, hoping you’re not far behind.
The way his face contorted in ecstasy, lips parted, sweat building up on his forehead, the tip of his cock stabbing at your sweet spot, you were about to cum too. His words become a muffled mess when you attempt to silence him with a bruising kiss just as you reach your high, pussy clenching tight around his cock milking him of everything he’s got. Each spurt of his hot cum that shoots inside you causes your hips to stutter in response. Bucky attempts to keep them at bay with a hand pressed against your back, keeping your body close to him and in the process also instilling his seed is rooted deep inside of you.
“God...damn,” Bucky says short of breath when your body lies limp against his. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, you haven’t attempted to move just yet as you both sat there with his cock still buried in. When you manage to sit up, you stare back at Bucky with tired eyes, but there’s a smile on both your faces. It only slightly falters at his next words.
“I love you,” he says earnestly. Thankfully your silence doesn’t bother him, “...you don’t have to say it back,” he adds, “I just wanted you to know. You’re so special,” he proclaims and your heart leaps at the very admission. You only nod for now but give him another reassuring smile because in time you knew you could allow yourself to love Bucky and be loved by him in return. It wasn’t a conventional meeting, but this was your life, not everyone else's.
When you finally manage to pull yourself off his cock, it slips out fluidly with a trail of his cum following in suit. You knew you’d curse yourself later on, but you’re both too tired to clean the mess right now. The pair of you settle into a lying position, facing one another, encased in each other’s arms. It’s a moment of bliss as you both just lie there, his eyes closed and a smile seemingly permanently etched on his face, only around you.
“Hey Bucky,” you pipe up breaking the silence. He hums in response, “I want to know something...” you start out with.
“Anything,” he says, eyes still closed, his hand running up and down your arm, an indicator that he’s present and listening.
“What happened between you two?” Curiosity getting the best of you once more, you’re hoping this doesn’t ruin the moment, but you had to know. What went wrong? Besides, if this was going to work, he was going to have to be honest.
“Uh, she saw something on my phone…” he said cautiously, “...that involved you.” Your eyes widen at that. It couldn’t have been the sex tape you hoped.
“Bucky, no!” You gasp, sitting up and just hoping he doesn’t confirm it.
“Relax!” He says pulling you back down with him, “She was psycho. She went through my texts and saw some of the photos we used to send to each other. She must’ve thought they were recent.” He explains like it was no big deal.
Your heart stops racing slightly, you’re a bit relieved that she didn’t go as far as posting any of the photos on the Internet. You knew you were risking it by sexting with Bucky, but what was that saying? Hell hath no fury…and in a blind rage, she lashed out only on Bucky, but if she was a psycho, who knows what else she might’ve found on Bucky’s phone.
“Bucky?” you figure you might as well know now.
“Yeah…”
“What did you do with that sex tape?” You’d been dying to know if it was safely stored away or if maybe he even still watched it or just deleted it.
A big toothy grin spreads across his lips, his pearly whites on full display as he laughs at the question before he reaches over to the table next to the couch, where his cell phone rested on.
“Want to make a sequel?” He asks suggestively with a smirk on his lips and waving his phone at you, to which you playfully attempt to snatch from his grasp. He’s too quick, but nonetheless he replaces the phone in its original spot before focusing his attention on you alone.
“You don’t think this is all weird?” He questions almost hesitantly while tracing the outline of your jaw delicately. You’re not thinking that at all. You’d both been through a lot during the last few years that the only thing that was normal now was what you both had.
You shake your head in response, too tired for words, and drowning in the blissful moment. Bucky nods before declaring, “good because you make so happy,” then ending the night with sweet kisses.
“Hey, it’s me. I know you’re busy at the studio today...” you start, cell phone pressed against your ear. You’re attempting to leave a voicemail to your boyfriend, who was expecting your arrival later that day, “...but I just wanted to assure you that this isn’t weird, and I can’t wait to see you...I love you, Bucky,” you finish up the message and stuff the device into your bag just in time to hear the voice of the airline staff making the pre-boarding announcements booming loudly from the speakers.
Now boarding Group B for flight #107 to JFK Airport...final destination Brooklyn, New York.
A/N: We’ve been in quarantine for so long, I don’t remember how airport announcements are like anymore and I was only in Brooklyn last Spring…RIP to the good times.
A happy ending was weird to write in the end and I actually don’t like this particular Bucky so it could’ve gone really bad, but I said to myself, no, not this time, I can do what the title says and let them be just that - happy. I too can be happy if you give this a like, reblog or comment! Thanks for reading!
#mrwinterr writes#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x female reader#rockstar!bucky barnes#rockstar!bucky#rockstar!au#bucky barnes#sebastian stan imagine#sebastian stan smut#sebastian stan fanfic#so happy
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