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webism · 16 hours

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‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎HOT ROD !

After getting hooked on your taste, pornstar!satoru invites you and your pornstar boyfriend to shoot a threesome in the countryside.

pornstar!suguru x pornstar!satoru x fem!reader | part one, two

cw; ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she/her pronouns used for reader, unprotected sex, creampies, oral (m and f receiving), anal (m receiving), mmf threesome, voyeurism.

The sun has barely risen, the typical tangelo orange of a morning sky is yet to develop—instead, you watch a dull pink canvas the sky, turned more of a rose colour through the car's windshield. Suguru Geto, your lover and costar alike, keeps his hand on your thigh as he drives. Occasionally, he'll tap his fingers against your exposed flesh along to the beat of the old niche rock song blaring through the radio. You have the volume up too high—which isn't good for your ears, but is great for the soul—and the windows rolled all the way down. The wind is in your hair, which aids the setting heat of Summer in Japan. It's quite pleasant out here. You're filming at a location you can only reach through an open road that goes right past some very scenic hills, and you're having a lovely time just enjoying your lover's company. Nothing but the two of you.

That being said—something sits at the forefront of Suguru's mind. You can tell his thoughts are preoccupied, having been with him so long gets you a sweet look into that pretty mind of his. So, when the strings of an electric guitar die out, you turn the radio down and shift in your seat to face him better.

“Cold feet?” You ask.

His hair is up and out of his face, save for a stand that falls over his eyes, though it’s pushed back by the wind regardless. He glances at you, smiles, and looks away.

“I don’t get cold feet," he says flatly, looking at you for half a second before his focus returns to the road. “I'm just interested to see if he'll fuck as good with me there, of if the poor guy will get performance anxiety."

Ah, jealousy it is. The flat kind, because your sweet-boned lover never gets openly jealous. You have to settle for half-bitten quips. You smile, "he didn't seem like the type to get performance anxiety."

Suguru hums in a noncommittal way, his lips pulling inwards. He squeezes the fat of your thigh and taps a finger against your skin. Your skin heats under his touch, it always does. You might earn your living through the most sensual of touches, but none of them quite set you alight like Sugurus does.

Well, except for Satoru. You try to avoid closing your eyes, in fear of being met with the memory of his cock sinking into you rather than the darkness of your closed eyelids. You feel half-guilty, despite Suguru's obvious itch to see you laid out for Satoru Gojo of all people. You know him, you wouldn't be driving forty minutes through the countryside if Suguru wasn't at least a little bit obsessed with the fantasy.

Satoru Gojo, a known name in the porn industry, got to fuck you stupid only a week ago. He had asked you out for drinks after, and though you rejected him verbally, you’re starting to fear that your mind didn’t reject him in the same regard. You had come home that night to your sweet Suguru, and told him all about being hit on by your co-star, to which he laughed.

And oh the irony, that your Suguru was balls-deep inside of you that night when the two of you got an email from Satoru’s agent– an offer, an expensive one. One shoot, a week from then, a threesome between his new favourite love birds and, of course, him.

Suguru remembers Satoru like he was the season prior, like the winter that bled into you, the spring. They did a few films together, Satoru got a little too stuck in Sugurus mind and then, once their contracts were up, they never spoke again.

The rising sun makes him squint against the road— he almost misses the turn off to the countryside estate you had been told to meet at. The place is nice, big, and you’re starting to wonder just how widely distributed this porno will be if the producer is shelling out so much money just for an estate to rent out for half a day.

“With how much they’re paying us, I half expected the budget for location to allow for a crack den at most,” Suguru snorts as he pulls in through the large paved driveway.

“No kidding,” you hum. With this paycheck, you’d just be greedy looking for work in the next few months.

Suguru parks and undoes his seatbelt with a sideways glance in your direction. “We’re a bit early,” he notes. “But it never hurts to get a feel for the place, talk to our co-star for a minute or two.”

You smile. “Mhm, talk.”

“Ready to get fucked for cash?” Suguru snorts, and opens his door to get out of the car. You follow suit, rolling your eyes at his crude words when your feet hit the ground and you’re closing your door behind you.

You walk around the car to meet your boyfriend, and he greets you with a pinch to your ass and a kiss to your temple. You’d recognise something poetic in the contrast of his actions if your mind wasn’t so preoccupied with thoughts of performing for him in only a few moments.

Despite both being pornstars, you rarely take scenes together. Threesomes aren’t a frequent venture— this is something relatively untapped for the both of you. And though you’re sure it would never jeopardise your relationship at all, you can’t help but entertain the worries that creep in. Will Suguru really not mind sharing?

You aren’t sure what’s worse— the thought of him getting overly jealous of Satoru and cutting the scene short, or the thought of Suguru not minding in the slightest as you get fucked stupid by another man. A little possession never goes unappreciated on your end.

“Hey,” Suguru’s silken voice brings you back to the now. “You okay? We can turn around and speed off into the sunrise if you want to leave.”

You grin. “I’m good. Excited, even.”

Your boyfriend nods and leads the way to the estate's front door. It’s closed, which is a little odd considering the production crew will be coming in and out with equipment and the such. You furrow your eyebrows and realise your car is the only one here—maybe you’re earlier than you realised.

“You checked the shoot time, right?” you ask.

“Yes, love,” Suguru makes it to the front door and tries the handle only to find it locked. “Fuck, maybe I should have triple checked.”

He presses a thick finger to the doorbell button and glances to you as the sound of an overly upbeat chime echoes through the estate. Maybe it’s the wrong place, too lavish to be true. Maybe it’s the wrong date, even. Maybe—

The door swings open, and standing to greet you with a knowing grin is Satoru Gojo.

His eyes meet yours first, and then drop to take in the rest of you. Something soft flashes over his face. Lust, perhaps, or appreciation, maybe both. His arms cross over his chest, leaning his body weight on the doorframe as he flits his gaze to your boyfriend, and his eyes return.

“Long time no see, lovebirds. Just on time," he chirps, stepping aside to let you in. "Excuse the mess, I just moved in."

It takes a moment for your brain to register his words, and Suguru is right behind you in thought. "This is your place?" he asks, appraising the foyer as he walks in.

“Mhm,” Gojo replies, and though you expect his lilt to be more cocky, he speaks smooth like silk. “The city is too… busy for me. Plus.. saves a dollar on renting out a house to film in, right?”

You can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips: from the looks of his home you doubt he’d blink an eye at paying rent for a night of filming. Still, you don’t know if he’s just trying to show off, or if he really wants his home to play backdrop for the shoot. But whatever the case, he definitely thinks it’s clever on his behalf to lead the both of you here. It worked, you give it to him, but damn.

You look around, taking in everything that catches your eye – the sleek furnishings, a wide kitchen to the left, and an elegant living room straight ahead. All of it feels clean and welcoming. You wonder, idly, what it's like for Gojo to live in a space like this all alone – if he is alone, that is. The question remains unanswered as Gojo leads the two of you down the hall until you reach another door and slip inside.

The bedroom you end up in is stunning; a double bed dominates the centre of the room with fluffy duvets thrown haphazardly over top, whilst the walls are painted a warm, calming shade of grey. The carpet is plush and dark brown in colour, the curtains hanging at either side of the grand windows allow for plenty of natural light to flood the room. There's a tripod set up with a very expensive looking camera pointed directly at the bed: Satoru points to it and grins at you and Suguru, "our camera crew."

You furrow your eyebrows, but Suguru speaks up before you can. "It's just us?"

Satoru nods, crossing his corded arms and he flits his gaze between the two of you. "Yes. I did specify it was a private shoot, lovebirds."

Your boyfriend settles in closer beside you than before, you can feel the heat from his body as he crosses his own arms, a mirror of the white haired man in front of you. "I figured it was a private production shoot," he speaks cautiously. "The email I got was from an agent, not you directly."

Satoru looks unperturbed. "'Course," he says languidly. "She handles all my correspondence."

Gojo turns to the dresser and, from the top drawer, pulls out two white envelopes. Your eyes linger a little too long on his slender fingers as he hands them over to you, one each. As you peek into the envelope handed to you, you find an obscene amount of cash neatly sat inside.

"As agreed, plus... a little extra for the commute," Gojo shrugs. "You can take it and go, if this isn't what you want. If it is, well..." He gestures to the bed. "I'm kinda dying here."

You glance down at his insinuation and find that he's beyond hard. His pants are tight and tented, making his arousal painfully evident. You have to force your gaze elsewhere – to Suguru, who is staring almost shamelessly at Gojo, his brows creased in the middle as he thinks.

The silence is deafening, you can feel the tension rising between the three of you, vibrating off the surface of your skin and permeating the air itself. Suguru seems to have made his mind up, because he turns to you with an awfully familiar look on his face: desire.

"Thoughts, darling?" he asks, and your stomach flips.

There's no point in pretending that there aren't things wrong with how your mind still reels after Satoru's touch. This entire thing has been confusing and disorientating; you're confused about everything – your feelings, your career, your sexual desires – and now, in your current situation, you’re downright torn. And yet, despite that, despite all the questions swirling around in your mind, as soon as your eyes land on Satoru's again – you know you'd die without another taste of his pink glossed lips. That feeling, the desire, the forethought of how he'd pant and whine after you've fucked him senseless – you'll do anything to achieve it.

This doesn’t feel like work anymore, not with the way these two men are looking at you. The camera isn’t even rolling yet, and yet you find yourself ready to fuck them both to the brink of oblivion.

So, without so much as a second of hesitation you pull away from your train of thought and turn to press your lips to Suguru's in a searing kiss. The action, so swift, causes Gojo's breath to hitch in his throat at the sight. Suguru kisses you back, of course, the hand that isn't holding his envelope quickly makes its way to your waistline and pulls you flush against him, leaving nothing but your clothes between the both of you. You wrap your arms loosely around his neck as Gojo watches the two of you intently, gaze burning into the meeting of your lips. You can feel him watching you, his spectatorship dizzying, and you bite Suguru's bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the moan bubbling up your throat.

“Jeez, didn’t know this was a cuckolding shoot,” Satoru sounds whiney, threadbare with lust. “Though I wouldn’t mind that… another time maybe.”

You place a hand on the planes of Suguru’s chest as you disconnect your lips and turn your head to the white-haired pervert with heart-shaped pupils. Your grin is sweet, sultry - "another time, huh?"

You pull apart from Suguru and move past Gojo, making a point not to glance in his direction, until you're crawling onto the bed and turning to rest with your elbows propping you up. Both Suguru and Satoru standing, your observers - admirers, is a sight for sore eyes. The camera sits between them, propped up and set on you. In spite of it, you feel oddly at home. The same sweet excitement builds within you that you normally feel when it’s just you and Suguru at home. You didn't know the air could weigh so intimately in front of a camera.

It takes a moment of staring at you, jaw slack, for Satoru to finally spring into thought. He steps towards the camera, makes sure everything is looking good, and then clears his throat as he presses record. He almost looks nervous, and if he weren't so cocky in his usual demeanour you'd think he's getting cold feet. But you remember the way his eyes glossed when he pushed into you, how that confidence of his melted into carnal need in just one thrust. You know what you do to him, and god does it seem amplified tenfold with Suguru here.

And your black-haired lover must know it too, because the second Satoru makes a move to speak, Suguru cuts him off with a step towards him and a burning kiss pressed to his lips. Satoru's sound of alarm at Suguru's lips on his is almost enough to send you dizzy, but the true aphrodisiac is the sight of your lover taking charge with him; lips locked onto one another, the lewd noises they make as Suguru cups Satoru's face with one hand and scratches into the back of his hair with the other. Satoru's moans become louder and more desperate, as Suguru's tongue explores the recesses of his mouth, sucking hungrily upon the flesh of his lower lip. When the two break apart they're both breathing heavily, panting as they catch their breath. An undoubted look of longing is etched into every last one of their handsome features.

You feel your stomach roil with anticipation as you watch them, realising the camera is only pointed at you, capturing your wanton expression. But then, it snaps, and suddenly your lovers are pulling apart to instead lay their gaze on you, resting back on Satoru's wildly comfortable bed sheets with a lust-driven smile pulling at your lips.

“You’re a fucking lucky man, Suguru,” Satoru coos, blue eyes raking over you in appreciation. You’re hardly undressed, and yet you feel naked under his gaze. “Don’t know how you can do porn when you’ve got such a pretty thing waiting for you at home. It’d ruin my performance.”

“I know,” Suguru says plainly, truly. "You've never been good at multitasking, have you Satoru?"

"Harsh words," Satoru pouts, giving his best imitation of an overly dramatic frown. "I can multitask just fine, do you need me to prove it?"

Without a word further, he plucks the camera from its tripod and points it at Suguru. "For example," he sing-songs, "I can fuck and film at the same time."

“Can’t do it dressed,” you point out, to which both men turn to find you already stripping yourself of your clothes. Satoru turns the camera onto you, finding it a sin to not capture you revealing yourself with such delicate fingers. You look into the lens, eyes sultry as you’re known for doing, and wonder just how many people are going to slip their hands under their waistbands at the sight of you.

Once you’ve laid yourself bare, your naked skin feels static with the tension in the air, you reach your hands out and make grabby-hands at Satoru. “Pass the camera,” you hum. “It’s your turn.”

A glance between themselves, and then Satoru is leaning over the bed to slot the camera in your hands. It’s heavier than you’d thought it would be, but feels nice and cooling against your otherwise sweaty palm. Satoru’s fingers brush over yours as he hands it over, something electric stills the room for a moment, and then he pulls away with a cough.

He hadn’t realised that Suguru had fallen into place behind him, because when he steps backwards and his back hits your boyfriend's chest, Satoru gasps. You capture the pink blush that speckles at his cheeks, and the beautiful way in which Sugurus hands snake around his body to caress down his chest.

Suguru has always been gifted in the way of sparking intimacy. It’s why the porn he shoots is usually so artistic, he’s sensual. And Satoru, not for the first time, is falling victim to his seductive ways. The gentle traces of his fingers down Satoru’s chest is testament enough to just how narcotic Suguru’s touch is. When he reaches the hem of his shirt and starts lifting upwards, unwrapping his next meal, Satoru can’t help but lift his arms and help move the process along — he’s feeling beyond restless.

Now exposed, Satoru’s chest and torso are now at the mercy of Suguru’s searing touch. Each trail of his fingers down the white-haired man’s chest, each tweak over his surprisingly sensitive nipples, each rough kiss against the column of his neck, they all elicit the most pornographic moans from Satoru Gojo’s throat. You study them both through the camera’s screen, and watch as Suguru presses his lips against Satoru’s ear.

He speaks in hushed tones, enough so that you know the camera isn’t going to pick up on his words. You can hear them though, only just, they're low and sensual and entirely full of sin. "You're lucky I'm letting you fuck my girlfriend for a second time," he purrs. "You know, she hasn’t stopped thinking about your last shoot. We watched it together the other night, I matched your rhythm, let her pretend it was you. She’s obsessed."

You're almost embarrassed by the confession, a burn sheens your skin, but the way Satoru's eyes darken impossibly further calms you. Suguru grins, catching your gaze from over Satoru's shoulder, and presses a kiss to his earlobe. "It brought me back, too," he says. "To when I got you to myself. You remember our films, hm? You're just like she is."

Satoru nods, the tips of his ears turning redder. His breathing is shallow, ragged, needy; and in a split second he's turning around and returning his lips to Suguru's. Desperate hands lift at your boyfriend's own shirt, exposing his tattoo-laden skin underneath. His jeans soon follow, and then so do Satoru's pants.

For a moment it's just the two of them, all clothes bar their boxers discarded to the floor and hands exploring bare skin. The warmth of Satoru's fingers digging into his chest, his ribs, his hips, the hard planes of his body, their bodies pressed together as if to become one. Their lips connect again, hungrily, their teeth knocking together with every brush of tongues. Satoru takes Suguru's lower lip between his teeth and bites hard enough to elicit a choked groan from the back of Suguru's throat.

And when they part, it's obvious just how much heavier the air has gotten. Suguru turns your white-haired tryst and pushes him towards where you sit on the bed. "Move your ass before I fuck that too," he deadpans.

Satoru doesn't blush like you expected he would. Instead, he grins. "That would be a big change from last time, don't you think?" he sing-songs, eyebrows raised as he steps further towards the bed. "Or maybe you don't remember crying from how well I stretched you out, I sure do, all pretty and—"

This time Suguru does flush crimson, and you laugh out loud at this revelation. "I didn't know you bottomed for him," you shake the camera a little with your laughter, capturing the way Suguru glares at Satoru from beneath long eyelashes, "that's something I've got to see."

"Hah," Suguru climbs onto the bed and snatches the camera from you, settling on his knees as he points it down at your form. There, his fingers graze lightly against your bare skin, making you arch your back in anticipation. "Tough luck, pretty."

His black boxers are beyond tented, and he slips them off easily enough, allowing his cock to spring free, perfectly poised and ready for your hand. The sound of Suguru's moan as your fingers wrap around his length is paired with the shuffle of Satoru climbing onto the bed too. He hovers above you for a moment, watching you stroke Suguru through the camera, before taking it from him with a grin.

Satoru returns the camera to its stand and checks its positioning before climbing back onto the bed and settling himself just behind you. You turn to smile at him, and then gasp as his hands tentatively find your shoulders. He peers over you, to the sight of Suguru’s drooling cock in your hand, and presses a kiss to the skin just under your ear.

“You know I’m fucking obsessed with you, right?” He purrs, glancing down to your boyfriend's cock before pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “Haven’t stopped thinking about you. I dreamt of breaking you and your boyfriend up until I found out it was Sugu, here. Wanted you all to myself, pretty thing, but I think I’m happy enough to share now, because god do I want to see your lips wrapped around his cock.”

“Mm,” you hum, turning your head to meet his gaze. “You haven’t even kissed me yet, and you’re making demands?”

Satoru smiles, his lips glossy and so perfect you could cry. “I want to taste him on you.”

His words light a fire in your core that licks through your body, ravenous. You can't help but oblige at his words, returning your gaze to sweet Suguru before dipping your head down and pressing a chaste kiss to the weeping tip of his cock. Suguru and Satoru both inhale sharply when you do so. You wet your lips with your tongue and then meet his cock again, drawing lazy circles across his tip before closing your lips slowly, reverently around the shaft of Suguru's cock.

Satoru's hand pushes down a little on your shoulder, and you're forced forward onto your lover's length. Your moan betrays you and sends narcotic vibrations down his shaft, making Suguru grunt and buck his hips forward a little. Satoru, who remains behind you, gently takes hold of your hips and manoeuvres you into more of a doggy-style position — your fingers splayed over Suguru's thighs to try and find purchase as Satoru leans over you.

Gojo's chest presses against your back, skin-to-skin intimacy broken by the feverish kisses he presses to the back of your neck, down to your shoulder blades, your spine, His kisses become hotter, wetter, open-mouthed as he moves down to your waist, large hands playing with the flesh of your ass as he kisses a path down. You moan and shift against his grip, moving your hips in an effort to push yourself back against his boxer-clad erection, but Satoru only snaps you forward, and you choke a little as you're forced to take Suguru's cock even deeper down your throat.

"Fuck," Suguru hisses, pretty purple eyes meeting yours as you look up. Drool glosses his length, slick and hot and heavy against your tongue when he finally gives you a moment to breathe.

Your mouth immediately goes back to work again once your breathing steadies, hollowing out your cheeks and dragging him down, deeper, faster, more desperately. The receipt of pleasure etched into Suguru's tight-wound face is enough to spur on your own needs, but you nearly choke when Satoru Gojo bites into the fat of your ass. Your body arches up and you squirm and whine, but Satoru is relentless, licking over the indentations left behind as Suguru snaps his hips into your open mouth over and over again.

You barely have room to move before Satoru is pushing your knees apart with a strong hand, the heel of his palm firm against your ass as he spreads you open. He takes a moment, heavy breaths fan against your exposed slick, and you’re suddenly all too aware of yourself. You’d protest, tell him not to stare if your mouth wasn’t full with your heavy-lidded lover's cock. You don’t even know why you’re embarrassed — you’re a pornstar, your job is to lie subject to the most intimate of ogling.

Your thoughts melt into the bedsheets, however, when Satoru groans and connects his lips to your pussy. Stupid off the taste of you alone, he whines against your slick heat, enamoured. His tongue flicks over you, circling your clit repeatedly and making your insides burn. You moan, and it comes out muffled and breathless around Suguru's dick.

"You taste so fucking good," Satoru speaks against your cunt. One hand slips between your legs, running two fingers through your folds in collection of your arousal, whilst his other hand tugs down at his own boxers, pulling his cock free and growling against your pussy as he starts to stroke at himself. "Fuuuuuckkk..." He pushes two fingers into you, easy with just how wet you are, and curls them in tandem with each pump of his cock.

Each thrust of his fingers pushes you just that little bit further onto Suguru's length. And you're thanking god that he's there, because without his muscled thighs to hold onto, you fear you’d be fucked too dizzy to keep yourself upright. You figure you must look a mess now, hair mussed and eyes bleary and drool rolling down your chin and all over Suguru's pulsing cock.

You feel pathetic with how quickly your orgasm crests. Satoru must feel it too, how you clench around your fingers, the subtle tremor in your thighs, because his tongue only speeds up in its assault. He's still stroking himself, keeping you open and willing as he sucks your clit harshly. Once you're right at the brink, teetering off the edge of ecstasy, Suguru pulls out of your mouth and leans down to crash his lips against yours.

"Come," he orders into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. "Come for us, darling, come on now."

You're overwhelmed by Suguru's rakish lips over yours, and Satoru's relentless tongue over your sex. Before you can even try to present yourself for the cameras, you're cumming, hard. You writhe against Suguru, and your nails scrape across his thighs until you can hardly draw breath. The world slows down around you, leaving nothing but pleasure to consume.

"Holy shit," Satoru’s breath comes out in a hitched sort of laughter as he pulls back, not bothering to wipe away the sheen of your lust that coats his mouth and chin. “My head’s spinning, I think I’m in heaven. Do I still have a pulse?”

He makes a show of checking his pulse, despite the way you roll your eyes. You’re still coming down from your climax as Suguru peppers feather-light kisses over your face. Satoru, feeling more hungry than doting, brings his two fingers to his own mouth, licking them clean. Suguru catches sight of the action and gently pulls back from you, something knowing in his eyes.

You assume he’s going to redirect your head back to his cock, let you finish your job, but instead he tuts and nods his head to your shared tryst, who is still diligently working at tasting you some more on his fingers.

“Think someone’s a little pussydrunk,” Suguru grins, and you do too at the sight of Satoru Gojo so blatantly desperate for more. Your eyes drift down to his cock, long and hard and weeping with precum.

Though, you don’t want to neglect Suguru, so you turn back to him — “you didn’t finish,” you make a move to reach for his cock, still rock hard and achy-looking, but your lover shakes his head gently.

“Got other plans,” he nods subtly to Gojo. “How about we show our stalker here just how much better the real thing is?”

You grin, catching onto his drift, and watch over your shoulder as Satoru rolls his pretty blue eyes. “You know, I’ve had the real thing, from both of you.”

“You haven’t had both of us,” Suguru shrugs. “And I know you’ve fucked your fist to the thought of it. Don’t lie, or you won’t enjoy this as much as you could.”

Satoru’s loaded remark gets stuck in his throat as Suguru pulls away from you entirely, though not without a gentle kiss to your forehead first. He stands by the bed, rolls his shoulders and nods to Satoru — “go on,” he gestures to you, still on your hands and knees. “Taste me on her lips.”

Satoru would probably blush if he weren’t so dedicated to the promise of a taste, because he’s got a hand under your stomach and is flipping you onto your back with ease in only half a second. You sigh at the reprieve of the strain on your hands and knees, and revel in how soft Satoru’s mattress is, when he’s collapsing on top of you with a strangled growl and his lips are meeting yours.

It’s a strange thing, to taste both Satoru, yourself, and Suguru at the same time. You taste Satoru in the way he kisses, hungry and listless, with knocking teeth and exploratory tongues. You taste Suguru in the remnants of his cock in your mouth, the precum that has coated your tongue, mixed with your saliva that now mixes with Gojo’s. And you taste yourself glossed on Satoru’s lips; your climax, the buildup of pleasure he had gifted you with both his mouth and fingers.

A strange mix, maybe, but a perfect one nonetheless. You have to close your eyes to stop yourself from growing too dizzy, and also partly to stop yourself from worrying too hard — how were you meant to enjoy anything to its full potential now that you know how this tastes?

Satoru’s cock presses against the inside of your thigh; you can feel the gentle thrum of its pulse — a testament to his aching need. His arms box you in on either side, settled comfortably between your still-shaky legs. When he pulls back, a string of saliva connects your lips to his, and his eyes are darker than you remember.

“I need to be inside of you, need. You’re fuckin’... god I can’t think.”

As if by instinct, your legs part further, allowing him the access he so craves. It’s a fluid movement, the way he moves one hand down to direct his cock to your slick folds. He rubs himself against you, his tip kissing your clit teasingly. You suck in a shaky breath between parted lips, and when he doesn’t hurry up despite his desperation, you feel like you could cry.

Though, before a complaint can leave your lips, you're watching as Suguru joins you two on the bed, kneeling behind Satoru and running his long fingers gently down the white-haired man's bare back. Satoru's head falls forward at the touch, and as your boyfriends hand runs lower and lower on his back, you realise exactly where this is going.

"You're gonna fuck her good," Suguru purrs, graceful in his touch. "Because I'm going to help you -- that okay?" He reaches back up, brushing his knuckles from between his shoulder blades, down the curve of his spine until he reaches his tailbone.

Satoru's eyes are locked on yours as he answers your lover. "Yes," his exhale is beyond needy. "Please, god. Yes."

And from there, things move with practised ease. It feels normal to submit yourself, your body, to Satoru. As Suguru takes hold of either side of his waist and guides him into you, the stretch is searing. You remember just how hard it was to adjust to his size the first time, having to try and keep your face melted neutral for the cameras. You don't feel that same pressure now, despite Satoru still filming, and your nose scrunches up at the feeling of Satoru inside of you.

"You're..." you try, words stuck in your throat as Suguru pushes Satoru's hips into yours a little more. "Please."

Satoru takes control of the pace, his breath hot and heavy on your cheek, his body moving in sync. You moan as he starts thrusting slowly in and out, stretching every muscle in your body as you get used to the feeling. With every thrust, you feel him getting harder and deeper within you, and his mouth dips down to trail along the sensitive skin on your neck.

It's a narcotic, the way he fills you. He's longer than Suguru, though not quite as thick, but he reaches depths that aren't typical for you. As he sheathes himself deeper and deeper inside of you, with the help of Suguru's hands on his waist, You slowly become spineless; relaxing into the pleasure of his sweet push and pull.

Sweat beads at your skin as Satoru quickens the pace, pulling out and plunging back in again with unbridled whimpers as Suguru works on taking his fill. Your boyfriend, domineering though still gentle, starts working your tryst open with one of his fingers.

"Ah- fuck," Satoru's words are heady with need, the initial discomfort of Suguru's fingers pushing into his ass are quickly forgotten, replaced with a deep yearning for more sensation. It sends his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out inside of you at such depths you can't help but cry out. It's a symphony of wetness and gasps of air, each syllable punctuated by Satoru's frantic movements. Your body grows tighter and tighter around Satoru with every pass as he gets worked open so beautifully by Suguru.

Your mind is clouded by everything Satoru has done to you and by the sheer force of him filling you with his cock and all that comes with it. You're completely and utterly lost in the moment, consumed by Satoru, who is consumed by Suguru, who is consumed in the pleasure of serving you both in turn.

"More," Satoru is barely able to get the word out as he slams deeper and deeper inside of you. "Fuck, more."

And Suguru isn't one to deny a pretty thing like Satoru such pleasures; he's pulling his fingers out of him in seconds and replacing them with the head of his cock at his ass. Suguru is gentle, but unrelenting as he thrusts himself into Satoru in one fluid motion. The pressure is enough to prick tears at Satoru's pretty blue eyes, which you reach up and wipe away from underneath him.

A moment is shared, a chance for Satoru to breathe the best he can, before he's testing the waters and pushing back a little, onto Suguru's cock, before thrusting his hips forward, into you.

This is ecstasy incarnate. The two men seem to merge together, their bodies melting as they meet. Suguru fucks you through Satoru, each thrust into him is a thrust into you, into the both of you. It almost hurts, you'd wager, the way your whole body throbs in synchronization with theirs, the way Satoru moans as Suguru drives you both to insanity. It's a weird way to connect with your lover, but one that works nonetheless, the both of you seem to share an awful yearning for the man sandwiched between you, fucked mindless.

And then he's driving your entire being towards the edge, and you feel the orgasm coming on, the rush of blood to your head, your muscles tightening around Satoru. It's a strange feeling of being connected to something bigger than yourself, a system working in tandem with each other to chase climax, but it's a feeling you're quickly growing addicted to. It's warm, it's comforting, and most importantly, it's yours. This man right here, his body pressed tight between yours and Sugurus, is yours. Even if only for the early morning.

"Gonna cum," you whine, lips ghosting against Satoru's. He nods, eyes locked onto yours.

"M—fuck—me too, baby. God, you have to let me come inside of you, doll, can't deny me, please. You—"

"You better," Suguru cuts in, his voice biting from behind Satoru. He thrusts sharply into Satoru, sending him keening forward into you, pressing right into your sensitive g-spot as Suguru hits his prostate in a mirrored pleasure. "Wanna watch you claim her," he bears down, "gonna fill you up, you fill her — watch her face, Satoru. Watch what you do to her."

You gasp as Satoru's fingers dip down to rub frantic circles over your clit, pushing you closer and closer to orgasm with each knock of his hips into your, of Suguru's into his. the room is filled with a chorus of moans and whines and desperate pleas for more and more and more. You know you'll never recover from this level of arousal if you don't come soon, but before you can find purchase in your body and begin your descent into bliss, Suguru is first to come undone.

His hips snap forward into Satoru, head craning into his neck, biting down on the muscle of his shoulders for some sort of physical gag — ever the one to stifle those beautiful noises of his. And the feeling of being filled in such ravaging volumes must be enough to send Satoru over the edge, too, because he's knitting his eyebrows together and cumming ropes into you in only moments.

"Fuck," he whines, once again tears prick at his eyes, overwhelmed by the duality of his pleasure, of you and Suguru, so close to you but also never close enough. He wants to be one with you, a complete unit, bound by sex and soul and the sweet sounds of the most powerful orgasm he's ever had in his life.

You come in tandem with him, it's completely blinding. Your legs fall apart as you cry out, nails scraping across Satoru's bicep as the world melts away and the sensations start swirling about in your mind's eye and the last thing you register is Satoru collapsing forward, breathing raggedly into your ear.

You catch the salty flavour of him as you suck in a lungful of air and smile in response, fucked stupid and blissful and never ready to give this feeling up. Never ready to give anyone else this feeling- god, you already despise whoever gets to taste Satoru Gojo next.

Suguru has to pull out of Satoru slowly, and you wipe at his face with the pad of your thumb when it scrunches up in protest of the loss of Suguru’s stretch. Before he can truly call the scene over, though, Satoru leans down and presses the most gentle of kisses to your lips. A myriad of ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’s spill from his tongue as he does so, each word cut by a kiss to the expanse of your face.

And when he pulls out of you a sickening gush of his cum follows. It spills from your aching pussy and onto the bed sheets beneath you, though Satoru doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. He swipes his finger through the mess he’s made of your sex, smiling when you hiss at just how sensitive you are, and brings his cum-coated finger back to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours.

Your stomach flips at the sight. Great, he’s gone and fucked you lovestruck.

“Satoru,” a clean voice cuts in. Your head constricts in your fucked out daze when you turn to see Suguru standing by the tripod, his eyebrows raised and pretty purple eyes beyond amused. “It’s not even fucking recording.”

Instead of being confused, Satoru looks sheepish. He flops down onto the bed next to you, eyes glossy and cheeks blushed pink. “I…. can explain? I think I’d rather die than share the two of you with the world. But I’d really die if I didn’t get my hands on you both.”

You meet your boyfriend's gaze. Something passes between you, something knowing. In a weird, probably unhealthy way, you both feel the exact same. This was never a scene for the cameras, anyway— not when such strong… feelings are involved.

“I’m not proposing marriage here,” Satoru huffs when he catches onto your shared gaze. “I just, you enjoyed it, right?”

You giggle from beside him, your sweat-soaked skin cool against the air. Suguru chimes in with his laughter, melodic and beautiful. He folds his arms and watches the two of you laid across the bed.

“Let’s get you both cleaned up, then,” Suguru hums. “I’m not fucking either of you again until we’ve shared a shower.

TAGLIST: @sugurubabe @fullbelieverheart @starrysho @meowforluv @ch3rryistheg @miizuzu @okayiamkassandra @inconcise @sexcults @hotgirlgoob @mistalli @ourfinalisation @graceloveslanadelrey @blessed-princesa @plinkuro @pe4rl-diver @sugojosgf @beachaddict48 @chimmysoftpaws @blendingcaramal @dongh9e @caramelised-onions @kyluskaye @sammywo @4evrglow @hiraethwa @stinkinstuffie @tomiokasecretlover @ser0t0nln @yuzu-ku @lagataprrr @dear-fifi @hel-lhound @kensqueent @sserafin @dabisdolly @zoroisminty @angelkazusstuff @reinam00n @kaeyakaikai @bunny416 @littletittygothgirl @glitterbitch1 @saccharine-nectarine

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hairmetal666 · 6 months

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Eddie stands at the bar, sipping at the whisky in his glass, eyes flickering over the crush of bodies and dark mahogany. He's at a premier party at TIFF, doesn't remember what movie it's for, is supposed to "mingle" according to his agent. And sure, he's charismatic, got a big personality and a loud mouth, but he's not good at networking; resents having to perform when he's not playing a role. Resents it more that he's an Oscar nominated actor, that his work doesn't stand for itself.

And then there's the Steve Harrington of it all. Heartthrob. America's Sweetheart. The boy next door. He's across the room, deep in conversation, but his eyes--they keep finding Eddie, scanning him with unmistakable heat.

They starred in a movie called Dying on the Pass. Played life-long best friends who became elite chefs and opened a restaurant together. The movie follows the dissolution of their friendship as the stresses of pursuing a Michelin Star drive them apart. It was a critical and commercial hit, cue awards noms, and offers pouring in, and--

Steve Harrington is his bed.

They promised, when filming wrapped. They swore it was the last time. They promised--

They basically shared a hotel room during awards season, woke up tangled together every morning.

They spent a torrid weekend in Atlanta after Steve wrapped on a Netflix action movie.

Six months after, they had a quick, furious fuck in the bathroom at a club in London.

Dangerous, stupid, but no one caught them. And here Steve is in Toronto, surrounded by press, staring at Eddie like he wants to eat him.

Eddie tries to ignore it. But every time their eyes meet, warmth pools low in his abdomen, and he wants.

They meet up eventually, pose for a couple of pictures, Eddie trying to ignore the way his skin tingles everywhere that Steve touches. Steve slings an arm around his waist, lets it linger.

After, Eddie goes out for a smoke, the patio blissfully deserted. He's half way through his cigarette when Steve steps out the sliding door, wrapping his hands in Eddie's hair, pulling him into a kiss. The cigarette drops as he grips onto the other man, a whimper slipping from his lips.

He should stop this, they're outside, anyone could see, and Steve isn't out--isn't--he's straight to the entire world, the straightest man alive. And Eddie, he's open about his preferences, identifies as queer, though lately he's been more interested in men--in one man, specifically-- and Steve isn't out, isn't ready to be and--

"Come back to my room?" Steve asks. Their mouths are still pressed together.

"Uh-huh," Eddie answers.

Steve whispers his room number before disappearing back inside. They're in the same hotel, on the same floor, like the universe wants them to keep hooking up. But Steve is being reckless.

Eddie goes to Steve that night with every intention of telling him they need to stop, to slow down, that they're going to get caught and he knows Steve isn't ready, but he doesn't. He doesn't that night and he doesn't two months later when they bump into each other in Venice, or four months after that in New York, or--or --or

It's dangerous, impulsive, too many close calls for them to keep it up and then--and then he's at a house party in the hills, an industry thing, the host is a wannabe big shot producer trying to get in good with the Hollywood elite. Steve is out of town. In Europe filming or maybe Australia for some event or--

Striding through the party, eyes locked on Eddie, and they're in a hallway, in a hallway where anyone could see them, but Steve is kissing him. They're kissing and it's rough and possessive and it stings.

Steve pushes him through double-doors, to the room at their backs, and Eddie wants to protest, to remind him they don't know if it's empty. But Steve is tugging the tie out of Eddie's hair, digging this hands into the now loose curls, and Eddie whines, lets himself be lead.

He's pushed against a table, and in the weak light from the windows, he realizes they're in the dining room. Steve grinds against him, muttering, "missed you so much, baby. God, it's been too long. Need you so bad."

Eddie moans, shifting to press more against Steve. "Missed you too, sweetheart, fuck."

They're kissing and Eddie's high on it, on Steve, can't get enough.

There's a loud burst of laughter outside the door, and reality smashes back into focus.

"Stop," he whispers to Steve.

Steve does in an instant, stepping back. Even in the darkness, Eddie sees the confusion and hurt mingling in the squint of his eyes, his light frown.

"Steve we--this is dangerous. There are people everywhere. Anyone could come in. There's a TMZ guy here, and we--need to be careful."

"Fuck," Steve breathes. "Eddie I--fuck." He presses his hand over his mouth, eyes squeezed shut. "I can't get enough of you, man. Whenever I see you I just--I don't think--I see you and I want you so bad it hurts. Once every few months isn't enough. Hookups aren't enough. And I know that's not what we agreed to, and--"

"Steve," Eddie gently cuts him off. "I'm crazy about you. It hasn't been hookups for me for--" ever, it had never been, but he shakes his head instead of saying that. "But we've been reckless, sweetheart, and I don't want to see you hurt."

"It's not fair to you, though, right? Hiding and sneaking around with me."

"You need time, Steve. You deserve to come out on your terms, when you're ready. And if that means we're not public for a while, then we're not."

"What if I'm never ready?" He whispers. It breaks Eddie's heart, but it's a fair question for a man who got famous as an angelic child star in a series of fantasy-adventure movies before playing a quarterback with a heart-of-gold on the CW for seven seasons. He's always kept up a squeaky clean image, never in trouble, name rarely in the tabloids.

"Then we'll deal with it together."

"Okay," Steve whispers. A smile spreads slow across his face. "I'd like that."

Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson are seen around town together often. Getting lunch, at parties, shopping. In an interview Steve says that Eddie's his best friend, they do everything together. There's speculation online, of course, but it's pretty quiet. So, they go to premiers and award shows and events together.

A year goes by and it's easy, light, fun. They're in love.

Eddie's messing around on his guitar, not with any intent just for the joy of it. He's on the loveseat in the office of their apartment--their apartment. Steve is in the kitchen, he thinks, or puttering in the garden.

They haven't talked about Steve coming out; haven't needed to.

"Hey," Steve says from the doorway. Eddie jumps.

"Hey yourself."

"It's Bi Visibility day."

"Is it now?" He's not sure where this is going

"I want to come out."

He puts the guitar down. "You sure?"

Steve nods. He doesn't seem nervous, just calm and steady.

"How do you want to do it?"

He crosses the room, climbing onto Eddie's lap, making Eddie laugh. "Works for me." Eddie gives Steve's ass a playful squeeze.

They start kissing then, Steve snapping pics on his phone randomly as they make out.

Steve won't let Eddie peak as he crafts his Insta post, not until it's done and live for his 15 million followers.

The picture he picked, it's a soft kiss, mouths open but lips only just brushing, noses pressed together in a sweet little bump. But the thing about, the thing that makes Eddie's stomach swoop, is the way they're both smiling, the way it's obvious just how in love they are.

Steve's captioned it with the words "Witness Me" and the bi flag.

He pulls his boy into another kiss, says, "Hey,"

"Hmm?" Steve doesn't pull away.

"Wanna go be visibly bisexual with me in the bedroom?"

Steve hops off his lap, strides across the room, turning to flash Eddie a devious smile. "Thought you'd never ask."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #actors steve harrington and eddie munson #costars #hooking up #fluff #costars to lovers #idiots in love #feelings confession #coming out #bisexual steve harrington #it's not bi visibility day but i liked eddie using it as a come on #famous steve harrington #famous eddie munson #i don't totally know what this is

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ellacove · 2 months

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❝ FREAKY ON CAMERA ❞

jjk!men x fem!reader ࿐ MDNI.

𝜗𝜚 𝐒𝐔𝐌. jjk men as famous p*rn stars making new content with a cute stranger

𝜗𝜚 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. ft—toji, sukuna, gojo, smut, p in v, blowjob, missionary, doggy, exhibitionism, recording

──── SATORU GOJO、

when satoru met you, he had snuck into an empty cafe in hopes of hiding from paparazzi. you’re wearing an apron and an awfully angry expression when he finally notices you, your finger pointing at the ‘closed’ sign on the window. your words are drowned out, the only thing clouding his mind being how bad he wants to film his latest video right then and there and ruin you on camera for all his fans to see. now your apron is thrown on the floor somewhere along with both your bodies, hiding behind the front counter with gojo’s cock stuffed inside your cunt and his phone propped up next to you with the flash on. “help me come up with a title for this one” he insinuates tauntingly, smiling cockily as he licks his thumb before lowering it onto your swollen bud. you whine as if telling him to go on; too sweaty and tired to use your words as his hips do all the work for you. “how ‘bout “slutty cafe maid gets dicked down after her shift?”—hm?” he suggests confidentially, his hands squeezing bruises into the back of your legs as he pushes them even further down into your chest. “im not a maid, idiot.” you reply between breathes, turning your head to look at the camera. “and you can’t even tell it’s a cafe from this angle.”

──── TOJI FUSHIGURO、

toji met you at the gym. he doesn’t usually work out in public—but he’s thanking whatever god is listening that he chose today to do something different. you had the cutest black nike set on that went perfectly with his hair; he could only think about how good the match would look for a new video. “im a big fan actually,” you told him with a smile, your tongue licking a long stripe up the base of his cock after having dragged him into the shower stall after sharing a few looks. “really..” he questioned, his hand reaching down his pocket to pull out his phone. “then you don’t mind if i record this, do you?” you only looked up at him with those pretty eyes and hummed around his length in agreement, mouth too full to give him a proper answer. “i’ll be sure to tag you.” he mentioned as his head leaned back on the cold tile, and his free hand coming up to rest on the top of your head and guide you along his cock. “maybe even make a part two.”

──── RYOMEN SUKUNA、

sukuna doesnt get out much. he meets you for the first time when his staff sets up a meeting to go over his next film. you’re a well-known actress in the industry as well, and he’s been waiting decades to be paired up with you for a video. he feels a tightening in his pants when you mention how long you’ve wanted to work with him yourself, your hand coming to rest on his knee from underneath the table. he excuses the both of you not long after; insisting he needs to get familiar before the cameras start rolling next week. it’s not much later till he’s got one of your legs hiked up on a bathroom sink, panties pushed to the side and your cheek squished up against the mirror. “you got no idea how long ive waited for this pussy, girl.” he admits shamelessly as his hand grabs ahold of your chin to meet your eyes in the reflection, his breath catching in his throat at the small whine you let out. “’s even better than i imagined.”

#𓇼 ⋆｡˚#ellacove.#smut #jjk #jjk men #jjk headcanons #jjk x reader #toji smut #toji x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #toji fushiguro #ryomen sukuna #jjk men x reader #jjk smut

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actual-changeling · 3 months

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The kiss in Triangle wins "worst lit scene of the series" by a MILE, and trying to edit it was like standing in front of the final boss with a plastic sword. There is NOTHING to work with, he might as well filmed the thing in a basement with no windows or lights. I'm hunting down CC with an industrial grade flashlight and a lamp stand.

I did try, though, and achieved. something.

Arguably, it's improved, but I'll let y'all be the judge of that.

#alex watches x files #txf #the x files #x files #dana scully #fox mulder #scully x mulder #mulder x scully #msr

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rbbrbikerthorp · 4 months

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Biker Upgraded To Cyborg

For as long as anyone could remember, Jake and Eddie had not only been best mates, but they’d been crazy about motorbikes. Both their dads were bikers so it was no surprise that as kids they were introduced to bikes in real life and got to watch MotoGP, WSB and BSB either in real life or on TV with their enthusiast dads.

They were riding off-road in their early teens. They got their first mopeds at 16, upgrading to 125cc bikes a few months after their respective seventeenth birthdays. Now in their early 20s they have held full licences for nearly three years. Jake rides a black Honda CBR600RR, bought second hand through the weekly motorcycling title, MCN. Eddie rides a used Red Yamaha R6 that he bought a couple of months earlier from the main dealer in the city where they live. Springtime and the light evenings meant they would be out as much as possible riding 'the highways and byways', and this day was no exception, but it would be a day that changed their lives forever.

Jake and Eddie had spent most of Sunday riding and were at the edge of the city when Jake’s bike had started spewing smoke out of the engine before rolling to a stop alongside a large industrial estate. Jake jumped off his bike, but with no tools to hand he had no option but to seek help. He pushed his bike into the entrance to one of the large modern warehouses that populated the industrial estate. Jake kicked the side stand into place and sighed heavily. Eddie pulled in alongside Jake, kicked down the stand on his before turning off the ignition.

Although they were back in the city, they were still about ten miles from home. Jake reached into his leathers for his phone only then realising that they were in an area without mobile phone coverage. Jake and Eddie looked around for a payphone to call the breakdown service - but in this era of mobile technology, BT had removed most of the phone boxes - so there wasn't one within sight. Realising they needed to get help they looked around for signs of life. In front of them was a sprawling grey structure resembling more of a fortress than a warehouse. Its metallic surfaces gleamed under the late afternoon sun, making it look otherworldly. Figuring it might be their best chance at getting help—or at least finding a phone—they started walking towards the massive building.

The front gate was oddly open, inviting yet silent. Jake and Eddie didn't think it weird for a security guard building to be unoccupied with the gates open. More concerned about getting help they walked towards the main building entrance. Jake pressed on the intercom button and waited for a response. After a minute he pushed the button again, but this time there was a buzz. Jake looked at Eddie and shrugged his shoulders, pushing on the door, it opened. They walked inside.

Expecting to see a reception area the two friends were surprised to enter the building at what appeared to be the beginning of a long dimly lit corridor. Jake and Eddie looked at one another, Jake spoke first, “Why don’t you wait here, while I see if I can find anyone to speak to”.

Eddie nodded.

Both looked at one another, for a moment unsure of what to do. Then Jake smiled, turned and started walking along the seemingly endless corridor, his boots echoing on the cold, concrete floor. The air was chillingly sterile, as he walked he would pass the occasional door and window revealing glimpses of high-tech interiors.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice disappearing into the ether without an answer. The lack of response was unnerving, but as he walked on he could hear noise coming from much further along the corridor. Jake kept walking, driven by his need to get to a phone and call the breakdown service to sort out his bike.

Eventually, the corridor turned to the right, after another dozen or so yards it opened up into a colossal space. What Jake witnessed was like a scene reminiscent of a sci-fi horror film.

The room was stark yet brightly lit. On one side it was filled with row upon row of raised surgical beds. Yet these weren't like the ones you’d see in a hospital; they were repurposed contraptions where human flesh was being melded with alien, synthetic and electronic components. Shocked by what he was witnessing, he turned his head, but there was no escape from the nightmare he found himself in.

The other side of the room was populated with dozens of cylindrical tubes. Jake’s eyes widened as he took in the sight before him—humans, all young males, lined up and undergoing transformations into, well all he could think of was 'something else'. Whichever way he turned he could see men his age were being outfitted with mechanical limbs, others had technology intricately woven onto weird shiny black body suits, still others were in varying stages of being processed into full cyborgs.

The horror gripped him; his instinct was to flee back to Eddie and both to get the hell out of there. But before he could move, cold metal hands grasped his shoulders with an iron grip. His heart sank as he was spun around to face what had caught him—a cyborg, its body a haunting hybrid of human and machine, expressionless yet totally menacing.

“Welcome," its voice an unsettling blend of tones, both mechanical whilst still eerily human. "Your arrival is opportune. Your integration process will commence shortly."

Panic surged through Jake as he struggled, but the cyborg's grip was unyielding. Despite putting up strong resistance, he was dragged towards one of the ominous stations. Glancing around, he noticed the other captives were not fighting; their eyes showed a haunting resignation, some flickering with the vague light of fear.

As he was forced onto what appeared to be a surgical table, Jake looked around frantically, hoping for any chance of escape. His heart raced as mechanical arms equipped with various tools whirred to life around him.

In a split second metallic straps shot out from the surgical table and tightened around his limbs and across his torso, a sense of utter helplessness began to wash over him. His heart pounded hard against his chest. He desperately sought that extra bit of human strength that would allow him to escape. He struggled and struggled against the restraints, but the metal straps simply wouldn’t budge.

Stage one of his transformation was about to begin. From above a helmet descended slowly from the ceiling, its approach marked by an audible, mechanical whirring. Jake squinted upwards, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He was used to his bike helmet, but this was unworldly.

Two drones approached the surgical table Jake was strapped to and grabbed the helmet, which had opened up. One lifted his head slightly and the other slid the back of the helmet under the back of his head. As the helmet closed over his head, a claustrophobic fear gripped him. The world outside the helmet faded, leaving him in a confined sphere of existence. Almost immediately, an overwhelming barrage of white noise bombarded his ears, punctuated by low, droning hums that seemed to resonate through his bones.

Then, the visuals began on the inside of the visor. Spirals of colour appeared in front of his eyes, intertwining and unraveling in hypnotic patterns. Reds, blues, yellows and greens blended into a kaleidoscope that threatened to absorb his mind. Jake tried to close his eyes, but the images were inescapable, imprinted on the insides of his eyelids, searing themselves into his brain and more nefariously his subconsciousness. Almost as if recognising Jake was finally submitting the noise and visuals seemed to become amplified.

As the sensory overload continued, Jake felt a strange detachment creeping through him—a numbness that suggested the audio and visuals were beginning to take effect. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice screamed in terror and defiance, urging him to resist, urging him to hold on to his identity.

With a surge of willpower, Jake focused on that voice, blocking out the chaos threatening to engulf him. He concentrated on memories of standing in the stands watching the best riders in the world, the challenging rides with Eddie, the feel of his motorcycle, the wind against his leathers. He thought about his best mate Eddie and the fun they’d had. He thought about his family and his other friends. These human experiences, these emotional connections to his past life, became a lifeline to cling onto.

As Jake fought against the sensory bombardment, the helmet detected his resistance, It recalibrated its internal mechanisms in response to his defiance. Suddenly, the white noise in his ears shifted, morphing into a series of low, almost inaudible subliminal messages. Each word—"relax", "comply", "obey", "drone", "conform", "follow", "respect" could be heard—the words flashed across his vision, barely there long enough for conscious recognition, but deeply penetrating his subconscious.

The colours that swirled before his eyes intensified, becoming more vibrant and pulsating rhythmically, as if to synchronise with his own heartbeat. It was a sensory assault designed to break down the walls of the individual, to reshape his mind into something more compliant and obedient. Jake’s initial surge of resistance began to wane as mental exhaustion set in, the messages infiltrated deeper into his psyche, their insistence relentless and overpowering.

His eyes, once sharp with determination and fear, started to lose focus, the vibrant spirals turning into a soothing blur. The resistance in his muscles softened as his body began to accept the inevitability of his situation. His thoughts, those last bastions of his free will, were slowly suffocated under the warm, smothering blanket of compliance and security that the helmet now forced upon him.

With an audible click and a beep, the helmet sealed its final adjustment, signalling the completion of its preparatory phase. At this cue, the two drones, their movements precise and devoid of any hesitation, glided smoothly towards the table where Jake lay subdued. Their appendages were equipped with various tools and devices necessary for the transformation process.

The drones worked efficiently, attaching additional apparatus to Jake’s limbs and interfacing seamlessly with the helmet. As they initiated the physical transformation, Jake’s body was being prepared to receive bio-mechanical enhancements that would connect him irrevocably to The Hive which he learned was housed within the humongous building.

Somewhere in the dwindling recesses of his mind, the essence of who Jake once was—a biker with a love for the open road—flickered weakly. This essence watched as his limbs and muscle fibres were methodically integrated with synthetics and his nervous system was integrated with advanced circuitry. The process was both horrifying and fascinating to watch.

As the transformation progressed, Jake’s human senses were gradually overridden by electronic inputs. His vision, once clouded by the colourful spirals, now interfaced directly with data streams providing real-time analytics about his environment. His hearing was no longer filled with subliminal messages but was tuned to various frequencies beyond the range of human hearing.

By the time the transformation was complete, Jake, as he had been, no longer existed. In his place stood a new Jake, a cyborg, what was exclusively biological had been augmented with technology. The drones, recognising another successful integration, had begun to step back.

The new Jake climbed down from the surgical table to be guided by the two drones. He moved with a robotic precision that was both chilling and enthralling to witness. He was led to what looked like a modified dentist's chair, but larger and imposing. The chair had been upgraded and was fitted with numerous ports and circuitry interfaces. Without hesitation, he sat down, his actions appearing devoid of the personality that had once defined him.

He leaned back so that his head touched the headrest. The chair immediately sprang to life, adjusting to accommodate his new form. A second later the old Jake would have felt a light sensation on both sides of his head as what can only be described of as two metallic ear pieces, out of which came sets of wires slid into his ears and began to work.

Somewhere, an echo of the old Jake could sense what was happening, words echoed around the room and in his head. Screens nearby flashed “accessing biological memories…beginning total erasure”.

“NNNOOOOOOOO”, But even as the word was said, Jake’s relatively short lifetime of memories were disappearing, flashing before his eyes for a split second before evaporating into nothing - gone forever.

Monitors next to the chair flashed “Memory Wipe successful,” again, the words echoed around the room.

Any human observer in the room looking at new Jake’s face would describe it as passive, distant, dull, emotionless. Empty. His eyes were missing their human sparkle.

Then the drone formerly known as Jake again felt another funny feeling in his ears, as if a static charge was coming out of the wire. Suddenly the screen flashed “Beginning Program Upload”… While that happened, nearby monitors flashed, “Emotional Centres being accessed”.

“Installing Human Emotion Suppression Software”

“… 10%… 20%… 30%… 40%… 50%… 60%… 70%… 80%… 90%… ”

“Human Emotions Suppression Software installed. Fully functional.”

The monitors flickered for a moment and then more text appeared, “Beginning Cyborg Program Upload”. The upload began. The Hive, a vast network of interconnected AI and data banks, started feeding a stream after stream of programming directly into Jake's brain. These were not merely instructions; they were directives that informed behaviour, dictated functions, and defined purpose.

For hours, data was input into him, a relentless torrent of information reshaping and repurposing him; any lingering traces of his previous humanity now completely overwritten. His eyes, once vibrant with youthful emotion, now displayed a steady, unblinking focus as the programming was embedded, ensuring his obedience and efficiency.

At the appropriate time the interface with the new Jake confirmed the programming had been successful. “Operating at 100%,” it said in an emotionless, synthetic voice. “Organic memories have been wiped. Emotional Suppression Software is fully functional. The new data and objectives have been successfully uploaded with zero errors”.

The chair returned to an upright position, and the new Jake stood once more. His movements were smooth, almost graceful, a stark contrast to the somewhat ‘cavalier’ sports biker he once was. He was a product of advanced technology, a being created to serve a purpose far beyond his previous human desires.

Approaching him now were two more drones, carrying items that symbolised his final transformation. They presented him with a set of Dainese bike leathers, not ordinary leathers but augmented to interface seamlessly with his cybernetic body. The leathers were equipped with sensors and conductive circuitry that could communicate directly with his system, enhancing his interaction with the Hive.

Then they presented him with a pair of white boots, larger to accommodate the modifications of his feet, designed not only for protection but also to enhance his connection to the ground and his bike. Gloves that reached up to his arms were fitted next, embedded with micro-circuitry to increase his grip and control.

Finally, they brought over a new crash helmet unlike any other. This helmet was his direct link to the Hive mind. It was designed to keep him constantly connected to the Hive's data stream.

As the helmet settled over his head, a subtle hum filled the air, signalling the activation of all its systems. The new Jake stood there, a figure of both awe and dread, transformed entirely from the young man who had once freely roamed the roads on his motorcycle.

Now equipped, Jake was led to a new motorcycle, one that matched his new form. To the casual observer it looked like a traditional bike that had been upgraded; integrated with technology that responded fluidly to his enhanced senses and capabilities. As he mounted the bike, the connection between man and machine was seamless, a perfect union crafted by the Hive’s sophisticated engineering.

The new Jake rode the highway on his futuristic bike, a sleek and menacing marvel of technology that effortlessly caught the eye of any enthusiast. Its design was unlike anything on the roads—sharp angles, glowing panels, and a subtle hum that hinted at its advanced capabilities. It was designed not just for speed and efficiency, but as a lure to attract exactly the kind of individuals the Hive sought to convert.

As he travelled along a popular bikers’ route known for its scenic views and biker cafes, he spotted his next targets. Two young bikers, probably in their twenties, had pulled over in a lay-by, their bikes parked as they enjoyed a brief pause in their riding, catching up on conversation and checking their mobile phones. The new Jake slowed down, looking at the two bikers oblivious to Jake’s presence, his connection to the Hive confirmed they would be perfect candidates for upgrade.

Pulling over smoothly, Jake dismounted his bike. His helmet's visor slid up as he approached them, revealing a face that was human enough to be relatable but enhanced subtly with metallic hints that suggested something more beneath the surface.

"Hey," Jake called out, his voice modulated to be friendly and inviting. “Hey there. Not seen you riding ‘round here before.”

The two young bikers, intrigued by the stranger and his extraordinary bike, smiled and walked over. “What is that you’re riding? It looks like it’s straight out of a sci-fi movie. What is that?" one of them asked, his curiosity piqued.

The new Jake chuckled, a sound perfectly calibrated to put others at ease. He needed to win their trust so began to make conversation with them. "It’s a custom build from a place not too far from here. They’re experimenting with some next-gen and EV tech. You guys interested in seeing where something like this comes from?"

The offer was tempting. The allure of advanced technology and the chance to see more bikes like Jake’s was too good to pass up for any avid biker. The young men exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them before they nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, definitely,” the other replied. “We’ll follow you!"

Jake smiled and nodded, turning back to his bike. As they put their helmets on and started their engines, a part of Jake’s programming confirmed the successful engagement of two targets. He led the way, riding at a pace that was thrilling yet careful to keep his new followers comfortably in tow.

The journey took them away from the familiar routes into less traveled roads, the scenery shifting subtly as they moved closer to facility where he had been transformed. The two bikers were unaware of the true nature of their destination, caught up in the thrill of the ride and the excitement of seeing advanced motorcycle tech.

After some time, they arrived at the vast building that looked more like a huge distribution centre than a motorcycle manufacturing factory. The gates opened automatically as Jake approached, a silent signal of his authority and belonging.

Jake signalled for the other two bikers to do follow him down a roadway between two buildings. Jake brought his bike to a stop, opened his visor and announced, ”we are here.” The other two brought their bikes to a stop, dismounted and removed their helmets.

Jake walked forwards into the huge building just ahead of them; the two other bikers looked at one another, shrugged their shoulders and followed. They would ingress through a different route compared to the one Eddie and Jake entered.

The space inside they walked into was clean and modern, filled with prototypes and machines that made the two young bikers' eyes widen in awe.

"This is incredible!" one of the exclaimed, walking closer to inspect a particularly sleek model that caught his eye. "How do you get in on this?"

Jake's response was calculated, his tone still friendly but now carrying an undercurrent of persuasion. "Well, there's actually a selection process. Part of why I brought you here. If you're interested, there’s a quick tour and some tests to see if you're compatible with the tech."

Excited and completely unaware of the implications, the two young men agreed eagerly, following Jake deeper into the facility. As they walked, the doors behind them closed silently, the outside world receding as they moved further into the realm of the Hive.

Little did they know, their fascination with bikes and the temptation of combining their love of biking and dreams of futuristic bikes had led them into a trap. This walk would be their last as mere humans, as they stepped unknowingly into the next phase of their lives dictated by The Hive's needs.

=========

Oh, are you wondering what happened to Eddie? As you might have expected The Hive detected his presence and determined a new purpose for him, but that’s another story.

#drone #boots #conversion #helmet #leather #biker #leather biker

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sonarspace · 6 months

Text

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!

content: actor au. actor!nanami x actor!reader. movie scenes are indented. slight nsfw action. (not proofread) wc: 2.7k

𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆.

Being a new actor in the industry can be challenging, especially when your co-star is well-known—a little too famous for your liking. Kento Nanami, an award-winning actor loved by his co-workers with a continuously growing fandom. You find it a little intimidating working with him, as he's been in the industry a lot longer than you have.

You weren't exactly unfamiliar with the world of cinema. Still, you were surprised to see how much work goes on behind the scenes and the effects of actors' consistency on the quality of scenes. You kind of underestimated the hard work and persistence it takes to memorize your lines and separate the character from yourself. But a good actor can always find something similar to the character they're playing, right?

You were surprised when you got a call from the casting directors after your audition—after all, you just wanted to try something new. What surprised you the most was being asked to play Kento Nanami's love interest. That was not the role you auditioned for, but they insist that you would be a good match for him onscreen, so you say yes.

It's been three months on set—three months of playing Nanami's love interest, three months of longing for Nanami just as your character longs for him, three months of shy touches shared between you two—trying not to cross that line, and three months of him trying to comfort you through every intense scene.

A knock sounds through the door, and one of the crew members' voices follows, "Rolling in five minutes." With a deep breath, you adjust the sleeves of your nightgown and make your way onto the set.

Nanami follows in attire that matches the Regency era: a ruffled dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up halfway. His waist is accentuated by the high-waisted pants. His hair was done in a way that looked messily put together, like he had been running his hand through his blonde locks. Before you can stop the thought, it manifests itself in your brain. The idea of running your hand through his hair. Soft and blonde.

You're nervous as the director asks you to take your position. Before you do, though, Nanami steps in close to you. "If it gets too much at any point, just tap twice," he whispers. He always makes sure to make you feel comfortable filming intimate scenes—whether just holding his hand or making out on screen.

"And action!" the director's voice resounds throughout the set.

"Cassian," you call out his name softly. He's standing by the window, hands on his hips. He sighs as he turns around. "Marcella," he replies stoically, his gaze unwavering. You move closer to where he's standing. You feel his hand inch closer to yours, wanting to touch you but holding himself back. "Why are you here," his voice is deep and loud. "you're leaving tomorrow," you state. "I just wanted to wish you a safe trip," you pause, and then you continue, "I wish we met earlier," you smile sadly. He could've given you the life you've always wanted. A life full of simple pleasures — a simple love. He leans in closer. "Run away with me." Tears well your eyes, “I can't," your breath hitches, "I can't do that to him." "You can," he says, frustrated. Go away with me. I can protect you from him." He pleads, but you shake your head. A tear escapes the corner of your eye, and his finger comes up quickly to wipe it away. You hold his palm in place, letting yourself feel his comforting touch once more.

His touch was soft and delicate. The callouses on his palm were rough but he still held you with a softness of a lover. Your heart was beating fast, anxious for what was coming next.

His lips were so close to yours. You could feel his breath on your lips. Your eyes flutter close as you feel him take in your upper lip in between his. His lips are feather-light atop yours. He pulls back to take in your expression – did you want this the same way he did? Your breathing grows erratic, and your eyes dart between his dilated irises and soft lips. He takes it as a yes when you lean in and your noses rub against each other, a gasp slips past your lips in anticipation – silently asking for more. He grabs your face with a need – a desperation. Trying to convince you to run away with him, the only way he could. The ruffles of his shirt are clutched between your fingers as he kisses you fully. Your lips so plush and smooth, he has a hard time holding himself back. He deepens the kiss and slides his tongue over your lip. A low hum elicits from his throat when you part your lips to let him in.

An involuntary action like your mind wasn't in control of your body. He plays along and slides his tongue over yours. You could taste the mint after the taste of gum. Suddenly, you're overtly aware of the number of people surrounding you. You try to concentrate on the way his tongue moves in tandem with yours, but you fail. Lost in the feeling of your tongue against his—alas, he barely registers the taps on his chest. He pulls back almost immediately.

"Cut! What happened?!" the director yells. You're about to apologize for the interruption, but Nanami cuts you off. "My bad, Milo. A fly was buzzing in my ear." You mouth back a silent thank you to him, and he just nods curtly.

"That was a good shot. Let's pick it up from the kiss," Milo tells you both. He looks at you and notices your eyebrows creased in discomfort. He turns back to the director and asks if you could take a break. Unwillingly, Milo yells, "Let's take ten," to the rest of the crew.

You leave the room and sit on the ground, trying to calm yourself. "Here," Nanami hands you a bottle of water. You meek out a thank you, and he invites himself to sit next to you. "Are you okay?" he asks. "Yeah, sorry. I'm just not used to all that," you tell him.

"Not used to kissing?" he queries. Your cheeks feel warm as he compliments, "You're a good kisser; you have nothing to worry about." You chuckle shyly, "Not that. I meant being intimate in front of so many people."

"Oh, that. I understand that but just try and concentrate on me, okay? It's just this one scene, and then we can leave." he tries to comfort you. Little does he know his mere presence was enough to get you overwhelmed. The fact that you were kissing him in front of so many people got you overstimulated.

You redo the kissing scene but struggle to give your all into the scene the director wanted. You feel too stiff. "Cut! Redo!" The director calls out, and you sigh, lowering your head in slight embarrassment. Nanami walks over to Milo before you can take your position. You're not sure what he says, but you see them whispering, and Milo pats his back in understanding.

"Everyone but the camera and lighting out!" Milo orders, and they all file out quickly. "Let's try again," Nanami tells you, a comforting smile on his lips. His hands cup your cheeks once more, pulling you in closer. His lips meet yours, and an unusual sensation builds in your stomach.

His right hand moves to your neck, and his thumbs rub over your pulse, trying to comfort you.

He pulls you closer by your waist, your chest flush against his. His hands are firm on your waist and neck as he walks you back to the windowsill. He pushes you up on the ledge of the windowsill, and your legs wrap around him. He bunches up your nightgown and goes down on his knees, kissing up your legs. "Cassian," you whimper.

Your thighs tense as he plants feather-light kisses. The feel of your soft, ample thighs under his lips is something he didn't know he needed to feel until now. A carnal need is evident in both of you as you lock eyes with each other. His gaze pleads for something more, and you give him a short nod in understanding, urging him to go on.

He keeps his eyes on you, his gaze intense as he pokes his tongue out to lick and suck on the tender flesh of your thighs. You grow wetter when his mouth comes close to your clothed pussy. He licks a stripe from where he thinks your opening might be up to your clit. He groans as his eyes shut close in pleasure for the camera. You feel the noise deep in you. A sound gets stuck in your throat as your head lulls back, hitting the window, and your hand tangles in his hair - your grip on his hair tightening.

"Cut!" And everybody walks back in, unaware of what just went down between you two. Nanami pulls away. He's never done that before and never had the urge to. He's unsure what it is about you, but you drive him insane. Every time he was in your presence, his breathing changed, his heart beat a bit faster. Perhaps it was the way you looked at him with so much conviction.

Everybody holds their breath when you stumble in his arms as you get off the windowsill. The tension between you two is palpable. The director's voice brings you both out of the trance: "Good work, everybody. I'll be back on Wednesday, so have a good long weekend. But you two."

The director gestures towards you and Nanami, motioning you both to come close. "Your chemistry is good, but I need it to be great. I want you both to get more comfortable with each other. Rehearse your lines together. Practice the scenes. Let's wrap the movie this month, alright?"

Nanami shoots you a glance, "Alright, Milo. See you on Wednesday." You make your way back to your vanities. Nanami follows behind, and your heart picks up a beat. His phone rings, and he answers, "Hi, sweetie." You feel a pang of disappointment as he walks past you quickly into the room beside yours. Was he... Your heart drops at the thought.

You do a quick Google search 'for Kento Nanami dating.' Nothing but old articles about his only public relationship come up. They were long broken up now. So who was he talking to? Why did he do that with you? However, you can't stop wondering what else Nanami would have done if the director didn't yell cut. What else would he do if it was just the two of you? A knock brings you out of your thoughts. "Come in."

"Hi," Nanami walks in with his wet hair pushed back. He's changed into black pants and a grey hoodie, making him look more attractive. He looks kind of cute, you think to yourself. "What're you smilin' about?" he asks, noticing your smile. "What?" caught, you quickly wipe the smile off your face. "I asked, what're you smiling about?" he repeats himself. "Uh, nothing. I thought you left. Do you need something?" you ask, trying to sound casual.

"Can I take you to dinner?" The question catches you off guard. "What?" your eyebrows raise. "Can I take you to dinner?" he repeats, his voice a little louder this time. "I heard you fine. I'm not deaf," you snap. Annoyance takes over as you remember the little stunt he pulled earlier. Why did he do that if he had a girlfriend?

"Okay, so will you go to dinner with me?" he tries again. "No, I'm busy," you say, pushing past him to leave.

He follows. "What about tomorrow?"

"Still busy." You retort.

"The day after?"

"Busy."

"But we have to practice..."

"Well, Milo's not here to see us, is he? And you're the one who agreed, not me." You side-eye him as he stops.

"Did I do something?" he asks hesitantly. You stop walking as well and turn around. "Did you not want me to..." he trails off, unsure how to address that little incident between you two. He thought you both felt it—the attraction, the need to keep holding each other, the need to keep kissing, and the need to keep his face buried between your thighs. It wasn't something he'd felt before.

You let out a deep sigh and ask him blatantly, "Do you have a girlfriend?"

Nanami's face scrunches up in confusion, "How is that related..."

"Yes or no, Nanami!"

"No! And call me Kento!" he replies, visibly annoyed. It was rare for him to lose his temper like this. He couldn't understand why you were suddenly asking him all these questions. He thought he'd made it clear he was into you with the way you both interacted with each other.

"Are you seeing someone, then?" you ask further. You didn't want to get caught up in a scandal so fresh in your career. "No, I'm single," he confirms. "I wouldn't have... I wouldn't have done that if I was in a relationship." His face picks up a flush.

"Okay..." you respond, a feeling of relief coursing through you.

"Okay," he repeats, rolling his shoulders. The sun has long set as you both reach the parking lot. You pull out your phone to check how far your Uber ride was. The '40 minutes' flashing on your screen has you frowning and twisting your rings in discomfort. But Nanami notices, as he always does. "Come on, I'll drop you off," he offers.

You shake your head. "No, it's alright. I'll wait in there," you point toward a dimly lit diner. "I don't want you to go out of your way," you give him a tight-lipped smile.

"I don't mind," he insists, walking away. He opens the car door for you, and cocks his head for you to get in. You take a deep breath and get in. "Relax, I'm not going to eat you." He chuckles lightheartedly, trying to get you to loosen up.

"Here, put in your address," he hands you his phone. "Huh, you live close," he murmurs in quiet wonder once he sees your location. "Where do you live?" you ask curiously. "Across your building," he glances, a small smile on his lips, and you find yourself doing the same. "It's weird how we've never crossed paths with each other," he adds.

"It's not too weird, actually. I moved in two weeks ago. I haven't really had the time to explore the area. I've barely unpacked." You chuckle awkwardly.

"I'd love to take you around sometime if you're up for it," he glances at you briefly. "Sure, thank you," you whisper quietly.

He parks in front of your building. Quickly unbuckling his seatbelt, he runs over to open your door before you can. A small smile on his lips. You return his smile, and he walks you inside to the lobby.

You stand there awkwardly, wondering if you should invite him over or not. The elevator dings, and you expect him to follow you in, but he doesn't. He stands outside and gives you a nod as the doors close, separating you two. You squeak a "Goodnight!" before the elevator takes you to your floor.

He walks back to his car, feeling a little defeated. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he sees your name across his screen. The end of his lips tug into a small victorious grin as he reads your message.

⁞ You to Nanami: Sorry about my little tantrum. Thank you for the ride. Let's have lunch tomorrow?

Your heart races with anticipation as you press 'send' on the message. What if he doesn't want to do anything with you? What if you mistook his kindness for something more? All your doubts are erased as he replies back almost immediately.

↳ ⁞ Nanami to you: No worries. It was my pleasure.

⁞ Nanami to you: I thought you were busy tomorrow? 🤔.

↳ ⁞ You to Nanami: Well...

⁞ Nanami to You: I'll pick you up at 1?

↳ ⁞ You to Nanami: Alright :)

A giggle slips past your lips as you put your phone down and contemplate your reflection in the mirror. Your face is flushed, and your cheeks ache from smiling for so long. It's been a while since you've felt this way; it was almost unfamiliar. Meanwhile, Nanami feels a similar feeling in his chest as he crosses the street to his apartment complex, excited to see what tomorrow holds.

a/n : what do we think y'all? part 2? 👀. let me know your thoughts or any suggestions -> here! likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆.

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krirebr · 10 months

Text

More Than This 1

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x f!reader, Steve Rogers & f!reader

Word Count: ~4.1k

Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.

Warnings: Heavy angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, a very brief conversation about the possibility of abuse, explicit language, the slooowest burn - Warnings will be added as needed for subsequent parts. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: And here we go! A huge thanks to @drabblewithfrannybarnes for helping me nail down some of the worldbuilding details and @paperweight91 for reading so much of this and especially telling me how to fix the scene that refused to be fixed. You're both the best!!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Even if it's just screeching at me. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

It was uncommon to be called to your stepfather’s office. The high rise on the edge of Studio City had housed the heads of his family since the silent film era, give or take a remodel and expansion or five. You’d only been here a handful of times, mostly left out of the family business. When his assistant opened the door for you, you were surprised to see a small group of people, all in expensive business attire, surrounding your stepdad, Joseph Rogers, at his desk. Even more surprising was the figure standing in the corner, staring out the window – your mother.

“Mom?” you asked, unable to hide your confusion. She just gave you a tight smile in return and turned her attention to her husband.

“Sweetheart,” he called to you. It’s what he’d called you since you’d first met him as a child and it had always felt patronizing and empty. You were well aware that you were an annoyance he’d been saddled with when he’d married your mother for her late first husband’s connections. Eighteen years later, you wished he’d drop the pretense already. “Please, have a seat,” he gestured to the leather chair in front of his large oak desk.

You sat down across from him. “What’s going on?” you asked, an uneasy feeling building in your gut.

“Congratulations are in order,” he said, smiling at you. “You’re engaged.”

Years of experience at bullshit industry and society parties had you pasting on a benign smile. This was your fourth, no fifth engagement, the first one dating all the way back to when you were 10. They’d all dissolved for one reason or another, the business arrangements at the heart of them disintegrating too. But looking around the room at all the extra people in attendance, you knew better than to dismiss this outright. You were older now. Many of your friends from school had found themselves married as part of business deals in the last few years. Love matches were uncommon in the circles you frequented. There wasn’t much patience for love when this much money was at stake. But still, just because it was expected, that didn’t make you any more ready for your turn.

“That’s wonderful,” you said, putting all your effort into keeping your tone even. “May I ask whom I’m engaged to?”

“Ransom Drysdale,” Joseph said. “He’s the grandson of Harlan Thrombey, the mystery writer. We’ve been trying to secure the movie rights to his works for years and this should finally cement it. It’s fantastic news for our family and this studio. The joining of our families should create many opportunities for all of us. Ransom is one of the most eligible bachelors in Boston. You should feel very lucky.”

Lucky was the last thing you felt right now, but you kept your face schooled as you ran through your mental Rolodex to try to figure out if you had any social connections to this man. The fact that he lived on the other side of the country made it less likely but not impossible.

“So,” he continued, sliding a stack of papers across his desk to you, “all you need to do is sign and initial the contract where it’s marked, and we can get started finalizing the details for the wedding next month.”

At that, all your poise disappeared and the smile dropped off your face. “Next month?”

Joseph nodded. “It’s important to strike while the iron is hot with deals like this. So go ahead and sign so that we can all move on to the next stage.”

Your heart thumped wildly in your chest. This was happening. This one was real. “Shouldn’t I read it first?” you asked, somewhat desperately.

He shook his head, “No need,” he said, gesturing to the man you recognized as one of the family lawyers standing beside him. “Julian has already gone through it with a fine-toothed comb. All of our interests are well represented. It’s all in legalese anyway. Impossible to understand if you aren’t a lawyer.” He chuckled and many of the people standing around the desk, staring at you, joined him.

“I just–” you stammered. You didn’t know what to do, but you knew you couldn’t pick up that pen.

Irritation bloomed on your stepfather’s face. “Lydia!” he called.

Your mother stopped staring out the window and stepped up to your chair. “Honey,” she said gently, putting her hand on your back. “This will be such a good thing. And then we can get to all the fun parts of planning the wedding!” She picked up the pen and held it out to you. You took a moment to look at her. Her features were drawn and her eyes looked exhausted. She’d looked that way as long as you could remember. It did nothing to reassure you.

You glanced at the door behind you. You knew you weren’t getting out of this room without signing the contract. You took a deep breath and took the pen from your mother. There was nothing else to do. No other choice. You quickly flipped through the papers, initialing where indicated and signing the last page. Your hand was shaking so badly you weren’t sure any of it was legible.

When you turned over the last page, Joseph clapped his hands together. “Excellent!” He took a large binder off the desk and passed it over to you. “We’ve put some information together for you on your new fiance. Ransom will be in town next week to take you to dinner so that the two of you can get to know each other. Now, I’m sure you want to go celebrate, so we won’t keep you any longer.”

At the clear dismissal, you stood up. Many people in the room offered their congratulations and you nodded to them, forcing a strained smile. Then you made your way out on shaky legs, needing to see the one person who might be able to help you process what had just happened.

You’d been six years old when you and your mother had moved into the Rogers mansion. You were terrified, already able to sense Joseph’s indifference towards you. But your comfort during that time, and all the time after, had been his son, Steve. Twelve years old, still reeling from the death of his mother and just as deeply lonely as you, he’d named himself your protector, shielding you from his father’s annoyance and your mother’s sorrow. He guarded you from monsters when you woke up in the middle of the night after a nightmare and would stare down your bullies on the playground. You were very quickly inseparable.

When you became engaged the first time when you were ten, sixteen-year-old Steve had taken you out for ice cream, telling you not to worry too much, there was so much time before anything would happen and that everything would be ok. When the arrangement had fallen apart, he’d hugged you and whispered in your ear, “See? I’m always right.”

That was the memory you couldn’t stop thinking about as you let yourself into your stepbrother’s apartment, using the key he’d given you on the day he’d moved in. He wasn’t in his front room, so you moved all the way to the back, to the spare room he used as an art studio. You lightly knocked on the doorframe as you entered, trying not to startle him. He was standing with his hands on his hips, staring at a half-finished painting, but looked over his shoulder as soon as he heard you. There was a warm smile on his face, but it dropped as soon as he took in your expression. “What happened?” he asked as you flopped down onto his couch.

“I think I might be really fucked, Steve,” you said quietly, your hands still shaking. You couldn’t get them to stop.

“What happened?” he asked again, more forcefully this time, as he dragged a chair from the corner of the room so that he could sit right across from you.

“Your dad, he–” You stopped and shook your head. Steve’s face darkened. “I’m engaged,” you said with a helpless shrug.

“Okay,” he said evenly. “That might not be the most dire thing. You’ve been engaged before. Nothing ever comes of it.”

You sighed. “They’ve set a date this time.”

“Oh,” was all he could say at first, surprise on his face. “That’s new.”

“Yeah.” you nodded. “A month from now.”

That had Steve sitting up straight. “The hell?!”

“It’s happening this time. I can feel it.”

“Hey, no,” he said, reaching out to touch your arm. “Let me try to talk some sense into him. Buy you some time. He might listen to me.”

You shook your head. “Everything’s already signed. They made me sign. I don’t think there’s any getting out of it.”

“He give you a name?”

“Ransom Drysdale.”

Before he was able to stop himself, Steve grimaced.

“Fuck,” you muttered, briefly covering your face with your hands.

“No, it’s– I’ve only met him once or twice, ok? I don’t actually know anything about him.”

“But you don’t like him.”

“He’s–” Steve paused, clearly trying to find the words that wouldn’t upset you even more, “a strong personality.” He looked at you carefully. “And he’s older than you. Older than me, even.”

“I know,” you sighed, reaching for your bag and taking out the folder. “They gave me this.”

You handed it to Steve and he paged through it. “This is intense. Do you think they gave him one about you?”

You shrugged. “Dunno. Probably. Can’t imagine it says anything interesting.”

Steve nodded, seriously. “It’s probably pretty thin. Just the story of that time you completely freaked out when you weren’t allowed to bring Mr. BunBun to school with you.”

You grabbed the pillow next to you and hurled it at him. “You’re such a dick!” you laughed. “I’m very upset!”

He batted the pillow back at you and cackled when it hit you in the chest. “He deserves to know the kind of person he’s marrying. The kind who throws a five-alarm tantrum when she’s separated from her stuffed bunny.”

“I was eight, asshole!” You laughed again but then your brain caught on something Steve had said. “Holy shit, he’s marrying me. I’m getting married. I don’t know anything about him. He could be anyone. You don’t even like him! He could hurt me and–”

“Hey, no!” Steve interrupted quickly. “I might not know much, but I know that. He won’t do that. I’m sure of it. And if he ever even tried, I’d be there so fast. They’d never find his body.”

“Will he be kind to me?” you asked quietly. He opened his mouth to say something, but you stopped him. “Be honest with me. Please.”

He sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” you said, trying so hard not to cry, “I guess at least now we know exactly how your dad feels about me.”

Steve closed his eyes and quietly said your name. When he opened them, there was a resolved look on his face that was painfully familiar. His ‘I’m going to fix this’ face. He was intractable when he got like this. He set his jaw. “I’m going to talk to Dad.”

You shook your head. “Steve.” Your stepfather was just as intractable as his son. This would only result in a shouting match that wouldn’t go anywhere.

“It’s going to be alright,” he said resolutely.

All you could do was say “OK,” with a wan smile, knowing it was a lie. You lay down on the couch and curled up on your side. “Do you mind if I stay here for a bit?”

“Of course not. Lola good on her own for a while?”

You nodded. Your little dog was probably asleep in her kennel. “Yeah, for a while.”

“Do you mind if I keep working on this?” he asked, gesturing to his painting.

“I like watching you paint,” you said, trying to find comfort in the familiarity of something you’d done since you were small.

He stood up and turned back to his easel, and you did your best to focus on watching him paint and not think about how, if this went through, you’d have to move to Boston and you wouldn’t get to have this time with your brother anymore.

As expected, Steve’s talk with Joseph yielded no results when it came to your future. The only thing it seemed to have any effect on was their own relationship, Steve announcing to you that he was no longer speaking to his father the next time you saw him. You hadn’t expected anything else.

For your part, you spent the next week vacillating between going overboard preparing for your first meeting with Ransom—pouring over your folder on him, making salon appointments, shopping for a dress that would make the right impression—and pretending your problems didn’t exist. As such, the day of the dinner still snuck up on you. You were a nervous wreck.

The plan was for him to pick you up at your apartment, but an hour before he was supposed to arrive, you got a text from an unfamiliar number telling you to meet him at the restaurant instead.

So now you sat at the table, alone, in a new dress with your hair done. You’d arrived ten minutes early, and he was now 20 minutes late. You took a deep breath, staring at the empty seat across from you. He would show up. He had to.

Another ten minutes passed and, as you waived off the server for a third time, you let yourself consider what it would mean if your future husband had stood you up. You should go. It’d be pathetic to stay. And even if he did show up after you’d gone, it’d make a point. Show you had a backbone. You should definitely go.

Just as your hand began to inch toward your handbag on the table, the hostess came through, leading a tall, handsome man to your table. She stopped beside you and then ducked away. The man looked at you critically. He said your name like a question and, when you nodded, he sat down. He didn’t introduce himself, but he could only be Ransom.

He was dressed nicely in an expensive sweater and slacks, but much more casually than you were and looking around the restaurant than most of the other people there, too. And when he sat down, you could see the places in his sweater where it was threadbare or torn. You tried very hard to not take it as a sign of how he felt about this dinner, felt about you.

You cleared your throat to say something, you weren’t entirely sure what when he glanced at your glass of water. “You don’t drink?”

“No, I do,” you said, but when he smirked you realized how that sounded. “I can,” you amended, but that sounded odd too. “I mean, I don’t have anything against it. I was just waiting for you.”

He snorted. “Well, aren’t you polite?” His tone made it feel like the worst thing you could possibly be. He flagged down the server and ordered a glass of the Macallan 18, then huffed impatiently while you asked questions about their wine selection. You didn’t know how he could be half an hour late and make you feel bad for taking your time ordering.

Once you’d finally made your choice and the server left, you tried not to squirm as he gave you a once-over with his eyes. You felt disappointing without really knowing why. You tried to shrug off the feeling, but then Ransom said, “How old even are you?” with scorn in his voice.

You cleared your throat. “Twenty-four,” you tried to say with confidence.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

You did your best not to shrink in on yourself. Maybe he was just nervous too. It was a weird situation. But, “Didn’t they tell you about me?”

He snorted again and rolled his eyes. “Gave me a whole binder. I never opened it.”

You looked down at your empty place setting, embarrassed. You’d studied every inch of what they’d given you, hoping to show him how seriously you were taking this and he couldn’t care less. “Oh,” was all you were able to say.

He grinned a little meanly. “You got one too, didn’t you? Don’t tell me you’ve memorized facts about me that you were ready to rattle off to impress me.”

“No,” you growled out. You weren’t going to let him make you feel small just for trying to show interest in the person you were going to have to spend the rest of your life with.

He swiped one hand over his mouth and chin. “My god,” he muttered, “this whole thing is fucking ridiculous.”

The waitress came back and set down your drinks. Ransom immediately took a large gulp of his scotch. You itched to do the same, but you suddenly felt like proving a point. Even if you weren’t entirely sure what that point was.

You were ready to order, but Ransom hadn’t glanced at his menu yet. Just as you were about to ask for a few more minutes, he said, “Go ahead and bring me another one of these right away,” and gestured with his drink in dismissal. She nodded and left.

Fuck it, you let yourself take a large drink of your wine. “Do you know what you’re going to have?” you asked, nodding to his menu.

He shook his head. “I have dinner plans after this.”

Heat shot through your whole body. “I thought these were the dinner plans.”

He rolled his eyes again. “Getting a head start on the nagging?” he asked, dryly. “Wow, it’s like we’re already married.”

You opened your mouth to do something, you weren’t sure what. Everything in your mind had gone white. But once again, Ransom beat you to it. “Alright, let’s get this done. You’re moving into my house. Fine. But I already have everything we need, so I expect you to pack light. I don’t need your shit cluttering up everything.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You didn’t know how to have a conversation with him. Someone who left no room for you and seemed not to care at all about anything you had to say. And then there was the voice in your head that kept shouting about how incredibly important this dinner was to the rest of your life. And now it wasn’t even dinner. So when you opened your mouth to speak, what came out was, “I have a dog.”

He stared at you for a moment, seemingly surprised that you’d spoken at all. “What? No. Absolutely not. You’ll have to get rid of it. I hate dogs.”

You didn’t even bother to try to think through the static in your head. “She’s coming with me. I don’t care what else happens, I’m fucking bringing my dog.”

Ransom just narrowed his eyes and stared at you for a moment, then, “Fine. Just keep it away from me. And if it destroys my house, you’re getting rid of it. I’m serious.”

“She won’t,” you said, as sure of that as anything. “She’s a good girl.”

“Whatever,” he said, as the server returned with his second drink. He slid his empty glass to the end of the table, then said, “The bill,” without looking at her. As she took his empty away, he continued to you, “I don’t know why you want to deal with a dog and a baby, but…” he shrugged.

You just blinked at him, trying to catch up with the massive leap he’d just taken. “Baby? What? Who said anything about a baby?”

He laughed, loudly. “Oh my god, they didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” you asked, harshly, panic starting to build up in your chest.

“Of course, they fucking left that to me. There’s a clause in the contract,” he said, “requiring you to get pregnant with my child within the first year.”

You stared over his shoulder, you couldn't look him in the eye, horrified and speechless. You couldn’t breathe. How were you supposed to breathe?

“You seriously didn’t read your own marriage contract?” The judgment in his tone had you shrinking in on yourself. You couldn’t help it.

“They didn’t give me any time,” you said, quietly. “They just made me sign it.”

“And you always do what you’re told, don’t you? Yeah, you look like a good girl.” He said it the same way he’d called you polite when he’d first sat down with you. Like it made you weak. Stupid. You’d never thought so before, but now you wondered if he was right.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

He chuckled humorlessly. “We agree on that,” he said. “This whole thing is fucked.”

At some point, without your notice, the server had returned with Ransom’s card and the receipt. He signed it quickly, then stood up. “Listen, now, at least, we can go back to our parents, tell them we met, chatted, got to know each other. Everything is hunky dory. And then do whatever we want for the next three weeks. Right now, I’m going to try to salvage my night. You go do,” he gestured vaguely at you, “whatever you need to do. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

And then he was gone and you were alone.

You sat in the back seat of the car on the way back to your apartment, running over every moment of your evening. You kept thinking about the way he’d looked at you, talked to you. A baby. You were supposed to have a baby with him. A child that you’d have to raise. By yourself, judging by how invested in all this he seemed to be. Forty, fifty years of him looking at you like that, talking to you like that. And a baby. You leaned forward and asked the driver to take you to your parents’ house instead.

Once you arrived, you said you needed to speak to your stepfather urgently and were shown to his study. You stood in the middle of the room, too anxious to sit down, and waited. Everyone was making you wait tonight.

Several minutes later, Joseph finally came in. “We weren’t expecting you tonight,” he said. “How did it go?”

You ignored his question, which you guessed was an answer in itself. “Please don’t make me do this,” you pleaded.

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, disappointed, and moved over to his bar, pouring himself two fingers of decanted whiskey. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“It was. It was awful. He’s– I can’t do this. Please, please don’t make me.” Your voice broke, but you couldn’t be embarrassed about it, not when you were staring down an entire lifetime with him.

“Everyone gets nervous before their wedding. You’ll be fine. This is important. To all of us.”

“It’s not nerves!” You were close to shouting, suddenly. “You weren’t there. You don’t know. There have to be other families we need things from. It doesn’t have to be this family, does it? It doesn’t have to be right now. Please, please, anything else. I’m begging you, don’t make me marry him, have a child with him.”

He chuckled lightly. “Oh, that’s what this is about. It won’t feel as scary once the baby is here. You’ll make an excellent mother.”

You just stared at him, agape. He wasn’t listening to anything you had to say. “How could you not tell me that was part of the contract? I deserved to know. I wouldn’t have signed!”

His face hardened at that. “You were naive to not expect it. Of course, children are part of this. I admit that the timing is a little fast, but Harlan insisted.”

“Joseph, please listen to me. I can’t. I can’t. Please. If you care about me at all, you won’t make me do this.”

“You’re being ridiculous. It’s done. Everything’s signed. You signed. Now,” he said and took a drink, “it’s getting late. It’s high time you went home. Hopefully, you’ll be able to calm yourself down there.” And then he left the room, ignoring you as your whole world fell apart.

As you left, you passed your mother in the hall. Neither of you said anything.

When you got home, Steve was waiting for you, having already let himself in, holding Lola in one arm. “How did it go?” he asked seriously. You shook your head and finally let the tears fall. He pulled you into his arms, smushing you against your dog, and gently guided you into your home.

Part Two

Tag list is open

@stargazingfangirl18

@drabblewithfrannybarnes

@thezombieprostitute

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@bval-1

#ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale #chris evans fanfiction #fanfic #steve rogers #knives out #captain america #reader insert #arranged marriage au #kris wrote something #more than this #ce characters

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marketstudyinfinium · 9 months

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#Japan Window Film Market #Market Size #Market Share #Market Trends #Market Analysis #Industry Survey #Market Demand #Top Major Key Player #Market Estimate #Market Segments #Industry Data

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pedropascalito · 2 months

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The Last of Us Joel Miller Character Study S1E1: Living Room

Joel's sofa is so classic and cozy; cognac overstuffed leather is a solid choice, and combined with the transparent glass coffee table, very shabby chic meets West Elm. Not bad for a contractor.

I love that pillow is smashed flat. This is a family home, well lived in.

I deeply love Sarah is reading a magazine instead of playing on her phone/tablet. Very accurate fo that time. Magazines were my jam in 2003 as well. There are stacks of them around the room, and I really wish we could see some titles! I'm guessing: a teen fashion/culture mag for Sarah, a sports magazine for Joel, maybe some free contractor industry publications. Definitely Texas Monthly. Is Joel a Playboy man? Hmmm...

Dinner plate: she is used to preparing her own food and eating on her own, it seems.

More bay windows. What a cute home.

Either this scene was filmed in both daytime and nighttime, or that is one bright-ass porch light.

Joel has gone to the Javier Peña school of lamps and afghans because there are a lot of lamps in this room! And most of them are ugly.

Knock-off Eames chair? Or the real thing? (I'm guessing knock-off.) @veryprairieberry identified it as an IKEA Poang with matching ottoman. Knock-off indeed.

I wish this photo were more clear; I'm guessing it's Sarah, and I even thought it was Nico Parker on the lake in the raft, but the photo doesn't have the life jacket. EDIT: It’s Tommy, thank you @bluestar22x

More magazines

A TV tray for eating in this room; I wonder if Sarah or Joel uses that more?

I love a good sofa console table, and I also put them against the wall. My 2003 apartment would feel very at home in Joel's space.

The Lone Star key holder on the wall; so Texas, so accurate.

Laundry basket of clothes waiting to be folded, and we know that never happened. :(

I love this shot because it shows a few awesome things:

Guitar!

That sweet ass speaker and sound system set up. I want.

Having a flat screen tv in 2003 was still a status symbol. Joel invested in this.

Another soccer ball, so homey to have sports equipment scattered around.

It looks like that's a Longhorns logo blanket, but the color is wrong, so I don't know what it is for sure.

More plants Sarah is single-handedly keeping alive.

The block color rug is aggressively 00's Target. I love it.

I can't tell what that pronged object is on the stereo; anyone know? Edit: an antennae, thank you @veryprairieberry

That painting on the wall is rather dull compared to the artwork in Joel’s bedroom. I wonder if they know the artist personally?

How sweet is Joel coming home after a long day? We want this view.

Joel and Sarah are so sweet together and I am devastated all over again with this episode and Sarah's death. Just tragic.

Also: I'm sorry y'all, I have to point out the anal beads lamp. Not even Javier Peña would have this. Joel has definitely stepped it up.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #tlou #joel miller's home #the last of us

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theurgists · 9 months

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⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ WILD THING ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: filming a masterpiece came easy to you, despite how weak the material you were given to work with was. having to do it with someone you harbored such hate for is proving to be a little difficult. but she can simmer your spite with just a touch, can't she?

warnings: 70s au, 18+, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, sexual tension (??), mentions about the porn industry, pornstar!ellie, mentions of weed, weed usage, not proof-read

a/n: yet another reupload, haven't written an updated piece for ellie in a while but i just might after bringing back a shit ton of old works sitting in the drafts for you all to enjoy again ;)

“When I tell you that this is the best script to ever come into my hands, I mean it. But, all I’m saying is that we need some slight adjustments.”

Glancing at the man in front of you, the twinge of hope that had developed within you just last week seemingly diminished, snuffed out with wet finger pads. You leaned back into the velvet red of the tiny seat, licking the top row of your pearly teeth, watching with low-lidded eyes as he waved his thick hands around — emphasizing how much he meant what he said.

The sheen of sweat running down his forehead proved how harsh the heat was. More unbearable than usual as of late as the sun beamed with an orange hue through the glass pane of one of the many windows in the sizable van, mugginess forming in a thick cloud — mixing with the smoke from the lit joint between your ringed fingers.

You crossed a leg over the other, the denim of your bell bottoms rubbing together, uncomfortably sticking to the bare skin beneath from the humidity. Guiding your fingers toward your mouth, you inhaled, listening to the crackle of the van radio as ‘White Room’ by Cream filled the tensed silence, happy toxins filling your cool mouth — the odd flavor combining with the peppermint gum that once twirled on the sides of your cheeks.

Humming, you shrugged. “Like what? Having a man fuck me instead of a woman?”

A sheepish look came across his features, signaling that your words had made him just a tad disagreeable. You had to bite back the scoff that tried to force its way out of your mouth, shaking your head from side to side dramatically before pointing a manicured finger in his direction.

“You already know the type of shit I do, Paul.” The amused smile that painted your lips was once laced with malice. “I thought we were on the same page when you agreed to be my agent.”

Paul was a bitter man. Then again, when aren’t men in general upset? Truthfully, you should’ve walked away from him the second you found his disgusting eyes raking up and down the expanse of your smooth legs, alcohol and a wrong impression exuding from his pores, violently washing over you in waves. He tried to chat you up but his words faltered when your eyes narrowed, the annoyance radiating off of your being at his very presence.

As politely as you could, you told him to go fuck off — will all the disrespect in the world, of course. Eventually, he relented, but not before sliding a withered, folded paper card in your hands before leaving you to wallow alone. But alas, here you were, in the back of a fogged van on your way to film pornography.

He put his palms up in defense, the buttons of his shirt halfway undone, giving you a visible view of curly chest hair in all its glory. Lifting the right corner of your lip, you grimaced, noting the way he frowned as soon as he saw your pained expression.

Sighing, he clapped his warm, sweaty palms together, figuring it’d be worth a shot to try once more. “I’m just putting my input out there, and -”

You interjected. “Where it isn’t needed. Thank you though.”

Narrowing his eyes, Paul waited until you sunk back into your seat, heaving out a heavy sigh before dragging a hand down his sweaty face. “Look, I know what I said about letting you do your thing with women, it’s what you’re comfortable with. But you’re audience is mainly men.”

Bouncing your leg, you huffed, diverting your gaze to stare at something else other than him. Your nose hairs burned slightly from the scent and the stuffiness of the small area despite the small open window, it was suffocating. “Something I didn’t ask for. I do what I do for women.”

“Obviously, but that’s not how they see it. They’re never going to see it that way. Might as well make money off of it … with someone like your audience.”

Although he had a point, there was a part of you that could never give up on the very limited amount of queer women who enjoy what you do for their pleasure. You had once been in their shoes, scared of the consequences of touching yourself to the thought of women, guilt weighing down on your shoulders so heavily that you felt as if everyone had known exactly what you were into. It was something you had always been so cautious about — glancing at a pretty girl the wrong way, to bat your eyelashes at them as you so desperately wanted.

The women you had been with had left you with empty sheets, and an even emptier heart, not ready to come to terms with the fact that you were exactly what they liked and not clean-shaven faces and strong-scented cologne. He was right. But, that’s not something you were willing to take with a grain of salt, nor give in like he so desperately wanted.

You took a long drag of the burning paper, reaching forward to snuff it out in the nearby ashtray on the floor before ultimately shaking your head side to side, tendrils of hair falling in front of your face, escaping the small bun you had created at the top of your head earlier. “I’ll take the risk and keep whoever’s filming with me.”

Paul pursed his thin lips, poking his tongue out from in between to moisturize the dry flesh before nodding curtly, “Okay,” He sighed. “I guess we’re keeping Ellie.”

At that, your eyebrows furrowed, the skin between them folding as you grew confused. The cogs in your head were overheating — and not just from the scorching heat. Paul knew your resentment toward the auburn-haired girl. Her freckled face sends the flesh of your lips to curl over your teeth in disgust for reasons unknown to everyone but you. It was a tension that always stuck like the strongest glue, hard to scrub off no matter how hard you tried.

There was just something about her that made your heart fill with a type of emotion that you couldn’t decipher as something other than anger and spite.

Ellie Williams.

The one person you seemingly weren’t able to get along with no matter how hard you tried. From the handful of small interactions you’ve had with the girl, she’s curt. A little bit of a bitch if anything but then again, so were you. Maybe that’s why the two of you were always going at it, words of hatred being spewed back and forth, metaphorically pushing one another’s chest, trying to see who could take things to a burning point, letting it boil over like a pot full of water on high heat.

“I see that look on your face, mellow out.”

You hadn’t noticed the way your nostrils were flared, the way your chest was rising up and down at a rapid pace, your breathing uneven and your hands balled into fists on either side of you. Closing your eyes, you opened your mouth to take a deep breath, letting the stale air fill your lungs before you exhaled, trying to center yourself.

“I’m neat. Just lost my cool for a second there.”

You glanced out the window next to him, your eyes darting to focus on any ounce of color you could spot behind the thin layer of dust that coated the outside glass. Taking in the stream of green grass that stretched as the van moved along the road, you sniffed. Paul followed your gaze, turning his torso to join your small viewing party of one.

The rest of the ride was silent, the only sound reaching your ears, for the time being, was the quiet hum of the radio, the occasional squeak of the van when the driver would brake, and the silent mumbles that came from Paul’s mouth as he muttered quietly to himself.

It wasn’t an ideal situation for you — having just Paul to guide you through an industry you knew only a handful about. Although the money was decent, you were thriving to achieve more with your life, looking at the porn industry as a last alternative to solve every problem that arose at every corner, chasing you down to tackle you, to beat you to a pulp.

In a way, the green that would make its way into your greedy hands wasn’t going directly into your pockets. Instead, it was being handed to doctors at the local hospital for your mother’s care, as she had been diagnosed with some sort of terminal illness. Oh, how you loved her dearly, having been raised behind motel walls, the rent was barely paid, saltine crackers being shoved into your mouth ravenously, and inexpensive water being guzzled down your throat due to how thirsty you’d be.

As you became older and your hair grew longer, the idea that your mother had tried everything she could with you carried on into everyday occurrences as you found yourself coming home with less than needed. It wasn’t until your friend, Jean, had come into your home, a joint and a bottle of Mateus Rose being shared between the two of you as you sat in the expanse of your small, crowded living room that you realized just how serious she was about what she was saying.

“I know a couple of these fellas down in the city, they’re easy to convince if you bat your eyelashes a little.” She had said it as if it was the simplest thing in the world, and it was. Just for all the wrong reasons. After that, she moved somewhere deep in the valleys of Los Angeles and you haven’t heard from her since. You supposed she was doing well for herself though, having seen her in the papers a couple of weeks ago on your way to the designated filing studio for the day, stepping backward in your heeled boots, grabbing it from the stand much to the dismay of the man who was selling them.

You were surprised, to say the least, eyes scanning across the big, bold black print. She had gotten herself in the papers for all the wrong reasons, destroying everything she had built for herself in the blink of an eye as soon as she had cheated on her millionaire husband with an even more rich, married man. You remembered the way your eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion and the ‘o’ your jaw had dropped into, the cigarette in your hand long forgotten and burning between your fingers.

You couldn’t help but feel bad for her, your chest hurting at that path that she had chosen for herself although you weren’t one to judge considering what you were doing for money wasn’t proper either. She was on a better lane than you, trading her dingy apartment for a nice typical picket fence house in the hills, her handmade craft bracelets for pearls, and her bell bottoms for posh dresses. All that aside, she was a nice girl.

The van came to a harsh stop, jolting forward just enough that it made you shift in your seat, and it was then that you paid special attention to the knot that had formed in your stomach. The uncomfortable feeling caused your face to scrunch up, the expression disappearing as soon as Paul looked in your direction with a smile on his stupid fucking face.

“You ready, kid?”

Shrugging, you licked your lips, cocking your head to the side before heaving a dramatic sigh, “I guess so.”

Rolling his eyes, Paul nodded his head toward the doors of the van, silently telling you to join him in the outside world, figuring that fresh air would do you some good and ease the nerves along with the high you were experiencing. As the doors opened from the other side, the hairs on your arms raised from the slight breeze that the warm air brought, the sun glowing directly into your eyes, causing you to squint.

Bringing your hands up to cover your face, you breathed out through your nose, blinking rapidly once — twice, the strain that had formed due to the light difference created a dull throb to go along with it.

“Are you fucking serious, Jeff?” Once that voice reached your ears, you raised your head and immediately came face to face with the one person you were dreading to even glance at. She looked good, that was something you couldn’t deny. The glowing daylight behind her created a halo that made her short auburn hair shine just a little brighter, the freckles on her skin more visible in the Wyoming sun.

The expression that swirled in her green eyes wasn’t something you had the opportunity to decipher as she had turned away from you in an instant.

Your eyes shamelessly roamed down what part of her chest was visible to you, noticing the white, collared button-down she wore; the first couple of buttons undone leaving her collarbone exposed, a thin layer of sweat forming between her sternum. Loose, boot-cut jeans hugged her hips. Her fingers looped through the belt holes causing the tucked shirt to ruffle slightly, a wrinkle embedding itself into the fabric.

Interacting with her was inevitable and you internally slapped yourself for letting something so stupid bounce across your brain. You were making an adult film with her after all.

“Jeez, it’s just me, no need to get yourself wet.” She glanced back at you momentarily before averting her gaze once more, leaving you to narrow your eyes as you slid out of the van, stretching your legs.

You bit back a groan at the sensation of releasing all the built-up tension and ache from sitting for so long, having come from Montana to Jackson, a grueling six-and-a-half-hour drive. The fresh air was nice, so you basked in every second of it before you would have to return to an inside setting again.

The thought of it sent your mind reeling again, the small pang of nervousness creeping back up onto you in the form of an itch on your elbow that you scratched with your short fingernails, the skin there dry and in desperate need of hydration.

“I’m not starting with you.” She stated, voice gruff and low as she tapped one of her polished, black pointed-toe boots on the dry dirt beneath her, the leather creasing as she did so with a cigarette in between her right fingers. You could tell she was growing annoyed, and a devious smirk tugged at the corners of your lips before you plucked it out of her fingers, putting it toward your lips to take a drag.

From your peripheral vision, you could see her point the flesh of her lips in a frown, shaking her head slightly. It took you a fraction of a second to decide that starting a conversation with her wasn’t what you wanted to do, especially watching the way Jeff, her manager, interacted with yours, his jaw tense and teeth grinding together behind his thin lips. The sky was getting darker, the bright blue that was there mere moments ago being stained with a salmon pink, a tinge of sherbet orange below the horizon. The grass around the property was short, thriving with life, and as green as ever with different arrays of flowers, colorful and swaying in the wind.

It felt peaceful, and serene almost until the thought of what you were here for jumped out at you.

Tapping the butt of the cigarette, you ashed it, watching as it fell an inch away from your boot, pulling it to the entrance of your lips before taking another drag, and exhaling loudly.

Swaying slightly from side to side, Ellie watched as Paul and Jeff continued to argue, turning to you, waiting until you cocked your head in her direction at her outstretched palm.

“What?”

She pointed a ringed finger at half of the stick still in your grasp. “Since we’re sharing now apparently, at least let me take a couple of drags too.”

Huffing, you extended it out to her, snatching your hand back across your chest once she took it from you. “You don’t have a pack of your own?”

“Obviously not or the thought of taking yours would’ve never crossed my mind.” Running a hand through your hair, you felt the warmness of your tongue against your bottom lip as you licked the layer of dry skin there. The silence that followed after was thick, suffocating almost until you decided with the last shred of dignity you had. “So, what’d you think of the script?”

Turning your body in her direction, you quickly scanned her up and down, taking in the way she shrugged in response before inhaling again. “It was alright, nothing worth getting excited over. Can’t expect much when it’s written by who it’s written by.”

Raising your eyebrows, you silently agreed by nodding your head, knowing exactly what she meant without her having to say too much. Troy, the man who wrote the majority of your scripts, was a creep. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that most of the men in this line of work were as weird as could be, especially when working with women such as yourself who found comfort in the arms of another woman and not a man.

“Yeah, It didn’t make much sense but no one’s watching for the plot, I guess.”

Ellie snorted, flicking the cigarette on the ground, snuffing it out with the sole of her shoe, and rubbing at the back of her neck with a hand after. “Yeah.” She nodded, looking off into the distance for a couple of seconds before scanning your face, her gaze lingering on your lips a little too long before they moved again.

Standing without a word being spoken was the most comfortable silence you had ever felt in a while, so you took the peace to your advantage, your rapid heart slowing down its pace the longer you stood next to her, the wind carrying the scent of pine and cigarettes from her clothing into your nostrils, exciting your nose hairs.

The sound of soles crunching beneath stray rocks and rubble caused you to look up at Jeff and Paul through your lashes, observing how they looked at each other and then back at you.

Clapping his hands together, Jeff pointed his thumbs over his shoulders, gesturing to the lone house on the land, his brown eyes bouncing between the two of you.

“Okay, let’s start filmin’.” Turning on his heel, he extended the distance between you three, leaving you to catch follow quickly, the lids of your eyes shutting slowly before fluttering open again. Walking through the wide door, you found three other people gathered around a patterned sofa, their talking coming to a pause as soon as you had walked through the frame of the front door, Ellie right behind. Arnold, the cameraman seemed to be everywhere, and he was a bit of a creep if you were being honest but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. You’ve had your fair share of men being openly odd, sparking weariness within you, and raising bright red flags. Jared was the sound guy, a ribbon microphone practically always glued to the tips of his fingers every time you saw him — and that was often.

Arnold was the first one to speak, his dark eyes swirling with happiness, a haze of drunkness in them as well. Figures. “Never thought I’d see the day where the two of you were close willingly.”

Wiggling a finger at you and Ellie, he balanced his camera in another hand, the sound of the door shutting grasping his attention momentarily, zeroing in on Ellie when he had focused again.

When he had opened his shit-hole of a mouth again, you had tuned him out, eyes locking onto the hardwood beneath your shoes as he explained the little plot of the short movie. Ellie was to play the ‘man of the house’ as Troy had called it, and you were the stunning wife of course, having to cook a pretend dinner and prep the dining table for a romantic night for two before the stares and touches grew heavy with need. The sex scene would take place on the island countertop in the kitchen after you had finished washing dishes.

Filming was difficult, with time being lost from the handful of times that you and Ellie had bickered about hand placements and the way you were supposed to feverishly lock lips, which had everyone in the room in a sour mood, the negativity spreading within you as Ellie had kissed you harshly during one scene, knocking her front teeth into yours. You had yanked your head back, running your tongue across your left tooth as it throbbed slightly, not intending to shove her as far as you did, and of course, that action elicited a bunch of curses from her and a small ‘fuck, I’m sorry it was an accident.’

In hindsight, your response should’ve been a little more respectful considering that she had apologized but as she put her lips to the skin of your neck, right below your ear, it swirled out of your mind, the words that rose out of your throat being a jumbled mess of moans as she sucked at a certain spot.

The dull throb between your thighs made you wrap your legs around her waist, creating more friction as the material of her jeans rubbed deliciously against your clothed clit. If there was one thing about Ellie that you were certain of, it was that she knew how to touch a woman, to get them flustered, to have them writhing under her touch, to make them want more.

“So beautiful. Why are you sittin’ all shy, baby?” It was as if everyone else in the room had disappeared, disintegrating into thin air, the camera a couple of feet away from you forgotten as you stared at her, chest rising and falling quickly as your heart started to beat rapidly against your ribcage. Whether that was part of the script or not was something that crossed your mind for a couple of seconds as you stared at her lips, shaking your head a moment after.

“M’ not shy.”

Grabbing the apples of her cheeks with the palm of your hands, you cupped her face, bringing her lips closer to yours once more, your hot breath mixing with hers as you desperately clutched the back of her shirt into your fingers, knuckles growing white as your nails clawed crescent shapes into her back.

Ellie hummed against you, pulling her head back, a string of saliva stretching between the both of you before she wiped at it with the back of her hand, the way she held eye contact the whole time causing you to rub your thighs together. “Mhm, not shy but very eager.”

It was a low whisper that brought the hairs on your arms to raise slowly, the warm feeling of her fingers tapping the fat of your thighs evoking a small, unintentional whine from you.

You didn’t care if this wasn’t a part of the script, and neither did everyone else in the room as they all waited with bated breath, their bodies rigid and tension-filled, waiting for your response.

“Only this eager for you.”

It was true. Your experience with her was by far the best of your career and she didn’t even take unbutton your pants yet, leaving the slick that had pooled in the center of your pants, staining the crotch area, your cheeks developing a rosy tint at how embarrassingly horny you were.

The freckled girl noticed this, a smirk pulling at her mouth as she leaned closer to you, green eyes fogged with the desperate need to please you, to have you screaming her name until you weren’t able to do so. The hotness of her breath, as it passed through her teeth, made you shudder, your manicured fingers going to rest at the waistband of her jeans, right above the small of her back.

“You have no idea what you just started, sweetheart.”

With that, she hastily reached for the button of your jeans, popping them open, her fingers guiding themselves onto your bare cunt, air passing through your teeth as you hissed, the coolness of her ringed fingers coming in contact with your warm flesh.

The dry chuckle that passed her lips was laced with humor, your lack of underwear surprising her although it wasn’t written on her flushed face. “And you aren’t wearing anything else. You’re trying to reel me in, huh?”

“Ah, shit.”

“So wet and I only just started touching you.” She drawled, her left arm wrapping around your waist to scoot you to the edge of the green laminate countertop, placing the pad of her thumb on your bud, moving it in slow circles. You clenched onto nothing, bucking your hips into her hand, urging her to press down harder.

She complied, working her finger against you so roughly, that the slight pinch of pain one of her many rings caused as it skimmed across one of your folds spiraled into pleasure. She rested her forehead against yours, the tips of your noses touching as she continued to please your aching cunt. Biting down on your lip, a muffled moan escaped causing your jaw to grow tense at the knot that had formed in the expanse of your stomach.

“Does it feel good, baby?”

Nodding your head, you lifted your hips, helping her tug your jeans off fully, exposing the smooth, moisturized skin of your legs, the scratchy denim pooling at your ankles.

Ellie removed her hand, the sudden rush of air on your exposed flesh causing an involuntary arch in your lower back. The heat of her green eyes burning at your lower half had sent adrenaline coursing through every vein in your body, even more so when you had whined.

“Such a pretty pussy.”

Her praises had set your skin on fire, the aching throb becoming unbearable, your arousal leaking from you once more as she shoved a finger inside of you with the help of your wetness, one of the tight rings stretching you out just an inch more. One of your sweaty palms slapped against the counter, the back of your head coming in contact with a wooden cabinet, a small ‘thud’ accompanying the action.

Without warning, she started pumping the lone finger in and out, flexing in between your walls, enjoying the expression on your face — the way it contorted with pleasure when she’d hit a certain spot inside of you that had you silently mumbling with closed eyes, curses spilling from your lips in a low chant.

Your hard nipples were visible through the thin shirt that covered your chest, and she couldn’t stop her other hand as it weaved its way under the end of your shirt, flicking one of them harshly, a sting of pain in its wake. “Fuck.” You sighed, breath stuttering as you felt another finger slide past your hole.

With flared nostrils, you cocked your head to the side as her lips started to suck at your neck, teeth grazing across your throat, a thin layer of saliva snailing up your neck as the skin grew red and raw, the blood cells beneath rising to the surface at the suction.

Your entire body was hot, flushed with sweat as she pleased you as if you were the last person she’d ever have the privilege of laying her godly hands upon. You were growing addicted to her touch — as wrong as it was because your dislike for her was starting to lessen just a bit. Her fingers felt amazing, the way they curled into you, not too much but not too little that it didn’t satisfy you when it was the exact opposite.

In truth, you almost didn’t recognize the sensation that came to you as it had grown foreign to you, along with the butterflies that would flutter within your stomach as other’s touches had rendered you numb. Not Ellie’s though. Never hers.

With that one lingering thought, a sob rippled through your throat as you clenched tightly around her fingers, the muscles in your stomach flexing as you came, legs shaking around her frame.

There wasn’t any time to waste, camera film was expensive after all.

You were numb, breathing heavy and hair disheveled, eyes wide and lips parted as Ellie sunk to her knees, curling her hands under your thighs only to rest them on your lower stomach, a trail of hot, sloppy kisses being left behind starting from your knee.

When her warm tongue cupped over you, you were a goner, toes curling within the space of your boots, the sound of her lapping at your juices sinful as she sucked greedily.

Internally slapping yourself, you concluded that all the past bickering and sexual tension throughout the many seasons all led up to this — the best head you had ever received in your life and she had just swiped her tongue once.

“Please, please.” You begged pathetically, hands weaving through her short auburn hair, tugging to one side harshly, causing her to moan against you.

“Please what?” She cooed, urging you to use your words even though you were a sobbing mess.

“Please let me feel you, I want your tongue.”

The smile she gave you was lazy, and devious as the flesh of her lips pulled back into a smile.

“All you had to do was ask, darlin'.'”

#tlou part 2 #tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams imagine #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie williams x reader

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