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#no white man ever thinks that any other race
harunovella · 2 months
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*:・゚✧*:・゚✧ love language (verse ii); s.g.
synopsis: when gojo satoru first interacted with you content: teen gojo era, fem!reader, hopeless!romantic gojo, 1k+ words of gojo and reader saving a kitten (a moment straight out of a romcom for sure), not beta read (sorry for any errors!) note: truly didn't think the first part to this anthology series would gain such attention! thank u for that! again, these can be read as a standalone (or connected to this one, but you don't have to read it); enjoy and lmk if u want more!
It was this specific cherry blossom tree Satoru always found you under. The one Kento mentioned the first time he ever asked him about you. If you weren't busy with training or missions, or enjoying life outside the jujutsu world, he found you there. Although there was an array of trees, there was one specific one you seemed to gravitate towards. 
He wasn't sure if it was the specific spot that had good lighting for when you wanted to read or sketch in your little book, or maybe it was the way the roots formed a perfect spot to sit in between... whatever it was, he knew it to be your tree. Even when you weren't around. There was something... welcoming about it. Whenever he walked by with Suguru and Shoko nearby, or whenever he was aimlessly wandering around, he always found himself peeking in its direction, hoping you were sitting underneath it. 
For a confident young man, it took Gojo some time to make his way to you. Claiming to love you when he hadn't even uttered a word in your direction was bold, even going as far as believing you were his soulmate was quite the exaggeration. So why was it hard for him to simply say hello? 
Maybe it was because he wasn't a simple person. Nothing about Gojo Satoru screamed simple. He was anything but that. Yet, a task as easy as that—which came naturally to any other girl around him—was a hassle. Each time he thought he found the courage to step up, he let his racing heart deter him. 
That was until you made the first move. 
It caught him completely off guard, the way you gently tapped his arm from behind, peeking up at him with that sweet smile of yours. His heart did somersaults, his eyes widened behind his round frames, so big that his shades couldn't even hide them. He had been on one of his little walks, new treat in hand that Shoko bribed him with in order to practice her reverse curse technique on him. He was bored, completing his missions and not having much to train on when he already excelled at everything. 
At everything except talking to the girl of his dreams. 
"Hi," you kindly greeted, smile reaching your eyes. Oh, god, you were an angel. A being descended from up above. How could you exist so easily in such a cruel world? He needed to protect you, right? Even if he could see your cursed energy oozing out so brightly. You must've been powerful, something he never considered, always looking at you like you were some little bunny to keep in his pocket... not one who could possibly kick the shit out of him (if he'd let you and he definitely would). "Can you help me out?"
"Pretty..." the words slipped his mouth before he could even process them. Quickly sealing his lips and clearing his throat as you tilted your head, Satoru straightened his back. "What is it?"
Dismissing the sudden word vomit, assuming he was in his own world, you pointed to the left of you. "I sit under those trees, but I keep hearing soft meows coming from one of them. I'm too short to reach... do you think—"
"Yes," the white haired young man instantly nodded as you blinked. Without a second word, he turned on his heel and stalked towards the tree that you claimed your own. 
You, a bit baffled, were unsure as to how exactly he knew which tree you had been pointing at when it was a general direction. Yet, there he was, approaching the tree you were referring to. "It's quite high up, but you're very tall!" You called out before following after him, lightly jogging to catch up before stopping behind him as he eyed the tree. 
In reality, Gojo didn't think any of it through. He just wanted to say yes to be around you, to hear you speak more. Not... to climb up a tree to save a stray kitten. But, whatever made him look better in his eyes, he didn't mind. 
"Be careful!" You exclaimed as you watched him make his way up the tree, no hesitations. You were a bit surprised that someone so easily wanted to help you save a cat. Maybe he liked animals, too?
Or maybe he was a fool madly in love with you—you wouldn't know this yet. 
"Oh, there! You've got 'em!" You clapped as you watched the uniformed young man gently reach for and latch onto the small, white kitten. 
"Ah, don't worry, I'm only here to help you," Gojo said, carefully pulling the kitten towards himself. "I've got you, you're safe now. I just gotta figure out—"
"Watch out!" You shrieked.
"Shit!" Satoru yelped as he lost his balance, clutching the kitten close as he slipped from the branch. Landing with a loud thud, followed by several groans of pain (and pure embarrassment... when did he ever make himself look like a complete fool?!), Gojo rolled around with his eyes closed. 
"Are you alright?!" You panicked, rushing over and kneeling at his side, gently lifting his head with one hand as your other pressed carefully against his shoulder, eyeing his body for any wounds. 
"Agh... dammit..." he grunted, eyes fluttering open and adjusting to the brightness of the sun. Blinking a few times, blurred vision focusing, his heart skipped a beat at the sight of you. Your hair that was usually held back by its ribbon, cascaded around your face as a few strands slipped out from the ponytail. With eyebrows narrowed and a look of worry on his face, Satoru's embarrassment turned into that of timidness. You were engulfed by the sunlight, glowing like the angel you were. "Gosh, you're so pretty..."
"Are you okay?" You asked in a panic, his mumbled words coming off too slurred to understand. "Did you hit your head too hard?"
Shaking his head as he forced himself to sit up, Gojo rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. "No, 'm fine..." he sighed before looking down at his hands to the kitten. "So is this little guy."
Turning your attention from the white haired young man, to the matching kitten, you gasped, "what a hero!"
Grinning and feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, Gojo shrugged, "eh, ''twas nothing..."
"You almost broke a few bones, though..." you frowned, looking back at him. 
"I'm tough," he brushed off before turning to face you. Now eye to eye, the sudden confidence instantly sizzled away as he gazed at you from up close. A sudden silence weaved between the two of you as your eyes locked, nothing but the sounds of nature and the kittens purring filled the air. "I..."
"Um..."
"You should keep it," Satoru suddenly said, handing you the kitten. "Deserves a nice home."
"Oh, me?" You asked as you took the kitten in your hands, caressing its soft, white fur. 
"Yeah, I wouldn't be a good dad," he chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck. "You... You'd be a great mom to it, I'm sure."
Eyeing the kitten, then looking back up at him, you smiled, "we can coparent."
At your offer, Gojo gulped. "Co... parent?"
"Yeah, like, help me out with..." lifting the kitten up, you squinted your eyes, "her."
"I... I don't know much about taking care of animals but I can try and help as much as I can," he offered, scratching his head nervously. 
Smiling, you brought the kitten close to your chest, "you saved her from a tree, I'm sure she will remember that."
"Yeah, maybe," Satoru blushed.
Looking down at the kitten as you pet her, listening to her gentle purring, you happily sighed, "what's your name?"
Quickly pointing at himself, the blue eyed boy asked, "mine?"
"Mhm," you nodded. 
"Gojo. Gojo Satoru. You can call me Satoru, though," he nearly blurted out as you chuckled before giving him yours. 
"Well, Satoru," you beamed as he melted at the sound of his name slipping off your tongue, "I think I'll name her after you."
"Wha— Satoru? But... she's a girl?" He tilted his head with furrowed eyebrows. 
"I was thinking of a nickname," you said before looking down at the kitten. "I'll name her Toru. It's cute, right?"
Nodding slowly, then faster, Gojo agreed. "Yeah, Toru is cute."
Lifting your gaze to meet his, you gave him a toothy smile. "Toru it is."
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Little Do They Know - LN
Summary: Lando and y/n are in a secret relationship, but he makes no secret of his obsession and the world is just begging for y/n to notice and do something about it (that something being to date the man at the very least)
Sidenote: petition to bring back the white fireproofs from below? I never been a white fireproof girlie but the Alpinestars design and the black collar...it better than the normal bland white fireproofs we seen in the past.
F2 champ 2023/McLaren Reserve!reader
No part 2 requests please
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When McLaren announced they were taking on F2 champion as their reserve driver, it only surprised everyone because y/n is a woman and the idea of there being a woman on the grid if one of the McLaren drivers was unable to drive has somewhat shook the F1 world.
It's unlikely, rarely do drivers ever sit out of a race unless hospitalised. Mainly because losing that many points in the standings is not worth the loss overall.
"I like these fireproofs." Y/n comments as she appears from the unit, joining Lando and Oscar.
"You look beautiful in them." Lando smiles taking her hand and raising it to make her do a spin. "You are so pretty."
Oscar has already moved away because despite y/n being the third driver, he is always the third wheel.
"You scared Oscar away again." Y/n sighs before her name is called by one of the comms team. "I gotta go. Have fun actually being in the car."
Lando winks at her withholding the urge to kiss her goodbye as she walks over to the comms girl, Ally. Usually there's not much interest in a reserve driver but usually a reserve driver isn't so focused on but her gender does make her someone they want to talk to.
"So how is the team feeling about the first race?" The reporter asks making Lando puff out a breath.
"Great. Oscar and I are great. We have y/n who is the most amazing reserve driver. Does the sim runs, testing, she is the greatest addition to the team and actually I think she's the best person in the team. Always has a laugh, super cuddly, the smartest person technically I've met to join the team. No offence to Carlos, Daniel or Oscar."
"That's some very big feelings for y/n. I'm sure it feels nice for her to learn all of that." The reporter smiles making Lando shrug with a grin.
"She's amazing to me. I can't talk about her enough. Guess I'm her number one fan and I'm not sorry for it." Lando states continuing to praise her.
It's only in his next interview that he's actually asked about her, although as proven he doesn't have to be to feel the need to talk about y/n.
"So how are you feeling about y/n?"
"She's my new favourite person. From my side of the friendship, she's easily my best friend."
"Oscar has to be hurt."
"No. He's got other friends. I just force y/n to be my friend and keep her away from the other drivers. Wouldn't want them tainting her." Lando jokes not even caring how he sounds, it is actually a joke. Y/n is friends with most of the drivers on the grid. "No, really everyone loves her. But we've really gotten close and I'm so happy to have her around."
After a few more interviews that seem to either ask about the car, his feelings or inevitably how the team is which leads to Lando bringing up his favourite person.
"You are not subtle." Y/n comments as she comes across Lando having herd from the comms team that Lando hasn't shut up about her.
"I'm just talking my girlfriend up-"
"Well the whole point of us keeping the relationship between us is that you at least try your hand at subtlety." Y/n smile, not actually made but finding it pretty endearing. "You know the comms team agrees that for now, it's better not to be airing anything out. As much as I know you really want to display that I'm not up for any other drivers to have. It also wouldn't kill you to compliment your own teammate every once in a while."
"It's not like I insulted him." Lando murmurs earning a small laugh. "Plus Oscar knows."
"He does. So I'm sure he'll take it on the chin. But giving him a compliment wouldn't hurt either."
"Ok, I'll do better." Lando promises before pausing. "I gave him loads of praise last year when he was new."
"Then it shouldn't be hard to keep going with that." Y/n smiles patting his back. "On the bright side neither of us are busy doing other stuff. So the McLaren trio...once we find Oscar, can strut around here."
-
It's post quali that y/n gets caught by Naomi and Simon.
"You have been the talk of the paddock, or at least the media in the paddock." Simon comments making her laugh and shrug as if she doesn't know exactly what they're talking about.
"Yeah, we expected a strong backing from McLaren. But Lando seems obsessed with you." Naomi admits making y/n puff out a breath.
"I don't really know what you mean, he's very supportive but no more to me than he was to Oscar last year." Y/n states then tilting her head. "I'm just...super happy to have been so accepted into the team. Lando, Oscar, Zak, Andrea. I know I'm just the reserve but they've been, just great. So welcoming and trying to make sure I'm getting to see everything."
"That is amazing to hear. We've made so many leaps forward for woman in F1, but seeing you be part of the face of McLaren. You're so young, just hit 22 right?"
"Yeah, just newly 22." Y/n confirms with a smile.
"I bet Andrea feels like he's babysitting with three such young drivers. Speaking of-" Simon chuckles earning a smile before y/n feels two large and far too familiar hands clap on her waist a voice shouting a boo that does make her jump.
"Zero survival instinct." Lando comments then greeting Simon and Naomi as he's handed a mic to join them. "Zero survival instinct from her."
"Yeah, the mic didn't quite pick up the first time you said it." Y/n hums then smiling. "Since Lando's here I should probably-"
"Stay. Double the McLaren drivers, double the fun." Lando grins making her laugh and smile but even he can tell it's not the most genuine laughter. Then he looks at the hosts. "That's what I find."
"I feel like we're interupting someone." Simon jokes while Y/n shakes her head at them.
"Lando just likes to annoy the comms team. I am going to go, because I promise Laura I'd chat. But you enjoy the main character's company." Y/n smiles giving them each a hug and then finally laughing when Lando drags her into a hug and squeezes her before allowing her to leave.
Lando waits till she's gone to speak into the mic with his own amusement.
"She loves me really. I just like to annoy her." Lando grins then earning a look from the comms girl with him. "Anyway, she'll kill me if I keep talking about her. So qualifying?"
-
Y/n yawns as she hears the light tapping on her hotel door, Lando's gently knocking just loud enough to wake her up from her dozing.
As soon as he walks through the door, he scoops her up, nuzzling his face into her neck as she wraps her arms around him on top of his shoulders.
"Mmm...Are you mad?" Lando asks earning a very tired and short laugh.
"No. I'm not mad. I love you, even when you insist on being so obvious." Y/n assures him while he kicks the door closed and carries her to her bed, lifting her legs up to wrap around his waist.
He lies them on the bed with her under him while his head rests on her chest and her hand moves up to play with his curls. She also feels one of his hands come up to play with her boob but he suddenly frowns and looks up at her before returning to look at her boob as if he's inspecting it.
"You know, I've only known you 5 months. I've been dating you for 4. But...I know exactly what you boobs feel like when you're...you know." Lando mumbles making her almost choke out on her breath.
"First of all, you can say the word period Lando. You have a mother, two sisters and god knows how many female friends. But second of all, I only just came on when I got back. And lastly, how in the hell can you tell from my boobs?"
"They're a bit bigger, almost like...I don't know they're swollen or something. Do they hurt?" Lando asks seeming genuinely concerned for her like he's accidentally hurting her.
"No-well they're tender, I guess...more like when you press a bruise but not a super bad bruise." Y/n shrugs then clearing her throat. "Did you get in trouble with comms?"
"A little bit, they told me to reign it in. It's not so much the media but fans are going wild about our interactions. At least that's how they worded it." Lando smiles looking up at her. "I figured you'd know about them already because you're a little weirdo who watches every edit of me online."
"You can't call me a weirdo after you just told me you know when I'm on my period from feeling my boob." Y/n snorts gently pushing his head playfully. "But I have seen edits already of you grabbing and squeezing me on the Sky interview."
"That's what I like to hear." Lando grins moving up to kiss her a couple times and successfully roll so he's lying next to her, hiking her leg up to lie on him but so her body is still just nuzzled against his side. "I quite like going about talking you up but no one realising we're actually together. They just think I'm crushing hard and you're playing hard to get."
"Playing? I am hard to get, you were begging me for a date." Y/n teases then squealing when he reaches over to poke into her side to tickle her. "Ah, ok. Not begging, but it took you more than one attempt. Even you have to admit that."
Lando hums then yawning and reaching over to grab the blanket to pull it over them and turn off the lights from the bedside switch.
"Did you just put us both to bed?"
"You're tired, and I know I woke you up. You had that sleepy look."
Y/n smiles holding onto Lando more tightly before she allows herself to just completely pass out and fall asleep.
-
It was months more of Lando being all over y/n, not even commenting on speculation while y/n would simply shrug and say she just didn't understand the speculation.
The whole thing with the media and fans was beginning to be pretty entertaining.
"We've been dating for almost 8 months, did you know that?" Lando states as he walks into the McLaren unit making y/n look up form the data she'd been reviewing with some of the engineers who look suddenly uncomfortable and like they want to make an exit. "Sorry."
"I'll be right back guys." Y/n smiles then standing up and moving with Lando as she takes hold of his hand as she passes him. "You could choose better timing. But I did know...why do you bring it up? Because I know you wouldn't if you didn't think it was of some significance."
"I just was thinking...maybe..."
Y/n hums looking at him for a moment amused because she knows exactly what he's asking.
"You want me to finally just hard launch us so hard we might as well be one of the Red Bull rocket ships?" Y/n jokes then sighing as she leans back on the wall. "Like I said, your timing is a bit annoying. But I have been thinking about it. I feel like it's not someone that I'm going to struggle with like I kind of thought I might when you first asked."
"You don't have to."
"No. I want to. Plus I'm kind of a little sick of some fans who don't think we'd be good together getting smug online. So I think I'll happily finally let the world know but...I would rather you be the one to tell everyone. I'll confirm as secondary source."
"You speak like an encyclopaedia." Lando grins before kissing her a couple times. "I got a few photos and videos I've wanted to share of you-of the PG variety, get your head out the gutter with that smirk."
"Do I get to see first?"
"As if I'd finally post about you and not get your approval for the go ahead." Lando scoffs then stealing more kisses just to communicate his excitement about it. "Alright, I'm going to warn comms and marketing all about the impending media storm and circus. I'll let you finish up here too, come find me afterwards. Ok?"
"Ok." Y/n nods before being locked into a longer, much more heated and possessive kiss for much longer than the previous short pecks.
"Alright, gorgeous. I'm going. I promise. I won't come interrupt again."
"Thank you. I'll see you in a bit. I love you."
"I love you too. A lot."
And then he rushes off in an excitement.
Y/n spends another 30 minutes with the engineers before she finally gets up moving to find Lando and thankfully finding him tapping away at his phone.
"Boo." Y/n yells but annoyingly has no success in her scaring attempt. "Boo, you're supposed to scream."
"The only one of us making the other scream is me, baby." Lando smirks earning a deadpanned expression before he holds out his phone to her. "Ok, I think I got all the photos and videos. You say the word and the world knows."
Y/n flicks through he photos and videos then groaning at the last one.
"Really? You have to include a video of me drooling?"
"Aww...but you're so cute and you're drooling on me." Lando grins acting as if that makes it any more appealing. "I can remove that one if you really want."
She really wants but Lando looks genuine in not doing it just to rip the piss out of her and it does make it all a little more light-hearted.
"Fine, post it. But I already know I'm never living that video down." Y/n laughs handing it back. "Go on, post it. Preferably now before I lose my nerve and stop you."
That gives him the right hurry up and he just puts caption of red love hearts before hitting to post it. Then turns off his phone and tosses it away.
"Your phone too, no point in keeping it turned on. It's just going to blow up, even if it's not from socials. People are going to be messaging you about it." Lando states and actually she knows he's right.
-
Y/n gets locked into a Sky segment by Jenson Button, the man who seems to always be around when there's a juicy moment going on in the paddock
"So, when I woke up this morning. Seeing endless posts of the same video of you drooling on Lando Norris was not how I expected to spend my day when I looked at my phone." Jenson states making her smile.
"Well, you're welcome for spicing up your day." Y/n laughs making Jenson chuckle.
"So is this the official confirmation?"
"Yeah, I put it off for 8 months. Lando was ready to just confirm everything from the get go. I do have to say the way people just mistook it for a crush because I'm so good at bluffing. He did sort of counter my efforts constantly because he couldn't keep his mouth shut about me." Y/n grins before shrugging. "But the time felt right now."
"I really have only seen good things. everyone is so happy there's a new...Mr and Mrs McLaren."
"Oh god, that sounds so weird when you put it like that." Y/n shivers before she suddenly finds almost a repeat of history.
Large hands on her waist but this time she doesn't jump quite as much when he holds her tightly.
"Sorry guys, I have to steal her. She's wanted in the garage for something. Is that ok?" Lando asks looking between the hosts while y/n holds the mic to his mouth just out of instinct the camera might want to hear what he says.
"Yeah, of course. Sorry for keeping her from work duties."
"It's not work. When he says I'm wanted, it means he wants me in the garage because he's clingy and needy and now he doesn't have to hide it." Y/n states honestly before smiling. "But I'll take an out when I get it. I'm sure I'll come back and we'll talk later."
The group laugh and agree they'll likely see her later before Lando successful steals her away to the garage.
"So am I going to be called out on camera more often now?"
"Only when necessary." Y/n grins before moving around to look at his car. "Can I get in?"
One thing Lando rarely gets to see but has really grown to love completely. seeing her in an F1 car, specifically his F1 car. But really he'd love to see her in her own.
He has actually see her do tyre testing in one of the old cars. Getting to choose her own number for the testing and fully commit herself to it all.
She chose number 7, because she thinks it's lucky and she liked the idea of having Kimi Raikkonen's number.
"You don't have to ask." Lando states then watching her grin and climb into the car.
Her helmets aren't around so he just grabs his own and places it over her head gently, making sure she sees it coming before he does so since having your head shoved in a helmet definitely needs warning beforehand.
Later on, on their way out of the paddock. Lando and her both stop to sign things. Initially she never used to get asked, but a following has amassed for her and especially in the confirmation of her relationship with Lando. There's a whole load of people who suddenly want to have her sign things. Surprisingly a lot of Lando's mini helmets.
"Hey, I made you this bracelet and one for Lando too. I made them before you told everyone that you guys are dating. But now you get to match anyway." A young woman states brightly looking almost nervous as y/n suddenly feels struck with a slightly new emotion.
She's watched Lando and Oscar, and actually a lot of the drivers get bracelets. But she's never been given a bracelet for herself. Hell she's even been used as a means to give other drivers a bracelet.
"Thank you so much. I'll make sure Lando gets his." Y/n smiles before quickly wiping at her eyes. "These are happy tears I promise. I've just never had someone make me a bracelet and give me one."
There's more than one person pointing their phone at her, proving the embrassing moment of crying over a bracelet is captured on video. But another thanks and she moves over to Lando.
"Hey, I'm just going to go ahead. But a fan made us matching bracelets and I promised I'd give it to you." Y/n smiles earning Lando's immediate attention.
"Thanks-are you crying?"
"I'm fine. Happy tears...I've just never got given a bracelet that's actually for me. Didn't realise it would feel so nice." Y/n laughs sniffling a little before she's yanked forward into a hug that she immediately returns.
"Baby, that's so cute. I'm done here anyway, let's go. It was nice meeting you guys. We'll be back tomorrow. Bring bracelets for y/n if you can!" Lando instructs making y/n tsk since she doesn't want people to be forced to make her bracelets.
After a short ride to the hotel, y/n and Lando get to their room where Lando places down his impressive collection of gifts from fans and ditches them in favour of following y/n into the bathroom since she always showers getting back from the paddock.
"You know, as far as announcements of relationships go. I'd say it was pretty well received." Lando comments making her look at him for a moment as she pulls off her clothes and moves to turn on the water.
"Yeah, I've received a lot of love."
"You have no reason not to. Everyone loves you...They'll probably be saying I've tainted your innocence soon."
"My innocence?" Y/n giggles making Lando smirk as he removes his own clothes. "Just because you have a cocky smirk, doesn't mean you're some big bad man causing trouble and ruining the reputations of everyone woman you involve yourself with."
"Not the reputation...but I've certainly ruined you for any other man...they'll never treat you as good as I do."
"Depends in which department you're talking about." Y/n teases making him raise his eyebrows since he knows she's just trying to wind him up on purpose for her own inevitable pleasure.
"Really, you want to play the game like that? Because I think we both know you'll regret it soon."
"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm perfectly innocent and have no-ah Lando! You can't just-" And she's silenced by a kiss as she's pushed into the open style shower until her back hits the wall.
"I can."
Taglist: @namgification @hiireadstuff @jsjcue @geniusalpaca @itsjustkhaos @llando4norris @partyinpitlane @lpab @xoscar03
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xorafe · 30 days
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cam girl (part two)
pairing rafe cameron x female reader
rating explicit 18+
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summary you work two jobs. by day, you’re a maid for the cameron household, where rafe degrades you any chance he can get. by night, you’re a cam girl, hiding your face so nobody can recognize you. when you discover your new subscriber, the filthy-mouthed man obsessively paying you to do everything he can think of, is rafe, you’re not sure what to do next.
{ read part one here }
+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*
The next time you log in to the cam website, your heart is racing. Throughout your classes that day, all you could think about was how hot the session with the man you thought was a stranger was last night.
But he isn’t a stranger. He lives in the mansion you get paid to clean twice a week, where he taunts you every chance he gets, practically fucking you with his eyes.
Does Rafe know it’s you on the camera? Is this a sick little game he’s enjoying, thinking you don’t know it’s him? Or maybe he’s aware you know who’s behind the account and he wants to see if you’ll say something about it?
But you do such a good job hiding your face. He can’t know it’s you.
You wonder if it’s wrong to continue doing the nightly private sessions knowing his identity. But when you remember how much joy he gets from berating you while you clean his house, you figure it’s ridiculous to care about the ethics of it.
You try to focus on the fact that you’re making so much money. Rafe gave you over $1500 last night. And he wants to keep paying you for every session. At this rate, you won’t have to worry about bills or your college tuition at all.
You closed your cam girl account to all other subscribers and posted a note that you were no longer streaming. The truth was, you were, but for one man only.
The thought of Rafe lying in bed jacking off to you turns you on before you even start the chat with him.
You take a deep breath, your hand hovering over your laptop trackpad. Rafe Cameron is going to watch you get naked and touch yourself and it makes your stomach feel like it’s flipping.
You start the private session.
Your screen fills with the image of you from your lips down to your feet as you’re curled up on your bed. You’re in a sheer white nighty with no bra or panties on underneath, your body hardly hidden beneath the smooth fabric.
Rafe called your tits perfect last night, so you figured he’ll appreciate you having them on display right when he logs in.
figure8 has joined the session.
You swallow hard.
figure8: been thinking about you all day princess
His words give you butterflies. You try to keep your confidence at the same level now that you’re aware of who’s on the other side of the chat. You refuse to be intimidated knowing it’s Rafe.
“Yeah? What about me?” you ask.
figure8: how pretty that pussy is and how im gonna watch you fuck it from behind
You feel the blood rush to your face. You know he has a filthy mind from the comments he makes to you at his house while you work, but this is more than you ever expected.
“Should I go slow for you again?” you whisper. “I know you like that.”
figure8: what a fast learner
You smirk. There’s the Rafe you know. He has such a natural talent for mocking you.
“You like this little outfit?” you ask him, your hands running down the fabric on your chest, fondling your tits. “I wore it special for you.”
figure8: so fucking hot. bounce those tits for me
You sit up on your knees and arch your back, lightly bobbing on the bed with your hands up in your hair. He has a perfect view of your chest beneath the sheer nighty, your nipples hard under the fabric as your tits jiggle up and down.
figure8: damn. i’d leave hickeys and bites all over those tits. you like to get bitten dont you princess. i know you like it rough
With every other viewer you’ve had as a cam girl, you’ve lied about your preferences just to get tips, but with Rafe, it’s like he knows exactly what you want. You haven’t had to lie to him once.
“I fucking love it rough,” you moan. You put your hands up to your tits and squeeze hard. “I want you to leave marks on me.”
figure8: i’d leave them all over your tits and your ass
“Yeah? Would you spank me? Hard enough to leave a handprint?” you ask, turning around and slowly lifting the nighty over your butt. You stick out your ass for him and sway it slowly for him.
figure8: fuck yes. shake your ass
You spread your knees wider and obey, looking back to watch your body on the screen. The thought of Rafe lying in bed fisting his cock while he watches you makes you get even wetter.
figure8: straddle your pillow. i wanna see how you’d ride my face
You tilt the laptop down so he doesn’t see above your mouth as you move to grab a pillow from behind the computer. You readjust the screen then straddle the pillow, the cotton soft against your naked core.
You start to buck your hips, shuddering immediately. You’re dazed already, desperate for his hands on you, as you rub your body against the pillow.
“I’d ride it fast like this,” you say breathily, humping the pillow.
figure8: my needy girl. my dick is throbbing watching you
figure8 tipped you $200.
figure8: that’s for riding it so well
“Thank you,” you purr, still grinding the pillow. The feeling of getting paid while doing something that feels so good is intoxicating. You’d do anything Rafe’s filthy mind desires.
figure8: don’t cum yet. i’m not done with you
You bite your lip in frustration.
“Okay,” you say heatedly. You slow down your thrusts, back still arched as you await your next instruction.
figure8: show me how you finger yourself. get your pussy nice and close to the camera
You shift to spread your legs in front of the camera, seeing yourself on full display for him.
figure8: start with one finger. i want you to work up to four. can you do that princess?
“I can do that,” you say shakily. You insert a forefinger into your warm, tight hole and let out a contented sigh.
figure8: pump it in and out slowly. add a second finger when you’re ready
You obey, stretching yourself out a bit before adding a second finger. Slowly, you add a third and writhe a bit. You push your hand back and forth, watching yourself on the screen.
You add your pinky finger and slightly tense up, your body rolling.
figure8: breathe through it. you can do it
You let out a shaky exhale as you continue, watching your fingers disappear inside of you.
figure8: good girl stretching that pussy out so nice. i bet you taste so fucking good. taste yourself for me
The request is so sinful, so unlike anything you’ve ever been asked to do. You slowly pull your fingers out of yourself, bringing your hand up to your mouth, making sure he can see your lips.
“I’ve never done this before,” you say to him.
figure8: you’ll do a lot of new things with me, princess
You taste your wetness, sucking on your fingers for him with a slurp loud enough for him to hear. It’s such an animalistic, depraved act, and you find yourself wishing you could do it with him in person, have him watch you do this in the same room.
figure8: god i want to taste you so bad
“I want to taste you, too,” you whisper. If only Rafe knew how accessible you were to him, in his house twice a week. “You know, you can send me photos whenever you want.”
figure8: desperate to see this dick aren’t you
You smile. He could not be more correct. You don’t know how you’ll manage to be around him in person and act normal knowing what you know.
Your stomach heats when you see that he sent a photo. He’s holding his cock, the curve of it so perfect, a pearl of precum leaking out of the tip.
“I want to use my mouth on you,” you keen. “My pussy is aching for it.”
figure8: i know you’d love the taste, princess. show me how you’d take my cock doggy style
Finally. You pick up your dildo and turn around, backing up towards the screen. You angle to slide the toy in slowly, feeling it fill you up, then move your hand so he can view you clearly.
figure8: i can see you dripping
Sure enough, you look down on your sheets to see drops of your own wetness. This man has got you hornier than you’ve ever been.
“That’s what you do to me,” you rasp. “Fuck, I bet you’d destroy me.”
figure8: that pussy would grip my dick so well. i’d fuck you so hard
“Can I please do it now?” you say breathlessly, throbbing with need.
figure8: only because you asked so nice
You dip your arm between your hips, knees sinking into your bed as you lean so your cheek is pressed against the mattress and out of the camera’s frame. You hold the base of the toy and shut your eyes and imagine Rafe’s warm, hard cock inside of you instead of a dildo you have to control.
Breathy moans spill out of you as you thrust the dildo in and out of your slick cunt. You picture him behind you, his hands on your hips as he ruthlessly thrashes in and out of you.
The orgasm slowly builds and builds.
“I’m gonna come,” you say, muffled. You bite your tongue, stifling the urge to call him by his name. Your eyes roll back as the orgasm ripples through with a powerful force, making you shake with pleasure.
When you finally regain enough energy, you sit up and turn to look at the laptop again. To your delight, you see that Rafe sent another photo.
You look closer at the image to see his cum sprayed across his muscular stomach, the white splashes of his pleasure glistening atop his abs.
“Shit,” you rasped. The image is so sexy that you feel yourself getting aroused again.
figure8: see what you do to me? i never cum this fucking fast
figure8 tipped you $100.
figure8: use the money to buy this. have it ready tomorrow
He sends a link in his next message. You open it to see a sex toy website. The page he sent is for a rose vibrator.
“I’ve always wanted one of these,” you say breathily. “Thank you, baby.”
figure8: dont use it without me watching. understand?
“Yes,” you say.
figure8: sleep. you’ll need your rest for what im doing to you tomorrow
figure8 tipped you $1000.
Rafe leaves the chat. You follow his instructions, ordering the toy right away and selecting the option to have it delivered tomorrow. What is he planning?
You decide to do some more online shopping, finding a top you know he’ll like.
After you buy the items, you stare at your laptop, reeling from what just happened.
You look at the pictures he sent again. Rafe was always such a cocky asshole whenever he taunted you at work and it definitely isn’t from overcompensation. He’s so well-endowed that you know it’d hurt so good having him inside you.
How would he react if you told him you were the girl he was jacking off to? Would he be embarrassed? Or relieved he could fuck you for real? Because you’d let him have sex with you. After tonight, there’s no doubt about it.
You close the laptop. It’s Thursday, meaning you’ll likely see Rafe in two days when you’re back at the Cameron estate on Saturday as scheduled. You typically see him around the house, but there are times where you don’t run into him at all.
You don’t know if you’d prefer to see him or not. How could you act normal after having him talk to you like that, after seeing his naked photos?
You try to go to bed right away, but your head is spinning.
The next night, you log in wearing skimpy white panties and the pink tank top you bought the night before, the word “princess” stretched across the front in white cursive letters.
Rafe joins the private session and you can imagine the smirk on his face once he sees your outfit.
“Hi, baby,” you coo, pinching the peaks of your nipples poking beneath the shirt. “You like my top? Bought it last night.”
figure8: its perfect. i want you to spoil yourself with every dollar i give you
You giggle and hold the small silicone rose toy up the camera.
“I was tempted to use it, but I didn’t,” you admit. “Promise.”
figure8: good girl. i hope you got your rest last night. im not paying you til you cum three times tonight
“Oh, my God,” you laugh. “Three? I don’t know…”
figure8: you can do it, princess. take ur panties off but keep that shirt on. don’t want u to forget who u belong to
His possessiveness is so attractive that you feel yourself getting wet already. You slide your underwear off, spreading your legs and putting yourself on display for him.
figure8: tell me what you’d want me to do if i was there. you’d like my head between your legs wouldnt you
You giggle, “You read my mind.” You put your fingers on your clit and close your eyes, imagining curling your fingers in Rafe’s hair as his tongue presses against your middle.
You would have never guessed that Rafe Cameron likes eating pussy, always having assumed he was selfish in bed. But he’s been surprising you since the first message he sent.
“I’d want you to start off kissing me right here,” you purr, “then you’d start using your tongue. Then you’d suck my clit.”
figure8: then i’d put my tongue deep inside your tight cunt
Reading the words makes you tremble. You lower your hand to spread your lips open and show him your opening.
“Right here?” you tease.
figure8: i want my face all wet from you
You groan, imagining his pretty face glistening, his pink lips swollen from eating you out.
You grow wetter and wetter as you touch yourself.
figure8: get the toy
You eagerly pick it up and hold your finger over the “on” button.
“Which setting?”
figure8: whatever will make u cum the hardest, princess
“You get off on me feeling good, don’t you, baby?” you tease.
figure8: those sounds you make are so fucking perfect. i’m already rock hard
“You want me to be loud?”
figure8: don’t hold back. i’ll count your orgasms with you ok? and on the third one, we’ll cum together
This man could not get any sexier if he tried. You curiously explore the toy, finally turning it on and hearing it buzz immediately.
You place it on your clit and the pleasure is instant. You let out a sharp exhale, imagining Rafe touching himself while he watches you.
The toy buzzes and suctions on you and it doesn’t take long at all for the first orgasm to roll through you. You don’t stifle the moan that comes out of you, knowing he’s enjoying it.
figure8: that’s one. that was so fast, princess
“I was horny all day,” you confess.
figure8: thinkin about me?
“Mhm. That picture of your cum all over your stomach is so fucking nice.”
figure8: then u can imagine how much i enjoy watching u fuck urself
“I want a video of you rubbing your cock,” you say impulsively. “I want to hear your sounds, too.”
figure8: you’re such a needy girl
“It’s why you like me,” you flirt. He doesn’t respond right away, making you anticipate that he’s recording a video for you.
A file from him pops up in the chat. You eagerly play it, watching six jaw-dropping seconds of his hand moving up and down the thick girth of his dick in his dark bedroom, his heavy breathing filling your ears.
“God,” you whimper. “I’m ready to go again.”
You pick up the toy and place it on your clit, pressing it down hard as it pulls another orgasm out of you after a minute. You moan out a jumbled, high-pitched mess of “oh, fuck”s as you cum.
Your muscles are tingling and tired. You’re not sure you can give yourself a third orgasm.
figure8: two. not done yet
“Maybe we stop here?” you whisper. “I’m already so weak.”
figure8: are u going to be a good girl or not
“I will,” you resign. “I will.”
figure8: go again. on the max setting
Feeling spent but determined to please him, you put the toy on your sensitive clit again. You hang your head back, looking up at your bedroom ceiling as you press the button a few times to turn on the highest level.
The toy’s suction and pace is brutal and unforgiving. You cry out from the overstimulation, writhing beneath it. The forced orgasm rises inside you and you groan loudly as you cum, tremors ripping through your body.
You’re panting when you turn off the toy and sit up to look at the chat. Rafe sent another photo. His hand is holding his cock at its base, the swollen shaft covered in his cum.
figure8: would u lick this up?
“Every fucking drop,” you say, wishing you could have orgasmed with him inside of you.
figure8 tipped you $2000.
figure8: extra for being so good
The high of the orgasms, of your bank account growing all because this man wants to watch you pleasure yourself, makes you feel like you’re floating.
“I belong to you,” you tell Rafe drunkenly, unable to imagine letting anyone else watching you like this ever again.
figure8: yeah you fucking do. that pussy is mine
“All yours,” you whisper.
figure8: ill see u tomorrow. good job today princess
Rafe exits the chat, leaving you a heaving mess.
Your heart feels like it twists reading his last message. He surely means he’ll see you on camera tomorrow… but what if he means at the estate for your housekeeping shift?
No, he doesn’t know it’s you. He can’t. You breathe out a tired sigh and take a long, hot shower before going to bed.
Your shapeless uniform is scratchy against your skin as you walk into the mansion the next day, still not sure if you want to run into Rafe or not.
You finish up cleaning downstairs and move up to the bedrooms, leaving Rafe’s room for last.
When you enter his room, it’s empty, the late morning sun hidden behind the blinds covering his big windows. You hear the shower in his ensuite running. You curse to yourself, suddenly nervous to see him. Maybe you can quickly collect the laundry and leave before he gets out.
You start to strip the bed, picturing the photos he sent you of himself on it, fucking his own hand and cumming with you. He lies right here, typing dirty things to you, watching you fuck yourself.
You’ve only unbuttoned one button of the duvet cover when you hear the shower faucet get turned off. Shit.
You rush to unbutton the cover, but you finish just as the door squeaks open behind you. You can’t bring yourself to look at him.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” you mumble, keeping your back to him and leaving the bed half-done.
“You’ve seen it all already,” Rafe huskily says behind you. You freeze for a second.
You shyly keep your eyes on the hardwood floor as you turn. When you look up at him as he towers over you, his mouth merely inches away from yours, you see he’s wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips.
His hair is wet, his broad chest spattered with water drops. He smells amazing from the body wash he used and his eyes are heavy lidded and his smirk is so damn self-satisfied.
“Why do you look so surprised? You really think I didn’t recognize that pretty mouth right away, princess?”
{ read part three here }
taglist for this series * @angel-anna / @pocozyc-april / @devotedlyelectronicartisan / @abbybarnesstuff / @littlered0000 / @princessmaybank / @simping-for-mgg / @angelofcigs / @dazedvivenne / @idkdudsworld / @thewalkingdeadsmut / @maryscanyon
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Note
Getting fucked by ghostface!Billy in an alley on your way back from Tatum’s. He tried to scare you and pull this little stunt, but you figure out it was him
More Billy, YES (this is 1.5k, enjoy)
Please read the warnings before reading this one, some of the content might make you uncomfortable or be triggering for you
Warnings: 18+, dub-con, semi-public sex, p + v, non-protected sex, creampie,
my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time
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‘’Are you sure you don’t want to wait for Dewey to drive you home? He should be there at ten,’’ Tatum asked again as you were getting ready to leave. ‘’The psychos are out at this hour...’’ 
You declined her offer. ‘’I can’t. My parents will have my head if I'm not home before curfew.’’ You grabbed your backpack and opened the door. ‘’See you tomorrow!’’ You waved at her before stepping out and closing the door. 
The chill autumn air brushing your face and the fallen leaves swished on the ground around you as you walked down the Rileys’ driveway and took the sidewalk. You didn’t particularly enjoy walking alone at night — no women did, honestly —, but Tatum’s house was only a few blocks from yours. 
On the way, you admired all the carved pumpkins out on the porches and other halloween decorations, making you miss when you were kids. Halloween was still fun as a teenager, but no parties could beat trick-or-treating and exchanging candies with your friends. 
As you turned on Elm street, a growing unease pricked at your senses. Someone was following you. Your steps became quicker, but not quick enough that your change of pace would alert the person behind you. The last thing you wanted was to let him know that you knew he was following you. He could take a run after you and it would be done for you.
You thought of going back to Tatum’s, maybe Dewey was home from work, but you were almost home. Instead, you took the shortcut to your house and turned in an alley, thinking you could kick a trash can at your pursuer's feet in case he tried anything, but a shadow loomed over you. Panic surged through you, and before you could react, a gloved hand swiftly clamped over your mouth, stifling the scream that tried to escape.
Fear pulsed within you, your mind racing to comprehend the situation. You struggled against the grip, your instincts kicking in as you fought to break free. The scent of leather filled your nostrils as you twisted and wriggled, attempting to loosen the stranger's hold.
A distorted voice pierced the air, its chilling words sending a shiver down your spine. ‘’Don’t you know walking home by yourself at night is a danger-magnet? Especially with a tight little skirt like yours,’’ he said as the hand that wasn’t over your mouth slid up your thigh, making your heart race in fear of what was going to happen. 
A sickening feeling twisted in your stomach. Maybe you should have waited for Dewey to drive you home. Your parents would have been mad for not respecting your curfew, but at least you would have been safe. 
You tried to scream again, and fight back, but the stranger only laughed at your attempts. 
‘’You’re not gonna escape me, babydoll,’’ the distorted voice laughed, tightening their grip and pressing your front against the brick wall of a building. ‘’If you try, I’ll gut you like a fish.’’ Something cool touched your leg and tears pricked in your eyes. 
A knife. 
Tatum was right about psychos being out at this hour…
You turned your head slightly, trying to see who was holding you, but all you saw was a strange halloween white mask with a black hood. 
‘’Have you ever been told how good your ass looked in that skirt? Bet your boyfriend likes to take you from behind, uh?’’ The hand that was on your thigh moved up, pulling your skirt and lifting it up, making your skin crawl. 
The night air hit your bare ass, completely exposed to the masked stranger, and you pressed your thighs together. You doubted it would stop the man from doing anything, but you could at least try. 
‘’Mmh, what a nice ass,’’ he pointed out, smacking his hand on your ass-cheek, the sound resonating in the alley, and grabbing it. You squeaked at the impact. ‘’I can’t wait to feel it against me as I pound in your tight pussy.’’
Your stomach churned. Your night was turning into a nightmare. 
‘’Now, I’m gonna take my hand off your mouth, but if you dare scream…’’ he trailed with a threat.
You nodded, having no other choice. He was the one with the knife.
‘’Spread those legs, hands on the wall,’’ he ordered, the distorted voice glitching a little, causing you to hear the man’s real voice. It sounded familiar, like you had heard it before, but a lot of men had similar voices. 
Shaking that thought, you obeyed and parted your legs, holding a hiss when pressing your hands against the rough brick.   
‘’Now what?’’ you spat, looking over your shoulder.  
The stranger chuckled, then pushed himself up against the curve of your ass, letting you feel his erection through his clothes, the hardness and heat radiating from his body admittedly kind of hot. ‘’Now I'm gonna stick it in you and rearrange your insides, you dumb fucking bitch.’’
You gasped at his words, arousal leaking through your panties. 
A car drove by on the other end of the alley, making the both of you go completely still. Minutes ago, you would have been relieved that a car was driving by. Not anymore. A sick and twisted part of you wanted the masked stranger to fuck you against that wall. 
Once the car was out of earshot, the masked man another grope of your ass, then pulled aside your underwear, running a gloved hand over your folds and discovering your little secret. 
‘’Is this…turning you on?’’ 
You kept quiet, disgusted and ashamed of yourself. 
He laughed, keeping going with the teasing by pressing a finger inside you, making you gasp as you automatically clamped around it. ‘’It is turning you on.’’ You heard the smirk in his voice. ‘’Dirty little slut.’’ 
You whined at his words, his finger moving in and out, but not nearly enough. ‘’Please,’’ you surprised yourself by saying, chasing his finger. ‘’I need more.’’ 
If anyone were to see you right now, you would be mortified. Not only were you getting sexually assaulted by a masked stranger in an alley, but you were enjoying it. It was sick.
Much too soon, he removed his finger, making you whine in protest. You turned your head to glance at him, but his head was down and you couldn’t see much. 
‘’Think you can handle my cock in you? Your slutty little cunt is weeping around my finger,’’ he said as he reached beneath his robe, fighting with his belt buckle and zipper to free himself. 
Your stomach bubbled with excitement, your teeth catching your bottom lip when you felt his hard cock pressing against your entrance. You pushed back against him, the hard press of his tip prodding at you, his pre-cum mixing with your leaking arousal. 
Your jaw dropped as you felt his cock part your folds, pushing himself all the way inside before stilling for a few seconds. Fuck. His dick was filling you so good. He gave a first snap of hips and a moan escaped from your lips, louder than you were expecting. 
Behind you, the masked man stopped moving, clamping a hand over your mouth as he hissed in your ear. ‘’Keep quiet or I’ll stop playing with your cute little cunt. Can't get caught, can we?’’ he warned, forgetting to use the voice distorter and giving himself away. 
‘’Billy Loomis, you sick fu—’’ 
Your words were cut off as his thick cock plunged back into you, making you moan instead. 
Billy laughed. ‘’Surprise, babydoll.’’ He gripped your hip firmly with one hand, the second coming around your throat while he was pounding in you from behind, stars flying around in your vision as the pleasure filled your whole body, explicit groans and muffled moans filling the dark alley.
‘’Always so fucking tight,’’ he grunted, getting really hot under the mask. Halloween costumes were not made to be worn during sex. 
You tried your best to brace yourself, both hands flat on the brick wall as Billy kept pistoning into you, your legs were shaking with the intensity of the pleasure he was giving you. ‘’Ahh, yes, just like that!’’ 
After he emptied himself and rode the waves of your respective pleasure, Billy slipped out from you, a white string of hot cum connecting you to him. He smirked under the mask, loving to watching himself leak from your abused pussy and drip out and down your leg. 
‘’You’re insane,’’ you said, turning around to face your boyfriend, your wrinkled skirt still bunched up at your waist. 
Laughing, Billy pulled the mask off his face, his lips curved into a wicked grin. ‘’The best people are.’’ 
You both fixed yourself in silence, having enough played with public indecency for tonight. As thrilling and exciting as this had been, you didn’t want an actual stranger to see you exposed like that.  
‘’How did you know I just left Tatum’s?’’ 
‘’Stu,’’ he explained. ‘’Tatum called him saying you just left, so I put on that sweet little costume and decided to surprise you. Did you like it?’’ 
You grabbed the front of the black robe and kissed him in response.
Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf  @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos @xjennyx2 @jennasslut @thatonesblog  @mikaelsonsstuff @icarly23 @tcddszn  @bt.oliana  @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @red1culous @iluurmom @popeheywardssecretgf @michaelangdonsslut @byhrxb @kamthecoolest @kattybug @ravenstrueluv @landryslxys @die4niyahhh  @sl4sh3rfuck3r @radiant-whore  @Meadzy21 @luci1fer @nomorespahgetti  @bloodyhw  @depthsofdespairr  @bellysbeach @wilmalovegood @loupiotesworld  @wenvierismycomfort @t-candy  @s-al-em  @darylscvmdumpster  @tommysaxes  @adaydreamaway08 @johannelis2302nely  @aqshua @lynbubble  @luiise  @planetkt  @vampyrgoff
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vetteltea · 4 months
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Max Verstappen and Secret Santa [no warnings]
Day 2 of the Vetteltea Advent Calendar
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“Is this my one?” Your voice carries through the small barrage of producers and videographers, a camera transfixed onto your face as you lift the package, attempting to figure out what content was inside of the box.
You were exhausted; despite wrapping up the championship a month ago, simply focusing on obtaining more and more points for Red Bull Racing’s reputation, the tracks had been tough and jet lag increasingly aggravating. Abu Dhabi was the end of the road, one step closer to falling back home into your own bed. However, you could not hide the elation which fell onto your face as the Formula One media team had pulled you aside, letting you know it was time to film the reveal. 
You had been so excited to purchase your present this year; Yuki was always a fantastic pick, having selected him a set of chef knives and a hat, printed with a photo of himself and Pierre. Now, as the deep blue box was handed into your grasp, you couldn’t help but feel your heart race, gently shaking the box, determined to figure out the content.
“It sounds…heavy?” You try to give the best description possible to the woman standing behind the camera, urging you to unwrap the present in your hands. The temptation overrides, slipping your fingers through the silky bow and beginning to unwrap the formal packaging. “Whoever wrapped this…” you trail off. “Got it wrapped professionally. I don’t think any of us could wrap a present this good.” 
The paper eventually falls away, the camera adjusting as you place down the box upon the table, lifting the lid. Immediately, your eyes furrow together, and then soften in confusion, grasping around the item which you had been gifted. 
There, laid upon a pile of soft purple tissue paper, rested a Polaroid camera. It was small, coloured an off-white and was almost identical to the previous one you had owned. 
“What did you get?” The woman behind the camera had prompted, urging to get the content required for the Secret Santa video. Your trance upon the item is snapped away, blinking rapidly and looking up the lens trained on your reaction. 
“It’s a Polaroid camera and a bunch of film!” You lift the camera, showing it to the team, the smile on your face ever-present. “I bring a Polaroid to every race and take a photo but…someone broke it.” Your mind flickers back to your teammate, how he had insisted he could take a photo for Zandervoot; it was his home race after all. He had been nothing but apologetic, though that wouldn’t bring back your camera. 
“Who do you think got it for you? It must be someone who knows you well?” The woman prompts you to continue whilst your fingers trace over the device, elated that somebody must have understood the importance and value held to the memories you capture. 
“I mean…” you trail off. “A lot of us are close. It has to be someone who knows I do it…Daniel, maybe?” You think about the smiley Australian; how the two of you had bonded over your love of taking photos during global travels. The synchronized shake of the team signified you must have been wrong. It wasn’t Daniel. “Maybe Pierre?” He was almost always insistent on being in your photos, after all. 
“Think closer to home.” You misunderstand the woman for a moment, thinking of your neighbor in the city of Monte Carlo.
 “Valtteri?” Though, you’re almost certain he wouldn’t have got you this. You’re so certain it’s time to give up, lifting the camera out of its box, your attention being drawn immediately to the small Polaroid card being left underneath the device. 
There was a photo, a photo of a man holding up a white piece of card, his scrawling hand-writing undeniably recognisable. In lettering, he had spelt out one word, ‘date?’ 
There’s two more underneath, one with the driver holding a thumbs up, the other a thumbs down. You can’t help the grin returning to your face as you look up from the box, seeing his figure sitting a mere meter away from you, eyes trained on you, a smile on his face at the realization you had finally clocked. 
“Max.” You finally solve the problem, subtly slipping one of the Polaroids into your hand as the team take a few establishing shots, thanking you for being part of their marketing and turning their attention to your teammate, adamant on filming his segment next. 
Before they can, you subtly slide past his table, tracing his knuckles and resting the Polaroid in his lap, moving away before he can realize what has happened. Instead, he focused on the photograph in his hand, seeing his own figure staring back with a thumbs up. 
The last thing he sees is you turning the corner, still clad in Red Bull Uniform, a subtle wink thrown in his direction as you leave him to unwrap his own present, undeniably thinking of unwrapping something better later.
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bonny-kookoo · 6 months
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Jungkook
𝙁𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙇𝙞𝙣𝙚 | 🔞 Main Work
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He's one of the best, no race too tough to handle, every track a new challenge he takes on- especially when it's you who's waiting at the finish line for him.
Tags/Warnings: Racer!Jungkook, established relationship, romance, suggestive themes, heavy flirting, adult content, mentions of online hate, only minor angst, they're a power couple, this MC is now my spirit animal, smut
Length: ~5k words
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A/N: I know nothing about actual car racing. Pls don't take it too seriously, thanks haha 💗
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"But be real here-" A fellow driver asks, sitting down at the side now to pick up a water bottle. "-I always wondered, are you like, actually a couple?" He asks, taking a sip of his water, replenishing what he's sweat out during the training session with Jungkook and the other drivers.
Jungkook sighs to himself, before he gets into a sitting position, tapping the timer on his phone to a stop. He gets these questions a lot- whether or not you're in if for the right reasons, how good your pussy must be to have him put up with your annoying attitude all the time, or how someone like him isn't hooking up with models and actresses left and right. He's not sure why it's such an outrageous thing apparently to have a stable relationship, but somehow, if he just went by what magazines and online gossip-blogs report, it's apparently absolutely unthinkable to be in a normal loving relationship in his position.
But he is. And he intends to keep it that way for as long as you'll have him.
He loves you, dearly so. Your 'bad habits' and flaws are just as endearing to him as the rest of you, mainly because you were also there when he was just starting out, bank account almost always empty at every end of the month, rent barely being paid. You stayed even when he was at his lowest, you cheered him on when he won his first major race, and you consistently keep supporting him at every event you can. And to him, you're prettier than any model he could ever come across anyways.
"We're an actual couple indeed." Jungkook affirms, locking his phone before he screws open a plastic bottle of water himself.
"But like, isn't it a bit disappointing sometimes?" Jake asks him. "Like, I heard you never go to afterparties, and if you do it's always with her. You could have anyone, man." He laughs.
"You'll get there too, maybe." Jungkook chuckles simply, when the door opens, and familiar jingles of jewelry make him smile to turn around- and there you are, meeting his eyes with a smile, as he instantly moves to stand up.
"I bought you all your favorite snacks, and there's like, one of those electrolyte drinks there too." You say after pecking his lips with your strawberry flavored lipbalm, putting the white plastic bag into his hands. "You're not overdoing it, right?" You ask, and he grins, shaking his head.
"I'm almost finished anyways. You wanna wait up here? We can go back to the hotel together then." He asks you, gently pulling your hair out of your long earrings where some of it had gotten tangled. You let him, and wait for him to lean back as a sign that he's finished, before you answer.
"If it's not too much of a bother? There's already a bunch of paparazzi outside, I think someone might've leaked your location online.." You tell him, and he grows serious at that.
"Then you'll wait. I don't want you going back to the hotel alone if they're outside." He tells you now, not giving you another option. He remembers the last time you almost got mobbed at the airport, simply because you flew out the country a day after he did- and of course it created rumors and the wildest theories as to why that might've been the case. It's what happens to him constantly due to his status as the 'hottest race driver of his generation'.
One magazine reported that you apparently have been spotted fighting by someone at a restaurant, and that that could explain why you had sunglasses on during the airport walk- because you two probably broke up, and your eyes must've been swollen from crying. In reality, you always wore shades or shielded your eyes, because you're sensitive to the camera lights and the masses of people make you anxious, so you always try and blur them out somewhat.
Another online forum speculated that you two definitely broke up, and that it was long coming, because the hate must've gotten to you finally. That there's just no way you both could've ever worked out, and that it was just pushed by your parents so you'd have the most comfortable life imaginable. Your father allegedly introduced you to Jungkook at a press conference, which made Jungkook laugh.
True, your parents know each other- but only because you're a couple, and obviously became closer over the years of dating. It didn't make sense that you both just became a couple so you'd have it easy, when he's mentioned multiple times that you both have been dating for way longer than the span of his career.
And then, that one gossip site that pushed the narrative that he cheated on you at the last afterparty. That there's images from the event where he can be seen with a woman with long dark hair that's definitely not you, and that you most likely found out and kicked him out- and just flew out to start a new life in a different country.
That one made him angry.
The woman he'd been seen with was Mingyu's mother- his best friend whom he'd helped out the burning wreck of his car after he'd crashed into the side barriers. She'd simply been there to thank him, and he'd hugged her just as a way of reassuring her that he'd always be there for any of his teammates, no matter what. And that specific website constantly stirred up cheating allegations- either at him, or you, it didn't matter. Clearly edited photos, alleged video evidence that didn't even show you both at all, it was stupid, really.
He's lucky that you don't instantly believe anything you see. Up until now, you always confronted him first if there was anything you were concerned about. And you trusted him, just as much as he trusted you.
Finishing up his workout, he takes the towel you offer with a thanks, deciding to ignore Jake's stares at your tits for now, since it doesn't appear to bother you at all. And honestly, he can understand. They do look great.
And they feel even better- but that's only for him to know.
The moment you both exit the gym they're all there- and he instantly moves you slightly behind him to properly shield you from anyone trying to reach out to you, which has happened often enough before to make him now hyperaware of it. But you somehow make it into the car waiting to take him back to the hotel without anything happening- though the questions hurled at you both from every side do annoy him to high heavens.
Jungkook are you still together?
Jungkook did you both talk things out?
Jungkook did you really cheat on her?
Jungkook-
"Jungkook." You ask him, and he moves his head to you now. "I asked you if we wanted to take a bath at the hotel? The tub is huge!" You beam at him, and at the sight of you all genuinely happy and carefree, he smiles, nodding, before he takes your hand to hold.
As long as you're still there, everything's fine.
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"Oh god-" You breath out, hand in his hair while he's gripping your thighs over his shoulders to keep them open.
Your panties are still hanging from one of your ankles, toes curled as he licks and swallows over your core, orgasm rapidly approaching you as he places a teasing kiss to your sensitive pearl. He moves around with ease, slips out of his pants rather quickly before he pushes your legs towards you once more, aligning himself with your entrance after lubing himself up shamelessly with your arousal he's gathered with his hand.
He doesn't need to rid you of any clothes- he's done that already.
You always joke that the secret to your happy relationship is back-breaking sex and good cooking- but sometimes, you actually believe it.
It's his main way of relieving stress- he's told you as much before. And he also enjoys the more romantic and sensual aspects of it, the closeness to you, and the knowledge that it's something special just between the two of you. It's always a little playful, unserious, light and relaxing, especially afterwards- the shared afterglow you both experience always something special where you both reconnect and bond once more. It's like you grow closer every time you're together like this.
Even though, according to him, that's impossible.
"Gonna.. wanna take you to the movies..!" He grits out, leaning back while while he holds your legs by the backs of your knees, thrusting his hips steadily into you. "Ah, fuck.."
"Can I- can I choose?" you giggle in pleasure, hands over your head grabbing the pillows while he watches your chest swing in the rhythm of his pace.
"Hm, I don't know.." He mumbles, leaning over you now after letting go of your legs to peck your cheek. "What do you wanna watch?" He wonders, before mouthing at your neck.
"Right now?" You hum dreamily, closing your eyes at the sensations of it all. "Wanna watch you." You say, and he chuckles against your skin, hands next to your head steadying him as he slows down a bit to a more sensual rhythm, though he presses himself deeper at the same time, making you arch your back as your legs hook together over his back.
"You're so cute." He teases, one of his hands moving to run over your chest, playfully smacking one of them once to earn a squeak from you- and laughter from him.
"Kook-!" You whine, and he mimics your tone a little, before his hand moves over your body between your legs where you're currently connected, fingers toying around with you. "Yes-!" You beg, thighs pressing together against his body, before you reach your high, muscles twitching from the feeling, while he becomes a bit more erratic now with your core clenching around his length.
He cums a little afterwards, pulling out before he spills his seed over your lower abdomen, the sight always doing something to him.
"You know, I really wanna go to that premiere that I was invited to with you." He says after taking a deep breath and running a hand through his hair, getting up after leaning over you to peck your lips twice- because once is never really enough for him.
"Heh, you know I'll always be at your side if you want me there." You sing-song, stretching your limbs while he turns on the water in the bathtub, door open to be able to hear you. "So, if you wanna take me, of course I'll be your arm-candy!" You chirp, and he smiles as he returns with some babywipes in his hands to wipe down your skin.
"I always want you at my side." He tells you gently, careful with the rather cold wipes on your skin. "And I'm glad you're still willing to put up with me and this whole thing." He shrugs, throwing the tissues away in the trashcan.
"Why wouldn't I?" You wonder up at him as he hooks his hands underneath your back and legs to carry you into the bathroom of the hotel room you're staying at, to help you into the tub.
"Why would you?" He sighs, getting into the tub as well, unscrewing the small bottle of soap offered by the hotel to pour it into the water. "I sometimes really wonder how.. strong you must be to just constantly put up with all the things said about you and me." He says, pulling you closer to him as the bubbles form with the water pouring in. "…I was really scared, you know." He mumbles onto your skin before he kisses your shoulder.
"Of what?" You ask, unsure.
"When the rumor spread of me cheating. I always.. get worried you might become doubtful of me when things like these are said." He admits to you, before you turn around in his arms, his hands immediately on your hips.
"I'm not worried though." You simply tell him, running your hands through his hair before they settle around his neck. "I trust you." You shrug, and he moves his hands up to hold your cheeks, pulling you closer to kiss you until you giggle, pushing against his pecks to get him away. "Kook no-" You laugh, but he whines.
"But I want to love my girlfriend!" He complains.
"You just did!" You argue back, and he plays with his lip rings for a second.
"But you deserve more." He purrs, trying a little more.
"And my pussy needs a break!" You respond back, making him laugh. This is why he loves you so much- why he loves your relationship so much. Living with you is easy, it's relaxing, it's light and it takes his mind off of all the worries he has.
Because when he's with you, it's like none of it matters. He can just fall into your arms and trust you to catch him every single time.
And you do. Just like right now, as you kiss him until the water cools down, and the bubbles are all gone.
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Something he's never really told you is the amount of people trying to get to you- through him of all people.
Mainly because everyone still somewhat believes the most common rumor that you're just a sugar baby kind of situation- that you're up for anyone, as long as the numbers fit your standards. It's infuriating really, makes his blood boil because what else does he have to do to make people take you both seriously? It's not even just the fact that they apparently don't take him seriously as your partner- but that they really think you'd be someone to use others for money, just because you're not the quiet sweet person in the background who they can bully around.
But he has a plan. Foolproof, really, and he's wanted to do that this year anyways.
"I need my good-luck-kiss.." He teases, keeping you close to him.
"Well if we had enough time I'd give you the whole good-luck-menu, but you gotta go get ready now." You giggle while he bites at your neck.
"Not yet.." He complains, already in his overalls, helmet on the bench close by. You're hiding behind a corner like schoolkids attempting not to get caught skipping class, and he admits that you both do this a lot. He just can't get enough, and today especially, he just wants to make sure the cameras can see his marks on you, and know that they're his. "Will you watch the race?" He asks, and you giggle.
"Of course. I always do." You promise, and he grins, before he pecks your lips one last time, finally getting ready.
You're standing in the VIP spots, watching closely how he starts the race, seemingly a bit behind. But he's pushy, he always is, competitiveness not letting him lose without a fight. And fighting he does, quickly catching up as he squeezes past several other competitors, making your pulse rise quite a bit. Truth be told, you always worry- especially after his friend's last accident that you witnessed that day. The race had been interrupted because of it, and had been decided to be re-started at a later date once Mingyu had fully recovered.
He only sustained minor injuries, cracked a rib and a minor concussion, but nothing else. But the sight of the car will stay in your head for quite a while.
You have nightmares, sometimes. Of Jungkook being in a wreck like that, flames swallowing his broken body whole, and you can't do anything to save him. That's most likely the biggest reason you're always a little on edge whenever he drives. You know he's a good driver, of course he is- but still. You can't help but worry.
Not that you'll ever tell him. He doesn't need about something stupid like that.
It's not even half an hour in, and a black flag is waved at a blue car lagging behind. There's smoke coming from the back wheels- so he's asked to leave the tracks and drive into his pit box, which he promptly does to get his vehicle inspected. It seems to be a more serious issue however- because the announcer suddenly explains that the racer named Jake Pitcher won't return to the tracks.
Time passes by, and the race goes on without much interruption. Everyone follows the rules, flags are waved left and right to navigate things happening, and your eyes occasionally lose sight of the mainly red and black hyundai Jungkook is driving, though you always find him again at the very top, leading the race. It's after the second pit stop that a driver in a sky-blue Toyota is becoming visibly more aggressive, especially towards Jungkook.
It's alright to be a bit pushy, you've learned that that's the norm- but this guy is putting other drivers in danger with just how close he's pressing himself against Jungkook's back and another's side.
But this is the sport. It's an aggressive one, and the rules about how to race are pretty grey.
Someone crashes, a yellow and green racecar you've seen earlier. The vehicle spins on the ground in donuts a few times before it comes to a stop on the grass, and the team is visibly running around to sort things out. It's announced that the driver is awake and alert, and doesn't seem injured- and the car is towed safely away, one lane closed until everything is cleared once more, caution in place for now causing everyone to slow down a little until the track is cleared again.
Jungkook had crashed before. Multiple times, even. He's cracked ribs, bruised his body, broken bones. Never anything too serious- but enough to remind you every time how dangerous his career is. You hate that side of it, and sometimes you really wish he would just call it quits- but you also understand that he's passionate about this, that this is his dream.
You'll always remember his worst crash- the way his car had flown through the air rolling around like it was nothing but a toy, front wheels almost pulled off entirely- and your fear inside your bones as it took him ages it felt like to climb out of the wreck, surprisingly unscathed, only bruised badly in some spots.
He was on a stretcher that day, a safety precaution even though he turned out mostly fine. You remember not even having the energy to scold him in hospital, crying at his side for hours it felt like until he'd managed to calm you down enough, his laugh teasing as he'd helped you wipe off your ruined makeup before going back to the hotel later to sleep- your body even clingier than ever before.
It's his fourth pit stop. Things are looking good- this time the car seems to be holding up a lot better than last time when he only made the third place, and the commenters seem to recognize that too. Jungkook is the only one bringing a car of his type on the track after all- it's basically the talk of town every time he participates. He went from being a joke to a true competitor nowadays- finally being taken seriously on the tracks, and you know Jungkook relishes in the feeling of it.
He loves to win, after all. Even if it's just the respect of others.
Suddenly, something happens in the front. The toyota pushes too hard, too far to the side, and it breaks the current leader completely into the barriers as the car loses control, dragging several cars with him- And as your eyes search for the familiar red and black car with white font written all over it, you find it.
There's a lot of smoke, several cars unable to continue, a driver exits his own on the grassy spot in the middle, throwing his helmet in frustration. Jungkook's car is scratched, badly, a slight crack in front, but he's still driving- seemingly having escaped with nothing but some minor damage. He's slowed down just like everyone else now, entire track under major caution as the damage to a lot of other car's is being inspected, several people now left out with their cars damaged too hard to compete any longer.
Jungkook seems just a bit out of breath from the shock from what you can see on the screens, now in the pit box where tape is placed over a break in the front over the scratches, car being refueled and inspected just to make sure. He gives a thumbs up when asked if he's alright- a nod given to other questions. According to a commenter, he's asking for any serious injuries in other drivers- but there are none, so he's reassured that everyone's alright and up walking around.
Caution is lifted, green flag waved. The fight is back on, speed increasing as they once more go back full force, pushing and mixing up the order in which they're making their way towards the finish line.
It's the last stretch now, and things are getting clearly heated on the tracks. From clear pushing to forceful passing, scratches and bumps can probably be found on every car after this race is done. There's a fight happening now, and Jungkook is not backing down from anyone- now doubling down, and pressing himself towards the front. He's not as impolite as some other drivers further back, but he still bites, clearly so- currently passing another car, the white flag waved as he presses himself against his competitor.
One round left.
You can practically feel the tension now, pulse racing just as quickly as his car drives as he pushes himself further and further up front. He's in second place. That's most likely the spot he'll make.
Or?
It's almost in the last second it seems like when he manages to outrun the Chevrolet he's been pushing against next to- the black and white checkered flag waved, Jungkook's name being called as everyone cheers.
He made it. His team cheers- but you're frozen in time.
Because this is also a win for you, every singe time. Your prize is the fact that he's unscathed, that he's okay, that nothing happened. Fireworks light up the sky, when suddenly, he turns the car, covers the track in white smoke from his wheels, a full on spin one of his by now signature winning gestures.
His team runs towards him, pulls down the window gate to congratulate him as he climbs out, pulling his gloves off before he takes off his helmet and climbs on the roof of his car, clearly excited over the win. The interview is easy, as he answers questions thanks his team, before he becomes nervous, visibly, shaking his hands a little. "You still seem rather emotional from the race!" The interviewer jokes, and Jungkook nods, before he runs a hand over his face, bracing himself it seems like.
"Yeah that too, but uh- I made myself a little challenge too, you know?" He laughs. "I promised myself if I won this race, I'd.. do something I've been chickening out of for quite a while now." He explains, and you become a bit nervous now, unsure what he's trying to say. You're making your way down now to where his team is too, now closer and in sight as Jungkook grins to himself.. almost shy?
A member of his crew gives him something, and you become suspicious when he walks towards you now, because that stupid grin he has on his face just spells trouble in bold capital letters.
"You put up with so much shit, you know?" Jungkook tells you over the sound of people cheering and the commentator telling the crowd what's happening- everyone now curious. "You really do- and I don't think there's anyone out here in this world that can really love me like you do." He offers, and you laugh to yourself. "Don't laugh! I'm serious!" He complains, making some crewmembers laugh. "Either way, I might've won the race, but do you know what prize I'd really like instead?" He wonders, before he moves to drop to one knee.
"You, as my wife." He tells you, slightly dirty black box containing a ring.
And suddenly, the world seems to quiet down entirely as you nod, watching in fascination as he puts the ring on your finger in front of thousands.
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"Jungkook you're speeding!" You whine as he laughs in the driver's seat, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the weather.
"Babe I'm actually way below the limit, what're you talking about?" He chuckles, always a little amused by the irony of your fear of him driving- him, a professional racecar driver. "It's an RV, not a racecar. Relax a bit." He says, taking your hand to kiss the back of it before he continues to hold it.
He's taking some time off- spending a vacation in europe with you, having rented an RV for some quality camping that he's always wanted to do with you. Now that his relationship status had been officially upgraded so to speak, rumors have died down- the thrill seemingly left now that he's made it more than clear that he's taking it seriously with you, even though he always has.
"Still, can't you drive a bit slower?" You worry, and he shakes his head.
"No can do darling. But we only have half an hour to go anyways, so we're almost there." He tells you.
"Half an hour can feel like a lifetime though.." You pout quietly, and at that, he runs his thumb over the back of your hand.
"Were you scared when they all crashed?" He asks, and you nod.
"I searched for your car right away. You can't believe how I felt when I saw you come through that cloud of smoke and car-parts almost unharmed." You whine. "I hate that I'm always so scared. I don't want you to feel bad when you drive-" You worry, and he laughs.
"You're not making me feel bad, don't worry." He shakes his head. "I can understand how hard that must be to watch though. Just like I said, I'll never understand how you put up with me and my shit." He offers, and you shrug.
"I don't know either." You huff. "You constantly bully me." You complain.
"I don't bully you!" Jungkook argues scandalized.
"You constantly make fun of my height, and you laugh when I'm scared, and you slap my ass in front of everyone no matter who!" You say, and he shrugs.
"It's a nice ass, what can I say?" He defends himself, making you glare at him. "Hey come on, you can't possibly blame me, you slap my ass too!" He argues back to you.
"That's cause you deserve it!" You respond.
"And you don't?" He wonders.
"Absolutely not. I'm an angel!" You state, and he laughs theatrically.
"You might get down on your knees regularly but you're not a saint-" He jokes, making you roll your eyes. "-see? And a brat too.!" He teases.
"Yeah well if you're not nice to me I won't suck your dick for the entire trip." You threaten. "Not even once." You state, making him pout playfully.
"Not even the tip?"
"Won't even touch your balls." You respond, and he whines.
"Oh no! Anything but that!" He complains, finally driving towards the entrance of the camping spot. "What do I have to do to gain back the sacred touch of my soon-to-be-wife?" He asks, having parked the RV now, and taken off his glasses.
"..you can start by giving her a nice kiss." You tell him. "But a good one. With feelings and all- the whole menu." You demand, and at that he leans over the middle, careful not to touch anything and cause an accident, pulling you closer by your neck.
"Well-" He smiles warmly at you. "-that's easy."
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"So how have you always dealt with all the hate and rumors about you both? That must've been pressuring!" A paparazzi asks you as you stand right next to your by now husband, who's just made the second place in his latest race.
"Oh, I just look at him naked to remind myself why it's all worth it in the end!" You beam happily at them, Jungkook laughing loudly next to him.
Yeah- you're really one of a kind.
And he doesn't mind spending the rest of his life with you.
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xiao-come-home · 7 months
Text
❝Uncurable disease... or so they say.❞
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✰ Characters: Neuvillette.
✰ Words: 1k.
✰ SFW ; gn!reader, no mentions of pronouns, but neuvillette uses female pet name towards the reader, I think.
Warnings: slight hurt, but then a lot of comfort. neuvi doesnt know how confessing works and does it his own way.
A/N: NEUVILLETTE BRAINROT NEUVILLETTE BRAINROTKORFKKTGOID GRRRRRR it was supposed to short but oh well 1k words hehe shy emoji
┗━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┛
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“You make me ill.”
Neuvillette’s words pierce through your heart like daggers. His orchid eyes stare you down and indicate absolutely nothing; his sudden confession left you in a circle between shock and confusion.
The words spread throughout your body like poison, but in reality you’re only staring back at him. The hurt starts to become visible on your face, but your mouth seems to be unable to let out a noise; yet, the voice in your head yells and begs to know the answer as to why.
You clutch the rainbow rose he brought you close to your chest, being the first to take your eyes off him. You look at the ground, feeling the familiar clump in your throat that starts to form.
Neuvillette has been feeling sick as of late. Or at least, that’s what he thought - well, what else could explain that he feels his temperature rise, his heart beating so fast it could escape his chest, making even his voice tremble? “No, this cannot be-“ Neuvillette thought frantically, massaging his temples, “It’s time for a professional to evaluate.”
Though, as expected - the doctor was of no help. She giggled to herself, “I apologize, monsieur Neuvillette, I’m afraid I can’t help in this case. I can assure you however, you’re perfectly healthy.” The chief of justice felt the uncomfortable feeling of embarrassment, but thanked the doctor and left the room.
After yet another trial where Neuvillette seemed to be somewhere else with his thoughts, Furina confronted him with a tinge of annoyance in her voice. The white haired man could only mutter a thing, that he does not feel well; at the sound of his pathetic excuse, Furina stood up from her seat furiously, throwing her hands in the air, “You aren’t sick, fool! You’re in love!”The hydro archon’s cheeks flushed a slight pink at her own statement, but she was no match for her subordinate; she pushed the sudden bashfulness away, “n-now, do something about it immediately! I will not tolerate it in the courtroom any longer!” Furina crossed her arms and sat down again, furrowing her brows and watching the empty seats below her.
Seeing you divert your eyes away, Neuvillette’s expression softened significantly, his line of sight mimicking yours and shifting to a nearby bench.
“Why?”
Neuvillette blinks quickly, his eyelashes batting at you in surprise, “Come again? What do you mean?”
“Why do you hate me?”
He could feel the boiling hot feeling spreading through his body, although not a pleasant one. His eyes widened at you and his lips parted ever so slightly - but Neuvillette could only hear his heart beating so fast, beating to the rhythm of worry and uncertainty.
Before he could react properly, he saw a small tear dripping down your cheek, onto the cold pavement.
But his body moved without thinking.
He cups your cheeks gently with his gloved hands and moves your head up, just enough so you could look at him. His thumbs wipe your tears off your face, sighing deeply and finally speaking the real deal.
“You… make my heart race. It beats ungodly fast whenever I lay my eyes on you. You’ve been occupying my thoughts for many months, and even if I try to think about anything else - I cannot bring myself to do it, because it all comes back to you. I can’t… stop thinking about you, I can’t stop myself from admiring your ravishing beauty, I want you-“
“Wait!” You yell just enough to make him stop, both of you avoiding each other’s gazes and blushing bright red, but his hands stayed firmly on your face, no longer drying off tears, but caressing the apples of your cheeks he gently, “if that’s how you feel, then why…? Why did you say it like that?” For what it feels like first time in forever, you look into his gorgeous eyes that resemble the finest amethyst.
“I… I apologize, I didn’t want you to misunderstand me,” Neuvillette gasps slightly when he feels your delicate palms on his own hands, “but I truly mean it - I…”
Your breath hitches in your throat; the butterflies in your stomach don’t seem to help, but the anticipation has you almost shaking.
“I love you.”
Neuvillette can’t describe the weight that’s been lifted off his shoulders; but the sinking sensation in his stomach of not knowing what will happen next is making him nervous more than anything. When more tears meet his hands yet again, he fears for the worst.
“It’s alright, please do not shed any more tears because of me. I’m happy enough to have said it,” except, he doesn’t. He feels his heart break in half, getting filled by nothing but a void of emptiness.
The clouds become gloomy - looks like it’s going to rain later.
Just as his hands slide down and he begins to turn away, you reach out for his arm and grab it, causing him to spare you one, last look.
“Wait! I’m sorry, don’t go… I love you too, silly.” You manage to murmur the last few words loud enough that he could hear.
Neuvillette can’t believe it’s actually happening. He appears stunned for a minute, watching you in disbelief, but then a genuine smile graces his lips; his hands play with your fingers and silently ask to be intertwined with yours. When your interlaced hands give him a small squeeze, he gives you the softest, most lovesick look with his eyes that no one could ever imagine.
He places a quick kiss on your forehead and leans against it. Neuvillette’s eyes close for a moment, absorbing the fleeting moment.
It doesn’t take long before the chief of justice pushes your chin up with his fingers, his thumb brushing your lower lip, awaiting for your answer, “Can I, ma chérie?”
It only takes seconds for him to finally lock your lips together, and he wishes to feel that tenderness forever from this day forward.
Neuvillette certainly has to learn a bit more about expressing feelings - now, with your help.
The golden sun returns to adorn the clear skies once more.
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seraphdreams · 1 year
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DREAMIN' — underground racing miniseries.
“being a pretty flag girl is more than waving around banners and wearing cute skirts.”
WARNINGS. this series contains an ungodly amount of smut. reader discretion is advised. topics explored are: gangbanging, drugs, gang activities, semi-dark content, weapons, dub/noncon. each fic will be tagged with its own warnings. 18+ only.
NOTE. finally putting out this series that i’ve been thinking about for a while now. i hope you all enjoy it. each fic is inspired by a song so listen to them!
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— STARTING LINE UP.
PART I — NO PHOTOS.
SHIBUYA CITY CHAMPION, BAJI KEISUKE GOES HEAD TO HEAD WITH KAZUTORA HANEMIYA.
PART II — BLINDING LIGHTS.
BRAHMAN’S PRINCESS RACES AGAINST BONTEN’S MASTERMIND, MANJIROU SANO.
PART III — P POWER.
DRAKEN V. HANMA SHUJI.
PART IV — TASTE.
IZANA KUROKAWA FLIES ALL THE WAY FROM MANILA TO RACE AGAINST BEST FRIEND, KAKUCHO HITTO!
PART V — TO BE ANNOUNCED.
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Bonten had somewhat of a ritual. It wasn’t anything too crazy like pentagrams or summoning the dead relatives of their victims, but something that made them, them. It was the driving force of all their operations, the sole source that kept the organization afloat. When things went awry they knew they could always count on this one thing, something minor yet major.
Money.
Money granted them connections to criminal organizations around the world. Allies established, and enemies gained. The issue here was that Bonten was bored. All the money in the world couldn’t snatch them from their odd day to day realities of being glorified hitmen, they needed excitement. Something new.
“Any ideas?” All 8 of the men sat around the large lacquered oak table with a particular noble at the forefront. He wore a black suit with a white tie that complimented the strands atop his head. His gaze was empty, as if the light had died out ages ago. There’s two standing beside him, one with a blond skunk strip and slick back hair, the other with the same style except it was platinum all around and a short beard adorned the lower half of his face.
If you didn’t know them, you’d steer clear—They looked intimidating, terrifying almost. You knew Bonten too well though; under all that hardened criminalism were just regular salarymen.
You stood next to where Koko sat. A snarky young man with low patience. It’s hard for you to get under his skin like the others do, and though he’d never admit it, he did have a thing for his little assistant. “We already do so much, I doubt taking on other projects would benefit us financially.” Koko retorts to Mikey’s query. His hands are folded under his chin, propping his head up as if he was bored of the conversation that only lasted two minutes so far.
“Look at you only thinkin’ ‘bout a quick buck. Ya never change, do ya?” It was Sanzu who spoke. Eccentric as he is, when Mikey was in the room he was loyal like a dog. He was one of the many variables that contributed to Kokonoi’s premature graying. Never have they ever gotten along.
“It’s not always about profit. We could expand territory and utilize it for something bigger like weapon trade, or women.” The eldest Haitani spoke. You favored something about him, possibly the eyes or his charismatic nature. He was a caring soul as well, he put his brother above his own life whether Rindou liked it or not. “Bouncing off Ran’s idea, what about Okinawa?” Kakucho uttered.
Usually you tuned out business talk, it wasn’t important to your job. All you were paid to do was look pretty and occasionally pass out paperwork, but the topic at hand piqued your interest. Hitto continues, “We own land in Okinawa, we could build another headquarters there, a casino maybe?”
It seemed as though Manjiro finally took his children into consideration, nodding along with the conversation. “A casino is for idiots, let’s do underground racing.” Sanzu adds. There’s silence and judgmental stares before Mikey finally allows himself to speak once more. “I like it.”
“You can’t be serious, Boss?” Takeomi asks from his spot behind. “How can we even—”
It’s Hajime who interjects this time, the wheels seemingly turning in his head. “If we combine both Hitto and his idea, we could host bets and call in racers. I’m thinking motorcycles over cars. We can’t risk importing illegal vehicles overseas.”
That was just it. The very proposal that’ll put words to action. With a seance of agreeances, Mikey turns to Rindou for finalization. “Make it happen, Haitani.” Rin nods before taking a quick glance at you and back to his leader. “A flag girl’ll be nice too, preferably a hot bimbo.”
You were too fixated on checking your fresh manicure to feel the stares of all the men burning into your frame. The clearing of Kakucho’s throat pulls you from your focus and you finally make the realization. “Hm?”
Mikey tunes his attention back to Rindou, the one notorious for his connections with about any and everyone. “Call up your best racers and fly them to Okinawa. Set up a hotel and headquarters while you’re at it. Let’s take a little business trip.”
With the meeting adjourned, the plan sets in motion.
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onadarklingplain · 3 months
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after seeing Charles hanging around in artist studios in his last vlog, i decided it was high time to make a little post about the art that's in his collection. this is mainly just art that I've been able to identify in his various vlogs (and doesn't include racing paraphernalia), but I'll try to keep it updated if we ever learn anything more. as seen in his first Monaco vlog, he has a large photograph in his dining room by the UK photographer Lee Jeffries.
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this work is called LA III, and is from Jeffries' first and most famous series, in which he photographed homeless people in various cities around the world. you can read more about the series here. Charles has another work by Jeffries in his living room, titled Lover, which gets a lot of screen time in his 2023 Monaco GP vlog.
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behind Charles' piano, he has a print by the Spanish artist Miguel Vallinas Prieto, from his Ceci n'est pas series. The exact work is no longer on his website, but you can see other pieces from the series here.
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Charles also has this really cool painting in his kitchen, which looks to me like it's a spoon holding a sign that says "Get Out." i think it's so fun, and it's definitely one of my favourite things in his flat, but i haven't been able to identify the artist. I'm going to keep looking, but if anyone has any info, please let me know! ETA: @accio-ricciardo-main has brilliantly identified the artist as Simone d'Auria and found a photo of Charles with the painting on instagram.
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while i haven't seen it hanging in his flat, Charles has also commissioned a painting from the artist Devon DeJardin. it used to be up on DeJardin's Instagram, with Charles tagged, but it seems as though the post has been taken down, so I'm afraid you'll just have to take my word for it. i saw it the first time i looked into this back in 2022, and from memory, it was a black-and-white painting in DeJardin's typical style. Charles seems to like DeJardin's work a lot because he's been to his LA studio at least twice, in October 2021 and in November 2023. you can clips in Charles' LA vlog, and DeJardin posted photos on his Instagram (linked above).
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i hadn't really intended to write too much about the artists in this post because i'm not well-versed in any of their practices, but i have to tell everyone what i found out about Devon DeJardin, which is that he decided to become an artist at the urging of a would-be sugar daddy psychic: In a message on Instagram, the man offered him money in exchange for a phone call. Against his better judgment, DeJardin agreed and the two connected. “By any chance, are you interested in spirituality?” the man asked. DeJardin said he was. “Well, this might sound weird,” the man said. “I’ve been praying for you. And I’ve been thinking about you for about three years. Something’s telling me to tell you that you need to start painting.” (x) as soon as i read this, i understood everything i needed to know about why Charles likes him. literally this would happen to him.
the other artist that Charles visited in his LA vlog was the artist Juan Carlos Cristóbal, who created the below large-scale coloured pencil work on paper for Charles. from the video, it seems as though it's mounted on canvas. Charles mentions getting it back to Monaco in the video, so perhaps it will show up in his flat one day.
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i mostly just wanted to write this down so i don't forget it, and so i can keep adding to it over time, but hopefully it's interesting to someone else besides me. and if you can think of anything i missed, i'd love to know!
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lvlyghost · 7 months
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Heyyy 🤗🤗 I just discovered your blog but after binge reading almost all your writings I just have to request something cause I love your writing style so much
How bout a ghost x reader where he has a nightmare about losing the reader could be angst to fluff to smut
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Midnight Rain
Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader
Summary: Bad dreams were not strange to Simon, but ever since you came into his life there's one thing he feared the most: losing you.
Word Count: 1.0k
Tw: smut! But nothing too explicit. self-doubt, angst, comfort. Poorly edited. you know the drill.
A/N:I'm so sorry this took so long to get out but life happened 🥲 I wish it was longer and far better i hope you like it.💛🩵 also since i got two similar requests decided to make one for both🥰✨
Masterlist✨
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He doesn't scream when he jolts awake from his bed. It's always like that. The dreams. The nightmares. Simon was cursed, tragedies seemed to plague his life on a daily basis that's why he was so adamant about letting you in at first.
Slipping off the bed he fights the way his heart is racing nearly beating out of his chest. The clock marks the time.
5:31 A.M
The sky is gray outside the soft morning rain tapping against the window reminds him that he's supposed to be at Price's office by six.
Yet his mind is purely set on you. On that horrific imagery of his nightmare. He knew that the possibilities of it happening were high, and it didn't help to stop his growing anxiety. To think of someone so small and fragile, dead and without possibilities... fucking hell he knew you were capable of many things. He knew about your strength, resilience. Yet he had a strong sense of protection when it came to you. Death was something he couldn't keep you safe from, thought he'd die trying. Simon would happily trade your life for his if it were in his power.
'Just let it be me not her. Never her.'
Needless to say he didn't get any proper rest. He was thankful for the mask and face paint covering his face, otherwise anyone could see the tiredness in his features.
But you knew better.
You always knew better.
Always seeing through him.
You're laughing at something Johnny's saying, he couldn't attend training this morning so he hadn't had the time to talk to you. And then the sight of you getting shot appears in the back of his mind agains, your body falling limply to the ground next to him.
Dead.
On his watch.
He shifts his weight from one foot to another, swallowing down the lump in his throat.
All the bloody morning his head has been spinning. Unable to get a grip on reality, Simon forces himself to turn away.
You watch from the other side, smile faltering. Why hadn't he joined you? You were about to wave at him. Maybe he didn't want Johnny to be there... Simon was a private man and he wanted to keep a low profile regarding your relationship so you decide to follow him, saying a quick good-bye to your teammate and trotting after Simon.
The door to his office is closed, knocking twice then waiting a second and you knock again.
He doesn't respond to you but you open the door nonetheless. You poke your head enough for him to see you.
"Hey..." you greet him with a warm smile. Simon breathes deeply. "Didn't come to say hello today." You point out, closing the door behind you. He looks down where he's signing a stack of papers.
"Didn't want to interrupt." He gruffly answers.
"Come on..." you reply. "It was just Johnny and I... everything alright?" You question him. The grip on his pen is painfully hard to the point his knuckles turn white.
"Jus' busy, that's all."
Something's not right. You take a deep breathe and walk towards him until you're standing next to his chair. Simon doesn't look up nor acknowledges your presence.
"Simon..." you try again.
Suddenly in a swift movement he's standing up, grabbing you by the arm and leading the two of you out of the office and to his room. You don't say anything you just let him guide you. Whatever it was you'd work it out. He locks the door once you're both inside, his big calloused hands grabbing you by your cheeks. His eyes are frantic, bouncing from your lips and back to your orbs. As if trying to remember the sight of you before him, the sight of you in his room.
"Talk to me. Please...." it's a soft plea. You know him, you recognize the sadness in his honeyed eyes. You know despair when you see it.
"I can't lose you." His voice shakes, as does he. His hands are trembling, buzzing with worry.
"You're not gonna lose me, Simon..." your own hands, much smaller than his come to rest above them. "I'm right here." A brief moment of silence passes by, until he releases a shaky breath, he retreats enough to slip the fabric of his mask off. It was getting hard to breathe for him. "Come with me... please."
You drag him to the bed, motioning for him to sit down you help him unlace his boots then you do the same with yours.
He lays back as do you, Simon brings you closer to his body wrapping one arm around you. Hand tracing soft circles on his chest, hearing the rhythmic beat of his heart underneath you.
"You were dead." He begins. "Right in front of me and I couldn't stop it," your motions stop. Brows knitting together. "I...-" he trails off. "I'm nothing if I can't keep you safe."
"Simon don't ever say that again." You scold him. Tears gather in the corner of your eyes. "Don't you dare think such things."
Standing you're quick to straddle his lap, strong arms hold you close to his body. You slam your lips to his, Simon welcomes the warmth of your mouth against him. Your hands caress the back of his head, fingers threading through his blond locks. He hardens under your body and murmur something into your ear. Something that sends you over the edge. Soon, your pants are discarded on the white floor, he lets you ride him, merely looking at your eyes never leaving your face. If he could capture this moment he'd do it. He'll save it for the rest of his life. Treasure it. Wrapping your arms around his shoulder you kiss him hard. You're so close your mind is in a haze, and when he grits his teeth you know he's close too. The pure adoration in his eyes is enough. There'll never be anyone after him.
"You're stuck with me."
His lips curve into a barely-there-smile.
"Yeah..." he gasped. "Jus' keep looking at me, love. And stay with me."
As if you could ever say no to him.
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ghost-proofbaby · 6 months
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SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)
CHAPTER THREE: ALL TOO WELL
AND I KNOW IT'S LONG GONE AND THERE WAS NOTHING ELSE I COULD DO, AND I FORGET ABOUT YOU LONG ENOUGH TO FORGET WHY I NEEDED TO.
☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader
☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, description of panic attack, minors dni
☆ WC: 5.7K+
☆ A/N: it'll be a short fic, i said. short and sweet and simple, i lied to myself.
thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!
masterlist
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The moment your name leaves his lips, you swear the world halts on its rotation. 
This was real. Every fear and every anxiety you had wrestled with over the last twenty four hours wasn’t for naught – he was here, sitting before you, breathing your name out like a sigh of relief when all you felt was pain. Stabbing, radiating pain. It’s even worse than looking at pictures and headlines of a stranger on a phone screen. Something about him suddenly being tangible, suddenly being real, sends you reeling. 
Lydia looks wildly between your showdown with the ghost of a man before you, “I’m sorry… Do you two- do you know each other?”
Not anymore.
“I-” you choke on your stutter. You’re frozen under his stare, going ashen as your head spins. Leave the room. Think of an excuse, get out of this room, run away. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
It’s the world’s most pathetic excuse, but the only thing you can spit out before you’re turning heel and running, just as your body had so desperately craved. You nearly bump into one of the security guards you’d just bravely had a confrontation with. 
They’d demanded your phone, you had put up a fight. You had stood your ground. Had held your chin high, dared them to push further even once they had your cell phone in their grasp, and displayed all that self-assuredness you had curated in the last two years. Only to end up scampering past them like a wounded animal mere seconds later.
Pathetic.
Lydia calls out something after you, but it reaches deaf ears as you blaze down the hallway. Your chest is squeezing, as if someone had wrapped it in shrink-wrap and sucked all of the air right out of it, swathed so tightly you could feel every pounding beat of your pulse racing. Your eyesight completely blurs, not quite from tears but rather a mere loss of focus. You nearly knock over one of the god forsaken fake plants Lydia insists as a primary form of decor, hardly being within the right mind to reach out and right the oversized bush of green plastic. 
But you don’t have to. Right as your back collides with the wall off to the side of the plant, breathing only coming in short and miserable pants, a different hand reaches out to catch the plant. A ringed hand. 
When Eddie says your name again, it’s not a sigh. It’s laced with panic as you support your full weight against white plaster and stare at where knuckles wrap around faux wooden stems. 
“Hey,” he stresses, hand leaving your line of sight as he puts a large palm on each of your shoulders. You can’t look at him, not yet, “Hey, can you breathe for me? C’mon, big breaths.” 
This close, you can smell the cologne. It’s not even the same woodsy drugstore scent that had lingered on the pillowcases he’d left you to cling to while on tour. Even that, something so miniscule as what cologne he now wore, had changed. And the new and unfamiliar scent chokes you, turns your desperate gasps for air even more futile. 
You had walked out of that apartment two years ago, without any intention of ever being this close to him again. You’d sworn to yourself you’d never be this close again. 
“You’re having a panic attack,��� he squeezes your shoulders within his hold ever so slightly, as if attempting to ground you, “You need to breathe.” 
Your eyes nervously find his brown ones. For a second, you recall summer days when the sun would hit them just right, turning them into molten honey for your tasting. Soft and glowing, warming you from the inside out so effortlessly. 
But there’s not a single shred of sunlight in this hallway. The dark brown falls flat against your vision. 
“I’m fine,” you very clearly aren’t, struggling to even get the words out into the air between you two, “I’m- I’m fine.”
He doesn’t fight you when you reach up to swat away his hands. He lets you, hands falling away with ease, touch retracting as if it had never burned you. You take the chance to look over the metal now settled on his fingers, and you realize he still wears all the same ones you remember so vividly. A cross, a pig’s face, an animalistic skull. But there are new ones added to his collection, adorned on his right hand rather than the left. Unfamiliar and odd, the bulky metallic additions are more plentiful. A silver snake wrapped around his pinky, a large spider with the body of a Magic 8 ball on his pointer, a bat spread eagle on his middle. There’s a chunkier one on his thumb, thinner ones added above a few of his second knuckles, but you can’t clear the haze of your vision long enough to pick up on the designs. You choose to focus back on the familiar ones instead, old and comforting even in your panic. 
New rings, new cologne, new habits – the Eddie before you is not the Eddie you once knew. 
“Okay,” he’s whispering now. You’re not even sure what excuse he used to follow you out here without causing a scene. Maybe he did cause a scene, surely a grander one than you. He had that privilege now; he was an untouchable rockstar, he could afford to raise a ruckus. “I… Are you sure?” 
It’s hard to believe there was a time he was a familiar comfort when all that remains now is the awkward distance between the two of you.
But when he takes a step back from you, the new cologne leaves your stratosphere and the new rings leave your field of vision, and the breaths finally come just a tiny bit easier. Still not enough to satiate your lungs, but enough that the headrush begins to pass. 
“I’m sure.” 
You try to insert such finality in those two words. As if whatever had just happened would fade and never exist, as if you could walk back into that conference room and take yourself off this project. You can’t. Eddie has a sense of control, a grip on his reality and the reigns of his choices, but you don’t. If you were to demand Lydia remove you from the project, you’d be risking termination. You’d be risking everything – and it may not be much, but you’d built it brick by broken brick these last few years. You’d salvaged what you had been able to out of the ashes of what had been, but it hadn’t been enough. It had hardly been enough for a foundation. You’d built up the person that now stood before him from practical scratch.
The weight of just how much you had to lose hits suddenly – the realization that this was happening and you had no control of it. 
But Eddie did. He had to. 
“You need to go back in there,” you start, voice still shaking and eyes still averted, “And you need to demand that they reassign you guys. You… You need-” you begin to stutter and fumble to find the right words. You could have lashed out, could have tried to pour salt in a wound you weren’t even sure still existed so that Eddie made the choice on his own. But your mind is muddled and you’re desperate, “Someone else can take on the project. You need to go and demand that someone else takes on the project.” 
“What?” Not the response you wanted. Not the response you needed, “I- No.” 
Two years later, and he still found a way to do significant damage. 
Your eyes snap up, “What do you mean no?” 
“I mean no.”
“I haven’t asked anything of you. Not back then, not after everything happened, I-”
He cuts you off with a scoff. “Can’t ask for anything if you just fall off the face of the fucking earth.” 
You hadn’t noticed before, but as his walls begin to build, you realize that the prior interaction had been something vulnerable. Something where neither of you were on the defense quite yet like you’d always imagined a reunion would go. All that had mattered ten seconds ago was you being okay, him coming after you, making sure you were fine. He’d allotted you all the care and attention you had craved so terribly two years ago, nearly begged for until your knees had bled for. 
“Eddie,” you whisper, getting too distressed to think straight, “Please, for the love of God, just make them reassign the project-”
“I can’t,” he interrupts, shaking his head, “Do you think I’d put myself through this if I could help it? I fucking can’t. I have absolutely no control in there. I didn’t even-” he cuts off his sentence, looking you in your eyes, leaving more to be said. 
He didn’t even what?
“I can’t do anything about it,” he says instead of whatever had been on the tip of his tongue, “Trust me – if I could, I would. But I can’t. So why don’t you say something?” 
It’s your turn for scoffing and disbelief, “I can’t. I’m not the one with all the power and glory-”
“Is that what you think I have?”
“That’s what I know you have.” 
You both go quiet as a battlefield fills the distance between you. All anger, all regret. None of the love or care that had once existed between you two exists here in this quantum plane of sharp words and deadly jabs. 
“Just- please ask for a reassignment,” you try with one final plea, eyes hard on him, “Say that that first impression left you unimpressed, I don’t care. She won’t fire me for that.”
“Once again, no. As it turns out,” his voice is low, dangerous, unfamiliar. A tone he had never used before with you, “Even the one with all the power and all the glory can’t make miracles happen. Sorry, doll.” 
He doesn’t await your response, leaving you on your own as you stay pressed against the wall and he’s walking away. 
What is the saying? ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’? 
You were certainly feeling scorned.
You felt ripped wide open, beaten and bruised and damn scorned as he leaves a conversation you weren’t finished with. You can’t tell which limb aches the most – the shoulder where his now strange hands had held onto you, your fingers that had curled into pained fists at your side to show you were prepared for a fight, your rib cage that still struggled to expand and accommodate the air now vacant of his cologne that you needed after your panic attack, or the legs that had once carried you away from Eddie Munson only to lead you right back to him. 
There’s nothing you can do, though, beyond composing yourself. You take the same big, deep breaths that Eddie had tried to coax out of you moments before. Your fists slowly unfurl and your palms rake against the side of your jeans in an attempt to wipe away the sweat of the interaction. 
Fine. If he wouldn’t help you, you could handle this. You could manage this project, plan a goddamn party for your ex-boyfriend’s new single. You would treat it just as you did every other previous project you had excelled at, and you would avoid all unnecessary contact with him just as you had with previous clients. 
As a matter of fact, you could probably get away with avoiding all contact. 
He hadn’t hired you. His management had. And, according to him, he had no real power in this situation. If he had no say in the matters, then there would be no reason to reach out to him.
You could do this. You could handle this. 
It’s a mantra of salvation that you repeat to yourself internally as you take confident strides back to that conference room, not even stopping for the guards this time before you burst back into the room when your imminent doom awaits. 
The repetition falters a bit when all eyes land on you as you take your first steps into the room. 
Your name comes out of Lydia’s mouth like a hiss, her teeth locked into a smile that would better pass into a grimace as she asks, “How nice of you to join us again. Please, take a seat.” 
“Of course,” you can’t look her in her eyes for very long, immediately rushing to sit at the chair she’d motioned towards. You haven’t spared Eddie a single glance – you haven’t spared any of the boys you’d once known a look. Instead, you look up to direct an apology at the only face you don’t recognize before you, “I’m truly sorry.” 
The older gentleman, wrapped in a certain kindness and warmth below his professional attire, smiles. And in an instant, his face isn’t quite as unfamiliar, “No worries. When Nature calls, right? Regardless, I’m Matt. Nice to meet you.” 
You can guess which hole in Eddie’s life he’s attempting to smother, which shoes this man serves to fill. He has more hair than his predecessor, but the grin is the same. 
If you picture the man he reminds you of back in Hawkins, you’ll surely begin to ache. 
When you reply with your name, you can hear a fragment of your youth in your voice. Better days spent in Forest Hills trailer park, loitering about a trailer as Wayne Munson asks you how well of an eye you’ve been keeping on his nephew. You’d always lie, say you were keeping him in line when you knew you’d spent the day following him right into trouble, like some sort of lost puppy. Like some sort of loyal soldier. It occurs to you that that’s who you had always been; a fierce soldier over the shoulder of Eddie, ever the brave commander. You would have followed him into battle without a second of consideration, you did follow him all the way to New York without ever taking a final glance at your hometown. 
You wondered if he had tried to replace you as well. You imagine it; the new and fresh face that replaced yours in picture frames, that laid beside him at the end of each night he returned home, that heard a whisper of I love you over the line to the backtrack of a sound rehearsal. 
Were there ever any bloody wars between him and his new lovers that could compare to the battles never fought between you two? Did anyone else in this world know the wounds of his gun never fired? 
The smoke clears. You still don’t look at Eddie, afraid to only see the commander you once knew. You force a smile, putting on a soldier's bravado that doesn’t fit quite right anymore. 
Bullets never fired, triggers never pulled, but the blood stained the same.
“So, where shall we begin?”
Matt does most of the talking for the next hour. Sheet after sheet of paperwork is laid down in front of you, your hand beginning to cramp from signing your name so many times, and the details are discussed.
A new single, set to release in three months. A release party that needed to be grandeur and garner the type of attention that Matt feared had been waning from the band due to radio silence on their music front. The outlines of the project were clear cut, simple enough, and you had yourself fooled just well enough that this would be easy.
You kept your eyes set on the prize and never once noticed the tomfoolery occurring between the band members. The words on the tip of their tongues that Eddie keeps quiet through quick kicks to their shins beneath the table, the individual hurt reflected in each of their eyes as you treat them no better than strangers. That treatment of Eddie, they understood. But them?
They could never understand. 
“What’s the name of the single, if I may ask?” you question as you look over one of your copies of the paperwork. Lydia had been eerily silent, allowing you to take the lead. 
Despite the rough start, it was paying off. Having a switch for your emotions can be a good thing, as it turns out. 
“You may,” Matt nods before turning to the boys. It’s the first time he's looked to them for answers during the entire meeting, “Shall I do the honors, or would you boys rather do it yourselves?” 
It’s a chance for all the members of Corroded Coffin to open their mouths without silent reprimanding from Eddie beneath the table, but he beats them to it.
“Dial Tone.”
You freeze your reading. 
There’s something in the way he says it that forces you to look up. As if he’s only speaking to you, and the rest of the room is a faded mirage for him to send away for these private moments. Still a commander, even when his bravest soldier has left him. 
“Sounds… interesting,” you murmur, taking a few seconds too long to meet his gaze, unsure of what to say, “Rolls off the tongue easily.” 
“It certainly does. Which, ironic, given the situation that inspired the song.” 
“And what would that be?”
You’re both wearing masks in front of an audience half made up of people painfully aware of your history, and the rest being painfully oblivious. 
Does Matt know about you? Lydia certainly doesn’t know about Eddie. 
“Words never said. Answers never given. Phone calls missed and never… returned.”
You’re not stupid, but you wish you were. It feels a bit selfish, a bit self absorbed, to so quickly assume you’re the inspiration. 
But how could you believe anything else when Eddie is looking at you like that?
Hollow eyes, devoid of all the honey you once reveled in. Not so much of a stain of sweetness you swear you still taste on the back of your tongue. He’s looking at you with blame, well-deserved anger, and yet not an ounce of the guilt that should exist somewhere in those depths. 
“How riveting,” you play along, trying to swallow down the waves of emotions, “Sounds like it’ll really draw in your audience. Might even be relatable to a few.”
Answers never given. Like how someone could stop saying they loved someone they’d spent years planning their life with, like how he could stop calling so easily, how he could leave so easily. 
“Fingers crossed,” his forced smile in return is almost sinister, and you know it was the right choice to avoid speaking to each other until this moment.
There will be no contact. You know now that if you take on this project, which you technically have through law-binding contracts, that you won’t be able to be civil with Eddie. There is a history that can never be erased, mistakes made and wounds inflicted by both sides. Two worlds of hurt caused by opposing sets of hands that can only clash when they try to meet in the middle. 
But then Matt, sweet Matt that you had come to actually like during this meeting, has to burst your bubble.
“Right, well, the good news is the boys aren’t on tour for the time being, meaning there will be plenty of time to talk about the small details and how the single will come into play during planning,” he explains, happily and still so unaware, “As a matter of fact, I would like to emphasize just how much I would appreciate you including the boys, especially Eddie, in this ordeal. His participation would be very helpful.” 
Some silent form of communication happens between Matt and Eddie, glinting eyes and sudden frowns meeting raised eyebrows and fake smiles, but it’s not your concern. 
The last thing you want during this project is Eddie’s involvement. 
“Of course!” You need to think of an excuse, push for a way to keep him out, “But if Eddie is too busy, I’ll completely understand. I know that a single usually means an album, and that can be very time consum-”
“He won’t be too busy,” Matt interrupts, still staring at Eddie as if he’s daring him, not even questioning you singling him out as he does the exact same.
You recall what Eddie had insisted in the hallway, that his reach of control wasn’t as far as you had been assuming. 
Swallowing hard, you see another relic of Wayne Munson in this man – he wasn’t someone to argue with, “Right, of course. Eddie will be involved. Absolutely.” 
All the power and all the glory – but did it really rest in Eddie’s palms like you assumed?
“She has a point,” Eddie finally finds his voice, leaning back in his chair, trying to relax the tension from his shoulders, “I do have the album to work on.” 
“And now you have this. I’m sure you can find a way to multi-task.” 
Your comparison was accurate. It had been a while since you had seen another grown man capable of shutting Eddie down so quickly, tearing down his walls of affinity for challenging authority and reducing him to nothing more than a shell of his younger self. Matt and Wayne would have gotten along well. You doubt that they’ve met, but you know a bond would have formed between the common denominator of being able to subdue the once-rambunctious boy before you. 
Eddie pouts nearly the complete remainder of the meeting. And those foolish, bitter shards within you become determined to be the bigger person. To smile and nod along, even when you disagreed with certain terms discussed. To be agreeable, to be good, to be better. This new version of you has something to prove; that you’ve done better without Eddie, that you’ve changed into something that no longer aligns with who he is. 
It’s all for show, but you tell yourself no one can see through the cellophane disguise. 
The only remaining signatures aren’t required from you but the rest of the boys. A single contract is passed down the line, and each of them sign themselves away to the agreement. Line after line of swooping black ink locks the five of you into an entrapment, a crowded dance of newly made strangers who have no choice but to play pretend. 
Eddie makes it a deliberate point that he’s the last one to sign. Forces Grant to slide the prettily detailed paper right in front of him until it’s clear he’s making no move to pick up his pen, and the poor guy has to stretch a bit further and let Gareth take it rather than the stubborn rockstar. Only once Jeff’s own night-shade of ink has looped over one of the many lines does it return back to Eddie.
He looks you in the eyes for several seconds too long, pen crooked beside the paper on the table. You can’t take a single breath as you register how lifeless his eyes remain. 
He’s not the person you once knew, but you are no longer the girl that once saw the world in him. 
You will not drop to your knees before him, you will not worship the ground he walks on, you will not break. Certainly not first. Certainly not at all. 
There’s no final words before hands donning unfamiliar rings pick up a pen amongst the silence. Just the click of bringing the ink to life, and the soft scratch of promises that will not be kept. It’s nothing new amongst the two of you.
As a matter of fact, if the scratch of the pen could echo, it might just resemble the sound of the door on that haunted and vacant apartment closing for the final time behind you two years ago. 
“Do you two know each other?” 
You had been waiting for this moment. Once Matt had called for a quick break so that he could organize and make copies of all paperwork, you knew Lydia would be chasing you down. 
“What do you mean?” you question airily, topping off the small paper cup of water you had used as an excuse to dismiss yourself into the corner of the room, “Me and Matt? No, I’ve never-”
“Not you and Matt,” she moves to stand in front of you, your back to the room and the band, as she continues in an authoritative whisper, “You and the band – you and Eddie.”
“Why do you think we know each other?” 
Please don’t catch on. Please don’t notice. Please don’t make me admit it. 
Please don’t fire me. 
She retrieves her own water, moving as if she wasn’t having such an intense conversation with you at this moment. All a show for the clients, no doubt. You weren’t the only skilled actress in this room, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the way you ran out of this room when you saw him, maybe the way he ran after you without a word. Maybe the way the two of you spent a good ten minutes alone in that hallway, and how the rest of that band has been looking at you like you’re a ghost. Please don’t tell me you had a fling with Eddie before this. I really need my best person on this project, but I can’t have personal relationships interferin-”
“No, we don’t know each other,” you cut her off, ignoring the compliment and taking a sip to give your chance to formulate a better addition to the lie. It wasn’t really a lie, though, was it? “I promise it’s nothing, and it won’t interfere. I just…” I just hate him. I just miss the version of him I used to know. I just need you to take me off this project as quickly as possible for a reason that won’t make you think less of me or affect my future career here. “I don’t like the band, you know this.” 
“I knew you weren’t a fan of them, but…” she trails off and looks over your shoulder, no doubt surveying the band. When you stood up from the table, they’d all been feigning boredom as if they hadn’t been taking turns staring you down so intensely. You felt like an animal under observation. “I thought it would be a good thing. To have a neutral party take this on. Why, exactly, don’t you like them?” 
“ I don’t think he’s a good person.”
He as in Eddie. It goes as unspoken knowledge. And, technically, it isn’t a lie. Based on the headlines, based on his coolness this entire interaction, you don’t think he’s a good person. Not anymore. 
You can feel the four sets of eyes on you even now. Your exchange with Lydia has been too quiet for them to hear, but you know you’re still being watched carefully.
“You don’t have to think he’s a good person, but you do need to play nice,” Lydia reminds you. You open your mouth, prepared to argue that you had been playing nice when Lydia waves her free hand to stop you, “I know, I know. I’m not saying you haven’t been perfectly professional. You have been, aside from your… bathroom break at the beginning, but please just remember that.” 
You nod, stiff as ever. She was giving you more grace than you deserved if you tried to look at it from an outsider’s point of view. 
“Of course,” that tone of professionalism, that mask to hide the whirlwind of emotions. You could do this.
You had to do this.  
Choice is an illusion when Matt returns with the copies of paperwork, dividing the files up between himself and Lydia. Choice is an illusion as fake smiles are exchanged and pleasant goodbyes are offered. Choice is nothing but smoke and mirrors when all is said and done, and the entire group of you all stand outside the conference room, ready to part ways with a promise of next time, meaning the next meeting.
You never had a choice in any of this. Eddie did, somewhere along the line, but you didn’t. 
Lydia and you both hand over business cards to Matt’s waiting hands, a deliberate move on your part. You bypass Eddie’s expectant glare entirely. The quicker this is over with, the faster he’s exiting the building and no longer occupying the same room as you, the better. 
“We’ll be in contact,” Matt promises as he tucks the cards away carefully. 
“I look forward to it,” you assure him, as if you weren’t dreading every second of what those contracts had detailed.
Three months. You had just signed on to guarantee Eddie Munson being back in your life for three months. The thought makes you nauseous. 
Matt, ever the normal person, takes it as his queue to leave. Lydia has nodded, turned and began her short trek to her office as the band’s manager starts his journey to the elevator. Most of Corroded Coffin scampers after him, gazes on the floor as they retreat to a private space that will certainly be filled with questions. You almost wish there was a way for you to hear what will be said. The topic of conversation, undoubtedly, will be you. You and Eddie, Eddie and you. A pair of intertwined souls that had taken a sharp knife to your connection only to end up with Fate cruelly retying it on this dreadful day. 
Fate, and Eddie, it seems. 
His hand reaches out and catches your upper arm before you can escape the exchange properly. 
“Can we talk?” You stare at him blankly to hide the racing of your heart and pounding in your mind. Those hands on you, skin on skin, leaving an inevitable mark. An inevitable stain. “Go for coffee, go for lunch, just-”
“No.”
You don’t have to think about your answer. Your pause was only born out of shock. 
His eyebrows furrow, “No? What do you mean no?” 
It feels like a pathetic repeat of your interaction in the hallway, when you had begged him to save you from this doomed union. Except now, you hold the cards in your hand. The first sense of control you’ve been offered this entire time. 
“I mean no,” you repeat yourself clearly. Matt is halfway down the hall, and the boys trailing right behind him seem to fumble over their steps for a second. Jeff even goes as far as to look over his shoulder at the brewing storm appearing behind them, but clearly thinks better of intruding, “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want coffee, and I don’t want lunch.” 
End of story. 
Except, it isn’t, because Eddie’s face only twists further in pain, “We have to talk at some point-”
“Actually, we don’t. I’d prefer we didn’t. I think we can both agree it’ll be better, easier, for both of us to keep this strictly professional until we can go our separate ways again.”
He looks as if you had physically reached out and struck him. The force of your words nearly makes him rock backwards, face falling and mouth agape as he tries to grapple with the determination in your words. 
If you were a fool, you’d mistake it for a flash of disappointment. But it’s not possible – it couldn’t be disappointment, only arrogance. He had obviously been assuming you would just give in. Your change just hadn’t become clear enough to him yet. It would, in time. 
And now, the two of you seemingly had too much of it to endure. 
“Actually, I think we can both agree that’s a load of bullshit,” he crassly argues back once he’s regained composure, “You know that’s not possible.”
You shake your head, suck in a bit of the skin of your inner cheek between your molars as an internal encouragement to stand your ground, “It is. It’s not only possible, but is exactly what’s going to happen.”
“You heard Matt. We have to talk at some point, even if it’s just about this and not us.”
“And we will. We can talk about this project all you want, Eddie. But not over lunch, and not over coffee,” you swear you draw blood from your cheek as you take back on that tone of professionalism, ice cold and completely disconnected, “My preferred form of contact is email. I usually respond in a timely manner, even after hours-”
“Don’t do that,” he stops you.
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m just another one of your clients.” 
The metallic flavor floods the deepest corners of your mouth, overtaking the aftertaste of a honey you once knew on the back of your tongue, “That’s exactly what you are. One of my clients.” 
Just a client, and nothing more. A boundary must be drawn, or else there will be more blood spilled than a mere drop from biting your inner cheek. And you aren’t prepared to bleed for him – not again. Never again. 
He opens his mouth, as if he has more to dig out of the grave of this conversation, when Matt’s voice calls from down the hallway, “Eddie! C’mon! There’ll be time to talk later, we’ve got a meeting with the producer across town now.” 
His stance goes rigid, annoyance rolling off him in waves, eyes still focused on you. 
Maybe the reminder of time, the three month timeline, hurts him just as much as it hurts you. Maybe, just possibly, his arm has also been twisted in carving out a space for you in his life once more, whether strictly professional or not. 
He deeply exhales through his nose, “I don’t even have your email.” 
“Matt does. He has my card.”
“Yeah, he does. I don’t. How am I supposed to reach you through your preferred form of contact without it?”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way.” 
You mean to smile at him just as you would the owner of the bakery opening on Third Street, or the mother of a bride trying to share the weight of responsibilities for a wedding. It doesn’t come off that way, though – you can feel the sadness of it tickle the corners of your mouth before he’s even slowly turning from you.
You watch the figure of Eddie Munson walk away from you, and you begin to wish he were walking out of your life rather than only out of the building for the time being.
eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar
ghost's taglist: @emmaisgonnacry @figmentofquinn @bebe07011 @barbedwirebats @ayooooo0 @neverlearnedcivility @munson-enthusiast @digwhatudug @wow-cam @daddysmodifiedprincess2 @cancankiki @gothmingguk @nix-rose @thesesuggestedblognamesbegreat @chevelle724 @madaboutjoe @take-everything-you-can @josephquinnsfreckles @thebanisheddreamer @water-loos @dailyobsession @whenshelanded @happy-and-alone
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bokutooooo · 6 months
Text
Dream Ride
warnings: strong language! flirting? age gap!! (LEGAL)
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"Hey Neela, who's this red neck?" I laugh and Neela rolls her eyes. "This is Sean he just moved here try to be nice." "Hey nice to meet you y/n" he puts out his hand "Hey, have you showed him around yet?". "Yeah I showed him around a bit, you coming tonight?" "I think so my car finally ready, i'm so excited to show it off."
Neela and I are getting ready at my house. "Soooo going to make a move yet? I mean you guys eye fuck each other all the timeeee, you've had a crush on him for years." I laugh "He's turning thirty In like 3 years" "so what? I think you should make a move, It's likely he feels the same". It's true me and Han do flirt a lot but it never went anywhere, plus he is way older than me. "yeah yeah, just keep getting ready missy"..
We pull into the the race centre In my newly improved Nissan Skyline GT-R, of course it isn't just a boring plain car It's pink and white with a glossy finish don't even get me started on the interior. "this car Is so hot, I love it" I smile, proud of what I did "I know right! it's so perfect". I park In a spot near Twinkie's Hulk themed car, makes me grin every time I see it. Neela's already talking to Sean as I'm speaking with Twinkie "I see you're already best friends with red neck huh?" "yeah, seems chill, thought maybe he'd like to come with me tonight. He's seems really into cars." I look over my shoulder at Neela and Sean "You know DK's going to get mad right? Just look, already glaring at him." twinkie looks over, DK already on the move, eyes widen he's quick to rush over. I'm quick to follow behind him "Hey hey hey DK how's going I see you met Sean" I look over at Neela who looks a bit worried. Neela and DK have been dating? for awhile, I mean I don't know if I'd call it dating but best friends with benefits? DK has always been possessive over Neela but sometimes it's a bit much. "Who's this gaijin?!" Neela steps In front but Twinkie is quick to speak up "DK he's here with us, we don't want any problems just here to race. "really? can he drift." I swallow, Sean is probably so confused. "I can race, wanna race?" Twinkie and I look at each other wondering if we just heard the same thing. Now don't get me wrong DK doesn't scare me just I know damn well he's an amazing racer and going up against him Is kind of dumb, especially If you're Sean and have never seen DK race before. DK chuckles "alright gaijin sure, but uh whatcha gonna race with? that?" he looks over at the Hulk car. "He can use mine, see what the kid's got."
I recognize that voice so fast I don't even need to turn around to see who it is. "Really Han? gonna let this kid race with your car? .. alright I won't stop you, I can add it to my collection." he smirks he knows he'll win.
Me and Neela are listening to Twinkie lecture Sean about his stupid decision "Do you even know what DK stands for?" Twinkie crosses his arms waiting for a reply. "No? Donkey Kong?" I laugh and shake my head "It means DRIFT KING Sean, basically Twinkie's telling you that you're going to get you're ass kicked." I smile and watch Sean's face "Maybe I'll win? you never know" "the chances of you winning red neck are slim to none, than you'll have to pay back Han". I lean back against my car, "What about me?" I turn to see Han shoving his mouth full with chips. I smile seeing him shoveling food in his face he's always eating "just explaining what's going to happen after he loses" "hey have some faith in him, maybe he'll win".
"keyword Han. MAYBE, I just feel bad for you sucks you're gonna lose another car." He just laughs and looks at Sean "just try, you'll still owe me though."
"alright let's go! chop chop!!" Han hands his keys over to Sean to his 2006 Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution IX. "Han man this car is too nice for this."
Han shrugs "Y/n lets go up a level" Neela tugs at my arm "alright good luck Sean, see you at the finish line.. if you ever make it..." I giggle walking towards the elevator. "wait up!" twinkie and Han jogging towards us.
The elevator Is filled with the talking of Neela and Twinkie, the two of them stand close to the door while me and Han are In the back. I watch as Han leans down, "Hey y/n how have you been? it's been a minute since we last talk, missed you" he whispers it so Nel and Twinkie can't hear. "Just been working on Kai, finished her a couple days ago. I'll show you after if we go back to the garage." He's teasing me..I know he is, and I'm enjoying every second of it. "Sure, forgot you name them. I know you've been working on her for awhile, congrats." I smile and the doors open, we step out into the crowd of people. Music's blasting and people are shoving their tongues down each others throat, dancing/gridding. "Do you guys really think he'll win this" i ask looking at Neela and Han "probably not but why not give it a shot"
"Okay!! Let's get this started!!!" a girl steps up between the two cars who keep revving their engines while glaring at one another. "READY?" she looks at the two cars "SET.." the room goes silent for maybe 3 seconds. "GOO!!" and off! both cars race off around the building, twists and turns and all you can hear is screeching noise of the tires. There're quick to go up another level and people rush to get up there. "Come on!" Neela grabs my hand as we run.. or at least try to In our heels.
Once we reach upstairs everyone waits patiently to see who will reach the finish line first. And whoosh! DK stops perfectly, I sigh but already knew what the outcome would be. a minute later Sean screeches In and stops. People are cheering and surrounding DK as I walk towards the scratched up, dented car. Han, Twinkie and Neela are already talking to Sean "You own me a car red." Twinkie's laughing and Neela's talking with Sean. "So that didn't really go to plan huh?"
"Yeah guess not, but I'll just practice till I know for sure I can beat him" I just chuckle at his remark "Han, maybe you can teach him how to drift, a couple of lessons wouldn't hurt." Han turns to me and smirks "maybe you should baby" I glance at him, cheeks reddening at the nickname "why because I drift better than you?" I raise an eyebrow at him with a cocky grin on my face. "whatever you say"
"I wish you'd just race me already! I've been waiting so long" I groan, he smiles "maybe later" he shrugs "you always say thattt!" walking to his car "meet me at the garage, think there's a party going on." I turn back to Sean Twinkie and Neela.
"you guys up for it?"
-----------
Might make another part^!
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mylucayathoughts · 6 months
Text
Little moments that I love in Red White and Royal Blue. PART 1. Man this is gonna be a long ass post.
(I can't make gifs right now, wish I could gif these moments but for now screenshots will have to do)
The first one is at the Childrens hospital where Henry introduces Alex to the kids. Henry very sweetly says how his mum is out-ranked by Alex's mum. I think Alex is a bit surprised here (maybe a little shocked) at how easily Henry can say nice things about him specially after their seemingly endless rivalry.
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Then in the hospital cupboard, after Alex confronts Henry he was saying that he is sorry about being cold to Alex earlier but he was in a bad place with his fathers passing and Palace not giving him any space. Alex looks up at him, his mind is probably starting to feel sorry for Henry for the first time and he is realizing how his hatred for Henry was based on a very dark time in Henry's life. His eyes are soft here, which a moment ago was big and angry.
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(plus Taylor looks like a puppy here which I love 😍)
This is rather a sad moment for Henry. He is probably thinking how this is one of the very last moments he gets to spend with Alex (even though Alex had already invited him to the new years party) and how their next meetings will be shorter and probably not meaningful enough for them to ever become anything. He so far hadn't gotten Alex's attention, it's probably not going to happen later. Of course we all know that's not what ends up happening 😏
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This here where Alex asks Henry if he was surprised by Alex in any way, and he just goes like this 🤣
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He is probably thinking of all the things he loves about Alex before deciding to tease him a lil bit. Not to mention how adorable Nicholas looks here 🥺
After their bedroom adventures and Henry's romantic ass kiss (😍) Alex very visibly becomes very thoughtful and you can tell how he knows that it's gonna be sometime before he sees Henry again (he already misses him), and how his mind is racing trying to think of an event where they can meet again.. my poor poor baby 🤧
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In Paris scene, I love how Alex comforts Henry by giving the softest little nudge on his forehead (their hairs touch).
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This is a very small moment that is seen right after a closeup of Henry's face and right before Henry gives Alex the nod to go ahead. This moment is etched in my brain and it makes me wanna cry every time I watch it.
I love their little smiles here after the famous "I'm learning", they are both so in love already it's obscene 🤧 and their smiles are so reassuring and tender 🥺
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In other words Nicholas and Taylor ate. It's a long take and the timing of their expressions and their delivery of each dialogue is just top notch 👌
When Alex is on the plane back from Paris, he looks very pensive. Then he let's out this big sigh and a small smile breaks out. We all know who he is thinking about. I love how Taylor portrayed all the emotions in Alex's heart here. He is tired but happy, and thoughtful at the same time. I think this is the first time Alex gave some serious thought to he and Henry's relationship. Before it was just hooking up in places and mostly about their physical needs for each other.
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Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
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onesidedradiostatic · 1 month
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aromantic alastor headcanons for aro-week (with some ace in there as well, because I think for alastor those things are so entwined, it's hard to separate them):
tried going out with girls a couple of times when he was alive, to make his mother happy, but always found a way to extricate himself from the attachment. this ties into his learning how to have complete control over any situation he's in
I wonder as well about whether or not he "passed" as white, or whether his community knew that he was creole, and how that affected his dating opportunities, and his paranoia, his need to be in control, basically his constant hyper-vigilance
got a lot of fanmail for his radio host work, women (and men, but more furtively) loooved his voice. this was acceptable, because (apart from some of the weirder ones) he could use this as a metric for how accepted he was in society, as well as how well he was passing -- both in terms of race and orientation, but also youknow, as someone who is definitely not clockable as a serial killer
although of course we know he also enjoyed company. he'd go out drinking and dancing a lot. was mimzy a bit in love with him? I just like the idea that people kept being incredibly taken with his charm and his politeness and his poise, because he does have all those traits. whether he notices...? (no). I mention this point not so much as headcanon, I just like that alastor as aroace and repulsed on both of those points, was never a shut-in about it. he's always been very lively (ha) and outgoing, and clearly likes being in the company of others... but maybe that last point has gotten to be a little difficult during his time in hell, due to having to be so careful about showing any kind of emotional "weakness." speaking of...
post-death became a more extreme version of himself -- that is, a man on a mission to be in control and create emotional distance between himself and others through the power of voice, rather than having to faff about pretending emotional connections where there were none. very suited for hell because of his precarious political lived reality whilst alive, and because hell is built on who has power and who doesn't. these are rituals he understands better than the strange romantic ones during life
the smile as mask and unhealthy coping mechanism -- wonder if when he was alive people swooned over his having a lovely smile (as well as its being useful to placate and to disorient people who had more violent intentions, and in both cases potentially to lure in victims). so the smile likewise became the most extreme version of itself. the smile in essence as the signifier of someone who doesn't fit into any boxes and needs to hide that fact, both by being mixed race and aroace, but then the smile itself becomes something that effectively owns him, because he literally cannot let it drop, ever (honestly if alastor ever stops smiling, it'll be the biggest gasp moment on this show)
all that being said, surprising connections do occur: rosie, I think, sees through him from the beginning, and she's so disarming (ha, disarming... cannibal joke) that she never feels like a threat + they're both cannibals, so there's a relaxed kinship there and maybe she reminds him of the parts of home he (secretly) misses a bit
I wonder how rosie figured out that alastor wasn't into dating. I think at first she might have thought he was gay, but then quite quickly seen that that's not it, he doesn't even like men much, and she feels like she's been around the block enough to piece together peoples' natures from one of a million other people she's known, so way before she knows the terminology, she knows, and crucially, she never judges or tries to force the point
I wonder how vox and alastor met -- whether vox was able to gain power on his own and this attracted alastor's attention, or if alastor saw something of himself (that turned out to be surface level) in vox, that is, they both wear smiles as masks, they're both presenters, their mediums may be different, but their aims feel similar. perhaps alastor was comfortable enough in hell at this point -- probably in a way he never was whilst alive -- that he was feeling magnanimous towards what must have felt a bit like an upstart. and most importantly, the constraints of alloromantic ideas are a comfortable 20 years in the past by now, alastor can barely remember that this was ever anything that was expected of him, or that others' could possibly feel about him
cue vox falling head over heels, the way people so often did while he was alive, and he... does not notice at all (barely a headcanon). I kind of feel like I don't have much to say on these two, because this blog is already a treasure trove of vox and alastor hcs!
I think rosie is the only one who knows alastor is aroace, although... maybe husk? not in so many words, but he knows alastor isn't interested in those things. nifty Does Not Notice Nor Care (in a good way). charlie i will forever think will at some point do a deep-dive on modern queer lingo and get everyone flags (this is practically word of god canon considering that older piece of art you shared). vox definitely doesn't know. val....... sort of kinda knows but in an evil way. vaggie does not care, but she'd be chill about it. mimzy... I don't think knows, mainly because she never cared to think about his behaviours, as someone who's quite self-centered on what alastor is to her. jeez, who am i missing... angel, does not know, head empty
speaking of angel, I think if he ever found out, especially with where he's at in his journey rn, would be very unhappy in some way about having stepped over his boundaries so often so casually at the beginning. dunno how he'd act about it, but i like the idea of vigilantly (and crudely, and bluntly) supportive angel if they ever manage to get alastor out on the town. more on the ace side of things but i can see him going: "do not try to fuck this guy! this guy is unfuckable!"
(i like hypersexual and deeply romantic angel + sex and romance repulsed alastor as unlikely friendship in my head. opposites finding common ground type stuff is always good)
at the end of the day, alastor living and dying in an amatonormative world and having to orient himself within that by building walls that persist/worsen after his death because of the culture of hell being predicated on who controls whom, veeeeery slowly discovering that he can be vulnerable on his own terms without people demanding things from him that he cannot give (smthinsmthin the hotel gang as the opposite of vox in that sense -- not only that sense, but also that)
also something about imagining his mother hoping he'd find a nice girl and settle down (in the way parents often do, because that's the metric of happiness right.....) and how he never could give her what she wanted, and maybe feels some very locked away guilt about that, which he thinks he'll never be able to deal with because his mother is in heaven, but perhaps in this story she'll get to see what he's built with the people at the hotel and that's really all she wanted for him in the end
OH MY GOD ANON THIS IS ALL SO GOOD?? THANK YOU SO MUCH HAHAHA. happy aro week everyone!! (x2)
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rowarn · 7 months
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I’m so happy i found your blog ;___; your soft simon/konig are literally a breath of fresh air like the other anon said😍💕 you write them so well and so tender and caring, they’re literally dream men tbh😮‍💨💕 what are yiur thoughts on how they’d be w a reader whose inexperienced?? both when it comes to intimacy and love in general (im thinking of a feral and skittish cat 🐈‍⬛ who mistrusts every approach and touch and backs away 😭) i always read abiut these men when they’re w a reader who is very sure of her self/sexuality and confidently engages w them (and don’t get me wrong i love reading it regardless!) but what abour when reader has no clue how to act/what to do and is kinda ashamed about it bc she doesn’t want to let her partner down bc she still possesses the v card🥴
(im totally not projecting 😭🙊 btw it’s totally fine if you don’t want to answer this!! wouldn’t want to overwhelm or cross any limits!)
HI MY LOVE IM GLAD UR ENJOYING MY STUFF!!!
hmmm i think both simon and könig wouldn't actually rlly say anything about sex unless you brought it up.
simons very perceptive, he can tell that you're a little shy and skittish about anything too intimate so he keeps his touches pg and simply follows your lead. he lets you guide the pace and he won't bring up getting his dick wet unless you do first.
if he catches on that you may actually want to properly discuss it (even if u don't flat out say it, again he can tell if somethings on your mind <3) then he'll be SO patient and soft with you as he listens. if you're embarrassed or scared, he'll do his best to reassure you that he's not some bumbling idiot who doesn't know how to make it feel good. and he's also not the type to really care about the idea of virginity. doesn't matter to him; he'll guide you and teach you everything snd he'll be so careful and sweet with you, you don't need to worry. he's not great with words but he does his best to get his thoughts across to put you at ease!!
könig wont bring it up bc he's kind of nervous. his thoughts sort of race when he doesn't get a black and white answer so when he notices you're a little skittish about him touching you, he goes thru 400 different reasons why and doesn't want to ask and scare u off by thinking he's some sex obsessed maniac (he's a pro at catastrophizing!!!)
will not ever bring it up avtually, you definitely will have to sit him down and spell out your thoughts to him. he'll noticeable relax in relief when he realizes you're not scared of him you're just....embarrassed?
unlike simon, he is pretty good with words. he blunt and gets straight to the point. he'll tell you that he's...big....everywhere and that he knows how to prep you so it won't hurt and that he would be SO careful if u felt like you were ready. he also assures you that it's nothing to be embarrassed about. contrary to simon, he does understand that some people view their virginity as something special and that if u want he can make it a rlly romantic evening for u!! it's up to u!!! just tell him what u want and he will follow your lead without a single thought <3
overall, simon isn't rlly the type to just jump into bed unless he gets the idea that you CLEARLY want to have sex with him. he's had his fair share of bedmates and he will definitely be able to pick up on any flirting. if he thinks you might not want to have sex, he wont say anything. he's a grown man who doesn't need to get his dick wet (: he's got his hand (yum) <3
and könig is.....könig. he's just happy to be here <3
I HOPE I ANSWERED UR QUESTIONS!!!!!
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softlyspector · 7 months
Text
Moss & Mushrooms
Written for Haunted Hoedown !
Prompt(s): animal shapeshifter au + "he's a monster" + "he's perfect". With the additional prompts of "I accidentally called you into this world" + gothic au
Summary: You are alone, always. Then, one day, a beast emerges from the forest you've never dared to go into.
Pairing: shapeshifter!Joel Miller x f!Reader
Word count: ~4.2k
Warnings: toxically co-dependent, unhealthy, literal nightmare relationship, body horror (also shapeshifter transformation type of things), graphic descriptions of violence, lots of blood, smut, marking, pain kink, light choking, intense biting, possessiveness, devotion and loyalty that threaten to go too far, mentions of death, suicidal ideation, intense loneliness, the reader wears a dress, the reader is described with having scars, bruises, only very lightly edited
A/N: I wanna say thank you to @psychedelic-ink and @inklore for hosting the Haunted Hoedown writing challenge because this really got the creative juices flowing and it was also just a lot of fun to write. Anyway! I'm throwing this into the void and running away. Thanks for reading!
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Something monstrous looms. 
It has claws and teeth, bristling fur. 
It emerges from the shadows with a growl, from the depths of the ever whispering forest, the ever murmuring leaves. 
Wind whips the trees back as darkness encroaches on the garden. You stand on the edge of the balcony, the widow’s walk, and watch it emerge from the forest, the writhing mass of dark trees, battered by the brewing storm, the thorny, irritated air. 
The wind sears your skin, so cold it burns, so violent it tears. 
The sky churns violet, navy, midnight. White moonlight cuts through the clouds, fingers of forked lightning spear through the roiling mass. 
The creature writhes. 
A wolf the size of a moose, you realize. Larger than any beast should be. 
It’s nails dig into the earth, a howl like a thousand years of pain wrapped in velvet echo across the yard, across the churning ocean that crashes against the seawall on the other side of the house. 
Your belly knots up, a thrill tingles at the base of your spine. You are alone on the coast. Your nearest neighbor is miles away. At least, they used to be, anyway.
 A storm is rolling in, the power flickering already in the ruinous house you call home, gothic and stately and in utter disrepair. 
It’s falling apart. Any moment it may fall to the ground, it may sink into the sea. 
The wolf’s howl breaks off, cracks, snaps. 
What if it prowled closer to the house? What if it came onto the porch below? What if it threw itself against the door, shattered its way inside? What if it attacked you? Consumed you?
All the blood in your face rushes down, gathers hotly in your chest. It thrills you, the thought of being trapped by the beast, the thing crawling closer to the house, lithe body sleek in the moonlight, in the gathering storm. It thrills you to think of it snapping you open, prying you apart, ending your misery.  
You have the urge to go downstairs, open the door and invite it in. It could carve your heart out with its teeth, you could eat it together. Blood dripping from your chin, it’s maw. 
You would no longer be alone on this stretch of coast beneath you, threatening to consume you and leave your bones behind, like all the others that had come before you. You could live inside the wolf. 
The cracking, snapping continues. A howl begins again, then chokes off. The smooth coat of fur jostles. The creature stumbles, falls halfway across the garden. The noise continues, like twigs snapped and rocks thrown. 
You watch the grotesque movement, fascinated, blood pumping, heart racing. The howl transforms into a moan, and then, the cracking, writhing stops. Your eyes are wide open but in the space of a blink the monster is replaced with a man. 
Before you can really consider what you’re doing, you fetch up the lantern by your elbow and fly back through the double doors to the staircase that winds down through the many floors of the ancient house. 
Something laughs, but you don’t pause to find out what. The fluttering wings of cobwebs and dust chase you down, down, down. Moss and mushrooms sprout from the damp of the walls, watching with hungry eyes. 
You know as your bare feet hit the main floor and the white of your dress swirls around your ankles, that even if you had paused to think it over, you’d still be here, pulling open the back door as the electricity flickers out and the rain finally comes crashing down from the sky. 
The lantern falls from your hand and you bolt out into the rain. 
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The beast, the man, is beautiful. 
You can tell even through the sleeting, hammering rain blurring your vision. 
The whole world is dark and wet. The whole of the earth is soaked in chilled blood. And you and the creature are the last of the warm bodies to stand atop it. 
You curl one hand under his naked bicep and pull.
The man is nude. He’s hard to make out in the dark and the rain and the howling, snarling wind. 
He follows you though, follows the touch of your hand, the press of your fingertips, like you are a glow of light in a dark tunnel and he the moth.  
The earth squelches beneath your feet, mud squeezes between your toes and tugs at the hem of your dress.
He follows you up the decaying back stairs, straight through the still open doors, gauzy curtains fluttering in the storm winds, ripping at their fastenings. 
As soon as you’re inside, the din of the rain is muted. The air is heavy with salt, like blood is in the air, like a sea of red has spilled across the dilapidated floorboards. 
All you want is to look at him, but violence breaks loose from the monster turned man.
His hands are large, veiny and thick and crushing when he backs you into a wall. 
He is naked in his entirety, and you can’t stop your eyes from spilling down his body. He cages you against the wall, thick forearms and biceps pressing you in tight. His chest is broad, littered with a smattering of wiry, dark hair. Scars criss cross his arms, his shoulders. Broad shoulders lead to a tapered waist and strong thighs. 
Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his cock, half hard and nestled in a thatch of dark hair. He’s big, thick. 
You should not want this monster, this man without a name that has been gifted to you by a storm that seemed to be conjured right out of hell. 
But he has been. He is yours. 
He has been gifted to you. 
Not the storm, you think. The forest. The dark green, solid black interior, has given him to you. 
You can feel him, feel his soul, like fishing line connects you, is tied to the ventricles of your heart and his. If you pull away, it will tear, it will rip. 
Your thighs ache. Tingling wanting sweeps from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. There’s a hollow space inside your belly, growling, hungry. Your pussy clenches and you almost reach for him. 
The force of the wind blows a window open, slams it into a wall where it shatters with the impact. You glance into the stranger’s face, your eyes jerking up to his. He’s dripping with rainwater, hair slicked back from his forehead, black and gray in the moonlight, in the darkness of the storm and the house and your heart. 
He looks, for all the world, like someone you once knew. 
You can’t place who, water dripping into your eyes. 
One hand curls around your throat, and your eyes flutter closed at the sensation. You shudder when your heels leave the floor. He lifts you until you’re left on your tiptoes, gasping. 
You’ve never been lifted before, not in any kind of way, and certainly not like this. He’s strong, much too strong. 
His eyes are dark, swallowed by black pupils. His teeth pull back from his lips in a snarl, white teeth flashing. 
Maybe you don’t recognize him after all.
The darkness in his gaze makes you want to sink into the blank spots flashing in your vision. You force yourself to suck in a breath, force yourself not to get lost like a little lamb. 
“Why did you call me here?” 
His voice is deep and gritty. It’s a voice you would like to plunge your hands into, tweak into a melody, or something far more sinister. 
“I didn’t,” you say. “How could I?”
He has crinkles by his eyes, the tops of his cheeks. His forehead is wrinkled with tension. His beard is mostly gray, his lips pink, like the only spot of color. 
He’s beautiful. 
And you want him so bad, you would let him pluck the veins from your body one by one if it meant he would keep looking at you, if it meant his attention was on you alone. 
His gaze slides from your face to your body. Your dress is plastered to your frame with rainwater, wet and sticking. The white has been made transparent and there’s nothing left to his imagination. You may as well be nude. Goosebumps race across your skin. 
The monster releases your throat and instead leans into you, his body so hot it burns. He inhales against you, his nose just below your ear. All you can do is hang on, dig blunt nails into the flesh of his shoulders. You feel the twist of muscle beneath your fingers, the sinewy pull of tendon along his spine. 
The scent of rain and earth surrounds you, blood and pine. Like the forest just bore him into the world, like he is new.  
Your taut nipples brush against his chest, lightning careening through your body. The ache between your thighs grows steadily, makes you twitch forward into him. 
His stiff cock presses against your center, and you feel him inhale against your throat, bitten off in a growl that rocks the floorboards of the old house. 
The earth shakes, like it’s thinking of cracking open to swallow you both down. 
When he sinks his teeth into the juncture of your shoulder and throat, you groan. His bites so hard, your vision blurs with the pain. Your pussy clenches hard nothing and your hips rock forward into him, seeking pleasure to go along with the pain. 
“This what you wanted?” He asks when he pulls his mouth away, hips rutting against yours. He licks over the wound, breathes you in again. 
The wet fabric of your dress does little to dull the sensation, does nothing to protect you from the fire that looms inside. 
You had it wrong, you are not a flame to his moth. You are a raindrop against a forest fire. 
“I can fuckin’ smell what you want.” Blood sweeps down your neck in a heady rush, it soaks the front of your dress. His lips are red when he pulls back. 
You tilt your chin back and nod, drunk on him, on the storm lashing at the house. “I missed you,” you say, and somehow it’s true. The twine that connects you to him pulls tighter and harder until you cry out, and you have to wonder if you did call him from some dark otherworld, if you made him from clay and darkness and saltwater and now he’s yours. 
His eyes are familiar, the amber ring so small his eyes seem black. 
Iron hot hands grip your hips, jerk you against him.  
You’re nothing in his hands, incorporeal, like a ghost, like the world ended a long time ago and you’ve just been waiting to be found again. 
Moss blooms on your soul, overtakes your lungs and your heart and your ribs, it consumes you and the house and the whole world. 
There’s a tenderness in the way he lowers you to the floor, rotting planks of wood pressed into your spine. Your dress is rucked up around your waist. 
The bulk of him settles heavily over you, his tongue sweeps against the mark he left on your shoulder. Something agonizingly loud chases the gods across the sky when he growls at the taste. 
“We’re going to drown,” you breathe, air caught up in your chest. You clutch him closer, feel the bare press of his cock against your cunt for the first time, strong hands cradling your thighs, your hips. A shudder rakes up your spine, slices you open at the throat. 
The monster answers, “Missed you, too.” He tugs down your bloodied collar, gaze sinking into your skin, sticking like a knife in your ribs. One huge hand passes over your breasts, pinches your nipples between rough fingertips until you cry out. 
He’s inside you in one thrust. It hurts but that’s okay, because it means you aren’t alone. It means someone is finally at home with you.
He sets a brutal pace, grips you by your hips and then your ribs. Clawed fingers sink into your ribs, carve out pieces of your flesh, until more blood blooms. It's beautiful, like flowers opening in rain.  
He covers your mouth with his when you scream and the whole world breaks apart. 
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He doesn’t know your name. He doesn’t want to know it. Doesn’t want to know what to call such a lonely little thing. Doesn’t want to know what to call something so powerfully alone, something so lost in loneliness it called him from one world into the next. 
The rain hasn’t stopped. It pounds against the side of the house, against the weathered, creaking wood. 
You carry a candle, body and hair and clothes dry now. The flame whispers gently, gutters between your fingers. Hot melted wax trails over your knuckles. 
“Is there something I can call you?” You crouch and tilt your head, kneeling next to him where he lies on the floor. 
He thinks he’s on the third floor, the hallway. He doesn’t remember how he got there.  
He’d give you his name if he remembered it.
The side of your neck is bruised with his teeth, the outline of his mouth indented in your flesh. The sight makes his cock jump. 
He feels like he knows you, but maybe you just feel familiar because he’s broken you from the inside out.  
He doesn’t answer and you don’t seem to expect one. Your warm hand touches his shoulder. 
He wants to have you again. He’s hungry for the nectar of your flesh. You taste like the sea, like the gales that blow against the creaking, ancient house. Like salt and rainwater and lightning. He wants to dig his hands into you, into the meat of your lungs so he can feel you breathing, into the chambers of your heart so he can feel which direction your blood flows. 
He wants to be the one to stop your heart mid-beat, so it could always be his. 
Breaking open your ribs, sucking the marrow from the interior, taking a bite from your soul—he thinks you’d thank him for something like that. 
Your scent has mellowed out a little. You smell just like you taste, and now it's undercut with him, with the muskiness of him and the lingering want between your legs. 
Thunder cracks overhead, splits the world in two. You don’t so much as flinch and he covers your warm hand. The storm seems to perpetually hover right above the house. It’s been days, and it’s still there. 
He’s still coated in mud and you, his bones still hurt from the transition from beast to beast. 
You’re tempting, lit in lamplight and the reflected glow of the moon. 
He wonders if the sun ever rises here. 
“You can stay,” you say. “I don’t know how you’ll get home.” 
You voice is like a song that reminds him—
Joel. The name comes to him with a flash of lightning. 
“Joel,” he tells you. He wants you to know.  
“Joel,” you repeat. 
His name sets off something dangerous in his mind, kicks something possessive and protective alive. 
His. 
His, his, his. 
You belong to him. 
He twists, and pushes you back. The candle in your hand tumbles to the floor and goes out. “Joel,” you coo again. “Joel.” 
He pushes your skirt up, sees the shine of want on your pussy, your pretty cunt, still puffy from the last time he fucked you. Your thighs are rubbed raw from his beard. 
He licks you there, sucks your clit between his lips. You moan, your hips buck, and he doesn’t stop. He wants all of it, that musky taste of you in his mouth forever.  
You taste like crystal seas, like blackened skies and fire and darkness. 
“Joel,” you say his name, you pant his name. Fingers tangle in his hair, yank so hard he snarls against you. “I want it to hurt.” 
So, he makes it hurt. 
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The water in the bathtub is warm. He can see the steam rising around you in drafts. 
He likes looking at you, softly bruised on your thighs and hips, perpetual bite mark on your shoulder.
Joel likes watching the way you move. He likes the soft curves of your body, the peaks of your tight nipples, the elegant curve of your waist and neck. Your body is like a music note, or a question mark. 
The house feels swollen, waterlogged and dense. Laughter and voices twist behind doors that lead to nothing and nowhere. Fungi and moss and creeping vines claw at the walls of the house, rotting wood threatening to give out with agonized moans. There are moldering photos and paintings in the halls and bedrooms that he can’t quite look at. Rainwater seeps through the cracks in the ceiling. 
“It used to be beautiful,” you say to him about the house, running a pristinely white washcloth reverently over the bite on your shoulder, then the scratches over your ribs. His scratches, his marks. “The sky was always blue. Everything inside was clean and light and everything outside was green and fresh.” You look at him, sitting in the dark beside the bathtub. “But that’s all over, now.”
The thread coiled around his head gives a twinge. “You were married,” he says. He knows things about you that he shouldn’t and he wonders if he really came from otherworld, or if you created him with grief and love and loneliness.  
“He died,” you confirm. “The world ended. And then the rot crept in.” 
Joel stands and your chest hitches as you stare up at him. He pushes down the trousers you gave him, that fit him just right, and climbs into the water with you. 
You gasp and then tears are sliding down your cheeks. You must be wondering the same thing—if you called him here or created him.
It doesn’t matter. 
What matters is that you open your legs and let him fuck you again, water spilling over the side of the bathtub, soaking the floor. 
What matters is that you are his and he yours. 
Your eyes flutter closed, your lips part, when his hand closes around your throat. 
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The house is like a prison, but you make it into something livable.
The moon and sun do rise, here in this foreign, familiar place. Candles weigh down every surface, and the lights stay off. Neither of you seem to want them on.
The sea crashes violently against the seawall, the sharp teeth of jagged rocks jut up from the bottom, like the mouth of Charybdis. You loom in the window some days, watching the swirling water with lust in your eyes, like you’d like to dive into it. 
He can’t help but notice the widow’s walk is on the wrong side of the house. It faces the forest, not the sea, like the house has turned its back on the world, too. The forest whispers, trembles. 
He always pulls you back from the edge, fucks you until you can’t take him anymore, until you’re crying and limp and the wire tied up inside him goes loose.  
You ask him to leave once. You tell him he could figure it out, how to go home, but his devotion to you is total now, his loyalty is to you alone. Home is here, in the house swelling with moisture, with you picking herbs and sliding your fingers along the crowns of fungi like they’re beloved pets. 
You are his altar, his god; the vision, the future. 
Even thinking about leaving causes something in his chest to pang so hard he doubles over, that thing tied to you.  
“Are you still lonely?” he asks, when his cock is inside you and his mouth leaves a new bite on your bicep. “I enough for you?” 
“You’re everything,” your eyes roll back, slip closed. He cups your breast in his hand, sucks your nipple into his mouth and thinks of the straits of his heart. Your chest heaves against his lips. He still wants to break you, to tear open your chest, just to live inside it. 
Devoted.
It’s a good word. He’d keep you safe, even from himself. 
Your pussy twitches around him, clenching weakly. “Am I enough for you?” You make him lift his head, hands cupped under his chin. “Could I ever be?” 
You don’t know. You don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t know. 
You don’t know how devoted he is. That he would kill for you, die, that he wants to live amongst your bones now. 
The ancient house gives a groan, the rain comes down harder. He thrusts into you and you whine. “Will you leave?” Your voice is pathetically small. 
The house trembles, like it’s afraid too and is threatening to crumble into the sea with both of you inside. 
“Never.”
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One day, the rain goes light and foamy, the sky turns slate gray. It's almost a sunny day.  
Someone else emerges from the woods. 
Joel turns to you. You’re still on the bed, snaked through with vines and green, naked, covered in him. His spend shimmers between your thighs, on your cunt. Sweat shines between your breasts and at the base of your throat and he wants you again. 
“What did you do?” He snarls. 
“Nothing.” 
He watches the man, not beast, stumble closer. 
Jealous heat rises in his chest. You’ve called forth another man. Consciously or unconsciously, he’s there. 
“What d’ya want me to do?” Joel sounds desperate and he doesn’t care. 
You don’t answer, you rise from the clean white of the sheets and go down the steps in all your naked glory. He follows, watches the jiggle of your ass, the movement of your back and waist, the weight of your breasts. The scars his nails left on your ribs reassure him. 
You belong to him, he is yours. He would kill you both, to keep you safe from others. 
No stranger would change that. Whatever your heart needed, that had conjured something else, another man, from the deep of the shimmering, knowing, rustling woods, he would become it, give it to you. 
The man is kind and soft. 
He needs help.
You talk to him, and Joel watches him lean in, eyes never straying from yours even though you are bare to the cold wind. “Is he hurting you?” The newcomer asks. 
Joel doesn’t hear your answer. He feels the wire around his heart tug, the sharp echoing sting makes you gasp and clutch at the railing. The new man has no reaction and all the jealous possessive feelings immediately settle. If his heart wasn’t tied to yours, he wasn’t meant to stay. 
He was a lesson for Joel. 
The man’s eyes go to Joel then to you. “He’s a monster, miss.” 
You shake your head. “He’s perfect.” 
You turn and walk back to him. You touch Joel’s shoulder, curl your fist into his t-shirt. “Joel,” you say softly. You touch his cheek. “I know why he came.” 
“I do too.” He stands there a moment longer, kisses your fingers when you press them against his mouth. “What d’ya want me to do?” He asks again. 
You glance over your shoulder, then back into his eyes. “I want you to kill him, Joel.” 
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You watch the beast kill the man. 
Then, you watch the beast break its bones, reform its skin, to come back to you. 
And when he does, he tells you that was his lesson. 
His hands are stained red, blood seeps into your skin. Joel pushes into you, soft and slow. He doesn’t hurt you, even when you tell him to. “You need a kind hand, girl,” he tells you. “You’ve lived by the sea for too long.”
Tears come first, pleasure without pain for the first time in years comes second. 
He touches you with red printed fingers. The sheets are covered in the blood of a stranger that taught you a lesson. “Are you hurt?” You ask. 
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
He looks at you with those eyes, dark and knowing and loyal. He would never admit to that. Instead, he says, “I would do it a thousand times.” 
You stroke his cheek. “Do you think it was real? Do you think he was real?” 
“Yeah,” he says. “Because I’m real, too.” 
The forest gave him to you, to each other, so it must be real. 
Joel must be real. You settle against him, and decide that’s true. 
But don’t you ever wonder, you want to ask as you kiss his bare chest, what is in the forest? What is in the sea? 
Don’t you wonder, you want to ask him, why you look so much like my husband? 
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