#and the west sometimes looks down on any of it
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Envy and Venom - Part 3
Heiress!Natasha Romanoff x CEO!Beefy!Fem!Reader
18+ only, read at your own risk
Summary: You are the notorious playboy who just inherited one of the biggest tech companies in the world. Your first move? Sleeping with the heiress of your rival company.
Word count: 4990
AN: Y'all are getting fed with this one. Have fun. :)
Click here for Part 2!
Thanks to @mostlymarvelsstuff for helping with some Russian translations lol.
DAY 34
“Do you have everything ready? Your presentation, your notes?” your dad asks.
“Yes, yes,” you tell him for what feels like the thousandth time.
“This is where the comeback starts,” your dad says, and sometimes you wish he would just claim back his title. You were sick and tired of his coaching, even if you needed it a little bit. But if Envy Industries had gotten into this mess because of you, then you were the only person who could get them out of it. “I know I can’t be there in person–”
“I know, I know,” you dismiss. You were well aware of his vacation plans to the Maldives with his new girlfriend. Besides Envy, it was the only thing he wanted to talk about nowadays. But you still didn’t even know her name, and were certain he’d find a new one before the end of his trip.
“Tony will be there with you, right? He’ll keep you on track,” your dad continues, inching into sensitive territory now. Even though he denied it every time you confronted him, you knew he was always worried about you stepping into the CEO role because you were a woman. Hearing the doubts from the public and the competition hardly bothered you, but from your own father, it was like a punch to the face. Especially when you were not exactly proving him wrong given how things had played out since your first day.
“Who cares if Tony is there or not?” you snap, losing your patience. “He’s not the one giving the presentation. He’ll just be standing behind the curtain, stealing all the free merch, and–”
“Okay, that’s enough,” your dad cuts you off. “I want you to call me again tomorrow. We’ll run over your presentation again–”
“I’ll think about it.” You slam the handset on the receiver, a satisfying motion that could not be accomplished with modern telephonic devices. You try not to give the upcoming presentation any more thought–it was already stressing you out enough. Maybe an hour in the gym would take your mind off things.
Your decision made, you step away from your desk to your private walk-in closet, rifling through the selection of workout clothes hanging there. All of them were custom-cut to your exact body dimensions to ensure the best fit and look. Although you were no professional athlete, you treated yourself as if you were one (and you certainly looked the part).
But right now, you couldn’t care less what you looked like or what you were wearing as you grabbed the first set of clothes you could reach, slipping them on and grabbing your Louis Vuitton gym bag, monogrammed with your initials. You lightly jog out of your office, moving fast enough that people will think you’re in a rush and not stop you. The gym is on the tenth floor of the building, and because it’s just after lunch, most people are back at their desks. But you set your own schedule, so you’re happy to find that it isn’t too crowded and you quickly get warmed up before you start lifting.
In between sets, you check your phone, a bad habit that doesn’t exist when you’re with your training coach, but he’s not around to scold you, so you can do as you please. In the tracking app, Natasha’s red dot blinks in the Upper West Side of Manhattan, hardly three miles away from your current location in Envy Industries.
She was hanging out at Black Widow Corporation headquarters, just where you expected her to be. She had an unsurprisingly predictable schedule, splitting her time just between work and home, which you discovered was in an apartment just a few blocks down the street from yours. You wonder if she lived on her own or with her father, who was likely paying for her housing either way.
Natasha was not quite the self-made woman that you were. Her work was significantly more behind the scenes, which was one reason why you had never heard of her before. Alexei Shostakov was the only name you associated with Black Widow Corp. But you had done your own digging on her and her family the past few days. There was frustratingly little about Natasha and you were ready to hire a private investigator due to your lack of results.
All you had learned was that she had graduated magna cum laude from Virginia Tech with a degree in economics, where she also held a brief internship at the university’s infamous Gamma Lab before it was shut down after the sudden death of its lead researcher. You assumed she had gone immediately to work for Black Widow Corp after her graduation; there was no other work history for her anywhere. No social media, no public interviews. This woman fascinated you more and more.
After a final set of deadlifts, you re-rack all the weights because you’re not that much of a heathen and check your phone again. Natasha is no longer at Black Widow Corp, her red dot moving steadily through 86th Street that cut through Central Park. Your heart rate jumps, and not because of your workout. You sit down on a bench to steady yourself, watching as the red dot continues through Central Park. When she turns right on Park Avenue, you know exactly where she’s heading.
Hopefully you could intercept her first.
***********************************************************************
“Where are you going?”
Natasha curses under her breath as she turns around to see Yelena standing in the lobby, her arms crossed over her chest like a scorned mother catching her child sneaking out of the house.
“What?” Natasha rounds on her sister, annoyed that she’s been watching her like a hawk.
“The board of directors meeting starts in seven minutes,” Yelena says, and Natasha curses under her breath because she forgot all about that.
“Dad can handle it without me,” Natasha replies, eager to get the heat off of her as soon as she can.
“They’ll be talking about CES,” Yelena reminds her, referencing the important annual show where the biggest tech companies came together in Vegas to reveal their newest inventions and products.
“You’re not going to CES,” Natasha points out, surprised her sister even knows its proper name. Since the company was going to fall on her shoulders once their father stepped down, Natasha had spent almost the entirety of her adult life learning, training, and breathing business and technology. Yelena had been able to pursue her own hopes and dreams, starting in the private security field until she had enough experience (and enough of Dad’s money) to start her own company. She was happy and thriving, something Natasha was endlessly jealous of.
Yelena had never experienced the pressure of managing billions of dollars in and out the door. She didn’t know what it was like to fight off every insecure man who couldn’t bear to do a business deal with a woman. She hadn’t spent hundreds of hours trying to learn coding languages and complicated mathematics and equations on her own. Yelena didn’t understand what Natasha had spared her from, and Natasha was afraid she would never be grateful for it.
“Yes, but you’re going to CES,” Yelena says.
“You’re not my babysitter,” Natasha snaps, turning away and marching towards the door.
“You’re going to see her again, aren’t you?”
“What?” Natasha stops. “Who the hell are you talking about?”
“That CEO you’re in love with.”
“Excuse me?” But Natasha’s face is flaming red as she struts over to confront her sister. “I am not in love with anyone. You know that.”
“You seem to be spending an awful lot of time with that CEO.”
“No, I’m not.”
Yelena smirks. “I own a private security company, sestra. You don’t think I know my own sister’s whereabouts and who she’s with?”
Natasha’s heart sinks, but she tries not to let it show. “Why can’t you ever just mind your own fucking business?” she growls, immediately regretting the harshness of her words when she sees her sister’s face fall. But she’s too proud to take it back.
“I don’t think it’s safe if you keep seeing her,” Yelena says. “And you don’t know what it could do for the company–”
“Why do you care about the company so much all of a sudden?” Natasha counters. “Dad’s not giving it to you when he steps down.”
“I don’t want it,” Yelena replies, although she looks hurt. “But to be quite honest, I don’t like what it’s turning you into.”
“Which is what?”
“This!” Yelena waves her arms at Natasha frantically. “It’s always ‘Black Widow this, Black Widow that.’ You don’t have any hobbies anymore. You never eat dinner with the rest of the family. You don’t go out unless it’s to see that CEO–”
Natasha interrupts her with a huff. “You wouldn’t understand, Yelena,” she says, trying a different approach and maintaining complete calm. “You can just stay holed up in your one-windowed office to spy on people and let the real adults go out in the real world and handle real shit.” With that, she spins on her heel and storms out of the building.
***********************************************************************
“Why are you into shooting all of a sudden? Have you ever even held a gun before?” Tony asks, staring at you with a dropped jaw.
You shrug. “I need some new hobbies,” you lie.
“You’re not going to shoot someone with it, are you?” he half-jokes, his chuckle quickly dying up when you don’t laugh with him.
“No, of course not,” you mumble unconvincingly.
“Okay, well, when do you need the gun by?” he asks.
“How fast does Bucky work?”
Tony shrugs. “If I call him now, he can have one to me by the end of the day.”
“Okay.” The sooner the better, because it gave you less time to back out of your plan. “That works.”
“So, are we going big-game hunting in Africa this summer?” Tony asks, giving you a sharp nudge before starting his car.
“Maybe, maybe…” But you have a different target in mind.
The gun is surprisingly heavy, oily, and unfamiliar in your palm. Bucky had gone over the four “rules” of gun handling, which shocked you that he even knew:
Treat every gun like it was loaded
Don’t point it at something you aren’t willing to shoot.
Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.
Be mindful of your target and what’s around it.
He had given you a full box of ammo for “good luck” too, before jumping back into his car and driving away faster than you could read his license plate.
Currently, you sit in the darkness of your apartment, weighing the gun in your hand. Your heart is beating so hard against your ribcage you swear you can hear it.
You check your phone. Natasha’s just parked her car in the parking garage. It should only take her a few minutes to ride the elevator up. You hadn’t even bothered to change out of your workout clothes, worried that she would arrive at your apartment before you did, but you had just barely made it on time.
Her red dot blinks in place on your screen. She’s in the elevator.
Your eyes flit to the front door, the gun feeling even heavier in your hand.
The seconds drag on.
You hold your breath for as long as you can between inhalations, heart pounding, ears straining for any sound of movement outside your apartment door.
Beep, beep.
A key card–yours–registers at the door lock. The handle pushes down from the outside and you snap to attention.
Don’t miss, you tell yourself.
The door parts open, almost hesitantly, like your uninvited intruder is suddenly unsure of themselves. In the darkness, you see a figure slip through the door and close it behind her. Her body shape gives her away immediately. The thick thighs in black jeans, the curve of her hips leading up to her narrow waist, the fullness of her bosom stretching out the tight shirt she’s wearing.
When Natasha steps into the light, she freezes when she sees you sitting at the kitchen table, gun cocked in her direction.
“It’s about time you showed up,” you greet. “Building security didn’t question you when you used my key card to get in?”
“Clearly not,” Natasha says, her stance tense and wary.
“Come sit down. We should talk,” you invite, gesturing with the gun and breaking Bucky’s rule number one. Natasha stiffly walks towards you, her face an impassive shadow. You’ve never seen her genuinely scared before and it delights you that for once, you have the upper hand on her. You kick out a chair and she sits next to you.
“Didn’t expect this, did you?” you ask. “Probably thought you could just waltz right in here and steal more of my shit?”
“Y/N–”
“Shut the fuck up.” You’re tired of listening to her excuses. You rest the gun on the table. “Is Black Widow going to CES?”
“Yes,” she says. “Like we do every year–”
“Well, there’s going to be some changes this year,” you interrupt. “Get your phone out. Call your dad. Black Widow Corp is going to be a no-show this year.”
Natasha balks. “That…That won’t be possible.”
You pick the gun back up and point it at her, breaking rule number two. “Then make it possible.”
“You won’t shoot me.”
“You don’t think this is real?” You point the gun at the table. Rule number three. You pull the trigger. Rule number four. The gun bucks in your hand, the blast reverberating around your apartment with enough power to rattle your teeth. Natasha flinches even though you hadn’t aimed anywhere near her. “No one can hear us,” you say with a chuckle. “I had the apartment soundproofed years ago to stop the neighbors from complaining.”
She stares at the gun.
“Take your phone out now. And call your dad.” You hope you don’t have to ask again.
With shaking hands, she finally obeys, placing her phone on the table. “Put it on speakerphone,” you demand. Natasha presses a few buttons and you hear the dial-up tone.
“Privet, doch',” Alexei booms.
“English,” you hiss.
“Hi, Dad,” Natasha says, side-eyeing you uncertainly. “We, uh…We need to talk about CES.”
“Good, I just got out of the meeting with the board–”
“Black Widow can’t show up this year.”
Alexei’s surprise is palpable. “What, Natasha? What are you talking about?”
“We need to call off our appearance,” she says, her voice shaking. “Just for this year. We’ll go again next year like we normally do–”
“What’s wrong with this year?” Alexei asks.
Natasha looks at you, her eyes begging. You shake the gun to remind her you’re serious. “I…uh…I don’t think our tech is ready for the show,” she says. “You know how disastrous it can be if we unveil something that isn’t completely ready.”
“But we’ve been working on Project Transformer for months, Natasha. It’s plenty ready–”
“No. Dad, please.” She grits her teeth. “I was looking through the code last night with the engineers. There’s a bug in the programming. It’s going to take at least a few weeks to smooth out. We can’t debut right now, Dad.”
Alexei curses in Russian. “Shit. The board really liked our presentation.”
“I know.”
“I wish you would have told me earlier.”
“I know,” Natasha repeats. “But we only just discovered it this week.”
There is more silence, punctuated by Russian grumblings from Alexei. “Okay, okay. I’ll make a few calls. Too bad we’ll be losing out on our reservation fee too.”
“It’s a small price to pay.” Natasha’s eyes dart to you again. “Sorry for all the trouble, Dad.”
“Where are you?” Alexei asks. “We missed you at the meeting.”
“I’m out.”
“Will you come to dinner tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Good, good. Proshchay, dorogaya.”
“Bye, Dad.” Alexei hangs up first.
You slowly clap your hands. “Good girl. Was that so hard?” Your chest swells with pride at your achievement. Maybe now she would have more respect for you. You know she only saw you as a piece of meat. But you were much, much more than that.
“Fuck you,” Natasha spits.
“Oh, are we still doing that?” You put the gun down on the table, this time facing it away from her. You part your legs slightly, inviting her between them. Natasha glares at you with emerald daggered eyes. “Don’t be shy, baby,” you say, your voice deepening. “I got what I wanted today. It’s only fair you don’t leave here empty-handed too.”
Natasha shoots up and marches over to you. For a second, you think she’s going to hit you, but instead she straddles your lap and kisses you so hard you’re sure she’s bruised your lips. The ferocity is both frightening and arousing as she tears off your workout shirt and shorts. She palms at your left breast roughly, sinking her nails into your abs and dragging them down to your belly button. You groan into her mouth when she bites your bottom lip. She’s never been this aggressive with you before, but you know she’s taking out her frustration on you.
And you absolutely love it.
“Now that I’m done fucking with your company, you want me to fuck you until you can’t walk?” you whisper, shoving your bare thigh between her legs. The friction from her jeans burns your skin, but you hardly register the pain.
“You’ll have to carry me out,” Natasha says, trailing her fingers down the vein on your bicep.
“Deal.” You kiss her again, slipping your muscular arms under her thighs and standing up with her. You carry her to your bed, leaving her to undress while you grab your strap from its drawer and slip it over your legs. When you turn back, she’s shimmying off her lacy black panties and the feral urge to keep your promise overrides all your senses.
You pick her back up and she hooks her legs around your waist, her arms circling your neck. She presses her naked chest against yours, both of you moaning in unison when your nipples brush together. You walk with her until Natasha’s back bumps into the wall, shifting her weight off your arms to the wall. You maneuver your right hand to grab onto your strap, lining it up with Natasha’s center.
“Are you ready for me?” you ask, rubbing the tip of your cock over her soaking entrance. Natasha’s whines at your teasing, her fingers tangling in your hair and jerking at your roots painfully.
“Fucking ruin me,” she begs.
You slam your hips forward, burying your entire cock in her in one move. Natasha screams, tearing her nails down your back. Your big hands grip onto her waist to hold her in place as you thrust into her tight heat, your abs flexing and tensing. Natasha’s body rolls with yours, her head falling back against the wall, exposing the perfect column of her neck to you. You lean forward to decorate it with your marks, so every time she undresses for the next week, she’ll be reminded of you.
The only item of “clothing” she still wears is a thin silver necklace with a rectangular charm hanging from the chain. It bounces in the hollow of her throat every time you thrust into her.
“Y/N, oh, Y/N,” Natasha chants, music to your ears as you keep your relentless pace. Your thighs, already spent from your gym session, are absolutely on fire now, so you need her to finish quickly before you drop her. You shift the angle of your hips, bumping the top of your cock against her clit with every stroke. Natasha squirms and moans, trying to find a rhythm with you, but she’s so close she can’t match you at all.
“Tell me when you’re gonna cum, baby,” you pant.
“Soon,” she moans. “Go harder. Don’t stop.”
You’re afraid you’re going to break her with how hard you’re thrusting into her. But finally, her body tenses in your hands and you know she’s finished all over your cock. You’re grateful to slow your thrusts as she comes down from her high, your entire body sweaty and buzzing with adrenaline. You slip your arms under her quivering thighs and stumble back to the bed, collapsing onto it with your legs hanging off the edge, Natasha panting on top of you.
You’re not sure who’s more exhausted, you or her. You lay there unmoving, trying to catch your breath, which Natasha does before you. She sits up, slowly pulling your cock out of her and crawling up your body to kiss you messily. Her tongue slips into your mouth, but you’re too tired to return her fervor very much.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Am I too much for you?” she teases, cupping your chest and pinching your nipples.
“No, just give me a minute,” you grumble. It was rare to meet someone with stamina like hers. And as much as you prided yourself on yours, you feel like you may have met your match with Natasha Romanoff. Your arms and chest are covered in her scratch marks, and your back still stings a little. Natasha traces the scratches gently.
“Mine,” she murmurs.
“Hmm?” you grunt, not sure if you heard her correctly.
She props herself up on your chest to look at you. “I can give you a minute,” she purrs, her voice becoming husky and seductive. Natasha slides down your body, resting her knees on the floor and tugging the harness of your strap down your legs. You can hardly lift your hips high enough off the bed to help her, embarrassed by how tired you are. Natasha grabs your calves to lift your feet up one at a time to remove the harness and throw it to the side. She rubs her hand across your defined abdomen, stoking the fire in your belly again.
“Don’t move, baby,” she says. “I’ll take care of you.”
“Huh?” You lift your head high enough to see Natasha’s head between your legs, her mouth lowering onto you. It’s like a lightning bolt of pleasure that shoots through your core and you moan loudly in appreciation. Natasha makes eye contact with you as she slips her tongue into you, smiling as you pant and squirm.
“Oh, God. Fuck me,” you gasp, dropping your head back on the bed. Your hands claw at the sheets as her tongue explores your walls. Natasha pushes apart your muscular thighs to make more room for her, pushing so deep into you her nose bumps against you. Your chest heaves as you struggle to breathe evenly, arching your lower back off the bed in a silent plea for more.
Natasha eats you out like she’d been starving for a week, her tongue alternating between swirling around your throbbing clit and pushing through your clenching walls.
You finally find the strength to lift your right leg, twisting it sideways at the knee and hooking it around the back of Natasha’s head, pressing your calf against her scalp and dragging her closer. You reach down with your hand to tangle it in Natasha’s flaming red hair, pushing her down so she isn’t tempted to pull away right when you reach the edge of release.
“Nat,” you whine. “Please, baby. You’re gonna make me cum.”
Natasha hums against you, the vibrations finally causing you to lose control. Your entire body goes limp as Natasha cleans up all the slick between your legs, then climbs back up to rest on you like you’re her personal pillow.
“Gimme a kiss,” you mumble and Natasha presses her lips to yours obediently. She tucks her head in the crook of your collarbone and you stroke her hair absently. “If I fall asleep, are you gonna leave again before I wake up?” you ask, your voice sounding small.
“Only if you want me to,” Natasha murmurs.
“I know I’m supposed to hate you, but I don’t know if I can,” you admit.
“Then don’t,” Natasha says. “Because I was thinking about it too, and…I think we should go public.”
“Public? Like us being…” You can’t even finish your own sentence.
“Mhmm.” Natasha nods against your chest.
“You can’t be fucking serious,” you scoff.
“No, I’m fucking you.”
“And you’re done. Right?” Your eyebrows scrunch together at the dual meaning of your words. Natasha doesn’t say anything. “At the very least, you owe me fifteen-billion-dollars before we can go public about anything,” you say, referencing the amount your company lost in the last month when Black Widow Corp pulled the rug out from under your feet.
“Done.” Natasha searches around your bed for her phone. “What’s your bank account number?”
“What are you doing? Seriously.” You’re a little lost now.
“Well, our dads spent all their time fighting each other,” she says.
“Not fucking?” you joke.
“I can’t confirm that,” she says with a smirk. “But I was thinking about it. And I know Envy hasn’t been doing so well lately–”
“Because you sabotaged our contracts and stole our ideas,” you remind her.
Again, Natasha does not confirm nor deny this fact. “But what if instead of competing, we…helped each other out?”
“Like a collaboration?” you ask. Your father had specifically warned you against any kind of “collaboration” work with another company. You weren’t running a YouTube channel. You had a multibillion-dollar business. It was your responsibility to look out for the well-being of your company and your company only, damn philanthropic endeavors, personal favors, and relationships.
“We can work something out,” Natasha insists.
“Did you go through all of this just to ask me that?” you ask.
“No.” Now, Natasha looks away from you. “I mean, at first, yes. I thought you would just be a hot one-night stand. And yes, you were–” You raise an eyebrow. “–But you’re also a lot more than that.” Validation burns through your veins to hear this. “You’re smart, you know the tech, and you know how to run a business. And you’re the hottest CEO in the country and the best person who’s ever taken me to bed,” Natasha says. You think you’re going to combust at the praise. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop thinking about us. And what we could accomplish together.”
It takes a few seconds to let her words process. “I don’t know how this could work,” you say, the logical side of you taking over for once. “We’re not regular people, Nat. The future of this country is literally in our hands. The public watches our every move and criticizes every decision we make. People like us need whole PR teams to manage their relationships.”
“Fuck the PR teams,” Natasha says. “If we like each other, then why can’t we be together?”
It had been years since you had publicly been in a relationship with someone. After all, it was so much simpler to cycle through partners and not have to worry about commitment or any long-term decisions. But deep down, you were cripplingly lonely and terrified you wouldn’t be able to find someone who would settle with you.
Because truth be told, your lifestyle was not for many. Most people couldn’t handle the pressure you were subjected to every day. The never-ending torrents of judgment. The borderline-criminal way you were stalked by reporters and paparazzi. The unreal expectations you were held to by people you’d never even met.
But out of all the people you had ever been with, Natasha Romanoff was the one with the best chance of understanding all that. She knew what she was getting herself into, because your life would be her reality the day her father passed on the company. Of course it wouldn’t hurt her to get some practice beforehand.
“I want you to be mine,” Natasha says suddenly. She reaches up to her neck, her fingers brushing the hickeys you left there, before unclipping the silver necklace. She puts it around yours, flipping the charm around so you can see that it reads “Natasha.”
“Baby…” You didn’t even care what your dad’s reaction to hearing the news would be. How would the public react? The consumers? The shareholders? At your level, it was unavoidable crossing the line between professional and personal interests. People would either cheer you on or vow to never use another Envy product again.
But Envy had been tanking ever since you took the helm. Maybe this was what you needed to bounce back…courtesy of the same woman who ruined you in the first place. The math seemed to add up–Natasha would cancel out herself, wouldn’t she?
Natasha interlaces her fingers with yours, distracting your thinking. “We could be the most powerful couple in the tech industry. In the world,” she says. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?”
“Yes,” you sigh, although that’s not really the truth. There was one thing you wanted more than power, money, and fame.
“Then don’t be afraid, sweetheart.” She squeezes your fingers. “With me, you’ll have everything you want and more.”
A rush of emotions suddenly overwhelms you–fear, annoyance, love, envy, and venom. You would kick yourself in the head if you missed out on the chance to be with Natasha, but you also weren’t entirely convinced this was the right move.
“Y/N.” The way she says your voice is desperate and pleading, like she too can’t be without you.
“Okay.” You make up your mind in an instant. “Okay, baby. Let’s do it.”
Natasha beams, snuggling closer to you. The two of you say nothing further, and her steady breathing quickly lulls you to sleep. Natasha holds onto you even as she feels your body relax under her. She turns her head to look at the gun you left on the table, wondering what it would feel like in her hand, to hold against your head.
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AN: These two are for real going to be the death of me. 😩
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#natasha romanoff#black widow#natasha romanoff smut#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff x female reader
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I saw that post about what to do if you're homeless again (the one that starts by telling you to spend all of your money on motel rooms lmao) anyway, here's a few thoughts, specifically for trans girls, cuz I don't really care otherwise tbh:
1) plan ahead, most trans girls are in precarious housing situations, you will have a much easier time when it falls apart if you already have a pack with most of the gear you need in it. Also, if you find yourself in a situation where you cant make rent, dont pay part of it, spend that money on gear, pocket the rest and leave, youll have a much nicer time. Look up your local eviction laws, you have plenty of time. (Gear list at the end)
2) travel! If you're in Arizona in May, leave. it's about to be hot as hell. If you're in Michigan in October, leave. It's about to be cold as hell. If you're in a big city, leave. It's way easier to be homeless pretty much anywhere else. Amtrak is cheaper and more comfortable than greyhound, hitchhiking is free and easy, if you're alone it's not that much slower than the previous two, and it's more fun, and sometimes people buy you food or whatever or give you money. I promise it's not scary and you're entirely capable of doing it, no matter who you are. 95+% of people who will pick you up are very nice. All you have to do is take the bus out of town, as far down the highway you can, to an exit with a truck stop if possible, then just stand on the side of the road with your thumb out until someone picks you up. You can stand at the bottom of the ramp(on the highway) near where the merge lane ends or at the top of the ramp(where there's usually a traffic light), the former is more likely to lead to cop interactions but will maybe get you a ride faster, check on hitchwiki for how the cops are in the area. don't be afraid to take a commuter bus or Amtrak to get out of a shitty cop area
3) skip shelters if you can (they are very occasionally a decent place to get stuff from) and encampments, good places to sleep include the trees near railroad tracks or highways, wooded areas behind shopping centers, sections of parks without paths, overgrown empty lots. Hang a tarp above you if there's an appreciable chance of rain, there's tons of YouTube tutorials on how to do this, maybe I'll make a post about what I usually do some day. There are many habits more fun than motel rooms, save your money for them lmao.
4) get on food stamps. This is easier in some places than others, but it makes the whole thing a lot easier. Just tell them you're homeless, if they don't give you a card the same day, you can probably ask to pick it up from that office, alternatively some drop in centers/day shelters can receive mail for you, or you can have it sent to general delivery(USPS service, look it up)
7) libraries are great for charging your phone and using wifi, but also keep an eye out, plenty of random outlets on the outsides of buildings are also powered
5) dumpster. sidewalk trash cans, Aldi, Einstein's, trader Joe's, pizza places, etc. You need to develop a bit of a sense for it but it's an easy way to get cooked food or travelling food or expensive food without spending resources. Also it's fun.
6) water is free, go into the bathroom of any gas station or grocery store in America(offer not valid in most big cities or on the west coast, but in that case just go to the library) and fill up your water bottle
8) hygiene notes: truckers get free showers from chain truck stops(loves, pilot/flying j) go there and ask them. convenient if you're hitchhiking, also you don't need to shower 3 times a day, really, you'll survive. Ditto with deodorant. Take care of your teeth though. Take your socks off every. day. Change them consistently. Safety razors give a good shave, work well without adequate water pressure, and the replacement blades are very stealable, they're kind of heavy though. Walmart makes these electric razors for women that take AA batteries and are pretty light but give a worse shave, also they kinda go through batteries, pick whatever works for you(cartridge razors suck)
9) traveling food notes: peanut butter is great, tortillas and bagels travel pretty well, tuna packets are pretty good protein for traveling(the ones with rice and beans or whatever are nice since theyre often the same price as the regular), condiment packets are free, hot sauce makes everything better, and mayo goes well with tuna and has a bunch of calories in it, salad dressing packets are free from truck stops and work well turning the Walmart shredded vegetable packages (labeled for making into slaw, next to the bagged salads) into a salad with real vegetables(not iceberg lettuce) in it or mixing in with tuna packets for even more calories than mayo
Gear world:
Necessary items(in order of importance): a gallon of water carrying capacity(an Arizona jug or other twist top jug is conventional, but a bladder+arizona bottles also works), a tarp(larger than 6'x9', not brightly colored), a hank of parachord, a sleeping bag (20° rated, synthetic insulation), a backpack with a padded hip belt(at least 50L, no more than 75), rain gear(a rain poncho might cover your pack too, a rain jacket can help with wind when its cold, a trash bag inside or outside your pack can keep it dry, a plan to watch the weather and not get caught also works), a z-fold foam sleeping pad, three pairs of socks, two pairs of underwear (at least one pair of boxer breifs strongly recommended if you arent incredibly skinny), a decent pair of shoes with good arch support, a functional jacket(skip if you got a rain jacket before), a base layer(wool or poly, absolutely no cotton)
Convenient items: a sleeping bag liner(cotton free, keeps you warm in winter and cool in summer), gallon zip locks to pack your stuff in(helps keep it dry and organized), no more than one change of clothes(as light as possible), a multi-tool(can opener, pliers, wire cutter), lighter(burning rope ends etc), spoon, floss and needles for patching
#anyway#not all encompassing or whatever#feel free to add your own tips but ill make fun of you if theyre stupid
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So growing up I heard these kinds of statements: "X number of species goes extinct every year" and "Most species that go extinct are undescribed/undiscovered"
And I could never really picture what that looked like. What species were going extinct? Where? Why? If they're undiscovered, how do we know about it? It's only recently that I've been able to understand.
This is an example:
Since European colonization, 99% of old growth forest in the eastern United States was cut down.
In Eastern Kentucky, the coal industry led to waste and rubble being dumped in valleys, literally burying countless mountain streams in gravel and toxic sludge.
Colonialism and exploitation moved faster than leaf-sketching and bug-collecting European naturalists did. It's very simple, and very sad. When the coal mines polluted the streams, many species of fish that only lived in one specific stream must have gone extinct. When Native Americans were forced off their lands, we can presume that rare plant species found in meadows, canebrakes and oaks savannas dependent on particular anthropogenic disturbances went extinct. When old-growth tracts were logged, God only knows how many lichens, mosses, ferns and plants went extinct because the trees they lived on were chopped.
We can extrapolate from the diversity in the fragments that remain, and the number of rare endemic species in especially isolated areas, and guess what probably existed in areas that were obliterated early on.
Keep in mind: All is not lost. New species are still being discovered.
The Bluegrass region of Kentucky was once called one of the most peculiar plant communities of the South—an eastern island of oak savanna with an understory of Arundinaria bamboo and legumes. Early European settlers reported that the ground was incredibly rich and covered with knee-high clover and dense thickets of "cane" (bamboo) that made navigation next to impossible.
Some people say the Bluegrass was always a forest and the savanna theory is wrong. Bullshit! I know this because of several reasons:
The earliest records don't mention any sycamores at all in the Bluegrass, whereas river cane (bamboo) was everywhere. Arundinaria bamboos are fire dependent species, whereas sycamore is HIGHLY intolerant of fire. From this we can infer that the area had a history of frequent burning.
Everyone in the Bluegrass knows about the Old Trees. In horse and cattle pastures in the Bluegrass region, you will sometimes see gigantic, twisted old oaks, with great spreading crowns. Nowadays you hardly see an oak that properly merits the term "gnarled," but the gnarl of the Old Trees is crazy. Just look up google images for Kentucky tourism and you'll see one of those huge trees in the background of several of the photos, I bet. Hardly anyone consciously thinks about it, but these are pre-colonization trees. And they are all obviously open-grown—their growth habit over the centuries has spread out, rather than grown straight up as in a forest.
Early colonizers' records report big walnut and cherry trees in the area. Most of the old houses in the area are made of walnut wood. Those are mid-successional species—you wouldn't find them dominating in an area that was heavily disturbed regularly and recently, they're trees, but you wouldn't find them in a forest that had been minimally disturbed forest for centuries either. The fact that they got huge suggests that a regular disturbance pattern of the Bluegrass region was abruptly interrupted and mostly ceased.
It was a pretty special place, a savanna environment with a mix of giant twisted oaks, rolling prairie hills and bamboo thickets, with deep sinkholes connecting the surface to subterranean cave ecosystems. In places the limestone bedrock reached the surface, creating limestone glades—unique desert-like habitats with many rare plants including Opuntia cactus.
It was also one of the first ecosystems west of the Appalachians to be destroyed by settlers.
BUT! Just a few years ago, we discovered Trifolium kentuckiense—Kentucky clover. A unique species of clover that has only been found in two spots in Central Kentucky.
This means the Bluegrass species that probably went extinct because their habitat was ignorantly logged, plowed and grazed before they were studied by European science may not be entirely gone.
We have been able to fund exhaustive inventories of potential holdouts for big flashy animals like the ivory-billed woodpecker, but so many people view the place they live as "boring" and thoroughly explored, when there could be surviving plants hanging out just about anywhere.
But...I don't think most people realize how much of the Holocene extinction has already happened. Most of the losses are plants and bugs that you never knew existed in the first place.
I feel like lots of people are anxiously waiting for the mass extinction to "start" hitting, but that's not quite right. European colonization of the globe WAS and *is* the mass extinction (combined with climate change which is very related). It's actively ongoing in the Global South. In eastern North America, the major wave of extinctions hit between 100 and 300 years ago.
I feel so much grief for all that was almost certainly lost forever, but I also recognize that I live in a unique period of time where the future can still be changed, and in particular, the heavily damaged ecosystems of the Southeast can be restored and used to absorb carbon from the atmosphere and provide resilience to the entire globe. And I strongly suspect at least a few mysterious new plants will start popping up once that happens...because a lot of plants stick around in the soil seed bank for a long, long time, and seeds can happen to be preserved by freak accident and then sprout later.
we (researchers, scientists, people who work in this field) will desperately need to consult tribal nations for this though because from my reading into it, we don't know what the fuck we're doing. The most basic things like controlled burns are still struggling to catch on and in some places just, spraying herbicides willy-nilly on invasive plants without understanding what makes them invasive.
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Too Sweet - @ohtheblissx
It was a day like any other for john, the rise and shine grind of stammering out of bed and into his kitchen to use the blender for his morning brew, bliss oil, jimson weed and coffee all ground together with just a pinch of hazelnut for task before he was soon his bouncing and charismatic self. Once the sun had come up, yes he woke before the sun, he had already been clad in a pair of tight skinny jeans, to avoid baggage during baptism and of course he wanted to make sure he looked his best so he had a relatively nice dress shirt, his vest to feel fancier and of course a shit ton of hair gel to keep that mess back in the water. He knew he had a long day ahead, so he grabbed several thermoses to fill his morning concoction for the go and he was out the door, barely beating the morning light.
Most days reserved for baptism had a lot of thought put into it, showmanship, scripts and it was a spectacle to be seen so he knew he had to be at his best. Unfortunately that meant being cracked out of his mind, tearing up the roads of hope county in his beloved car and making an entire ass of himself to the early rising farmers as he’d passed by. Once he was at his usual baptism spot he’d seen his devout workers already hard at work dumping the bliss into the shallow water and creating a natural barrier to attempt to keep it all maintained. He abhorred Faith for her littering, but this was a necessary evil. Eyeroll.
Black boots hit the morning dew-soaked grass beneath his car door, his eyes squinting at the sun beaming over the mountains even despite having his signature shades on, the bliss had made everything so more vibrant. “brothers, sisters.” He sighed out, he was exhausted much like any addict he didn’t sleep much and that attributed to his foul mood, not that he could take it out on any of his followers without joseph reprimanding him. “make sure after you bless the waters you get rid of those containers, and I mean get rid of. If I so much as see a single barrel on the side of the waters west of the henbane.. there will be hell to pay.” He wanted so badly to spit that out more aggressively than he did, but he knew that sometimes people got butthurt and ran back to run their mouths for brownie points, so he settled with clenching his jaw and gesturing for them to commence.
Him on the other hand, he had an entire roster of people who were willing to be baptized and usually they had a few not so willing participants but— today's schedule was cleared. The only thing that he was dreading was the fact that he was expected to be there upon pickup of every participant of the evenings event.
Which meant he had to sit either passenger inside of the van or spend all day driving himself to each location, so to save on gas and his own peace of mind he went with the van. One visit turned into two, minutes turned into hours and as many fake smiles as he had to muster was enough to drive a normal person insane, but john wasn’t normal and he’d spent the entire trip sipping on bliss and taking it easy. Half of the time he was on his phone scrolling aimlessly and trying not to get a boner, but eventually the time had come. They had picked up the final passenger in the van, and the show was about to begin.
Once they had been at the river and everyone had gotten themselves prepared, it was time for John to make his scene. It was only a few minutes before he was about to walk down to the edge of the water when one of his devout followers came up to him to whisper the news, there was a deputy on their way through town and a birdy had heard they were investigating the happenings at Eden’s Gate. There was almost a glint of excitement that washed over him, the dread of monotony was taking a toll on him and this was the spark that he needed to get his motivation back. What better way to have showmanship if you don’t have new fans? Of course part of him halfway expects it to be a yee yee local cop, but regardless of that he was ready to get the baptism on the go. If he could get the majority out of the way before the arrival of the newest victim deputy, it would be a lot less stressful.
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kiss me baby !
✎ᝰ — types of kisses the young justice boys favor
♡⃕ — dick grayson, wally west, kaldur’ahm x reader
♡⃕ — genre + warnings: fluff + slightly suggestive, tried not to make dick a wh*re /aff
꒰ DICK GRAYSON ꒱ ᡣ𐭩 any and every kiss
Ꮺ dick is quite affectionate but ofc that’s no surprised when he’s a proclaimed lover boy. however, he reserves certain kisses for certain people and certain times; simple cheek kisses for greeting the women he passes by during important events, hand kisses to greet women that he’s interested in, (before meeting you), and the rest just for you <3
Ꮺ kisses for dick is his way of communicating about half the time. times when he’s quiet, or isn’t in the mood to speak much, he gives you a forehead or cheek kiss to reassure you that he’s listening, just not communicative right now. moments where he’s being a tease, he would blow air kisses (especially upon getting to know you and during missions). intimate times, of course, would let him place mouth kisses, a lot of sloppy (or needy) ones if he’s feeling daring, and body kisses
Ꮺ out of all, dick favors to give you kisses on the lips. they either rile the both of you up or have a heartfelt way of saying, “I love you” to one another. especially times where the world feels like it’s at a standstill, no sense of danger to attend to but a quiet time of serenity. in moments where it’s just you and dick enjoying one another’s company, kisses make for the time that passes throughout the night
Ꮺ dick treats kisses either act an of intimacy or his way of getting something out of you. He doesn’t know what that “something” could be tbh; it could lead you to potentially talk to him after you got mad at him, you getting flustered at his cheek kisses, a look of shock on your face after he walks off from giving you a few passionate kisses, or even you becoming affectionate after those kisses. he enjoys the way your face contorts into looks of annoyance, passion, or a pout that rises from his teases
Ꮺ if you have fuller, or much plumper lips, dick will stay on them every. single. hour. he is a FEIN for how your fuller lips feel on his, it’s so soft, so plush, it’s like he’s on a cloud. he’s obsessed and it’s best that you hide before your lips become sore…again
꒰ WALLY WEST ꒱ ᡣ𐭩 forehead kisses
Ꮺ for wally, kisses are reserved for you and only you. wally takes intimacy very seriously, especially when it comes to kisses. unlike his best friend, wally doesn’t you kisses to his advantage (sometimes)
Ꮺ though, it wouldn’t be a lie that wally enjoys kissing you day and night. when the sun rises, when the sun sets, as you two settle into bed, as you two get ready for the morning, he’ll create a reason to kiss you
Ꮺ forehead kisses give a set of reassurance for wally, a feeling that you are here to love him and cherish him, through the good, bad, and the ugly. it lets him that you care for wally, you wanna listen to wally, you want to be wally’s home, where he has comfort and fondness
Ꮺ during times of intimacy, it’s quiet, a few awkward moments, but then again it’s wally. when he stutters too much as he speaks or incompletes his thoughts, you place a forehead kiss to calm him. he’ll shyly smile and give one back, after restarting his fragmental sentence
Ꮺ he doesn’t wanna admit it but wally is an addict to your kisses :). It doesn’t always have to be on the lips but the way his body flutters and the bashfulness that displays on him makes him feel floaty, even on bad days where missions go awry, your kisses help ease his mood. though it is quite cute how shy wally can get when asking for a kiss
꒰ KALDUR’AHM ꒱ ᡣ𐭩 body kisses
Ꮺ I feel like all three boys would favor body kisses but kaldur might be the most down bad for body kisses, both giving and receiving. however, he knows how to hide it better than the other two, he would wait for times of privacy while wally is subtle and dick is….not so subtle !
Ꮺ just like dick, kaldur would enjoy all kisses but kisses to appreciate your bodies feels like the perfect way to adore you. don’t get me wrong, he does tend to words of affirmation and acts of service but he can’t help plastering sweet kisses to your collarbone, behind the ear, stomach, cheek, or thighs (his personal favorite <3)
Ꮺ since he was always required to greet and adore aquaman as his king, adoration would be second nature to kaldur. which would make it quite too often to give your body some love during times of privacy
Ꮺ he doesn’t mind kisses around on the lips or forehead, but he feels a deeper connection when his lips attend to your body
Ꮺ times when he’s becoming too much into his head and stress is slowly shattering him, he’ll lay on your stomach and plant small kisses there. if not your stomach, he’ll pull you into his lap and crane his neck, signaling that he wants kisses but isn’t really in the mood to be expressive right now
♡⃕ heyyyyy, how yall doin 😋? listen….at least i wrote something for young justice !
𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐏 💗: psalm 147:3
© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟥 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗁𝗈𝗈𝖽𝗂. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽
#⁎˚ ໒ 🎧🫧 ( a piece from mia ) ˚ ⁎#dceu x black reader#dceu x black!reader#young justice headcanons#young justice x reader#young justice x black reader#young justice x black!reader#young justice x you#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson x black reader#dick grayson x black!reader#nightwing x black reader#nightwing x reader#dick grayson headcanons#dick grayson x y/n#dick grayson fluff#wally west headcanons#wally west x reader#wally west x you#wally west x black reader#wally west x black!reader#kid flash x reader#kid flash x black reader#kaldur’ahm headcanons#kaldur’ahm x reader#kaldur’ahm x black reader#kaldur’ahm x black!reader#aqualad headcanons#aqualad x reader#aqualad x black reader
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can we just take a moment to ✨appreciate✨ this? because I know where I’m looking… what about you? 😏
I'm INNOCENT, Lana. And you send me this?!
Wicked Tongue
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: Bucky has a wicked tongue.
Word Count: Over 500
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, oral sex (f. receiving), reader is thirsty, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a menace, okay?).
A/N: I swear, I'm innocent! But something short and sweet for a Sinful Saturday. ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
You tapped a finger against the drink you were holding, refusing to take a sip as you watched Bucky laugh at something Steve said. The love of your life was trying to kill you. Not literally, but it certainly felt the way. Why else would he pick a suit that molded to his beefy frame like a glove? What reason did he have to pull his silky long hair back like that?
He already had to fix it once since he decided to shove your dress up and sink to his knees before you left for the party.
“That’s it, baby. Pull my hair. Show me how much you love it when I fuck you with my tongue.”
As much as you loved Bucky eating you out, he loved it even more. You were certain there wasn’t another man on the planet who enjoyed the taste of pussy as much as he did. You ignored the twinge of jealousy because it wasn’t just any pussy he wanted. It was yours and yours alone.
Hell, if someone told him the sun rose in the east and set in the west, he’d argue that it went up when your legs opened and went down when they closed. Because the entrance to heaven existed between your thighs and it was only fair that he worshiped it with his mouth. You blessed him when you came on his tongue and he lapped up your offering with a groan every single time.
It felt almost as good as when you fell apart on his cock.
“Fuck,” you whispered when he swiped his tongue along his lip again.
Each time his tongue darted out of his mouth was like a personal attack, a jab to your core. You could still feel the indents from his fingers when he gripped your ass, shoving his face as close as he could so he could lick his way into your dripping cunt. The iron-clad grip nearly kept you from rocking your hips down, but it couldn’t stop the hot slick that rushed out of you when you came.
“Make a mess all over my face. Wanna taste you later.”
As if he sensed your stare, his sapphire eyes glanced your way from across the room and you forgot how to breathe. The beautiful bastard stared right at you as he dragged his tongue over his lower lip, slowly, deliberately. The way he sometimes did with your clit. You didn’t have super soldier strength, but you nearly shattered the glass in your hand from how hard you squeezed it when he winked.
And your panties were wet before, but now they were soaked.
You nodded toward the hall since you couldn’t find your voice. Bucky would help you find it. He’d make sure you moaned his name. Maybe even loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Excuse me, punk,” Bucky said to his best friend before he set his drink down. “In the mood for something a little sweeter.”
Something only you could satisfy his wicked tongue with.
We deserve this, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
#navybrat writes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x female!reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x fem!reader#bucky barnes x f!reader#bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#bucky x you#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes fic#james buchanan barnes#bucky fic#bucky smut#sebastian stan
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When you went off to college, your parents presented you with a fancy Swiss Army knife. It has the knife, the other knife, the corkscrew, the flat AND Phillips screwdrivers, the tiny magnifying glass, the bottle opener, the other other knife, the file, and the very small saw, which should allow you to cut down any tree in the forest in approximately six months. (You have, however, lost the toothpick.)
Jimmy perches on top of your walking stick and gestures to the crack in the wall with one wing. “This entryway seems pretty stable,” he says. “Once you get deeper in, things move around a lot.”
You step through the crack in the wall and immediately see a wall covered in graffiti. The most interesting bit, so far as you’re concerned, is a white chalk mark of an arrow and a circle. You immediately recognize hobo sign, which you took a class in. While there are some questions as to how authentic the signs are to actual hobo culture, they were popular among dungeon delvers some fifty years ago.
This mark means “Don’t bother going this way.” The arrow is pointing east.
“There’s nothing much that way,” Jimmy confirms. “Just a painting of the Madonna of Leaves.”
You go west instead, and after some turns, you eventually reach a staircase going down, into a large room. Jimmy regales you with descriptions of what lies through the various doors, like a very small tour guide. “That way goes to some clockwork bees and eventually a scary door…nobody’s ever managed to get it open…that way is sometimes a creepy horse skull and sometimes a corridor that goes deeper in…looks like it’s the skull today…” He trails off, gazing south, where a ramp slopes down. “And then there’s that room.”
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what's up, mr. hollywood?
—SUMMARY: if someone hasn’t heard about jeon wonwoo, they must be living under a rock. one of the grandest stars in hollywood, face to rom-coms and thrillers, shows the spectrum of a real celebrity. though, that is ruined when a bitter ex-girlfriend decides to drop pictures of him almost naked for the world to see, splitting it in half—should he just do an underwear campaign or disappear from the limelight for good?
so, he decides to travel to the most secluded villa he can find, and in there, he happens to fall in love with books and a certain librarian who speaks too much and still, leaves him with too little information about her.
eager to get to know her more, wonwoo forgets that he’s actually a celebrity and that reality must strike at their door one day. hopefully, not any time soon.
—TITLE: what’s up, mr. hollywood?
—PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x reader
—GENRE: glimpses of notting hill!au ; strangers to lovers!au ; celebrity!au ; actor!au ; idiots in love!au ; librarian!au ; bookstore!au
—TYPE: fluff ; angst if you squint ; suggestive if you squint ; humor given by jun’s character lol
—WORD COUNT: 13,270 words
—NOTE: this was a kofi request! if you want to support me, you can ask me to write something for you over there.
He could get tied down by the diamonds that wrap around the wrists of the women that transcend in his life, like the pieces of paper of a script that he never really imagines in his list of cinematography. That way, it would be easier to wake up in West Hollywood, in a mansion so big that—sometimes, though he won’t admit—he gets lost in the rooms. Wonwoo wouldn’t have to think twice on promising with a band a supposed forever that ends in five months. Like everything in this plastic world does.
Wonwoo could get used to the sweet taste of fame, that bathes the gold of his latest Oscar for a film he knows will follow him to the grave. The flashing of lights, the egotistical boosting and the screaming voices that grant him the benefit of leading a generation while he feels inherently lost. Pursuing a fraction of what he was able to give through three years of pressure for completing only two hours of film, applauded by the critics, but now a shadow he will always have to follow, mimic and surpass.
He could get used to being famous.
He could.
He could.
He could.
The truth is, Wonwoo isn’t, doesn’t and won’t. He’s there, then he’s not. It’s been like that for nine days now. Spank Magazine! Decided it would be a great idea to plaster him in his most delicate and reckless state. Wonwoo had been sharing a few summers with the same woman, Courtney, a love that never really translated into nothing more than a week together, drinks to be shared, kisses to be yearned for and then, he’d leave London. With nothing to seek for other than the faint breeze that is the complete opposite of the blaring sun in Hollywood, and the idea that he has someone waiting for him in case he feels lonely in between films.
The drinks must have gotten heavy, or Wonwoo isn’t really as smart as he grants himself to be. Always. He thought he’d never miss a step and he almost hears his manager, Sandara, laughing at him straight at his face. If only she wasn’t trying to erase the image of Wonwoo looking out of a window in white boxers in some secluded penthouse in central London. This summer, it seemed like Courtney wanted something else. Fame.
He hadn’t realized the picture had been on her iPhone, neither did he think that the moment he got off his plane that took him back home he would have to see literal signs at the airport that showed him half naked. The first thing he did was hide, and the second…okay, he hadn’t really thought of a plan. Other than compulsively buy a plane ticket to a villa in France and hope, perhaps, that he won’t have to explain if his shoulders are really that big naturally or not.
“You could have totally stopped this from happening.” Sandara looks unlike how she does when they are in Hollywood. Normally, she’s wearing a straight pencil skirt paired with a button down and her hair in a ponytail. She never misses the coffee with three shots of espresso and perhaps, a line of sugar—or cocaine, her energy is unmatched—, but now, she’s trapping a croissant in between her hands and she has tried to make the enormous yellow sweater she has paired with green leggings work. The frog look isn’t half as bad on her slim body.
“I know.” Wonwoo walks slowly, while she roams around him like a puppy would. Sandara has always said it. Wonwoo’s weakness for complexity gravitates him to women that leave everything to desire. He pulls the cap a little over his head, covering more of his eyes in case anyone sees him while walking to the nearest library. “I never said it wasn’t my fault, but I’m giving you a vacation and running away from the chaos you were trying to solve.”
“I offered you a way of turning this around and you didn’t—”
Wonwoo scoffs at her words, rolling his eyes. “You knew I was going to say no from the get-go.”
“Wonwoo, people are not hating on you because you’re half naked. You just pulled a Miley Cyrus. Destroyed the whole poised, serious, intelligent guy persona and changed it for the hot guy in the white boxers thing.” Sandara pulls a finger up in the air, pointing out what she thinks is obvious. Meanwhile, the breeze plays with her hair until it is standing on various spots. “…Calvin Klein offered to help us out. A few campaigns with the boxers on, and then, we finish it off with a good sex scene in one of your films. You’re a man. If it was me on that magazine and I was famous, I would have been destroyed.”
Wonwoo hates that it is a reality, but he didn’t really intend on posing. Sure, he is not an angel. His career doesn’t let him stay with someone as much as he’d like to, for he always has to travel, film something else, prepare for a script or a new series to take on, but he also hasn’t done much else past the expected. Stories can be told about Hollywood that are rather true of orgy parties and eccentric relationships, but he doesn’t do much past the normal. Perhaps, a risky picture if he is feeling…rather comfortable, but he’s private about the matters that take up on the heart.
He just happened to be a bit tipsy, looking out of the window and not noticing that a picture had been taken of him, and while he’s pleading the case of using the law against Courtney for breaking his privacy, he’s also taking a break. And needing to read a book.
“I’m not saying it’s a bad idea,” Wonw0o starts, pushing the doors of the only library he could find in this secluded spot he had found in France. Sandara passes under his arm, still walking backwards and somehow not falling. “But it’s not who I am. I just don’t do soft porn.”
“Wonwoo—”
“My ass was displayed on a magazine. I’m lucky it’s not my dick, but I’d rather just not…milk it.”
“Oh, wrong choice of wording.”
“Sandara.” He groans, throwing his head back. The place catches his attention in the matter of seconds. The walls are baby blue, like the revelation of a child’s bedroom, with sprinkles of brick walls here and there in a beige color as an addition of texture. The tables are smaller in comparison to the rows of books, lined up by genre and color. It’s a pleasure to a thoughtful mind, as he traces the outline of the romance plethora. His least favorite genre. “You’re sexualizing your client.”
“I swear I’m not. You’re the one talking about milk!” She jokes around, laughing at the flush that he’s certain appears on the apples of his cheeks, before she’s grabbing one of the smaller books in the row, standing at the tip of her toes to reach it. “The Duke’s Final Wish. Oh, so the duke dies in this book. What’s the point of reading something you know everything about just by the title alone?”
He doesn’t understand it either, so Wonwoo shrugs. “I’m more of a thriller guy myself, but I’m in France, I’ve just dumped someone entirely from my life and…” His nose scrunches up upon the sight of the naked, sun-bathed abs on the duke on the cover. “Maybe, I just need to read softcore love times to feel less miserable about…everything.”
Sandara’s brown eyes turn mellow, sighing deeply. “Wonwoo, this is just another turn in your career. I promise everything will get better.”
It will, he’s certain. Matters always go back to place.
However, he remembers his start as an actor. He was this shaky, flimsy sixteen-year-old teen who cried on the outsides of a casting because he was tired of receiving no’s. Who wiped his tears on a pillow when he got called from another casting to participate with just one line. He’d wake up every single day at five in the morning; giving up adulthood, growing up, having friends, dating, studying, just for the sake of getting in better movies. He hit it big when he was twenty, skyrocketed in a military film, and from then on, he never rested. Movie after movie. A show, then another one.
And just like that, it lost sense. With every critic that shadowed him with that one big film he did last year, whatever product that came to fruition was worthless. It was a race with himself—and he’s tired of running.
And—
Oh, wait.
It smells like insect repellent…
“Roach, go away, you!”
“Huh?” Wonwoo’s curiosity gets the best of him, peaking from behind the shelf to see a slender, tall man holding, indeed, an insect repellent and spraying it on a blonde gentleman. He recognizes the first one—the attacker in question—to be one of the workers because of the uniform. A cloud sweater inside white pants, according to the name of the library—Somewhere On The Clouds—, but he’s flimsy in comparison to the buffer, taller man that he’s trying to go after.
The cockroach character, per say.
He hears more shushing and spraying, along with a woman’s name that escapes the blonde’s lips. “I wasn’t talking to you, Wen Junhui, my wife is over there and you’re not letting me talk to her—”
“She’s not your wife anymore.”
“You can’t physically get over someone so quickly.”
Another spray and now, this Junhui guy with the long brown hair and septum piercing, has finally landed on the taller man’s eyes because he hears a groan that reverberates throughout the library. “If it’s you the someone we are talking about, oh, trust me, it’s easy. No woman could ever—”
“I’ll close your mouth up with a good old fist, Junhui. Stop! Stop spraying me!”
He hears another commotion, of closed doors and shushes that follow after someone physically more peaceful than the other men. And for once, Wonwoo loses interest in physical matters like the cameras that could flash around him and the book at hand. His heart hums, singing a melody when looking at her. Her hair is tied in two braids and closed in a bun behind her back, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, looking at the blonde man with the firing rage of a million wars that went unfought.
Even Sandara is listening closely when she speaks. She’s rain in its biggest form; when it pours down and becomes unstoppable.
“I thought he said you could go away, Pierre.” She outs to the world, only to have the blonde man shaking his head, twinkling green eyes staring back at her.
“Love,” He’s trying to grasp her hands, wishing to say something more, but when their hands interlock, she slaps his away. “Don’t you push me away.”
“By law, you pushed me away yourself.” She instructs, pushing at his arms when he’s trying to get closer. “Pierre, I’m being serious. Stop disrupting my library and just go away.”
“But—”
Wonwoo is not a hero, neither does he think this is the situation for him to try to be one. However, he does accidentally—or not so much so—happen to slide his hand across a shelve that wasn’t holding up tightly. The books fall one by one, like a domino effect that gain him the attention of the woman with the attitude of an owner and a dislike for her ex-husband and the man in question.
He smiles, tight-lipped and shy, with the Sun blessing his cheeks along the lines of red coloring. He expects her to launch at him, ask him to leave Somewhere On The Clouds, but instead a gentle smile takes over her face. Oh, of course, someone like her would just know what he’s doing…and why.
“Let me help you with that.” She says, moving closer to him and crouching down at the same time that he does. Wonwoo is spurting out a short laugh as he hears whom he thinks is called Junhui pull Pierre away from the library.
“I’m sorry. I’m a total mess.”
“Or really observative. Guess we’ll never know.” She shrugs, smiling at him when standing up with a pack of books pressed to her chest and the lingering scent of mints following after her.
“Witty.”
“I’m a woman. One has to be.” The answer that leaves her lips has him grinning like a fool, looking down only to be blinded by her sight when staring up again. “I’ll give you a discount just for that.”
“There’s no need—”
The pocket of his jeans is filled by her hand, sliding something quickly there before she’s fleeting away with a simple: “Just take it.”
Half of his mind thinks she has left her number there, and he’d be more than happy. However, Sandara is looking over his shoulder by the time he takes the paper out, viewing a small coupon with clouds drawn all over it that reads off ‘fifty percent off your next order’.
“Dang, I thought it was her number.” Sandara whispers, snapping her fingers. “I’m going to get it for you.”
“No!” Wonwoo shrieks, plastering his hand on top of her arm and dragging his manager closer. “We’re…we’re just going to take the coupon. This is supposed to be a vacation. No love involved.”
“No love involved…” Sandara repeats, laughing at his words. “We’re calling your autobiography that. That’s for sure.”
Huh, even he admits it wouldn’t be a bad name. Much more if it was a rom-com of sorts.
But that’s not going to happen.
The sky looked like a child’s portrait, painted outside the lines. The stars blurred in between the deep shade, though he knew it could be that he needed a new pair of glasses. He kind of forgot his new formula back in Hollywood, and the ones he got were bought on a whim. However, he walks through the empty, too-small streets of the villa, hands fisted in pockets, trying to understand the change of weather. It was windy, but it was a kind of humidity that made him scrunch up his nose every once in a while to sniff a bit of snot.
Allergies. It’s whatever.
Wonwoo rolls on the heels of his shoes, looking up at the sky and wondering why the world feels so unlit as of lately. He’s at peace, but running away from something. Empty. Lonely. And sure, he has gotten used to solitude, at least for now, but what was once something he chose is now the only option that he gets to fulfill. Cornered, in some place far away from home, where he can only wish for life to be different, for better or for worse.
What interests him is the shout he hears after, a commotion of a solid against iron that has him rushing his step the slightest. He doesn’t know if he’s prepared to run or go help, but what he sees at eleven at night—when he should be asleep and trying to conceal a good night of rest with a warm glass of milk, as Sandara said—is rather surprising. The owner of Somewhere In The Clouds, a library that he has visited often in this past week, stands in front of a house’s gate, forehead pressed to the iron, hitting her boot against the surface once again.
“Shit.”
She looks rather different than she does with the pastel colors she wears at her library. Wonwoo has seen her a bit, with faint glances and a few exchanged words of good books and prices, but he has never fully developed a conversation. One that matters. Right now, he wishes he was braver, for the expanse of her back is shown in jeans that are falling off her waist and he swears he sees the hairs on her arms stand up upon the breeze that he can’t understand but seems to cherish her in shivers.
“This is all Pierre’s fault!”
She screams at the world, the sky, the heavens that decided divorce was meant to be on her side. But, instead of leaving it at that, she grabs a rock from the ground, molds it on her fist before throwing it at something. Something being Wonwoo, who shrieks at the touch of the rock against his cheekbone. Gasps mingle with the weight of her steps against the pavement when she rushes to him, shouting:
“Goodness gracious! I am so sorry!”
Wonwoo feels the warmth of her skin against his own, palms connected to him in the least delicate of ways, thumb and index finger tracing the cheekbone that must flourish with the tone of roses. However, when he opens his eyes, he realizes that her own hold a weight that he can’t understand. As if every speckle of golden that brims the natural color of them anchors him to a dilemma that he should not want to solve.
“I…I totally didn’t see you there. It’s all the gate’s fault.” She says, only to have Wonwoo clasping her hands on his own, pulling them away from his face softly.
“Where’s your key?”
“My ex-husband took the spare key and now that I left my keys inside, I don’t know what to do.” Her digits wrap around the gate once again, moving it from the front to the back in a motion that causes it to noisily make its state known. Closed as ever. “This is what happens when I decide to have a great time. Jun just…he just wanted to share some mojitos and now, I’m out here, probably a step away from sleeping in the cold.”
Wonwoo chuckles to himself, pondering: “And you’re telling all this to a stranger?”
“You’re not completely a stranger. Judging by your book selection, I can tell a lot about you.” She crosses her arms over her chest, beautiful as ever in the way the wind blows at her hair and connects it with the skin of her face. And on top of it all, she remembers who he is. “You’re not a complete asshole, and that’s enough for me to tell you that this fucking night sucks.”
Tipsy, she is, and Wonwoo chuckles at her antics softly. He remembers, before stardom, how he used not to give a damn about the world, quite like she does. “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do.” He crouches down, caging his hands together to make a socket for her to place her feet on. “You’ll step here and I’ll get you up the gate.”
He shouldn’t be thinking about doing this. For God’s sake, she’s not in her right mind considering there are, at least, three mojitos in her system, and she must think the same because she shakes her head.
“Wonwoo, I’ll crush you.”
“Or you’ll get home safe.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure I didn’t just decide to squat in the middle of the street.”
She rolls her eyes at his words, though a smile transcends to her features. She moves with carefulness, placing one boot on top of his hand and then, the other leg lifts up to follow after the trail of the gate. Wonwoo’s eyes go down her legs and he admits he does peek at the curves that form there, but soon after, he’s more worried about the way she’s clinging to the top of the gates to pass over it.
“Help.”
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Wonwoo mutters, hoisting her up in his shoulders before pushing her upwards by the back of her thighs. She clings to the metal with strength, only dropping herself when she feels safe, and though she lands directly on her ass, the thud is soft enough for him to ponder that maybe, it didn’t hurt her as much. “You okay?”
“In one piece, so…okay!” The smile that spreads across her features is worth a million dollars, and Wonwoo finds himself gravitating towards her, hands expanded on the gate, separated by the mere iron. He returns the grin, because a gift so beautiful can only be given back, right? “What are you doing out at this time of the night?”
Midnight, it strikes in the imaginary clock. He hasn’t checked his phone because he knows he’ll have missed calls from a sleep-dazed Sandara who wants him to return back to the place they rented for their time there. “Jet-lag has been killing me, and I just needed some time alone to think.”
“Jet-lag? Where are you visiting us from?” Leaning on the gate, her eyes close to slightest to rest, and Wonwoo knows soon will be time for him to leave.
“California.”
“Well, hope my villa traps you a bit longer.” She announces, yawning into her fist before smacking her lips together.
“You’re falling asleep.”
“Possibly, probably, maybe. All synonyms. All right.” Once again, that smile that could paralyze traffic if she dared is given to him, but she pushes herself off the gate. “Sorry for stepping on you.”
“No problem.”
“A free book will wait for you.”
“I can totally pay the next one I’ll buy, don’t worry.”
“Never deny a librarian the benefit of giving you a book.” She announces, pointing at him as she swings towards the door. “Wait, the front door is locked, too.”
She stops on her tracks and Wonwoo is ready to stay the night seated outside the gate, just in case someone causes trouble to her, for leaving a woman alone in the middle of the night is not precisely something he is thinking of doing, but when he opens his mouth, she’s already pushing the front window upwards.
“Don’t tell me you’re getting in through the window.”
“I’m not telling you, I’m showing you.” She announces and, for the first time in a while, Wonwoo full on laughs. He doesn’t remember feeling his chest so tightly put-together in a while. The more he sees her wiggle herself through the window, the more he cackles.
“Please, be careful.”
“I am!” And she is, waiving at him once she’s through the window, hair done a mess, shirt falling off one shoulder. “Thank you for your service, Mr. Hollywood.”
“Go to sleep, you.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.”
The nickname, strangely, doesn’t settle badly in his stomach. Much less when he gets to see her turn off the lights and doze off to God-knows-where.
Wonwoo has made common occurrence for him to start a new book every Monday. He was on a reading strike for years, only yearning to find the next story he could act in, but it’s much different now. Much more after he decided to accept the book that the librarian had, oh-so-sweetly, decided to gift him.
The story read in utmost perfection. A thriller that chilled him to the bone and cradled him in fear late at night. Something different; and hell, maybe, he’s a little bit insane for wanting to feel something other than anxiousness. All he does is read the pages that week, weakened by the figure at the end of the road, in between clouds of smoke that the book always talks about. Is it real? Is it not? And why does the book end in a way that caused him to drop all the things that were on his hands as he was reading, perched in a boat in the middle of the lake near the library?
He dropped the damned book. He needed to return it. The worst possible outcome happened, because the moment Wonwoo decided to pluck it out of the water, the pages were torn, ink shredded, heart racing within his chest.
He runs away for a while. Escapes the library in hopes of her thinking that he’s just taking a little bit more to finalize the capturing pages of a well-written text. However, life isn’t so great when the next Wednesday, he comes face to face with her. She’s not in her work clothes, hair pulled away by a hair-clip, eyes a little drowsy with sleep as remaining pieces of her mascara cling to her eyelashes. Her hands hold a bag of groceries weakly, a little bit lazily, and while Wonwoo is trying to grab a snack to continue his Wednesday movie marathon—You’ve Got Mail is paused on his screen because he just wanted something salty—, he comes face-to-face with her.
Alright, the anxiousness is back.
“Do I terrify you?”
Wonwoo fixes his glasses, crossing his arms over his chest. Magazines would have torn him apart from the plaid shirt he is wearing today, antique and brought out of a film from the early nineties. He stammers. Gosh, when was the last time someone made him stutter? “Uhm, no?”
“You haven’t gone back to the library, and I’m not certain if it was because I gave you a thriller book or if it was because you saw me drunk out of my ass.” She’s speaking rather quickly, scoffing out a laugh that dies down soon after, rubbing the back of her neck out of nervousness. “I’m sorry. Uh…I must’ve looked like a total serial killer giving you a thriller book.”
The book. What can he say about the book? “Not at all. It was one of the best books I’ve read in a while.” He admits. Too bad it is in the depths of the ocean by now.
“I’ll give it to you, then. The copy, I mean.” She shrugs her shoulders, biting on her bottom lip and staying silent for a brief second that he takes to study her face. Something about her is always rushing; as if she can’t stay still for too long in fear of being caught. By life or someone else, he doesn’t know. Or catching feelings, like he musters could happen if he doesn’t get away soon.
“I wish I could read it again.”
“Then, do it.”
“…I accidentally dropped it in the local lake.” Wonwoo whispers, expecting her to get mad, but she extends a hand on top of her chest and starts laughing. “I—I’m sorry. The ending surprised me that much. Stupid hands.”
“I imagine. I imagine.” She hums, mimicking his pose and crossing her arms over her chest. “How are you making it up to me, Mr. Hollywood?”
He’s knowledgeable in the art of flirting. Not because he has mastered it, but rather because Wonwoo is the one of the being-flirted-on end. He must be reading into it, but the twinkle in her eye incites him, bringing him closer as he shrugs his shoulders.
“Anything in mind, Mrs. Countryside?”
“Ew, I don’t know why I don’t like the sound of that.” She enunciates, only to have him laughing. He sees the portions of her that are fractured, from the way she covers her mouth when laughing, to the slow blink she gives after a minute of silence. As if she wants to be awakened by her thoughts. “Mhm, how about burgers?”
“Burgers?” Wonwoo asks. “That’s what would make you forgive me?”
“A great burger can make me consider forgiving you.” She answers, pressing a hand to his shoulder to balance her weight as she takes her phone out of her pocket. “Write your number down there.”
Wonwoo jots down the digits that he has learned just the past few days, smiling at her. “Alright, you’ve got a free coupon for limitless burgers until we find a book as good as that one.”
“You don’t know what you’re promising.”
“Possibly. But it’s an excuse. Either we find the greatest burger or another good read.”
“Huh, you’re right.” With that, she puts her phone back in her pocket, smiling at him with her full teeth. “I’ll text you for my price.”
“Anytime.”
He would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking after her step after she left. How someone so gorgeous hid in such a secluded villa? He would never understand.
The Headlock For Two Challenge.
When Wonwoo ventured into one of the best rated burger places in the villa, he didn’t expect it to be…so simple. Wooden walls and heated tables in bright red, with towers of meat and chicken stacked with perfectly-spiced veggies and sauces that would mingle into one’s tongue for an entire day. She seemed to be impressed when he linked her over to this place only three days after they started talking through text, but she was equally as interested when she read about the challenge in the menu that was presented to them in a small piece of wood, carved letter after letter, honoring the toughness of the place.
“We can totally down this one between the two of us.” She turns the menu around, showing it to a wide-eyed Wonwoo. When he sees the picture, he doubts they can for a little bit. His glasses push his hair away from his face when he takes them off to check it out a little closely. Three layers of bread. This is final—he might die if he takes up on this challenge.
“What’s the price?”
“The burger is a price on its own.” Claiming, she turns the menu around once again before clearing her throat. “We’d also get a picture of us hanging from these very own walls, and, if that’s not a lot on its own—a grand price of a month-worth of free French Fries.”
“You bought me with the fries. I’m not much of a picture guy.”
He has gotten pictures of him taken from every angle and while he adored to catch a sight of the world from another point of view, he hates the way he has been portrayed in such imagery. He’s always perfect. Never himself. And yet, never enough.
“Waiter!” She lifts a hand in the air, catching the attention of the short man with the buttons of his shirt almost popping out from how closely it clings to his belly, but the smile he gives through plump cheeks and a dense moustache would have anyone trusting him with their orders. “We’d like to take over the challenge.”
“Oh, really?” The waiter starts jotting down on his notepad. “A group of men tried to take it down a few days ago. Couldn’t make it without throwing up.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Wonwoo asks and he sees her spread a hand on her stomach.
“I meant it when I said I was hungry.”
“Fine. And two glasses of cola with that, please.”
“On our merry way, sir.” The waiter gives a sharp touch of his pen against the pad before closing it and leaving to the kitchen. This is the moment he gets to see her again, closely as she lifts the sleeves of his yellow sweater up to her palms and leans her cheek against one of them, elbows well-prepped on the table.
She tried a little today. He has been under the limelight for long enough to know that there is a glimmer of pink on top of her cheeks, paired with sweet highlighter. She has a red lip on, eyelashes curled until they seem like her eyes are flirting with him just by sharing a glance.
“Why here, Wonwoo?” She asks. “You were in California. Everyone dreams about being there, around celebrities and all. Why here?”
The column of his throat contracts at her words. He almost fears that she has caught him for who he really is—a well-known actor.
“Take my word for it. There’s nothing special there.”
“You’re awfully negative, aren’t you? Here we are, in a villa that no one knows, where the lake could eat me alive one day and no one would remember me, but in a city so grand, where every step someone takes feel like part of a movie, you wish to run away.” She’s babbling, eyes twinkling with excitement. “Isn’t that exciting to you?”
He shakes his head. “No.” Wonwoo adds. “Because in a city so big, only a few people are remembered. We don’t choose what we are remembered for, either.”
“Oh, trust me,” She says. “You’d be remembered by good. Everyone in this city coos about the possibilities of you.”
“And that’s the thing. I don’t like expectation.”
“I understand.” She stops. “So, reason—?”
“I’m negative, but you’re good at prodding.”
“I was once a journalist in the making, but I ramble too much. I’d get in front of a camera and freeze, or say something really stupid. Probably both.” She conquers, sighing into her hand. “But you don’t have to answer, actually. I just want to get to know you. You could ask me something of your liking, too.”
He could ask about her library, but they have talked about that through text. He knows that it’s a family’s tree doing, where she loved literature and happened to continue down the road that was crafted for her. A place that was meant for her to walk on, but the wood on the floor was not precisely brought to life by her.
“Why didn’t it work out with your ex-husband?”
The reason why he left California is, perhaps, as personal as her divorce. She doesn’t swallow thickly, but she is left thinking for a moment, looking ahead and towards where he is, before the waiter returns with the burger in his hands and three glasses filled with a yellow, pink and white sauce.
“Thank you. This looks delicious.” Wonwoo compliments, only to have the waiter nodding.
“We start the timer now. Thirty minutes to finish all of this.” Just as he clicks the clock, she takes the half of the enormous burger and places it on her plate, and while he gives it a huge bite that fills his mouth and leaves his jaw hurting, she eats it bit by bit, plucking the food and swallowing it quickly.
“Probably my best kept secret.” She says, shrugging her shoulders. “I was promised until death, and then, I realized living one more day with him would be the cause of my death. It’s like…being pricked little by little, being married.”
“In general?”
“To him, precisely. Pierre has his own issues to figure out. He has…these experiences that he wants to go through in love. He wants to try with other people. And I wasn’t going to wait there, watching him mindlessly flirt with people, asking me if I’d ever been with more than one person, until I was finally hurt by something I expected.” She motions, sighing. “And now he’s trying to come back, so maybe, he already tried and thought returning home was the solution of the mess he made.”
“That’s pretty common. I happen to never last more than two months with somebody.” Wonwoo cackles at his own state in relationships, moving his head from side to side. “For a while I thought it was me.”
“How so?”
“Uncapable of being loved, if that makes sense.” Wonwoo announces. “I’ve never tried hard enough to make someone stay.”
“So, you’re the complete opposite of me. I have a hard time letting go.”
“I have a hard time making someone stay.” The mingle of tastes inside his mouth makes him wonder if she just wanted an excuse for them to try something good and new, not precisely break a challenge. Make herself memorable. Or maybe, that’s just her personality. Not everyone has to be trying all the time. “It probably is me.”
“Everyone has their little glimpses of red in their flag.” She jokes, tilting her head to the side when Wonwoo groans. “But hey, I’m a divorced woman, who am I to judge?”
“So, California…stinks a little bit, feels way more dense than this villa does, and it just…it reminds me of who I could’ve been. And who I am not, clearly.”
“Well, Wonwoo,” She picks up a portion of her burger, dipping it in what he thinks is corn sauce, before lifting it up in the air. “Cheers to that. We can be remembered for the picture we’ll have hanging here later this night.”
“Not at this pace.”
“Just say ‘yes’ for once. I promise, it doesn’t hurt.”
She could teach him that life is not filled with ‘no’ responses all the time.
Wonwoo thought the following times they’d see each other; they wouldn’t have any interruptions. However, much to his distaste, the moment he steps inside her house for what she called through the text ‘dinner and a movie’, there was another person invited.
The library’s worker, Wen Junhui, is not commonly known by him, but he has heard wonders about the man around town. As it goes, no one could ever tame him. Not from going around dating, but from being less eccentric. He sits in front of the TV they could have been using, holding fried chicken in between his digits after dipping it in barbeque, and he’s watching some Steve Harvey show that he is not quite sure he’d getting a glimpse of before. Too old for his liking, maybe.
“We have…companionship.” Wonwoo whispers to her, feeling the weight of her hands glide down his arms as she takes off his jacket. When he turns around, he sees her hanging the jacket, running her palms over it to keep it straight before humming.
“I didn’t know we had some either, but I totally promise Jun movie night every Friday. I can’t just kick him out. Or I can. But like, look at his face,” She points a hand towards Jun, who is still munching happily and laughing at whatever the host of the show had said. “One can’t just break a heart that easily. At least, his.”
Wonwoo can accept that Jun, while wearing a tank top and shorts, looks entirely different. A bit childish, with his bangs pushed back by a small clip, eating to his heart’s content. “I’m not saying you should kick him out.”
“But you had the hope it would be the two of us.”
“Awfully conceited, woman, don’t you think?” Wonwoo jokes around, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-grin. He’s normally not a sweet talker, but he’ll take the merit he can.
“Anyone would want to spend alone time with me.” One of her shoulders shrugs up, the structures of her face fighting their hardest to let out a smile. “Would you want some water, coffee, tea, juice, cocktail? I don’t know how to make cocktails, but I can fetch something up.”
“None.”
“Oh, maybe some energy drink, perhaps? Or, oh shit, you’re from Hollywood, maybe you’d like sparkly water, or bubbly water…”
“Trust me, we have normal water in Hollywood. I think.” He leans down to fix her hair over her shoulder, jotting his chin towards the TV. “Are we ordering something else or we’re sharing chicken with Jun?”
“He will notice there are only two pieces left in a few minutes and order some for everyone, so we just wait.” With that, she walks ahead of him, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to snuggle to the density of her white sweater, or that he’s not a bit enamored of the way her thighs fill the ripped jeans around her hips. She’s unique—so homely in a way that he hates he can feel that a little more time with her could end up in him in love.
“Wonwoo!” Jun speaks through a mouthful and in the month that he’s been there, he has gotten to know him a bit. The man is as sweet as one can get, but he’s also a bit odd. “I didn’t know you were coming. Do you want some—?” He stops on his tracks when extending the takeout bag towards Wonwoo, looking down at…yes, two pieces of chicken left. “Let me grab my phone,” He speaks after plopping his thumb in his mouth to lick the remaining sauce off. “And order something else.”
“Told you so.” She mouths after sitting down next to Jun, who is in between them like a child would. “Would you mind ordering a pizza? I think that’d last us some more than the chicken.”
“Oh, totally. There’s a two-for-one coupon in my phone case.” Jun is mumbling to himself, tossing glances towards the TV screen every once in a while before returning to his phone.
“I’ll pay for it. Don’t worry.” Wonwoo announces, but Jun shakes his head.
“The whole coupon thing is true—”
“But I want to pay, let me.”
That’s how they end up watching old marathons of family shows, with one hand holding a slice of pepperoni-filled pizza and the other on the couch behind them as they sit on the couch. When he can, he looks over to where she is and he catches her looking back, with eyelashes fluttering against her under-eyes and lips mingling in a small smile. He’s a bit surprised, however, when Jun is rambling with him about nineties shows, because a hand lands on his behind her friend’s back.
The touch of gentle fingertips hold back when tracing the outline of his knuckles, hesitantly slipping in between his own. Wonwoo feels his heart hammer against his chest, a beat that almost leaves him with ringing in his eardrums, for the blood rushes through his entire body until he can’t mask a smile. And sure, Jun may think that he’s smiling towards him, immersed in a conversation that now is a stammer in his head, considering her thumb is drawing on the veins of his wrist, like the gentle kiss she is not promising, but is making him think about.
In the midst of a villa, Wonwoo starts thinking about possibilities, and percentages have never been his thing more than art does, but the interlude of this story starts to make him think about staying. When Jun leans to grab another slice of pizza, Wonwoo takes this moment to bring that hand closer to his mouth, slotting his lips against her knuckles and watching her widen her eyes while staring at the screen.
Their little secret, now even more engraved in his brain by the expression on her face.
The inhibition of love is a saddened matter. Wonwoo never thought he’d be on the end spectrum of not being able to fully open up. After all, acting takes up the imagery of shredding every portion of himself in order to make a character come alive. He needs to unalive his motions in order to be someone else in front of a camera. However, when laying on that bed of his, in his place in the villa, that had felt more like home than any mansion could ever do for him, he is awfully aware of the person next to him.
“Do you have…um…any idea why I call you Mr. Hollywood?”
The question is soft against the sheets. She’s laying on her side, knee angled until she is almost resting a thigh over his hip. Wonwoo shakes his head, turning his head to look at her from up close. She has forgone the makeup today, hair a bit dirty and laying on top of her head by a ponytail. When she opens her eyes, he’s staring back at her.
“You didn’t answer.”
“Oh, I thought I did.” Wonwoo mumbles, trailing a finger on the side of her face before shrugging. “I have no clue. Anything in particular I should be aware about?”
Wonwoo, when asking to spend time with her almost every day, is knowledgeable of the fact that she’s a very smart woman. However, as the night slips through his clear curtains, cascading along her features in the moonlit nature of a November midnight, his mind forgets the fact that he’s Jeon Wonwoo, and that maybe, his stigma as a person is harder to hide than he thought.
“…I saw you in a movie once.” The confession has his heart hammering against his chest, and he sits up immediately. Not angered, but terrified. Afraid of being used for what is always loved about him—his power, love for acting, his money. “I want you to listen to me, okay? You’ve been here for almost two months and I feel like…it’s time to tell you something. Nothing bad. Just something.”
“You talked to me because of me being an actor?”
“God, no. I didn’t want to talk to you for the same thing. You terrified the hell out of me.” She says, sitting up with him and pressing a hand to his thigh in order to keep him in place. Her eyes beg him to stay close and somehow, he does. Though the alarms in his mind tell him to fleet. “You still do, but for different reasons. I saw you in this movie…Stay With Me? The one where you played a secondary character. The main guy’s best friend. I didn’t recall enough about the movie, but I knew that face. I thought you were…good looking. That’s all. I’m not a fan.”
“That’s a very old film.” It was in the start of his career, when rom-coms would call him just to play the knowledgeable best friend. He has the face of a man who knows how to give advice, they told him. “So, you call me Mr. Hollywood because you know who I really am outside of these walls I’ve built to run away?”
“To remind me you’ll leave, I guess.” She sighs out, running her free hand through the locks of her ponytail. “Calling you Mr. Hollywood reminds me you’re…you know, somehow unreachable.”
“Gosh, I am not!”
“Come on, Wonwoo. I’m just a woman who happens to sell books for a living. Each day, I wake up to a bed on my own, wondering what kind of legacy I’ll leave in this world, but I am also timid enough to not want to be remembered. And it’s the paradigm of being…just somebody else. I won’t be listed as one of the most gorgeous women, neither one of the most talented, but I can reassure you…Wonwoo, anywhere you stand, as an actor or not, you’re special.”
He has seen love in scripts, written to be perfection, clouds of pink that cascade the fall of a person who would have never thought romance would be on their way. He has acted it out, softened eyes and sweet words that come with the clash of lips, but he doesn’t expect how love really feels like. Numbed out of every word that could make him feel insecure, trapped in the odyssey of wanting a kiss that has him leaning forward, capturing her face in his palms and looking into her eyes, not seeking softness, but the reassurance of something else. Of the feedback of warmth.
“And I am just a man who wants you to see him as he is. Hollywood or not.”
“I see you, Wonwoo.” She mumbles, and that’s enough for Wonwoo to lean forward. Fill her with a kiss that threatens to whimper in her mouth when her mouth parts and clashes against his.
Wonwoo feels complete, like a thread follows after him and whispers in his mouth everything he wants to hear without a noise at all. Her hands mingle on the back of his head, legs interlocking with his own. And he hates that even when he is kissing her with fervor; tracing the outline of lips that he wishes to remember to the day of his death, there is still a voice of insecurity.
He leans back on the bed, with her body trailing after his, settling a leg in between his own and pulling away to press a chaste kiss to his jaw, soon after pressing her mouth to his neck. Both of his hands expand on her back, under her shirt to feel the softness of her skin when he whispers:
“Could you please turn off your phone?”
“Excuse me?” She questions, only to have Wonwoo shaking his head.
“I…I got some pictures taken of me. I was intimate with a woman I used to date on-and-off and now…everyone has a picture I didn’t consent to of me in my boxers.” Confessing it has his cheeks blaring in heat, and he expects her to laugh. “And sure, you may think it’s stupid, but—”
She settles her hips on top of his, sitting and reaching for her phone in the bedside table, only to show the screen turning off to him. “It’s not stupid to me. Whatever makes you feel comfortable, I can consider.”
“Where were you my whole life?” Wonwoo asks, feeling her mouth return to his neck. And she laughs against his skin, drawing sparkling stars in his stomach and letting them tingle with…whatever feeling he’s starting to let cascade over him.
“Far, far away.”
“But I found you.”
“…You found me.” She interlocks their hands together, smiling at him. “Thank God, you found me.”
“What is this?”
Sandara positions three things on their coffee table in a specific order. A cup of coffee, with a savory smell of Bailey’s that he has been obsessed with every since he tried it on a café shop downtown. A croissant, with an extra layer of powdered sugar on top of it, and of course, what takes him off guard. A stack of papers, placed neatly like a script would. He picks up his coffee, giving it a taste even though he’s eyeing the paper, not touching it.
“Well, we’ve been here for almost three months…” Sandara sits down on the couch next to him. Her hair is shorter than how it had been when they got there, and she has dyed it back to a light brown. She moves it to a side on its entirety before pressing her knuckle to her cheek. “I think it’s time we start to think of a comeback. I was introduced to this idea where you’d star with Cillian Murphy, and I just couldn’t say no. You’re totally reading it.”
Acting is a prolongation of his anatomy. Wonwoo can’t exist without acting, but taking a break has never hurt anybody. He believes that most good actors take one in their lifetime. However, being pushed into stardom once again it’s not something he had thought about. Or he has, but he has always pushed it to the back of his head. That would mean going back to Hollywood, casting interviews where he’ll have to talk about the whole photo incident, perhaps take up on that Calvin Klein campaign that Sandara was so excited about…and that all sounds like a ton of work.
“You didn’t ask me about this.” Wonwoo announces, but Sandara is already placing the script right on top of his lap, pointing at it with a manicured nail. “Sandara—”
“I didn’t ask you, but you need to continue, Woo.” She says. “You’re one of the biggest talents of this generation and you’re throwing it all to Hell because of a picture? No. That’s the answer. We’re not letting that happen. We’re going to meet the team the following Monday and Cillian is going to be there. We can read over some—”
“What?” Wonwoo stands up, throwing the script on the table and shaking his head. “I didn’t consent on going back to Hollywood.”
“Wonwoo, it’s where you’ve grown to be the person you are today. You can’t escape it forever.”
“Yes, but I also don’t have to return just because you’re telling me to. It’s more complicated than that.” Hence, he has spent almost every day sharing kisses, touches, stories and whispers with a woman that he has promised is not temporary. It’s been almost a month since they shared their first kiss…and from then, they have fallen into the comfort of…
A relationship, maybe. That’s what he calls it inside his head, but he’s too afraid to voice it. For reasons as such, like this, when he will need to fly away to Hollywood just because reality is calling.
“They are offering millions of dollars for this, and Wonwoo, you’re going to miss acting eventually. I’m sure you do now, as you are standing here every morning just reading books and doing nothing.”
“Healing is not doing nothing.” Wonwoo corrects, and when he tosses a look at the script, he can admit he is a bit intrigued. How can a person be both here and there at the same time? How can the man he has grown to be in the villa meet the celebrity that he really is?
“Just read it. We both know you want to.”
“And then, what? I never come back here. I have a…someone, a girlfriend, maybe, and I don’t want to leave that behind.”
“I’m not—Just don’t get ahead of yourself. Think first about what you want to do and sure, if it’s staying here for a while more, I’ll accept it. But this is such a good film that is going to rise from the ashes and I want you to be part of it. You need to. It’d be iconic, Wonwoo, I swear.”
Does he want to be remembered by everyone as the actor who could do it all, battle against the tabloids and shine as one of the best performers of the generation? Or perhaps, does he want to be remembered by one person as the man who mended her heart after not wanting to believe in anyone because of a horrid break-up?
“I’ll think about it.” He feels bad about saying it and sitting down with that coffee and croissant to read the first page. “Just leave me alone for a while, will you?”
“Right.” Sandara presses a kiss to the crown of his head, patting the hair soon after. “I’m only doing it for you, I swear.”
“I know.”
That’s the only whisper he can muster to give her as he traces the outline of the title. The ink, the indents, the fresh paper…he misses this, but at the same time, he doesn’t feel ready to return to the emptiness that is felt when going through stardom. He’s enamored of reality, and that isn’t supposed to be a sin.
The more he reads the script, the more he likes it…and he starts to wonder if there are two men living inside of him, or if there is one that perseveres more than the other.
Molding against somebody’s body is a connection on its own. Wonwoo could get used to the dance of breathing that comes with laying next to somebody, when his chest connects to her back, arm weighting her waist down, chin squished to her shoulder. However, this morning is different. They don’t wake up to the sound of her alarm but to something else. His ears make out a noise that is familiar to him.
Flashes.
Clicking.
Shouts.
His name.
Her name.
Why do they know her name?
Wonwoo stands up, breathing quickly with the flaming hope of only being in a nightmare. However, the coldness of the floor seeps through his bare feet when he moves towards the window, moving the curtain to the side in order to see a herd of paparazzi standing outside of her home. Jun is in front of them, waving his hand like an idiot and posing for the camera. Quite like the characters in White Chicks would.
“Love, where are you going?” She’s mumbling against the pillow and for a moment, all Wonwoo sees is white. He feels let down by the woman waiting for him in the mattress. How could they have found him here, when he has gone months to no end completely unnoticed by the citizens? And Jun is enjoying the attention, that has to say something.
“Nowhere. I am unable to go anywhere because there are fucking paparazzi in your front yard.” Wonwoo lurks through the clothes left on the floor, running the fabric of a cotton t-shirt over his body and sighing in distaste. He’s walking from side to side in the bedroom. The paparazzi will only leave when he gets out of that door, after all.
“What?”
“Just tell me the truth. When did you call them? I was with you the entire night.” Wonwoo points out the obvious, placing his hands in his waist and frowning towards her. Her eyes widen and he swears he sees the little, fragile glass that she has within her chest playing as a heart breaking with one look alone. “You did exactly what everyone did before you—”
“Fuck, Wonwoo, what are you even saying? I would never do that to you!” She stands up and though he wants to believe her, he has heard that before. She’s walking towards him, sheets pressed to her chest, pleading at him with her vision alone. “Let me see.”
“No!” He shouts, taking her by the arm and keeping her away from the window. “If they take a picture of you, it’ll be everywhere in a second.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how t—these things work.” She stutters, pressing her hand on top of his and trying to rub at the skin there. “Wonwoo, you have to believe me. I would never betray your trust like this.”
“Your roomie is out there making a show out of this.”
“Jun would never, either! He’s probably just enjoying the attention.”
“My God.” Wonwoo takes another glimpse out of the window, feeling his eyes get filled with tears. “How…How am I supposed to believe you when it all ends like this? Another scandal. I don’t deserve to be in the highlights of a magazine once again!”
“I’m sorry…” She mumbles, trying to catch him in her arms but he’s moving. Walking out of the bedroom, he goes down the set of slim stairs as he prepares to go through the masses of paparazzi and perhaps, lose himself in the process of stardom once again. Vacant answers, eye-rolls, and the undignified tilt of his head looking down because of the flashes and the lack of sincerity towards his self. “I don’t want you to leave. I’m—I’ll go with you, just let me get dressed and I’ll talk to them with the truth. They just need to know who you really are.”
“You truly believe that being sincere is what helps me here?” Wonwoo turns around, looking down at her and scoffing. “Sunshine, I’ve tried to be sincere in a world where they only want to see my worse and I expected you to understand that.”
“…You know, I’m starting to feel offended that you don’t believe me. I understand you, but I would never do this to you.” Wonwoo sighs at her words, sparing one good look at her face. He will miss the shared laughter and even more so the love that she had gifted to him without nothing in return. Nothing more than loving her back.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience in your home.” Wonwoo says, putting on his jacket and his sunglasses before turning around and nodding at her. “And thank you for giving me the benefit of loving you.”
“Wonwoo—”
He opens the door in a hassle, eager for paparazzi not to see her in her pajamas and shred her to pieces. Jun greets him happily, offering him a cup of coffee that he ignores as he walks through the masses. The cameras go wilder for him, asking him questions:
“Where is your new love?!”
“When are you returning to Hollywood?!”
“Is she aware of your soft-porn pictures?!”
“Is this the end of your career?”
At this last question, he turns around, grabbing the microphone from the journalist’s hand and adding: “I don’t know, you’ll be the judge of that.” With that, he gets inside his car, hands trembling as he years to get out of there. They will follow after him, but the best he can do is reach Sandara and hope that she can take care of it.
With a broken heart and his wheels swirling, Wonwoo gets out of her life for good.
And he doesn’t look back.
For twenty-one days, she curses believing in love again. Even so, she starts to ponder if she should take out the entirety of the romance shelf off her library, but Jun is the one to stop her before she wiped out the best-selling row of their plethora of books. A fraction of her being understood where Wonwoo was coming from, and maybe, that’s the reason that upon hearing he’d be holding a press conference in a city nearby her own, she decided to go give it a glimpse. Perhaps, be another fan that just happened to get a little too close to the star.
“You’re losing your damn mind.” Jun says when following after her, entering the crowds of people that mingle to get a glimpse of Wonwoo as he’s expected to enter one of the most popular hotels in the city. “And I’m starting to like it. You’ve never acted like this before.”
“Jun!” She drags, a little mortified that she’s here. She has tried contacting Wonwoo, but the last thing she heard about him is that he had taken a plane back to Hollywood. She was even a bit surprised that he had come back. Everyone was trying to deduce who was the one that had captured him for three months in some secluded villa that no one had been able to find him in, but the masses of rumors were met by silence from his team as they announced his new film. “I shouldn’t even be here. He hates me, and for pictures that I wasn’t even in.”
“And I finally got the number of the girl in the supermarket because she saw me on TV. One of us is winning, so that makes two of us winning.” Sometimes, she wishes to pluck each hair of Jun’s head one by one only to see if he has a proper adult reaction. However, her best friend wraps an arm around her shoulder, grinning at her. “Are you sure you want to be around here? I looked up the best places to visit around here and we can totally go. It wouldn’t be on vain either.”
“I want to see him. One last time.” She ponders, humming at his words. Though, she has to scream a bit, considering the fans are going crazy, talking within themselves about the announcements he was supposed to be making today. “You know, maybe I can pluck him out of my heart that way.”
Though, that thought completely vanishes when looking at him. Wonwoo has decided to wear a long brown coat, sunglasses propped on the tip of his nose, getting out of a limousine as two guards help him get through the groups of people. A black shirt enters his black slacks, accentuating the waist she’d rest her cheek on when hugging him from the side as he poured coffee for her in the early mornings. She had lost that, along with the smile that characterized him when being with her. Though, she can say it had been taken away from both of them.
They are placed in a corner of the grand room in the hotel that is supposed to be taken up by Wonwoo and his team. He’s seated on a table, well perched and high on the stage, with Sandara on one side and another man whom she does not recognize on the other, but he’s making sure that the microphone is working well. The fans, such as them, are on the side to support him as the journalists take up most of the space.
Like parasites, she realizes, when the interview starts to enroll.
It’s supposed to be a press conference to announce the return of Wonwoo to acting and stardom, but they have made it all about the pictures that months ago had reached a magazine because of his ex…situationship, and also included glimpses of her. Of the mysterious woman whom he can’t find words, for he chooses other questions and gets shouts from the journalists who want more from him. He does admit to have signed a contract for a film, and she’s entranced in the way he speaks about the plot and what he wishes out of it.
A woman in her forties stands up, heels clicking when she plots her hip to the side, grabbing the microphone in between her hands with expertise before adding: “We have gathered information and found out, Mr. Jeon, that you have lived in the villa for almost four months by now. Reading books, having coffee, just living the life of a man in his fifties while also being in your twenties. What was the reason to stay out of stardom for so long and do you wish to go back to it any time soon?”
Wonwoo is uncomfortable; she can tell by the way he wrings his hands and turns them pale after taking off his sunglasses. He’s rotting in between the sense of lying or being truthful to himself. However, before Sandara could say to ask another question, Wonwoo leans over the microphone and sighs.
“Because I…happened to meet people who made me want to stay, and I sadly did not have the chance to stay for longer.”
“How so?” The journalist keeps prodding now that he has answered, and Sandara takes up over the microphone.
“I think it’s time we cut this round off—”
Though, Wonwoo gently pushes her away, rubbing at one eye before clearing his throat. “Because, as an actor, I have played enough roles for people to visualize me as such. I wanted to be someone normal for once, and reading books, like you said, made me unite with the citizens around the villa. I—I would have stayed if I could, but…reality wants me here. This is who I am.”
That could be the finalization of them, and it should have been, but damn her for being stubborn and knowing precisely when a good person is leaving her life, because she places a hand on top of Jun’s shoulder and whispers in his ear:
“Hoist me up. I’m going over the gate and getting to him.”
“What?”
“I can’t let him leave like that. Not without knowing I love him, at least.”
“Alright. If you’re going to jail, I’m going with you.”
What a paradox, it is, that the start of their story included him helping her get over her own gate and now she does as such, earning gasps and shouts from the masses of people as the guards rush towards her and catch her just in time for her mouth to let out:
“I just—Hey, I just wondered, Mr. Jeon, if you’d like to hear something from one of the citizens!” She’s battling against the strong hands of the guards trying to drag her away, feet kicking and asking to be given a second by Wonwoo.
She swears she sees a smile creep up his features when he leans over the microphone once again and says: “Let her go. I know her.”
The strong pair of arms unravels from around her waist and she sighs out in glee before she’s granted a microphone. She fixes her hair, stands up a little straighter and hates the fact that she didn’t try to look better after twenty-one days of missing him. “I was wondering, Mr. Jeon, if there was anyone who would have made you stay in that villa if it weren’t for your duty calling you. If…if it hurt you leaving the villa at all.”
She should expect the worst, judging by the ways cameras start flashing and people start whispering within themselves. However, Sandara is talking in Wonwoo’s ear, eager to get him to say the right thing, but as they look at each other, they are back to the nights in which she’d ask him to turn off the lights because she didn’t want him to see her without makeup or sick and he’d shrug his shoulders without a care in the world. They are back to the first time he was able to sleep next to her without turning off all the phones in the house.
It’s just the two of them. Their world. Their villa. Their three months.
“…You. You are the only one who could make me stay.”
That’s what makes everyone talk louder, after the bead of silence that leads up to the grandest reveal. The cameras turn towards her and she’s afraid of how she’ll look after, but that won’t matter if Wonwoo returns…one day, even after the movie, even for the weekends or when he’s free.
“That’s…that’s lovely.” She says, looking up as not to feel shy or embarrassed by what she’s about to admit. “Because I want you to stay, Wonwoo.”
“Um, I think we need to return to the questions—” Sandara is speaking, but Wonwoo has lifted his eyebrows, smiling softly and standing up from his spot and going over to where she is. Each step slows down the closer he gets, and the guards move to his place in order not to have journalists or fans jumping at him.
“Before you say anything,” She starts, interlocking her hands together in front of her body. “I…I love you. I just need you to know that. I don’t need anything else right now.”
Wonwoo quirks his head to the side, cheeks blushed and hands fisted in his pocket. “Well, I was about to offer three months in Los Angeles to film a movie and then, back to our villa indefinitely but—”
“You have to be joking.” She coos with a smile on her face, but Wonwoo shakes his head.
“Pretty honest. I am characterized for being such, aren’t I?”
Before she knows it, she’s launching herself at his arms, lips jotted to his own and even though everyone is looking, she couldn’t care less.
Indefinitely. That starts to sound a lot like forever, and with him, that doesn’t seem impossible.
“I love you, too.” He whispers as she hides her face from the cameras in his jacket, laughing at his words.
dedicated to @wisteria-woo
#wonwoo x reader#wonwoo scenarios#seventeen x reader#seventeen scenarios#wonwoo#seventeen#kpop scenarios#writing#actor!au#notting hill!au#and my return from writing after months be nice to it omg
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he lets you watch
When you overhear Captain Price watching porn in his office, you decide to turn his fantasies into a reality.
Link to AO3
MDNI/18+
TW: femdom, gagging, one slap
You were working late. Again. It was the most frustrating part of any operation: recon review. All the footage collected from all the soldiers’ body cams had to be reviewed and documented. Any dialogue? Syntactically tagged. Any shots fired? Counted. Any kills? Confirmed. You were glad to help the team, but this stage of discovery was dreadfully boring.
Even worse, your new-found crush on your captain was driving you insane. To be honest, you’d had your eye on him for a while. There was something about a man in charge, but it was when this last set of footage came through that you really went off the deep end.
Price had gone with Gaz into a warehouse that was suspected of housing enemy munitions, and the captain had uncovered crates and crates of target-marking spray paint. Huge canisters that attached to the bottoms of planes were all stuck in little rows, lined up and ready to use.
Unfortunately for the captain, one of the canisters was propped open on the top of its box, and when he lifted the lid, he got covered in red dye. You watched it explode, covering the camera, and then when it reconnected, there he was. Shirtless. Down to his boxer briefs. Wiping red dye off of himself with his clothes. Gaz had brought a full kit, so Price was changing out, hoping to stay covert and camouflaged in the clean gear. Couldn’t well be a glowing red dot while trying to escape enemy territory.
His chest was broad and full of dense, dark hair, laying flat like soft fur, untrimmed and natural. His beard was streaked red, and half his face was painted, making him look like an ancient Celt, ready for brutal highland battles and bedding willing lassies. He was frustrated by his accident, so all of his movements were sharp and aggressive, his muscles raging and wrestling against his skin. Then, he moved closer to the camera, and the bulge in his underwear became glaringly apparent.
Hung. Thick. Not so long that it was out of place, but heavy. His cock was imposing, and when he readjusted himself, you could see how dense the muscle really was. You couldn’t help but pause the film, staring, in glorious 4k. You nearly had to wipe the drool from your mouth.
Price looked so confident here. He was always self-assured, but sometimes, when you spoke with him, there was something that he was holding back. Some shyness perhaps, maybe just a reserved nature, but not here. Not in his livid rage, he was like a wounded beast - angry and virile. Full of righteous energy. It made you imagine making him come undone in other ways, in the ways a woman was meant to make a beast like that come apart at the seams. Ripping the constricting threads and freeing the hulking creature looming within.
Now, he was sitting in his office, right next to yours, and he’d started watching footage of his own. Or, at least, you thought that he was watching the cams…until you heard a woman’s salacious moan penetrate the thin wall between you.
Your eyes grew wide, and your breath caught in your chest. You sat in the silence of your office, hearing your heart pound in your ears. You waited to hear it again, just to be sure.
Then, a very quiet,
“You wanna come?”
You let out the breath you’d been holding. It wooshed from you like a wave crashing against miles and miles of sand.
Something snapped, some darkness possessed you. You found yourself standing, walking toward the door to his office. It was so late, everyone else had turned in. Just you and him in the west hall of the base awake. He never slept, it seemed. A night owl like you.
You opened his door without knocking. You’d never done that before, and objectively, it was a truly insane choice.
In your mind, his hand had lingered when he took his cup of coffee from your hands. In your imagination, he’d cocked a sly smile when you made a joke, just between you and him. You thought you’d seen him checking out your ass in the gym. But, you didn’t have any real proof.
Popping open his door was the equivalent of pulling the trigger on a bazooka.
He stood, caught like a fox in a snare, his chair clattering as you came into the room and shut the door behind you quickly.
“Sergeant, uh,” he recovered, “What happened?”
“Captain.”
It was a full sentence. And, it was all you had. You were finished.
The video was still playing. The lurid slapping of skin on skin. Her over-acted moans, his ritual panting. Every few seconds, you counted three, there was another soft,
“You like that, daddy?”
You smiled. He turned red, just like he’d been painted again.
“Sergeant, I was just…”
He paused the movie. Then, with his body, with the hand roughly rubbing down his face, with the palm tightly covering his mouth, he said a million other words. He was still pink with shame, and then he laughed,
“Yeah, no. I was ‘bout to have a wank. Not sure why I was trying to make you believe otherwise, love. Sorry. It’s too loud?”
You smiled wider. His genuine honesty was so smooth and effortless. A thief caught with his hands in the cookie jar, begging you to punish him for it.
“No,” you shook your head, “Just wanted to see what you were watching.”
He didn’t register what you said at first, still staring down at his boots. Then, realization washed over him and he looked up at you, eyes shining, brows arched.
“Oh? That so?”
You nodded,
“Let me see what’s got you up so late.”
The captain rubbed a big, calloused hand across his mouth, smoothing his beard, a bit nervous. Then, he pulled a chair around and motioned for you to sit beside him. You sat. He sat. He hit play.
A woman was straddling a man, both of them hairless and slick like brand new Barbie dolls, spray-tan orange and bleach-blond hair. Americans. She was riding his larger than average dick slowly, deliberately slow, edging him with her pussy. She had a hand around his throat, grasping his jaw tightly, pushing his head back. He was tied to the chair, straining against it, clearly desperate as he writhed beneath her, fighting his restraints.
“Please, baby. Please, let me come?” He begged.
“You wanna come, daddy?” She teased.
“Yeah, can I come?” He begged.
“Ah-ah! I don’t think so…” She teased.
Begging. Teasing. Begging. Teasing. A vicious, uncontrollable cycle of cruelty on her part, always pulling the proverbial carrot farther and farther from his snapping jaws.
You turned to Price who was watching, rapt. He noticed you staring at him. Before he turned to face you, he smiled, sighing,
“Sometimes, when you’re the one barking orders all day, it’d be nice to turn your head off and follow someone else’s for a change.”
“You could follow my orders,” some psychotic part of you spoke.
He gripped the side of the chair, his once-relaxed hands now making the cheap aluminum frame creak and pop.
“What’d you say, Sergeant?”
“You heard me, Captain,” you didn’t know if you should call an exorcist or what. Who was this version of yourself and how quickly was she going to get you court martialed?
“You think you can order me around?”
You leaned in, close enough to smell the tobacco on his breath, Cuban cigars leaving earthy notes of vanilla and licorice behind. You whispered,
“I know I can.”
He breathed out, his exhale caressing your lips, threatening to kiss you.
You didn’t move. Not a muscle. You locked eyes with him,
“Sit on your hands, Captain.”
“Sergeant,” he tried to kiss you, but you pulled away quickly.
Part of your body screamed at you, wondering why you’d avoid his advances, but your mind knew what he wanted. He needed to lose control. For a man like Price to lose it, it must be taken from him. Forcibly.
“I said sit... on... them,” you sneered, making yourself larger by standing over him, placing your hands on his thighs to press into his skin.
“Yes, ma’am,” he laughed, patronizing and light-hearted. It made you want to break him of that habit. Of thinking you were just his sergeant. Just the girl who brought him coffee. Just his gym buddy.
He still hadn’t complied, chuckling to himself. Out of no where, you straight up fucking slapped him. Hard. Right across the jaw. Grabbing him by the collar,
“Sit on your fucking hands, soldier. That’s an order,” you barked.
He sat on his hands, staring at you like you had doused yourself in gasoline and caught yourself on fire, in awe.
You pushed his chair back until you had room to move in front of him, and you began peeling off your clothes, one by one. Your shirt, your cargos, your bra, your panties; they all ended up on the floor, leaving you naked and touching yourself lazily, letting your hands wander.
He moved to lift his hands off his seat, wanting to touch, so you backed away from him. It was a warning: move and this ends. Follow my orders, and I’ll stay. He settled back down.
“You know, I should punish you for slapping me, Sergeant. That’s insubordination,” he chided, trying to regain control of the situation.
You took your panties off the ground and found the wet stain he’d caused, showing it to him coyly, like you’d picked up a pretty shell from the beach. It gleamed in the light of his desk lamp. Then, you walked over to him, swaying your hips, and bent down as if to kiss him.
As he opened his mouth to kiss you back, you pushed your panties into it, past his teeth, clutching at his jaw with the other hand as roughly as you could, knowing you couldn’t hurt him. You shushed his surprised noises, putting a finger to his lip,
“Shh, Captain. That’s enough. You’re not in charge anymore, are you?”
He furrowed his brow as if he would fight back, as if he would remove his hands and teach you a lesson. Then, as he tasted you on his tongue, he realized that you were offering prizes for obedience. He would reap the rewards, if he was willing to play along. His face softened, and he shook his head no.
“Good boy,” you whispered.
You kissed his mouth, awkwardly, since it was full of your wet panties, there was little he could do except experience your kisses. He reacted as if he wanted to kiss you back, and as you moved to kiss his jawline, he moaned.
Price’s moans were rumbling and deep, long and low like a bull elephant’s roar. You wanted to drag that noise out of him again. Your hand found his belt buckle, and you rugged at it, willing it to loosen. As you kissed his neck, you drug down his zipper and freed his cock from the fabric.
The captain was not soft. If anything, he was harder than he should’ve been for a little teasing and some neck kisses. You decided to use that to his disadvantage,
“My, my, my. Someone’s eager…”
You tugged up and down with length in a long, languid massage, feeling how his foreskin slipped over the head and down the shaft, smooth and supple. He was hairy around the root of his cock, just as you’d hoped, and after seeing the video of him covered in paint, you wished you could strip him down and run your fingernails through his chest hair, delicately scratching his skin and peaked nipples.
For now, you spit on his cockhead, using it as lube as you rubbed him. He threw his head back in ecstasy. You removed your hand. He snapped back to attention, staring at you a bit desperate for relief.
You giggled,
“Is this for me, or for her?”
Pointing over your shoulder, you motioned to the paused video. You took your hand away, feigning hurt feelings.
His body arched toward you, missing your touch, and he shook his head, trying to say something.
“For her? How disappointing,” you pouted, playing with the head of his cock with one finger, drawing circles around the edge.
Price was saying something muffled through the fabric of your panties, shaking his head, scooting his chair closer with a quick thrust of his hips, making his cock flag from the jolting movement.
“You know,” you whispered, drawing him in with your quiet tone, “if this was for me, I’d really be looking forward to feeling it inside of me.”
“Mmm. Mm, mm!” He tried to correct you, his shoulders straining as he pulled them forward, struggling against his self-imposed restraint.
“Oh?” You caressed his face, rubbing your hand through his soft beard, feeling the stubble on his chin, “It is for me after all?”
“Mm hm,” he nodded, leaning his cheek into your palm, eyes hooded with relief.
You could tell he was enjoying the game. You were enjoying it, too. You could feel how wet you were, watching him gaze at your shining folds hungry. Impatient.
“In that case…” you straddled him, planting your knees on either side of his hips, trapping his cock between you both. His body felt warm, and his breathing was labored.
You rubbed your wetness up and down his shaft, spreading yourself along his length, making wet little sounds as you smeared him until he was slippery.
Carefully, you moved his head into your eager pussy, your walls pounding for him like a heartbeat. Then, you held his throat with your hand, forcing him to look at you.
“You don’t get to come until I tell you to. Do you understand, soldier?”
“Mm, hm,” he nodded, rolling in the ecstasy of your tight cunt.
“Good, boy.”
#captain john price#captain price#john price#call of duty fanfic#cod mw2#cod mwii#captain price x reader#captain price x you#cod
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misty (18+)
a cowboy!steve fic for @moodringeyes - thank you for always supporting me, finch!! 🫶🏻
summary: you haven’t seen your cowboy in days and it’s time for some good tender lovin’ 🫶🏻
contains: cowboy!steve x reader; reader with a vagina and breasts; historic!au; sappy gooey gushy sex; comfort; piv; first time ‘i love you’s; soft dom!steve
authors note: this fic follows along with the lonesome crowded west series (aka, the canon where reader owns a tavern). we are rly fast forwarding here in their relationship but u deserve to be told by a soft cowboy that he loves u <3 thank u again finch for supporting me and cowboy!steve!!!!
You hear his boots clicking against the hardwood. Must have used the spare he found when he first started tomenting you to get in. You’d been ignoring him the last few days, and not exactly for any good reason. You’ve just been exhausted. It’s been so hard juggling everything. And when things are hard, it’s hard for you to take care of yourself.
It’s hard to believe that part of taking care of yourself was seeing your cowboy.
But you’d been remiss, not answering the notes he’d left slipped under your door. The ones where he told you he missed you, that he wanted to see you, that he was worried. You cringe as he approaches, expecting a scolding or perhaps a bit of teasing.
“What’s goin’ on with you?”
He says it so soft. It still startles you. Steve can be such a sweetheart when he wants but it still finds a way to surprise you. Especially when he’s caked in dirt, hands calloused, sometimes bruised and a little bloody.
You sniffle, the rag you’d been using to dry dishes moving towards your cheek. “Nothin’.”
“You scared me. Thought somethin’ bad happened to ya.”
You shake your head, tears re-wetting the glass below.
“Can ya look at me, darlin’?”
You try to level your breathing but it’s really no use. Your cheeks are already ruddy and tear stained. You turn, a look of defeat tugging at your features, your arms folding up over your chest defensively.
You really missed him. Your heart hurts when you see him for the first time in days with his lips downturned and eyes soft. “C’mere,” he beckons, and you don’t hesitate, striding towards him and throwing yourself into his big, strong arms. He smells sweet like hay and soap, must have cleaned up before coming to see you. You melt into him and exhale shakily while he moves a hand up to stroke your hair.
“What’s goin’ on?” he asks. Kisses the top of your forehead, making you warm. “What is it, huh? Someone givin’ you a hard time?”
You shake your head, gritting your teeth to hold back a sob. After a moment, you whisper, “I’m just so tired.”
“I know,” he coos. Rakes his fingers through your hair. “I know, peach.”
“I missed you.”
He laughs softly. “D’you mean it?”
You look up at him, vision blurry from your tears. “Steve,” you nearly wail, almost insulted at the implication that you didn’t. “I thought about you every goddamn day!”
“I know, I know,” he shushes, wiping your tears away with a calloused thumb. “Settle down, darlin’. Know you’re always missin’ me, how can ya not, huh?”
You frown up at him. “I really did.”
Steve sighs, nodding, looking into your eyes for a long, drawn-out moment. “I love you,” he says. It’s the second time he’s ever said it.
“I love you,” you whisper. It’s the first time you’ve ever said it back.
You watch his face flush, his eyes gleaming, a laugh slipping past his lips. He cups your face in his big, warm hands and presses his lips to yours. He’s soft and tender and you melt into him, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him closer to you.
“Wanna go home,” you murmur against his lips.
“Trigger’s outside,” he mumbles back. “Let me take ya.”
You melt into him, arms wrapped around his waist on the back of his horse. The nights get cold here, but Steve’s still warm. If it weren’t for the promise of more of him, you’d fall asleep and let him carry you inside. But you’d like to stay up, like to be near him, like to see how much he missed you. Because you know he’ll show you. He always does.
You scoff when he takes you back to his, the little dilapidated, run down shack on the edge of his boss’s property.
“Don’t mean to kidnap ya,” he says. “Just wanna have you to myself a little longer, take care of ya.”
You nod. “‘m not opposed.”
Steve snakes a hand downwards to lay atop of yours, resting on his stomach. “I’d opine you missed bein’ takin’ care of, huh?”
“More than you’d know.”
“That’s the thing,” he says, voice rich and tender. “I missed takin’ care of you, too.”
His bed isn’t ever exactly comfortable, but as you lay on it tonight, you relax into it. Waiting patiently for Steve to tie Trigger up before making his way back inside. He lights a lamp, the dim glow golden and safe.
“Did you undress?” he asks, tugging at the buttons of his shirt.
You pull back his quilt to answer him. He stares for a long moment, gobsmacked, hungry for you. Then he’s quick to rip off his own clothes and climb on top of you, his weight pushing you further into his hay-filled mattress.
“I missed you so much,” he almost whines.
You take him in - his chestnut eyes, slowly darkening; the freckles littering his neck and shoulders, going down where you can’t see anymore; his long brunette hair highlighted by days in the sun, tousled from his work; his broad nose; his soft pink lips. To think you’d ever have hated him, to have been anything other than his - wonderfully, irrevocably his - well, it’s hard to consider.
“I missed you more,” you breathe. “Show me.”
His lips are back on yours. Just as soft and tender as ever. He props himself up with his elbow and lets the other hand run up your side gently. You sigh, eyes fluttering shut, as much as you’d like to drink him in.
“Can ya say it for me again?”
“I missed you.”
“No,” he corrects, nipping at your bottom lip. “Wanna hear you say you love me.”
You blink up at him, eyes readjusting to the dim light. He’s so handsome, pleading at you with his pretty eyes.
“I love you.”
“And - do you mean that?”
You nod slowly. “I do.” Your voice softens. “Do you?”
“Always have,” he says.
You stare at each other for a moment longer before making the mutual, unspoken decision to discuss this later. Steve ducks his head down to press kisses against your jawline, sucking at the sweet spots on your neck. Your body reacts immediately, growing needy, wrapping your legs around his waist.
“Wanna take my time with you,” he murmurs, his tongue flicking out against your skin. “Ain’t got much of a lesson for ya tonight.”
Your stomach flips, fingers finding purchase on his broad shoulders. You roll your head back into his pillows to give him better access to your throat.
“You’ve been so good, ain’t ya? Pretty babe, takin’ care of things all by yourself.”
You nod, involuntarily pouting.
Steve’s teeth press into your neck for a moment, making you gasp, before he lets up. “It’s so hard bein’ good, ain’t it? So much easier to be bad.”
Tears prick at your eyes. “I don’t want to be bad anymore.”
He laughs a little, shaking his head while he moves down your body. “Know you’ll have an attitude change tomorrow, peach, but I’ll enjoy you bein’ sweet while I can.”
He kisses down the swell of your breast slowly, making you wait for him with baited breath.
“So goddamn beautiful,” he says, breath fanning against your nipple, making it hard. “Thought about you every day out in the field, ‘bout your sharp mouth and pretty tits and smart brain.”
He kisses your nipple, watches through his lashes when your mouth drops open.
“Missed me, did ya? Can’t do this to yourself, huh, angel? Need me t’come make it all better.”
Steve finally wraps his lips around it and you sigh, squirming already. “Please,” you whimper, hips arching off the sheets when he bites down a little.
“What do you need?”
“You,” you whimper. “Inside, wanna feel close.”
He sighs, pulling back. “Y’know, I really wanted to spend some time with these….”
“You still can - just - both, at once, please?”
“Really must’ve missed me,” he says, smiling, taking your thighs in his warm grip and pushing your legs up. “Bein’ so nice all of a sudden.”
Steve gets you in a mating press, thighs resting on your chest - it appears he really couldn’t spend some time with them if this is how he wanted you. He takes his cock and glides it up your slick folds, moaning all the while. “Oh, sweetheart, I missed this pussy….”
He doesn’t enter you - just fucks himself against your folds, the tip of his dick catching against your clit. You’re panting under him, holding your legs to your chest, feeling every single inch of him slide against you.
“Wish you could see this,” he groans, voice deep, grumbly. “We look so good together.”
You nod. I know, I know, I know.
He pulls his eyes away from where you’re meeting to look at you, eyes dark. “You’re mine, ain’t ya?”
You keep nodding. “I’m yours.”
“Good,” he moans, finally pressing himself against your entrance. “Always gonna be, yeah?”
He presses into you and you moan loudly. Can’t help yourself. It feels so good, being stretched open on him, his heat filling you up. He takes your legs from you and slides them over his shoulders, pushing you into his bed in the process. It’s claustrophobic, but so good, so close to him, full of him. You stare up at him with a gaping jaw and he laughs breathlessly, brows furrowed in pleasure.
“Feel so fuckin’ good,” he grits out. “Hard workin’ pussy just grippin’ me, shit.”
You laugh at his words, but stop abruptly when his hips snap back, and then in. He knocks the breath out of you, makes you dizzy, his cock filling up all of the space you have to offer.
“Jesus,” you breathe, “Christ.”
“This is the quietest you’ve ever been on my cock,” he drawls. “Come on, let go for me.”
A rough thumb comes down to play with your clit while he thrusts deep and slow inside of you. You’re writhing, gasping, squeezing his shoulders with your ankles. You’re properly bent in half, letting Steve hit every angle you’ve needed him to find. You finally wail, eyes squeezing shut, hands gripping at the sheets beside you.
“Uh-huh,” Steve pants. He’s not going very fast but holding back is such a chore. He equally wants to fuck you stupid and take his time with you. “There y’go, let’s hear it.”
“Steve!”
“So beautiful,” he rambles. “So goddamn pretty and smart and workin’ so fuckin’ hard. Gonna make sure y-you never work a day in your - shit, in your life. Ever. Again.”
He punctuates it with harsh thrusts that make your body jolt. “I love you,” you cry, tears of pleasure rimming your lash line.
“Love you. Love you so much, I mean it.”
He leans down to kiss you, thumb still working hard at your clit, the head of his thick cock pressing against your sweet spot. You can hardly kiss back, crying out from how good it feels, your teeth clashing against his. “Oh m-my God, shit!”
You’re so close to release, feeling the band in your stomach growing tight, threatening to snap and leave you stupid. Your eyes cross involuntarily while Steve keeps whispering sweet nothings to you, coaxing you to let go. “I've got you,” he mumbles, “let me feel that pretty pussy clench on my cock while you cum.”
You’re practically screaming when it finally happens, despite Steve trying to shush you with his mouth. It feels so good, he feels so good. You feel so safe and complete with him on top of you, warmth washing over your body from your head to your toes. And Steve’s not very far behind, either, groaning your name and pushing himself in to the hilt before spilling inside of you.
You both pant, breathing in each other’s air before Steve finally pulls back. He kisses your shaking legs, massaging them as he lets them off of his shoulders to rest. He smiles at you when you open your eyes, still a little fucked out, euphoric.
“You feelin’ okay?” he asks, reaching up to swipe a pleasured tear from your cheek.
You nod, relaxed, in love.
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day 24. car sex. with. ningning.
1286 words.
tags.
kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, car sex, Z O O M I N, deepthroating, semi-public sex, a bit of classic existential dread.
notes.
it is so fucking late i gotta go. speedily, leaf.
It’s at times like these that you want to treasure the most precious resource you have. The sun just sank down the horizon of Alpha-Earth, giving the sky this vibrant, electric aura, from the golden and pastel blue West to the indigo East. Hundreds of headlights leave long trails of yellowish white and rusty red all along the highway, almost as if the lines were already there, and the cars just following their predetermined paths. Your right foot pushes down, getting closer and closer to the asphalt. They can call you old-fashioned, but you love the growl of the rear combustion engine, the sound of rubber on tarmac. Time. They say it gets slower as you approach light speed, you’re far from it, but it’s almost like the clock’s hands move slower as the speedometer needle reaches new peaks. Nothing feels as close to God as this. The car takes a life of its own, and you wish you could simply close your eyes and, feel. The thrill you get when you’re on top of a tall building, and part of you wants to take a step. Those are also just passing moments, you think as you lift and return to cruise speed.
Ningning is beside you like she, sometimes is. Her hand falls on your pants-clad dick and starts rubbing like it does almost every single one of those times; the other times you’re already naked. Not the first time this happens in the car, even at high speed, so you simply turn auto-pilot on (they forced everyone to install it even on cars built before 2035) and let your head fall back in pleasure as she reaches inside your underwear to caress your bare length. Your right hand naturally goes to her almost naked back, needing to feel her skin under your finger pads.
She doesn’t dress to impress; sometimes she doesn’t dress at all. And the navy skintight rags she’s wearing today, well, those almost qualify as the latter. You’re in your usual attire, combat boots, cargo pants, the ones that tighten at the ankle, a close-fitting long sleeve shirt and a windbreaker. She needs your help to lower your pants and underwear, then goes back to stroking your cock, spitting on it for lubrication and reaching down to fondle your scrotum from time to time, causing you to moan up towards the roof of the car.
“Mmmh- Ning?”
“Huh?”
“Mind speeding the process up a little?”
Ningning likes to take her time, you learned that long ago. To make you look at her as she pulls the little lever on the side of your seat to move it backwards, positions herself between your legs, and stamps one long wet kiss on your tip. Or to observe people strolling at the night market, mothers buying their sons balloons, couples eating tanghulu (“You can tell if they’re good kissers just by looking at that” “Want to try with me?” “There’s a more hands-on way”; that was your first shared kiss, and it was more than just hands, on one another’s bodies after that). Right now her blue-tinted eyes are on yours, as her mouth surrounds more and more of your cock and she starts to feel her eyes watering and her lungs lacking air. She resists for almost fifty seconds this time - a good one, though not in her top five - drawing more than a groan from you before she has to back out and seek for oxygen.
“Are you okay?” She nods quickly, her hands cleaning up some of the drool that has accumulated on the sides of her mouth. “I need you right now, Ning.”
Ningning smiles and snorts lightly like she has you in the palm of her hand, and at the same time she has to concede this one to you. You stare at her open-mouthed as she somehow rids herself of her clothes, revealing her supple breasts and thick outer lips to you, and only thanks to your tinted windows not to any car around yours. She straddles your lap and wraps her arms around your neck to kiss you deeply while you grab onto one of her plump thighs with one hand and align your shaft with her already wet slit with the other. Her eyes are finally closed as she focuses on the feeling of your tip swiping up and down her vulva, brushing on her clit at every passage.
She’d been looking outside for almost all the trip, scrutinizing every detail of the gray and neon skyline of Nu-Seoul. Ningning has always had her own, unique wide-angle lens on the world. She has a little plant shelf right below her window in her apartment. It’s in one of those old, gray, samey buildings they were plopping one next to the other back when a growing world population wasn’t just a myth; the place is small and the plaster falling apart. One day she was sitting in front of the window, staring at the new little blossoms on the orchid, or at the bland, shiny neons on the skyscraper behind it, you couldn't really tell.
“Do you ever feel like the world is moving too fast for you?” She asked, sounding dispirited.
“I try to stay on pace”
“I feel… impotent. Like there’s nothing I can do, to change it”
“Do you think it’s on you to change it?”
“I think it’s on me to try.” She turns her gaze towards you, you let out a little sigh.
“When it’s just the two of us,” You sit beside her and wrap your arm around her back. “We can make what we want of our time. Make it speed up, slow down… It’s just ours. No one will ever take that away from us”
What you’re making of it now is pumping your dick in and out of her pussy while gripping onto her full asscheeks while she whimpers in your mouth at the sensation of her hole being stretched. She loves that feeling like she loves the feeling of wet grass on her feet when it’s raining, though meadows are but a distant memory in a city eaten by cement and desolation. Her soft, tight walls squeezing you in a humid embrace. You were wrong; this is what makes you feel like you’re touching the Infinite, reaching Eternity. Ningning moaning in bliss on your lips, on the crook of your neck, on the headrest of the driver’s seat. Her hands not finding rest, switching between your pecs, your jaw, your hips, and her own heat, digits circling at frenzied pace on her clit. You speed your thrusts up, time slows down. It’s a race ending in a photo finish; you can see the end, it’s close for both parties, but you never seem to reach it. Take a look at her pleasured state, savor the moment. Savor her tits as well, feast on them, then slap her ass once, twice. She wasn’t expecting it, her instinctive reaction is to drag her pelvis forwards towards you, giving you a different angle to attack. Exploit that to hit every crevice, every little patch you weren’t able to before, and as she contracts around you in one long, then multiple short and rhythmic flexes of her lower abdomen, each accompanied by a scream that fills the entire cockpit, you have your own release. Spill cups and cups of milky substance into her womb, every spurt coinciding with an upwards thrust and a small bite on her shoulder, as you continuously groan in complete bliss. Then it’s silence, a second, or an eternity, it doesn’t matter anymore, before she talks again.
“Back seat for round two? I want it from behind”
-
footnotes.
now i can’t unsee the asthma periods. you cursed me @erospandemos. gaspingly, leaf.
#kinktober#kinktober 2023#girl group smut#idol smut#female idol smut#kpop fanfic#kpop smut#idol x reader#idol x male reader#aespa#ningning#aespa ningning#aespa smut#ningning smut#aespa ningning smut
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you need a hand with that, baby?
— pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader
— type: ficlet
— summary: hurt from billy's constant hot & cold behavior toward you, you begin to pull away from him. refusing to lose you, he offers to open up to you, but only on his terms. he then wakes in the middle of the night to an unexpected sight beside him.
— tags: billy actually opening up and discussing his past and feelings toward you, at least a bit. angst.
— tw: drinking, childhood trauma, masturbation, fingering, handjob
— word count: 7,132
— a/n: oh yeah, it's all coming together. pun maybe intended.
find my other posts concerning billy here
When you enter the motel room—your hands full of a selection of things the motel was serving for breakfast—it’s to Billy falling over himself, trying to quickly pull on a pair of jeans, quietly cursing to himself.
And then he barely glances up to you as he finally yanks the zipper up. “There you are. Where the hell have you been?” He looks at you. “Do you have any idea how wor-”
A smile slowly forms on his lips, cutting short the lecture he was about to bestow upon you about never leaving his eyesight ever again unless you wanted to see him pissed...also again.
He settles his hands on his hips—still shirtless—giving you a long look-over before stepping closer and reaching up, twirling a teased curl around his finger.
“Thought you stopped doing your hair like this weeks ago, doll?”
You shrug, setting the food down on the table, sitting. “I just wanted to try it out again.”
He sits, not bothering with a shirt for the moment being, and watches as you take a bite of a pastry, your eyes flitting to his chest for only a moment, before looking down to the buffet of food before you, cheeks warming.
He leans back, biting into an apple. “Really going to sit there and pretend like it has nothing to do with trying to impress me, honey?”
You glance up to him with furrowed brows, pouring a small bottle of milk into a paper bowl full of cereal. “Why would I want to do that?”
Each day he’s spent with you has made him more bold in his advances, even minimally, and today is no different. He finally just throws it out there. “I see the way you look at me. Especially when I’m like this. Half-dressed, or less. Or working on the Camaro. If you want to keep playing hard-to-get, sweetheart, we still have plenty days of driving before us, so we can play that game. Just know you won’t win.” He leans toward you, eyes boring into your own. “I will get what I’ve been waiting patiently for weeks for.”
You stop chewing, suddenly swallowing. You don’t want to admit you’d spent the better part of an hour teasing your hair and using so much Aquanet you’d nearly finished off the entire can until it was perfect just to see his reaction. But he could see right through you.
You were tiring of this game to an extent—you pretending like you felt nothing toward him than annoyance, and him making sexual advances toward you every day.
It all amounted to nothing.
Maybe sometimes it did feel a bit exciting to be desired by another, but it wasn’t about you with him. It was about what you were: a collection of body parts for him to play with. He’d all but thrown as much in your face two nights ago. What was it he had said about you being just another pair of lips?
You suddenly regret doing your hair.
Maybe you have been leading him on a bit lately. You hadn’t intended to. You’d done your utmost to ignore him in Hawkins—he was the one who refused to leave you alone. And being on the road together…it’d simply been about getting from point a to point b. Now…you tell yourself that’s still all it is. Both of you leaving behind nightmares to find new dreams out West.
Once you reach California, you’ll both go separate ways and never see one another ever again. Because that’s what people do: they leave.
You look back down to your food, stirring your now-soggy cereal, mood dampened. And Billy notices your sudden shift in mood, wondering what the fuck just happened.
You stand, throwing your food away. “I’m not hungry anymore,” you state, picking up your chair and going to sit by the window.
He rolls his eyes. Women and their damn mood swings. “You on your rag or somethin’?”
Your head jerks back toward him. “What?”
“You’re sure as hell acting like it.”
You don’t bother arguing as you turn back to the window. “No.”
He takes a few more bites of his apple, watching you. He chooses to change the subject. “So, what’re we drinking tonight?”
You’d forgotten about that… You look back to him. “Can you even buy alcohol?”
He smirks. “I have a fake, honey.”
You raise a brow, not entirely surprised. “You do?”
He pulls his wallet from his back pocket, slipping the card out and tossing it to you.
You pick it up off the floor and look it over. ‘Billy Squier’, really? You look at him and he has a smirk on his face.
“What, don’t tell me you don’t get the name?”
You walk it back over to him, extending the plastic card toward him. “You must’ve thought it was terribly clever, since you both share the same first name.”
He considers you for a moment, grabbing the card, tossing it onto the table, then yanking on your hand, pulling you into his lap.
You immediately try to stand up, but his arm wraps around your waist, holding you against him.
“Let go!”
He holds a piece of bacon up to your face. “Not until you’ve eaten something.”
You snub your nose at the offered food, so he just holds it closer. “I have no problem hand-feeding you, princess.”
You sigh dramatically and he uses that opportunity to shove the food into your mouth.
Once you’ve finished chewing do you try getting up again.
“You can get up just as soon as you tell me what the fuck that was a minute ago.”
You roll your eyes. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do,” he says casually, taking a bite of the pastry you hadn’t finished.
Feeling your temper growing shorter, you let him have it as you turn the least bit more back toward him so you can look at him. “Stop pretending like you give a damn about me. We both know what this is. That as soon as we get to California, we’re both going our separate ways. Nothing you do is going to change the fact that I refuse to fuck you before then.”
His jaw feathers. He knows you’re not trying to make him angry. You’re just hurt yourself from his vulgar behavior—his being hot and cold toward you. He decides he does not like the taste of his own medicine. You’d tried to connect with him more than once now, had tried to get him to open up like you had with him, but he’d shut it down at every turn.
You were clearly beginning to grow tired of it. He doesn’t entirely blame you. When was the last time you’d had someone show the least bit of concern for you? Even his step-mom, at times, had tried to show him some kindness.
He reaches up and gently tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “I’m nothing if not a man of my word, baby. I told you that you were stuck with me. I meant that. So I’ll wait for however long you want to keep holding out for. You take that to mean whatever you want it to.”
Your brows furrow and your hands come to rest atop his arm. “I… You…” You have no idea what you even want to say.
He holds another pastry up to you. “Muffin?”
Once breakfast was through—Billy refusing to let you off of his lap for the next hour; he’d taken his time eating and hadn’t tried to fight against the erection your constant squirming had caused, even if you’d ceased the moment you’d felt it—the two of you had gotten into his car and driven around town aimlessly, just sight-seeing, even if there wasn’t much to see here in the first place.
Some small Oklahoma town had to be one of the worst places to be stranded. He’d mused to himself that there was a reason it was known as a fly-over state.
You’d stayed mostly silent, even as he’d obnoxiously blared his rock music, trying to get your attention.
He could feel your interest—attentions—toward him beginning to wane, and it was an unsettling feeling. So, he’d, at every red light and stop and yield sign, reached over and touched you. You thought it’d been just to get under your skin. For him, it was just a reminder that you were still there beside him.
Once lunch time hit, he’d pulled into a family-owned diner, and even bothered holding your hand as the two of you went inside. You’d tried to tug away, but he’d held firm, twining his fingers between yours.
Once the two of you were eating—you refusing to even look in his direction, but instead watching the view outside the window at your side—he’d tapped your foot under the table and you’d rolled your eyes, pulling your leg back toward you.
He’d sighed then. “Your hair looks nice, since I never told you. I was right: it makes you look hot.”
“Thanks.”
He’d frowned. “Fine. Since it’s clearly what you’re after—five questions. That’s all you get. So, ask whatever you want and I’ll answer.”
You’d looked to him in surprise. Shocked he was offering such a thing. You were sure he’d never bother to open up. Or, if he did, it would be only when he was ready and deigned to divulge bits and pieces of himself and his life to you here and there. But putting you in control of what he was to share? You weren’t sure what to make of that.
You sit back, idly stabbing at your garden salad. You look up to him then, expression serious. “Why did you pick on me so much back in Hawkins?”
He raises a brow, forearms resting atop the table. “Why do you think?” He gestures as if the answer should be obvious.
You look back down and shift, and you suddenly seem uncomfortable to him.
“I… I thought that… Maybe…” You look out the window and a pained look seeps into your eyes. He reaches over, having no idea why the fuck he’s doing it, and takes one of your hands in his.
You look at him again. You let out a shaky breath, your hand trembling slightly in his firm grip. “Maybe something was wrong with me. I mean…my dad and the way he treated me. And then you show up and…” You swallow thickly.
That’s what you’d thought the last two months? That he’d been giving getting on your last nerve his every effort because what? You just attracted that kind of treatment—cruelty? Especially from men?
You’re now staring intently down at the table, lost in thought, like you’re somewhere else.
“Angel, look at me.”
You do, hesitantly. “You think I acted that way because I didn’t like you?”
You nod, hand shaking harder.
He leans in toward you. “It’s the very opposite. You should know that by now, honey.”
You blink at him. “You don’t actually like me, though.”
He raises a brow again. “Reading my thoughts now?”
“It’s…” You stop yourself short, pulling your hand back, settling it in your lap. You didn’t want to say this. Didn’t want to let on that you, at the very least, thought you felt something more toward him. Not when you knew how he thought of you. You never meant more toward anyone—they just did for you. Because you were always stupid enough to get attached.
“Go on.”
You clasp your shaking hands together. Opening up…you’d never been able to do that before. Had wanted to. With someone—anyone. But even just crying in front of your dad… That was an excellent way to get hit.
Your heart-rate quickens. You can’t do this. He’ll get angry, too. Just like the other night when he put his fist through a wall.
No man was a safe place for you.
“I don’t remember now.”
He stands then, sitting beside you, pressing his body against yours, arm behind you. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he says lowly, cupping your cheek in his other hand.
You shake your head, your body trembling in fear.
He leans down toward you. “Please.”
You look at him, blinking back tears and his heart fucking breaks.
“What if you get mad at me?” You ask, voice breaking on the last word.
“I won’t.”
You open your mouth to speak, until the waitress interrupts the both of you with the check.
Billy lets out a low swear, snatching it from her.
When he looks back to you, the moment is gone. You having withdrawn further away from him.
It seems he’s not the only one with difficulties sharing parts of himself.
He presses a soft kiss to your cheek and you whimper. He pulls back, and you still don’t look at him.
After lunch, Billy pulls into a gas station. Getting you drunk probably isn’t the best idea right now, but it’s the only way he’s going to get you to talk—get himself to, even.
So he heads inside, purchases a bottle of Crown Royal, and then comes back out, handing it to you.
You look it over for a moment, then look at him. “This is a stupid idea.”
He shrugs. “We made a deal, sweetheart. Don’t tell me you’re backing out now.”
You look back down at the bottle. “I only do stupid stuff when I’m with you.”
He smirks. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Once the two of you are locked in your motel room, you sit on the bed—him leaned back against the headboard, and you at the foot of it facing him.
“So…what do we do now?” You ask nervously.
“Could always play a drinking game. Or just start chugging until one of us is shit-faced. Or…” He grows quiet for a moment, then unscrews the lid, taking a long swig. “There’s a reason they call this shit liquid courage. Drink enough and you don’t feel afraid anymore. You want to talk, then we’ll talk. But I need to get my blood-alcohol level up first,” he says, taking another long drink.
He holds the bottle out toward you and you take it from him gingerly, taking a small sip. Your face screws and he laughs.
“That’s disgusting.”
He shrugs. “It’s one of my favorites. But when it comes to booze, you don’t always drink it for the taste.”
You take another sip and it still tastes just as bad as the first time. You then feel heat pool between your legs and you flush. You look up to him and see he’s just waiting on you to make your next move. You briefly wonder if this is what alcohol does for everyone—cause this kind of reaction. And if so, if he’d really meant the ‘taking advantage of you’ comment from last night.
You take another drink, then hand it back to him.
“So, you want to continue what you were saying at the diner?” He asks, taking a sip.
You’d had so many thoughts racing through your mind afterward that you honestly couldn’t remember now.
You’d asked him about his treatment toward you. He’d insinuated that he’d done it because he liked you and…you were going to imply you felt something for him, but were worried he saw you as just a sex toy.
You have half-a-mind to feign ignorance; that you’d forgotten, but you reach for the bottle again and take a long drink, swallowing multiple times, head beginning to feel light when you lower it down to your lap.
You smile to yourself and Billy only feels mild surprise that the liquor is working so quickly on you. With him having a good bit more body weight—not to mention tolerance—it would take him a few more drinks yet.
You look up to him, caressing the glass bottle. “I think you were right.”
He raises a brow, making a beckoning motion with his finger for the bottle and you hand it to him. “Oh, yeah? What about?”
“Me being attracted to you.” Your words already sound a bit slurred.
He’s not taken aback in the slightest by your admittance. He was aware of your physical attraction awhile ago. Knew you were too, even if you didn’t want to admit it—or, rather, wanted to try and bury it.
He drinks. “Read you like a book weeks ago on that, honey.”
You balk. “Weeks?” You’d not liked him back in Hawkins. Not in the least. Not his leather jacket or stupid car or dumb smirk. Not his deep voice or pretty eyes or swagger.
“Mhm.”
“Don’t humor yourself.”
He drinks again. "No?"
You stare at him for a moment and he smirks, thinking. He has an idea, but chooses to hold off for the moment being. He won't make this just another opportunity for him to try at getting in your pants. He's done enough damage to whatever was tentatively starting to grow between the two of you. He fears he's nearly killed it altogether.
This is him trying to dial it back.
You don't respond, instead reaching out for the bottle and he gives it to you. You drink, and then giggle lightly, and his lip twitches at the sound.
"So, the hell happened this morning when you started acting like a sour-puss all of a sudden?"
You look down at the bottle, tracing your finger along the comforter beneath you. You suddenly realize he's right about the whole liquid courage thing when you look up at him and suddenly don't feel so afraid anymore. "You make me feel safe sometimes. You've...done a lot for me. Even if you almost put a hole in my head..."
His jaw feathers. "I wouldn't have done it. Should've never raised a hand to you in the first place." He's quiet for a few seconds, then, "So I make you feel safe, huh?"
That was a first for him. The only person he ever had any responsibility in looking out for previously was Max, and he knew he scared the shit out of her. Not that he didn't do so on purpose at least half the time. They couldn't stand each other. He never pretended otherwise.
You pull the bottle into your lap and he licks his lips as you make a fist around the neck of it. "Mm, yeah."
"How's that?" He asks, unbuttoning his shirt halfway.
Your cheeks grow warm and you lower the bottle between your legs where a pulse is beginning to form. "I don't know. It's just the whole package, I guess."
Unable to help himself, he smirks before giving his reply. "You like my package, sweetheart?"
You groan, rolling your eyes, flopping back on the mattress, feet still planted atop it, knees bent.
He glances between your spread legs, growing hard.
You stare up at the ceiling. You're not drunk yet. And so you choose to revert back to more serious topics while you're still able to think straight.
"You said at the diner I could ask you questions. I still had four to go."
His eyes trail over your pert breasts. "How about we make things a bit more interesting?"
You lull your head to the side, looking at him, his shirt now fully undone. "How?"
His lip twitches, eyes growing dark. "I answer, but once I have, you have to remove a piece of clothing."
You roll your eyes back to the ceiling, sighing dramatically.
He laughs.
"Only if I get to choose what item."
His eyes widen. "Wait, really? You'll do it?"
You shrug. "If it's the only way."
"What's your first question, doll?"
You consider what you want to know the most about him. What best to start with. "Tell me about your mom."
He considers whether seeing you undressed is really all that important to him now. "Take another drink."
Maybe if he can get you plastered, you won't remember any of this conversation come morning.
Not understanding why he wants you to, you sit up a bit, swallowing another sip, then lie back down.
He reaches forward, taking the bottle from you and taking multiple pulls before leaning his head back, closing his eyes. "She..." His brow twitches as he imagines her on that beach, watching him in the water, a loving look in her eyes. "She tried with him. But I guess, like you, there was only so much she could take." He's unsure whether he's referring to the situation with your dad, or the other night on the interstate. "He was always fighting with her—accusing her of cheating and shit, not that I'd blame her—hitting her, pushing her around. I guess one day she'd had enough and hit the road. Maybe she just forgot me. Or didn't want me anymore. Maybe she only saw him when she looked at me. Who the fuck knows? She got out, I didn't. Until now. End of story."
You look at him and see that he's now staring up at the ceiling, his eyes a bit bloodshot, nose red. You want to reach out and touch him—give him a comforting gesture, but fear it will only make him feel worse. So you instead extend one of your legs, lying it atop his own.
He looks at you then, smirking, and he slides one of his hands along your calf. "So, what piece is comin' off first?"
You wiggle your foot that's currently resting atop his thigh. He shakes his head. "Of course it's something boring."
He slips your sock off, tossing it on the floor, then pauses, looking at you and a wide smile breaks out on his face as he grabs your ankle in one hand and starts tickling your foot with his other.
You squirm, letting out panicked laughs. "S-stop. N-noooo, please, aha!"
He lets up after a minute, hand sliding along your smooth leg again, chuckling to himself. "Three left to go, sweetheart."
For your next question, you tread as lightly as you possibly can. You make your voice light, soft. "You hate your dad for what he's done to you and your mom. For what he is—who. I guess I understand why you're so angry all the time. But why act similarly? Picking on me at school by pulling my hair...and what happened the other night... Is it just because that's the only example you've ever had set of how a man acts?"
He stays quiet, thinking. He begins to massage your foot with both his thumbs. Then, "I haven't been this open—vulnerable—with someone since before my mom left." He glances up to you. "I was ten then."
He looks back down. "I'm a man now. Not some kid. And a man doesn't cry or broadcast his shit to the world. He gets angry and fights back."
"Is that really what you think? That's how your dad—mine—are. Do you think they're real men?"
He stares at you then, hands stilling.
You wonder if he'd ever thought about it like that before. You continue. "You know what they say: you catch more flies with honey than vinegar."
He smirks. "Oh, I intend to get myself some honey eventually."
"Do you ever take anything seriously?"
"Not if I can help it," he says, taking the bottle and drinking again. "That your way of asking me to be sweet on you, baby?"
You reach for the bottle again, taking a drink yourself, wiggling your other foot.
He pulls your sock off, tossing it next to the other one. He doesn't tickle you this time. "Two more."
You're both thankful and not that he'd only offered you five. Had he done more, you'd be naked before you were done. And you were sure at that point he'd cut the questioning short, neither of you able to concentrate then. But you have so many things to ask—him still a bit of an enigma to you, or, rather, how he works.
You want to ask about his past with surfing, want to know how many girls he's been with—but know that question is far too juvenile and will make your feelings too obvious. You want to ask about his fascination with cars, what his favorite subject in school was, what about rock music appeals to him so much, maybe even ask about his step-sister. Instead, you ask about yourself.
"Why me?"
He begins rubbing your other foot. "Why you what, beautiful?"
That was a new one. And 'princess' earlier.
"You said it yourself the other night: you could've had any girl you wanted at Hawkins. I mean, I saw the way they all looked at you. So why me?"
He shrugs. "Like you said earlier, I guess it's just 'the whole package'."
You shake your head. "Try again, James Dean."
He laughs then, resting his head back, fighting the smirk on his lips. The last thing he needs is you thinking you're funny and it going to your head.
He looks down at you, the expression on his face now soft. "I only had eyes for you since day one, baby. There was just somethin' about you, I guess. Honestly, I think it was the fact you never tried to get my attention." He smirks. "Every man likes a chase. And I'll be damned if you haven't given me one. A few times."
He thinks about chasing you down on the interstate the other night.
"What about Angie?"
He raises a brow. "Were you jealous?"
You don't respond, just continue looking at him.
He shrugs. "It was what it was. I just did it to piss you off. Try to, at least. But once I had her in the backseat and we got down to business, there was only one girl on my mind, and it sure as hell wasn't her."
You blame your sudden sense of dizziness on the alcohol. "Oh."
"That surprise you?"
"Yes." You reach for the bottle and he hands it to you, your fingers brushing against one another as you take a few gulps. Your head really starts to spin then.
He leans forward, running his hand up your thigh. "Time to take something else off, darlin'."
You hand him the bottle, and with nervous hands, reach down to the hem of your shirt and pull it off, balling it up and tossing it at him.
"Now we're talkin'," he says, throwing your shirt across the room.
You shrug. "You already saw me in a bathing suit."
He smirks. "Context, doll."
His eyes glance down to your shorts. "Last one."
You're silent, for a long while, Billy taking a few sips from the bottle.
And then you speak.
"When we get to California...what happens?"
"I've been thinking about getting back into surfing again. I used to be really good at it. But that was almost a decade ago now. Might take a bit of practice to get back to where I was on the board." He shrugs. "Maybe I start competing and do odd jobs on the side until I maybe make it into something full-time."
You stay quiet.
"But that's not really what you're asking, is it?" He says.
You look at him.
"You're asking what happens to us when we get there."
You look at the wall. "No, I wasn't."
He clicks his tongue. "Thought we were being honest tonight."
You don't say anything, nor do you look at him.
His lip twitches. "You could always be my own personal cheerleader."
You look at him. "Would you even want that?"
He shrugs. "Someone's gotta do it."
A small smile comes onto your lips. "What's my rate-of-pay?"
His brow raises. "How about I just pay you in sexual favors? Your uniform will be covered."
Your face heats, remembering that comment. Stupid girl.
"Yeah, I still haven't forgotten about that, by the way."
"You wouldn't, would you?"
"No way in hell." He states matter-of-factly.
He then leans over you and reaches down, unbuttoning your jean shorts, slowly easing down the zipper and when you feel your body's reaction to it—rather, the reaction it's been having to him for awhile now—you desperately don't want him to pull them down. But a deal is a deal. And you know he won't be letting you out of this one either.
He hooks his fingers under the waistband and begins tugging them down your hips, sliding them off of your legs and he keeps his eyes trained on yours as he tosses them to the side.
And then he looks down and your face feels like it's boiling when his eyes grow wide at the sight before him.
He looks up to you then, removing his eyes from your panties that're now soaked through and sticking to you.
And for the first time in all the while you've known him, he's speechless.
But you are as well. So you simply push your thighs together, drawing your feet toward you.
He then shakes his head, letting out a low curse. "I should've let you ask more questions."
Once the two of you have showered and are in bed for the night—you'd gotten delivery for the night, Billy refusing to let you put your clothes back on all the while as you ate, and you pretending not to see his erection the entire time—you lied down in bed.
In truth, Billy had gotten off in the shower after your little drinking game—unable to think of anything else but the lovely sight between your legs, all for and from him. He'd not been quiet when he came, either. And when he emerged naked, going to lay down, he'd noticed a wet spot on the seat you got up from as you silently went to bathe.
It'd taken some time for him to calm down enough to sleep. His mind and body both, wondering if he shouldn't have taken a cold shower instead.
You, however, lied awake next to him, your own body still on fire, head still swimming, replaying the sight of him removing your shorts over and over again. The look in his eyes, his fingers pulling down the zipper, the veins in his hands as he gently yanked them off of you, curls falling over his shoulders, the scent of his cologne. The sight of him coming naked out of the bathroom. The sound of him orgasming in the shower.
You feel dampness in your panties again and you glance to him, still fast asleep. You then make what may very-well be a stupid decision and slip your hand beneath the waistband of them and begin to circle your clit with your fingers and your body jerks in response. You honestly couldn't remember the last time you'd not only touched yourself, but felt turned-on in general.
Living in that house with him...it killed all sense of hope and happiness and normality for you.
You look to Billy, your eyes trailing down his bare muscled chest, to his waist—his privates the only part of him that's covered, and barely at that, with a top sheet—and you slide your fingers between your wet folds and bite your lip.
You glance to his face, his lips, and circle your clit again, closing your eyes.
You spread your legs the least bit wider, closing your eyes, softly panting as you cup one of your breasts in your free hand.
Billy had been just on the verge of sleep when he'd heard you whimper beside him. His first thought had been that you were having a nightmare—stomach dropping at the thought of it being about him, about the other night—and then freezes when he looks at you and sees you touching yourself.
Your hand is in your panties, your other touching your breast, your lips slightly parted as you quietly moan.
His erection quickly returns to him then and he slowly turns onto his side. "You need a hand with that, baby?"
Your ministrations cease immediately, your eyes shooting open and head jerking to the right, looking at him. You open your mouth to reply and at first nothing comes out. Then, "I-I'm sorry."
He raises a brow, moving closer to you, erection brushing against your thigh. "For what, darlin'?"
You stare up at him.
"So, do you? Maybe I should just call in that offer for a sexual favor now. What do you think?"
You feel like your brain is suddenly misfiring as you actually consider saying yes. It's the alcohol. You're not thinking clearly. Not as you usually would without it in your system. But the thought of him touching you like that... It ignited something in you just when he looked at you.
He props himself up on his left forearm, his right hand coming to rest atop your stomach, then slowly moving lower and lower, his eyes trained on yours all the while.
Once his hand is just above the waist of your panties, you slowly pull your own hand out, resting it beside you, your heart now pounding.
He takes that as permission and slips his own between your legs, looking down.
"Fuck," he swears, looking back to you. "Are you always this wet?"
You consider telling him 'only with you', knowing that would most certainly get you a reaction. "S-sometimes."
His fingers explore between your hot folds, erection coming to settle atop your right thigh. It's only then you realize just how lengthy he truly is.
You turn more onto your right side, facing him and he slowly slips one finger inside of you, groaning at the tight feel, the slick sensation of you.
He then slowly—very slowly—leans down, pressing his lips gently to your own. And you let him this time. You kiss him back. And his heart fucking jumps.
Something it's never done with a girl before. The last time it had? The first time he set eyes on you in the parking lot at school as you walked inside. He'd known right then and there it was over for him.
He eases another finger into you and circles your clit with his thumb and you gasp against his mouth, then wrap your left arm around his neck, pulling your body against his own, and you begin to kiss him more fervently.
He circles that sensitive bundle again and again and slips his tongue in your mouth and you whimper, your own coming to dance with his.
He arches his strong fingers upward and you pull away, sighing, your lips brushing against his own.
"That feel good, honey?"
You nod, crushing your lips back to his own.
He massages that ledge inside of you and your body shudders and he smirks, continuing to kiss you, barely believing this is finally happening. That he's getting to touch you like this and you're allowing him to—enjoying it.
The entire time he'd been at the drive-in with Angela, all he'd been able to think about was you and Harrington in his car doing what he was doing with her.
What if he was your first time? What if you fell for him? What if he made you his instead? What if he lost any chance with you for good while Steve became your whole fucking world?
And for the first time, while having sex, he'd nearly been unable to finish. So, he'd closed his eyes, flipping her over, imaging it was you. And he'd finished almost-instantly then. Had damn-near yelled your name as he filled his condom.
And when he came back to reality, his erection had softened quickly as he pulled out and away from her, wanting—wishing—for someone else instead.
You'd never know the relief he'd felt—utter fucking joy—when you'd let it slip that you were a virgin, that you didn't even like Harrington like that.
And then he'd felt secure in knowing he didn't have any competition. Not for the moment being. You could still be his.
He moves his lips to your neck and you ease your head back, whimpering at the feeling of him licking and kissing and gently biting your hot sensitive skin. He then trails wet kisses to your ear and speaks lowly into it—you clenching around him when he does.
"When you come, sweetheart, I want you to fucking scream my name. I want half this damn place to hear it." He crushes his lips back to your own, tongue flicking against yours and you spread your legs wider, his fingers diving deeper.
Just as his arm begins to grow tired, your body jerks, your pants becoming more frequent, harder.
"That's it, baby, come for me. C'mon, sweetheart, you're almost there."
You begin to rock your hips against his hand, whimpering at the feel, clit growing more and more sensitive.
"Mm, please." You look up to him, kissing him again. Then, "Ah, right there."
His fingers work rapidly, rubbing and plunging in and out of you, your body responding accordingly.
Both of you are sweating now, panting, hearts pounding. His excitement grows knowing he'll be the first man to give you an orgasm. That he's the first to have his hand between your legs. The first for, well, a lot of things. And even more to come, he hopes.
Your fingers tighten in his hair, your breaths coming in shallow gasps and he knows he has you right on the edge. "C'mon, baby. C'mon, fuckin' come for me. That's it."
And then, "Billy! Ah, mm." You practically scream his name as you finish, your walls clenching rapidly around him, his callused hand now soaked in you.
He chuckles excitedly. "That's my fuckin' girl," he says between satisfied laughs, fingers still plunging away between your legs, until your hand comes down to grip his wrist, his movements ceasing.
He slips his fingers out of you, resting his forearm atop his naked hip as he looks down at you and you up at him from under hooded lids, lips swollen, face flushed, hair messy, the look on your face that of satisfaction.
"Thank you," you say shyly.
He presses a long kiss to your lips, then brushes some hair behind your ear. "No, thank you."
And then you do something unexpected: you take his throbbing erection in your hand and stroke him once, then twice.
He looks down, then back up to you. "Yeah?" He asks, brow raised, wondering if maybe you're just curious about touching him there after feeling it pressed against you so many times.
And then you nod, stroking a few more times.
He then wraps his fist around yours. "A bit tighter, baby. Yeah, no, tighter. You're not going to hurt me, sweetie." Then, "Fuck, that's fuckin' perfect. Just like that, angel."
You press your lips back to his, kissing him more softly this time, until his left arm snakes under your neck, gripping the back of your head, tugging at your hair and he devours your lips with his own. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you to him again, then slides down your thigh, lifting it onto his waist while you continue stroking away.
He squeezes your ass-cheek, then gives it a light slap, slipping his hand under your panties, keeping his hand there, squeezing and massaging as you continue to get him off.
Your strokes are a bit sloppy, and unsure, but he ignores that, just enjoying the feeling of being in your grip, of you bothering to return the favor. He then reaches down, pushing your t-shirt up and it's only then that he notices you're wearing one of his—the front design the cover of Def Leppard's Pyromania album. It only turns him on all the more.
Once your breasts are visible, he cranes his neck down, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking, then rolling it between his teeth and you moan his name.
He trails his tongue along your chest, taking your other nipple in his mouth, precum dripping onto your hand.
He begins kissing upwards, to your neck, then back down again. God, he's never felt this fucking turned-on before.
His cock twitches in your hand, then does it again and he knows he's close. He should've gotten up and grabbed a towel, but it would've risked ruining the moment.
His hips jerk, sliding through your grip, and then he calms. He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead to your own, his right hand cupping your cheek now. "I'm so fuckin' close, baby. I'm about to cum. Fuck, keep going. Jesus Christ."
You begin to stroke faster and faster, and then he pushes you onto your back, taking himself in his hand as he comes all over your stomach in hot sticky spurts, groaning all the while, hips bucking, wishing he was doing this between your legs instead.
Once he's calmed—his cock softening—does he lie down for a moment next to you, trying to catch his breath. He then smiles up at the ceiling and starts to laugh.
You look at him and he swings his arms over his stomach. "Woo! Fuck yeah, baby!"
He looks at you, then leans over you again, kissing you, tongue licking your lips, dancing against your own. And then he pulls back, smiling down at you, curls hanging down, framing his face, and he flashes you a smile, showing his brilliant white teeth. "I'll go grab you a towel, sweetheart."
You nod, smiling yourself, pecking him on the lips.
You watch as he walks to the bathroom and he smirks, feeling your eyes on his ass.
You hear the sound of water, him washing up quickly, and then he returns with a damp towel and begins to wipe you down.
He then tosses the towel on the floor and climbs on top of you, resting his forearms on your breasts and his chin atop his arms, looking up at you. "God, that was fuckin' perfect."
You smile. "So I did a good job?"
You'd been afraid he would've eventually gotten bored, or tired of how long things were taking, but he'd not complained once.
He then scoots higher, resting on his right forearm, left hand smoothing hair away from your face as he hovers over you. "Yeah, baby, you did."
He kisses you again, then scoots back down a bit, resting his cheek between your breasts and your arms come to wrap around his warm shoulders. And then you move your hands higher, tangling in his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.
And he falls asleep in your arms.
#fic: stranger things (billy hargrove x reader)#billy hargrove x female reader#billy hargrove x y/n#billy hargrove x you#billy hargrove imagine#billy hargrove x reader
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Home | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)
Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mention of parental death, mentions of abuse
Word Count: 4388
Series Rewrite Masterlist
You sat cross-legged on the floor of the boys’ motel room, sipping a coffee you’d run out to get earlier that morning. Dean was on his computer, and you were responding to the potential cases he’d found.
“A fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali—” Dean started.
“Ooh, I like Cali,” you cut him off.
“—Its crew vanished.” He finished.
“And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.”
“Meh, that’s boring. Let somebody else handle that one,” you dismissed.
Dean noticed Sam hadn’t spoken in just about the last hour. He was frantically scribbling on a notepad.
“Hey,” Dean called to his brother. “Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?”
“No. I’m listening. Keep going.”
He clearly wasn’t.
“And, here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times.”
“Ooh, I like that one,” you said.
Dean leaned over and waved a hand in front of Sam’s face. “Any of these things blowin’ up your skirt, pal?”
Sam furrowed his eyebrows at his notepad. “Wait. I’ve seen this.”
“Seen what?” you asked.
Sam got up from his bed and began rifling through his duffel bag.
“What are you doing?” Dean eyed his brother strangely.
The younger brother pulled out a photo from the bag and held it up next to his drawing. You couldn’t quite see what he was looking at from where you sat.
“Guys, I know where we have to go next.”
“Where?” Dean asked.
“Back home. Back to Kansas,” he responded.
The older brother was surprised. “Okay, random. Where’d that come from?”
He showed the photo to the two of you. “Alright, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?”
“Yeah…?” Dean still had no idea where he was going with this.
“And it didn’t burn down, right? I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?”
Dean— as well as you— was still lost. “I guess so, yeah. What the hell are you talkin’ about?”
“Okay, look, this is gonna sound crazy but… the people who live in our old house— I think they might be in danger,” Sam rushed out.
“Why would you think that?” you questioned.
“Uh… it’s just, um… look, just trust me on this, okay?” Sam turned away.
“Wait, whoa, whoa, trust you?” Dean shook his head and stood to follow him. “Come on, man, that’s weak. You gotta give us a little bit more than that.”
“I can’t really explain it is all,” Sam shrugged.
“Well, tough. I’m not goin’ anywhere until you do.”
You turned to face Sam as he began to explain. “I have these nightmares.”
You nodded. “We’ve noticed.”
“And sometimes… they come true.”
Dean was stunned. “Come again?”
“Look, Dean… I dreamt about Jessica’s death— for days before it happened,” Sam explained.
“Sam, people have weird dreams, man. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” Dean sat back down on the edge of his bed.
“No,” the younger brother protested. “I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I didn’t believe it. And now I’m dreaming about that tree, about our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started, man, this has to mean something, right?”
You felt overwhelmed, and so did Dean. “I don’t know.”
Sam sat down across from his brother. “What do you mean you don’t know, Dean? This woman might be in danger. I mean, this might even be the thing that killed Mom and Jessica!”
“Sam, slow down—” you urged him, knowing Dean was about to go through the roof.
Sure enough, Dean stood and started pacing. “I mean, first you tell me that you’ve got the Shining? And then you tell me that I’ve gotta go back home? Especially when….”
“When what?” you asked.
Dean’s voice broke for the first time since you’d met him. “When I swore to myself that I would never go back there?”
Sam’s puppy dog eyes appeared as he spoke softly, “Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.”
Dean nodded. “I know we do.”
***
You looked out at the boys’ childhood home and followed them up to the front door.
“You gonna be alright, man?” Sam asked his brother who didn’t respond.
“Jury’s still out on that,” you muttered in response.
Dean knocked on the front door, and a young woman answered. You could see a look of recognition pass over Sam’s face.
“Yes?” the woman said.
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re with the Federal—”
One Winchester cut the other off. “I’m Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean. We used to live here. You know, we were just drivin’ by, and we were wondering if we could come see the old place.”
The woman seemed surprised and smiled. “Winchester. Yeah, that’s so funny. You know, I think I found some of your photos the other night.” She turned to you. “Are you a Winchester, too? I didn’t see a little girl in any of the pictures.”
You shook your head. “No, no. Just a friend. (Y/N).”
She smiled at you. “Nice to meet you. Come on in.”
Inside the home, a girl who looked to be around seven sat at the table doing homework, and a little boy who was presumably two jumped in his playpen.
“Juice! Juice! Juice! Juice!” the toddler called excitedly.
“That’s Ritchie. He’s kind of a juice junkie,” Jenny explained, taking a sippy cup from the fridge and bringing it to her son. “But, hey, at least he won’t get scurvy.” She walked back over to her daughter. “Sari, this is Sam, Dean, and (Y/N). The boys used to live here.”
“Hi,” the shy girl said quietly.
You waved.
“So, you just moved in?” Dean asked.
“Yeah, from Wichita.”
“You got family here, or…?”
Jenny’s smile faded. “No. I just, uh… needed a fresh start, that’s all. So, new town, new job— I mean, as soon as I find one. New house.”
“So, how you likin’ it so far?” Sam questioned.
Jenny laughed awkwardly. “Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home— I mean, I’m sure you had lots of happy memories here—”
You discreetly turned to see Dean smile weakly.
“But this place has its issues,” she finished.
“What do you mean?” you asked.
“Well, it’s just getting old. Like the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.”
That caught your attention. “Oh, that’s too bad. What else?”
“Um…sink’s backed up, there’s rats in the basement…” She trailed off. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.”
Dean shook his head. “No. Have you seen the rats or have you just heard scratching?”
Jenny looked at him quizzically. “It’s just the scratching, actually.”
Sari tugged on her mom’s shirt, who stooped down next to her. “Ask them if it was here when they lived here.”
“What, Sari?” Sam asked.
“The thing in my closet,” she whispered as if the thing would hear.
“Oh, no, baby, there was nothing in their closets.” Jenny looked up to you and the boys. “Right?”
They shook their heads.
“She had a nightmare the other night,” Jenny explained.
Sari’s voice suddenly got louder. “I wasn’t dreaming. It came into my bedroom and it was on fire.”
The boys seemed too shocked to speak.
You took over. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You’re okay now though, right?”
She nodded.
“See? It didn’t get ya. It was only a dream.”
You knew it wasn’t. A pit filled your stomach after saying your goodbyes to the family and heading out of the door.
“You hear that? A figure on fire,” Sam reminded the two of you.
“And that woman, Jenny, that was the woman in your dreams?” Dean asked.
"Yeah. And you hear what she was talking about? Scratching, flickering lights, both signs of a malevolent spirit.”
“Yeah, well, I’m just freaked out that your weirdo visions are comin’ true,” the older brother chuckled humorlessly.
“Well, forget about that for a minute. The thing in the house, do you think it’s the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?”
“I don’t know!” Dean responded.
The brothers were only making each other panic worse at this point.
“Well, I mean, has it come back or has it been here the whole time?” Sam inquired.
“Or maybe it’s something else entirely, Sam, we don’t know yet.”
“Both of you need to calm down,” you told them, simultaneously getting in the car. “We’re gonna get those people safe. Whatever’s in there is not gonna hurt you or those people.”
“Thank you, Dr. Phil,” Dean remarked.
You snapped into a more intense tone, leaning over the backseat. “Look, dude, you’re gonna get your shit together. The two of you are only ramping each other up. Now, you are going to get a grip or I will do this job on my own.”
Sam and Dean both nodded.
“You’re runnin’ low on gas, Dee.” You patted Dean’s cheek before sitting back against your chair.
***
“We just gotta chill out, that’s all,” Dean said as he pumped gas.
“I’ve tried telling you that eighty times since we left that house.”
He ignored your snide comment. “You know, if this was any other kind of job, what would we do?”
"We’d try to figure out what we were dealin’ with. We’d dig into the history of the house,” Sam sighed.
"Exactly,” the older brother began, “except this time, we already know what happened.”
"Yeah, but how much do we know? I mean, how much do you actually remember?”
"About that night, you mean?”
"Yeah.”
Dean paused. “Not much. I remember the fire… the heat. And then I carried you out the front door.”
You looked at the floor, knowing how hard this must be for him to open up.
“You did?” the younger Winchester asked.
"Yeah, what, you never knew that?”
"No.”
“And, well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do. Mom was— was on the ceiling. And whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.”
“And he never had a theory about what did it?”
“If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times.”
"Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s goin’ on now…we have to figure out what happened back then. And see if it’s the same thing.”
You decided to add your two cents. “Yeah. We can talk to your dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.”
Silence blanketed the three of you for a moment, the air feeling heavy.
“Does this feel like just another job to you?” Sam piped up.
‘Of course, it doesn’t,’ you thought.
Dean kept quiet for a moment. “I’ll be right back,” he finally said. “I gotta go to the bathroom.” He walked away, and you watched him turn the corner around the gas station. He looked back for a moment, and you assumed it was to see if anyone had followed him.
You furrowed your brows. You allowed a few minutes to pass before you announced to Sam, “I’m gonna go check on Dean.”
While you turned the corner, you saw Dean exiting the bathroom door. He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. When he noticed you, he tried to shoulder his normal attitude.
“You stalkin’ me?”
“No, actually, I came to check on you.”
“Well, I’m fine.” He went to brush past you.
You grabbed his bicep. “Don’t lie to me.”
He stopped, looking you over. “I’m fine, sweetheart.”
“Then what’s this?” you gently brushed your first finger under his chin, picking up a tear he had forgotten to wipe away. You held it up for him to see.
Dean opened his mouth to say something before snapping it shut again. He gently pulled his arm out of your grip. “C’mon, let’s go.” He started walking away from you.
You caught up to him, asking, “Are you sure you don’t just want me to do this one by myself?”
He nodded sharply.
Sam gave you a curious look while Dean got in the car.
You shook your head before the two of you ducked into the Impala simultaneously.
***
The three of you spoke to a man who had owned a car garage with John years ago. You learned how much John had changed before Mary’s death versus after, and you began to understand why Dean was the way he was. You also learned that he had been going to see a palm reader in town. Dean recognized the names of one of the palm readers Sam had read from a compiled list: Missouri Moseley. The three of you went over to her house and waited in her foyer as she finished with her last client.
She guided the client out of the door. “Alright, there. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.”
The man thanked her, and she closed the door behind you.
She addressed the three of you. “Whew. Poor bastard. His woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener.”
You giggled.
“Why didn’t you tell him?” Dean asked.
“People don’t come here for the truth. They come for good news,” the woman explained.
You stared at her, as did the boys.
“Well? Sam, Dean, (Y/N), come on already, I ain’t got all day.”
You looked at Dean. You knew you hadn’t told her your name. The three of you followed her into the next room.
“Well, lemme look at ya,” she smiled at the boys. “Oh, you boys grew up handsome.” She pointed her finger at Dean. “And you were one goofy-lookin’ kid, too.”
You giggled again. You liked her a lot.
“Sam.” Missouri grabbed his hand. “Oh, honey…I’m sorry about your girlfriend. And your father— he’s missin’?”
“How’d you know all that?” Sam asked her.
“Well, you were just thinkin’ it just now.”
“Well, where is he? Is he okay?” Dean questioned.
Missouri’s smile faded. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t know? Well, you’re supposed to be a psychic, right?”
“Boy, you see me sawin’ some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air. Sit, please.”
You smirked at Sam and sat down.
Missouri snapped at Dean. “Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I’m ‘a whack you with a spoon!”
“I didn’t do anything!” he responded.
“But you were thinkin’ about it.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, and you and Sam smiled.
“(Y/N), honey, I didn’t mean to completely disregard you,” she smiled at you. “(Y/L/N)... where do I know that name from?” She pondered for a moment and her smile faded. “I knew your dad. Mean ol’ bastard.”
Your throat clenched. You could feel the boys looking at you, but you kept your eyes on Missouri.
“I don’t mean to embarrass you,” she went on. “I’m just sorry about what he did to you. And your brother? You poor thing.” She tsked.
Tears welled in your eyes.
Sam knew he should change the subject. “Okay. So, our dad— when did you first meet him?”
“He came for a reading. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say I drew back the curtains for him,” Missouri explained.
“What about the fire? Do you know about what killed our mom?” Dean questioned.
“A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hopin’ I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing.”
“And could you?”
You tried to focus on the conversation, but your throat was still choked up. You could vaguely register them talking about what Missouri sensed in their house and how she had been keeping an eye on the place since Mary’s passing. All you could focus on were the memories you were being pulled back into. Memories of what your father put you through and how your mother just stood by. Memories of defending your brother against your father’s wickedness. You tried your best to pull yourself back to the light; you knew Missouri could hear what you were thinking. You wouldn’t let yourself be weak enough to let your father hurt you eight years after his death.
“Baby, you are not weak.” Missouri’s voice pulled you back to shore. “I’m sorry I brought all that up for you.”
You nodded at her, voice too weak to respond. Sam squeezed your hand, and you could feel Dean’s gaze boring into the side of your head.
***
You and the boys headed back to their childhood home with Missouri. You still couldn’t register what was going on outside of your own head. You knew Missouri hadn’t truly brought anything up for you; these memories were all just buried under the surface for you. Hunting didn’t exactly leave much time for you to dwell on your emotions.
Jenny allowed Missouri to come into her home and showed her and your trio into Sari’s bedroom. You were beginning to come back to earth and could focus on the conversation happening around you.
“If there’s a dark energy around here, this room should be the center of it,” Missouri explained, walking around Sari’s room.
“Why?” Sam asked.
Missouri turned to him. “This used to be your nursery, Sam. This is where it all happened.”
Dean pulled out his repurposed walkman.
“That an EMF?” Missouri asked.
“Yeah,” Dean answered.
“Amateur,” she deadpanned.
You noticed the EMF was beeping frantically.
“I don’t know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your mom,” Missouri told the Winchesters.
“Wait, are you sure?” Sam furrowed his eyebrows.
She nodded.
“How do you know?”
“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It’s somethin’ different.”
“What is it?” Dean asked.
“Not it.” Missouri opened the closer. “Them. There’s more than one spirit in this place.”
“What are they doing here?” Dean asked.
“They’re here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And sometimes, wounds get infected,” Missouri elaborated.
Sam shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“This place is a magnet for paranormal energy. It’s attracted a poltergeist. A nasty one. And it won’t rest until Jenny and her babies are dead.”
“You said there was more than one spirit.”
“There is. I just can’t quite make out the second one.”
Dean’s voice became hard. “Well, one thing’s for damn sure— nobody’s dyin’ in this house ever again. So whatever is here, how do we stop it?”
***
After Missouri taught you how to pack small protection bags that you and the boys were to place in the cardinal points on both floors in Jenny’s house, you had to get Jenny and her kids out of harm's way.
“Look, I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving you guys here alone,” she told Missouri.
“Just take your kids to the movies or somethin’, and it’ll be over by the time you get back.”
You could tell the woman was still unsure, but she followed orders anyway. And with that, the four of you got to work.
When you were halfway done with the job, things started to get ugly. Just as you were about to place your second and final bag in the wall of Jenny’s bedroom, a cord snaked around your neck and pulled tightly. You dropped the bag of herbs to the ground; unable to get it into the wall in time. You gasped for air, frantically reaching for the bag but the spirit’s hold was too strong. Your vision began to spot and your face contorted in discomfort; doing the best you could to get air in your lungs. It was no use. Just when you thought it was over, Dean rushed to your side.
“(Y/N)!” he cried, pulling at the cord with all his might.
You clawed at your neck with one hand and motioned to the bag of herbs with the other. Dean understood what you were trying to say, and kicked a hole in the wall. He quickly put the bag inside, and your neck was released. Your head fell to the ground gasping for air.
Dean pulled you into a fierce hug that left you breathless. He pulled back from you, holding your face on either side. “Are you okay?”
You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. He gingerly touched the place where the cord had undoubtedly bruised your neck. “Can you stand?”
You nodded again. With Dean’s help, you made your way down to Missouri and Sam who stood in the middle of an extremely messy kitchen. Jenny’s kitchen table had been turned on its side with knives driven through the top of it, assumedly by the ghosts. The refrigerator door was swung wide open, and various items from the pantry had spilled out all over the place.
“You sure this is over?” Sam asked the psychic.
“I’m sure. Why? Why do you ask?”
Sam sighed in response. “Never mind. It’s nothin’, I guess.”
The front door opened.
“Hello? We’re home,” Jenny announced when she walked into the house. She came into the kitchen, dumbfounded by the mess. “What happened?”
"Hi, sorry. Um, we’ll pay for all of this,” Sam told her.
“Don’t you worry. Dean’s gonna clean up this mess,” Missouri added.
Dean stood glued to his spot.
“Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop.”
He glared at Missouri, but began walking away nonetheless.
“And don’t cuss at me!”
***
You remained confused by how Dean had hugged you for the rest of the night which you spent in the Impala parked in front of Jenny’s house.
“Alright, so, tell me again, what are we still doin’ here?” Dean asked his brother.
“I don’t know. I just… I still have a bad feeling,” he responded.
“Why? Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubenstein thing, the house should be clean, it should be over.”
“Yeah, well, probably. But I just wanna make sure, that’s all.”
Dean slumped down in his seat. “Yeah, well, problem is I could be sleeping in a bed right now.”
You slumped down in your seat, too, only to see Jenny screaming and banging on her bedroom window. “Guys, look!”
The three of you rushed into the house.
“You two grab the kids, I’ll get Jenny,” Dean said.
You nodded and sprinted to Ritchie’s room. The sleeping toddler was startled when you woke him up, but allowed you to carry him downstairs nonetheless. You met Sam by the front door who said to Sari, “Take your brother outside as fast as you can, and don’t look back.” She obliged and took the little boy from you.
Before the two of you could do anything else, you were slammed to the ground and dragged backward across the tile floor. You could hear poor Sari screaming as you and Sam were dragged away.
You were pinned to the wall by an invisible force and pushed up toward the ceiling. You could hear presumably Dean hacking away at the door, trying desperately to get in as a figure on fire approached you.
Dean made his way into the home and called your names frantically. He raised his gun at the fire figure when he caught sight of it.
“No, don’t! Don’t!” Sam cried.
“What, why?!” you asked.
“Because I know who it is. I can see her now.”
And then, the fire vanished revealing who you recognized from pictures as Mary Winchester. She was wearing a white nightgown and her blonde hair billowed softly around her. Her feet were bare, and her aging skin was only slightly wrinkled.
You could see tears rising in Dean’s eyes as he lowered his gun. “Mom?”
The woman smiled and stepped closer to him. “Dean.”
She walked toward you and her youngest son. “Sam.” Her smile faded. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asked.
She looked at him sadly, but said nothing.
The woman turned to you last. “Thank you,” she said.
You smiled back at her, though you weren’t quite sure what she was thanking you for.
She turned away and looked up toward the ceiling. “You get out of my house. And let go of my son.” Her hair and nightgown were swept up into flames once more. The fire licked up to the ceiling, growing larger before disappearing entirely. You and Sam were released from the wall at once.
“Now it’s over,” Sam muttered.
***
The sun had risen while you and the boys were in the house. You called Missouri back to the Winchesters’ childhood home, and she sat on the porch talking with Sam.
You were standing with Dean by the car looking through his old family photos.
“Thanks for these,” Dean told Jenny.
“Don’t thank me, they’re yours.”
Dean put the trunk of photos and family memorabilia in the car. You and Dean bid Jenny, who thanked you, goodbye before leaning against the car together. The two of you knew you had a lot to talk about, but you weren’t brave enough to start the conversation.
“Are you okay?” Dean asked you.
You couldn’t look at him. “Why do you ask?”
“I think you know.”
You paused a moment before turning to face him. “I promise I’ll tell you, just… not today.” You stuck out your pinkie for him to take.
He chuckled at you. “What are we, five?”
“Just do it, asshole,” you smiled back.
He linked his pinkie with yours, shaking your hand back and forth lightly. The two of you stood there for a second, staring at each other and getting lost in the moment. Before long, you both realized what was going on and jerked away from each other.
Dean scratched his head. “Sam, you ready?” he called.
Sam nodded and came over to the car.
“Don’t you kids be strangers,” Missouri told you.
“We won’t,” Dean responded.
“See you around,” the woman winked at you.
You smiled at her before getting in the car and driving away.
Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @thepocketverse @simpingdeadcharacters @elqsiian @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @doublecrazyyymofo
#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x y/n#dean winchester x you#dean x reader#dean x y/n#dean x you#dean winchester#supernatural#spn#supernatural series rewrite#spn series rewrite
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Dick Grayson nsfw headcanons for v day
hehehehe
this boy is so talkative
before, during, and after his mouth is running faster than Wally West
"so pretty"
"squeezing me so tight"
"you look so good like this fucked out on my cock"
"what's that, baby? are you too cockdrunk to speak?"
his dick (haha) isn't very long, but it's certainly thick (much like him) and curves a little to the left
Dick loves to mark you up because when you undress, he can see the parts he has touched and loved
a hickey on your neck, a gentle love bite on your hip, the imprints of his fingers on your thighs where he held you down and ate you out
he's a switch 100%
sometimes he needs to be taken out of his head and so you take control and he appreciates it so much
he loves to serve you in any capacity, part of it is because he constantly feels the need to prove himself worthy of you no matter how many times you tell him that you don't need anything but his love
he'll quite literally get on his knees and worship you if you asked him
there are a few nights where he literally strips out of his suit and kneels on the floor, resting his head on your thigh as you stroke his hair
other times he's high-strung and needs to control the situation and you gladly accept submission under his hand
Dick is, ahem, very flexible and he will contort his body the perfect way to hit every fucking pleasure spot inside of you as he rams his cock into your hole
"made for me, weren't you? made to take my cock. perfect fucking fit, the way you're squeezing me so tight. god, i should just keep you home all day, sit you on my cock and keep you there"
hell yeah he does enjoy a good cockwarming
whether you're just holding his half-hard cock in your mouth or straddling his waist as he reads over some mission reports or paperwork for his Bludhaven revitalization. you're draped over his shoulders, face pressed against his neck as his cock twitches inside of your soaked hole. once he's done with his work, he'll fuck you until your legs can't stand
king of aftercare (all of the bat boys are tbh)
Dick is reaaaaally big on the verbal communication (again, the boy can't shut up) and he needs to hear reassurance from you that you're okay, that you liked it, what type of care you need
I don't think he's overly aggressive or into BDSM mainly because he doesn't want to use the same type of force that he uses on the criminal underworld on you
sweet boy but also not afraid to rough you up a little bit if you ask
just pls don't ask him to hit you because he would not be able to
aftercare for him is just cuddling and stroking his hair and assuring him that he's enough. he is good and kind and loving. he doesn't need to worry about you being unsatisfied.
all in all, he's a generous lover who overthinks too much and you might have to help him enjoy everything rather than dwell on stuff. also, he's a mouthy shit.
#valentine’s day series#dick grayson smut#dick grayson imagine#dick grayson x reader#nightwing x reader#nightwing smut#nightwing imagine
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❝cowboy like me.❞ || William H. Bonney x Reader
A/N- i really loved this idea and i hope you do too!!!
William H. Bonney x Reader fluff
inspired by ‘cowboy like me’ by taylor swift
| WARNINGS - drinking, mentions of gun violence, kissing, mentions of burglary
the heat was blistering, almost as if you were walking down to the devils penthouse. you laid flat on the ground by your campfire. damn fires probably colder than i am you thought, but you needed the light. as you sat on a log carving a knife out of the bare wood you’d collected earlier, you hear a twig snap. your hand quickly pulls your pistol out of the holster and your hands settle in the direction of the sound. you cock it and tilt your head, straining your eyes trying to see.
“who’s there?” you barked through the silence. a sigh of relief? annoyance? or just plain desperation reached your ears.
“sorry, miss. i’m just out collecting fire wood for my buddies. i ain’t mean to disturb you.” a smooth and warm voice cut into the quiet and muggy air.
“come on out into the light.” you coaxed, gun still pointed. a tall and slender man, no, boy cautiously emerged from the dark wall of shadow. you scoff and set your pistol next to you on the log. “now, what is a kid doing out here?” you would’ve almost sounded annoyed if it wasn’t for the smile gracing your lips. the boy took his hat off to greet you, and nervously ran his fingers over the worn leather.
“i, uh, i’m not a kid, ma’am. i was just looking for firewood. my buddies and i set up camp a few hundred feet north, i didn’t mean to trample your site. my apologies.” he managed to stutter out.
you wave him off and point to the pile of wood to the left of your feet, cladded in red leather boots. “just take these, kid. i gathered them earlier. i won’t need the fire much longer, it’s too damn hot.” you exasperated the end and took your own hat off to fan yourself.
billy has never seen a woman like you. you were alone, first of all. the fire casted such a lovely warm glow across your complexion, his knees were getting unstable the longer the studied you. he took a few steps towards you and stuck a hand out, the other still holding onto his hat.
“i’m billy, miss. no need to call me kid, i’m probably not much younger than you.” he trailed off with a grin plastered across his face. you shook his hand, still sitting down. “it’s nice to meet you, billy. i’m y/n, and you don’t look a day over six and ten.” you teased him and he mirrored your smile.
“i’m not a kid in a lot of different attributes.” he smirked as you raise your eyebrows and you meet eyes. very blue. like very very blue. you can make out the constellations in his with just the light from the fire. he sure is a pretty boy.
you pat the log next to you “would you like a drink?” you hold out your flask of whiskey to him. the warm temperature of the liquid almost makes it easier to swallow. he nods and grabs the flask after sitting next to you. your fingers brush, it feels like pin pricks all across your hand.
after billy swallows he asks “so, what’s a lady like you doing out here alone? or are you not alone?” he has his elbows resting on his knees with his head facing you. his very presence makes you feel more warmth than any fire could ever give, you find it hard to care about the heat anymore.
you chuckle a little and turn back to the fire. “i am alone, i’m traveling a little farther west. couldn’t stay in el paso much longer, that sheriff hates my damn guts. he’d had hung me for the hell of it.” you finish your sentence with a swift from your flask. “what about you, billy? what are you and your buddies doing?” his gaze never even moved a centimeter away from your lips as you talk. his eyes rake up your face to your eyes. he smiles “we run cattle, sometimes. well i do it sometimes, they do it all the time. we’re heading to lincoln county for some business.” they run cattle, they’re definitely outlaws.
as you study his face a little more, you notice he’s familiar. “wait! i know you. you’re on all those wanted posters in el paso! what the hell did you do to get such a high bounty? i could only dream of having that high of a price on my head.” he hung his head and chuckled “just when i thought i met someone who didn’t already know me, i did a good thing. honestly. i broke my friend out of jail, had some issues along the way.” he did a good thing, that’s adorable. he’s an outlaw because he helped his friend.
your eyes soften at his short story and you tuck your hair behind your ears. “you sound like a good man. not like the stories i’ve heard. i once heard that you gunned down fifty different mean on six bullets. and all they say about me is ‘she should’ve been like her mother’” your mocking tone at the end made billy smile.
“i hate to tell you, but, i definitely didn’t do that and i am not as brave and murderous as they make me out to be. i’ve done a lot of bad things, but i’m trying to do good now. also your mother can’t be that bad, if she raised a lovely lady like you.” was he flirting? and we’re you liking it?
“she’s like a vile serpent.” you mutter as you take another swig. “now, correct me if i’m wrong. but i think i’ve seen you on one or two wanted posters yourself, y/n.” you shake your head and smile at him. you feel so warm and fuzzy. was it the whiskey or billy?
“oh, you’re not wrong. although i still uphold the belief that i was set up. some pals of mine were talking about robbing this corner store, when i got there to join them no one was there besides the sheriff! damn assholes set me up, and i didn’t even want to do it! i’m innocent in my eyes.” you gesture with your hands while you talk and billy’s just entranced. he nods, slowly. “that’s just the way things go sometimes.” he softly mutters while wanting to never look away from you again. “you can say that again, cowboy.”
billy couldn’t take it anymore. his blood felt like it was boiling. he leans over and softly pressed your lips together. shocked, you don’t kiss back for a second. terrified he just made a mistake, billy pulls back and frantically stands up. “i am so sorry, y/n. i don’t know why i did tha-“ you stand up and wrap your hands around his suspenders and pull him down for your lips to meet. rougher and slower than the last one.
his hands find purchase on your waist as he fiddles with the bottom of your vest. his knees were weak. they were jelly. “just shut up and kiss me, cowboy” you whispered against his lips. your hands snake into his hair and rake along his scalp. he pulls back and says
“you know, i think you’re a cowboy like me. but most cowboys don’t kiss me so i’d say you’re a bit better than most.” you laugh at his idiotic words and pull him back in as the fire slowly dies, barley casting an amber glow. no skeletons in either of your closets could fuck this up.
#billy the kid x reader#tom blyth x reader#tom blyth#william bonney x reader#william bonney#billy bonney x reader#billy the kid#coriolanus snow smut#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus snow#billy the kid fluff#william bonney fluff#william bonney smut
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Demon Slayers with a Foreign Reader
This was requested by @ruiroku, sorry it took so long, hope you enjoy.
Check out my other works here: Masterlist.
I have two ideas for a foreign reader. From what I was able to find, Demon Slayers take place during the Taisho period (1912-1926). This was around the time Japan opened back up to Western influence after previously cutting themselves off from the rest of the world. Because of this, I could image the reader coming to Japan for many different reasons.
The best idea I had was reader being a doctor/nurse who is studying Japanese medical practices or teaching western medical practices (keep in mind that when I say "western" I don't necessary mean American/European. I just mean literally anything to the West, which is a lot of places, as to keep the readers original home vague).
Either way, throughout your time in Japan, you got to learn a lot about Japanese culture and practices, and overall enjoyed your stay there. Over time, however, you began to notice strange happenings and disappearances, especially the weaker patients you would take care of.
You made the assumption that your patients were simply succumbing to their illnesses, but whenever you checked up on their families, they claimed that they had just disappeared. This lead you on a wild goose chaise to find your missing patients, since you knew how venerable they were.
All this led you to be cornered by a hungry demon, who was enraged at your attempts of finding your patients. He was right about to kill you before you were saved by a very...eccentric looking man, to say the least. In one fell swoop, he chopped the demons head off, saving you from a very painful death.
The man, who you figured out was named Rengoku, was very loud, and talked very fast. So, it was hard for you to translate what he was saying. He assumed you were in shock, so lowered himself down to your level, and explained slowly he would be taking you with him to get your wounds treated. It didn't take long before you passed out.
This was how you became acquainted with the Demon Slayers. After your wounds were treated, you came to the realization that your former patients were killed, and it hurt very much. You felt like you weren't doing your job as a doctor and failed their loved ones. It took a toll on your mental health, Shinobu recommending that you stay until you feel better both mentally and physically.
The Demon Slayers Headquarters is surprisingly cozy, even with the many intense figures there. Shinobu is the one who you spend most of your time with, since she takes it upon herself to treat your wounds personally. She takes very good care of you, and you're intensely grateful, but sometimes you can feel a little overwhelmed with how strangely focused she is on you and your wellbeing. Though, she does offer to teach you a thing or two about medicines that can treat demon related injuries.
Once you are able to move on your own, you spend a lot of your time with the other Hashira's. Rengoku is very interested in learning about your home country and could listen to you talk about your home all day. He's very childlike in his curiosity for you, often ranting happily about his own interests and dreams as a Hashira. While he is very lighthearted, he does often remind you that you own him for saving you.
Others like Giyu pretend not to care about you and want you to leave as soon as possible. However, when it comes to your safety, they take it very seriously. Being a foreigner, Giyu views you as target for many dangerous people. He often reminds you that you are weak and easy to manipulate, though you don't really hear any malice behind his works, almost like his he genuinely worried about you.
Uzui is pretty intimidating when you first meet him, but you eventually learn not to fear him. You get to know him more and more when you start to patch him up after missions. You don't realize as you begin to open up to him about how you miss your home and family. Uzui doesn't seem to mind though, as he listens to you carefully and even offers advice on how to acclimate better to your new home. He even suggests that you meet his wives some time.
Once the Tanjiro and the gang arrive, the quicky warm up to you. Tanjiro thinks you are the sweetest person ever, and always feels bad when you're forced to take care of him after missions. You honestly remind him of the warmth of a parent that he very much misses. He also loves that Nezuko loves you. Zenitsu also likes you, especially since you are much easier on him, and Inosuke doesn't have that much of an opinion on you, but he doesn't hate you. In fact, he's probably the most interested in your home country since he's lived a pretty secluded life until becoming a demon slayer.
The kids being, well, kids, are very interested in your native culture. Tanjiro is sympathetic and understands that you might miss your home often, so he offers for you to teach him things regarding your culture. He might even learn how to cook native dishes that can remind you of your home. Unlike the others, who want you to forget about your native country, Tanjiro feels bad whenever you talk about missing your family or friends, even though it fills him with jealously.
They are also obsessed with the way you sound speaking your native language since they think it sounds so cool. Some of them like Rengoku might even want to learn, while others are simply content with hearing you talk. They think you're so smart, being able to speak to languages. Even if you're not fluent in Japanese, they're all willing to help you with anything you're struggling with. Though, there are times where they'll bend the truth on what they are saying whenever you're confused, most notably when they're talking about something not so savory.
In conclusion, even once you get better, you're staying with them. The Hashira's are very good at making you feel like you owe them something, and so they abuse that to get you to stay. You don't even notice that you're slowly and slowly forgetting about leaving, as you start to work as a nurse with Shinobu. Even once you get better and can technically leave on your own, you're constantly reminded of how dangerous the world is without your demon slayer friends.
---
A/n: I might write a part 2 with the demons, so tell me if you would want that.
#yandere x reader#soft yandere#platonic yandere#demon slayer x reader#demon slayer#yandere demon slayer x reader#yandere demon slayer#kny x reader
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