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iiotic · 2 months

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｡‧What letters? ༻༉

Alastor x Fem! Reader

༉‧.tw - an opinion, mentions of toxic parents, racism, toxic relationship, bullying, death, use of Alchocol, Reader is white (sorry to all other races)

༉‧.words - 1.9k

༉‧.a/n - This is pt 1 and pt 2 of "what letters?" combined because I hated how stupid it looked in 2 parts. The is very badly written because it was one of my first works and as always I'd like to apologize for any mistakes English is not my first language.

In 1907 your parents decided to move in Louisiana, New Orleans. You were awfully scared of changing schools thinking that you won't make any friends since it's the middle of school year.

You were assigned school uniforms. Blue-ish shirt with white buttons and a black skirt just below your knees. Black tights and white boots. You quite liked it however you thought it was a little stupid that they gave you bright shirts. Of course you will get them dirty.

You soon found yourself troubled to sit with someone at lunch. Everyone seemed like they were having a good time, laughing with others and you just didn't want to interrupt them.

You also took a notice of how people sit. In what groups. Everyone was sitting with the same race as them. Just like in your old school, nothing was different here.

You usually sat alone. Until..

-"May i sit here?"- A boy your age asked. He had round black glasses and chocolate eyes. - I took notice of you sitting alone at lunch and i was wondering if i could join you?

You quickly recovered from the shook and agreed to his offer. After introducing yourself you found out that the boys name is Alastor. He told you that he had troubled sitting with anyone because he was "mixed" and that no one accepted him the way he is.

Then you realised what your parents told you. They absolutely forbidden you to talking to any other race. Your dad didn't like black people one bit. He thought that they are absolutely useless and shouldn't be accepted in any way. That they shouldn't exist.

However you weren't just going to throw away your first friend in school like that. Deciding to keep it a secret.

You learned that Alastor is actually really smart. He was the top student in his class, getting straight A's. Well except history but you were great with it so you made a deal. You would help Alastor with history and he'd help you with any other subject you had problems with.

You also met Ms. Barbara, Alastors mother. She was a sweet woman, really. She always made the best jambalaya and was really supportive of her son, always wishing the best for him. She grew a liking to you as well.

Thought you did notice the weird looks people would give you at school. You didn't mind.

After a year you developed feelings for Alastor thinking that he's sweet, clever and fun.. And he knows how to cook. But little did you know that he did too.

Then it all crashed. Your parents decided to move out of Louisiana. You questioned them why would they even wanted to move in if we were leaving now.

Absolutely devastated you went to see and say your last goodbye to Alastor. You promised him to somehow keep in touch and write a lot of letters.

It didn't work out.

Your father found out about your little friend and the letters you would write every night to update him how has your day been and that you miss him. He gave the letters to your mother so that she could burn them or hide them in the attic so that you and Alastor wouldn't have any kind of communication.

And here you were, sitting in your new room. Waiting, waiting for letters from the boy who you've developed feelings for.. Or has he already forgotten about you?

On your 29th birthday you had an accident. A car crash. You decided to drive extremely drunk after your own party. 2 people in the car with you; your best friend and your younger sister. That day 2 souls came to rest and 1 to suffer in hell.

After you woke up in not your body you absolutely freaked out. Where were you? Where is my younger sister? What time is it? I'm hungry. Were you.. Dead?

Behind your laying body stood the "Happy Hotel" where souls are suppose to get rehabilated. You had no other choice then to go there.

3 knocks could be heard across the main hall suggesting that someone is waiting behind the door. A pretty blonde woman opened the door and seemed extremely excited to see you.

She introduced herself as Charlie, the owner of the hotel and the Princess of hell. Charlie explained that you ended in hell and how things work here. You were absolutely terrified.. What did you that you ended here?

But then it hit you. Your father robbed the store multiple times and didn't get caught. You were suppose to keep it a secret and you did. You should've report it to the police.

Charlie also said that you could stay here for as long as you wish, on 1 condition; you would have to help in any way you can. A free place to stay and a nice owner? Of course you agreed instantly.

When Charlie was walking you to your new room you felt awfully uncomfortable.. Like you were watched. You're terrified at this point 'couse you just realised where you are.

Everything is happening so fast that you don't know what's even going on. But before you could realise anything a deer-like creature is standing right infront of you.

You looked up at the tall creature before you with fear in your eyes. None of you said anything. His red eyes staring at you, almost like you were his prey and he was your predator. He was smiling. Why the hell was he always smiling like nothing has ever happen?

How could you look at him the same when he had left you heartbroken like that?

How could you forgive him for everything he'd done?

How could you act like everything was fine when it wasn't?

-"Why didn't you respond to any of my letters?" - The fear in your eyes slowly turning into anger and sorrow. - You promised me you'd write back to me. Then tell me why didn't i receive anything?

His eyes narrowed and his smile grew bigger. -"What letters?" - His voice sounding like an old radio. The static was ringing in yours ears, causing you a headache. -"I never received any of your letters, dear."

-"Stop lying to me, Alastor." - You quickly interrupted his sentence. -"I wrote to you everyday, hoping for a response from you. Tell me, why didn't you fulfil our promise?"

-"I would-" - He was interrupted once again. This time by the owner of the hotel. She walked up to you two with an excited face, screaming your name.

She slowed down as she saw who you were talking to. Her excited smile slowly turned into an more nervous one.

-" I see you two already met each other." - Charlie said focusing more on Alastor, hoping that he didn't do anything stupid. - "In case that he didn't introduce himself his name is Alastor. But I'm sure you've already heard of him. I just came her to say that your room is ready."

You thanked Charlie as you were truly grateful for everything she already has done for you. Without her you would probably be homeless, just waiting to get killed in the next extermination. Soon enough Charlie completely ignored Alastor, dragging you along to introduce to you everyone in the hotel.

-" So that was Niffty! We're 80% sure she's harmless. And this is the bar and the bartender" - She said pointing on an avian cat demon, absolutely screaming with excitement. But can you really blame her? You were her second true guest!

The demon behind the bar just looked at you for a second turning back around to whatever he was doing.

-"Oh! Vaggie here!!"- She said waving at a girl with long white hair with a jagged, moth-like shape to the cut, with gray-lavender stripes at the ends. Charlie quickly introduced her too. -" And this is my girlfriend, Vaggie."

Vaggie just gave you a slight smile while telling Charlie that they should talk in private. Apologising Charlie said that she was going to be right back.

So now you were left all alone in the lobby. You decided to sit on the couch to think about everything that has just happened.

"Okay so there's an afterlife and i'm not so surprisingly in hell. Im in a place filled with crazy psychos.." You pinched the bridge of your nose. Looking around at your surroundings, hoping that this is all a dream. "Some surprisingly happy woman allowed me to stay at her hotel for as long as i want to. And in this hotel there's my childhood bestfriend. Amazing."

-"Fucking amazing" - You said out loud as you heard Charlie coming back wanting to continue the tour.

｡‧₊༻

You woke up to the sound of someone knocking on your door. Getting up and throwing a blanket on yourself you yelled that they should come in.

And he did.

-"What are you doing here, Alastor?"- You looked at him with anger in your eyes. "- I don't want to see you."

-" Well, dearest." - He paused thinking how he should put it in words. -" I just wanted to make few things clear beetwen us."

- "We haven't seen each others in years and here you are being mad at me because you didn't keep our little promise."

- "I didn't keep it?" - You got up from your sitting position on your bed and started to slowly walk up to him. -" I always stayed up late at night writing letters to you every-fucking-day. I thought that you would care just a little to write back to maybe I don't fucking one. Atleast one letter?"

-" As i said earlier, i didn't receive any letters."- He looked at you calmly with his signature smile -"However I'd like to know your excuse to not responding to my letters."

-"I didn't receive any letters Alastor!" - God, you were so mad at him. He truly broke your heart. You liked him.. No you lived him for such a long time. He was your first crush and now? He was just a fucking manipulator. - Why the fuck are you lying to me?

-"I'd like to discuss this matter calmly." - He said referring to you cussing him in every sentence and your unstoppable yelling. - How about I'll take you to a cafe, my treat.

After considering his offer you agreed. You really needed to know what happened between you two and if he was really lying. It was quite dumb for you to just assume he was a liar without any proof but I guess it was the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

This morning you borrowed a dress from Charlie becouse you didn't have any other clothes then the ones that you've fallen in. It was a black dress just below your knees with an sweetheart neckline. She also borrowed you her jewelry so now you're also wearing a golden necklace.

The time of day has come and Alastor knocked to your bedroom once again. This time you opened the door closing it behind, ready to go.

Alastor snapping his finger teleported both of you to a nearby cafe. Coming in and gesturing you to chose a table. After you choose one he pulled out the chair for you and took a seat before you.

-"So dear."- He looked up at you -"That dress really compliments your figure."

-"Thank you however it isn't mine. Now I'd like you to explain what happened?"

-"I don't know what you're talking about, darling. "- Oh now he is acting dumb?

-" I'll ask one last time. Why didn't you respond to any of my letters?" - You asked, this time calmly. Crossing your arms.

-"and I'll say one last time. I didn't receive them."- He said looking out of the window, seeing demons suffer. -"I always thought that you didn't write them, that you've forgotten about me."

-"I'd never forget you, Alastor. You meant a lot for me."- You responded looking out of the window as well -"I couldn't imagine life without you. That's why I was truly heartbroken when i didn't ses you write back."

-"I was writing to you, so many times. In fact i always wrote to you on the end of every week." - He confessed - "For over 15 years."

-"But i didn't receive anything?"

-"Neither did i, dear"- Maybe it was the wrong address? Maybe I just didn't know how to send letters? Maybe I didn't actually send them?

-"So.. I'm sorry I'm so embarrassed right now." - You looked at your lap fidgeting with your fingers -"I should have never yelled at you like. It was very immature of me to accuse you of something you didn't do."

-"That's fine, darling"- he said looking back at you lowering his tone a bit -"Everything is fine between us?"

You looked at him with hope in your eyes. Oh how much you wanted to bring things to normal, how it was earlier when you were kids. -"Yeah everything is fine."

-"Smile my dear. You know you're never fully dressed without one!"

#human alastor x reader #human! alastor x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor oneshot

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originalartblog · 15 days

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"Nawy what do you MEAN quick-ish 3D render it's got scratches and everything and I thought this was real for a minute!!"

Well, first, thank you very much that was the intention ❤, and second, you see, all speed is relative, and between finding my references, modeling, texturing and lighting, on top of having to learn how to make convincing gems, it still took me quite a few hours. I, however, cut corners everywhere for speed, and I wouldn't put this piece in a portfolio in its current state.

But! for the curious, I thought I could do a simple breakdown of how the witchcraft happens, without using too much specialized language to make it more accessible. In short,

In this case, I’m talking about a 3D model that was textured (colours and stuff) and then lit (lights on!) to make a pretty final picture. The objective is not to make a tutorial, but to put in simple terms what a 3D artist does to make something go from this, to that:

(people curious and/or trying to see if this interests them welcome)

I'm skipping the 3D modeling part altogether, since it isn't where most of the magic happens here. Just know that to be able to add colour and stuff on a 3D object, you have to go through the process or "unwrapping" it, which is like doing those foldable cubes in reverse

and then we can draw on it!!

Now, the good stuff:

Surfaces (metal, plastic, fabric, wood, skin, etc.) have different looks that make you able to differentiate them on sight. To make something look realistic, you have to try to replicate real life into the 3D world (duh.)

The software developers took care of the hard part (math and coding), so as artists we can play with the parameters available to make something pretty. What those parameters are depend on which "recipe" we're using. One of the most common "recipes" for realistic results is called PBR: Physically Based Rendering, named that way because it's trying to replicate real-life light physics. In this case, the 4 basic parameters are called albedo, roughness, metalness, and normal.

Albedo is the base colour of the surface (easy stuff). Roughness is to determine if a surface is rough or shiny. Metalness is to say if something is made out of metal or not. The normal is there to add all those tiny details you don't want to or can't sculpt on your 3D model (engravings, fabric bumps, etc.)

The roughness and metalness are black and white images because the information you're giving to the software is black = no and white = yes. It's easier to understand in the metalness image, where everything that is NOT a metal is black, and everything that IS a metal is white.

The normal is a bit more complex, but in short, it uses the colours green and red to know what is up/down or left/right, and will help the software fake relief on top of the model. You don't make it by hand; it's computer-generated from other stuff I'm not getting into.

With the technical stuff out of the way, we can actually use these. There are specialized softwares that will let you preview the results of each parameter in real time, so you can see what you're doing easily. This is what I have.

That software comes with some types of surfaces that are already set up, like the fabric in my piece, which was already 85% good for me straight out of the box. Then, it's up to me to use the tools available to decide how shiny a surface is, if there's dust or scratches and where, what colours things are, if there's metal parts, etc. That's where you can see a 3D artist's skills.

And finally, you bring it all together into a specialized software that can render 3D stuff and use those images on the corresponsing parameters, and then light the scene.

Because it all comes down to this: the light! For something realistic, light is vital to get right. You can pour your heart and soul into those tiny scratches, but if you don't light the scene correctly, well...

So we carefully light the scene to get some nice highlights to make the textures look good and highlight our subject (it's basically a photography studio inside a computer)

And then we add some camera effects...

and voilà! pretty picture!!

... and if you somehow did notice something different with the bolo tie from my last post, I did find out while taking all these screenshots that I messed up my initial renders in a way that made everything darker than it was supposed to be and that's why my gold looked so muddy...

I hope this was interesting and that you learned a thing or two!

#welcome to nawy's 3d school for complete beginners #nawy's 3d #technically not art but... you know...

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nonsensical-pixels · 1 year

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Dear Sims 2 Community,

Or really, just about anyone who does the stuff this post mentions...

Forewarning: this is a LONG post.

For the last few years I've just kinda bottled this rant inside of me. But I've just gotten tired of trying to be patient.

Yes, Abhijeet is a real name--and quite a famous one. Yes, there are millions of people out there with Ng or Wong as a last name. Yes, Pong is a real name too.

Abhijeet - 'victorious' or 'conqueror' in Sanskrit

Ng/Huang (黄）- 'yellow', to 'fall through'

Pong - 'noble'

The same goes for almost every first and last name in The Sims 2's name generator. They're not made-up names just because they don't fit your image of a Western suburbia. In fact, they are taken from the developers' names. Just because they're Asian names, or non-white names, or 'spelt weirdly', doesn't mean that they're 'fake' or whatever or 'weird'.

I am tired of going on Reddit or Discord or whatever and seeing people making fun of names like 'Ng' and suggesting that the developers were lazy to put that in the name generator. Uh, no? 'Ng' is a very common surname for Chinese people--not just in Asia, but in the West too. So either you are being grossly ignorant, or you just cannot believe that Asians exist out there.

As a South-East Asian, I am tired of this whole ‘not-white, not real' logic exercised in this community. Not everyone who plays this game is from the West. As a South-East Asian, it's quite infuriating to see people make fun of names like 'Pong' because they can't be bothered to at least Google the name's meaning.

What I love about The Sims 2 is how diverse the names that townies generate with are. The developers could have left in your average American names and left it at that. Instead, they used their own names, and it's just proof of how diverse the developer team was. If you look at the names townies can generate with, it's actually insane. There are so many unique, rare names on there that people are just... making fun of, because they have this belief that The Sims 2 is an 'American' game and as a result everything should match what your perfect American suburb would have in it.

As if there isn't a whole neighborhood inspired by Shakespearean lore in there where a child has the name Bottom--or whatever.

Maybe I am overreacting a bit. But it makes me so infuriated when people make fun of things they don't fully understand. Without even Googling it. Every other post on r/sims2 is 'Is Abhijeet a real name??' Uh, yeah, a single Google search could've told you that.

In short, I am just tired of the Sims community constantly misrepresenting people like me or acting like Asians in the game are unusual.

It's not just names, too. It's also in appearance, languages, etc. So I've compiled a small list of misconceptions you may want to avoid, because why not, too many people never seem to get them.

Not all Asians are Chinese. I've used Indian and Chinese surnames as examples because they're closest to my understanding (being part Indian, part Chinese) but I see an insane amount of people acting like Indians aren't from Asia or all Asians are Chinese. Same goes for the people who act like all Asians are Japanese. Mary-Sue doesn't have to be Chinese, she could be Japanese, Korean, or not even Asian at all. I am really tired of people acting like my HC that she is only part-Asian is weird.

Not all Asians have light skin. It's not even a regional/ethnicity thing, where Indians are also Asian and a lot have brown skin, etc. There seems to be this idea in a lot of communities that all Chinese must have ultra white skin, black hair, and brown eyes. I have never met a Chinese person outside of actual China who looks like they'd blend in with the snow. South-East Asia is not only chock-full of Chinese people whose ancestors left China decades ago, it's also smack-dab on the Equator. If you can go about your daily activities and stay pale, I am in absolute awe of you.

Not all Asians have 'slint-eyes'. I find this grossly racist and very ignorant, because even that term makes my skin crawl. Yes, some of us have our eyes slanted towards the center of our face. That does not mean that all of us do or that the Korean girl you're making must look like her eyes are sideways.

Not all Asians speak Asian. I have no idea who thinks that Asia, a continent that contains most of the world's population, consists of people who all speak the same language. Asian isn't even a language. You may be thinking of Chinese--which, although having one singular writing system (okay, it has a modern one and a traditional one I can't even read) actually consists of dozens of dialects. Most Mainlanders speak Mandarin, but around my area there are so many people who speak Cantonese, Hokkien, Hakka, whatever. This concept that all people from a continent must be able to understand each other is stupid when you look at the European continent.

I apologise if I've misrepresented anyone on this list--if you are a person and you speak the language Asian, do let me know you exist--but for the love of all things holy, please remember that Asians and non-Western people exist. Some of them made this very game that you play every day, and they'd be baffled, I think, to know that you believe Wong is a made-up name.

I don't mind people who use mods to change up the names used to generate townies and make them more suit their gameplay--if you want a themed neighborhood or one that's all-'American', go ahead. But if you're gonna make fun of someone's actual name because you can't fathom that not everyone has first name John last name Smith, please do educate yourself.

Thank you for reading this very long, very on-the-spot rant, have a pleasant day, and please don't be afraid to ask, comment, or give feedback on this post :]

#long post #ky rants #important info #dear sims community #sims 2 #actually #the sims #in general #i see you sims 4 players who also don't understand stuf like this #the sims 2

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

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Man-Sized

3/9 Hope is a Dangerous Thing

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

She googled the name Simon Riley and found close to nothing. He wasn't on Facebook or any other social media platform, and she was pretty sure he had given her a false name until a short news article popped up. It was in some Manchester local paper, and from almost 20 years ago. He had won medals in local school olympics, and even with the black and white raster image and a 20 year younger, estimated 90 pounds skinnier Simon Riley, she could recognize that jaw and those eyes.

Days passed by, and he sent her a message every night. They communicated only through text – he never called. It felt like she was living in the turn of the century, the way he refused to use social media or any messaging app. He asked her how her school was, what classes she was taking at the moment, and if work was good. She sent her a photo every night before going to sleep; it simply became a habit. Some were cuter, some were naughtier, but he always expressed his gratitude with a sly, sexy comeback that made her think she might actually be the only girl Simon was texting with.

He rarely disclosed anything about his work, and never sent another picture even when she tried to request one in a roundabout way. She soon stopped fishing for more details of his work because he always redirected the conversation elsewhere. All she knew was that he was used in some special operations of a private, international company. And from what she could deduce from that one single picture he had sent her, the company he worked for had a lot of money.

The headset, the tactical gear, the weapon she distinguished with another profound googling session to be some sort of an assault rifle… All that shit spoke the language of international investors with certain political interests. Simon was doing something that most likely included hybrid warfare, clandestine operations, dealing with nuclear threats and bio-weapons and whatnot.

She wondered why he had been so trusting; after all, she knew his whole name now and knew it wasn't an alias but his real, actual childhood name. Not that she was any kind of threat. Perhaps that was why…

But what made her a bit depressed was that he also didn't seem to regard her as someone he needed to protect. By staying in contact with him, she supposed she was taking at least some kind of a risk. But Simon didn't seem to care. It was both exciting and infuriating to keep in touch with a man like him.

After six days of excited, heated messaging, he sent a text "Off to work." It wasn't that cryptic; she figured it meant that he wasn't to be disturbed or that he wouldn't be able to talk for a while.

A while… that turned into a week.

She found herself zoning out in dull classes, thinking about what Simon was doing right now. Was he infiltrating some foreign military base, or going on a mission to prevent a hijacking, or storming a terrorist compound, or… whatever the fuck soldiers like himself did.

She began her day with a caffeine overdose and then went to listen to some professor talk about medieval manuscripts or Dante Gabriel Rossetti or curse tablets of ancient Rome, only to realize she was thinking about Simon firing his assault rifle in another continent with a skull mask on. She kept thinking about whether he was in danger, whether he would come back, whether she would ever see him again.

The while turned into another week, and she began to get anxious. Should she text him and ask how he was doing? Ask “You still at work?” or “What about that date?”

The last message she had sent was a reply to his work announcement. Have fun! — from 17 days ago.

17 days.

Was he dead?

His message It's your fault if I get killed now seemed more like a gloomy prediction of a future without Simon Riley.

But at the beginning of the third week of silence, she realized she had just been an idiot. Simon wasn't dead or injured or taken prisoner or anything like that.

He had simply forgotten about her.

He had realized she was not a Bond girl after all, but just another boring chick. He had found someone better. Something like that. A man like him could have pretty much any woman on this planet if he wanted to.

That was just the way the world was built.

She wouldn't say that she was depressed. She wouldn’t admit that she was devastated. She just needed a little time to clear her head.

It was difficult to sleep, and school felt more boring than ever. Work just reminded her of him. One day, she nearly fell from the pole while doing a simple straddle because she saw a man looking like Simon walk in the club.

He had given her an exorcism, only to replace the demons that haunted her with himself. Now she needed an exorcism from Simon, but no one knew how to do that.

She just needed to give it time, sleep it away, study it away… Distractions filled her day, and still, she refreshed their conversation every night before going to sleep, as if it was a fault in her phone that prevented his messages from reaching her. And felt like a stupid bitch, a lovesick fool while doing so.

And then, one Tuesday afternoon, after almost four weeks, he appeared at her uni.

She was arriving from a class that had just ended when she hurried past a man she had been pining for for 25 days.

"You working tonight?"

Hearing that voice in a place she had least expected to hear it made her shoulders shoot up and her breath get caught in her throat as she stopped and turned around.

"Jesus…- You scared me."

He laughed and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Boo."

"When did you… What are you doing here?"

She didn't say I'm happy to see you. I missed you. That would've sounded too desperate. Right? Even after 25 days.

He looked her up and down, and her knees felt like pudding.

"I like to stalk school girls."

She tried to suppress her smile. God, she had missed that cheeky humour.

"Pervert. No, I don't have a shift tonight."

"Then I can finally take you out on that date."

It was like her dreams had suddenly come true in one single minute. She went from a bird with a broken wing to Icarus flying toward the sun.

"What do you have in mind?"

"You'll see."

He was even taller than she remembered, broader, even when he was wearing all black. People were staring at them, staring at him, because he certainly didn’t look like someone who studied in the Art and Culture Department.

"How did you even know I was here right now?"

"Doesn't really need a rocket scientist to find that out, luv."

Right. But the fact that he had made the effort to dig up what classes she took, when and where, and then come and surprise her like this, made her heart ache. He gave her another once-over, and she squeezed her bag against her chest like that could shield her from the searing gaze.

"You look hot."

And that definitely made her blush… She was an umptieth year student and didn't bother to take pains anymore when she dragged herself in the class. She had her comfiest ballerinas on, her hair was tied to a simple ponytail, and she had no foundation, no mascara, only a bit of her favourite lipstick on. She was wearing a huge, flowy skirt the color of a Halloween pumpkin and a black, simple turtleneck — while perhaps neat and cute in this environment, to him, she would've thought she looked more like a librarian. Far from a hot Bond girl who danced at a strip club with curled hair and cat eye makeup.

"Um.."

"Such a diligent little student."

It seemed he did have an actual thing for school girls, even if they were almost 30 years old. She would never have guessed that this would send him itching. If Simon preferred the girl next door look to her being half-naked on a stage with a pole, then perhaps she did have a chance after all.

"I knew you were a good girl but I didn't know- "

"Stop it, people can hear you," she hissed while, in truth, feeling quite exalted by that good girl talk. She grabbed him by the arm, and he allowed her to guide him out of the building while looking perfectly content with himself and what he was doing to her.

They began the walk to her place so she could shower and get changed for whatever he had in mind for that date. The complete turnaround in her mood, the shot of hormones and giddy feelings and butterflies in the stomach left her feeling shaky. Even the colors seemed more vivid all of a sudden. It was a bit frightening how one single person could change the whole world in a second, have a remedy for all the shit she had been rolling in for the past week. Or two weeks. Or three.

"Sorry that it took so long. Work was... a bit of a challenge."

"It's okay."

Well, it really was not, but she would rather die than tell him that.

"It's better if you don't know where I am and when. I hope you understand that."

Safety measures for her sake after all. Now she felt almost flattered that he hadn't told her he was coming. Jesus...

"Yeah. Sure," she tried to sound neutral about it, but the sudden shyness that had taken over made it sound like she was being passive-aggressive. "I mean, I didn't expect you to entertain me every night."

Well, that sounded even more sour and pathetic… She snapped her mouth shut and tried to calm her heart that was racing from his presence, his scent which had been only a memory until now.

"So, what will you become when you graduate? A historian?”

"I’ve always wanted to work in a gallery. You know, as an art curator or something like that."

"Hm. Ambitious."

She wasn’t entirely sure if he was mocking her, but she laughed. In the culture business, it was a sought-after position, but of course it wouldn't seem like much to someone who wasn’t familiar with the art world.

"What about you? What do you wanna be when you grow up?"

"Alive."

Simon's humour was dark, but after seeing that picture of him, she knew he meant what he said. And she realized that it wasn't perhaps one of her most brilliant ideas to get attached to a man who could actually be killed.

When they got to her place, she went straight to the shower and left the door open, secretly wishing that he would be the one to sneak in this time. But he never showed up, and when she stepped into her small living room, she found Simon had dozed off on her sofa. He barely fit her neat little couch and was lying on his stomach, with one hand dangling out and brushing the floor. The soft snore made it clear that he was very tired and not just chilling in a very relaxed position.

It was a cute sight, downright adorable.

But it also hurt her heart. What made him so exhausted, time after time, month after month? He wouldn’t tell her, and it was futile to ask. The man was overloaded with stress and things ordinary civilians had no clue about. She had no clue about.

He must think of her as a harmless little mouse who knew nothing of the world's darkness. And she didn't. She had her own demons and traumas, but didn't everybody? Simon, on the other hand, seemed to have the combined lives of a gladiator, spy, and war veteran. He had access to a reality that was out of sight and mind for the rest of the civilized world.

Was Simon a good guy or a bad guy? Was he a hero that saved people, or a soldier who executed orders of rape, torture, and kill?

These were questions she had never thought she would need to find answers to. The guys she had dated had been equally as harmless as her. If not even more harmless. And that was saying something.

When she had dressed, she walked to him and heard how the snoring stopped immediately.

Simon was awake and listening. He had woken just from a few soft steps, from her tiptoeing and kneeling beside the sofa, and she wondered if he had been trained for this; to wake up when someone was sneaking up on him. The thought was both gruesome and spine-tingling.

But she hadn’t meant to steal his precious sleep. And if he was so exhausted, he should sleep and not take her out…

Now that he was supposedly awake, she dared to raise a hand and caress his back, remembering what he had said in the shower when she had stroked him. His upper back was tense, even when he was lying relaxed like this, and she felt pity: someone should give this man a back rub, a whole body massage to get those muscles loose. Get some blood flowing. She caressed him with the back of her palm, then slowly traced every little vertebra of his spinal column with two fingers.

He was using both one of the cushions and her sweater as a pillow. Something in the sight of him pressed against her old, snug woolen shirt made her hand come to a halt somewhere on his lower back.

“Don’t stop,” he muttered, sleepy against the softness of her home and hand. She had to fight back the reflexive flinch: his voice was always so rough, even when he whispered and the words were muffled by the support his head was resting on.

“You have tension in your back,” she told him, not knowing why she was whispering too. It wasn’t like he was about to dart off from a sudden noise.

He merely purred for an answer, still sounding drowsy and half-asleep. How disarmed and defenseless he seemed now… On that little couch, under her gentle touch.

“I need to buy you a massage gift card for Christmas,” she blurted and regretted it immediately.

Buy him a Christmas present? As if they were some kind of a couple already… As if this wasn’t barely the second time they were spending time together.

At first, Simon didn’t show any signs of wanting to escape that hopeful suggestion of them becoming something more than just fuck buddies someday. But then he suddenly turned, and she took her hand away.

“I’d rather have you massage me,” he offered with a soft smile and a dreamy stare.

Good. Good, everything was good..

She hadn’t ruined it, hadn’t lost another poker game to this man. She still had cards to play.

She noticed the obvious signs of his arousal and felt wild in the breeze of the moment. Or perhaps she wanted to brush away what she had just said — and make him forget it too.

She reached for his pants to take them off, and he helped her with them, clearly having no objections to what she was about to do. Which was giving him a blowjob that would erase the traces of him thinking he had an obligation to buy her a present for this Christmas.

When she took him in her mouth, he grabbed the edge of the sofa as if the situation was a little too much for him.

"Didn't see that coming…"

His voice had an edge of trepidation to it. Uneasiness, almost worry. But he must've liked it, for he eased into it shortly after, slumped back onto the couch, and spread his legs in relaxation. She guided her frustration and doubts into the blowjob, tried to turn into someone else — to that girl from the stage. The Bond girl he had met, the woman of his dreams: just anything but a meek little woman who rarely left her house except for class or work.

She was fully present, not sloppy at all, almost felt like a magician as she forced groans out of him and felt his balls pull taut under her touch. He would never fit inside her mouth completely, but she tried her best.

She sure as hell made an effort.

"You must've really missed m- ah… Fuck.."

It was pretty evident that he enjoyed it. After those weeks at work, perhaps this was what he had wanted all along? To come somewhere safe, some place completely different, and throw himself on a soft couch for a quick nap before some homely girl came to give him a few caresses and a blowjob.

She swirled her tongue around the tip, gave him a little suck, then took him in as far as she could and felt him all the way at the back of her throat.

"Bloody hell Sarah..."

It couldn't be that good…

But he was all but melting under her tongue and touch. Was it just that it had been so long, or was this a rarity in his life? She'd thought that women touched him often, but apparently, they didn't. Or then he didn't allow them to.

Perhaps Simon didn't allow himself to be touched by women. He made love to them and fucked them against a wall in the shower, but he didn't get attention and caresses and blowjobs.

Well, this was news.

It didn't take too long before he came with a hoarse grunt that nearly made her shrink from him. It sounded both sublime and painful, and sent ripples of gold in her stomach and a pang of wet heat between her legs. The load was generous, but she didn't pull away, briefly wondering how awkward it would be to choke on his cum the second time they met. It had been a while for him, then, and she felt disappointed. It wasn't anything special after all, merely the cause of him not having had the opportunity, desire, or time to fap.

His chest was heaving, and she had made a mess in her attempt to swallow it all while keeping everything under control. With Simon, she wasn’t in control, and she had no choice but to accept it.

He reached a hand to absentmindedly caress her hair, and she rested her head on his thigh — but they didn't stay that way for long, for he stirred, and she had to draw back.

"Your turn," he suddenly rose from the couch while still looking like someone who was about to pass out. He got out of his pants, pulled his shirt over his head, threw it somewhere on the floor, and hauled her up in a bridal carry. He literally swept her off her feet and carried her to the bedroom, and she must’ve looked like a deer in headlights.

Because Simon was and wasn't safe.

He had strength, charisma, and forearms to die for, but he didn't feel like someone she would choose to tell her every secret, someone who she would call if she needed help. He came into her world and walked out of it like there was a swinging door between the two of them.

He didn't commit. Which meant that she couldn't commit. Which furthermore meant that she had trouble getting wet.

As infuriating as it was, dark and dangerous didn't exactly turn her on. This wasn't dating; this was more like an adventure or a roller coaster ride. She didn't know what phase they were in because the usual dating-related stuff was off the board. There was nothing to hold on to.

He laid her on the bed, crawled next to her, then reached a hand under another skirt she had chosen for going out with him.

"Perhaps later," she whispered as his hand was already traveling up her thigh. She almost took those words right back when she saw the obvious hurt flash in his eyes. She didn't know if she had de a chip to his pride or if it was something else, but he clearly hadn't expected her to say no to him again.

"Why won't you let me touch you?"

"I…"

She didn't know what to tell him.

What could she say? That she felt unsafe with him? That wasn't even entirely true.

She couldn't tell him that she needed trust and commitment while knowing he couldn't give them to her. Her shy silence stretched on, and the frightened state she was in only worsened when he stared at her, tilted his head, and wouldn't remove his hand.

Then he kissed her — unhurriedly, languidly, and the hand just stayed there under the skirt, pressed against her thigh, firm and broad. Only after she answered his kiss with a shy hunger did he move it further up, up — until it came to rest on her sex.

The kissing finally did it: at some point, she could feel the sudden rush of wetness down below. Her lips trembled when he pulled away only an inch and looked into her eyes while their breaths danced in between their lips. His palm moved only a tiny bit; he was soothing her, coaxing her to open for him. Eventually, his fingers met the soaked spot on her panties, and she swallowed. There was a slight twitch at the corner of his lips, just a tiny little hint that he knew he was doing it right.

"Did you like the picture I sent you?"

Oh fuck.

"Um, yeah.."

He pressed a finger against the center of her wetness, covered only by the thin fabric, and she tried to draw breath as inaudibly as she could.

"Did you get wet?"

So fucking cocky…

"Yes, she whispered against his lips, which finally curved into a small smile.

"Come again?"

"Yes."

The smile widened into a smirk as he moved to slip underneath the fabric. Her folds parted without effort as he guided his finger over her, the length and thickness now resting on her entrance and all the wetness that only increased by the second. She was blinking and breathing shallowly against his mouth while he simply continued to drink in every sign of her unease and arousal.

"Is that why you asked for more?"

Oh God…

"Yes. Would you just-"

"Begging already?"

He was so… infuriating. So cocky, so damn self-confident… It drove her crazy.

"No."

Something flickered in his eyes, a twinkle of endearment.

And not just a twinkle. It was bold, blazing mischief. Shit… She was fucked.

"I'll make you beg."

Oh my God…

He moved even lower, then dipped one finger in, so deep that she was left blinking again. Her mouth opened, then closed, and she realized she must be looking like a fish on dry land. He pulled out, and she wanted to protest, but her pride stood in the way. The moisture was spread all over her folds, especially over the tight, sensitive bud that had been left without attention for so long from the sadness and hopelessness, from her having thought Simon wouldn't come back. She couldn't even touch herself because she had already gotten used to thinking about him when she did that.

A shaky little moan finally hit his lips, and he kissed her again while drawing a circle on the bud, sweeping a few strokes across her folds, then driving two fingers in. Slowly, lovingly. The laced fabric that was stretched to give him space must be sodden by now, but he wouldn't pause to take it away. He just continued to fuck her slowly with his fingers while holding that kiss, holding her steady with his mouth only.

He had taken her hesitation as a challenge, and she wondered if she was some kind of a challenge to him overall. If something in her made him want to break her, get to the bottom of her, get a reaction out of her… And he was succeeding splendidly. She was everything but frigid now. He only needed a finger or two to make her like this. And perhaps that voice of his. That stupid cockiness.

He left her mouth and pulled out, only to finally reach for her poor underwear and take it off. She didn't object this time, but when he moved between her legs and she realized he was about to replace those panties with his face, she jerked away from him.

"Hold on…"

"Nah. You hold on."

He wouldn't relent. He simply pressed his mouth against her pussy which, by now, was wet to the point of leaking, and grabbed hold of her hips as if to remind her that she couldn't get away even if she tried. She could only sink back to the bed and let him have his way: to embark on a mission to make her beg.

And she did beg, eventually, when he pressed his tongue flat against her and plunged it inside, and sucked her clit and did it all with such infuriating patience and laid-back attitude that it made her squirm against him. He caressed her with his tongue, those lips, caressed her with his thumb before guiding it inside as well while kissing her thighs, now wide open for him.

She didn't beg with words, but she did coat the air with sighs and moans that must've stroked his ego like nothing else. Even the stubble did its job: it didn’t sting. It only drove her more mad. She could hear him chuckle against her occasionally, could feel him smile in her pussy as he ruined her with that mouth. Even the intrusive thoughts of whether Simon had done this to dozens of women before her and would do it to dozens after her didn't prevent her from approaching the peak in minutes, mere minutes…

Just as she was about to grasp his hair for support, to brace herself for the incoming, he withdrew. The bastard rose to sit and left her shaking and whimpering.

"Wh-… why did you…"

He was licking his lips, smiling, and stroking himself, fully erect again. The fact that he was hard from pleasing her with his mouth, left her feeling even more weak.

"You want it?"

"Fucking hell, Simon." She knew how she must look: dripping wet, with desperation in her eyes and a shaky curse on her lips.

"Is that a beg?"

He placed the thick tip to her entrance, and she throbbed and writhed against him like she was about to come from the slightest touch of that cock.

"Yeah… Yes, please, Simon, just-"

He granted her plea to the full before she had even finished it. The spread, the feeling of being filled with him, was so exquisitely divine that it only took less than five thrusts before she came.

He looked annoyingly pleased while watching her have one of the most powerful, gratifying, leg-shaking orgasms of her life. Perhaps it was only a proper way to greet a man who had been inside her head for so long: who was finally inside her for the first time in four desolate weeks. She didn't feel wild or raw now; she felt like molasses, like puddle of tears, a boneless, limp heap of muscle from all that love and gentle fucking.

After the tension, tremblings, and shaky sighs had left her, and she was merely panting, he finally stopped. Lodged deep inside her to feel the rest of the waves, he was still watching her. The stare of those warm eyes was too much to bear after another implosion that made her even more attached to this man.

"If you call me a good girl, I swear I'll slap you again," she whispered. The body against him shook from silent laughter. He kissed her again, buried his fingers in her hair, gave her another rock of his hips. And then, suddenly stopped just to whisper in her ear…

"That's my good girl."

Fuck….

It was useless. Utterly, completely useless with Simon.

"Ok… Ok." She tried to gather herself while he was still inside her, still filling her and shielding her with his body. "You're asking for it, so I'm not giving it to you."

"Poor me," he answered with that gruff, heart melting voice.

She was laughing again, smiling for the first time in days. Beaming, even…. Probably looking like a brain-dead idiot.

"This was a good date. I had fun."

In her opinion, it was the best date ever, but would she let him know it and stroke that ego further? Hell no.

"This wasn't what I had in mind," he hummed while moving to kiss her neck.

"What if we just stayed here for the rest of the day?"

"Wouldn't mind that."

“You know.. I... really missed you,” she finally confessed with a whisper while he was preoccupied with her neck; safely somewhere else than right there in front of her, staring her in the eyes, gathering evidence of her vulnerability. He huffed a chuckle against her skin in response, sounding close to relieved.

"I missed you too."

#simon riley x oc #ghost x oc #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x oc #mw2 smut #ghost fanfiction #simon riley fanfic #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x female oc

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caxde · 8 months

Text

still live | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary you and Eddie have been friends for ever, but have chosen to keep your feelings quiet, until a single afternoon changes it all. (2.7k)

warnings fem!reader, fluff (like a lot of it) hurt/comfort, friends in love, mutual pining, yearning etc, slowburn friends to lovers, idiots in love!!!, english is not my first language so I apologise if there’s some mistakes, not proof read!

It had never been a question.

You had started painting even before you learned how to talk, your house was always messy and stained because of you. As you grew up, stained carpet floors turned into stained old clothes, paint splattered all around your wardrobe, and a burning passion was developed.

So, of course, when the dreaded question of what are you going to do after high school started going around, your answer had always been the same ‘art school’.

But anxiety and stress were getting to you, you had been working hard on your portfolio, barely sleeping, painting canvases that were bigger than you, held by reclining it against your bedroom wall, and working in sketches nonstop, not even in the middle of class.

He would tease you, everytime he heard the pencil scratch against the yellowish paper. He always does the same thing, he starts watching quietly, admiring the way your fingers hold the pencil ever so delicately, the way your eyes follow the grey stain so closely, concentration evident on your expression, and your hair messing your face when you look down. When he couldn’t hold it any longer, a soft smile curves the end of his lips, as he brings his body closer to yours, and he always whispers, his voice always sweet and soft when he calls your name to get your attention.

And he chuckles everytime you jump out of concentration as you breathe out his name.

But today was different.

Eddie knows you, better than anyone for that matter, and he also knows that you had been a little too stressed about it all. He knew you needed quiet company while you worked, so he asked you to come finish your last one over to his house.

He had made his room tidier, in his own way. He cleared the floor, no dirty clothes could be seen, and the table was what he would charmingly call an “organized mess”, little piles of things in a neat position, a clean composition. Window open and clean air coming in, with a space under it so the smell of the acrylic paint can leave as fast as it comes.

“You moved the bed.” You let out as soon as you step inside his room, looking at the open window.

“You need to paint.” He answers, as he shrugs, trying not to give it that much meaning, even if he feels his pulse quickening as you smile grows deeper.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” He answers quickly, really trying to not hyperfixate in the way your smile is caused by him, or the way it seems to illuminate the room a bit more.

You laid the canvas against the wall, and started organizing your paint tubes in your particular way. Black, blue, red, yellow and white. The other fancy special colours away from them, the lilac, teal and silver pulled apart.

He knew you needed your space, just as much as he knew you appreciated the quiet companionship.

It was nice, being in the same room as him, not feeling alone, and knowing that he’ll be here when you inevitably feel tired or burned out and need a little push.

And you liked feeling him look closely at you. Though you think he’s looking at the way the thin light blue haze is staining the pristine white of the canvas, he’s actually looking at the way your oversized, full-of-various-faded-splatters-of-paint shirt is hanging from you, the way it wraps on your waist, and the way your hair is falling down your back, your face tilted, only makes him more nervous, and in a way, realize even more that he wouldn’t do this for just anyone, so he might as well admit to himself that he does have some feelings for you.

He played music on his guitar, quietly, and smiled deeply at the sound of you muttering the worlds of the songs he always chooses absentmindedly. Even if he only plays Bowie when you’re around.

You're obvious to it all. You only focus on the way your hand won’t stop shaking, and you’re not even sure why, so the frustration is starting again, and with it so does the headache. You need to finish the stupid sketch so you can actually start painting, but your hand won’t stop shaking and you don’t even have a good enough reference. You’ve stopped singing and are instead biting your lip, an anxious tic that Eddie knows a bit too well.

He doesn’t say anything, instead he stops playing, goes to the kitchen and brings two cups of tea.

He decides to sit down beside you, and instead of startling you as he normally does, he instead leaves a soft touch on the small of your back, his fingers feeling the beginning of your jeans through your shirt. The familiar warmth left in both of your bodies.

“Here” He whispers, a bit too close to your ear.

You turn to him, realizing that he’s never been as close, that now you could if you wanted and had the time to count every single one of his eyelashes, and that his lips look pinker than ever. And in that moment, something seems to click, a warmth awakens in the inside of your chest, and you move a bit far away instinct kicking in.

“Thanks” You whisper back, blood travelling fast to your cheeks as your fingers touch his for a moment, grabbing your tea.

“So, what’s wrong?” He chooses his words carefully, his tone softer, his voice quieter. He raises his eyebrow in concern, making you frown for just a second.

“It’s all wrong.” You whisper, in anxious shame, nervously, avoiding his eyes.

“What do you mean it's all wrong?” He echoes your voice, not really following your train of thought.

“It’s all wrong Eddie.” Your voice is stronger now, more impatient. But still barely above a whisper, it felt stupid to speak at a normal volume when he’s so close to you. “ The proportions are awful, the reference is shit, and I can’t start painting until I finish the stupid sketch but I can’t manage to finish it.” You’re trying your hardest to not stumble over your own words, it’s complicated, frustration getting the best of you, making your voice shake as you can feel the small tear threatening to form on the verge of your eyes.

“Hey…” He whispers once more, the hand he had on your lower back petting you once again, trying to get you to calm down for a second. “Step by step, yeah?” He watches you nod at his question, and he waits for you to take a deep breath. “What can you do to fix it?”

“I need to restart it all.” You answer in defeat, you were tired, and with a clear idea in mind that didn’t seem to transform as well as you wanted to.

“Okay, so restart it, what can I do to help?”

“Nothing really.” You add, looking back at him for once. You're captivated by him for a moment. The way his curls frame his face makes you really want to put the little flyaway away from his complexion, touch his pale face for a second, but instead, you hold the cup harder, your knuckles turning white.

“What’s wrong with the reference?” He asks, trying to refocus you, snatching the photograph off the floor. A blurry image that’s barely recognizable, a kiss between two people that you don’t know.

“It’s shit.” You admit, hiding a chuckle. “ I found it on the floor of The Hideout and thought that a kiss scene would be the perfect ending for my project, but… I’m not… I don’t know” You admit, defeated, tired, and anxious about you having to start the whole project again.

“Why a kiss?” He asks, innocence in his tone. He tries to hide his curiosity with that Eddie grin, that stupid grin that makes you smile in return even if you're not aware of it.

“I…” You look at him for a moment. Stopping at his lips for a second, and this time it doesn’t escape you that he does the same. “It’s about melancholy. The whole thing. Situations that have happened and you miss, and the ones that haven’t but you wish they did… Love… I wish it happened to me but… Yeah” You stop talking, as you feel his eyes not leave yours, it’s stupid, but talking about this in this space, for some reason is making your heart beat faster, and wherever your body touches his, it tingles, electricity flying between both of you.

“You haven’t been in love?” The question took you out, it didn’t make sense for Eddie to ask this. It doesn’t fit the way he has always acted around you, but in a weird way, when you look back at him, and see the way his eyes look softer, kinder.

You always saw Eddie repel the idea of love, avoiding it at all costs, so it was weird seeing him like that, like he was hopeful for an answer, as he wanted to tell you how he started feeling, he also knew he would never dare to tell you such a thing. Much too proud, much too careful.

“I have. But, they don’t love me back.” You mutter, not ready to voice it fully. Not sure if this is the best time to say, yes, Eddie, I have been in love, I’ve been in love with you for ages.

Because, even now, you’re slowly realising that what you’ve been feeling for him is love.

“I understand.” He mutters, his sight leaving you for the first time, looking down at the photo, while he yells to himself, his brain is telling him to not do anything stupid, while his whole heart and body are begging for him to tell you that he could learn how to love you if you let him.

For fucks sake, he tells himself, he cares so much about you, he wants you to be happy and loved and cared for so much it pains him a bit not knowing what to do to help. He slowly lifts his head up.

Coincidence, destiny or just dumb luck, he makes eye contact with his old, beaten up Polaroid and a stupid idea, oh so stupid crosses his mind, and he narrows his eyes.

You notice.

And before you can stop yourself you're asking him a soft and questionable “What?” that leaves him looking back at you.

“We could take a picture.” He states, blankly looking back at the camera. A nervous smile that makes his eyes shine.

“What picture?” You’re left even more confused, following his glance.

“A kissing picture.” He says. Your body frozen, heart skipping a beat. Eddie’s does the same, amazed at himself for actually having said such a stupid thing. “Just so you have an actual reference… I just… Wanna help.” He’s now avoiding your sight, embarrassed about his idea, he begins to get flustered, and the only thing he can get himself to do now is stare at the floor.

You need a second.

A moment.

Silence fills the room, as the only thing you can feel is the beating of your own heart, loud in your eardrums, a rhythmic rhythm that begs kissme kissme kissme.

So, once again, it wasn’t even a question.

“Who’s taking it?” You answer, sweet quiet voice. Your eyes also set on the floor, as you can feel your cheeks burning. Anticipation forming in the air.

“I’ll do it.” He answers, his smile bigger than ever. As he stands up, you leave the cup on the floor, wiping your nervous hands on your jeans. One swipe, two, three.

You’re left looking at him, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think that he was just as extremely excited and nervous as you are. And then it comes, the realisation of what was about to happen, he’s going to kiss you, and you’re going to kiss him. You’re about to do what you’ve been wanting to do for ages, all for some stupid excuse that you can’t be worried about.

As he moves, gracefully, it all stops mattering for a brief moment.

It doesn’t matter if the painting is good enough.

It doesn’t matter if the admission committee thinks your work is good enough.

It doesn’t matter if this complicates your friendship or not.

He sits down beside you, a trembling hand pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his lips slightly parted, his eyes switching between your eyes and your lips. The electricity is tangible now, you almost feel like you could fill up jars with it, a weird anticipation, an excitement. A promise almost.

“Are you ready?” He asks, his thumb gracing your lower lip, his breath so close to your lips you could actually drink it if you wanted to. He smells of vanilla and sandalwood.

“Yeah.”

Then it happens.

Eddie kisses you, softly.

A soft, sweet kiss is left on top of your lips, as you close your eyes and enjoy it, one of your hands travels slowly to the back of his neck, tentatively, you start playing with his hair. You see a flash, a bright light that makes you giggle, only brighter when you feel the way he’s also smiling.

Eddie can’t stop kissing you.

He’s delighted that he’s finally doing this. He doesn’t care that he can’t fully give in, somehow worried that the photo won’t turn out good, he takes a couple more. And then he finally gives in. One last touch, a small bite to your lower lip, and he gently pulls away. His forehead against yours. Catching his breath, you can feel the way your lips are left tingling now. How your heartbeat seems happier in a weird way, like something got fixed for a moment.

When Eddie opens his eyes, he can see that yours are still closed. And that your lips look pinker than before, that your cheeks are flushed and you’re breathing faster than usual. He smiles quietly to himself, and looks down, between your bodies, lays the camera and the polaroids spread around, proof that he didn’t imagine it all. Proof that he did just do it.

He carefully bumps his forehead into yours, playfully almost.

You open your eyes, looking down.

He hands you one of the photographs, you can’t help but smile.

“I don’t think I ever had such a beautiful photo” You whisper, as you’re taken back for an instance. You’re blooming with joy, an uncontrollable smile decorates your face. The shyness gone for this brief moment.

“Me either.” Eddie adds as he holds another one.

You’re both idiots.

Happy idiots, unaware of each other's feelings, not knowing that it was more than a favour.

“Thank you, Moon.” You tell him, as he blushes even harder.

And he’s not sure if it was the eye contact, the way you look right now or the fact that you had just given him what might be his new favourite nickname.

“Now, get back to work.” He teases, while he decides to lay down, resting on his forearms so he can still look at you.

“Don’t distract me.” You add back, a flirty banter evident in the air now.

“I won’t kiss you until you ask for it.” And in that moment it's clear, he’s being sincere.

You can’t help but laugh, softly. And he can’t help himself, echoing your laugh.

He doesn’t need to say anything, and neither do you. You just know that now he knows something more about you, you know that now that he’s tasted your lips he will be left craving for more, just as much as your craving for a new encounter.

Eddie is left mesmerized, proud of you, seeing how now you’re determined to finish this painting, with a soft smile and quick brushstrokes. So, you spend the next afternoon painting, and stealing soft glances at him, as he just sits there, amazed by you, as he continues talking with you as if nothing has changed, as if his heart isn’t now all yours, even if you know as well as he does, that it is.

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justimajin · 8 months

Text

The Language of Flowers

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Angst

↳ 9.5k / Hanahaki AU

⇨ Hanahaki (pre-existing concept): a fictional disease in which an individual will cough up flowers after experiencing unrequited love.

Warnings: heavy angst, discussions of illness/surgery, implied smut (on the explicit end)

Love is funny.

It blossoms unexpectedly, spontaneously conjuring up within seconds. A spur of the moment, which draws in budding affection. Love at first sight, that flourishes into sparks of tender electricity. Or simply an unexpected encounter, getting spun into something more meaningful.

It develops, it grows. It becomes so much more as the handles of time spiral, adoration and devotion thrown into the mix and creating everlasting bliss.

Until of course, it becomes long term, its longevity and commitment spanning an entire lifetime.

You glance around, pupils revolving around the blooming garden. There are long tables lined into rows, draped with lilac silk material and decorated with bright yellow flowers. Amongst them, an array of individuals are seated, chattering with one another.

You find her closer to the fencing, where fairy lights are looped and a giant white board stands, the word ‘Engaged’ written in bold cursive purple.

“Aera.” She turns around, dressed in a short white lace dress with a small tiara resting on her black hair, making her appear like a princess. Her eyes are wide, having been in mid-conversation before she heard your voice call out to her.

Her lips tug into a huge smile upon seeing your tender look, moving forward to envelop you into a hug. “Y/N!”

You hug her back, “Thank you so much for coming. It wouldn’t have been possible without you.”

“Don’t say that.” You sheepishly chuckle, but she presses on.

“Oh, come on, you’re the one that introduced me to him.”

You dismiss her, “I just introduced you two, you were the one to take it a step further.”

Taking a step back, you gesture to the entire display of the white board and a bubbly laugh emerges from her.

“Let me at least give you some credit.”

“Fine, maybe I helped a little.” You retort and she grins at your acceptance.

A low voice cuts through your conversation.

“I moved the balloons like you wanted, the decorator said–”

A young man appearing to be within his twenties emerges, donning a white dress shirt with a black tie and pants. His dark hair is styled and parted back, brows furrowed and doe eyes swirling with focus.

It doesn’t take you a second later to whisper his name.

“Jungkook?”

He halts his steps, frozen by the sound of his name. Head snapping up, recognition flows through his orbs.

Within a heartbeat, he shutters out. “Y-Y/N?”

Aera darts her eyes between both of you, taken aback with the familiarity with a frown.

“Do the two of you know each other?”

“Ah– yes,” You quickly clarify, “We work together.”

“Yeah, we do.” He replies, scratching the back of his neck. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here…”

“Well, I am friends with the bride.” You chuckle.

Aera pitches in, placing a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “And she introduced me to Sunoo, Kookie!”

He stiffens. “I see…”

“How do the two of you know each other?” You ponder, surprised by their proximity. If anything, you at least knew that Jungkook was greatly distant at work, never really going out of his way to speak to anyone.

Aera warmly smiles, looping her arm around Jungkook’s, “Let me reintroduce you to the Jeon Jungkook,” She gazes at him with tender eyes, “My childhood friend and the person dearest to my heart…“

Pausing, she adds in, “–after Sunoo, of course.”

You nod understandably, but Jungkook lets out a low cough.

“I-I should go,” He brings up, “See if the decorator needs any more help.”

You watch as he loops out of her arm, swiftly turning around without another word.

A pout surfaces on Aera’s lips, like she wanted him to stay longer with you.

But then she turns and catches your intrigued gaze, orbs brightening up in an instant. She dips into conversation once more as if he never left, occupied with showcasing the giant ring that now sits on her third finger.

Yet if you had been paying enough attention, you would have noticed the flicker of dread in Jungkook’s eyes.

***

As you attempt to catch up with Aera, it’s not long before she’s being whisked away by her husband-to-be, who you warmly greet with a smile.

Being left alone, you decide to head over to one of the side tables, setting down the gift you had bought for them before filtering through all the guests to find your seat.

Locating an empty one on the same table Aera and Sunoo would be at, you sit down and take a napkin, carefully placing it down onto your lap.

From the corner of your eye, you catch sight of Jungkook. He glances around, doe eyes frantic and lips pursed. He awkwardly lingers for a moment – like he was debating on being there, unsure of where to look or where to go.

It’s surprising to you, considering only moments ago he was effortlessly navigating himself to the decorator’s instructions.

You hesitate for a moment, knowing the two of you aren’t particularly close. However, as his confusion spins by the minute, you ultimately decide it wouldn’t be so bad and give in.

“Jungkook!” You call out, watching his train of vision fall onto you. Taking out a chair next to you, your hand waves over with a warm smile.

Jungkook glances around one more time, before walking over with his head ducked down.

Instead of taking the one beside you, he takes the one on the opposite side – the one that is furthest away from Aera.

You raise a brow, wondering why he didn’t want to sit closer to the bride and of course, his childhood friend, but you freeze when your orbs land on his appearance.

His eyes are glossed over, tinged with red. They almost seem hollow, dark circles collecting underneath them and his shoulders are caved in.

“Are–…” You quickly glance around, words dropping into a whisper before leaning in, “Are you okay?”

Jungkook’s pupils snap back into life and he furiously nods, shifting uncomfortably away from you.

“Y-Yeah, I’m okay.” He sniffles, voice coming out hoarse. His field of vision lands on the decorations upon the table, features straining with dismay, “I’m just allergic to the flowers.”

Your own eyes follow his line of sight, falling onto the beautiful, bright yellow petals. In fact, they’re littered everywhere – from the long tables lined up, to the blooming garden, to even attached to the white board that sits in the front.

“Tulips,” You remark, “Aera’s–”

“Favorite flower.” He mumbles, pupils focused down on his fidgeting hands and not bothering to take a glance at them.

An involuntary harsh cough escapes his throat.

You lean over, grabbing a jug full of water and a glass, filling it up. Tapping him on the shoulder, he looks up, fatigue radiating deep within his irises before they morph into surprise.

He takes the glass hesitantly, muttering a small thank you before you turn your attention back to the front, watching all the guests take their places as the food gets served.

Save for the few occasional glances stemming from concern, you and Jungkook don’t say another word to each other for the rest of the duration.

***

The evening spins away – dinner is all served and more guests pool in. You occasionally smile, greeting new people and munching down on the contents placed in front of you.

Amongst all this, Aera is attached to Sunoo, a tender smile on her features as they deeply gaze into each other’s eyes and beam with so much sweet affection.

You grin when she calls for you to take a picture with the two to them, instantly leaving your table and trudging over. Looping your arm with Aera and standing opposite to Sunoo, all three of you smile as the photographer’s flash goes off.

“You two look really good together.” You comment and Aera giggles, eyes crinkling in the direction of her to-be-husband.

She leans closer to him, brushing his lips against hers for a kiss. Sunoo follows suit, clasping onto her hands.

They radiate the to-be-wed glow, encased in their own bubble of infectious love and happiness. It’s joyous for anyone to watch, to see two people be so utterly and completely in love with each other.

At least, that’s what you think.

As you turn to greet another one of Aera’s friends, you catch a flash of movement from the corner of your eyes.

You blink, but then there’s a tap against your shoulder.

“Y/N,” Aera asks, her head surveying around, “Do you know where Jungkook is?”

You swivel, mimicking her puzzlement. “I-I’m not sure…”

“That’s too bad, I wanted to take a picture with him.” Aera remarks and a frown lines your lips. You had just seen Jungkook sitting by the table by himself moments ago, but now he’s up and disappeared, just when the photographer had started taking photos.

You sigh, not understanding his train of thought.

Turning to Aera, you give her a quick reassured smile. “Focus on Sunoo, I’ll go find him for you.”

She breaks into a huge relieved grin and nods, returning to her husband’s side.

Spinning around, you walk in the opposite direction.

Your head darts back and forth.

You had entered into the side building, the one adjacent to the garden where the engagement party was being held. It’s empty save for the occasional workers or bystanders you pass, either trying to help set up or busy conversing with one another. However, you don’t find the head of dark hair and pair of doe eyes you’re trying to locate, simply left mulling if he had truly decided to leave.

That is, until there’s a black tie resting near the soles of your feet.

You pick it up in suspicion, instantly recognizing it as the same one Jungkook had donned when you had met him prior in the evening.

Peering around while gripping the tie, you wonder why it was so clumsily thrown onto the ground, as if he didn’t care about where it ended up–

The sound of retching startles you.

You glance around, wondering if you had imagined it. But then you hear it – a low choked sob, and your feet are gyrating, ears keenly picking up on the sound.

Your feet falter for a moment, having stopped right in front of the men’s bathroom.

Biting down your bottom lip, you cautiously push against the door, darting your pupils around.

It's completely empty, save for one stall in the far corner.

Your heels click against the ground, turning to face it. Noticing it slightly open, you raise your hand, preparing to knock and ask him if he was okay, if he has perhaps consumed too much alcohol than expected, or if he needed anything – infinite questions ready to tumble out of your lips.

But that’s when you feel a slight flutter against your foot.

Peering down curiously, you breath hitches and you nearly stumble back.

For there’s a fragrant and beautiful, bright yellow petal there.

Hand quivering, you lightly push against the door.

It opens, and your mouth falls agape at the sight.

Jungkook is on his knees, hunched over the toilet, completely surrounded by yellow flowers. His eyes are squeezed shut, shudders running through his body and tears pooling into his eyes. Despite being very tall, his frame looks small and cramped, sweat clinging to his temples.

You thought it was all fake, a disease so rare that it could be considered a myth. But the flowers spilling out from his coughing lips is enough to reel you back into reality, cementing that it was all true – all the puzzling pieces of information stemming from the rumors, all the hushed whispers of unrequited love.

You were wrong, so utterly wrong.

Your hands cover your mouth, voice only managing to come out in a shakingly whisper.

“O-Oh my god….”

Jungkook heaves as the last flower slips out, finally noticing your presence as his eyes snap back.

Your widened ones make contact with his half-lidded orbs, which expand into complete horror.

***

You don’t remember how long it took – how long you merely stood there, glancing at his horror stricken irises with a mix of terror and confusion in your own. You had watched as his eyes diverted away, a deep flush coating his skin as he had leaned back, gripping the edge of the wall for dear support.

“Tulips.” You had murmured, “Aera’s–”

“Favorite flower.” He croaks, a harsh rasp to his voice. His quivering hands reach out, attempting to scoop up the remaining flowers on the ground.

His pupils widened when your shaking ones reached out as well, gaze concentrated as you discard them into the toilet can. But he continues, ensuring each and every single petal had been collected before rising to his feet, wobbling a bit as he turns to flush the contents away for good.

You had quietly trailed out of the bathroom, walking behind his light footsteps.

A moment of silence overtakes you as you reach the opposite side of the building, far from where there are guests celebrating the new engagement. The fresh breeze weaves through your hair, nipping at your skin and offering a change of atmosphere.

Jungkook seems to like it as well, a content sigh leaving him as opposed to the profuse spilling of flowers inside a cramped stall he was experiencing just moments ago.

A thousand questions are ready to burst out from you, but amongst them is one that already has an answer.

“I-Is it…” You warily gaze at him, “...Aera?”

Jungkook visibly gulps, fear echoing deep in his doe irises. You’re startled when he snatches onto your wrist, grip tightening as his eyes desperately scan your expression.

“Please…” He inhales, “Please don’t tell her...”

You slowly nod, gaze still trained on him as his shoulders slump down, relief flooding his body.

Your voice drops into a whisper, “H-How long has this been going on…?”

Jungkook’s lip thin out, and his gaze is on the ground.

Sucking in a breath, he reveals the answer that has a harsh gasp escaping you.

“A year.”

“A year?!” You sharply repeat, “Jungkook, how are you still alive?”

Your coworker had been quietly suffering the effects for a whole entire year, delving within his own misery and attempting to live a normal life as the disease ate away at him.

He shakes his head, like he didn’t want your thoughts invading his mind, “Why haven’t you just gotten the surgery?”

“I-I can’t…” He whispers, brows furrowing.

“Why not?” You press forward, concern filling you to the brim, “The rumors say that hanahaki consumes the individual’s lungs within a year, leading their entire system to shut down–”

“Because I can’t, Y/N.” His words are louder and firmer, but there’s guilt swimming in his orbs. “I…I don’t want to forget her.”

Your lips pursue, knowing what the rumors had to say about the surgery. That along with all the flowers, each and every memory is taken, ripped out of the patient’s mind until they have no more recollection of the feelings, the love they had once felt for their person.

Which means Jungkook’s only other alternative would be for Aera to reciprocate his feelings.

Your stomach churns, guilt radiating out from you.

“She can’t love you back…” You whisper and Jungkook’s eyes snap up, brimming with despair.

“She’s engaged now, and I…I can't take it all away from her,” He hurriedly explains, voice shrinking down into an anguished whisper, “Not when I love her so much...”

“But…are you just going to let yourself die?”

He has no other option. The fonder his heart grows, so do the petals, spreading out within his airway until his breathing is completely constricted. Without the removal surgery or reciprocated feelings, he’s caged – left to fight the disease on his own until he ultimately succumbs to it, drawing out his last breath in the name of the same love.

Jungkook is silent, your words lingering within the empty space between you.

He continues to remain silent, but then his features twist and something snaps.

His eyes are glossed over, shoulders hunched as he chokes out a sob.

You’re startled, but you realize it then and there.

He knows he’s resigned to his fate and at this point, all he can do is receive the illness that’s marred his pathway with flowers.

You’re not very close to Jungkook, but it doesn’t hold you back from outstretching your arms, hands wrapping around his torso as the tears stream down his eyes, form violently trembling.

Aera’s eyes had sparked up when you returned with Jungkook following suit. You watch with dismay as he places a hand on her shoulder, a weak smile on his lips. Jungkook’s condition is obvious, there’s dark circles underneath his eyes, his skin pale and fatigue running deep in his shoulders. But he continues to pose for the photo, not ignoring Aera’s plea to take more with her husband.

Sunoo stands on the other side of them, sharing Aera’s tender smile when she glances at him. Jungkook’s lip twitches, smile slightly faltering.

As the evening draws to an end, your gaze is attached to Jungkook’s every movement, watching him turn on his heels and begin to take the various decorations down. All as Aera and Sunoo have their arms wrapped around each other, fondly staring down at the rings on their hands.

A bitter taste lingers on your lips.

It stays for a while – even as you’re knocking on Jungkook’s door the next day.

To be honest, you’re not sure what you're trying to accomplish. Jungkook and you were merely coworkers, bypassing each other occasionally or conversing through cubicles when work called for it.

But there’s a piece of you deep inside that can't help but feel awful. Awful that in a way you were the one to resign him to the fate of his disease with your own actions, pointing out to Aera that there was a guy you knew back in your college days together that would be her type, even helping out to get his number for her.

Conversely, even though you weren't aware of Jungkook’s existence in her life, the image of him hunched over, trembling as the flowers endlessly poured around and circled his sobbing form, is hauntingly ingrained inside your mind, a deep chill running through your spine anytime the memory plays.

The door swings open, revealing a started Jungkook.

Knowing what you know now, makes it hard to look at him. He still looks exhausted, the deep circles underneath his eyes ever most present and his skin drained of life. You suspect he’s even lost weight from the last handful of times you’ve seen him at work, the disease taking its sweet time to slowly break him down, bit by bit, till his lungs are full and bursting with flowers.

“W-What are you doing here?”

You take in a deep breath, “You’re off from work, right? To be here for the wedding.”

Aera’s wedding is closer to the end of the month, set seven days after the engagement.

Seven days left until hanahaki runs its full course of a year, the victim falling prey to its effects and their lungs being forever constricted.

He slowly nods, “I thought we could go out, do something aside from wedding preparations.”

Jungkook goes silent and you gnaw on your bottom lip. You knew that the wedding plans were still going on, that Aera would need assistance from the two of you, but you know he’s spending all this time helping the very person he loves, without ever getting to be with her.

You wonder if he’ll protest, if he’ll remark that she needs him and that he needs her, that there’s no way he can halt the planning process for his own needs.

But Jungkook heavily exhales, and you wonder if he can see the pity in your eyes.

“Okay.” He simply utters, much to your surprise. He widens the door, letting you in before swiveling, attempting to look for his jacket.

You stand rather awkwardly by the front of his apartment, pleasantly surprised to find the black and white layout of the place, with everything appearing meticulously organized. It’s almost too clean, not a speck of dirt in sight.

However, the layout seems too simplistic, the black and white not contrasting well with the sunlight that tries to pour in, appearing more bleak and empty for your own liking.

It feels lonely.

You press your lips together, a grimace running through you. How long has he been quietly suffering by himself, keeping distance from others? The Jungkook you know wouldn’t even attend events or go out for drinks with everyone else post-work, but now he’s submerged within guests everyday and next to the person he loves, suppressing flowers from spewing out.

Jungkook emerges soon, throwing on a black jacket. Stepping outside with you, he lets out a sharp cough, rubbing his throat with a wince.

“Where to?” He ponders, looking at you with his big doe eyes.

You shrug, “Coffee?”

He nods, and you lead him to the local coffee shop you’ve frequented a couple of times after work, one that’s more closed in and has cozy booths. It isn't popular by any means, only a few individuals occupying the seats, but it’s something you notice Jungkook relishes in from the corner of your eyes, form visibly easing from the low amount of prying looks.

You order your drinks, asking Jungkook what he wanted and he simply murmurs that anything was okay. Within minutes, two lattes are handed to you and you join him by the booth he’s seated at, a deep frown marring your lips.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, and you wince, pushing the drink closer to him.

“Sorry…I didn’t realize this cafe also did coffee art.”

Jungkook's eyes are wide as the drink comes in front of him, a foamy little white heart greeting his line of vision.

The corner of his mouth curls up.

“It’s okay.” He remarks, “I think it’s rather cute.”

You look at him in surprise, but he’s already bringing the drink up to his lips, cautiously taking a sip from the heated mixture.

The words blurt out before you can stop them.

“I’m really sorry.”

He halts, placing the drink down. “Y/N, I said it was okay–”

“No, not that.” You harshly swallow, “I-I’m sorry…about Aera…”

He stares at you perplexed and you explain, “I was the one to bring her and Sunoo together. I knew both of them and thought they would work well as a couple.”

Your eyes flutter shut, biting down on your lip, “If only I had known about your relationship with her, I could have–”

“Y/N.” He stops your train of thought, hand brushing against yours. You immediately stare down at it, and he notices, sheepishly removing it in an instant as his complexion dusts pink.

He clears his throat, “Don’t apologize. Me and Aera…we were never meant to be, even if you stepped in.”

You stare at him, “We were friends for years…and even as I came to realize my feelings recently, Aera never once felt the same for me, no matter what I did.” He chuckles bitterly, “I was always Jungkook, her childhood friend, and nothing more.”

Anguish spreads over his features and your heart sinks. You can imagine a younger Jungkook, gaze filled with adoration and affection for the girl, desperately seeking for something, anything to be similarly reflected in her own eyes.

Remorse flickers over you, “But I can imagine Sunoo’s sudden appearance wasn’t all that great for you...”

Jungkook’s gaze falls down, a soft yet wistful smile on his lips. “It confirmed a lot for me, mainly that this disease was going to turn out to be more permanent than I had initially assumed.”

You bite back your words, wanting to tell him that it isn’t just permanent, that the disease would reside with him until he finally succumbs to it.

But you can’t bring yourself to, not when there’s so much hurt swirling in his eyes, the disease already physically manifesting itself against his own wishes.

At his silence, you sit up straighter, desperate to change the topic of conversation you had to spring up.

“What do you do outside of work?” You question, “Do you have any hobbies or anything?”

Anything you do to cope? – you can only silently wonder.

Your questions catches him off guard. “Not really…” He deeply ponders, “At the most, I’ve been just working…and of course, helping Aera when I had time off.”

You nod, features twisting. But then his eyes light up.

“Sometimes I like to game.”

“Game?” You blink and he slowly nods, sipping down on his latte. “I could have never taken you for a gamer.”

Something you wouldn’t have expected from the quiet man who would bump shoulders with you at work.

“It’s fun, I like playing games online.” He states, “It helps not having to worry about…”

His face sours as he gestures to himself and you quickly nod, not wanting him the chance to fill in the blanks.

“Maybe you could show me sometime.” You suggest, and he looks at you surprised. To be fair, you don’t know the first thing about online gaming, but watching Jungkook’s expression change, having some spark of joy, is too much for you to miss out on.

A soft smile lines his lips. “Sure.”

You mimic his smile, bringing the remains of the latte to your lips.

Aera is to be married soon, Jungkook knows that.

As such, he’s aware that moments with her are consistent, that she gazes into his eyes with a wide smile regularly, making his heart skip far too many beats.

But what he is pleasantly unaware of is just how involved you are, unabashedly seeking him out when you need assistance with picking up favors for the wedding.

“There should be at least a hundred candles wrapped with thank you notes,” You mumble, brows furrowed together as you read the text off your phone. The sun is bright and shining down, a light breeze lingering in the air that truthfully makes his chest feel lighter.

You glance up, confused eyes connecting with his wide ones. “I can’t open them to check, right?”

He shakes his head, “I don’t think so.”

“But then how do I know they made them properly?” You gesture towards the box resting before his feet in exasperation.

Letting out a huff, you shake your head. “I swear, this whole wedding business is so much more complicated than it really needs to be.”

A light chuckle resonates through the air and you stare at Jungkook in astonishment, watching at how the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“Believe me, I know.” He chides, leaning down to pick up the box. “I’ve been helping to plan this wedding for months.”

“For months?” You question in puzzlement, reaching out to help him balance it. However, he pushes your hands away, gesturing for you to let him carry it.

You frown, but oblige when he starts to walk. “That must have been so stressful. I’ve been only helping out for the last couple of weeks and it’s already making me want to rip my hair out.”

The corners of his lips tugs up and you continue, the words escaping you before you can stop. “Why would you go to such lengths?”

You freeze in an instant, already knowing the reason as to why.

“–Sorry,” You quickly retract, “I-I didn’t mean it like that…”

Jungkook shakes his head, almost feeling something akin to amusement.

His condition is supposed to be a secret, a taboo of a disease and something he’s never uttered a single word to another soul. He supposes that you’re different, that you weren’t someone he told out of his own volition, but rather someone that stumbled upon it.

Which gives him no reason to hide from you. That, and the fact that you’re so mindful about his potential reactions.

“Don’t worry about it.” He simply says, but picks up on the curiosity swirling within your orbs.

“If I can ask…how difficult has it been? Planning all this and dealing with…”

You wave your finger into the air, letting the sentence complete itself and it makes him want to smile.

“It’s kind of hard to explain…” He murmurs, falling deep into thought, “I know Aera doesn’t love me, but I still want to see her happy, you know?”

A low chuckle leaves him, gaze downcasting. “I guess that makes me sound really stupid.”

“No, not at all.” You justify, “You’re right, it’s hard to explain and even harder for someone like me to understand, but you’ve known Aera for so long, and I can imagine that you care a lot about her…”

– and that your love runs deeper than you probably would have imagined – you silently think.

He hums, glancing around as you cross the street together, your eyes focusing onto his backside.

After a moment of contemplation, you speak up.

“You know, I really hope I’m not causing you any trouble.” You explain, “I know talking about it can be–”

“It’s okay.” He replies, “I don’t mind, you’re…really easy to talk to.

You’re surprised by the soft smile he holds while glancing in your direction, but it’s one that you don’t hesitate to return.

A bright yellow flower lands right in front of your face.

You and Jungkook both jolt, the elderly woman in front of you holding a wide grin. It’s only then you realize that you’re near a boutique, selling flowers to those passing by.

“These beautiful tulips are fresh,” She states, attempting to play matchmaker as both you and Jungkook flush, “It’s said they represent unconditional love.”

You blink, the scent of the flowers being shoved right into your faces. Jungkook stills, holding in his breath as his form slightly trembles.

You clear your throat immediately, pushing them away.

“We’re okay.” You take a step back, “I’m allergic to flowers.”

She grimaces, realization donning upon her that neither of you meant business. You don’t think twice, grabbing Jungkook's wrist and whisking him away from the deeply fragrant area.

It’s only when you walk a good handful of steps away that Jungkook tugs on you, a sheepish look on his features that has your confused eyes widening.

You let go of him, “Sorry.”

He softly shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

His head turns, gaze concentrated on the store from a distance.

The next question leaving his lips has you taken aback, “What’s your favorite flower, Y/N?”

You deeply mull over it, drawing a blank. “I-I can’t say I have one….”

He ponders over it and your eyes flicker over to him, “What about you?”

“Ah–” He lightly laughs, scratching the back of his neck. Your eyes widen when he places the box down and takes hold of his sleeve, rolling it back a few inches.

An array of images greet you immediately, but among them is a giant orangish-red flower carved into his forearm.

“It’s my birth flower.” He informs.

You stare at it in pure awe and wonder, the ink swirling his skin beautifully.

Your voice comes out in a whisper, “What is it called?”

“The tiger flower.”

You hum, still looking at it in fascination. “Wow…it’s amazing.”

Jungkook silently watches, oddly feeling exposed for suddenly revealing an important piece of himself to you. But as he notices your irises brightening and lips curving up, he can’t help but warmly smile, his chest swelling with pride underneath your observations.

Ending up at Jungkook’s apartment becomes a staple for you.

You don’t know how or when, but through figuring out the delivery for the cake to ensuring you had enough tables for the RSVP'd guests, your messages to Jungkook would occasionally stray over to pondering over how he was doing. His responses always ended in simple reassurances, much to your own dismay, but then he would stray too, bringing up that if you ever felt like coming over again, you could.

At first, you didn’t want to be rude by declining, but then it became to the point where Jungkook expects you, swinging open to his door non-chantlently.

“Did you eat yet?”

Entering inside, you shake your head and he turns, heading into his kitchen. You glance around, ultimately deciding to sit on his couch.

There’s a table right next to it, a handful of picture frames that have your heart twisting.

They stand out in the midst of his bleak apartment, having an odd touch of hearth to them. There’s different age ranges – roughly around ages nine, twelve, fifteen – all of Aera and Jungkook together. There’s ones of them as small children, bright eyed with huge smiles, to ones where they’re a bit older, smiles turning warm and eyes tender. You muse at how adorable Jungkook looked when he was younger, a light to his crinkled eyes that you don’t really see much anymore.

His footsteps pad into the room, two bowls of instant ramen in his hands. You swivel around and his eyes catch the movement, but if anything he’s learned, it’s that you’re naturally very curious, surprise not even crossing him.

“We can go to my room,” He gestures to the doorway across the hall, “I already have my computer set up.”

You frown, rising from your seat and following behind him. The room is dark, all the lights turned off save for some sunlight peeking through his black drapes, and you’re astonished to find his room just as organized as the rest of his apartment.

Off to the side, there’s a bright lit screen alongside a keyboard that glows different colors.

“Woah.” You mutter and Jungkook hands you your instant ramen, before sitting on the large gaming chair and pulling a seat up for you.

You slurp on your noodles as the game loads. Once it does, his hand revolves around the settings for a moment before he dives into action, his fingertips tapping at an incredible speed across the keyboard and mouse furiously clicking. He seems completely zoned into the game, almost like he had forgotten where he was for a moment.

Nonetheless, you watch with wide eyes as he effortlessly wins the first round, hands coming around to search for his own ramen. He continues to keep playing, pupils never once leaving the monitor and you’re fascinated with how well he’s able to multitask.

His eyes connect with yours, a grin surfacing on his lips. “Want to try?”

Unease fills you, “I don’t know, I’m not the greatest with games–”

“You’ll be fine.” He insists and you nervously nod, giving into his wishes. He gently guides your hand over the mouse, watching you attempting to shoot things with terrible coordination.

It’s when you accidentally shoot someone that was trying to heal you that Jungkook bursts into laughter, a beautiful melodious tone that echoes off the walls.

“I told you I’m terrible!” You protest with a pout, and his laughter still bubbles as he moves behind you.

“Here, let me show you.” His hand laces over yours, effortlessly navigating your character.

You smile at the assistance, watching him cross all the hurdles and play infinitely better in comparison.

You turn to remark about it, but the words die in your throat.

His face is inches away from you, something he notices right away too. Neither of you move, the sounds coming from the game lingering in the background.

Jungkook shifts and you instantly move, your hand hitting your container of noodles.

It spills onto the ground and you immediately get up, clearing your throat.

“I-I’ll go get something to clean it up.” Jungkook simply nods, watching your backside disappear.

You head straight into his kitchen, pressing a hand against your racing heart. Deeply inhaling and exhaling, you glance around for a cloth, locating it on the edge of the counter immediately and turning back.

The doorbell rings.

You blink, hearing the loud sounds of the game coming from Jungkook’s room and wondering if you had imagined it. But then it rings again and you scramble forward, grasping onto the knob.

The sight before you shock you to your core.

Aera stands in front of you, arms crossed and her orbs tinged with cracks of red. They widen at the appearance of you, the shock scattering over her features reflecting your own.

“Y/N?”

“Aera?” You blurt out, wondering what she was doing here.

Her grand wedding is supposed to be in three days, and here she was.

Jungkook’s voice cuts through, “Y/N? Is everything oka–”

You hear his footsteps pad through the apartment before his breath hitches. Aera steps right in at the sight of him, walking straight past you and throwing her arms around his torso.

She sobs loudly and Jungkook’s pupils quiver, making direct eye contact with your confused ones, before awkwardly wrapping his arms around her.

There’s a painful tinge in the center of your chest, but you ignore it.

“S-Sunoo–” Aera sputters out, clutching onto Jungkook tighter. “S-Sunoo and I….we had a fight!”

Jungkook can barely muster out any words, harshly swallowing. Your eyes widen at the reaction, and it’s not long before a cough leaves his lips.

You step forward, placing your hand on her back. “Aera, how about we take this outside?”

Her head tilts, like she had just noticed you’re also in the room.

At her silence, you slowly peel her hands off of Jungkook, who quickly scurries away into the confines of his room.

Aera’s taken aback with response, but nonetheless follows you like a lost puppy.

The moment you’re outside the apartment, she spills. “We ended up fighting, Y/N! Can you imagine?!”

She sobs more, eyes connecting with the door behind you.

“Why won’t Jungkook come out?”

“He’s…not feeling the best.” You wince, unable to come up with a better answer. “You know, you should check in on him every now and then.”

Images of the splattered flowers echo through your mind.

“What’s there to check?” She chuckles, sniffling and wiping her tears, “Jungkook’s always fine.”

Your chest tightens, something unfamiliar brewing.

“No one’s ever always fine.” You grit.

Even if his symptoms weren’t so painfully obvious, there was no way to simply dismiss it all as something mere like work fatigue.

Aera eyes you, baffled by your tone, “Since when have the two of you gotten close?”

You open your mouth a couple of times – unable to muster the exact words for an answer. However, you relent, shaking it away and opting to ask her about Sunoo instead, to which she gladly focuses on.

***

You spend a considerable amount of time coaxing Aera that Sunoo still loved her and that being stressed about wedding planning was completely normal.

She cries continuously and you pat her back, sprouting as much reassurance as you can all while bypassing any of her further inquiries about Jungkook. It seems to help, because soon she’s nodding in agreement as the tears within her eyes begin to dry.

She departs and you manage to head back into the apartment, exhausted beyond belief.

But Jungkook lingers in your mind.��

You bolt into his room, heading directly into the connecting bathroom. The door whips open, and your heart clenches at the sight before you.

There’s bright yellow tulips. Everywhere. And Jungkook is in the middle of them, form slouched against the wall with his eyes squeezed shut and sweat sticking to his temples.

You immediately crouch down, placing his weak arm around your neck and helping him to his feet. When he sways, you let him lean his weight against you.

Sitting him down onto his bed, you withdraw into the kitchen to fetch him a glass of water. Reentering the bedroom, his gaze is downcasted and you silently hand him the drink, watching his fingertips curl around the cup.

You then walk back into the bathroom, taking every piece of petal that’s been scattered and throwing it into the toilet can. You flush it down the drain as Jungkook sips on the water, quietly watching you from afar.

You sit down next to him with a deep sigh, silence overtaking the dark room.

A shuddering breath leaves him.

“I started to forget…” He croaks, grasping your attention immediately, “I actually managed to forget about everything for once. The engagement, the wedding, her…”

You remorsefully watch as his eyes flutter shut, noticing the single tear that rolls down his cheek. It propels you to shift forward, wrapping your arms around him comfortingly.

He leans into your touch, head resting on your shoulder and his arm curling around your waist.

There’s a thought that lingers in the back of your mind, seemingly growing louder and louder with every passing minute.

“You know…” He lets out a low hum and you continue, willing all your courage together. “I ended up thinking about a third alternative in curing you.”

Within a heartbeat, he mumbles – “What was it?”

Sucking in a sharp inhale, you let it out.

“For you to fall in love…with someone else.”

His breath hitches, form stiffening underneath your fingertips. You part from him and he slowly raises his head, staring at you impassively.

You fidget underneath his gaze, unable to read his thoughts.

After what feels like an eternity, you slowly pull yourself away from him. It was wrong of you to bring it up and you want to curse yourself for thinking otherwise.

Shuffling your feet, you stand up.

Jungkook’s hand clasps onto yours, tugging you towards him in an instant. Your eyes morph with surprise, but then his lips collide with yours.

It steals your breath away, warmth flooding through you and making you melt at his touch. He tentatively moves against you, lips softly brushing against your own.

He pulls back for a split second, chest rising and falling. But you lean forward, pressing your lips against his once again.

And that’s all it takes to drown.

Jungkook litters kisses all down your jaw and neck, and you find yourself stumbling backwards, back hitting his mattress. It’s only a matter of a few moments before his torso is hovering over you, and you reach up, clutching onto his shoulders.

Your clothes scatter across the room and Jungkook’s bare chest presses against you. He marks your skin in the shape of his lips, all while his name profusely tumbles out of your own. He pushes into you, gently at first, like he has something to prove. You accept him fully, nails sinking into his back as you both climax, an onslaught of gasps and moans escaping the two of you.

His arm wraps securely around your waist, and you're lulled into a deep sleep.

You’re woken to the sound of retching.

A gasp parts from your lips, and you immediately scramble up from the bed, dressed in only the shirt Jungkook had been wearing the night before. You stumble into the bathroom, finding Jungkook hunched over and surrounded with the yellow flowers once again.

However, your breath hitches.

Because this time there’s more of them, and they're all splattered with drops of scarlet.

“Jungkook!” You exclaim, knees buckling down. Placing your hand on his shaking back, you rub it up and down comfortingly.

“I-I was starting to feel b-better…” He chokes out in defeat, hands clutching onto the toilet. A cluster of coughs leave him, his voice disappearing as more and more red stained flowers overflow out.

You attempt to coax him, features twisted from watching him be contorted in so much pain. “It’s okay, Jungkook.” Your hold on him is firm, “We’ll figure it out, don’t worry, we’ll–”

“Y-You don’t understand….” He cries out, "I-I can't, Y/N…."

A deep furrow in your brows form and Jungkook shakes his head, eyes shut as his forehead lulls down, “I-I can’t do this anymore….I-I’m still in love with her."

It feels like someone’s just stabbed you in the heart.

Jungkook doesn’t look at you, entangled in too much shame and agony to dare raise his head and say the same words with your eyes meeting his. The same pair of eyes that discovered him one day and reached out, not letting him stumble on his own anymore.

Orbs glossing over, you rise with shaky legs. The feeling in the pit of your chest twists and knots, spreading through you like a deep ache.

Jungkook can’t say anything, not even at the sound of you grabbing your clothes, the unevenness of your footsteps against his carpet, or the door shutting on your way out from his apartment, the frequency echoing off the walls. His gaze remains fixated on the flowers, even plucking one completely smeared in red, wondering why fate was always so cruel to him – why, in his mind when he’s smiling and laughing with you, Aera’s warm eyes and big smile show up there instead, forever imprinted into his brain.

***

You stagger on your way home.

A stream of hot tears roll down your face, with harsh breaths shuddering out of you. Your sobs are thundering and violent, racking through your entire form.

There’s a thousand emotions running through you, leaving your mind completely numb and your body feeling like it’s breaking, scattering into pieces. You wonder how you could have let it gotten to this point, wonder how you could have been so foolish.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you soon arrive at your apartment complex. You can barely unlock the front door, gasping as you stumble in.

You fall right at the entrance, clawing your hands around your throat, eyes rapidly darting and flickering everywhere. The pain accelerates, winding tortuously over and over around your windpipe.

The cord snaps.

A sharp chain of coughs leaves your lips, vibrating down your throat and through your lungs. It morphs into a retch and the contents come spilling forth before you can even blink.

Deeply heaving, you can only stare helplessly at the clutter of bright orangish-red tiger flowers before you.

Love is twisted.

It threatens to find you unexpectedly, spontaneously making you crumble within seconds. It’s a spur of the moment, welcoming in painful affection. Love at first sight, that withers into petals of grief. Or simply an unexpected encounter, getting spun into something that turns your entire world upside down.

It develops, it grows. It becomes so much more, rendering you weak and constricting your breathing, just as the mere thought of it makes you feel sick.

Until of course, it becomes long term, a trail of flowers never leaving your side.

You don’t see Jungkook for the remaining days until the wedding, avoiding him like the plague. He doesn’t reach out, keeping to himself like he’s always done.

However, running into him at the wedding now, is a completely different story.

He’s dressed in a sleek fitted black suit, his hair styled and pushed back. He’s working alongside the caterer, a crease in between his brows as he ensures the food arrives in a timely manner.

You had just entered the venue, eyes scanning around for any indication of where Aera might be.

As cruel as fate would be, your eyes suddenly find his.

You attempt to look away, but it only takes three steps for Jungkook to be right in front of you.

He looks the same, his skin pale and dark circles still underneath his eyes, tiredness running deep through him.

He opens and closes his mouth several times, before quietly asking a question that has you nearly coughing.

“Are…are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Your voice comes out croaked, immediately taking a step back from him. He catches the movement and you notice it right away – the way his eyes scan all over your face.

You wonder if he can see the fatigue in your shoulders, wonder if he can see the bags starting to form under your eyes, or how pale you seem to have gotten. Wonder if he knows you were throwing up just this morning, mind swirling with thoughts of him and lungs brimming with flowers, unable to loosen the imprint he’s left.

“Are you sure? I–” He reaches out and you flinch, but then a call of your name has you spinning around.

“Aera has been looking for you two.” A woman you instantly recognize as her mother, informs. You nod, ignoring the pleading look in Jungkook’s eyes that just makes your lungs constrict.

After all, you were here for someone else entirely.

But when you and Jungkook follow her into a side room to see Aera completely decked out in a lavious white wedding dress, you can only harshly swallow.

“Y-You look amazing.” You sputter out, and she has a huge, radiant smile.

“Isn’t it lovely?” She chuckles, “I can’t wait until you get married and wear one too, Y/N!”

You know she means well, but your lips are pursued together, not a single word slipping out as you numbingly nod.

She turns to Jungkook, her smile widening, “What do you think, Kookie?”

It catches Jungkook off guard, his gaze previously on you.

A small smile laces on his lips and he answers her genuinely.

“It’s lovely on you, Aera. You look very beautiful.”

She giggles, looping her arm around his.

But you can see everything.

Jungkook’s eyes are tender and warm, fondness radiating out from every fiber of his body. He holds her gently, as if treasuring her was his uttermost priority.

Your breath hitches, a wave of nausea hitting you. There’s nothing you can mutter except a quiet ‘excuse me’ as you’re racing out of the room, hand clamping against your mouth and feet hurriedly filtering through the venue.

You don’t even find a bathroom, yanking open the door to a staff closet before you stumble down, tiger flowers bursting out of your lips. Water builds up in your eyes, hand clutching onto your chest as the retching continues, a deep burn being left behind.

It’s when the flowers slow down, decreasing in volume that you manage to swipe some of the sweat trailing down your temples. Your vision finally focuses through all the tears, small coughs still trembling through your windpipe.

A small gasp behind you has you freezing.

Your half-lidded eyes snap back, finding Jungkook's paralyzed ones. A hand is covering his mouth, his voice quivering.

“Oh my god….”

You don’t have the strength to will your voice to work, barely able to breath in and out with your congested airflow. Jungkook falls to his knees, eyes scanning all over the flowers before flickering up to you.

“You–” He begins, form frantic. “In here…the f-flowers….”

His hand plucks up on the tiger flower, perfectly matching the ink on his skin.

He lets go of the flower and it flutters down to you. His lips move, horror transfixed in his eyes as the realization dawns onto him, hitting him all at once.

“I-I broke you….”

You sniffle, arm coming up to swipe away the tears that have collected in your eyes. But Jungkook is faster, the pads of his thumbs immediately coming up to cup your face, gently brushing them away.

You look up, gaze locked onto his. And you can see everything.

He understands – his pain reflecting yours.

“Jungkook!” He sucks in a breath, head swiveling around to a voice echoing out from the closet. “Where have you been? Everyone’s already taken their seats.”

“I-I’ll be right there.” He turns to you, but you’re already scooping the flowers up, tucking them into a bag that you found nearby. Jungkook silently joins you, helping you until the closet is completely clear of any trace of them.

You leave before him, not exchanging one word.

The wedding commences.

You have taken your seat at the front, having a full display of the event right before you. Jungkook sits a row behind you, and you’re grateful at not having to be so close to him for the long duration.

Because as much as you can acknowledge the shared pain you hold – you know that the existence for Jungkook's is why you’re gathered here today, and you know that yours is just sitting a row away.

He will never love you like you do him. Aera will never love him like he does her.

The ceremony begins and you look up, gazing at the couple you’ve come to see tie the knot. The marriage officiant speaks up, going through each and every piece of what will bring them together. Your eyes are focused, but ever so and then, they furrow at Aera.

Not because of envy, but rather, it’s like her eyes are wavering, prodding around in the audience instead.

What is she doing?

You wonder, only seeing her glance at Sunoo a couple of times or breaking out of her daze to repeat the officiant words.

It’s almost like she’s focused on–

Your eyes trail, following her field of vision until it lands straight on Jungkook. And you’re even more caught off guard when you find out where his gaze is directed.

He’s looking at you, eyes not wavering even when you catch him.

You flush at the realization, quickly averting your eyes to focus back onto the couple. Thankfully, it soon draws to an end and the officiant wraps up the ceremony.

“You may now kiss the bride.” Sunoo leans in and Aera smiles, as does the officiant.

He pronounces them as husband and wife and a big cheer erupts from the guests. Everyone claps – including you and the couple descends down, interacting with those that have attended their wedding.

You take up the opportunity to depart, desperately needing some fresh air and Jungkook catches onto the action.

“Jungkook!” Aera exclaims, leaving Sunoo’s side and looping her arm around his, “Come on! I want a pictur–”

“Not now, Aera.” He winces with an apologetic smile, feet headed after the direction you’ve left in. Aera watches in complete disbelief, not even hearing Sunoo call out her name.

His steps are quickened, eyes darting back and forth. He bumps into a couple of guests on the way out, simply giving them a quick smile before he resumes trudging against the tiled floor.

His heart is racing, so much to the point where it feels like it might burst.

Within minutes, he finds your backside on a bench outside near the venue, shoulders hunched and making your form appear smaller than ever.

“Y/N?” He breathes out, slowly walking towards you.

“J-Jungkook?” You swivel, startled that he had followed you out here.

He stands in front of you, kneeling down. The eye contact makes you flinch, an uncomfortable sensation churning in your chest the longer he looks at you.

But before you can run away, before you can even search for a place to empty out the flowers threatening to spill from your throat, he leans forward.

He leans forward, and his lips collide with your own.

You softly gasp, heat brushing on your cheeks. It feels just like the first time you shared a kiss with him, warmth flooding through you.

Your trembling hands reach out, tugging him closer.

He places his own on top of yours, holding them as lips moving fervently against yours.

You feel it all – the delicate flowers blooming within your chest, the hues of orangish-red coloring your windpipe, the itch to push him away spiking more than ever.

But you part from him with a different reason altogether.

A sharp breath escapes you, airflow flooding into your lungs. It feels easier to inhale and exhale, no longer feeling like there was something constricting and blocking your windpipe.

As your chest rises and falls sporadically, you stare at Jungkook in astonishment. He mimics the expression you hold, a twinkle beginning to spark in his eyes.

Almost as if he were experiencing the same thing.

“I-I can–”

“Breathe?” He completes with a smile and you slowly nod, tears slipping out of your eyes.

Jungkook wraps his arms around you comfortingly, his own eyes glossing over as you tremble. The pads of his thumbs come up to cup your face, gently brushing your tears away.

He rises to his feet, reaching his hand out. You take it within a heartbeat, sniffling as he walks back into the venue with you.

Your tender gazes occasionally meet, with soft smiles being exchanged.

A sharp scream pierces through the air.

The two of you whirl around in an instant, noticing Aera's mother stepping out of the room in the frenzy.

“What happened?” You immediately ask, watching the woman’s shake her head frantically.

She doesn’t answer you, too caught up in her own thoughts, “Oh, it’s terrible, so, so terrible–”

You frown, but Jungkook tugs on you, eyes staring straight into the room that she had left.

Stepping next to him, your eyes transfixed into horror.

Aera stands in the middle of the room, with Sunoo by her side – a plethora of tiger flowers and tulips surrounding the two of them.

#jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook hanahaki au #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts jungkook hanahaki au #bts jungkook angst #bts jungkook fluff #bts jungkook smut #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #bts hanahaki au #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jungkook x reader

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zeroxxlhero · 4 months

Text

Girlfriend Headcannons • Ymir

Contents & Warnings: everyone is 18+, Hispanic! Ymir, Black!Fem! Reader, top! Ymir, bottom! Reader, public sex, established relationship, cunninlingus, strap-ons, pussy eating, mentions of squirting

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin (Attack on Titan)

Pairings: (Ymir x Fem! Reader)

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝ ╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝

SFW:

— Ymir’s known you since 7th grade but didn’t start developing feelings until 11th

—was a generally nice friend before she discovered her feelings for you and became even more nicer afterwards

—you had to ask her out because she was scared but she was happy (threw up one time because she couldn’t ask you but would never admit it)

—super clingy (can’t even sit up in the bed before she asks where you’re going. literally stands by the bathroom door while you pee or poop)

—always has a body part on you, maybe a foot, an arm, a leg; didn’t matter but she NEEDED to be touching you

—can make a mean ass dish like pozole and elote

—a literal natural-born chef and always wants you to taste her food before it’s served

—talks so fast in Spanish when she gets upset

—only wears black and white shirts

—has a closet full of designer brand Jordan’s and Nike shoes

—refuses to eat at any fast food restaurant but buys it for you

—has a tendency to be forgetful but tries to remember important details

—always gets you something when she comes back from going out

—sometimes says mean things without realizing how bad it could hurt your feelings and takes her days to apologize for it

—has a pit bull named Bruno that she treats like a human child (He’s a big spoiled baby)

—hates feet

—loves hugs and making out

—love language is words of affirmation and acts of service

—always smells like cherry and chia milk

—taught herself how to braid

—wants a daughter someday

NSFW:

—loves pussy and will eat it anywhere and everywhere

—loves having you face down and ass up while she breaks in your back with her strap

—can make you squirt

—prefers rough but switches to soft if need be

—will let you eat her out if you want

—has a tendency to fuck you in public if she’s horny enough

—mild sex drive

—depending on what you want, can last 1 to 2 rounds

—doesn’t tolerate the bratty shit, will put you in your place and make you apologize

—grips your skin too hard and leaves it sore

—loves hair-pulling

—would impregnate you if possible

—loves hearing you moan

—talks you through it

—cleans you up after and gets you anything that you want

Loves you very much and just want the best for you.

#aot x you #snk x you #aot fandom #snk x reader #attack on titan #ymir #ymir aot #snk season 4 #ymir snk #x reader #ymir x reader #snk final season #ymir smut

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ursa-the-stranger · 6 months

Text

Op had to restrict replies but I wanted to reblog so heres a copy paste of it sans op's name. I will take this down if they ask however.

I have been noodling over posting this for several days but I think it's important for some people to hear.

At a March on Saturday, at a pro Palestine march, my group and I were targeted by by nazis. Not targeted for violence, but targeted for recruitment. They weren't wearing swastikas, they weren't spewing blatant antisemitic hate speech. They seemed like two normal dudes. They marched with us, talked about how awful everything in Palestine was, how we wished world leaders would grow a pair and hold Israel responsible for fucking war crimes, how existing in the world right now was hard. They were empathetic, they were kind, they seemed like genuine good dudes.

Until we passed a synagogue where people were handing our water to marchers. They had signs defending Palestine on their table. But the tone of the conversation changed. These two seemingly normal dudes started talking about how "performative" the gesture felt, that Jewish people should be doing more. That they needed to PROVE it. They started talking about "Zionist" propaganda in the US, about how it was deeply entrenched in capitalism. Things that, on the surface, seemed reasonable but it set off alarm bells in my head.

When I was a kid, I remember getting the speech of "don't repeat anything your uncle or cousin so and so says and don't argue with them. Try to avoid them but if you can't be polite." Because those uncles and cousins said a lot of hateful things about anyone who wasn't like them, but their favorite targets were black people and Jewish people. I would find out as an adult it was because many of those uncles and cousins were in the Klan. When I studied hate symbols for a class in college, I found my self looking at images I'd seen on arms and necks and hands my whole life, because I live in an area of the US where the KKK is still around. And standing in that crowd, listening to these guys talk, i had the most horrible realization I've had in a long time.

We were being fished by Nazis. We were a group of able body, white American leftists. At a march in support of stopping the murder and genocide of Palestinians, these motherfuckers were out here, trying to find people they could get to hate Jewish folks. I wasn't the only one in my group who clocked it, and when we called them on it, the masks came off. They called us a bunch of "Jew loving bitches" before they moved on.

But we're marched with these guys for a couple hours, talked with them, laughed with them, brought them into our circle. For a moment we forgot we also weren't immune to propaganda, we weren't immune to people who make hate sound reasonable and that people like that never start out saying the quiet part out loud, they lean on your anger and your sense of helplessness to move you where they want you. If the last eight years has taught us anything, it's that fascists know how to adjust to the times, to work with what they got, to recruit. They know how to radicalize people, how to weaponize anger and helplessness. And I'm sitting here, every day, seeing posts that sound exactly like these guys did and it worries me.

I know I'm talking to the No Reading Comprehension Website, but I'm begging you guys to develop some now.

You are not immune to propaganda. We are all angry, as we fucking should be. We are watching an entire culture, thousands of lives, whole bloodlines, being wiped out in real time, and for many of us our nations are at best, wringing their hands, and at worst, shipping them weapons, all to protect capitalist greed. It's monstrous, it's disgusting. But look, REALLY LOOK, at the things you are tweeting, sharing, look at the language and how it's used. Take the time to educate yourself about how hate groups use social justice causes and civil unrest to recruit, research the posts your spreading, check your sources. If you are out protesting, be situationally aware, and do not be afraid to clock and call out Nazis. Listen to Jewish people, listen to their concerns, educate yourself on what Zionism and antisemitism actually are and how they can be weaponized. It doesn't feel as good as rage, it doesn't feel as good as having a group you can functionally rail against in a way we can't against a nation a world away, but it's a skill that's going to help you and a lot of other people in the long run.

#keep your wits about you. hold love for the best of people and the worst of people in your heart. always search for the facts for yourself

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haddonfieldwhore · 8 months

Text

we make a good team - darby allin

darby allin x gn!reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: briefly suggestive?, sting is readers father, language

summary: when you and darby are paired as a tag team, he helps you with your ring gear

your whole life you had been surrounded by wrestling, so it was no surprise to your father sting, when you told him you wanted to follow in his footsteps. after years of training and practice and tryouts, last year you had finally made it to aew, and had an impressive first run on the roster. the feuds you had recently been a part of had ended a few weeks ago, and tony had told you a few days ago that you would be doing a short tag team run with darby allin, who was a protege of your fathers. if it went over well with the fans, you would continue as a team for a while and go after the tag titles.

you and darby had become quite close in the short time you had been with the company, sharing similar styles and interests, as well as being close in age. sting was happy to see the two of you getting along, and your character fit perfectly with their aesthetic, under your ring name ‘thorn’. you and darby had been practicing for your match for days, and something about working so closely with him had made you realize that you had developed a crush on him. sometimes it seemed like maybe he felt the same, but you didn’t want to risk ruining your new partnership before your first match; and his friendship meant a lot to you, and you didn’t want to risk it.

“hey,” darby walked into the dressing room the two of you were sharing, as you stood in front of the mirror in your ring gear. you had gotten a new outfit for this tag team run; pants with one leg that was black and one leg that was white, a simple white tank top, and black boots. darby sat in front of the mirror, and took out a makeup case that contained his face paints, before he began getting ready for the match that was in about an hour. he was already dressed in his outfit for the night, plain black jeans and boots, and a black cloak-like hoodie over his shirtless torso. thankfully, he was too focused on his face paint to notice you staring, admiring his toned abs that were on display under the cloak.

“are you nervous?”

“no, are you?” he replied, not taking his eyes off his reflection in front of him. you tugged at your shirt, unhappy with the way it looked; like it was missing something.

“no,” you lied. “i don’t know. what if i screw this up and make you look bad?” darby laughed, glancing over at you before going back to his makeup.

“you’re worried about making me look bad?”

“well- yeah,” you admitted, still fiddling with your top. “and i don’t know about this outfit. maybe i should just wear my normal gear.” you started walking over to your bag to find a last minute alternative. darby set down his paintbrush and walked over to you, gently dragging you back over to the mirror.

“you look amazing. what don’t you like about it?” he asked, standing behind you and looking over your shoulder at your reflection in the mirror. you hoped he couldn’t feel how fast your heart was beating in your chest as his hands remained on your arms.

“i feel like the top is missing something,” you admitted, not allowing yourself to be distracted by the scent of his cologne, a mixture of a sweet musky smell and a subtle bit of mint.

“i think you look great,” he mumbled as his eyes scanned the length of your body in the mirror, before he shook his head slightly, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. his hands resting on your biceps have you a stupid but enticing idea - something you had seen online once.

“don’t be nervous okay? you’re gonna do great.” darby rested his chin on your shoulder, making eye contact with you in the mirror, stepping impossibly closer to you until your back was pressed against his chest, his arms wrapping around your stomach from behind. your breath caught in your throat; could it be possible that he also had feelings for you? surely friends didn’t look at eachother like that, you thought. darby walked back over to his paints and began putting them away, before you decided ‘fuck it’, and turned towards him.

“i actually did have an idea - for the shirt i mean; but it’s kinda hard to explain.”

“okay?” he looked at you expectantly, and you sighed, before walking over to him.

“do you trust me?” you asked, and darby looked at you confused, but nodded. you grabbed a larger paint brush from his open makeup case, along with the black paint and nervously took his wrist in your hand, turning his palm towards you.

“what are you-“

“just let me do this before i chicken out,” you said, and he smiled, laughing softly as you began to paint his hand black. once it was fully coated in paint, you did the same to the other hand; darby watching intently as you applied the dark pigment to his skin. you set the brush and paint down on the counter and carefully grabbed his wrist, bringing him back over to the mirror and standing in front of him again. taking each of his wrists in your hands, you brought them around you and placed his palms against your chest, leaving two black handprints on the front of your shirt, before you let go of his hands. you looked up, your eyes meeting his in the mirror as he let out a breath, the air tickling the back of your neck from how close he was once again.

“you are going to be the death of me,” he mumbled, and you turned around to look at him directly.

“isn’t death kind of your thing?” you asked, and darby laughed softly, looking down at you.

“i think i kinda have a thing for you, too.” he whispered, stepping as close as he could without smudging the paint on your shirt. he wanted to touch you so bad, to pull you closer, but couldn’t risk getting paint all over, so instead he pressed the unpainted side of his forehead to yours.

“i really want to kiss you right now,” he mumbled, and your heart pounded against your ribcage, before you replied with all the confidence you could manage.

“what’s stopping you?” darby cracked a smile, laughing to himself before he pressed his lips to yours. you kissed him back, and he had to remember not to touch you as his hands were still covered in paint, or he would’ve held you close. you pulled away, looking at his face to make sure his face paint hadn’t smeared too much. he smiled, pointing to your lip, and you looked in the mirror to see that there was a tiny bit of black paint there. you grabbed a tissue, wiping it off as darby walked over to his makeup case and grabbed some wipes to clean his hands off. once they were clean, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you over to him, gripping your waist and helping you sit on the counter in front of him. he stood between your legs, kissing you again; face paint be damned. his teeth nibbled at your bottom lip, and you moaned softly before you both pulled away.

“i’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admitted, using his thumb to wipe any paint off your lip.

“i’ve wanted you to; i just didn’t know how to ask.”

“you definitely found a creative way. the shirt looks great,” he smirked, admiring his handprints on your chest. you blushed, letting him help you off the counter, before he quickly touched up his own makeup.

“you feeling ready to go out there and kick some ass?” he asked, and you checked over your appearance one more time in the mirror.

“let’s do it,” you smiled, and darby tapped his fist gently against yours, before taking your hand in his, grabbing his skateboard with the other.

“do you think you could teach me to skate one day?” you asked as the two of you walked down the hallway to wait for your match to start.

“sure,” darby laughed. “if your dad doesn’t kill me when he sees your shirt.”

#darby allin #darby allin x reader #darby allin fic #darby allin imagine #aew #aew fic #wrestling #wrestling fic

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kemetic-dreams · 7 months

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The term 'Sub-Saharan' Africa is a colonial language that was used to belittle African nations south of the Sahara and to separate the other countries from North Africa– Egypt, Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya, and Sudan due to them being Arab states.

Colored, Negro, Black, Nigger

Every one of these terms come from the mindset of Europeans not Africans. Indigenous African societies do not use the term black as a racial identity outside of influences brought by Western cultures.

Contemporary anthropologists and other scientists, while recognizing the reality of biological variation between different human populations, regard the concept of a unified, distinguishable "Black race" as socially constructed.

Black is a term developed in the Colonial Assembly of Maryland, after a rebellion called Bacon's Rebellion, fought from 1676 to 1677.

The alliance between European indentured servants and Africans (a mix of indentured, enslaved, and Free Negroes) disturbed the colonial upper class. They responded by hardening the racial caste of slavery in an attempt to divide the two races from subsequent united uprisings with the passage of the Virginia Slave Codes of 1705.

White took on the meaning "British, Christian and having rights. Black meaning not having rights.

These divided the two populations, by giving poor Europeans with no power, unprecedented power over all non-Europeans.

The laws were devised to establish a greater level of control over the rising African slave population of Virginia. It also socially segregated white colonists from black enslaved persons, making them disparate groups and hindering their ability to unite. Unity of the commoners was a perceived fear of the Virginia aristocracy, who wished to prevent repeated events such as Bacon's Rebellion, occurring 29 years prior.

By refusing to call you an African, it belittles you, no such thing as black names, black land or black languages. It is like calling a woman big lips or flat butt and refusing to call the woman by her actual name. "Hey colored girl, or black boy".

In social psychology, a stereotype is a generalized belief about a particular category of people.

African populations have the highest levels of genetic variation among all humans.

Why You Probably Shouldn't Say 'Eskimo'

People in many parts of the Arctic consider Eskimo a derogatory term because it was widely used by racist, non-native colonizers. Many people also thought it meant eater of raw meat, which connoted barbarism and violence. Although the word's exact etymology is unclear, mid-century anthropologists suggested that the word came from the Latin word excommunicati, meaning the excommunicated ones, because the native people of the Canadian Arctic were not Christian.

According to the Constitution of India, we are “the people of India that is Bharat”

In English language discourse, the word ‘India’ is used and in Hindi expressions, the word ‘Bharat’ is used. The Anglicised call it ‘India’, and the indigenous call it ‘Bharat’. Our ruling class calls it ‘India’, the others, the janata, call it ‘Bharat’. It has become a trend and fashion to prefer the word ‘India’ over ‘Bharat’. We converse with the country in Hindi and other vernaculars while we govern it in English.

Japanese people usually refer to their country as Nihon or Nippon

The name "Japan" in English is derived from the Portuguese word "Japão," which was used during the 16th century when Portuguese traders and explorers first arrived in Japan. The Portuguese term "Japão" likely evolved from the Malay word "Japang" or "Japang Pulau," which referred to the Japanese archipelago.

The Japanese people themselves refer to their country as "Nihon" (日本) or "Nippon" (日本), and these terms have been used in the Japanese language for centuries.

As European seen themselves as the elites of all races and god's chosen people. They took on the mindset of what I say makes the most sense.

Renaming essentially all populations they came in contact with, using their language as opposed to learning the language of the natives.

And whatever religion or spirituality people had Europeans demonized it and forced converted people to Christianity.

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contemplatingoutlander · 9 months

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This Salon article by Ian Hanley-Lopez is well worth taking the time to read. Although it was written in Dec. 2013--BEFORE the age of Trump, it was prescient of the continued trajectory of the Republican Party towards a white nationalist agenda. The article describes:

How the indirect racist messaging of "dog whistle politics" began with George Wallace, using the language of being opposed to "arrogant federal authority," and being for "states’ rights," "law and order, running your own schools, [and] protecting property rights." Even though Wallace was a Southern Democrat (and later an Independent) the "dog whistle" strategies he employed were later appropriated by the GOP in the "Southern Strategy."

How the GOP's "Southern Strategy" slowly developed in the 1960s, when Goldwater began to push “states’ rights,” as well as “freedom of association." This strategy over time helped the Republican Party begin to appeal to those white voters who still held overt or covert racial prejudices.

How Kennedy and Johnson, by promoting civil rights legislation, turned the Democrats into the party identified with championing the civil rights of marginalized racial and ethnic groups.

How Richard Nixon fully embraced the "Southern Strategy," through his messaging of being for "law and order," and against the "forced busing" of children (to integrate public schools). As he gradually adopted this strategy, Nixon also turned against one of his own administration's earlier policies (developed by George Romney), which Nixon later derided as the "forced integration of the suburbs."

How, according to Hanley-Lopez, these changes in the racial strategies and policies of the diverging Republican and Democratic parties in the 1960s/early 1970s contributed to "the rise of racially identified parties," with a majority of white voters shifting to the GOP (which became "in fact, though not in name, the White Man's Party"), and the Democratic Party being associated with racial and ethnic minorities (as well as a smaller proportion of white voters, i.e., well-educated whites, especially white women). [color emphasis of terms, quotes added]

Echoes of Nixon's 1968 campaign ad in one of Trump's 2020 campaign ads

Hanley-Lopez mentions a 1968 Nixon campaign ad that focused on "exploiting the growing panic that equated social protest with social chaos." Above is the video of that 1968 ad: "The First Civil Right." Below is a transcript of the video:

TRANSCRIPT* (Music with snare drum and dissonant piano chords) MALE NARRATOR**: It is time for an honest look at the problem of order in the United States. Dissent is a necessary ingredient of change, but in a system of government that provides for peaceful change, there is no cause that justifies resort to violence. Let us recognize that the first civil right of every American is to be free from domestic violence. So I pledge to you, we shall have order in the United States. [TEXT: THIS TIME VOTE LIKE YOUR WHOLE WORLD DEPENDED ON IT. . .NIXON] [Color/ emphasis added.]

This 1968 Nixon campaign ad is eerily like at least one Trump 2020 campaign ad, "Abolished," which used some out of context video footage in order to exploit the fears of many white conservative voters regarding the Black Lives Matter protests and the poorly worded "Defund the Police" slogan.

youtube

Below is a transcript of the Trump campaign's 2020 "Abolished" video.

TRANSCRIPT*** [ Phone ringing/ Answering machine beeping/ background music. ] AUTOMATED FEMALE VOICE: You have reached the 911 police emergency line. Due to defunding of the police department, we're sorry but no one is here to take your call. If you're calling to report a rape, please press 1. To report a murder, press 2. To report a home invasion, press 3. For all other crimes, leave your name and number and someone will get back to you. Our estimated wait time is currently five days. Goodbye. [ TEXT: Joe Biden's supporters are fighting to defund police departments. Fox News, 6/6/20 | Violent crime has exploded. ABC News, 6/24/20 | You won’t be safe in Joe Biden’s America. | TRUMP PENCE KEEP AMERICA GREAT 20 ] TRUMP: I'm Donald J. Trump and I approve this message. [Color/ emphasis added.]

In conclusion, the barely covert racism in the GOP's political messaging that was so prominent during Trump's administration, and currently in the DeSantis Florida administration (among other GOP administrations) was not new. It was deliberately fostered by Republicans, starting in the 1960s, as they deployed their "Southern Strategy" to woo white voters who still had some overt or covert racial prejudices. The "Southern Strategy" relied on Republicans incorporating into their messaging strategies the kind of covert racist messaging that George Wallace used.

This strategy has unfortunately succeeded all too well.

[edited]

______________ *Transcript source (before layout changes/ edits) of the 1968 Nixon campaign's ad "The First Civil Right,"(alternatively called "Law and Order"): Museum of the Moving Image, The Living Room Candidate: Presidential Campaign Commercials 1952-2012. **Note that the "male narrator" sounds a lot like Nixon (at least to me). ***The transcript of the Trump campaign's 2020 "Abolished" ad is based on the English auto-generated YouTube transcript, as well as the video text and sounds/music.

#southern strategy #how the gop became the “white man's party”#george wallace #barry goldwater #richard nixon #donald trump #covert racism #dog whistles #nixon's 1968 the “first civil right”/“law and order” political campaign ad #trump's 2020 “abolished” political campaign ad #ian hanley-lopez #salon #youtube video #the living room candidate video

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swampstew · 3 months

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KillerCook Chapter 11

Welcome to Raven’s Reading Nook - a small corner of this blog dedicated to cozy story times. Join us in the family room as we sit around and browse our phones, and eat some Girl Scout cookies as we begin tonight’s story. Rated Mature for language. Minors DNI

*Phone app notification goes ping*

TikTok – KillerCook has uploaded a new video. Check it out!

Title: HACKED Description: This ain’t your regularly scheduled programming punks!5 minute video. The thumbnail is a shadowed figure with a menacing looking ‘X’ mark over the body.

*Press Play?*

The video began with what appeared to be a hostage situation.

KillerCook was tied to a chair with rope and chains, a blindfold over his helmet and duct tape adhered to most of his face holes.

“Uhh, this isn’t what it looks like,” Killer was able to voice out from behind the bondage.

“No, it’s exactly what it looks like,” barked Kid as he stepped into the frame. “This effin idiot was gonna make content on HIS birthday. Not in my house. Today is technically Killer’s birthday but we’re kidnapping – shut the hell up – him so he can actually let his hair down for once in his life.”

Heat stepped into the frame on Killer’s opposite side, “Originally, we were gonna take over the channel and cook for him. BUT, Kid had a light-bulb moment and we developed a scheme to treat the birthday man. You all will be seeing this next week, but rest assured, we’ve got it covered. Wish Killer a happy birthday in the comments and he’ll read them all when we come back!”

Wire came from behind the camera shaking a can of whipped cream, stepping menacingly towards Killer. Aiming the nozzle into one of the helmet holes, he pressed down on the can until Killer began thrashing, white whipped cream oozed from behind the taped holes. “THIS IS FOR THROWING FOOD AT ME ALL YEAR!”

The video transitioned to a blue and white screen with a traditional birthday melody laid over it.

A slideshow of videos and still-shot frames from Killer’s birthday kidnapping started playing.

Killer’s hostage-wear stayed on as the crew drove to the marina, where a punk-looking yacht was moored. The bow of the ship was adorned with a skeletal body, and there were blue and red flames painted to the sides of the hull. Black cursive spelled out the beauty’s name – Victoria Punk.

“The bag over the helmet is really pointless, I know where we are,” Killer’s muffled complaint went ignored as he was marched up the boarding plank.

About 30 pictures went by with various crew members and friends posing with hostage Killer; one photo had him wearing a beer helmet over the bag over his helmet, the straws tucked underneath all the materials to give Killer some libation.

Finally liberated, Killer – dressed down into swim trunks and his helmet – took a running leap off the yacht to cannonball into the sea. As he resurfaced, the rest of the crew cannonballed after him, created a wave of water to shower down on him and the camera, which promptly died.

_______________________

Kid’s pissed-off scowl came into focus as he adjusted the new camera perspective, “{Redacted} idiots killed my phone instead of using the {redacted} GoPro.”

The next clip showed Killer relaxing with a beer bottle in hand, laying against a giant pizza slice pool float as people drifted by him, playing in the water. All was calm until Quincy, Bubblegum, and Heat swam underneath the float and flipped it over. When Killer broke the surface, the laughter tripled as his hair was plastered all over his helmet and chest, but his beer-bottle was still in one of the face holes.

“There’s sea water in my beer,” he said flatly.

A new clip had a heavy metal anthem roaring in the background as the yacht was sailing at high speed on the open ocean. Killer was standing on the bow, holding a Scottish flag, and thrashing his hair to the music.

More photos of the crew and Killer celebrating his birthday with drinking games, strength competitions, and gorging on fresh seafood flooded the TikTok video. Amongst the main crew and personal friends, there were also members of the Straw Hat crew, and even some ‘frenemy’ rivals that had been spoken of but not ever invited on to the KillerCook channel before. By the time the lighting in the photos grew darker, Killer’s helmet had been exchanged for a face mask and his cerulean eyes were noticeably glossy.

“Hap-hic-happy birthday, Kill, -hic- the best-{redacted}-friend a punk could-hic ask for,” slurred Kid as he gripped Killer’s shoulder. Both men swayed as a cake was brought out to the main deck. Sunset had long passed, the yacht was brightly lit up with swarms of bulbs on strings that hung tastefully along the walls and railings.

Everyone began to sing the birthday song and Killer might have shed a tear, shoving a palm roughly to his face.

“{Redacted}-A, I don’t even know what to say,” Killer drawled out. “All I was going to do was make a small cake and smoke my pipe. You {redacted} are so good to me. Well, not all of you, but I like most of yah. Some I don’t know how you got invited, seriously. But I’m glad you’re here celebrating anyways. I don’t have a wish to make, truly. I’ve got everything, everyone. So thanks. Alright I’m not going to get mushy on all you freeloaders!” Killer ripped off his face mask.

With deep-purple stained lips, Killer’s gorgeous smile shined brightly as he took a gulp of air and blew out the sparkler-flame candles. The party participants roared in celebration at the same time an airhorn started blowing off-screen.

The camera quickly panned to the culprit of the sound. A modest sized cruise ship with a flag waving proudly on the masts pulled up portside. On the side of the hull it’s name was proudly presented: The Baratie. The camera’s change in perspective did not allow for viewers to see who let out the strangled, high-pitched scream of excitement.

Sanji was clutching Killer’s soldiers and babbling incoherently before jumping into the water, swimming towards the restaurant ship.

Hands covering his face, Killer sobbed out, “I’m so fucking happy!! LET’S EAT!!!!”

Read on Wattpad | Read on AO3

#killercook #massacre soldier killer #eustass kid #raven's reading nook #firstmatesimp #kid pirates #heat one piece #wire one piece #op kid pirates #kid pirate nakama #killer one piece #eustass captain kid #tiktok #modern AU #eustasscaptainkid #ao3 writer #wattpad author #swampstew #swampstew stories

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spottlessspectre · 14 days

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Did- did- did- did you say HTTYD AU on your wip game?

YES I DID AND I'M LOVING PLANNING IT OUT

At the moment I've got a base plan for backstories and character's relationships and things to do with them.

Here's a brief bit of Ghost's gang :]

Simon (Ghost)- will be around 21 years old, rides a stormcutter(more on her in a few) son of a dragon hunter, on his first mission for his father they were sold out by one of his superiors and ended up in a fighting ring against people, dragons and animals, this is where he meets the dragon he rides. He eventually escaped and became the Ghost (his dragon is referred to as the phantom) and spends his time hunting down traffickers of any kind.

Starglider(the phantom): an above average sized female stormcutter, she is mainly a really dark purple and blue with black(think of galaxy pictures) and while she has a few spots on her body, she has a distinct white patch on her face which Ghost copied for his mask. Has prominent scars near her wings as that was the closest hunters could get.

Farah (the Blaze): about 20, Ghost rescued her from a trafficking ring (unfortunately a sex trafficking one this time, but i wont go into detail about her experiences) and they became fast friends in taking down traffickers (very scary sight for anyone given their amazing teamwork in battle) rescued her dragon from a fighting ring and worked to heal wings.

Cinders(the inferno): an average sized female typhoomerang, vibrant red markings and an unusually dusty yellow/orange head with lots of scars on wings from capture time, Farah spent a lot of time healing her wings and ended up bonding with her. When they use the fire tornado thing Farah jumps into the air beforehand (Ghost and Starglider catch her) so that Cinders can go full out without hurting her rider.

Rudy (haven't come up with a name for him yet): maybe 23, ran away from his family as they were abusive, got lost in the nearby woodland and somehow bonded with a young scauldron. Met Ghost and his group when he and his dragon were flying by a hunting ship and didn't realise, they were shot and ended up being rescued and taken back to their hideout, where they have been ever since.

Viridian: an average sized female scauldron with lots of dark greens and light green patterning that looks like light on water, she is very protective of Rudy and only lets people and dragons she trusts near him. Scarring ner her tail from running away from hunters (successfully)

Gary (the Roach): met Ghost when he was found floating half dead in the sea and they nursed him back to health- he met his dragon as he was the one who found him floating and brought him back to the hideout. Is an avid tinkerer and developed a lot of their gear and even made himself goggles with glass. Is selectively mute due to his experience with hunters (do you sense a theme in how they all have trauma?) So I thought it'd be interesting to make him ride a thunderdrum (as I have been reliably informed they are basically deaf) so I could play around with how they communicate. He developed a personal sign language as well as learning the universal one used by most vikings- all of the gang know the sign language- he also created a code similar to morse to communicate in the dark, and a tapping system for his dragon.

Klank: a smaller than average male thunderdrum with deep purple markings and some blue spots on his back, chipped teeth from chewing metal because he lacks braincells as well as hearing.

#cod #cod fic #wip game #ao3 #httyd #httyd au #ghostsoap #task force 141 #simon ghost riley #gary roach sanderson #farah karim #rudolfo parra #dragons

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flicklikesstuff · 2 months

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Can we see more of your RFTS AU? Does your Starboy have a name?

EEEEEEE!!!!! CONGRATS!! You’re my first ever ask! 🎖️💖

And I’d love to!

(I’m just so busy irl but I’m never abandoning this passion project of mine just so y’all know)

1.) I’m going to leave some details out for spoilers but here’s the gist!

Asha:

Design/Backstory:

- Asha has amber eyes with a North African purple and white colour scheme that contrasts Star’s.

- She just turned 18 a few months prior to the story.

- She grew up as a servant to the king and queen to owe up to Magnifico’s generous request to have her and her mom to stay at the castle’s spare rooms after a “fiery incident” took her house and father’s life away.

- Thus, she has a muscular build from all the experience she had running errands for them.

- Sabino is not her blood-related grandpa in this AU. He used to be the prev king’s and Magnifico’s royal advisor before retiring at an old age. He used to be close friends with Asha’s father. (I’m debating whether I should make Tomás the king’s prev assistant.) In a way, Asha still views Sabino as family.

RFTS! Asha’s design is basically inspired by my fav concept art of her <3

Personality:

(Asha’s main arc is that in order to ‘reach for the stars,’ she must first learn to trust in her capabilities and decisions. Because every single person has great potential that grows the more you have faith in yourself :)))

She develops from being an insecure servant girl to an admirable leader.)

- She’s TERRIBLE at organising her thoughts into words when she’s nervous. She finds it easier to sketch positive and negative things that she can’t say out loud into her sketchbook and vents there often.

- Asha is a daydreamer. (I plan on having her daydreaming sequences in 2D while when she snaps back to reality, the story goes back to 3D.). She likes imagining and drawing about her dreams and desires. It’s an escape from life and a stress-reliever

- She makes a bunch of promises to herself and others but often finds herself chickening out, afraid and unsure on how to take direction. (It’s a subversion of the brave princesses we had. Besides, I think we can all relate to this at some point, right?)

- At the same time, Asha beats herself up for still feeling afraid.

- She’s very observant with her surroundings. It’s why she manages to find something was off in the castle and catch on if people are hiding something

- Highly empathetic, allowing her to form deep bonds with people who struggle with verbal communication. She finds it easy to sympathise and is slow to anger and pointing fingers.

- She remembers limited sign language for being childhood friends with Dario, who is hard of hearing in this AU. But now, it’s been a while and is kinda rusty with it.

- Asha struggles in appreciating small things around her, believing that the prize at the end and achieving the wish is the thing most worth it. Initially believing it’s the only way people can be truly happy. If a wish isn’t granted, then what?

- Very creative, witty and quick on her feet.

- Tends to be indecisive due to the initial habit of being a people-pleaser, fears making a mistake, and due to having grown up where most decisions are already made for her (as a servant of the king and queen). She is insecure about her own capabilities.

- Can be playful at times and can take a joke/prank. (often with Valentino, who she adopted after his mother abandoned him from being born sick.)

……….

Star:

Design/Backstory:

- Tan skin colour with freckles across his face. Has wide hazel eyes. (Blue to brown, reminiscent of the sky)

- He’s 22 yrs old. Wishing stars don’t age physically but they still age mentally the same rate as humans.

- His hair looks like it’s made of stardust and it constantly has sparkles flying off it like sparks from a fire. The back of his hair is black like space. (I’ve show it already but it’s basically this:)

- His colour scheme is black and yellow in contrast to Asha’s. He wears a capelet and a cape that’s black on the outside and yellow sparkles under it. When he flies super fast, his cape looks like the tail of a shooting star.

- Light dims when upset and glows brightly whenever he’s happy. Sometimes, he glows red when he’s angry (Ref to Ray and Tinkerbell)

- Mute/Nonverbal. Communicates through sign language, light manipulation, animating sketches in Asha’s book, and drawing in air with stardust.

- He shapeshifts by rearranging the stardust that makes him up. This also means he could change his clothes very easily. In his numerous forms, the most notable thing is that there always has to be a star shape somewhere.

- He’s a young wishing star in the sky that was captured by King Magnifico to use his magic as a power source. He’s been kept locked up for nearly a decade until Asha freed him. However, on his wrists are green bands, similar to what the Genie in ‘Aladdin’ has. It’s the spell casted on him for extra measure to make him unable to return home or stray far from Rosas.

Personality:

(Due to being under Magnifico’s cruelty for a while, Star mistrusts humans and initially wonders constantly if they have ulterior motives. Srsly, the only thing he wants to do is go home to the sky and never go back down again.

But his arc over the story has him discovering how similar humans are to stars. How they shine a light and inspire one another to do great things. And most amazingly, with no magic! Over the story, Star reawakens his wonder of this beautiful world.)

- Wishing stars like him are the only creatures that have Wish magic. An unpredictable magic that not even the best astrologists and researchers know its limits. The way it works is that Star connects with a wish essence first, and then the passion and faith the person has with that wish determines the power and how long-lasting his help would be. It’s up to the wishing star then to decide their own unique method of granting that wish.

(It’s like training wheels. It would help guide you and then goes away once you get the hang of reaching your wish on your own.)

- A heart of gold who can’t resist saying no to a desperate face for long. While hesitant at first, he’ll slowly soften up. He’s actually a very sweet guy who loves making people happy under that defensive mask.

- Overly cautious and paranoid at first (like Rapunzel when she first got out the tower) but his wonder gets the better of him eventually.

- Greatly fears Magnifico to a high extent.

- Claustrophobic asf. The look he gave Asha when she proposed the idea for him to hide in her satchel while travelling through the kingdom was almost personal.

(It’s funny to think his initial dynamic with Asha is somewhat similar to Moana and Maui. Well…Not completely.

Basically, the only way for him to return home to the sky was return to the castle (which he JUST escaped-), find the artifact that casted the spell on him and break it, then he’s free. Though, Asha asked a favour that FIRST, he helps her find a way to free a few wishes first.

Honestly, this is frustratingly the best she could compromise with him because he’ll stubbornly refuse anything that involves direct confrontation with Mag. Asha secretly hopes she could change his mind on the way.

And because of that dread of going back anywhere near Magnifico again, Star would “accidentally” stall their journey there, which annoys Asha.)

- STUBBORN. Asha would tease him at times that he’s getting attached to Earth things and he’ll deny it because “Nooooooo~ I don’t. I am going straight back to the sky and that’s it.”

- Star would annoy or make fun of people harmlessly to express his frustrations with them. (He gets creative with his shape-shifting forms)

- Wish magic is unpredictable. So whenever he’s feeling highly emotional, like highly excited, scared, mad, or depressed, things happen out of his control. A rock turns into a giant orange pumpkin or a mushroom grows to 10x its original size.

- Impatient and gets distracted easily

- Star initially avoids touch at all times because of his mistrust in humans. He flinches at sudden advances. But progressively gets really affectionate as he learns to trust in certain people. That not all humans are selfish after all.

- Feels under-appreciated at times but doesn’t let it show. (A parallel to Magnifico who also feels under-appreciated. But instead of being vengeful, Star chooses to keep making others happy)

- Basically the entire embodiment of the therapist friend. (He keeps his issues to himself to avoid bothering others because “that’s not what stars dooo.”)

- He’s irritated that his inability to speak is misinterpreted as “stubbornness, uncooperativeness, and childishness.”

- This is AFTER he lets his defensive mask crumble down. Star finds appreciation and the beauty in the smallest and seemingly insignificant things, which he often brings to show Asha and his friends. (He’s the type to collect trinkets like Ariel.)

………….

Magnifico/Magnus:

Design/Backstory:

- Most of his design is summed up in this sheet I drew

- Magnifico is 38 yrs old

- His clothing is still white but with blue-ish patterns like the wishes he keeps stored away. Why is he storing those wishes? Let’s just say he and his wife have a big plan for Rosas’ 100th anniversary the coming month. ;)

- Mf has greying hair from all that stress

- I’m still keeping the backstory of him watching his village get destroyed as a young kid. Magnus was one of the few survivors who left the village alive on boat. They retreated to Rosas, where it held its reputation of being the most welcoming kingdom with each king being a grand sorcerer that serves his people. (So Rosas wasn’t built by Mag. It’s an already established kingdom)

- Being an orphan who had to turn to stealing to live, Magnus came across King Oliver, the prev king of Rosas. Feeling sorry for the boy, and having his wife and heir die from childbirth, he adopted him as Prince Magnifico. The name change representing a start to a new life.

- I want to make Mag’s backstory a subversion of the trope where the “MC rebels against their parent figure and is able to prove in the end that they are independent enough and their parent finally sees their POV and supports their child from then on.”

Growing up, King Oliver was admittedly not the best parent and was unintentionally dismissive in Mag’s trauma. “What’s past is past and sometimes it’s best to forget and move on.” Mag was enraged because he LOVED his original family and home and didn’t want to JUST forget.

- Mag fell in love with Amaya in the typical “Royalty x Commoner in the woods” fashion. But even then, King Oliver didn’t approve that. Not because Amaya’s a commoner, but because she’s a criminal who has intentionally broken Rosas’ magic safety restrictions for her alchemist experiments. This added more fuel to Mag’s hatred of him, of course. (Like damn, I wonder if Mag had anything to do with him passing away-)

- “After all, a king can do whatever he wants with his kingdom. Isn’t that right, father…? You did want me so desperately to be a good king…” (A quote that’s sort of a Scar ref?? Idk)

- Mag feels like he deserves the power due to his tragic past. He’s so sure that as king, he decides what everyone deserves. He feels like the world owes him for what happened.

And he will give the world and all those ungrateful brats, especially his dear adoptive father, what they deserve on Rosas’ 100th Anniversary. The day he shapes Rosas into the perfect land that he and Amaya were denied from. And after Rosas, the rest of the kingdoms will follow.

- He’s a vengeful spiky ball who thinks he deserves the credit for any problem he “solves.” Has Hero syndrome.

Personality:

- Psychopathic: Entitled, arrogant and impulsive

- Magnifico craves excitement and rewards. He smiles at the slightest compliment and gets a little bashful with flirts.

-He definitely runs his hands through his hair and plays with his cape as stress-relievers.

- Anger Issues. Yep.

- Superficially charming towards people as a manipulative tactic. Though it’s easier to break his facade compared to Amaya because of his temper.

- Remember when I said he’s almost similar to Lotso in Toy Story 3? I’m not giving too much details but do whatever with that knowledge.

- He genuinely believes and hates the Wishing Stars for ignoring his pleas as a child on the night he lost everything. It’s why he’s so harsh with Star himself.

………

Amaya:

In all honesty, I have not finished the queen’s redesign much. Oof- 😭

Here are some brainstorms I have with her though:

- Amaya is 37

- She aids Magnifico with spying and starting accidental tragedies.

- She’s usually in charge of the servants in the castle. Asha looks up to her since Amaya’s the nicest monarch to her and someone in the castle she feels safe around with. Like a second mother. With Mag, Asha feels like she’s walking on eggshells.

- Amaya secretly uses some animals and prisoners kept in the dungeons as subjects for her experiments.

- Being an alchemist (and more skilled in it than Mag), her magic is a substitute so that they can quickly save more wishes for their grand plan for Rosas’ 100th anniversary. (I forgot to mention that Mag uses the wishes to make his magic stronger.)

- She’s a strong parallel of Asha, presenting the dangers inflicted upon others when one gets too ambitious with their own goals that they are apathetic towards how it affects other people

- An independent woman who is very ambitious like Asha. However instead of keeping it to herself, Amaya goes beyond lengths to reach her goals. To become the most skilled alchemist, alongside her powerful husband, the world has ever known and prove it to those who doubted her. Like Asha, Amaya has her own notebook she keeps her notes in.

- Skilled at disguises and coming up with fake stories that are easy to believe in. (Ref to the Evil Queen, Jafar and multiple other Disney villains who utilise deception)

- Holds the calculating and intelligent skills in her power duo with Magnifico. Mag is more on delivery, force and image. (The Brains and the Brawn duo)

- Her family was against her interest in learning magic/alchemy. So Amaya heavily dislikes company that she perceives as holding her back from her full potential.

- Fled to Rosas for more opportunities. While magic isn’t forbidden at the time she arrived, there were safety restrictions such as certain spells and potions that aren’t allowed to be made and casted, which she loathed. (So she stole and found ways to gather ingredients for her experiments in the woods, prior to meeting Magnifico.)

- Probs just think of her as being as curious and innovative as Zarina from ‘The Pirate Fairy”, but you know, eviler.

…….

2.) Now for RFTS!Starboy’s name in this AU.

I’ve mentioned this in a previous post I had before but his name issssssss 🥁🥁🥁:

✨ Star ✨

No, I’m not kidding. That’s it.

Yes, Wishing Stars have names but not in a way humans understand. Their real names are in a language that is incomprehensible and ear-damaging levels of loud for humans to hear. While yes, they know English just fine, there’s not really an equivalent in the human alphabet for their real names.

Wishing Stars still love to listen to the names humans would give them from below though. Either individually or as a constellation. They love it! Ursa Major? Alpha Crucis? Awww.

Anyways-

Star hasn’t received a name growing up in the sky because he’s small and easy to miss. When they first met, Asha was not in a creative state of mind at the time and meant to put “Star” as a placeholder name for now.

However, the magical boy got attached to the name and stubbornly refuses to hear any other attempt at giving him another one. It’s so simple but it’s HIS name now. He claims it. I find it cute that a supernatural being with literal outer space as his home, appreciates the smallest things given to him. So “Star” it became….

Though, Asha did introduce Star as “Peter” (Pan) to certain people to hide his identity. Because ‘Star’ is too obvious, you know?

And then Star jokingly pretends to not know who this ‘Peter’ is whenever she refers to him as such. Asha would just roll her eyes and stifle a chuckle.

Friendly reminder that some details may change as I develop the RFTS!AU more. Hope ya’ll like it so far!! 💖

#disney wish #wish 2023 #wish rewrite #wish star #wish asha #wish au #rfts au #reach for the stars au #wish starboy #wish magnifico #wish amaya #wish disney #wish movie #Dang-This took longer than expected #I highly appreciate asks btw! Feel free to send more! I don’t bite :))

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